I love your work, especially at AO3.

I curious, Is your work entitled 'Angels, Demons, and Hunters' still ongoing?

Thank you

Hello, and thank you! I have been keeping busy; in November I got a promotion at work and I had my first baby in January so life has been insanely chaotic!

Yes, I do have more planned for Angels, Demons, and Hunters! I have a few drafts in the works.

I'm hoping now that my son is getting old enough to entertain himself for short periods I can get back into writing.

Hey Anon! It’s not asking too much :)

3. What’s your favorite line of narration?

This was hard to pick. Probably all of Chapter 11, but if I have to narrow it down...

Crowley heard footsteps coming to the door.  He decided on dramatic and tucked his sunglasses in his pocket.  With the level of stress he was under right now, he was sure his eyes were completely yellow.  He allowed his fangs to elongate; it couldn’t hurt to go for the creepy vibe.

4. What’s your favorite line of dialog?

The demon gave them his best smile.  “Hello,” he said cheerfully, with just a hint of menace.  “I believe you have my angel.”

OR

Aziraphale looked back up him, gaze piercing and frozen.  “If Crowley dies, I’ll end the world myself.”

11. What do you like best about this fic?

I had a lot of fun writing in both of my favorite fandoms. Cas and Aziraphale’s interactions are probably my favorite, and the fact that both the ineffable husbands get to play hero in this fic was a good balance of power.

12. What do you like least about this fic?

It feels rushed to me. For one, I updated like crazy and it all just kind of gushed out, which as a reader I’m sure was wonderful! I do feel like I was directionless while writing it, and if I were to go back and redo it, it would probably have ended very differently. Even so, it’s led to an interesting series, no?

The Doctor was not much of a drinker, but let it not be said he didn’t know how to party.  That one time in France, for example, with Madame de Pompadour. There were other occasions where he’d drink socially, but he very rarely allowed himself to get drunk.

Hard to save the universe when you’re sloshed.

After losing Rose, however, and the subsequent rejection of Donna – whom he’d been very rude to, he had to admit, and he did feel a bit bad about that even though he thought he had a rather good excuse – had left him wanting.  He didn’t even bother trying to direct the TARDIS once he left Donna at her door. He just slumped against the console and finally allowed himself to cry.

He wasn’t sure how long he was there – couldn’t have been more than twenty minutes really – the TARDIS made a pained grinding sound and shuddered to a stop, knocking the Doctor fully to the ground.

“What-” he started, slowly pushing himself up to stare at the center column.  “Where’ve we landed?” he sniffed, looking at the screen.  It was black; not a good sign.  At least the TARDIS wasn’t flashing and making that awful noise it had been making when he, Micky, and Rose had originally gotten stuck in the other universe.

The TARDIS didn’t respond – what a shock, really – so the Doctor pulled himself back together, checked to make sure he had his sonic, straightened his coat, and walked out the door.

It was very sunny; enough to make him squint.  The Doctor stood there for a moment, blinking at his surroundings.  He was very clearly somewhere in London, though he wasn’t sure where.

“Nice box you’ve got there.”

The Doctor jumped, whipping around to see a man lounging against the side of the TARDIS, whose door was still partially open.  The Doctor discretely pulled it closed the rest of the way, eyeing the stranger. He was tall and lanky and wore all black with a pair of sunglasses. In fact, he looked rather like-

“I didn’t think demons had dopple-gangers,” the mysterious man said, pushing off the TARDIS and pacing around the Doctor, looking him up and down before stopping directly in front of him to stare into his eyes.  “You’ve got human eyes, though,” he finished.

“You’re ginger,” the Doctor said, “and nothing about me is human.”

The other man smiled, leaning back a bit.  “Of course not,” he shoved his hands into his pockets, which seemed to be a feat given how tight his pants were.  “Neither am I.”

The Doctor stared at his counterpart, trying to see past the glasses or get a read on what this man might want – or what he might be, if not human. He hadn’t sensed sarcasm in the stranger’s words. “The Doctor,” he finally said, offering his hand.

The other man considered it for a moment before accepting the handshake.  “Crowley.”

They stared at each other a moment more before Crowley turned to look at the TARDIS again.  “Rather magnificent thing,” he said, stepping around it.  “Clearly not from here, but still.”

The Doctor wasn’t sure how he felt about the scrutiny, but it gave him enough distraction to scan him with the sonic without being obvious. 

“That can’t be right,” he muttered, staring at the screwdriver in confusion.  “Demons don’t exist.”

“Don’t we now?” Crowley said, swinging back around to grin at him.  “And what, pray tell, are you?”

The Doctor jumped, guiltily tucking his sonic back into his pocket before straightening up.  “I’m a Time Lord.”

“Are you?” Crowley hummed, looking back at the TARDIS and gently resting his hand on the wood.  It felt fundamentally wrong to the Doctor for someone else to touch his TARDIS like that.

“What are you doing?” he asked.

“I was on my way back home for a drink,” Crowley said blithely, glancing over his shoulder at the Doctor.  “Care to join me? My usual companion is otherwise engaged.”

The Doctor didn’t flinch at the word companion, but it was a near thing. He glanced at the TARDIS doors, considering returning and moping about in misery in his typical fashion, but he finally just nodded. “Can’t hurt.”

Many hours later and the Doctor wasn’t sure whether to regret coming drinking or not.  He had been mildly started when Crowley had taken off his glasses several drinks in to reveal incredibly serpentine eyes, but given everything he’d seen in space, he quickly recovered.  “Quite lovely,” he said.

