The year is 2015, but not really important. Every year passes as like a human day or shorter. Oh, I forgot to tell you my name. My name is Crowley and I am a gay dark-minded immortal. The years haven't changed me besides making me fall head over heel for Aziraphale, but besides me not really. I am still a frightening immortal that is assumed straight because I don't care to argue. The reason I am writing isn't to set my record straight, but tell you something.

I enjoy fan-fiction. While Aziraphale is carefully reading original copies of Shakespeare and Charles Dickens, when he does in his personal library, I am reading some wacky human's stories on this thing they call the Internet on the couch. (I use a laptop.) Some days when Aziraphale is out doing whatever he does, I was busy reading collections of Twilight fans' one-shots just so I can trash them in the review.

I learn that some know my deadly affection for Aziraphale by slipping into a special area of interest, which to not tell my darling about. I read one-shot after one-shot of Pepper and Adam and War and Death and at least, some wrong fools use War's true name: Scarlett.

If you ask me, which you should not, I think the Internet is filled with great people; great in ways that young folks in the year don't understand these days, but you just have to find them. They're standing their days, sunny or rainy days, stuck on their devices; taking these ridiculous things called "selfies" that do not actually look good and OMGing about the newest hellish albums to their equally wrong friends.

Some people, not saying who, I realized are like the smarter older folks in their generation. They spend time out and about, with their friends and pumping their bloody automobile radios up to its highest, and not caring a thing about themselves. I know those people and I know the great people I am talking about.

I know the book-worm, outdoorsy type of people not freaking about spiders, even though I might, but rather about tickets to conventions across the continent or when some Brits or Canadians are going to release a video on this space called "YouTube." I agree with them about the sexy levels of their extreme crushes, but truly… Who bloody cares a crap about your OT frickin' P!

I'm truly sorry for that friends. I am just tired of people and their stupid hashtags on their silly devices. I am tired of people making parodies of pop songs. Honestly, I think writers are getting less creative with ideas and more creative for their children's dances and games. I listen to them chit and chatter in restaurants; ranting about snow and no Wi-Fi.

I wait for the day that there is a Fan-Fiction convention where immortal and mortal blood shall run strong. That is one of my hopes. I hope to go to the States before I have to return to Hell and my darling to Heaven. I hope to see Hell's fantastic composers again in concert. I could hear Mozart be played by the finest players while Aziraphale meets the heavenly (no pun intended) dancers in show.

Alas, I am an immortal and the world doesn't seem to appreciate immortals these days. The only immortals that the modern children and teens could see are wolf-men, vampires, hybrids, Pokémon, and terribly casted monsters.

I am trying to see the modern world is nothing like it used to be. It was speak-easies and basement bars with black boy bands playing smooth hellish jazz. I can still remember the Nintendo, limited as it was, and thinking, "Where do gamers and their kind go when they die?" I can remember the good, the bad, and the ugly- people and times.

The only people that seem to get it is the band Live, who are brilliant together. Aziraphale still thinks it sounds like the worst name ever, but to each its own I reply.

To the modern ages and times ahead, keep on doing what you are doing and some day you will die from something or someone.