Azeraly



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    The year is 1912, and one angel and one demon's lives are about to change forever as they embark on the fateful maiden voyage of the R.M.S. Titanic - and a relationship utterly forbidden by both Heaven and Hell.

    Rating and warnings for Chapter 13, the rest being far more mild. Some slight amendments to the 2011 FanFiction version, nothing major.

    Once again, I apologise to the fandom for reading a comedy and writing a tragedy.

    (Written 2011)

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    22 Jun 2019

  2. Public Bookmark 96

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    It wasn’t that Aziraphale had anything against speed.

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    22 Jun 2019

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    Aziraphale deals with the consequences of having a brand new body after he'd broken the last one in for 6,000 years. Crowley helps. Taking a drunk-on-life Aziraphale on an impromptu road trip through French wine country to the North of Spain for a beach holiday is definitely helping, right?

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    20 Jun 2019

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    Aziraphale smiled very politely at the nearest waiter. “A jug of wine from the north-eastern slopes of Quintus’s vineyards, if you’d be so kind. The yield from eight years past. If you have it.” He turned back to Crowley. “A very peculiar thing happened to this batch— it’s full of all these little bubbles. Nobody seems to know why, but it turns out to pair terrifically well with oysters.”

    Crowley rolled his eyes, but since he was wearing sunglasses, nobody saw him do it.

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    20 Jun 2019

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    When Madame Tracy shares a body with Aziraphale, she picks up on Aziraphale’s very obvious head-over-heels adoration of Crowley. Naturally, she feels duty-bound to intervene:

     

    The guard, Mr. Shadwell, and the united persons of Madame Tracy and the angel Aziraphale watched, transfixed, as the conflagration of heat and steel skidded to a halt before the barbed wire fence. Cacophonous music blared from speakers which had surely long ago melted.

    The door swung open and - oh.

    There was a flutter in Aziraphale’s - er, well technically Madame Tracy’s stomach.

    From the vehicle, a lanky figure unfolded. Heedless of white flames, he swung the door closed behind him. The music evaporated as though it had never been.

    “You wouldn’t get that sort of performance from a modern car,” he called, flippant. As if his cheekbones weren’t marked with soot, and his black, fitted jacket, not thoroughly singed.

    Aziraphale took over their shared mouth without a thought.

    “Crowley,” he said, like a sigh after a long held breath.

    Language:
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    20 Jun 2019