Ich habe kein Leben

Current WIP List (in no particular order): 1. Fell Fandom: Good Omens Modern human AU where Aziraphale works in a university library and Crowley works in a corporate office nearby.  Aziraphale falls for Crowley but Crowley is already engaged to someone else, and it is a slow burn until it burns fast. 2. Five Years and Five Months Fandom: Pillion (2025) and Box Hill by Adam Mars-Jones In the book Box Hill, Colin and Ray are together for six years. I wondered what that would look like, in the context of Pillion.  Desperate for love, Ray comes back into Colin’s life over Christmas. Intent on wooing Colin back, Ray has returned to a booming market for Colin Smiths. 

3. Mistakes Were Made: The Canterbury Tales Road Trip Fandom: Good Omens It’s the 14th century and two angels, fallen and otherwise, are on a pilgrimage of their own to a bathhouse in London rumored to serve the best dinner in the city.  But in the meantime there are a lot of humans, pilgrims or otherwise, to annoy them...

4. Mistakes Were Made: All of Forever Fandom: Good Omens The sequel to Together and The Prince and the Principality.  Crowley goes on a revenge/therapy trip to confront an ex who happens to be a Prince of Hell and the current nominal ruler of Hell.  Meanwhile, Aziraphale goes on a road trip.

5. Mistakes Were Made: Free Will Fandom: Good Omens Complete.  Unhappy with a life constrained by prophecy, Anathema tries to outrun her destiny but instead crosses paths with a Prince of Hell.

6. FUCKOYAKI Fandom: ダンジョン飯 aka Dungeon Meshi aka Delicious in Dungeon Complete.  Not a wip but worth mentioning as every few years I am legally obligated to write a shitfic so horrific that it makes someone briefly hate an entire lexicographical system.  Recently, it involved tentacle sex and takoyaki.  Itadakimasu~!

7. Comic Sans Pillion Fandom: Pillion (2025) and Box Hill by Adam Mars-Jones Complete.  This year, I was legally obligated to write a new shitfic, except I messed up and it’s touching and sexy and a little bit silly but all about overcoming the past.

Here mostly as a writer, otherwise for the shitposting. Please feel welcome to message me directly to say hi :) 

Update: 10/25/2025 I do not condone or promote any of the ads shown by Tumblr on my blog.  This is enshittification and they can fuck right off.  If you see an ad on my blog it has nothing to do with me and everything to do with our Corporate Overlords.  I get paid nothing for any of this work; they are trying to make money off of us by making it appear that we support their shit.

It was not hard to find; an angel of his calibre—having been once a Cherubim and had been demoted to technically a Principality—Aziraphale of course knew where the Pink Pony Club was. Aziraphale had a particular interest in what the humans might describe as queer joy, and knew of all its major local shrines: the Abbey in West Hollywood, Fe-Be’s in San Francisco, the Stonewall Inn in New York. Of course, he also knew of its major local shrines to martyrs as well: Pulse Nightclub in Orlando, Club Q in Colorado Springs, and a lonely empty stretch of fence in Laramie, Wyoming.

Aziraphale found parking on a side street at a meter that miraculously broke when he executed a perfect parallel park. It was a little different to park like this as the Americans, like much of the rest of the world, drove on the wrong side of the road, but Aziraphale could manage.

Aziraphale walked into the Pink Pony Club, where he was welcomed warmly. They thought him an elder queer and well, why not? Certainly that was true, though the elder aspect of Aziraphale stretched back to before the beginning of the Earth.

Humans welcomed him immediately, and he found himself surrounded. They patted his hair, touched his hands, his elbows, his shoulders. One asked for a hug and once he started hugging, there was no end to it; the humans were queuing up to hug him, sometimes twice.

In another place, Aziraphale might have said no. At a UN gala with a Prince of Hell, for example, or if he were in the supermarket or the Tube. But that was different, those were ordinary places where people went about their own ordinary business.

This was however an extraordinary place where the people truly needed him. They needed Aziraphale even though he had walked away from Heaven, they needed him even though he was an angel really only in name, and even then perhaps not much of one. They needed him in a way that they could not articulate.

Other people did not need him as much as these people.

The humans came to Aziraphale as they were: young and old, able to stand and unable to walk, dyed hair, pierced ears, long hair, short hair, no hair, stylishly over-dressed or scandalously under-dressed or nervous-dressed in their first dress ever.

