#fafsernir

[cassieoh]

My pieces for the utterly delightful fic Toliman by @fafsernir​ for the GOBB. Y’all it’s so good, please go read it and give it all the love in the world!!

Also, there are a number of these little fellas in the fic!

[wyvernquill]

A holiday swap present for @fafsernir - comic based on the prompts "winter clothing" and "winter cuddles"!

(I'll put it up on my Ao3 in a minute, too.)

[fafsernir]

Banner by @cassieoh

Title: Toliman Word Count:  21 715 Archive Warnings: no archive warnings apply Ratings: Explicit Pairings: Crowley/Aziraphale Characters: Crowley, Aziraphale, The Them, Anathema Device, Gabriel, Original Characters

Tags: Alternate Universe - Circus, (Kinda), actual snake, First Time, Fluff, Getting Together

Summary: Aziraphale was trying to find what resonated with him in life. He hadn't expect it to be someone. Working at a circus was hard, but meeting new people – meeting Crowley – was all worth it. It was as if he had found what he had been seeking for so long.

Artists and art: cassieoh (digital art) to find here and here and throughout the fic; restlesslikeme / @unfinishedduet (playlist and moodboard)

Betas: runningturnip / @runningturnip ; Justafewthingstosay / @justthingstbh

[aziraphales-library]

Hello! Any professor au fic? :)

There’s not many, dear, but I found a few! teacher AU Professor AU

These Are The Days Of Our Lives by Fafsernir

Everything was fine, tickety-boo, as Aziraphale said. And Crowley knew that because he saw him every day, not because he loved him. Because he didn’t.

Office Hours by winter_scldier

Dr. Crowley was one of the most loved professors in the University. His students loved taking his class so much, he had to extend his office hours. All his students can’t wait to hear more stories of his loving mystery husband.

Dr. Fell wasn’t one of the more popular professors, but his literature students love him to death. He’s very quiet about his home life, careful about how much information he gives away to his students.

At night, after a hard day of teaching, the two go home and deal with modern married life.

~Mod P

[fafsernir]

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

As we all think about that bomb that was dropped on us with the latest episode, I’ll just discreetly post a Campaign 1 fic as I am finally binge-watching Campaign 1 of Critical Role.

A small analysis of Vax and his doubts and general sadness set during Episode 44: The Sunken Tomb, as Vex dies and he’s not even here to try and protect her (and then comes back). Just some stealth twins fic because I love them and relate to Vax way too much.

1085 words of Vax losing a part of himself and trying to process what happened, basically.

[fafsernir]

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

Written for the GO Holiday swap and @wyvernquill ‘s prompt:

"Ineffable Husbands, priest (human) AU - Father Aziraphale is staging a nativity play in Tadfield with the local community. If only entrepreneur A. J. Crowley wasn't trying to get the church demolished for an extension of the M25 to be built straight through Tadfield..."

[fafsernir]

Ooohhh, those kiss prompts sound nice! (yes hello how are you it's been a while (hahaha I'm very funny)) sooooo, I'd say, Ineffable Husbands (duh), aaaaand... 17 or 41? :D k byyyyye

Send me a Ship and a Number and I will Write a Kiss: 17. … to distract

Thank you for the ask ;D Hope you enjoy!

Aziraphale was reading peacefully, quietly. In silence. In total and perfect silence. Well, he had been reading in total and perfect silence, up until a few minutes ago, when Crowley had started a very long chain of loud signs. His phone had turned into a boring distraction, apparently, and his next activity was to bother Aziraphale. He did not purposefully did it, but Aziraphale knew he needed attention in some moments.

The thing was, the book was extremely interesting, as books usually are, and the angel did not want to cave in as easily as he had done on multiple separate occurrences. 

When the serpent started moving, slithering on his laps to get his attention, sneaking an arm around him to get closer to him, standing to read his book behind his shoulder, Aziraphale sighed too. He wanted nothing more than to shove this evil fiend off and read in peace. He did not actually want Crowley to go away, but sometimes he wanted to read a book on his own terms. Crowley was… well, he was a dramatic, needy demon, and he needed to be dealt with, to have some quiet back.

Aziraphale did the next best thing he thought would work. Crowley was still bending over the sofa to get a closer look at the pages without even reading them, his head close to Aziraphale’s shoulders. He really only had to turn his head to the side, and the deed would be done.

So he did.

He turned his head, pecked Crowley’s cheek, so close to his lips that he could taste the red wine they had been drinking, and went back to reading, as if nothing had ever happened.

Crowley’s words caught in his throat in a muffled, choking noise, and his head dropped against Aziraphale’s shoulders. His inability to see the other’s face allowed him to smile smugly and widely. He would have laughed evilly if he knew it could not possibly hurt Crowley’s ego, but he could not be sure of that. So he settled for a reassuring pat on the back of his head as Crowley expressed his embarrassment in different complaining noises.

