"Even the act of making lunch for Crowley is a symbol of love. It's tenderness and care for Crowley's well-being. It's precision and details and everything just-so. Even in his anger, in his sorrow, in his righteousness, Aziraphale doesn't skimp on the little things." In the aftermath of an argument, Aziraphale still makes lunch for Crowley anyway, and realizations are had.

It happens, sometimes. Lying awake all night because your brain just point blank refuses to switch off. So, when you have to be up early for work, you contemplate calling in sick... and then go to work anyway. When you trip over, break a cup, and hurt yourself in the process, Mr. Fell tends your wounds and offers warm words of comfort. Reader-insert.

There's something comforting about creation, about having your hands in motion, about knowing that there's a tangible reward for your efforts. For Crowley, baking bread is one of those comforts, and a skill he has honed down many centuries.

Aziraphale. Of-Raphael. The cherub had been assigned to Archangel Raphael's care, raised with love, taught to heal and help. Meanwhile, floating through the chilly depths of space, the angel Zazaeil knew not what the Lord's plan had in store. Nobody had known or thought of how it could all go so terribly wrong.

A study of handwriting in the Discworld.

Bad and naughty fledglings get sent to Aziraphale's bookshop (OR: A fledgling angel is on the receiving end of repeated pranks from her mentor; Aziraphale asks questions and offers reassurance.)

The Lord had plans for Joseph, but first he needed to be prepared. Aziraphale drew the short straw for that duty. But he's not the only celestial being on the cell block...