[Read on AO3]

“Um, Crowley? Could you come here a moment, dear?”

“Coming, angel,” Crowley popped into the back room, mug of hot cocoa for Aziraphale in one hand and mug of tea for himself in the other. “What seems to be the, oh.”

Aziraphale was staring at his chair in the corner of his back room, his comfy reading chair with the distressed leather seat and warm blanket tossed haphazardly across the back. More accurately, he was staring at what was in the chair. That being a small black cat, blessedly asleep and purring absently. Aziraphale turned to stare at Crowley expectantly.

Crowley handed Aziraphale his mug and cleared his throat. “Yes, well, that appears to be a cat.”

“I know what a cat is, Crowley, I was there when they were created. Why is there one in my chair?” Aziraphale gave Crowley a rather stern look.

Crowley scratched at the back of his head, “Ngh, well, you see, um, the thing is- really I mean it’s quite a long story, and-”

“Crowley?”

2. what was the last book you rated 5/5?

Oh man that’s actually a really difficult question. I don’t really remember the last book that I finished...it might have been Wayward Son by Rainbow Rowell and as much as I loved that book I don’t know that I’d call it 5/5. Probably my last true 5/5 book would be either The Martian by Andy Weir (because he’s both a phenomenal writer in regards to suspense and comedy which is terribly difficult to balance) or The Ocean at the End of the Lane by Neil Gaiman (I’ve never read a Gaiman novel that I didn’t fall in love with and this one was no exception. Short and very sweet and an amazing little fantasy story.)

10. what was the last book to surprise you?

I’m not sure. It’s been a long time. Probably Picnic at Hanging Rock (Joan Lindsay) almost a year ago. I’ve never had a book give me such a feeling of dread that I didn’t want to keep reading before. Like it legitimately terrified me despite the fact nothing really “scary” happens. If you like TMA you’ll probably like Picnic at Hanging Rock tbh.

19. which book were you nervous to begin reading?

Jurassic Park by Michael Crichton. I was worried that it would bore me but it was actually fantastic. I don’t know that I’d say I liked it better than the movie, but there were definitely parts of it that I wish had been included. (Hammond doesn’t actually care about his grand kids and isn’t some sweet bumbling old man for starters. Also the scene where they blow up the velociraptor nest! Or just the nest in general!! There were like a hundred of them!!!)

bonus book covers:

B - A pairing you initially didn’t consider but someone changed your mind

This is actually a bit of a hard question for me because so often I go into a fandom already shipping something lowkey because I’ve seen the gifs or read a fic.

I know that I got my love for the Percy/Nico/Annabeth OT3 from @kaikamahine and that’s probably not something I would have originally considered, but I mean, I went into that series already shipping Percy/Nico because of her fic so probably not the best example. 

Maybe Tony/Steve? That’s one of those pairings that still doesn’t completely click with me, but enough people have written great content that I kind of ship them now.

J - Name a fandom you didn’t care/think about until you saw it all over tumblr

The best example of this one is probably The Untamed. When I initially started seeing it pop up in my emails from writers I’m subscribed to on Ao3, I was kind of like okay whatever. And then it started showing up on my dashboard. And then it started showing up on my dashboard a lot.

One of the posts I ended up coming across said it was on Netflix, so I added it to my to-watch list. But it was actually this post that pushed me over the edge. Which is funny, because well. That isn’t even a pairing I ended up shipping very hard? 

T - Do you have any hard and fast headcanons that you will die defending, about anything at all?

I probably do, but nothing that I could really articulate well. Most of my headcanons have to do with my own writing, like how if I’m writing a Kingdom Hearts AU, Axel is always going to be Kairi’s brother and Sora and Roxas are always going to be twins. But let me see.

Friendship - @tothoseinterested​

oh man..... this is such a great question for me to plug some stuff, and it’s so fuckin sweet that you asked me

so definitely my reblogs have taken a bit of a nosedive in the last year, which is chill, that’s how fandom kind of ebbs and flows, and I know I’m not writing twenty four sev

BUT I am very attached to some of my recent fic, I feel like some of my old popular stuff is definitely uhhhh worse lmao

I also find that any pairing other than andreil and any fandom other than aftg is def less popular, and I for sure get it, but I’d love if people gave my ronsey or jerejean fic a chance !

also I don’t know why, but this was a fic I remember writing that I was amped about but didn’t get a ton of love, and this is one of my favourite things that I’ve written and it got kind of a lukewarm reception too.

PubLIZity is the show

[Read on AO3]

If one were to compare the vastness of Crowley’s record collection to Aziraphale’s book collection, it would be found that Crowley would win by a landslide. This is because Aziraphale is a discerning collector where Crowley is a bit of, well, a hoarder. That is not to say that Crowley does not have a good collection of records, he does. He has a tendency to lose them though. Unlike Aziraphale who has his collection catalogued, filed, and memorized, Crowley simply tosses his records in unmarked boxes in whatever room of his flat happens to be handy.

He’s also shit at remembering the records he liked.

“Do you remember,” Aziraphale is sitting primly at the edge of Crowley’s couch, glass of wine in hand, “the last time we had this wine, dear?”

