mursili



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  1. Public Bookmark *

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    It took Aziraphale approximately five thousand nine hundred and forty-five years—give or take a few months—to fall in love. It didn’t take Crowley nearly as long.

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    20 Aug 2019

  2. Public Bookmark *

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    Crowley had, Aziraphale noticed, sunk further into his seat by increments, but in a way that left him nearly slumped against Aziraphale’s side.

    And, oh, neither side would have liked that, at all.

    But, then again, what did it matter?

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    20 Aug 2019

  3. Public Bookmark *

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    So it was fine. Even if Crowley couldn’t love him, he clearly liked him well enough, and that was almost the same thing.

    It no doubt would have continued to be fine, or at least fine-adjacent, were it not for a narrowly averted apocalypse and several bottles of a really quite nice Riesling Aziraphale had found in the back room of his newly restored bookshop.

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    20 Aug 2019

  4. Public Bookmark 83

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    Crowley stopped them in their trek, slipping his arm from Aziraphale’s grasp to face him, hands on his shoulders. “Are you sure you’re alright? A-are you having, like, a mid-life crisis or something now that Heaven’s cut you loose? You’re worrying me. What’s next? Cherry red sports car?”

    Aziraphale reached up to pat Crowley’s hand in reassurance before they began walking again. “If I’m to live here, don’t you think it’s time I actually settled like I live here?”

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    20 Aug 2019

  5. Public Bookmark *

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    "Aziraphale, little good though it did him, wanted desperately. He wanted with an urgency that scared him. He wanted wine, and cocoa, and the occasional tea. He wanted gravlax with dill sauce, and Pappardelle Bolognese, and those awful little iced biscuits they had at Tesco at Christmastime. He wanted dinners at the Ritz and long walks in the park and late nights in the back room of his shop. He wanted Crowley. Fervently, achingly, he wanted Crowley."

    Language:
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    20 Aug 2019