Bob 💛🤍💜🖤

@autisticpumpkin.bsky.social

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Bob, 30+, they/them 🏳️‍🌈🏳️‍⚧️ Your friendly(ish) neighborhood weirdo/ artist/ gamer/ cat bed

Aziraphale turned his focus back to the group to an expectant look from Crowley, an unspoken agreement flitted between them and Aziraphale nodded. Crowley nodded too, finally miracled his own chair and sat with Aziraphale, taking the angel's hand into his palm, before directing his attention back to Gabriel, "We've made our decision."
Remnants by AutisticPumpkin. Summary: The path of life leads to many things, but mostly home.
"[Name redacted] yes." Gabriel supplied when Newt's words failed him. "[Name redacted]... is in Heaven?" Beelzebub asked quietly. "[Name redacted] is everywhere." "Shit." Crowley hissed as he recalled the speech Astra had given before she'd cut into Aziraphale's true form, and began extracting his grace. Then a light bloomed in his mind as the rest slotted into place.
Text passage reads "Aziraphale didn't need to look around any longer for a glimpse of copper curls among the crowd when the huge stone doors opened inwards and there, following right behind the leader of the Rebellion, Lucifer himself, who was being led by Michael on the end of a heavy metal chain - was his friend. The rebels were chained and handcuffed, ordered to keep their eyes to the ground and made to kneel before the amphitheatre which was filled to the rafters with the remaining angels. Those who disobeyed were whipped, and so were the three on either side of them. That only needed to happen once, but once was enough for Aziraphale. The rebels weren't tried individually for their crimes against Heaven, but as a group instead, all suffering the same fate for following the same cause, regardless of the severity of their own crimes or their individual beliefs. It wasn't fair. Aziraphale knew that. Not all of those angels wanted to overthrow God. Only some of them wanted power for themselves. And his | angel, he was sure, had only ever asked questions."
It was unbelievably weird to have your memories make perfect sense one minute, but be practically turned inside out the next as new memories, true and old memories from before time, brutally forced their way back into place. Old oil portraits were now hung in those blank, cold and damp spaces where furniture had never been; yet the lack of colour there had always been haunting. How strange it was for part of you to have always been missing, but never feeling it's absence until you were whole again - and so too was the deep feeling of loss which that brought with it. An ache for a time long gone, a yearning for understanding, a constant and nagging why finally, at least partly, answered, but at what cost? How many eons of heartache and the pain of loss? Centuries past spent blaming yourself, shaming yourself for just being you. The one who had let their heart ruin it all. The one who had allowed their faith to become twisted and disturbed. Thinking yourself broken with something undoubtedly wrong with you... the outcast born to walk alone in this desolate and decrepit mourning palace.
Pushing Aziraphale away that morning had been one of the hardest things Crowley had ever chosen to do in his entire existence. Every bit of him desperately longed to fall into bed with the angel upon his return, every fibre of his being desiring above all to be one with Aziraphale - just as they should be, uniting like two sides of the same coin; physically, mentally, every conceivable way and more. But it wasn't the first time Crowley had been tempted by an angel, only last time it had been a much darker connection with roots just as deep but much, much more sinister intent. It had been something that Crowley had been unable to resist, and he hadn't realised any of those facts until much, much later. Far too late. That's where the demon's thoughts were on this quiet morning, while cradling a piping hot cup of tea by the extinguished fire; stalking through his uncertain past which until recently, he'd only felt shame for.
Image is white text on black background. An excerpt from the next chapter of my fanfiction Deep Waters: Of Temptations and Torments. Text reads: ""Fuck. I- um- shit." Crowley fumbled, sweat beginning to bead along his hairline. "I swear to fucking Satan's bollocks Crowley if you tell me you don't know I will-" Beelzebub was standing again - fists planted upon the desk, lip curled and very close to having steam coming from their ears. "Woah there! Less of those thank you!" barked Crowley. "Oh yes I forgot, it'zzz only angel bollocks for you these dayzzz, izzzn't it!" End alt text.
Image is a screenshot, a preview of the next chapter of Deep Waters. Text reads: Even with demonic eyesight, pale moonlight, and the light from the flames dancing upon the waves, Crowley couldn't spot a single thing floating among them. The Dark shapes of waves, of shadows, could never be distinguished from that of a body. All night he'd been angry, and scared, but he'd hidden all of that so deep down and now it was starting to form cracks in his carefully crafted veneer as he looked around desperately searching for the angel. "AZIRAPHALE!" he yelled out as a rumbling crash informed him he only had seconds remaining as the main mast fell only a few metres away. The sounds of glass windows smashing in their frames under the heat and pressure, the roar of flames as they raced up the sails. The groan of the fast failing wood. Three. "Aziraphale! Where the Heaven are you?" Two. "For Go– for Sa– or somebody's sake–" One.