Presenting another original work performed by my studio!
A full radio play of William Shakespeare's Much Ado About Nothing, an enemies to lovers comedy wherein deceptions are used both to thwart love, and assist it.
Don't Worry, I translated the Elizabethan for ya!
I highly recommend the membership plan, which allows you to stream any of my titles as they become available at only $3 per month (just like a patreon!)
Otherwise, pop over to my store, where you can purchase the full audio download files for $7 each.
Find samples of my Good Omens work for free on my AO3 collection or SoundCloud profile, or check the clips available on the membership page of my website!
If you would just like to throw some extra support my way, you can buy me a cocktail on Ko-fi!
THANKS FOR YOUR SUPPORT!
Huge thanks to @paperclipninja who has once again produced a gorgeous musical score for the play!
Massive hugs to @firstvisittoearth, @theonewiththeshippinggoogles and GlitteringRock for all their support, *shakes fist at Act II again*
And to those lovelies who already have access, check the site for the new release! @ireallyneedmoretea @spacegiraffetoo @harlotofupdog
Cover art by @and-his-hands-were-24-crows Thank you so much, Crows! Please show them some support by checking out their work on Instagram and ao3!
And a huge thank you to my beta harem, who have been with me on this journey for over a year now: @totheendtimes, @Nightshiftcaffeine, @ineffable-xenanigans, @nosferatini, @moderndayklutz, @Savyl and @TansyOggAdditional in story art by Demented_DeMeown, @avadoingart-imus and @divinitydemon
CW for this chapter: Genderfluid Crowley, changing pronouns for Crowley
Summary:
After long months of touring, Crowley finally comes home.
Aziraphale is waiting for him, and finally there is no audience to impress. Exhausted from the weight of performance and the burden of being who everyone expects him to be, Crowley makes a choice to set aside his armour and return to a shape he reserves for the person he trusts most.
In the safety of home, Crowley allows himself to be vulnerable, and Aziraphale responds as he always has: with unwavering love, acceptance and understanding.
Excerpt:
By the time the last flightcase was latched shut and loaded away, Crowley was vibrating with impatience.
He didnāt linger. He couldnāt.
Newt and Silvia talked about logistics: when the crew could be expected to return their equipment to them, hotel reservations, the sensible unwinding talk of a triumphant finale, but Crowley barely heard them. His goodbyes were abrupt, but still warm. He proudly squeezed Silviaās shoulder, smiled at Newt, and promised to call after heād rested and the ringing in his ears had stopped.
Then, he was gone, racing to the Bentley, shrugging his coat into place as he went.
London was awake and glittering behind him, but he didnāt look back.
The Bentley readily roared awake as if sheād been waiting for this exact moment.
Crowley drove as though he could outrun time, the streetlights blurring into molten lines of gold, the engine responding not just to pressure on the pedal but to want. The car would always take him where he intended to go. They cut through the night together, fast enough that thought and driver input fell away, leaving only instinct and yearning in its wake.
He should have been exhausted. Two months of performances, of crowds and noise. And then tonight, fully giving himself over to the audience, and all the emotional upheaval that involved. His body and soul ached with it, in a surprisingly cathartic way. But beneath the fatigue was a spark of excitement that wouldnāt be extinguished.
He was going home.
Read the rest here on ao3!
Want somewhere to discuss the chapter? Join The Braincell Discord
omg i know i am so late to the party but i just read/listened to factory settings (podfic by @nosferatini) and i am so in love. my god that was a fabulous fic. i wish that it was what we got for season 3, it was such a good follow up to season 2 (and apparently it was all written super fast after season 2 as well?? wild) i donāt have words for how much i loved it
and the podfic!! i havenāt listened to a lot of podfics but this one was highkey published audiobook level stuff. the voices were all so so good and i loved all the sound effects and music. highly highly recommend if you havenāt listened.
POV: A Good Omens alternative universe, where Crowley gets stabbed with a flaming sword and falls into a coma for 2,000 years, while his Angel tries not to go insane waiting for him. (Spoiler: heās barely holding himself together.)
Read the comic here for free ā link
(It's almost 100 pages already! Thank you @daneecastle for creating such a beautiful story! @kotias , @nosferatini , @ineffable-ducks , @rainyr thanks for being part of it!)
