#what if aziraphale falls harder

[peetassandwich]

Was just thinking about Crowley and Aziraphale being in love and about when Aziraphale falls for him later, and I had to stop dead at the thought that Crowley Fell first.

Crowley fell first of the two of them.

He Fell.

I am unwell.

[dalliancekay]

"I think Aziraphale needs to learn a lot more than that..."

Why do people keep (telling me again and again about this quote) assuming that Neil means Aziraphale needs some moral lessons, get off his high horse, learn some hard truths about Heaven, escape their grasp, finally understand that they are bad etc etc etc.

When the ask is about how Crowley is always forgiven from Aziraphale's point of view and how what (I see) Neil means is that Azi should also be told he's good enough. That he can be loved.

That what he needs to learn is how to believe in himself. To trust his mind, his feelings, to believe he is enough, he always was, that he doesn't have to be perfect or 100% right, that it is not possible and that it's okay. That he's okay. That he was lied to.

I wish we would frame Aziraphale's journey/learning as something else, not morality/awakening of some sort. Not as something he has to overcome. When Crowley changes his mind on something, no one says, oh have a gold star, you went against what Hell wants from you. Well done! Why do we do that to Aziraphale. Crowley is seen in Hell, giving presentations on some half hearted ideas that no one there really gets and getting accolades for things he didn't do at all and everyone is like, oh yay, look at him, so clever. Hahahah. Aziraphale also has to follow rules and do his tasks whether he agrees with them or not or he will be punished. He's not doing it for fun. He breaks rules when he feels he simply must and then everyone is like oh look, he is finally abandoning the rigid thinking that Heaven showed/taught him. But really, the naïve slow angel, he should try even harder.

Why such double standards?

Aziraphale is good and wants to do good. He is not sure of himself, true, but that's hardly his fault. Crowley is also good and tries to do good or at least limit the bad things he needs to do to survive.

They are two sides of the same coin. They both learn and grow. Sometimes the treatment the Ineffables get reminds me of how differently boys and girls are treated when they are learning behaviour. Boys praised for anything and everything even remotely good they do (cos they are expected to be naughty) and girls get the oh you should have already known better treatment. Aziraphale saved Job's kids cos he thought it was a horrible thing to want to do and expected to be punished for it. That's not - he didn't, it didn't change who he is. He did it expecting Falling. That's extremely brave. Yes Crowley has Fallen and people tend to see this as some extra superior move on his behalf, like he had everything figured out, understood how bad Heaven was and tried to bravely fix it. And Aziraphale needs to catch up with him. (If not by Falling himself than by doing some extraordinary learning journey to catch up with Crowley's knowledge). No. That's all HC. We don't even know why Crowley Fell. We don't. We know what he says happened (and we also know that he's not a reliable narrator...) and that's all we know. And even the things he says are not exactly showing him as some truth waving hero only wanting to make Heaven better for everyone and failing. Aziraphale is not breaking rules cos suddenly he used his brain and saw how Heaven is bad. He already knows that. He's risking punishment to help others. Again and again. And that's very kind and admirable and everything but it's not his evolving morality. He's already moral. He's already good. He always was.

He's also fucking cute. Let's not forget.

[onceuponapuffin]

Ineffable Bureaucracy and Ineffable Husbands

So, especially in the early days after the release of S2, I saw and heard a lot of people comparing these two as if they were the same. There were fan comics and fanart and fanfiction that included dialogue that was something along the lines of "why are they so healthy after only a few years and we aren't?" or "why do THEY get a happy ending and we don't?" And I mean, I haven't seen any of that in a while so maybe people have come to this conclusion on their own, but just in case, I wanted to point out

That they are fundamentally different. They are not the same.

And the reason why comes down to this conversation from 2x3:

So, hold this conversation in your brain while we go through this.

First of all, we have our Ineffable Bureaucracy, Gabriel and Beelzebub.

