#and they r kin with crowley too

[ritz-writes]

i love seeing ppl being like "mann my expectations are too high now since ive started reading ineffable husbands fics. i want what aziraphale and crowley have"

and im sitting here cackling

cuz I DO HAVE IT

its literally just @skittlescripts and me and i love it

sorry to every one else but. im living the dream 😌

[demonontheroad]

Since i like fun and being cringe ill make a kin/characters i relate to a little too much even for my own comfort-list

In no particular order

Stan Pines (GF)

Yato (Noragami)

Edward Elric (FMA)

Rick Sanchez (R&M)

Ryuk (death note)

Jotaro Kujo (JJBA)

Diane Nguyen (BH)

Korvo (SoOp)

Crowley (GO)

If you make any assumptions on my personality based on this list you would be completely right

[anthonycrowleymoved]

im the nice anon i just also thought its important for u to know bc ur a crowley kinnie that im an az kinnie (severe kin disease i named myself after him oops) and im surrounded by crowley kinnies. two of my best friends kin him and my boyfriend does too. i feel like im tossing corn bits to the ground and all the crowley kinnies come flocking like chickens (in a good way i like chickens) anyways crowley kinnies r cool i love u

dating service for kinnies of various pairings when amiright

[angclwiings-archived]

♔ Kings & Rebels ♚

starter for @captivatingdesires

                                          The pain was telling him NOT to move.

              It dripped from his lip, and down his chin it went. Blood was rolling out like he drank water and didn’t close his mouth.

              B l u e   e y e s  turned to face the other angel in the room. His head rolled to have an ear against his shoulder when he looked to her. Those shades of blue, despite every wound inflicted on him, they BURNED. He didn’t seem to give up his pride.

              ❝ You- should’ve... Stayed away. ❞ He chokes up the words, the most subtle of smiles crept onto his face. It wasn’t amusement he was experiencing. This was pain.

                                          ONE HOUR PRIOR                                                 ( a summary . . .)

             Walking around as a rebellion’s leader felt like being a torch in a pitch black cave.

             Here he stood in  H e a v e n ,  an office. Castiel was definitely not in his own section of it. Strange to be in these parts. His purpose here was to take whatever information he could gather and return to his side. He was not to make a mess, and flee. Castiel has to be careful. He got his hands on a few books, written out plans. A few spare angel blades... Couple of souls in jars.

            Overall this room was a box of loot. Few collectables, information regarding positions in this war... This should put him a few steps ahead of Raphael and his flock.

            Choosing wisely what he would be able to carry, at first the situation was going well. Until this room went too quiet for comfort.                                                            Something was OFF.

             Sudden shifts of the winds told him the plan failed. It was time to ABORT the mission.

             A brooding glare with furrowed brows directed toward the other angel in the room. His hands carrying the letters he still had full intentions on taking. 

                        ❝ Sister. ❞ His low voice said the title like it was going to mean something between them. Despite knowing very well that it wouldn’t. This was... Raphael’s pet. His ❛ Princess ❜ sister. Touch a hair on her head and you’re dead, kind of sibling.

                        Not to mention she was an  A R C H A N G E L .                                                 She was a bit above his power. Making him a bit stiff in fear.

              ❝ I don’t think... You want to be here. ❞ He warns her, blue eyes steady. ❝ If anyone catches you in my presence... ❞ Castiel holds up the papers. ❝ Who know’s what they’ll believe. ❞

             Of course, he hadn’t intended on making it sound like a threat. But most definitely it could be perceived that way. His true intentions were earnest.

             Sadly... It was too late.

                          Heaven’s alarms rang out. He had been discovered.

     & &

             It’s obvious what happened next.

                          Angels found him. He was to be killed, the rebellion to be disbanded, and all shall pull back the curtains-- - roll the tapes, and  w a t c h  THE APOCALYPSE.

             There... Of course. Was a minor setback.

     & &

             ❝ You’re making a mistake. ❞ Castiel growls, in his restraints. Angels all holding him back like a dog that needs a muzzle. 

                          ❝ She’s  not  with me. ❞

             It would’ve been EASY to not care what happens to Raphael’s closest kin, Ariel. But Castiel was not heartless.-- - His problem was always, too much heart.

             They did not listen. Despite his will to stand up for the archangel, so she didn’t face the same fate he did, angels kept the restraints on her. 

                          ❝ Raphael will kill you for this. ❞ His attempt in persuasion did not work. Castiel was aware he, himself, would be killed by Raphael. But he wondered if he’d kill them for their misjudgment on Ariel. 

             However, direct orders from Raphael himself were to eliminate Castiel, and any associates he brought with him.

     & &

                                                    It all led right back to the open white room. Blood stained the walls and floor. There was a drain in the center, golden sprinklers on the ceiling, and two angels shackled to it’s walls. Three out of four walls were solid. But in front of them was golden bars. A gate.