āThe Season of Nightingalesā Good Omens Fancomic Part 1
Some sweetness after such a sad week ā¤ļø
Drew this scene from @nosferatini ās lovely GO fanfic, The Season of Nightingales. Specifically Chapter 2, lol. (Also ignore the fact my bgs r sloppyā¦Im sick of drawing stairs)
Im already halfway thru reading it, and I love it dearly. Def has helped me from S3
Pls give it a read! You wonāt be disappointed :)
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
OMG Wow! This is absolutely LOVELY! Thank you, š Iām absolutely gushing over this! Iām so glad you are enjoying the story, hope you enjoy the rest just as much!
Memories: Short Reversed Veil of worlds Comic By me and @kintypaw
This is a short comic I did with my friend Kinty. We wanted to show more of the characters from my comic and their pasts. I also wanted to focus on grief since I'm still suffering from it. Loss is not fun to deal with and this is my way of coping, making art.
Kinty colored the majority of the pages and I drew 4/5 pages. Kinty did page 3. I only colored the characters on the last page. I enjoy doing collabs with other artists.
(Apologies for the inconsistencies on the first page. I lost focus during that time. But I'm back, hopefully I can catch my mistakes better.)
Cover art by @and-his-hands-were-24-crows Thank you so much, Crows! Please show them some support by checking out their work on Instagram and ao3!
And a huge thank you to my beta harem, who have been with me on this journey for over a year now: @totheendtimes, @Nightshiftcaffeine, @ineffable-xenanigans, @nosferatini, @moderndayklutz, @Savyl and @TansyOgg
Additional in story art by Demented_DeMeown, @avadoingart-imus and @divinitydemon
CW for this chapter: Some depiction of injury, nothing graphic.
Summary:
Crowley slips out of time.
Excerpt:
The world swirled around him, blurring at the edges, until the shape that was Crowley began to unravel. The body heād worn for almost sixty years ā the skin, the bones, the last of his humanity ā split along invisible seams as his soul leaked through the cracks. His flesh came apart, shredding into ribbons that danced away on the wind to be swallowed by the sea below.
His consciousness flared outward ā expanding, stretching, becoming all encompassing. Every note heād ever played, every lyric, every fragment of sound that had ever passed through his hands now thundered through him, resonating in infinite chords. There was no body left now, only music and memory burning through the wreckage of his soul. The sea roared in harmony below, the stars above adding an onomatopoeic twinkle no one but him could hear.
And then he was everywhere.
Read the rest here on ao3.
Want somewhere to discuss the chapter? Join the Braincell discord.
And if you'd like to read chapter 15 early, it is available now to members of my Patreon.
@goodomensafterdark
My positive thoughts on why I found the Good Omens finale satisfying:
I think it's important to consider that a good character based narrative is about the characters feelings, rather than the reader or the audiences.
Crowley and Aziraphale, while we as the audience have known them almost exclusively as a demon and an angel, have never been particularly good at their roles, nor was it their core identify. Their identities were based on how they rejected their roles, and embraced something else.
And what did they embrace? Earth and humanity. The things they found and chose to define them are the Bentley, the bookshop, food and drink, music, film, television, theatre, all very human creations. And the list goes on.
They always wanted to be human, and be together.
And that's the ending they got to have.
That's the only one there could have been, to close the circle of who they are as characters.
100% This, they get to be who they would have been if theyād not been restrained by sides. They are them. The same souls, finally able to be together as they should have been.
Cover art by @and-his-hands-were-24-crows Thank you so much, Crows! Please show them some support by checking out their work on Instagram and ao3!
And a huge thank you to my beta harem, who have been with me on this journey for over six months now: @totheendtimes, @Nightshiftcaffeine, @ineffable-xenanigans, @nosferatini, @moderndayklutz, @Savyl and @TansyOgg
Additional in story art by Demented_DeMeown and @avadoingart-imus
CW/TW for this chapter: Major character death, grief, depression
Summary:
In the wake of Crowleyās sacrifice, Aziraphale is left behind with a grief so vast it hollows him out and diminishes his divinity. In the aching silence of loneliness, he clings to the remnants of the life they once had: the Bentley faithfully navigating them around the great scars carved into the Earth, memories shared with Newt and Anathema, and Crowleyās music drifting softly through empty rooms.
Crowley doesnāt just remain present in memory however. He has left a permanent mark. The world is now scarred; continents split open by the terrible effort of his final song, humanity forever changed by the sound of his suffering. As society struggles to rebuild, something unexpected begins to emerge from the wreckage: compassion, reverence for the Earth, and the fragile hope that from destruction there can be rebirth.
