#daneecastle

A birthday gift for my dear friend @and-his-hands-were-24-crows. Happy Birthday!

astrobleme [ as-truh-bleem ] - an erosional scar on the earth's surface, produced by the impact of a cosmic body, such as a meteorite.

A collab between @daneecastle and me! New pages every Wednesday and Sunday!

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Words: 2,211

Rating: Mature

Content Warning: Angst, Slight Body Horror, Graphic Imagery

Summary:

After Aziraphale ascended back to Heaven to take up the mantle of Supreme Archangel, Crowley needed a place to escape. He felt he needed a place to go and perhaps vent over a bit of alcohol.

He knows of one place, at least.

Excerpt:

The slow creak of taut rope filled the dead air.

The strangling noise bounced off any available surface and enveloped anything that wandered within its grasp. It surrounded. Swallowed whole. The sound became palpable and licked itself up exposed, vulnerable flesh, leaving it coarse and prickled with evident unease. The space it commanded was so vast and vacant that any minuscule sound would swell and pour into every crevasse of auditory sense. There was nothing to visually anchor to. There was no end to the distance that would contain the deeply disturbing atmosphere. There was no anchoring safety net of knowing the swell was containable. The horizon carried beyond visual comprehension, only proving the fact that the smothering sound could only grow. It was inescapable.

Read the fic HERE!

ART BY @daneecastle! 💙

-# TAGS

Elen: ...gotcha.

*cracks her fingers in Bildad mode*

Happy Birthday @vavoom-sorted-art !!!!!!!!!!

Thank you for everything, my dear M'am. You are a wonderful artist and a marvelous person!! I hope you had a great day!

HAPPY BIRTHDAY @daneecastle

Der Bücherwurm, Carl Spitzweg

Music:

Anastasia - Once Upon A December

Rouge’s fingers touched the canvas, and like water, it rippled in circles until they reached the other three corners and disappeared. He pressed on, and his hand was sucked into it, feeling the familiar, cosy temperature that he remembered of his bookshop. His arm followed, and his shoulder, his torso and his head entered the painting entirely, until he had crawled all the way inside it.

He was standing on a stool, both his arms holding a stack of books, and he turned around; in front of him, a library was opening into rows like a gigantic Door of Judgement, offering him the view of eight thousand years of memories, the aspen wood lighting up and glimmering under a line of chandeliers. With a soft wave of his left hand, the books flew off his arms and hovered around him.

The Angel World, and other poems opened its covers and rose up to the ceiling, where it slotted itself at the side of Work and Art.

“Far round the infinite extremes of space,” he recited, stepping down the high stool, pointing to another shelf that Odes of 1819 whooshed towards. “Star unto star spake gladness, as they sped, On their resplendent courses,” he continued, and with a snap of his fingers, Hamlet crashed into his full collection of plays and sonnets. He sighed, closed his crimson eyes for a moment, then reopened them to the library shining brighter than the Versailles palace on a ball night.

“And a smile, Enkindling on the countenances of the suns…” He brought the last book, The Sandman, to its place and invited it to slot itself back where it belonged. The corner of his lips lifted slightly as he saw the soft yellow sheen that the walls had adorned themselves into. “Thrilled to the heart of nature, while there rose,” he whispered, passing his fingers against the spines of the books on the main corridor.

He turned his head, and the fleeting memories of a dream cracked in the air; a hand with long fingers, thin lips stretched in a smile, crimson hair tied in a delicate braid, yellow eyes piercing into his heart. He slid his hand into Crowley’s and pulled close to him, feeling the ghost of a touch on his waist. 

“Expressive of divine felicity,” he murmured, breathing his companion’s air, gorging himself on his pink peppercorn smell. There was a smile, and there were two; there was a step, and there were two forms moving in unison, their heels clicking on the white cherry wood; a hand slid from a shoulder and joined a cheek, and a tear fell down, burning the skin with a scarlet trail.

“A clear bright strain of music, like a braid Of silver round a maiden’s raiment,” he kept on recounting into Crowley’s ear, and saw shivers running down his neck as he deposited a kiss on his skin. His eyes fluttered shut, and he gulped.

“All Imbounding and adoring,” he continued, and when he opened them again, he was under an arch made of white pheasant's eyes, the sun shining bright above their heads.

Wooden petals swirled around them, pushing them only closer and bringing with them the murmurs of undisclosed promises.

Like Death, empty were the chairs, silent was the park, white was the building.

Like Life, scarlet was Crowley’s hair, ruby were Rouge’s pupils, crimson was the rose adorning the left side of the demon’s chest.

Their lips were grazing one another, and the fallen angel had a soft gasp. He could almost taste him with the tip of his tongue pulling out for a second; his hands wrapped into Crowley's, fingers tangling into his, and he pressed forward to close the final gap.

Happy birthday do my buddy @ad-astrah.

Fallen Crowley - Ophelia

Ive done this concept before so I decided to see if I could do it again but with some new techniques Ive learned.

This was a gift for a close friend that i never finished. She won't see this, but im sure she would have loved it.