Plain and awkward, tall and handsome, stimming and stimming, deaf and signing, lips lined cautiously in their first touch of lipstick, leather trousers, white cane, denim, chaps, walking frames, wheelchairs, handkerchiefs, bondage gear, eye liner and shadow, drag queen after drag queen after drag king after drag king…

More than one came away from the embrace blinking at tears in their eyes, sniffling.

For unto this day an angel appeared in the Pink Pony Club, and he came bringing a tidal wave of joy, bringing love and blessings to the meek, the poor and poor in spirit, bringing love and blessings for they that mourn their lost family members of choice or otherwise, for the ones who hunger and thirst after righteousness, for the ones who were merciful despite their rage and for the peacemakers who agitated for true peace and justice, for the pure of everything they thought society considered them impure of, and above all, the angel came bringing comfort for those persecuted for who they are, the ones who society reviled and spoke evil against falsely.

For a few hours, the angel brought with him the kingdom of heaven, as best he could. Not the cold indifferent Heaven the angel knew, but the better and more beautiful one that the humans had came up with, the one filled with true justice, with love and compassion, where all who came to him were brought peace and joy, just for a little while.

Not exactly fishes and loaves, but tacos flowed freely as he moved through the crowd, and there there was not a soul that did not have a fish or a roasted vegetable taco or three to nourish them in body and spirit.

Wine and water and ginger ale flowed freely, and all hearts were gladdened.

Crowley laid there for several minutes staring at Aziraphale’s sleeping face, admiring the way the bright morning light gilt delicate eyelashes. The feeling of relief that came over him that this was real and not a dream was so strong that he nearly reached out to drag Aziraphale into his arms, to embrace the angel tightly. But he didn’t want to wake Aziraphale.

In fact, he was surprised that the angel was still asleep.

With a sigh, Crowley contented himself with lightly touching the tips of Aziraphale’s pale hair, barely enough to ruffle the curling locks.

Very reluctantly, Crowley untangled himself from Aziraphale and got out of bed. With a gesture, he was dressed, and when he looked at his watch he noticed that he had fallen asleep for only a few hours.

It was tempting to just fall back asleep right there by the angel’s side and not move for as long as it took until he felt infinitesimally better, but he had done that enough in the past.

The first thing he did after getting out of bed was to go to the kitchen and make a cup of hot cocoa in Aziraphale’s favorite white winged cup and then an espresso in a much smaller black winged cup. The former, he left on the counter; the latter, he drank in little sips while standing in the kitchen, his eye falling upon Aziraphale’s frilly white apron, the neatly ordered cups and bowls, the copper-plated cookware.

When the cocoa fell cold, he gave it a glare and it warmed back up again.

And there, by the edge of the great fountain outside the library was the mysterious woman in her neat black suit standing in the warm rain and if he didn’t know better, she was crying.

“Goodness,” Mr. Fell whispered to himself and he hurried over to her side, covering her with his umbrella.

“It’s fine,” the woman said, automatically, as he stood over her with his cream-colored umbrella that shielded her from the rain. “I’m fine, you don’t need to do that.”

But she took a step, two steps closer to him, even as she said that.

“Erm,” Mr. Fell said, fumbling for his handkerchief and handing it over to her. “Please, you’re all wet from the rain.”

She took the handkerchief from him and carefully dabbed at the corner of her eyes before dabbing at her hair and her face, the neat-tailored shoulders of her suit.

“Are you all right, Miss…?”

“Crowley. And I’m fine. And you are?”

“Senior Archivist, Specialist in Classics. And Metadata,” he said reflexively. “I’m technically faculty too, sometimes.”

“Your name?” Crowley asked, eyebrow arched.

“Oh. Erm, you can call me Mr. Fell. I work in the university library. Mostly in Latin and Greek. Though I dabble in Hebrew and Sanskrit texts sometimes. And Old Church Slavonic. And…”

“Cyrillic?” She smiled. “Coptic? And Demotic?”

“How did you know?” Mr. Fell brightened up.

“Anything derived from a Greek alphabet, I imagine.”

“Yes, actually,” Mr. Fell said, impressed. “Did you study Classics too?”

“No, I just pay attention,” Crowley shrugged and gestured for him to sit, which he did, upon the droplet-splattered edge of the concrete fountain, shrouding them from view with his big umbrella. “Your handkerchief smells nice.”