So these are the ones who, figuratively speaking, were born in a castle.

Gabriel was the Supreme Archangel for however many millenia, and Beelzebub was the Grand Duke of Hell for the same, roughly speaking. They are equals in positions of power.

So, when they fall in love, you have two supernatural authorities who have lived their existences believing that they can reasonably expect to have and keep whatever they want. After all, that's exactly what their lives have been (with the one exception being Beelzebub's Fall) - they want something, they get it, they keep it, and no one tells them no.

The biggest risk is to Gabriel. If Heaven were to find out, he would Fall. I can imagine Beelzebub being a bit concerned, but "Oh no," Gabriel probably figured "I Fall to Hell, and straight into your arms!" And I could see Beelzebub with a little smirk saying "I'd look after you, babe," in response.

The only time Gabriel actually worries is when he finds out that there's another punishment that he didn't realize was a possibility.

Falling to Hell is one thing, but having his memories erased is an actual threat, and possibly the first time he's ever been told no. This is when we see him panic, and leave Heaven in a mess, storing his memories away to keep them safe from the Metatron. We find out later that he was on his way to Hell anyway and just forgot halfway there and got lost.

And so, we have two beings who were always told they were Good Enough, who approached each other knowing they were able to have whatever they wanted, and were therefore able to communicate and fall in love in a healthy way. They didn't need to tip toe or hide, because they had no reason to believe anyone would ever tell them no until someone did. Their risk, because of their positions of authority, wasn't nearly as great as Aziraphale and Crowley's risk.

So now we come to our Precious Ineffable Husbands

Crowley and Aziraphale start off in much lower positions on the Celestial Food Chain. We know that they have to be very careful about their relationship to avoid the repercussions. They can't mention The Arrangement out loud, they can't put their feelings for each other into words. It has been made clear to them that they are always being watched, and anything they have can be taken away from them on a whim.

So how can they communicate safely when they've spent millenia living on eggshells and tightropes? Of course they won't, and of course it's going to be much harder for them to believe they can once they finally are safe. I definitely believe that they will get there (for my own wellbeing I have to believe that their love is stronger than anything), but they will need to fight tooth and nail in a way that Gabriel and Beelzebub didn't. All because they aren't figures of authority.

It might honestly be another good argument for Crowley taking the Grand Duke of Hell job (even though I reeeeaaaally don't want him to). It would put them in the same position as Gabriel and Beelzebub, and might give them the footing to actually escape the system (even though I think it's more likely that they're going to dismantle and/or repair the system in s3, but that's my own opinion).

These two pairs aren't mirrors of each other. Rather, they illustrate the problems with inequity that Crowley was pointing out in Edinburgh. And if S2 showed us that, I'm hoping S3 will show us possible solutions for it.

[raz-writes-the-thing]

Angel's Blood

Aziraphale x GN!Vampire!Reader + a hint of Crowley

18+ ONLY / Requests are OPEN

Read part two- Demon's Blood

Summary: It's entirely an accident when you discover Angel's blood is an aphrodisiac.

CW: vampire!reader, blood, i guess blood kink if you squint, choking, thigh riding

___ ___ ___ ___ ___

Being a Vampire had its draws, that was for absolutely sure. Strength, heightened senses (although this could be a hit and miss, depending on which sense you were talking about), speed, and your personal favourite- elongated life. Being able to watch the world grow and thrive around you, it was something truly special. 

It was also a curse too, but that was less fun to think about, so you generally tended to avoid thoughts about it as much as you could. Now, you weren’t necessarily a ‘vegetarian’ Vampire, per se. But you did your best to only bleed people dry who ‘deserved’ it. Real bottom of the barrell stuff. It was… not particularly tasty.

And what with the lockdowns, and the lack of evil and wrongdoing in the air, you’d found it becoming exceptionally difficult to find yourself more meals. The 1940s had basically been an all-you-can-eat buffet. Oh, sure, that wasn’t a good thing, but you’d not been sated quite the same way ever since. Never enough walking popsicles about these days. 

