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Lvndr

@lvndrlondonfog

he/they🏳️‍⚧️🏳️‍🌈
Stuff and things????????
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Autistic Aziraphale fic? Autistic Aziraphale fic. Aka 'Aziraphale can't catch a break'

Summary:

Aziraphale likes his bookshop because Aziraphale doesn't like change.

Over the past 300 years, the bookshop has become Aziraphale's favorite place because of that fact. It's an escape from the constantly moving rhythm of the universe, where nothing ever has to happen or change. Usually, it's closed to the public; though on a singular day in the week, Aziraphale must open his doors and face a few customers for a couple hours to prove that he's an actual business on Whickber Street. After a surprise visit from angelic superiors, loud customers, and broken merchandise, Aziraphale finally snaps. Crowley's there to pick up the pieces.

Words: 4.15K

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GUYS GUYS GUYS I decided to update and revise the first chapter of my Mamma Mia! S3 Good Omens kinda-AU since I'm looking to start updating that again soon and I wrote that earlier over the summer; I still have the outline just sitting around and I haven't had time to get to it with bang fics and whatnot; I'll be working on this consecutively with a Spooky Bang fic and some other ideas, so progress will be made, just on the side! Figured I'd advertise again since it's... well, it's better now!

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I’ll make a more official post about this later, but I finally finished writing the final chapter to my first ever longfic, The Great (Not) Gatsby for DIWS’ Silver Screen Bang!

You don’t have to know ANYTHING about Gatsby in order to read, as it’s only based loosely off the premise; After being put on a sudden years-long assignment to the US in the 20s, Crowley brings to throw grand parties in order to passively generate sin, and possibly to catch the attention of a certain angel should he stop by.

It’s a long shot, but it works. When paparazzi, alter egos, and feelings come to light, will they be able to handle the sudden pace of events and unravel long-ignored feelings to stay together?

Read to find out:

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Hey for anyone following The Great (not) Gatsby, posting for the final two chapters is delayed until next week; curse of busting open my hand and ankle.

Lvndr: 0, Pavement: 1 (for now)

Can’t type to edit the last chapters and whatnot, so they will be posted soon, just not today!

(Side note; you don’t have to know anything about gatsby to read this! Opening is moody and the writing tries to mimic gatsby’s dramaticness, but after that it considerably lightens up! Angst, feels, (attempts at) humor, and romance, all in one! 👀)

(This is my pity plea to read the fic so far and admire the beautiful art by @luckkythirt33n 👀🫶) /lh

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Once I’m done with my current bang fics I’m thrilled to start working on a fic that’s been bouncing around my head for FAR too long

Stay tuned for human au of obviously scam boardwalk psychic/spirit contactor Crowley/the infuriating 1920s gentlemanly ghost he accidentally actually summons (the issue is, Crowley doesn’t believe in ghosts.)

It’s overall comical, and I have a question:

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lvndr-alt

Hey, didn't want to post this directly on my main just due to an overall darker tone, but here's a quicker fic I wrote + a sketch that actually shockingly helped me with some shitty feelings. Read and heed the tags, please! Mentions of suicide, suicidal thoughts, and close to a suicide attempt.

Summary:

Crowley isn't okay. It's been 46 days since Aziraphale left, and Crowley hasn't been doing any better. It's actually all gotten worse. Now, on one particularly destructive day at his apartment, all of his usual cycles of ringing his misery out to the world haven't relieved any of the feelings that he's drowning in, and a thermos 1/4ths still-full of holy water feels like the only way out. At least it'll make a point.

Words: 2.2k

Here’s a small little excerpt from the fic:

Part of the demon wondered if he was made from nothing; that in some strange way the humans and their stories had been right and if someone were to split open his ribs, that instead of a beating heart and any sign of life there’d be nothing but the hollow sculpture of clay. Somehow, it’d make him feel better than having all the right parts and still being wrong. That it could explain countless days spent walking far away from his mind, to feel so disconnected from himself.
There’d been a proverb of sorts that went around for a while, it's always been hidden away in ancient human stories and experience, but experienced an additional surge in popularity when written plainly across posts in cursive font by 2010 Facebook moms; You are built by your experiences. It’s just some stupid supposedly motivational quote at first, but it certainly held true as much as Crowley hated to admit it, seeing the blasted thing among pictures of puppies and sunrises. For millennia, Crowley found himself in anyone else but himself. Layers of dissonance from his horrid being built between dancing with shitty liquor in Mesopotamian crowds and crowding within the modern London morning rush; quick thrills without the horror of being truly known were the few breaks from drowning Crowley could find. The true emptiness that consumed him with the vigor of a blackhole could easily be ignored by rising temperatures and flaring emotions at insignificant things, really anything that could get someone, anyone to look at him and to think that he was alive. Truly alive.
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And so it begins! Come and read the first chapter for the Good Omens “Constantine” AU fic by @canadiankazz as a part of the DIWS Silver Screen Bang!!! I’ve been so excited to collaborate for art on this project, and I can’t wait until everyone can finally see the absolutely AMAZING full fic once it’s out.