“Thank you. It’s an—”

“Old custom. Scenting handkerchiefs with perfume.”

“Yes, quite. Aqua di Parma, Colonia. If you like it, you may keep the handkerchief,” Mr. Fell said, in a moment of inspiration.

“No. It wouldn’t be wise,” Crowley said, handing him the handkerchief back. “Thank you for letting me use it. I would have had it cleaned for you, but there are some very good reasons that it would be better and safer in your hands. It smells nice though. Very fresh, very pretty.”

“Don’t go,” Crowley whispered.

“I wasn’t planning on leaving. Though I think I would like to change into pajamas, this suit is getting rather wrinkled.”

“Here,” Crowley gestured, and Aziraphale’s suit was suddenly hung up and pressed, and he was suddenly clad in his favorite flannel tartan pajamas. Crowley too was now clad in pajamas, though his were of a sleek scrumptious black silk.

“Oh, thank you.”

“Don’t thank me, I just don’t want you to leave,” Crowley muttered. “That was selfish, intentionally. It wasn’t for you but for me.”

Aziraphale went to move again, and Crowley stopped him.

“What?” Crowley said, slightly annoyed. “Where are you going?”

“I thought I should make us some tea?” Aziraphale said softly, as he snuggled back down in bed with the demon.

“Don’t bother. No milk, no sugar, no tea. While you were gone I threw everything out,” Crowley explained. “Everything that could have gone bad, that is.”

“You mean, in the refrigerator?”

“Yeah. A few things in the kitchen too.”

“Wait, Crowley. Did...did you throw out my mustards?”

“Well, of course. Mustard goes bad, doesn’t it—”

“No,” Aziraphale took a deep breath. “It doesn’t.”

“No? But then why do you keep it in the refrigerator?”

“Crowley. What else did you throw out in the kitchen?”

“Flour, sugar, tea, olive oil— Wait. Do those go bad?”

“...not easily, no,” Aziraphale said with a sigh. “Please don’t—”

“Yeah, yeah...well, don’t ask me what I did to the bookshop then.”

“I won’t and I’m sure I will have an excellent time finding out what happened while I was gone.”

Crowley said nothing, but moved closer, resting his head on Aziraphale’s shoulder.

“Are you afraid I’ll be upset with you?” Aziraphale asked, his arm going around Crowley’s shoulder.

“No,” Crowley lied, the sound of his voice muffled against Aziraphale.

“I can’t promise I won’t be mad. But I’ll forgive you, love. You know that whatever happens, I’ll forgive you, right?”

“Mmm.” Crowley closed his eyes, squeezing Aziraphale tight for a moment before relaxing. “You sure about that?”

“Absolutely certain,” Aziraphale kissed Crowley’s forehead. “Whatever you did, those are just things. I can always replace those things, but I could never replace you.”

“Ahem.”

“Just one…” Mr. Fell took a deep steadying breath. “Pardon me, did you need something?” he said with unerring and icy politeness, not looking up from the screen, his fingers continuing to type.

“I’m looking for The Extremely Big Book of Astronomy.”

“Extremely Big Book, yes. Lots of pictures, that one,” Mr. Fell said, trying to keep the disparaging tone out of his voice. “A nice coffee table book. Try the 500s, Natural Sciences. Say, around 520. It should be there, it’s quite very large and obvious, you can’t miss it.”

“I’ve already looked and it’s not there.”

With a stifled huff of irritation, Mr. Fell opened another window on the computer and checked the catalog. “Unfortunately it appears that it’s checked out, due back two weeks from tomorrow. You will have to wait. Shall I reserve the book for you?”

“No. I just wanted to look at it during my lunch break.”

“If you like, I can recommend you some other books in that field that I find to be of great interest. Light in the Darkness by Heino Falcke for example. Or perhaps The Disordered Cosmos by Chanda—”

“Never mind. And don’t put it on reserve, I can’t check it out anyway.”

“…Prescod-Weinstein?” Mr. Fell looked up from the monitor to catch a glimpse of a lovely face obscured by dark glasses, a long cascade of dark curling hair and a neat-tailored black suit. The crisp click of heels as she left, and all he was left with was a teasing hint of perfume left in her wake, with a scent he could not identify other than alluring.