Oh, now there was an idea. Frozen blood pops. You thought you might give those a try when you got your next few blood bags. But those were still a while away, and you were hungry now. 

Usually it was not a huge deal to wait a while between meals, but given how uptight and wound Humanity was getting, and how much harder it was getting to, well, get away with things, you were spacing things out more than you should have been already, and as you pushed your way through the Bookshop doors, you knew Aziraphale knew what was going on immediately. 

You’d met the Angel and Demon pair several centuries ago during a particularly popular theatre act, and you had hit it off immediately. They’d both known exactly what you were, and did not beat around the bush about it. The fact that they’d not feared you in the slightest helped with that too. You didn’t have to keep your guard up around them, and once you’d told Aziraphale about who, what, when and where you fed on- he was much more inclined to become friendly with you. 

“Az- Zira-” you panted, the bell on the door clanging wildly and loudly as you practically fell through the door frame. “Do I- have any- blood here?” Each couple of words took effort to say, and were punctuated with a heaving breath in. You usually kept a small stash at your usual haunts just in case, but you had a sneaking suspicion based on the look on Aziraphale’s face, that no, you did not have any spare snacks sitting around. 

“Oh, dear- erm, no, I don’t believe so, darling-” the Angel said concernedly. You braced yourself against the door and smacked your dry lips.

Well fuck. 

“Shit,” was all you replied, arm wobbling before your body gave out on you. Before you hit the ground you felt arms around you, pulling you up and against Aziraphale’s body. You could smell his soap on his skin, a mix of white sage and oregano and you clung to him desperately so you wouldn’t fall. 

Aziraphale led you over to his arm chair, settling himself down with you in his lap. He brushed the hair out of your forehead and you shivered, your nerves becoming more panicked by the minute.

“You know you shouldn’t leave it this long between… meals,” he practically tutted as if unsure what the correct word to use was, and you let out a shaky chuckle, nuzzling your face into the crook of his neck. You weren’t sure if it was the desperate hunger or what, but Aziraphale smelt so fucking good.

“Yeah, yeah,” you replied, nosing at his skin softly. Your arm pulled closer around his torso. “It’s getting- harder. Not so much- supply,” you sighed, the panting easing now you weren’t exerting so much energy with movement. 

It wasn’t as if you’d die if you didn’t feed. It was just that without the blood, there’d be no flow in your system, and with no blood flow your body would just… stop working. Dry up and go stiff like an old doll. You’d be stuck in a coma until more blood was transfused into you. 

How did you know this? Well, let’s just say you did not particularly want to repeat the end of the 14th century. You shuddered at the memory and Aziraphale rubbed your shoulder, cooing at you softly in an effort to comfort you.

“Can I do anything for you?” Aziraphale asked softly, kissing the top of your forehead. You nosed at his neck another moment in throught before it came to you. Aziraphale had a body. One that pumped blood.

“I- I have an idea,” you said quietly, pulling away from his throat to look up at him. Aziraphale’s gaze was soft as he nodded, asking what he could do to help you. That was Aziraphale for you, always ready to give for the next person in need.

“I need to feed,” you say slowly and evenly, measuring the Angel’s reactions. “And I’m too weak to find someone who… I can feed off.” You wait to see if he gets what you’re hinting at, and when his eyes widen in shock, you can’t help but be amused at the comical expression. 

“Oh- oh, my,” he splutters as his brain processes the request. And it is a request. You’d never take advantage or take anything from him without his permission. It wasn’t who you were. Not at all. “Oh, well, I suppose,” he adds, clearing his throat. You didn’t even know if it was safe to drink Angel blood. But you supposed you were about to find out.

“Not too much,” he adds, readjusting to make it easier for you to gain access to his neck. “Takes a while to replenish, you see.” You can hear the blood pumping just a little faster- smell the spike of sage that permeates the air over his skin. You shudder out a breath, looking at him one more time. One more chance to back out of this. 

