#warm close

For @gomens-timeaftertime

Aziraphale and Crowley as Eridians from Project hail Mary...

This is my piece for The Warm Close✨ project organised by @gomens-timeaftertime

Written for the @gomens-timeaftertime "A Warm Close" fan event!

CWs/tags: fluff, coffee shop AU, meet-cute, miscommunication, Oblivious Aziraphale

Summary: Crowley runs a café; Aziraphale is his new neighbour, setting up a bookshop across the street. From the minute he sees Aziraphale, Crowley's falls hard. Actually asking Aziraphale on a date turns out to be more of a challenge than it first looks, but Crowley's not giving up yet... A fluffy meet-cute with a little reveal at the end 💜

Excerpt:

Eyes round, Aziraphale gratefully took the offered pastries with a pleased hum. “That’s so nice of you!” Crowley rolled his eyes playfully and tutted. “Not nice, not nice at all.” Raising a mischievous eyebrow, Aziraphale softly smiled and looked Crowley up and down. “Well, rather more than nice, then.” Crowley’s brain stuttered to a halt. Was…was Aziraphale flirting? Was that what those sparkling eyes meant? Or was it just the effect of the overhead lights? Was he interested too? Say something, say something, his brain protested. “Uh, maybe we should swap numbers—” Crowley mumbled, but Aziraphale was already striding towards the exit. “Ta-ta for now, and hopefully see you again soon!” The door closed behind Aziraphale with a firm thud, one that wasn’t half as loud as the ones pounding through Crowley’s chest. When he finally recovered, he gulped, but made a determined vow: he was abso-fucking-lutely going to ask Aziraphale out.

Continue on AO3 ☕

I finally wrote the fic I've been thinking about for years. Aziraphale and Crowley have a fateful meeting on the shortest night of the year.

Written for the Warm Close event.

As part of the @gomens-timeaftertime #warmclose event , I've written a little version of how our fave dorks met (or, attempted to meet) in another lifetime. It's just an AU really! Crossed wires, chance meetings- may the assumptions and miscommunication ensue!

Rated: G

Aziraphale expertise in the curation of rare and bespoke books is highly sought after, making him an invaluable addition to the London Library. But it's always a tricky balance with his obligations to the family business.

Crowley is a botanist seeking a rare edition of a gardening book that is proving quite difficult to track down.

AKA: if only these two could communicate directly (but where would the fun be in that?)

Aziraphale/Crowley // across the multiverse; technically post s3 but doesn't actually refer to it // multiple human AU meet cutes // rated T // 5.9k words written for the @gomens-timeaftertime event!

In a universe much like our own, a man not dissimilar from an angel we know has just moved into a new flat… And then the image in front of our eyes blurs. Lines branching. We follow another one like a spark of electricity passing through the power lines. We hear silence; we hear the echoes of infinity — so many of them they become white noise. Our next stop is just one hop over, down the street but a universe away. The next scenes come to us in flashes, images overlaying images overlaying images. Some things stay the same – some things change. The faces remain each other’s mirrors time after time. For a while, it’s impossible to make out the exact words of the many voices, similar and different, across the different planes of existence. Their lives, their experiences, clash into one another to create a cacophony of sound. Wait long enough, though, and eventually, you will hear them all find a common melody, the same refrain, no matter the world or the circumstances.

read full fic on AO3 here!

In a universe much like our own, a man not dissimilar from an angel we know has just moved into a new flat…

Ezra sets the rickety plastic chair down in front of a foldable table in what is supposed to be his living room. He sighs. There's hardly any furniture in the flat just yet, only a mattress, a mini fridge and this lovely little makeshift office set up. As uncomfortable as it is — and as much as he longs for a proper chair and a properly prepared cup of tea — he's got work to do and it wouldn't do well to dawdle.

He hums to himself as he sets his laptop on the table, as he turn it on, as he logs in, as he opens a browser — and that's when he realises his first mistake. No WiFi.

He lets out a frustrated little puff of air. Well, that simply won't do. Of course, he could pack up his things, head out and go to a cafe or some such like, but the weather is simply atrocious and he is in no mood to brave London's rains today.

