#crowley is so me it hurts

[lemon-cheese-cake]

Okay I'm not used to making text posts, but bare with me, there's a thought to be said.

So Nina and Maggie, they are their own people, right? Not there to be played around with by Crowley or anyone. But. They are there to serve as somewhat of a reflection of Crowley's and Aziraphale's relationship, only a more communicative one I'd say.

And that bit in ep6 where Nina said 'When I'm ready, I hope she'll (Maggie) be there, but there isn't any guarantee.'

Maggie interrupts her to say 'there is'.

That's the bit I'm getting at.

Except the fact that Crowley and Azi suck at communicating, their problem is that they're not ready. Aziraphale isn't.

And Crowley has been (ready) for centuries, always making little steps and suggestions towards Azi - I can give you a lift, anywhere you wanna go - or - we can run off together - and even though Aziraphale has rejected him countless times, Crowley never stops. He's there, patiently waiting because he knows that Azi is torn between his moral duties towards Heaven and his love for Crowley.

But now it's time that Aziraphale works on himself, I mean he has some realisations and acceptance to go through.

And when he's ready and wants to come back to Crowley, we know Crowley will accept and take him back because he understands him and the love he has for him is greater than any grudge he could ever hold.

[bullagit]

due to personal reasons i am now firmly on team “i hope aziraphale does change heaven for the better actually (going on the assumption that his return is as straightforward as it seemed etc” 

like if the alternative is just this ohhh he’s so NAIVE and SOFT and so WRONG and he’ll have to LEARN A TOUGH LESSON etc etc nonsense then yeah 1000% go for it babe knock it out of the park

i hope choosing hope and kindness pays dividends. i hope the soft traits that made other characters continually disparage and underestimate him and his intelligence turn out to be his greatest assets bc i kinda don’t give a shit about a “toughen up it’s the only way everyone else knows better” life lesson for this character

(which like honestly a lot of the rhetoric is dismissive of the fact that persistent goodness in the face of an existence of disparagement takes great strength and that at the end of the day aziraphale has always been able to stand up in his own way)

[p4nishers]

there's something i need to say and yall can boo me for it but deep in my heart i'll always know i'm correct: crowley already forgave aziraphale. like already would take him back at one flutter of his eyelashes. that's all.

[actual-changeling]

No, because has anyone ever thought about that last New Year's Eve they spent together??????

They were not-really-pretending anymore, probably at the bookshop getting drunk and talking about all the historical special events they had experienced during that time, the New Year's Eves they spent alone, and the few rare ones they celebrated together.

Do you think they were both sitting on the sofa, shoes toed off, Crowley sprawling like usual, while Aziraphale was propped up in a corner, one leg folded underneath him? The television was running on mute in the background so they wouldn't miss the ball drop, a particularly special bottle of champagne was waiting on the table, knowing better than to lose its chill.

Do you think Crowley was talking, his hands flying to accommodate his words, when he felt Aziraphale's stare on him? Do you think he stopped in the middle of his sentence, turning his head to fully look at him, meeting eyes with pupils so wide that the blue was drowning in a sea of black?

What? Crowley asked, the counter ticking in his periphery. Two minutes. For a reason he refused to acknowledge, anxiety began fluttering in his stomach—once upon a time, it had been excitement, but he had learned better than to hope, to expect.

Do you think Aziraphale shuffled closer, ignoring the champagne, ignoring the television, simply holding his gaze with a soft smile on his lips?

The sound returned as the final countdown began, but Crowley did not hear a single number, dizzy with a fondness so ancient no words would ever be able to do it justice.

Do you think as the cheering faded into a buzz, Aziraphale leaned in and pressed a kiss right to the corner of his mouth, close enough to count, too distant not to? Do you think Crowley froze in place, forgetting to breathe, blink, speak, exist, caught between the urge to chase after him and the fear of what would happen once the late-night giddiness wore off?

Happy New Year, Aziraphale whispered, reaching for the champagne and opening it with a pop that echoed like a gunshot.

(aimformymouth, aimformymouth, aimformymouth)

Do you think he wanted to say something, anything, and yet all he could do was accept the champagne flute being held out in front of him, a low, garbled noise escaping him? Do you think Aziraphale's smile grew as he made himself comfortable again, resting one hand on Crowley's ankle and saying, It'll be a good year?