Crowley is taking up the rest of the couch, sprawled out with one leg on the floor and the other in Aziraphale’s lap. He takes a drink of wine and pretends to think about it. “Mm, no.”

“It was in America, I think,” Aziraphale muses. He cups his free hand over Crowley’s scrawny ankle bone and drags his thumb over it absently. It tickles faintly. “Some time in the late sixties I believe. You still had that ridiculous haircut.”

Crowley scowls and jerks his foot. “That hair was fashionable at the time.”

“It was before that dreadful mustache, at least.”

“Hey.”

Aziraphale hums and sips his wine. “I had a flat there, for a little while. I bought this wine and you brought a record. It was nice. Do you remember? You asked me to dance.”

Oh. Crowley does remember. Vaguely, anyway, the way one remembers a dream or a night of being absolutely sloshed. “Maybe.” He narrows his eyes, “Why?”

“There was a song that played that night and it was absolutely lovely.” Aziraphale scoots his fingers up Crowley’s leg, just a little, pushing up the dark material of his trousers. “I’d like to hear it again. Maybe this time we could…” He trails off, face pink.

It was Elvis that had been playing that night, Crowley recalls. His first live one. It was rather one of Crowley’s favorite records, though he had absolutely no idea where he’d stored it.

“I could look it up on my phone,” Crowley offers, “clever the way humans have found a way to get all that music in one place.”

“I suppose,” Aziraphale says, but the turn of his mouth says otherwise. “I did rather like that record, I had hoped-”

“Yes, yes, alright.” Crowley sets down his wine glass and pulls himself up to standing. “But if it takes me all night to find it…”

“Oh I wouldn’t want you to go to any trouble on my account.” Aziraphale settles deeper into the couch, smile dancing on his lips and in his eyes. Bastard.

Crowley waves a hand at him vaguely, heading off in the direction of his storage room. He opens the door and flicks on the light switch to towering rows of boxes, covered in dust and cobwebs. He wrinkles his nose at the smell of rot and must. “Right then,” He says.

-

When Crowley returns triumphant, dust on the knees of his trousers and record in hand, he finds Aziraphale reading a book, their glasses of wine forgotten.

Aziraphale looks up. “You really should label your boxes, you were gone for ages.”

“You could have helped.” Crowley grumbles.

“How would I have been any help?” Aziraphale asks, “I don’t even remember the name of the album.”

Crowley sets up the record player and the pleasant sounds of Elvis’ “Blue Suede Shoes” fills the room.

“Ah,” Aziraphale picks up his wine glass, his book gone for the time being, “yes, this is nice.”

Crowley throws himself back onto the couch, both of his feet ending up in Aziraphale’s lap. He picks his wine glass back up and closes his eyes. “Rather.”

Aziraphale squeezes his ankle. “Would you like-”

“Not to this one,” Crowley drinks the rest of his wine, sits up enough to pour out another, “I don’t want to go too fast for you, angel.”

“Oh hush.”

They finish their wine and Crowley gets up to turn the record over. He sits this time with his head in Aziraphale’s lap, humming softly as Aziraphale runs his fingers through his hair. He’s blessedly buzzed, not quite drunk, and at some point he lost his glasses though he doesn’t seem to mind.

Half way through “In the Ghetto” Aziraphale makes a sad noise and Crowley looks up at him. Crowley reaches up to cup Aziraphale’s cheek. “I know,” He says.

“I forgot about this one,” Aziraphale says, kissing Crowley’s palm, “it’s a sad one.”

“Yeah,” Crowley sits up, “I can turn it off.”

“No. The one I want to hear is coming up soon.”

“Alright,” He presses a kiss to Aziraphale’s jaw, “I’m just going to put away the wine glasses then.”

“Of course.”

Crowley gathers their glasses and the empty wine bottle and goes into the kitchen. If the wine bottle ends up in the recycling bin neither of them will mention it. Crowley rinses out their glasses and places them in the rack to dry. When he turns around Aziraphale is already waiting for him in the doorway.

Aziraphale reaches out a hand.

It’s odd. After six thousand years Crowley didn’t think it was possible to fall further in love, but apparently he could. He falls here, again, for Aziraphale, and takes him by the hand. Aziraphale’s lips taste like wine and honey, and Crowley can’t stop himself from darting his tongue out for a better taste.

Aziraphale pulls back and presses their foreheads together. “Teach me to dance, Crowley?”

“Okay,” Crowley says and pushes them back into the living room.

“Suspicious Minds” fades out but Crowley can barely hear the starting chords of the next song over the beating of his own heart. He guides Aziraphale’s hand up to his shoulder and tucks his own around the angel’s waist.

Their steps are clumsy, at first, little more than them leaning against each other and swaying.

‘Take my hand, take my whole life, too. For I can’t help falling in love with you.’

Aziraphale sighs shakily against Crowley’s cheek, and Crowley holds him a little tighter. When the song fades out their still pressed tight together, Aziraphale’s face tucked against Crowley’s neck.

“Again,” Aziraphale requests.

It’s a small miracle, resetting the song without touching the record player, and not what one would consider to be an approved miracle, but it’s not as if anyone is watching them anymore. The song begins again and Aziraphale makes a small, happy noise as they continue to sway around the living room.