Speaking of the full fic… the stakes do get rather high 👀👀👀 Take this teaser art for later on below the cut, warning for spoilers and a TW for implied sh/suicide attempt, and blood!

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Mamma Mia! Here We Go Again...

NEW MAMMA MIA NOT-QUITE-AU FIC!!! I've been sitting on this for the longest time, I'm happy to finally start posting. I'm a bit busy with some other fics and events right now, so it might be a moment before I update it, but rest assured that there shalt be updates (with art like this!!)

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Crowley built his life back up brick by brick after Aziraphale left; literally. With a little help from Maggie and Nina across the road, Crowley made a full split from everything...

And so he did! 17 years later, Crowley is the proud isolated owner of a hotel (barely, with some demonic intervention, and demonically high pricing, not too many people choose to stay there) on an island off the coast of god-knows-where. He's renovated the place into a nice, small, town with some of the most verdant greenery in the world, and far away from the hustle and bustle of the world. After agreeing to host Maggie and Nina's wedding as a thanks to helping him get back up on his feet during a few of the worst years of his existence, Crowley has a lot on his hands over the course of the week to make sure everything goes perfectly to plan.

Unfortunately, this plan is disturbed with the late arrival of the angel that broke his heart all those years ago. Will Crowley be able to balance a splendid wedding (and some unforeseen issues between the shop wives,) keeping everything straight on his island, all while sorting out his own heartbreak and breaking down the narrative he's built for himself all these years?

Words: 3,510

Status: In Progress

Rating: Teen and up

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Random ask, but does anyone know of any good main-universe fics with BPD-coded/BPD Crowley? Idk if it’s a popular headcanon but it’s my personal one and I think I might just be really bad at searching ao3 (or OCD, that too)

I might be totally projecting onto that poor poor demon but I’m so close to writing my own istg /lh

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Can I ask why the one fanfic (the first I EVER wrote, may I say) I wrote while I was nearly delirious at three am with the highest fever of my life is the one that miraculously blew up and got over 1k reads? Compared to, per se, the ones that I was conscious for and wrote decently well and edited? I’m worried that there’s some spark in my head that’s only accessible only when I am also seeing the hat man from sickness

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hikarry

What? Spencer already found another good fanfic? Yes, babes. Yes I did.

Title: I've Got You Rating: Teen+ Pairing: Crowley/Aziraphale Chapters: 6 Summary:

Aziraphale felt the change in the air, a burst of power and a whiff of ozone. He spun, and jumped when he came face to face with Gabriel leering cheerfully over his right shoulder.

“Aziraphale!” he smiled as if greeting an old friend, then clapped his hands together loudly, so close it made Aziraphale flinch. “You’re early, so glad you could make it.” He began to walk around him, admiring the circle beneath his feet, careful not to cross it. It posed no real danger to him, it had already been activated, but crossing the bounds of an active circle was never a fun experience.

“Gabriel,” his voice wavered despite his best efforts. “What is the meaning of this?”

Hellfire didn't work, but Heaven has one more idea. And this time, they're going to force Crowley to watch.

Here I am bringing you a very nice and smooth hurt/comfort.

If you like the two idiots sacrificing themselves for each other and Crowley playing the hero, this is for you!

The fanfic is post-season 1, it's short and honestly, you read it super quickly.

I don't want to give spoilers but...Gabe gets his ass handed to himself, just saying.

I. Oh my god this may be one of the best written and one of my favorite fic I’ve read. EVER. Everyone should absolutely go and read this

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WIP TAG GAME!!

If you’re tagged, make a new post (don’t reblog this one) and share 1-2 sentences from your most recent unposted WIP(s) with zero context— Let your followers guess!

OKAY OKAY USING THIS OPPORTUNITY TO MAYBE FORCE MYSELF TO WRITE FURTHER ON THESE DFKFKGKKTF

Wip 1:

For the most part, apart from the occasional bickering about Crowley’s plant-raising methods, Aziraphale stood out of the demon’s way in that regard.

Or at least, he claimed to do so. Though every now and then, the angel could be seen giving a passing compliment to the array of plants that sat around the shop. And time and time again, even when the angel in plain sight, Crowley just happened to never notice.

WIP 2;

Aziraphale thought that he was pretty decent at a small bit of trickery- mischief, even! He had laid a bunch of clues, he was especially proud of how much he had looked out the window as to say ‘LOOK! LOOK OUTSIDE! I HAVE A PLAN!!!’ even if it hadn’t quite worked.

And sure, Crowley had decided to bring up their 6000 year not-quite-relationship and kiss him in the most miserable way that made Aziraphale’s heartshatterintoamillionpiecesand- but he had certainly figured it out, why else would he still be at the bookshop?

WIP 3:

Aziraphale, days later, still found himself thinking about Crowley’s explosion. Whatever had happened, a mild tap to the shoulder had sent Crowley spiraling enough that, even just for a moment, he had seemed convinced that Aziraphale was going to hurt him. It wasn’t the demon’s fault, not in the slightest, but that didn’t deter the sinking feeling that had gutted its way through Aziraphale’s very being when it had happened. It still stuck with him, leaving behind no comfort of the previous denial that had assured him of Crowley’s safety.