He has an idea, though. He scrolls through the list of available networks, hoping to find just a single open one, but no such luck. Eventually, though, one draws his eye.

StayTheHellOff, the network name declares amusingly. Well, that’s a challenge if Ezra has ever seen one.

He wonders, what would this sort of person use as their password? Something vulgar, most likely.

He tries fuckyou. Incorrect.

Fuckoff. No, that’s not it either. 

He gets it on the third try. Gofuckyourself. Ah. That sounds about right.

Nevertheless, he now has unrestrained internet access and plenty of blog posts to write. He gets to work.

Fifteen minutes later, there’s a knock on his door. Then his doorbell rings. Then knocking, again, more insistent this time. RingringRINGRINGringriiiiiiiiingRIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIING.

Ezra rolls his eyes and goes to open the door.

"You!" Immediately, there's an accusatory finger being pointed at Ezra's chest. The man in front of him is thin, dressed in all black, with a curling wave of bright red hair sitting atop his head. "Get off my bloody network before I— I—" The threat dies off on the man's tongue as his gaze flickers up and down, taking Ezra in. "You hacked my WiFi?"

Ezra pouts. "Well, I'd hardly call it hacking…"

"So you did!" The man exclaims.

“Dear, your password was gofuckyourself. It’s not exactly craftsmanship, is it?”

Taken aback by Ezra's attitude, the man sputters. Ezra, unimpressed, reaches for the door.

"Now, if you don't mind, I really do have to get back to work—"

Before he can close it all the way, though, the man shoots out one of his long legs and shoves his foot in-between the door and its frame. "Hold on a minute, I didn't say anything about letting you use it!"

Ezra sighs. "It won't be for much longer," he explains. "It's just, I've only just moved in and I don't have anything of my own set up yet. Your WiFi was the only that seemed, well…"

The man narrows his eyes. "Seemed what?"

“It’s rather brusque, isn’t it? You can hardly blame me.”

It seems like he finds Ezra's words offensive, somehow. "You’re telling me you saw the words StayTheHellOff and really thought to yourself, oh, yeah, that's the person I want to mess with?"

Ezra has not actually been intending to mess with anyone, but the look on this man's face, well… He can't help but feel the need to rile him up, just a little bit. "It does sound rather like a challenge, does it not?"

The man gapes at him. "You— you have no idea what I could've done! Could've sent you malware! My whole network could've been riddled with malware and you wouldn't have known!"

"You know, I do have to ask, how did you know it was me?"

The man sniffs, shoves his hands into his pockets and shrugs, clearly trying — and failing — to appear casual about something he already considers to be impressive. "Measured the ping time to your device," he explains. "That narrowed it down to this floor and— from there it was simple. Mary from 307 has just given birth and she's still at the hospital; 308, that's Leslie and Maude, they're in Italy in their third honeymoon; and I'm pretty sure Shadwell from 309 only uses a landline."

Ezra gives him an indulgent smile. "I can't say that I quite got all that ping stuff, but that sounds quite impressive, dear." The man seems to preen a little at the praise. "You seem to know a lot about these things."

“I’m— I work in cybersecurity, actually. ‘S kinda my thing.”

Ezra raises his eyebrow. “...and yet your password was gofuckyourself? I shudder to think what sort of advice you give people.”

The man has the decency to laugh at that, a nasal-y sort of chuckle. "Sod off," he grumbles, but it's amused more so than anything else. "Buy me a drink and I'll consider benevolently letting you keep using my WiFi."

Ezra smirks. "Only if you tell me your name first, dear boy."

“Crowley. Tony Crowley.”

“It’s lovely to meet you, Tony." Ezra holds his hand out for a handshake. "I’m Ezra Fell.”

The moment their hands touch, Ezra suddenly realizes that he does, in fact, hope to see much more of Tony in the future. That he is not quite ready to let go of this man just — if at all.

The image in front of our eyes blurs. We know where those two will end up, later that same night.

Lines branching. We follow another one like a spark of electricity passing through the powerlines. An airport comes into our view. A red-haired man is pacing its floors, holding a phone up to his ear…