Excerpt:
The Bentley waited for him, parked outside the bookshop exactly where Crowley used to leave her. Her black paint gleamed faintly under the amber glow, and condensation beaded along her windows like tears. The headlights flickered once as he approached, in quiet acknowledgement.
āHello, my dear,ā Aziraphale murmured, pressing an unsteady hand to her bonnet. The metal was warm and comforting under his palm. āThank you for staying up for me.ā
The Bentley responded with a low, gentle rumble. It reminded Aziraphale of the throat noises Crowley used to make when he was thinking, or when he was swallowing back words he couldnāt bring himself to say. The sound reverberated through Aziraphaleās fingers, up his arms, and into the hollow ache in his chest.
āI know,ā he whispered. āThe city feels emptier without him.ā
The Bentley revved her engine once, and her radio crackled for a moment. Aziraphale half expected to hear Crowleyās voice, or at least one of his songs, but there was no melody to be found. Just static followed by silence.
Aziraphaleās throat tightened. He leaned against the driver's side door, half embracing the car, as absurd as it was. āIāll look after you,ā he promised.
The Bentley gave one final rumble, a low, tender sound, before her lights dimmed.
Aziraphale straightened up and looked towards the bookshop. It seemed unfamiliar now, too dark beyond the windows, too empty. Inside, the smell of paper and beeswax engulfed him like a shroud.Ā
He hung up his damp coat, stood in the centre of the shop, and listened. Rain pattered on the windows. Somewhere far off, a siren wailed and faded.
Crowley was gone.
He tried to read. He tried to eat. He tried to find some comfort in the familiar clutter of his bookshelves, but every gesture felt hollow. The world had slipped off its axis, and no miracle could set it right.
When he finally clambered upstairs to bed, he didnāt bother undressing. He lay on his back, staring at the ceiling, listening to the city outside: the hiss of tyres on wet pavement, the occasional murmur of late night voices. Life went on. Humanity went on.
But Crowley did not.
Aziraphale waited for sleep, but none came. Each time he closed his eyes, he heard the echo of that final scream.Ā
The sound of music itself tearing apart.
Read the rest here on ao3.
If you'd somewhere to discuss the chapter, join The Braincell discord.
And if you'd like to read chapter 14 a fortnight early, it is available now to members of my Patreon.
@goodomensafterdark
***
In memory, always, of xenanigans.
GNU, Exus.
Cover art by @and-his-hands-were-24-crows Thank you so much, Crows! Please show them some support by checking out their work on Instagram and ao3!
And a huge thank you to my beta harem, who have been with me on this journey for over six months now: @totheendtimes, @Nightshiftcaffeine, @ineffable-xenanigans, @nosferatini, @moderndayklutz, @Savyl and @TansyOgg
Additional in story art by Demented_DeMeown and @avadoingart-imus
And a gorgeous new illustation this week, courtesy of @divinitydemon
Thank you so much!
CW/TW for this chapter: Explicit, suicidal ideation
Summary:
For a brief stretch of time, Crowley and Aziraphale allow themselves a fragile happiness. There are mornings spent in each other's arms, shared laughter and the comfort of loving each other without distance once again. But on their return to London, they find reality waiting for them: the world is dying, and theyāre the only beings trying to stop it.
As Crowley spirals back into obsession and sleeplessness in his quest to save everyone, he begins to see an answer: vast, terrifying and likely irreversible. He knows it will break Aziraphaleās heart, but the choice is already made. To save the world, Crowley may have to destroy the peace theyāve only just found together.
Excerpt:
Not wishing to keep inflicting his bad mood on Aziraphale, Crowley did the one thing he least wanted to do, but felt he ought to.
He asked for space.
Aziraphale took it gracefully, putting on a brave face and saying he understood. But the sad little smile he gave over his shoulder, just before the front door closed, stuck in Crowleyās mind, making him feel like the worldās worst bastard. Still, better he sulk alone than wear the angelās shine down anymore than he already had.Ā
So, Crowley retreated to the sanctuary of his music room, asking not to be disturbed, and telling Aziraphale heād compose for a few days, maybe crawl out the other side feeling like himself again. And if not, at least it would be productive.