(YES THIS IS A PART FROM CH2 OF ONE STEP AT A TIME; TIS NOT ABANDONeD (hopefully)

WIP 4:

Though; wrath would be the wrong word, Aziraphale knew it as clear as a dagger through the heart. He had felt it many times throughout history; the Flood, Edinburgh, the holy water- they all served as reminders of the dangers of bearing one’s heart to the world. Grief, as he knew all too well, was one in the same with love. The same way that love could move mountains, grief could tear down kingdoms. And only now, standing in grief’s wreckage, did Aziraphale realize just how much Crowley had loved him.

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For the WIP ask game, post any sentence from your WIP!

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Crowley hastily shifted the vase away with his familiar projected aura of annoyance when caring for (or, in his words, ‘agreeing in a mutually beneficial partnership and/or arrangement with') the plants in his collection, not allowing Aziraphale to look at the label or provide any… Crowley grimaced, encouragement.

This is from a possibly dead WIP? Kinda in a limbo as I like the idea and have a solid future plot that I'd love to explore, but I despise the way the first chapter was written as I hadn't written for a long time and was getting back into the groove of things. Tempted to rewrite it; but we'll see! ^^

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Okay idk if I’ll get around to it, but post s2 fic idea that I’ve been thinking about and I need to see if this makes sense and get it out there if I don’t fully get around to writing it:

Crowley had always known his way around the idea of time; he had a large hand in creating the concept of it after all. That was a bit of an understatement; he was the *main* angel in charge of it. He knew how to navigate it all like the back of his hand. He couldn’t rewind or fast forward, that was impossible; and he *could* pause it but that would only hold him longer in this moment, this miserable, miserable future now that Aziraphale had left.

Though, there remained a strange solace in the past, and with no reason going forwards, there’s only one thing left to do. Crowley couldn’t go back to the past, but had kept a tight composite of it all (or at least the important times) in the back of his head. It was an important part of the whole ‘being able to control time by knowing it inside and out’ thing, and while Crowley had no current use in controlling time itself, he could still remember most of it relatively easily. Though memories weren’t enough, and while awake they only served as hurtful reminders of the present.

Dreams were a different story, though; right now, to Crowley, a way of reliving the past without the painful reminder of the present. And with no reason left for the future, Crowley retreats to the world of dreams, a comforting infinite blur of the past, with no intent to ever wake back up.

Meanwhile in Heaven, Aziraphale had realized he made a mistake almost the second he’d walked through the door. Heaven had made an offer he literally couldn’t refuse without getting the both of them killed, and Crowley hadn’t taken the opportunity as well as he’d hoped. As much duty as he bore, and as much as he wanted to do the whole ‘advert the apocalypse and save the world,’ he just… couldn’t think about anything with the way he’d left things with Crowley, without any way to clarify or talk afterwards.

It had taken a lot of pestering (and more than a few threats of being smited) for Aziraphale to be essentially kicked out; not exactly fallen (again, an institutional issue is not what heaven wanted to be known for) but no longer associated. Finally, Aziraphale had thought as he raced through SoHo back to the bookshop, they could truly be in their own side as Crowley had always wanted. He could apologize, they’d thwart the Second Coming, and just finally be them.

All of that relied on Crowley being awake, which was mistaken as a given. When they meet again exactly one year after Aziraphale left, it’s not at all how he expected it to go. Crowley won’t wake you and the bookshop is a wreck. Just as Crowley had a hand in the creation of time, Aziraphale knew the subconscious like the back of his hand; it had originally just been a way for angels to peak into mortal’s true selves as judge where their soul should go. It was usually a quick and shallow process, not much to see in under 100 years with human knowledge, but Aziraphale finds himself on equal ground as he travels (see: stumbles and plummets) through the depths of Crowley’s dreams in one more attempt to get Crowley to wake up, and more importantly to set things right.

In the real world, between trying to unravel over 6000 years of mistakes and things left unsaid, Aziraphale finds that the wreck left behind in the bookshop holds more information about what transpired after he left than at first glance, and is forced to confront that he had a much greater impact on Crowley than Aziraphale wanted to think.

The timer begins to tick as Crowley’s essence drains the longer he remains fully in his own mind, at threat of fading completely if not interrupted soon. Aziraphale can’t exactly put a finger on how long he has, but no amount of time feels enough to unravel the ineffable hurt between them.

Though he’ll still just have to try.

Does this make any sense??? PLEASEPLEASEPLEASE gimme feedback or ask questions, and should I write this fully??

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fellshish

omg it’s FAN FICTION FRIDAY

Reblog and promote a fic of yours <3

This is a short minific about Angel Crowley struggling to find inspiration after being tasked to create.. well: the entire universe. He finds himself struggling before a fateful encounter with a certain angel gives him all the inspiration he needs, he just needs to find the words to make it happen…

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