#and provide

[gardenerian]

this is sort of random but i just saw the anon talking about dad ian and it just reminded me of how much i love that both ian and lip love babies and kids and how much they both have always wanted to be dads

yes! they love being caretakers and it comes so naturally to them 🥺 they’ve always wanted to be the fathers (or father figures) that they never had. it’s important to them both and i love that they share that!

[ezynse]

Aziraphale, late 1800s-1930s going through his wild (slutty) phase, drinking, partying, sleeping with everyone at the Various Discreet Gentleman's Clubs™ absolutely burning himself out from all the...everything he's possibly doing to distract himself from how much he misses Crowley and eventually falling ill and having to face his misery (party boy falls down from his high straight into ANGST)

worry not tumblrites have some actual fandom fic

PLS DO NOT REBLOG TO NON-SNZ/SICK BLOGS THANKS

He hadn’t been to America since the whole situation with Bladensburg and the Presidential Mansion and all, but when Aziraphale heard about the parties that they threw in America, he just had to go check it out.

The angel, in all his misery and distress, ended up going on a month-long bender on a part of the country they called “Long Island.” He spent more time drunk and under the influences of countless substances than sober and clean. He hadn’t felt it at the time, of course. But when he was finally snapped out of everything, he was forced to face the facts. All of his mistakes caught up to him in one shot.

And it wasn’t the kind of pain that he could just miracle away.

Aziraphale snapped his fingers, body shuddering as he used up what he knew would be his last miracle for a while in order to unlock the door to his bookshop. He kicked it shut behind himself and locked it manually. He didn’t have the energy to even look up, take in the sight of his home that he hadn’t seen in weeks.

He dropped his outerwear in a pile before the door, soaked from the rain, and all but staggered over to the couch. He pulled the dusty throw from over the back of it around himself and shivered. He could do nothing but shiver. He felt so terrible and disgusting and- why was he so disgusting?

His body trembled, and that set off a series of spasms in his chest which had him coughing, hacking out into the open. He didn’t have the energy to do anything about it. He couldn’t move. He couldn’t do anything. He was useless, pathetic and useless and he wanted- no, he needed-

He needed…

Oh, what did it matter what Aziraphale needed? No one cared. Even God had abandoned him, it seemed. He wouldn’t be surprised if a great big hole opened up right under him, right now.

He was just about to slip away into what was bound to have been a terrible, fitful, decade of nightmares when he suddenly heard the bell above the shop door ring. But that was impossible, he knew that-

“Angel?!” Aziraphale blearily opened his eyes (when had he closed them?) and tried his best to sit up. He knew that voice. But it couldn’t be, not now…?

“Crowley?” he called back weakly, voice barely carrying.

“Aziraphale!” Crowley skidded to a stop in front of the couch, jaw dropping at the sight before him. “By Satan! What…? What happ- are you all right?!”

“Tickety-boo,” Aziraphale replied before shuddering with a series of sneezes, all pathetically “covered” with a hand. Crowley pulled his glasses off and stared at him hard before dropping down. He was on his knees, regarding the angel with the saddest look Aziraphale had ever seen.

And then Crowley places the back of his hand to his cheek.

“Angel, you’re burning.”

And Aziraphale looked up at a muttering Crowley. He watched him with glassy eyes, how worried he looked, face scrunched up in thought. It seemed like he had forgotten to remove his hand from Aziraphale’s face.

And the angel realized that he hadn’t been abandoned after all.

[misscoconutandmetal]

Anyone who has followed my blog will know that I've often said 'I'll never stop writing'. While that's true, I've stopped writing fanfic. I've deleted all my posts and everything I've submitted into AO3 (though it was hard to, seeing as how you guys had made The Lesson number 3 in the Hiddlesworth top kudos list) and I'm moving on. You guys had gotten me through a tough spot in my life and I couldn't be more grateful. But I'm a year older and I realize that what I was doing was, frankly, weird. Writing about two real-life men absolutely mad about each other, god, and Chris' wife and baby too. I feel terrible that I'd ever done it and if I could, I'd apologize to each and every one of them. I'm done with fanfic, I've got a job and I'm going to college, getting my life in order. I can't have emails coming in from AO3 constantly, alerting me of another comment or kudos. I just feel tremendous guilt about it and the most I can do is delete them and just hope that neither Chris or Tom, or their families for that matter, ever read what I had wrote. Guess I just wanted to thank you guys for the time I had, for everyone being so accepting and nice, taking the time to leave me comments on my works. I'll appreciate it more than you'll ever know, but I can't continue it any longer. Thank you.