When he tilts his head just a little further in submission, you stop hesitating, fangs appearing in a flash of a second only to disappear again- sinking into Aziraphale’s flesh. The feel of his skin under your lips is to die for. The Angel gasps, the hint of a yelp lost in the haze of blood finally, finally hitting your tongue. 

You let out a groan of pure satisfaction, sucking a little harder. That sweet liquid tasting of peonies, iron and ink. Everyone tasted a little different. God, did he taste good though. You let out a possessive growl and twisted in Aziraphale’s arms so you were sitting on his lap, straddling one thigh and pulling him by the hair to gain as much access as possible. 

“God, fuck, Zira-” you panted, pulling away to lick your lips clean. Your eyes were blown wide watching a drop of blood swell and trail down towards his collar. You surged forward to lick it clean and let out a whimper. “Fuck, fuck- you taste good.” 

The Angel let out a breathy chuckle, and you managed to tear your gaze away from his willing throat to look into his face. His own eyes were darker than usual, and a pink tint was colouring his cheeks. You leaned in to sniff under the bone of his jaw and grinned a sharks grin. Oh, he was enjoying this.

“Do you like it too, Zira? Like it when I feed on you? Shit, I can feel your blood inside me- Angels Blood. Fuck.” You’d barely realised that you’d started grinding softly on his clothed thigh, jolts of pleasure travelling up your nerves like electric shocks. Nothing had ever tasted or felt this good- not in your couple thousand years of life. 

But why, why was it so good? Was it because his blood was undiluted? Pure blood straight from the Heavens- literally? That had to be it. God, it was almost… euphoric. Fuck it, it was euphoric.

When Aziraphale moved to wrap his warm hands around your hips and have you grind down harder and faster, you moaned, head tilted back in pleasure. The Angel tilted his head to the side and let out a quiet plea. “Take more, p-please,” he whispered. 

And who were you to deny him his hearts desires? 

Your fangs sank back into his skin, and his hips jerked up slightly in your direction. You moaned, sending little vibrations through his neck and shoulder and one hand reached down to palm at him through his slacks. 

“O-oh,” he gasped out, fingers tightening on your hips as you began to move in tighter circles, grinding yourself down on him and panting with the pleasure shooting up your spine. Your muscles were already beginning to ache but you persevered, the pleasure far outweighing the burn. 

Aziraphale whimpered quietly, biting his lip and adjusting his knee to have you seated more comfortably. The movement of his thigh pulled a deep groan from you, and your fingers pressed into his bulge with a little more devilish intent. 

Fuck, you were not going to last long and you knew it, it was almost like you’d been strung on a high wire and the ampage turned up to eleven. Fuck, the only thing that could make this better was if-

“Fucking Hell,” you hear behind you. The shock and the adrenaline that came with being caught sent your hips forward harshly, a noise of pleasure escaping whether you wanted it to or not. The pair of you hadn’t even locked the door. “Angel, I didn’t take you for this kind of behaviour. Seems more like my kind of thing.” 

You feel Aziraphale’s fingers clench tighter on your hips, dragging you forward and back over his thigh. You can barely focus on the conversation over the pleasure.

“It’s- ah- not what it looks like, Crowley-” Aziraphale manages to say. You’re pretty sure you know exactly what this looks like, and you’re not sure how Aziraphale intends to explain this to his Demon friend. Lover. The three of you were a lot of things to each other. It was bound to happen when you spend so many human lifetimes around each other.

“Isn’t it?” Crowley asks, taking a seat down on the chair facing opposite to Zira. You suck a little harder, more of your Angel’s blood laving over your tongue. Your hand massages against him and one of his arms comes up so his hand can caress your spine. 

