not_a_chew_toy



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  1. Public Bookmark *

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    Crowley has never seen the name on Aziraphale's chest. He doesn't know the syllables of it, the shape of the transliterated letters. It doesn't matter. He'd gotten quite drunk once, sometime in the fourteenth century, and asked Aziraphale point-blank if his name was there.

    It was not.

    (He doesn't think about Aziraphale's name on his own chest, growing darker every year.)

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    11 Nov 2019

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    “Why not?” Crowley asked. “S’my car, isn’t it?”

    “Yes, but it’s your car! You...you really want to—”

    “Make a mess of it?”

    or: they fuck in the bentley

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    11 Nov 2019

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    They've been desperately in love for a year since the world didn't end, and they've been making little miracles happen for each other. Crowley's latest? A date outside of London, at a drive-in movie theatre in the South Downs.

    Yes, they have sex in the Bentley.

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    11 Nov 2019

  4. Public Bookmark *

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    And Aziraphale is realizing now, to its fullest, something he’s suspected for nearly as long as he’s known Crowley: the demon is no silver-tongued devil. He is no weaver of words, no smooth talker. It would fit in with his image, certainly— shouldn’t a man-shaped being dressed like an oilslick have speech just as dark and slippery— but there’s very little of either of them that’s as it ought to be, really.

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    10 Nov 2019

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    “Aziraphale, they want to kill you!”

    “Oh good.” Aziraphale turned to look over the horizon Gabriel and Sandalphon had been thrown beyond. “It’s always nice to be on the same page.”

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    04 Nov 2019