#midwinter spring

https://archiveofourown.org/works/28243977 

In a hard and disorienting year, fic has been a salvation. Today brought many beauties, and much balm to the heart.

Midwinter Spring (2839 words) is a perfect fic. It’s snowed on London, and Crowley comes to the bookshop to challenge Aziraphale to a snowball fight. It becomes a rowdy epic snow battle, the only way they could ever fight each other, and both of them cheat and both of them win but Crowley claims a prize that changes everything.

Aziraphale calls Crowley “utter menace,” “sirrah,” “varlet,” “absolute marauder” and “you ridiculous thing,” and I am here for that.

Joy, laughter (so much laughter), play, banter, beauty, love, hope, confession, teasing, romance, second chances, and "the frolic architecture of the snow." Thank you, Copper. Happy Christmas.

samples:

"Crowley’s grin was huge, Crowley’s hair was a flying cloud of red sulphur in the squint-bright sunlight, Crowley’s cheeks were wind-chapped pink under his glinting sunglasses. His hands were stuffed in the pockets of his woollen pea coat, but his collar was open." <strong>I want to see this filmed. SO vivid.</strong>

and

“Yield. I have the advantage.” Crowley, pink and panting, looked positively boyish, eyes glinting like Baltic amber over his half-dislodged sunglasses. Snow-spangled, soaked hair stuck to his forehead.

“We are tied, shot for shot. And I see no reason why this contest should devolve into an inelegant grapple. Let me rise peaceably and I will forbear to retaliate. You know an angel cannot lie.”

“Nah, just fib a little – “

“I do not fib – “

“’I must’ve mislaid it’ – “ Of course he'd been listening, the scapegrace.

Do please reblog, because this fic does better than clear up your skin and water your crops--it heats up your cocoa and puts a smile in your heart

I wonder if you recognise the type of days where it's so cold that you can immaturely pretend you're smoking while you're breathing in the outside, cold air but yet the sun is high above and shining in your eyes, so much so that you think to yourself that you should have worn sunglasses. A midwinter spring I'd call it. Or a zero summer. If those phrases sound familiar it is no mistake, they come from T.S Eliot's 'Little Gidding'. This isn't going to be a long passage where I analyse his poem and pretentiously pretend to know what on Earth he is trying to convey or indeed even talking about, like many literary critics have already done. I'd rather like to appreciate poetry for the sense it makes, when it makes it, like the line 'midwinter spring' which made no sense whatsoever to me, until now. 

Today was that zero summer day, being winter over here and it was during this day that I decided to go for a midday jog- because that is of course what one does as a city dweller- and return to eat some disgustingly small but healthy lunch recommended by the latest fad diet in a magazine. Except, I refuse to be the city dweller who insists on eating frozen yoghurt instead of ice-cream. Instead I opted for a divinely delicious hot dog...with bacon...with onions... not forgetting the mustard. Which really erased all my efforts of actually going jogging, *sighs*. 

Anyway, enough of dietary requirements, the point of this is, whilst eating the hot dog in the most ladylike way, which is by the way absolutely impossible, I realised I was going about life all wrong. I had an epiphany etonnante (I've been studying so much French it's decided to slip into my everyday English).