                          -Locked, obviously.

             The angels at least had the decency to give them a nice room. It had the shiny ARROGANCE of Heaven.

             Better than the ugly stone walls of Heaven’s jail.

             Only problem was here. They had tension. There was two angels, on opposite sides, stuck in the same situation. One, was undeserving of placement here.

                          ( Hint. It’s NOT Castiel. )

     & &

             Back to the Present.

             Castiel put up a fight in attempt to escape those quarters back in his little information mission. They of course, beat that resistance out of him, leaving him a somewhat bloody mess in the cell they were stuck in.

             His powers were weakened here, but not fully depleted. ( ‘ Due to his power because of the soul loan Crowley gave him at the start of this whole rebellion.’  6.20 ) This weakness meant a very gradual healing. Slow, and not entirely unnoticeable.

             ( Repeat of paragraphs 1.2.3. )

             ❝ I’m sorry. ❞ This served better than his pitiful, not to mention meaningless, warning on what she should’ve done. Because what she should’ve done was stay away. But what he felt was SYMPATHY.

                          So he apologized.

[waywardfeathered]

buggeredson‌        ☾        crowley .

          “Yes, so you’ve INSISTED since we got you down here.” Crowley was languid, unbothered by Castiel’s bravado–or was it stupidity?–in the face of danger. Lovely thing about having an angel chained up for you: really limits their mobility. Crowley walked with a slow, measured pace towards Cas: he stalked towards him with purpose, blade held loosely in hand, situating himself behind and just to the side of his caged little birdy. “Funny thing, though: people so often change their mind when I get involved.”           The trace of a smirk on his face lifted his voice as well as one thick, meaty hand curled itself in the angel’s hair and yanked back. (Didn’t this just bring back the sweetest of   m e m o r i e s ?   Life in Hell was far from perfect, but damned if it didn’t have its highlights.)

          “I’ll have it out of you, one way or another. You refusing to talk only makes it more intimate. It feels, after all, like we’ve only just met. Have you always smelled like this, angel?” Crowley bent slightly at the waist, eyes watching Castiel’s profile as he spoke low into his ear. “Fear, regret, a trace of…mmm, self-loathing? Awful demonic of you. Awful HUMAN of you, too. For shame,” he added, louder, rising again. He let go of Castiel’s hair, hand dropping down to his shoulder blades, seeking–. Ah. The money shot. “Spent a very interesting quarter century with an angel once. Have I ever mentioned that? Learned all sorts of naughty little tricks.”

          Like this one. A twist of his hand, his tongue curling in his jaw and settling against his cheek - silent spells, tricky beasts - but it worked now the way it worked then: like a bloody charm. Grace tapped through nerves seldom manipulated by skilled, knowing hands flowed outward in a sudden rush, broke the barriers between the planes and things unseen, unfelt, unnoticed save when called rushed through.

W I N G S .

          And not very pretty ones either. “Oh, darling. Who clipped your wings before I could?” Crowley asked, his voice low and hushed but warmed by the grin on his face, awestruck and mutely terrified the sight but giddy, somehow, at their blatant imperfection.

          “Bite me.”

          Crowley’s intimidation tactics had no effect on Castiel. All of that show was for nothing other than Crowley’s own entertainment ---- he had enough experience on torture, both as the subject and the assaulter, to brush it right off of him. The obvious little mannerisms of the way he walked, even the way he yanked Cas’s head back by his hair, speaking to him from behind rather than letting him see him, was all familiar to him.

          It was all bark ---- only Crowley also had the bite, he was just... what, enjoying the delay? Trying to let Cas brew and dread for it? Good luck with that.

          “I am not afraid of you,” he spat, shifting his eyes to catch a glimpse of the man, refusing to turn his head even as he let go of his hair. Regret? Self-loathing? He was not going to argue on that. But fear? Maybe. But not of Crowley. No.

          His next words alarmed Castiel, though. But what could he possibly do to him that was worse than what his brothers----

          Castiel jerked against the chains holding him in surprise as he felt his true form being yanked at, grunting as he tried, on instinctive reaction, to resist. His first sign of weakness. But he couldn’t control this; his wings, not their celestial, multidimensional form, but their corporeal one, and he had not done this, had not manifested them in centuries, certainly never after they had been broken, yet now----

          Castiel set his jaw, but a muscle below his eye twitched. Now he felt vulnerable. Which, he knew, was a huge disadvantage. “I’m an angel,” he replied, his voice dark, “and my kin, if you had not noticed that yet, is not awfully fond of me these days.” It wasn’t a lie, but neither was it really saying anything. All of them had their wings broken, at least everyone who had been ejected from Heaven by Metatron, but he had no illusions of any of his siblings being sad about Castiel being among the wrecked ones.