castielfolklore



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    “It’s angel food cake,” he said. He waited. When Aziraphale did nothing but nod politely: “It’s funny, see, ‘cause-”

    “No, no, I get it.” Aziraphale nodded again. “Very funny.”

    “Oh, shut up, it is-”

    “May I ask what brought this on?”

    Crowley paused. “Can’t a guy just want to try baking?”

    (Or, Crowley makes Aziraphale food after the world doesn't end. It has absolutely nothing to do with how much he wants to make Aziraphale smile.)

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    08 Jul 2026

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    Because they can’t see each other more than once every few decades, Aziraphale suggests that he and Crowley write to each other to pass the time apart. As quills for their letters, they exchange wing feathers: a gesture of great intimacy that Crowley is convinced only he perceives the depth of. But time will tell that it’s not just him who sees it that way.

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    07 Jul 2026

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    Crowley never talked about his time as an angel. Aziraphale never asked. But when Hell sends Crowley a package containing his most painful memories, it is Aziraphale who is plunged into the nightmare history of when his beloved friend, the angel who had once been Crowley, was hurled from the Heavens into the bowels of Hell.

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    06 Jul 2026

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    Aziraphale knew Crowley liked him. He'd known it with a horrible clarity since around 1100, which was at least a thousand years after the first time he'd thought of kissing Crowley, and some eight hundred and odd before it occurred to him that the specific quality of Crowley's regard could be very dangerous for both of them, if they actually admitted their feelings aloud.

    It was also two weeks since any of that had mattered at all anymore.

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    04 Jul 2026

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    Five times they kissed over four thousand years, and one time they actually meant it.

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    04 Jul 2026

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