To a good year, angel, Crowley forced out, the glass chiming softly as they clinked them together.

To a good year, my dear.

Do you think that night plays on repeat in his head months later?

It'll be a good year.

Aziraphale is gone now.

It'll be a good year.

His chest is tight with grief and memories, and the wine glass meets the wall before he can stop himself, listening to the glass break and crumble.

It'll be a good year.

It had been a good year—right up until it wasn't.

[seance]

the power is on, the guillotine hums / my back's to the wall - go on, let it fall

[fearandhatred]

i was thinking about this line from my fic:

But the fall had hurt, too. Because the wind had cut into his useless wings like knives, his skin and grace peeling away under the friction, and he had been looking right up at the multicoloured and unreachable expanse of sky just to see it fade from his eyes into dull greys.

and i came up with this. i hope the vision came through

[sentientsky]

words by tumblr user @traumabuck080 (i think)

get-ready SUFFER-with-me vlog :)

[playablekairi]

why were you digging? what did you bury? before those hands pulled me from the earth

[goomens]

every so often i think about how crowley was dragged down to hell in punishment after the laudanum incident and the next time aziraphale saw him in st james’ park, he had a walking cane and seemed visibly stiff and in pain

[drksnctury]

why was this what i woke up to

[tonydaddingham]

genuine crowdsource of people's takes requested:

what if the big thing/reveal at the end of s2 is that aziraphale was originally meant to fall, crowley stopped/changed time or bargained with god to make it so he fell instead (or asked god why aziraphale had to fall, that it wasn't fair etc - eg asking questions), bc this funky lil dude was cool about helping him build stars, there's no way he deserves to fall, and thats the reason why they are not wholly angel or demon respectively? because their positions were meant to be reversed?

and that's why the plotline is centred around (hypothetically) examining their histories; because it all goes back to this moment in time, of the fall itself? and that's why neil keeps telling us not to trust crowley's narrative about his fall? because it is in fact a lie and he's protecting aziraphale from the truth about why he's never quite belonged in heaven?

edit re reason for aziraphale to fall: he refused to kill any of the fallen during the war, but didn't know that that put him on god's hitlist but crowley knew (especially if he was indeed a high ranking angel) and crowley instead bargained for him...?

[p4nishers]

you know what now that i think about it, the Bentley playing "a nightingale sang in Berkeley square" wasn't a coincidence. and not in the way that the Bentley wanted crowley to hear it or something. no, remember that crowley planned for them to go to brunch to the ritz, which they would've used his car for. he deliberately wanted that song to play because it's their song. crowley was ready to confess everything and what's more romantic and intimate than listening to your song as you drive to breakfast together. crowley wanted that ride to be special. that's why "no nightingales" hurt so much. they lost the thing that was so special to them and they lost each other with it.

[wearecrowley]

[seance]

Sorry. You think you're a demon? With your curly little... and your neat white... I'm a fallen angel! I lied. To thwart the will of God. Well yeah, you did, but I'm not gonna tell anybody. Are you? No. Then nothing has to change, does it?

[demon-sneeze]

🎉it’s my birthday!

So I wanna finally post some of the things I promised. Mystic Messenger fanart and Crowley fic!!

I wanna post my Crowley fic in three chapters possibly. Theres stuff with the s8 finale church, then s9 dungeon bonding, then a little time skip and self indulgent s12 smut for the last part.

So! Here is my blurb to hopefully get someone interested! This is basically the first chapter that I’ll publish on AO3 later after some polish and maybe another hundred words at the end to wrap up the scene better.

Please someone enjoy!!

———

- Crowley (SPN) X Reader

- 1k words

- Gender neutral reader

- hurt/comfort but basically just the comfort

- POV switch

Description: Reader cleans the blood off Crowley’s face in the church between Sam doing the trial.

———

Sam stepped out of the church for air. I waited a few beats before sighing and looking back to the bloody half-demon confined to the chair in the center of the room.

His eyes had also followed Sam out and remained on the closed doors.

He looked resigned, anxious, thoughtful, but overwhelmingly tired. I guess gaining your humanity, or most of it, after so long would feel like the ultimate emotional bombshell. Every bad thing you’ve ever done being recontexualized through a sense of guilt that was absent and nonexistent up until then. 300 years of bad experiences needing to suddenly be processed. All this while being in grave danger, the threat of death very near and assured.

