LINKDING

<blockquote>Edward was very good at two things: noticing things, and not being noticed in return. It was the sort of qualities that made you a good spy. These two never got the memo.</blockquote>

<blockquote>In 1988, Crowley met his freshman roommate at the University of Saskatchewan and accidentally fell in love. Over the years, he and Aziraphale have settled into their roles as a director of stodgy classics and big-budget musicals respectively. But now Crowley has been tasked with finding a student at their alma mater who the Festival's Marketing department are sure will put the final nail in the coffin of the classical drama side of the Festival with his new play, a theatrical retelling of Paradise Lost. Crowley has been instructed to guide the student—whose name his boss has inconveniently forgotten—towards their goal, but Crowley's not going undercover alone. He's bringing Aziraphale with him, hoping that they'll bring enough balance to young Warlock's life that he won't bring about the end of the Stratford Festival with his play. Meanwhile, Adam Young becomes thoroughly distracted from writing his play by the pining professors who seem to be teaching all of his friend Warlock's classes.</blockquote> ➤ I love everything this chooses to be

<blockquote>After Aziraphale's video on crêpes makes it into Youtube recommendations through a little demonic intervention, he quickly goes viral. Cue college students just trying to make it work, a bunch of young queers who see A.Z. Fell and his husband Anthony as "goals," and quite a few comments from one Newton Pulsifer.</blockquote> ➤ absolutely no need to read the fic that inspired it, no matter what this author says, this fic can stand on its own fine

<blockquote>My take on South Downs: Aziraphale and Crowley decide to become professors. This is inspired by the headcanon that Crowley has 20 different degrees. He is the Serpent of the Tree of Knowledge after all.</blockquote>

<blockquote>After everything, Aziraphale and Crowley, by unspoken agreement, begin sharing their lives. / Why? Aziraphale wanted to ask him, why millennia of the way things were, and now this? But while Crowley seemed to have little issue upending every unspoken rule they’d ever written for themselves, Aziraphale was not so flexible, and they had spent thousands of years never quite addressing whatever it was this had stemmed from. Words, Aziraphale had always felt, were for bickering about where to eat for lunch, or hashing out ontological debates, or other trivial nonsense; there was no need to trifle with the imprecision of language, with phrasing and the possibility of being misconstrued, when it came to important matters if the other person simply understood, without needing it said. Six thousand years ago, when Aziraphale had met Crowley on the wall of Eden, watching the first two humans set out to begin the rest of history, something deep within him, more central even than his Grace, had thought, oh, it’s you, and that had been enough for him--for both of them, he assumed--for three millennia. However much he wanted to ask, he didn’t know how. The words simply weren’t there.</blockquote> ➤ sweet

<blockquote>Aziraphale's bookshop becomes accidentally famous on Instagram, to his great distress. Since Crowley invented Instagram, it's also his problem.</blockquote>

<blockquote>It is with an exasperated sigh that I introduce you to an official thread for this guy. We've discussed it and we've decided that this is the only way we can stop you guys from derailing threads to complain about this guy. By mod decree, all Mr Fell complaining, griping, bitching, grousing, and miscellaneous butthurt now belongs in THIS THREAD AND THIS THREAD ONLY. The forumgoers of The Codex, a forum for rare book hunters, come to some very interesting conclusions about the personal life of one Mr Fell of Soho.</blockquote>

<blockquote>Crowley is caught in a summoning circle. Aziraphale comes to rescue him.</blockquote>

<blockquote>It's like having a curtain pulled back on something he wasn't expecting to see. A surprise punch-and-judy at an up-scale restaurant, a lobster thermidor when he's ordered an ale. Crowley's gleefully trying to wrap his head around the fact that Aziraphale is speaking Polari. Because of course he is. Or: The Patron Saint of London's LGBT Community is real, and he lives in Soho.</blockquote>

<blockquote>CROWLEY: I try not to make a habit of gratitude, but I must give our appreciation to everyone out there who’s been listening and subscribing to The Ineffable Plan. AZIRAPHALE: Ooh, yes, we’ve become quite popular, haven’t we? CROWLEY: Yeah, just hit number eight on the advice charts … No advertising at all. AZIRAPHALE: Mm. How … miraculous. CROWLEY: … Aziraphale. You did not. / Crowley and Aziraphale are very possibly the people least qualified, on the entire planet, to start up an advice podcast. But what else is there to do when the world isn’t ending anytime soon, you’re technically on indefinite sabbatical from your lifelong careers, and you need a plausible excuse to spend more time with your best friend who you’re definitely not, absolutely not, maybe just a little, actually maybe overwhelmingly in love with?</blockquote>

<blockquote>There's a cottage by the sea where the children like to go. Sometimes it's for ice cream, sometimes it's for a listening ear, sometimes when something goes disastrously wrong.</blockquote>

<blockquote>A short vid about Crowley's feelings.</blockquote> ➤ this is the perfect song

<blockquote>Told to “go up there and start some trouble,” Crowley bypasses humanity and goes straight for an angel: The Guardian of the Eastern Gate. An AU. (Book canon, but TV canon references are there)</blockquote> ➤ oh my gosh???