He started by recording fragments of the songs heād created while Satan had kept hold of his mind. It felt good to get them out, but even so, he hesitated, unsure where his words ended and Hellās began. He sang until his throat was raw, chasing the manic, anguished laughter he remembered from the stage. It wasnāt pretty, but after a long session, after hours of hammering his inner darkness into melody, he found he could sleep a little easier when night fell.
The song that reminded him to breathe was different ā cathartic, somehow. It pulled him back to Aziraphale holding him close, breathing with him, the angelās light chasing the corruption from his veins as music poured from them both.
The day came when the rough demo was finished and he sat cross legged in the middle of the music room, letting the sound crash around him from every speaker. The chords built and broke and built again, rising and flaring in Crowleyās mind like a kind of cleansing fire. It wasnāt peaceful, exactly. But it was the closest thing Crowley could manage.
He didnāt notice when the line between inspiration and obsession blurred. He never did. But inevitably he stopped being so consciously aware of tinkering with beats and samples, instead simply letting music guide his movements, no longer paying attention to outside distractions like his phone or the need to rest as the days began to blur. He was possessed, in a way. Not by Hell, but by the desperate conviction this would be another chance to save the world.
Read the rest here on ao3
Want somewhere to discuss the chapter? Join the braincell discord.
And if you would like to read chapter 13 early, it is available now to members of my patreon.
Cover art by @and-his-hands-were-24-crows Thank you so much, Crows! Please show them some support by checking out their work on Instagram and ao3!
And a huge thank you to my beta harem, who have been with me on this journey for over six months now: @totheendtimes, @Nightshiftcaffeine, @ineffable-xenanigans, @nosferatini, @moderndayklutz, @Savyl and @TansyOgg
Additional in story art by Demented_DeMeown and @avadoingart-imus
CW/TW for this chapter: Gender dysmorphia, loss of virginity, pronoun change.
Summary:
Forcibly remade into a form that feels like a violation, Crowley struggles with dysphoria, shame and a deep sense of loss as he slowly recovers from his ordeal with Satan. Every sensation feels alien, his voice no longer his own, and he is too afraid to touch his instruments.
However, with Aziraphale by his side holding him steady, something begins to shift. Under all his grief, curiosity blooms, and Crowley begins to reclaim himself, discovering that what was meant as mockery may be something he can define on his own terms.
Excerpt:
Crowley groaned, levering himself upright, as every bone in his body ached. He pushed his hair back from his face and muttered something incoherent before swinging his legs over the side of the bed. Avoiding Aziraphaleās eyes, he staggered towards the bathroom.Ā
The mirror met him first.
For a long moment he only stared. His reflection stared back, both familiar and utterly alien. His jaw was softer now, his features slightly less pronounced, framed by much longer hair. The same serpentine eyes, but set into a body Satan had twisted for mockery. A body that was his now, whether he liked it or not.
It wasnāt the first time heād blurred the lines, of course. Heād dabbled in androgyny before as a younger man: smudged eyeliner, lurid lipstick, fishnets beneath torn denim. Heād intended it as a provocation, and it had felt brave at the time ā all part of a performance he could slip into when he pleased.
But thisā¦
This wasnāt chosen. It wasnāt a look, or a mood, or a carefully constructed stage persona strutting beneath stage lights. This was flesh and bone.
Not to mention permanent.
He undressed with slow, reluctant movements, his now oversized clothes slipping from his new form. Naked before the mirror, there was nothing left to shield him from the truth. He looked away, jaw clenched, and turned on the shower. Steam fogged the glass and water ran over skin that didnāt feel like his. He pressed his palms against the tiled wall, head bowed in grief.
What have I done?
Read the rest here on ao3
Want somewhere to talk about the chapter? Join The Braincell Discord here.
And if you'd like to read chapter 12 a fortnight early, it is available now to members of my Patreon.
International Transgender Day of Visibility happened on Tuesday 31st of March!
Hereās a list of some of the amazing Trans Creators we have over here on GOAD and their socials. You can also find loads of trans themed works on AO3 as well! To the World š³ļøāā§ļøš„
@gahellhimself-blog ā whom you may know from his incredible comic Teach-Me (featuring trans Crowley) and so much more incredible art! (Find him on Patreon and Instagram!)
@e-rated-beardo ā if you havenāt noticed the regular reblogs on our account on beardoās fic, Scorn and the Saintmaker, (featuring trans Aziraphale), then you should go check it out, it comes with delicious art! (Find him on AO3!)