“Because, and, right- correct me if I’m wrong- but it looks as though you’re letting our dear old friend here fuck your thigh and drink you practically dry,” his gaze must catch on the way you’re rubbing your hand over Aziraphale’s very prominent and thick erection. “Mm, well, and there’s that. Not overly Holy, I would have thought. But don’t stop on my account.” 

You feel Aziraphale’s fingers lift from your spine and suddenly Crowley isn’t on the chair anymore. He’s pressed up against your back and reaching to pull softly on your hair. You pant as your mouth is pulled away from Aziraphale’s neck, and the Angel in question whines in protest. 

Crowley pulls you into a kiss, licking the blood from your lips and giving you a truly devilish grin. He lets go only to wrap a hand around your throat and squeeze. 

“Naw, what’s wrong, Pet? Hmm? You want to cum?” The Demon squeezes tight enough to cut off your air and you hump against Aziraphale’s thigh desperately. Crowley has the audacity to laugh, standing above you and holding you steady. 

“Go on, then,” he snarls, pressing tighter still. You whine and rock your hips harder, your hand grinding against Aziraphale at the same time, who is turning his head to press kisses to Crowley’s wrist reverently. “Come for us, Pet. Hungry thing.” 

You cry out as Aziraphale bumps his leg up against you, the final touch to make you fall over that edge. You cum hard, jerking in Crowley’s grip as he loosens his fingers just enough to allow you to breathe in again. He laughs, giving you a light pat on the cheek. Hard enough to feel but not to hurt. 

As soon as he releases your throat, you’re burying yourself in Aziraphale’s neck, seeking warmth and comfort, hips rolling over his thigh to ride out your pleasure. Your hand has reached into his slacks by now, tugging at him erratically and quickly. The Angels head tilts back in pleasure, where you’re sure Crowley is giving him a downright filthy look. 

As soon as your lips press a featherlight kiss to the marks you’ve left on him, he cums. Ribbons of white coating your fingers inside his slacks. You let out a moan of a laugh, tired and sated, as he pants underneath you. 

He’s got his eyes clenched shut with the pleasure, but as soon as he starts to come down, Crowley leans over to kiss him hungrily. The Angel reciprocates, reaching up to cup his jaw. 

You’re still snuggled up on Zira’s lap, the post-nut haze settling thickly and heavily into your skin. You let out a yawn, and lick your lips clean, the last of the Angel’s blood entering your system. 

“So,” you say tiredly as Crowley leans against the other arm of the chair next to the pair of you. “I’ve learned some things today.” Your fingers dance over Aziraphale’s shoulder. “Who would have thought Angel’s blood would be such a powerful aphrodesiac, huh?” 

Crowley hums in thought before giving you a wicked grin, a hint of a flash of yellow behind his sunglasses.

“Makes you wonder what Demon’s blood can do, eh?” 

Hmm, makes you wonder indeed…

[logan-bear-bear]

Beelzebub fell first but Gabriel fell harder

Aziraphale fell first but Crowley fell harder

Whats with ex archangels falling hard for their love wth

[kojtolina]

In Love's Secret Domain

Page 24

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beginning

Transcript:

AZIRAPHALE I'm awake, I'm awake!

I was going to tell you, I keep falling asleep and I feel so exhausted all the time. And well… It didn't slip past him and he somehow knew it was because I'm heartbroken over you…

CROWLEY He what?

AZIRAPHALE I don't know how he got all this, but he's right. These dreams are the only moments I'm not miserable.

CROWLEY Angel…

AZIRAPHALE I don't want to wake up.

CROWLEY Yeah… I-

(disembodied laughter) he he he ho ho ha ha

AZIRAPHALE and Crowley - ! ?-

TREE Hello friends he he he he

It seems you got yourselves stuck in a situation.

My, my you really are stuck aren't you?

The harder you pull…

The tighter it gets!

