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  1. Rec *

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    "Bit strange, the Almighty giving us soulmates, too - us demons, not us-us. Wasn't that the point of the Fall, making 'em miserable down there?" Crawly mused. "Seems counterproductive, assigning perfect lovers."

     

    "She'll have Her reasons." Aziraphale muttered, a little curtly, and, there in the rain, wrapped in the Serpent's wing, he ran his fingers over his mark again.

     

    From the very corner of his eye, he saw Crawly doing the same.

    ---

    Crowley's soul-name reads "Aziraphale".

    Aziraphale's does NOT read "Crowley".

    This is... suboptimal, to say the least.

    [EDIT: Now with art!]

    Language:
    English
    Words:
    12,127
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    18 Oct 2019

  2. Rec *

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    Aziraphale firmly told himself he would not make such a maudlin spectacle of himself any longer.

     

     

     

    Fine, then. He loved. Crowley did not.

     

    They were husbands nonetheless, in nothing but name; strangers apart from their wordless shared evenings and some polite conversations on occasion.

     
    Love would not - could not - change a thing.

     

    Marriage, especially the arranged variety, is an enterprise wraught with pitfalls; moreso, Lord Aziraphale Fell is quickly learning, when hearts become involved.

    Troublesome things, really, hearts.
    Only fit to break...

    Language:
    English
    Words:
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    18 Oct 2019

  3. Rec 6

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    It wasn’t just a reminder for Crowley, Aziraphale realized as he stroked one of the wings of the bird statue. The memories flooded his mind almost instantly as he remembered that night in 1941 when he had been held up at gunpoint by Nazis, and Crowley had come to save the day; to rescue him.

     

    It was the day Aziraphale realized something gut-wrenchingly terrible about himself.

    Language:
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    15 Oct 2019

  4. Rec *

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    “Oh, shit,” Crowley muttered, but it came out more like ‘ohkjfd—‘

    The man— A bloody priest was still keeping his umbrella over Crowley. The fabric of his button-up had darkened on his shoulders, now throughly drenched.

    He could see more details, now, and Crowley stared. The priest had round, gentle features, and a shock of hair so blond it looked white collected in messy, soft curls. There was some sense of deep-sedated sadness in his grey-blue eyes, as he looked down at Crowley.

    “I’d imagine that you need to get back up on your feet, then, son,” the priest said, sounding somehow tired. “You can’t stay here.”

    “…I have nowhere to go,” Crowley replied, feeling like his tongue was double in size in his mouth. It was a lie, and wasn’t one at the same time.

    He could technically go anywhere he wanted, as long as the Bentley stopped pouting at him for getting high again, but he had nowhere to go.

    Language:
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    13 Oct 2019

  5. Rec 88

    Summary

    An always chronological, sometimes consecutive series focused on Crowley's experience with chronic pain and ableism, as well as his budding relationship with Aziraphale.

    Words:
    5,834
    Works:
    4
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    88

    12 Oct 2019

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