MxThirteen ā who's a trans creator of our community, who wrote this delicious beauty: In The Hands of an Angel, and was part of the Epic Fic project! (Find him on Reddit and AO3!)
I did a podfic of @blackjeans93 and @gahellhimself-blog ās wonderful story of trans crowley as a child. Iāve only done the first chapter, but I plan on doing the rest as time allows!ļæ¼
I won't use an impossibly large canvas and break my laptop this time I won't use an impossibly large canvas and break my laptop this time I won't use an impossibly large canvas and break my laptop this GODDAMMIT
This was a big year for FTH -- our tenth auction, and a big year in one other important way, too.
This year, we've got two big numbers to announce.
This year, thousands (yes, thousands!) of us showed up to share our time, talents and goodwill with one another and raise some money for our most vulnerable neighbors and the organizations that support them. Together, we supported the fights for trans rights, for immigrant rights, and for the rights of the disabled; we helped fund local journalism and local clean-energy advocacy; we helped feed the hungry, in Gaza and in our own neighborhoods around the world; and so much more.
Together, we raised....
...
(drumroll please)
...
Warning: Fabulously glittery number incoming!
...
...
But that's not all.
We knew there was no way we'd quite match last year's annual total -- everybody was motivated the recent election, and the damage of the new presidential admin was still in its early ramp-up. Still, we were hoping that enough folks would show up for FTH 2026 that we could raise a combined ~$70K, and push us to a major ten-year fundraising milestone.
As you can see, we blew way, way past that this year.
That brings FTH's ten-year fundraising total to:
That's right, over the past decade, as a community we have generated over HALF A MILLION DOLLARS in donations to progressive nonprofits!!
Yes, actually. We triple checked. Holy shit?!
Below you'll find the breakdown of how this year's donations were distributed across different organizations (this breakdown doesnāt include employer match donations, which is why the total is a little lower):
Advocates for Trans EqualityĀ Ā - $17,313.86
Disability Law UnitedĀ Ā - $4,019.01
Environmental Integrity ProjectĀ Ā - $4,049
Fight for the Future Education FundĀ Ā - $3,388
Freedom to Read FoundationĀ Ā - $8,689.54
Gaza Soup KitchenĀ Ā - $20,362
Global Project Against Hate and ExtremismĀ Ā - $5,306.27
Greenlight AmericaĀ Ā - $2,732
In Our Own VoiceĀ Ā - $3,052
National Immigrant Justice CenterĀ Ā - $16,675.24
Never Again ActionĀ Ā - $5,452
Open SecretsĀ Ā - $2,706
Vote BeatĀ Ā - $2,067
Other organizations:Ā Ā - $1,548
Umbrella: anti-poverty direct aid orgs
Echo Food BankĀ Ā - $1,623
Madison Countians Allied Against PovertyĀ Ā - $293.43
Peninsula Poverty ResponseĀ Ā - $772
Sisters PGHĀ Ā - $1,653
St. Louis Park Emergency ProgramĀ Ā - $565
Womens Daytime Drop-in CenterĀ Ā - $910
Other anti-poverty direct aid orgs Ā - $4,266.17
So what's next?
Now is a great time to follow the @fth2026fanworks account. We'll use that blog to share any auction fanwork that gets posted to tumblr.
We urge you to keep up with the organizations you supported this year (and the others on our list!) Follow them on social media, subscribe to their newsletters, whatever works best for you. It will enable you to keep an eye on the good work youāve helped support, and to find out quickly when these orgs need some extra help, financial or otherwise.
And if youāre looking out at the world and feeling the itch to do more, here are some possibilities:
Follow @fthaction, the meatspace activism wing of FTH. We relaunched FTHA last year with some reading lists, an individualized activism bingo card, a couple of AMAs with some talented organizers and activists on our dedicated FTHA discord server, and some stories from folks on tumblr, talking about how they themselves got more politically active. We're still figuring out the best and most useful things we can do this with project, but we'd love your thoughts and we hope you'll join us for the ride, on tumblr or on our discord server (linked above) or both.
Organize your own auction! Weāve put together a detailed playbook that contains as much information and as many resources as we can provide for getting an auction off the ground, including detailed guides. Almost everything in the playbook is fully public; there are a few forms that are access-locked because google has stupid ideas about sharing forms, but weāre happy to give you access to those, too: just drop us an email.
