WasteCalligrapher



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  1. Public Bookmark *

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    He isn’t going to spill his guts to this woman surrounded by guinea pig merchandise, he absolutely is not— but then he remembers the world is ending tomorrow, so, what the hell.

    “I just want him to choose me,” Crowley says. “For once, I want him to fucking choose me, over… over…” His mind reaches frantically for a human-appropriate metaphor to couch his whole impossible situation in, and eventually finds one.

    “...over God.”

    ***

    (Crowley and Fleabag share a moment, in the middle of their stories.)

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    17 Jul 2026

    Bookmarker's Notes

    And he doesn’t know what her priest looks like, so he’s imagining someone a few inches shorter than her, hair sticking up a bit, all soft where she’s sharp, with big round eyes and well-kept clothes and a brilliant smile, and all that unbearable, beautiful holiness surrounding him like a cloud of light.

    The ache of this fic, jesus christ.

  2. Public Bookmark *

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    Aziraphale misses writing letters and starts a modern-day correspondence with Crowley by mail. Somehow, it's easier to describe their feelings in the written word, and secrets begin to spill a little more quickly than either Aziraphale or Crowley had expected.

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    13 Jul 2026

    Bookmarker's Notes

    A wonderful epistolary piece; the part where Aziraphale compares Crowley to art that you cannot touch might be the most romantic and heart shattering bit of prose that I had the pleasure to read in a while

  3. Public Bookmark *

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    Aziraphale's hand slides down past Crowley's hip to fist his cock in time with his thrusts, and he bites again, and again, down to Crowley's naked shoulder, up to his earlobe, not meaning to be sexy, just biting like he's eating, tasting the salt on Crowley's skin, like he might consume Crowley entirely if given enough time.

    "Talk to me," he gasps, between thrusts, between bites, his voice shaking.

    "No," Crowley grits out, just before he comes.

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    10 Jul 2026

    Bookmarker's Notes

    This passage here ❤️‍🩹

     

    "Crowley. You are my better judgement. You're not temptation to me, and I should never have said so. You're joy, and, and complexity, and the absolutely terrifying prospect of free will. I didn't realise that, until recently. Being without you in Heaven didn't make me feel tempted to seek you out, like a, like a bloody candy bar. It made me feel that I was being . . . held back. From love. From myself. From the hard questions. Empty, and grief-stricken."

  4. Public Bookmark *

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    Crowley lets slip that he knows a certain something about Aziraphale. He seems to think it's important; Aziraphale doesn't understand why. Until he does.

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    29 Jun 2026

    Bookmarker's Notes

    "The only one I've loved," he clarifies. "All these years. The only one I've ever been in love with. Or ever could be."

    "You go to the opera too much, angel," Crowley drawls. "Nonsense like this."

    But his hand slides down out of Aziraphale's hair to settle on the back of his neck, squeezing there. Aziraphale has known Crowley long enough now to understand what the grip means: that it's thank you and thank God Herself and yes.

  5. Public Bookmark 32

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    Aziraphale and Crowley, along with Gabriel, Beelzebub, Eric, and Muriel sit down for a watch party of the Good Omens Finale. They aren’t impressed.

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    12 Jun 2026

    Bookmarker's Notes

    Absolute genius! Crowley, Aziraphale, Beelzebub, Gabriel, Muriel and Eric watch S3 together. Hilarious, relatable, they're basically all of us during the finale. Loved it to bits.