<blockquote>Are we in the clear yet?</blockquote>

<blockquote>Aziraphale nests. Crowley relearns some crucial facts about angelic courtship rituals.</blockquote>

<blockquote>It came as a complete surprise to both Aziraphale and Crowley when the 'Please don't feed the birds' sign wobbled, came loose from its pole, and knocked both of them dramatically to the ground.</blockquote>

<blockquote>Buzzfeed, July 2019, "Top Five Off-the-Wall Theories About the Scary Instagram Plant Man"</blockquote>

<blockquote>“This wasn’t me, you know,” Crowley says, the words out of his mouth before he’s made the conscious choice to utter them. “Not just the library, but the whole civil war. You know me; I’ve mostly been getting drunk at Bacchanals.” “I know,” says Aziraphale.</blockquote>

<blockquote>Crowley is stunned when, out of the blue, Aziraphale has a proposal. Yes, that kind.</blockquote>

<blockquote>Take, for instance, the couple she’s consulting with this afternoon, for their upcoming October ceremony. Seemingly mismatched in every respect. The plump, fair-haired one looks like a parody of an absent-minded professor, as sketched by someone who didn’t bother to do much actual research; his clothes are so outdated it teeters on costume. He’s wearing a bow tie, and not in that reinvented hipster way. This is a bow tie unacquainted with the cycles of fashion, a bow tie that has never heard the word irony. His partner is a rangy, black-clad ginger in snakeskin boots. He has the look of a hungover rocker about him, and would somehow, even without the sunglasses he has fully committed to wearing indoors on a cloudy afternoon. He’s sprawled almost defiantly in his chair and keeps throwing dubious glances around Dr. Blackwell’s office, as though expecting a lightning bolt to strike him down for merely daring to be within spitting distance of a church.</blockquote> ➤ THIS IS AMAZING AND I LOVE LITERALLY EVERYTHING ABOUT IT

<blockquote>Zachary Hirsch is quite certain that he's never met Uncle Anthony and Uncle Ezra before, but all sorts of relatives have come out of the woodwork for his bar mitzvah, so it's not like he's surprised. Crowley and Aziraphale occasionally crash b'nei mitzvahs, confuse the bar mitzvah boy, and leave presents.</blockquote>

<blockquote>Today, Sunday, there's a sense of rightness and quiet. Outside, he hears birdsong that reminds him of home. Rashid drops sugar cubes in each tiny glass bowl—refined white for Lapsang Souchong, demerara for Earl Grey—and readies the tea tray for delivery.</blockquote>

<blockquote>Adam, Eve, and Crawly flee Eden through the Western Gate, and it turns out that that simple decision makes all the difference in the world...</blockquote> ➤ mirroverse crowley comes to our universe

<blockquote>I’ve been loving you for quite some time. An angel, a demon, six thousand years of feelings, and – of course – some TaySway. A fanvideo tribute to the ineffable husbands.</blockquote>

<blockquote>A vid examining the theological arguments, biblical concepts and questions of morality represented in Good Omens. Music: Mass in B Minor by J. S. Bach. Huge thanks to thingswithwings for amazing beta comments! <3</blockquote> ➤ Note: the summary is a lie

<blockquote>“Nanny?” Crowley’s head jerked up as he twisted round awkwardly in his chair to find a familiar face staring at him through the crowd, the time-altered features torn somewhere between consternation and twitching on the verge of a grin. He stared. “Warlock?” Crowley he demanded, reaching for his glasses and only just managing to resist the urge to pull them off, “Warlock?”</blockquote> ➤ Warlock meets Crowley again after he's grown up

<blockquote>“Why do you keep pronouncing the P in ‘psychically’?” Aziraphale asks. “Because, angel, I am exceedingly inebriated.” (On psychic bonds, wings, and fear of falling.)</blockquote>

<blockquote>So it was fine. Even if Crowley couldn’t love him, he clearly liked him well enough, and that was almost the same thing. It no doubt would have continued to be fine, or at least fine-adjacent, were it not for a narrowly averted apocalypse and several bottles of a really quite nice Riesling Aziraphale had found in the back room of his newly restored bookshop.</blockquote> ➤ Some A+ pining with appropriate amounts of ridiculousness

<blockquote>Crowley is rendered temporarily mortal after a run-in with a-- Well, it doesn't really matter. What matters is he needs to eat and sleep and do the things humans must do if only for one night. Aziraphale can help with the eating bit, at least. A cozy, sweet evening with tea, drinks, food, poems, and warm blankets.</blockquote>

<blockquote>"They’d been scheduled to meet on Tuesday, but Crowley hadn’t shown. He’d left a message, short and to the point, explaining that he’d had some things to do, and at any other time Aziraphale might have been offended at being stood up. But he wasn’t. Instead, he found himself worrying. He couldn’t name it, but things – in a general sense – weren’t as they should be. It was like looking at a design with the wrong dimensions, or an equation missing a crucial integer. Something about the way he'd looked... “Oh, honestly,” Aziraphale said to the empty room, and he reached up for his coat. Or: Crowley has an existential crisis. Aziraphale attempts to pick up the pieces.</blockquote>