breathingfire



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  1. Rec 75

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    "The proposal itself wasn’t a big ordeal, not like the whole wedding business – Aziraphale bought the ring years ago, and then one night they were in bed, lying on their sides, nose-to-nose, and he couldn’t help himself. He used a miracle to place the ring under his pillow, to make it seem at least a little bit planned, and then he just asked, and Crowley said yes, and they celebrated with certain bedroom activities, and that was that.
    Crowley’s hysteria began first thing the next morning, and it hasn’t stopped since. Aziraphale has picked up on when to respond and when to keep quiet, when he can get away with nodding and smiling and when he has to listen closely, when to let Crowley run wild with it and when to rein him in. He is living in utter bliss, and he is horribly, disgustingly, completely in love."

    Language:
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    11 Aug 2019

  2. Public Bookmark *

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    Crowley hiccups. It turns into a burp. “Angel,” he repeats, and if it sounds soppy, well, what do you expect. Crowley is three winds—sheets—anyway he’s shitfaced. It’s not like Aziraphale doesn’t know Crowley’s in love with him. It’s not like it’s a secret. It’s not like Crowley hasn’t lived with the mortification of being known down to the molecule every day for six thousand years.

    Why is he here again? Oh yes.

    “I need your help.”

    *

    It turns out glitter is miracle-proof and, also, that it itches. Crowley needs some help preening. He gets a bit more than he bargained for.

    Language:
    English
    Words:
    4,260
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    1/1
    Comments:
    175
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    1796
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    01 Aug 2019

  3. Public Bookmark *

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    After everything, Aziraphale and Crowley, by unspoken agreement, begin sharing their lives.
    ---
    Why? Aziraphale wanted to ask him, why millennia of the way things were, and now this?

    But while Crowley seemed to have little issue upending every unspoken rule they’d ever written for themselves, Aziraphale was not so flexible, and they had spent thousands of years never quite addressing whatever it was this had stemmed from. Words, Aziraphale had always felt, were for bickering about where to eat for lunch, or hashing out ontological debates, or other trivial nonsense; there was no need to trifle with the imprecision of language, with phrasing and the possibility of being misconstrued, when it came to important matters if the other person simply understood, without needing it said. Six thousand years ago, when Aziraphale had met Crowley on the wall of Eden, watching the first two humans set out to begin the rest of history, something deep within him, more central even than his Grace, had thought, oh, it’s you, and that had been enough for him--for both of them, he assumed--for three millennia.

    However much he wanted to ask, he didn’t know how. The words simply weren’t there.

    Language:
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    14,243
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    15 Jun 2019

  4. Public Bookmark *

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    There was a certain look that Aziraphale wore occasionally—a pinched sort of moue that looked like he’d just taken a very large mouthful of cinnamon—which meant he thought Crowley was being ridiculous. He had put it on

    “Hang on,” he had said. “You want us to do human things?”

    *

    If you're going to go native, you might as well go all the way.

    Language:
    English
    Words:
    13,389
    Chapters:
    4/7
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    2
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    1061
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    3224
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    27 May 2019

  5. Public Bookmark *

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    It's like having a curtain pulled back on something he wasn't expecting to see. A surprise punch-and-judy at an up-scale restaurant, a lobster thermidor when he's ordered an ale.

    Crowley's gleefully trying to wrap his head around the fact that Aziraphale is speaking Polari. Because of course he is.

    Or: The Patron Saint of London's LGBT Community is real, and he lives in Soho.

    Language:
    English
    Words:
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    1/1
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    08 May 2019