As usual, we the mods are pretty wiped out and will need to take some time away from our screens to recuperate. But also as usual, it's completely worth the effort. We're so deeply inspired by what we've accomplished together, and by all of y'all who keep showing up, year after year, to be lights for one another in dark times. We'll see you again next year.
Cover art by @and-his-hands-were-24-crows Thank you so much, Crows! Please show them some support by checking out their work on Instagram and ao3!
And a huge thank you to my beta harem, who have been with me on this journey for over six months now: @totheendtimes, @Nightshiftcaffeine, @ineffable-xenanigans, @nosferatini, @moderndayklutz, @Savyl and @TansyOgg
Additional in story art by Demented_DeMeown
CW/TW for this chapter: EXPLICIT WE HAVE SMUT AT LAST!!! Also spanking, under-negotiated kink, light humiliationĀ
Summary:
After a terrifying loss of control and a brush with his own darkness, Crowley retreats into isolation, clinging to music to keep himself afloat. Aziraphale stays close despite the guilt that tells him he doesnāt deserve to. Longing refuses to stay buried however, and the closer they drift to one another, the harder it becomes to pretend they can resist.
Excerpt:
Crowley let the final notes fade before rising to his feet. He was only inches away, close enough that Aziraphale could feel the heat radiating from him. His hand reached out to slip under Aziraphaleās jaw, shaking slightly, his eyes molten gold in the dim light, his gaze unwavering from Aziraphale.
He leaned in, lips slightly parted. Surelyā surely he was about to kiss him.
The reality of it all crashed down at once. The music. The closeness. The unbearable longing. The terrible shame of what he wanted.
āNo,ā Aziraphale choked, stumbling back. His hands flew up to put a barrier between himself and Crowley, tears already welling in his eyes. āIā I canātāā
āAngelāā Crowley began, carefully.
āI canāt,ā Aziraphale whispered, his voice breaking. āItās too much. Iāve been selfish, wicked, I donāt deserveāā he cut himself off with a sob, clutching at his chest as though he might hold himself together. āI should be punished, Crowley. I want to be. Thatās what I deserve. Punished for what Iāve done to you, for what I want from you, forā for all of it.ā
The confession was followed by silence, raw and terrible. Aziraphale pressed his shaking fingers to his mouth, ashamed of what had spilled out, horrified at what heād just admitted to himself and to Crowley. But at the same time, he felt relief ā bitter and dizzying relief.
He didnāt know what to expect. Mockery, or perhaps disgust. His biggest fear would be for Crowley to walk away. Leave him here in this strange place, a mixture of holy and profane, ruined by his own longing.
But Crowley didnāt laugh. He didnāt sneer, or even playfully smirk. He just took a long look at him like he was deciphering a puzzle. Slowly, Crowley moved. He stepped in close, hands finding Aziraphaleās shoulders, grounding him. His voice, when he finally spoke, was the same low, tender way heād sung the final words of his song.
āYou donāt have to, angel,ā he murmured. āYou donāt have to carry it like this.ā
Aziraphale opened his mouth to speak, but no words came. The ache in his chest only worsened. Didnāt Crowley see? Didnāt he know?
āI canātā I canāt stop,ā he whispered. āIt festers in me. Everything Iāve done, and everything I want. Itāsā itās wrong, itās all wrong and itās choking me. I betrayed you again and again. Iāve taken and taken. Your time, your companionship, your love, your bodyā¦ and Iāve never properly atoned. For every life I stole from you. I desire you, Iāve always desired you, but I donāt deserve you.ā
Crowley stared, unblinking. Then, he exhaled, slow and through his nose. āSo I take it me telling you youāre absolved wonāt do it.ā
Aziraphale shook his head, miserably. āI feel the guilt to my core, Crowley. All the guilt I repressed for hundreds of years, while I did what I wantedā¦ā
āYou want to clear your ledger, as it were.ā
āI wish I knew how. But when we get closeā¦ when we flirtā¦ Iā I panic. My mind screams at me that Iām notā not worthy. That I am only deserving of cruelty.ā
Crowleyās jaw tightened as he regarded Aziraphale. He tilted his head in thought, gaze intense but not cruel. He was never cruel. Recognition and understanding burned in his eyes.
āYou want me to take it from you?ā he asked quietly. āTo burn it out of you until thereās nothing left but clarity?ā
Read the rest here on ao3.
Want somewhere to talk about the chapter? Join the braincell discord.
And if you would like to read chapter 10 a fortnight early, it is available now to members of my Patreon.