Though maybe that part feels like a comfort. Does it feel like a comfort to someone who knows what happens to a human after death? Would he still die like a demon?

Not that I’d let that happen. I know they wanna close the gates or whatever but killing him afterwards is unnecessary. If I’ve learned anything from Frankenstein it’s that once you make a man, you gotta take responsibility for him. We aren’t in the people-killing business when we can help it. If Sam wants to ruin this guy’s life as he knows it, he can’t just discard him when he’s done.

A fresh start is a fresh start. I can’t blame a demon for being a demon and I can’t blame a human for what they did when they were soulless. Sam of all people should know that.

His eyes drifted to me with a blink. No smart ass remarks this time.

He looked crushed. Face still tear stained and covered in blood. The needle marks in his neck forming an angry patch of red dots.

I always had a soft spot for him a mile wide.

I broke eye contact to look at the things we brought. There were all of the necessities for what we were trying to accomplish of course, but there was also a first aid kit brought in from the car. I grabbed my own water bottle and some sterile wipes from the first aid.

He watched me. I could feel his eyes, though they weren’t as piercing as before. He was sort of spacey, which was completely different from his usual aura of caution and intensity. Resigned to whatever fate was in store and losing his will to resist it.

It was unnerving on some level due to his sudden change in character but moreso because, I’ll admit, I was genuinely concerned for him.

I took the clean cloth and my water bottle with me as I walked closer to him. Stepping over the markings on the ground carefully as not to disturb them. When I looked back up at his face he just looked confused.

I poured some water onto the cloth before setting the bottle on the ground and getting close enough to touch him.

“Don’t bite me.” Is all I say before starting to gently wipe the blood from a tiny cut near his temple.

“I won’t.” Was all he said back. No quips, no threats.

---

They started at his temple. Far more gentle than was necessary.

He had been looking at them the whole time, but at the feeling of the cloth he closed his eyes. The human blood in his veins had his nerve endings acting sensitive. He almost flinched at a particularly painful swipe.

They had apparently noticed anyway. Mumbling, “Sorry.”

He wanted to cry again. Not at the pain of course, but at the kindness he felt like he didn’t deserve and had not really experienced… ever? He was sure that in 300 years he had been shown kindness at some points but this… was different. He had hurt them. He had hurt their friends. But still they got close enough to his face to feel their breath while they gently wiped off the blood and dirt that had accumulated. To say sorry at the slightest cause of pain?

And why? For pity, or just some practical reason? Was it kindness?

The human blood made him more sensitive physically and emotionally in this moment than he had felt even as a human the first time around.

Their face, at this distance, looked worried of course. But because of the worry he noticed the shape of their eyes. He noticed their eyelashes and eye color and he wondered what they would look like in direct sunlight, what they would look like unbothered by flickering candlelight. Instead of here, looking exhausted in the dim greenish-blue light of the abandoned shack that passed for a church.

They made eye contact for a second but then looked back and held it when they realized he was looking at them.

They didn’t say anything. Just blinked. Inviting his questions.

“Why?”

“Why not? I need something to do, and I like you.” They said simply. They refreshed the water on the cloth and started at a different point, moving farther behind him. There was less to do back there and they both knew it but it was the easiest way to avoid making conversation or eye contact.

That seemed like a poor excuse for so many reasons.

He felt them working the cloth gently against the side of his head, moving to the back of his neck. He had to stop himself from vocalizing when their nails lightly scratched at his hairline.

Damn that felt good. It all felt so good. Even when they got to the most sensitive place, the needle marks, they were so gentle he didn’t feel worried, just leaned his head slightly to give them better access. It felt relaxing, to pretend to be cared for.

Sam was rough and didn’t care for his comfort in the least. When they touched him though, they were almost laughably attentive. He felt more like a child getting a cut cleaned by a mother (not that he would know) than a demon being… what, taken pity on by a hunter with a bleeding heart?

He felt a horrible ache in his chest for a moment when he realized it was over but then remembered himself.

He was almost looking forward to Sam putting him out of his misery by this point.

[filmm-jpg]

the way he looks at crowley i feel sick oh my god