Crowley started and squinted at him, but just waved him off and refilled his glass again.

They talked about a lot of things, but it seemed they were in the same boat as far as their ‘companions’ went.  Both of them were in love – though neither said it – with someone they couldn’t have.  The Doctor’s… well she was gone. Beyond his reach, forever.  The object of Crowley’s affection was much closer and in fact with him on a regular basis, but apparently either completely blind, completely disinterested, or both.

So they got drunk. They got so very, very drunk. The topic turned to bananas (“Did you know I invented the Banana Daquiri?”) and gorillas, then to dolphins (“Very big brains, dolphins have!” “Oh yes, very!”) and the boiling of the seas (“That’s not really going to happen though.” “No, because Aziraphale and I stopped it just last week-”).  It was the drunkest the Doctor had ever been, he had to admit, but Crowley was still going.  Besides, it was kind of nice to talk to someone else who knew what it was like to outlive most of your friends (the Doctor had finally accepted that Crowley appeared to be ageless, but he wasn’t sure that ‘demon’ was a word he was comfortable using).

“The point isssss,” Crowley was nearly hissing now, which the Doctor found to be rather fascinating, “the point isss, he’ssss sssssuch an idiot,” he finished, waving his glass in the air and very nearly splashing his wine over the rim.

“Hmm?” the Doctor asked, looking up.

“Aziraphale! He’sss… he gave away his sssssword, the blasssted fool!” he repeated.  “How could I not… after that? And and and and then-” he hiccupped.  “And then the world nearly ends and we… what? Go back to normal? What even is normal?”

“Mnuh,” the Doctor added helpfully.

“Itssssss like… he’s a being of love, right? He’s can sense it. There’s no way he doesn’t know, right?”

The Doctor shrugged.  “It’s been… hm… how long?”

Crowley groaned.  “Six thousand years… I’ve been… since we met.”

“Mmmmmm…. Mmmaybe he just thinks that’s what you feel like? If you’ve… since the beginning I mean, he doesn’t really have a frame of reference?”

The other man’s head lolled around so he could look at him, face skeptical.

The Doctor shrugged and took another drink.

He wasn’t entirely sure when they finally stopped drinking, and he couldn’t remember falling asleep, but what the Doctor was acutely aware of was the pounding headache he had when he woke up on the black couch in the center of the sparsely decorated flat.

“Welcome back,” Crowley said from the doorway as the Doctor sat up with a groan. He was wearing his glasses again.

“Mm, yeah,” the Doctor said.

“Right. Allow me.” Crowley snapped, and the Doctor’s head cleared instantly, leaving him a tiny bit dizzy.

“What…”

“Demon, remember?” the other man said before sauntering out of the room.  “You’re not a bad drinking buddy,” he called back.

“Right, yeah,” the Doctor mumbled, standing and stretching. “Thanks.”  He stood awkwardly for a moment.  He could only remember a few strains of their lengthy and mostly random conversation. “I’ll just uh,” he swallowed, throat oddly dry. “I’ll just be off, then.”

“Yeah, see you around, Doctor,” came the reply from the other room.

The Doctor slipped out, though he stood still just outside the complex for a moment, glancing back up at the building, before sticking his hands in his pockets and walking away.

“Crowley dear!” the chipper man – who was supposedly an angel – said as the Doctor’s red-headed counterpart pulled up in front of the corner shop and opened his car door.

“Get in, angel,” he said, and his Aziraphale complied.

“You’ve changed your hair back,” he said as he closed the door.

“My hair?”

“It was all… brown, when you came in earlier.  I commented on it, don’t you remember?”

“Brown…?” his eyebrows furrowed, they shot up as he twisted fully in the seat to stare at his companion.  “What did I say, when I came in earlier?”

Aziraphale looked confused. “Not much; you just told me to- well,” his face colored. “It was rather odd.”

“What did I say?” Crowley sounded mildly panicked.

“Well, Crowley dear, you told me to… tune in, I suppose. And, well,” Aziraphale swallowed, gaze flicking dangerously close to where the Doctor was peeking around the corner. “Well, I suppose you were right.  I really ought to tell you something rather important.”

Crowley didn’t respond, just reached up and took his sunglasses off. The Doctor could see even from this distance that the yellow of his eyes had completely consumed any white that might have been there the night before.

“I’m afraid I’ve been quite blind, my dear,” Aziraphale continued bumbling, hands fluttering before him as if he wasn’t sure what to do with them.  “And, well, since all that nasty business with Armageddon is done with, I thought it’s about time I told you…” his voice seemed to falter here.

“Tell me what, angel?” Crowley asked, tone strained.

Aziraphale looked back up ag him, the color in his cheeks deepening.  “I… I love you.  Have done, for some time now.”

If the Doctor didn’t know better, he’d have thought Crowley was about to pass out.  As it was, a slow smile spread across the man’s face.  “You do?”

“I- yes.  I do.”

The Doctor turned to leave, but not before yellow eyes caught his and he froze in place.  They held each other’s gaze for a moment before the Doctor nodded once and made toward the TARDIS.

I'll throw you reviews on AO3 too, but I love Throw Me and I'm trying to savor it for now.

Welcome, and thank you so much! I still have more to add, I just need to do it on a PC cuz that will be easier for me 😅

"...other writing you have done or is it standalone? Keep writing I love it!!😍😍"

Thank you! The powers are vaguely relates to a villain/hero prompt series I was doing a while ago and I've thought about tying it in, but I'm not sure. Other than that, I just like the "victors write history" thing and went off that!