Of course, it didn’t work for a long time, but Aziraphale was able to reach the end of his chapter by the time Crowley recovered from his once-again dramatic reaction. 

[fafsernir]

Sleep well

Written for @ineffablehusbandsweek ‘s Day 4 prompt “senses”

Ao3 / Ko-fi pages @ Fafsernir, or links on my tumblr page :)

Was I writing this when I saw Neil's tweet about the ineffable husbands holding hands at some point in GO? Yes. Did that decide of the end of this? Oh, totally.

Crowley/Aziraphale, hands holding, a certain bus ride, fluff, 941 words

It started as a form of greeting. Demons and angels didn't usually salute their peers in any distinctive way: they popped in and talked. It was as simple as that. Demons and Angels didn't greet each other at all.

Crowley and Aziraphale were, however, the only two permanent demon and angel on Earth. No one except the other could understand them. They were not human, but they were not entirely demon or angel anymore. They still wield the same powers and had the same responsibilities, but they also ate, drunk, slept… They overly interacted with humans daily, which was usually not in the job's description. Crowley and Aziraphale were something else.

So it shouldn't be surprising that their greetings would be different. So far, it had been pretty distant. An acknowledgement of the other's name, if anything. They didn't see each other much in the first three thousand years. Then, it started with a nod, with a name said a bit more kindly than usual, with a relieved sigh when the other appeared, with an additional smile that didn't use to be there…

The first time they touched was for the arrangement. It felt right, to offer a hand. Aziraphale very hesitantly reached out to take it. It was so formal, yet Crowley felt his whole body lean into the contact, already looking for more of the electricity that coursed through his veins as their hands naturally clasp together, as if they belonged there. If he hadn't realised it earlier, Crowley would have marked this moment as the beginning of his uncontrolled attraction to Aziraphale. But he had been orbiting around him for long enough to have realised that he didn't want to live in a world without him.

They went through the centuries and followed some of the greetings trends. They kissed on the cheek, kissed on the hand, hugged, shook hands… They didn't talk about it. There was nothing to talk about, they were simply blending in, doing what society expected them to do when they greeted each other. Crowley treasured those moments.

He treasured even more the accidental touches. He still held close to his heart their dance together at a Victorian ballroom, where they had danced to talk privately without people hearing them. It had felt new and strange, but so good. Crowley's dress was brushing his ankles as they danced, a bit clumsily. Aziraphale's hands on his back was holding him strongly, and maybe it lingered a bit longer than necessary when they finished. Their eyes locked a bit longer than necessary, too.

Crowley fondly remembered fingers brushing his shoulders, his arms, his hands. Never a confident grip, but stolen, light touches here and there, scattered through the centuries.

People usually stayed cleared of Crowley. Except when kids couldn’t read him properly – or, say, when he was the nanny of a very non-antichrist kid – he didn’t have any physical contact with anyone. He craved contact with Aziraphale.

And when Aziraphale willingly and purposefully gave in, taking his hand while nothing forced him to do so – not because they were greeting each other in public, not because they had to dance to keep a discussion secret, not because cultural codes expected them to behave a certain way, not because they needed to blend in – Crowley stared at their fingers, naturally falling into place. Like two pieces of a puzzle. An extremely easy puzzle with only two pieces, but one that had taken so many years to complete.

They were not sure of the consequences their actions would have on them. Heaven and Hell could fall – or rise – on their heads at any time now. Holding hands wouldn’t upset them more than they already were. 

Deep down, Crowley was terrified. He didn’t want Aziraphale to be taken away from him. So he squeezed back, showing Aziraphale that he was here. He wouldn’t let go. He didn’t want to. Aziraphale smiled at him, and Crowley stubbornly stared at the road instead of them.

Even if he had been craving to be touched like that by Aziraphale for so long, it felt too much. He wasn’t sure he could look at the angel and not discorporate on the spot. He watched the road, and let the bus ride rock him to a light sleep. He still needed to concentrate on the bus’s destination, but he had been concentrating all day not to be burnt alive, not to let the Bentley obey the rules of combustion. He had stopped time, too.

He was tired. He was so tired, had been tired for such a long time. 

“I’ll make him drop us at the flat,” he heard Aziraphale’s voice say after a while. Not your flat, not drop you. Us. 

Their hands were still linked together.

Crowley hummed as an answer. He had meant to say something coherent, but nothing more came out.

He felt fingers on his hair, and almost opened his eyes to check who was touching him, but the warmth was the same he could feel between their hands, so he let the fingers guide his head against a comfortable shoulder. He wanted to say something, he was probably supposed to say something, but his eyes were heavy, so heavy.

“Sleep well,” Aziraphale whispered.

Lips brushed Crowley’s forehead, and his cheeks reddened at the feeling. His face felt warm, especially where he had been kissed, and he leaned a bit more against the shoulder as he let sleep embrace him.

He wasn’t sure whether he had dreamt of it, in a lazy pre-sleep haze, but when he woke up again, he could still feel Aziraphale’s hand on his own.