[highlandwhackamole]

A Grand(ish) Theory of What the Heck

I love the utterly unhinged, super detailed theories about what's going on in Good Omens, especially in season 2. I hope one or more of them turn out to be true, as some kind of glorious puzzle-box-hidden-code monstrosity. And also I think that there has to be a simpler explanation for things, for the people who are at least Somewhat Normal (tm) about this show. (... I assume such people do exist somewhere...) This is what I have been pondering recently.

The thing that started me thinking about this was this post, containing some promotional materials for season 2 that feature main characters with scenes in their heads. Like this:

Seeing this created a very similar situation in my own head, but with a nice shiny lightbulb.

All the weirdness: the car, the sideburns, the clock, the behavior of the folks of Soho, the vanishing storefront signs. The absence of God. I think this is all because everything we see is in their heads.

I don't mean it's made up. At least not entirely. Memory is already a plot point. Why not explore it on a deeper level? I've read theories emphasizing the minisodes' stories being retold by Aziraphale and Crowley. I think the whole season is like that.

You know that sort of conventional-wisdom-fact-concept that you can only dream faces of people you've seen before (or variations therein), because your brain can't make new faces up? So it just fills in what it thinks is close enough? I think that idea, applied to remembering or recollecting things, could explain so many things that are wonky in this show.

Wonky Things

Crowley parking in an impossible London location? He definitely remembers it was in London, so his brain just stuck some obvious London landmarks in there.

Awkward clattering happening when Crowley throws the stacks of books he's inexplicably carrying around the bookshop? He wouldn't actually throw Aziraphale's books! But he'd like to think he's cool and nonchalant enough to do that, and if he did it would definitely make Some Kind of Noise.

Jim walking toward the bookshop from somewhere mysterious? Maggie and Nina saw him first, and he came from that direction, so he must've walked all that way. They don't know about the elevator in the Donkey.

Aziraphale remembers tartan hills and the Loch Ness monster because he was having a jolly time driving through Scotland, so obviously the scenery must've been whimsical Scottish things.

Nina put the Honolulu roast sign up, so she remembers its presence, but perhaps the occult/ethereal visitors to her shop do not.

Maggie really did text Aziraphale about the rent, but a note through the mail slot is a much more dignified way for a scholarly angel to imagine he received a message.

On the Fallibility of Recall

This season is loaded with unrealistic inclusions. The colors are turned up to 11. Some of the scenes are more caricature than believable interaction. Remembering things never copies or reproduces them with what one might call high fidelity.

Scenes recalled by separate memories will inherently vary. One person's hefty jigger might be another person's dash. Who knows for sure where the sun was that day? You and I might recall an event having different lighting or a different color palette, sort of like viewing something with different lens filters.

According to Neil, Crowley is an unreliable narrator of the story of his Fall. He labels the variations in clock times as a continuity error in a show where Everything Is Meant, but he doesn't say whose continuity error it is. He insists that the Bentley is the same through the whole season; maybe it was the same, but remembered differently. Maybe this is part of why there's more CGI but it's harder to spot.

So What?

Is this all there is to it? I sure hope not. I like my Good Omens with enough layers to put to shame an onion wrapped in a cake and covered in a parfait.

Is this possibly the fancy footwork that's distracting from the real magic trick? I wouldn't put it past Our Gaiman. There are a lot of things one could hide in the narrative of unreliable memory.

Is this going to stop me from rewatching and repondering and remaking theories for the next couple years? Not even at gunpoint.

[aziraphales-library]

HELLO LOVELY PEOPLE!! this might be too specific of a trope so if it is i’m sorry ab that but do you know of any fics where crowley is cursed or controlled in some way to hurt aziraphale? thanks and have a slay day!!!

Hi! Here are some fics in which Crowley is forced into hurting Aziraphale. Mind the tags and warnings on ALL of these ones, folks!...

Hell's Greatest Punishment by evilwriter37 (E)

Hell possesses Crowley and makes him hurt Aziraphale as a way of punishing him.

F to pay respects (I swear this isn't a crackfic) by satiricalScythe (NR)

In which upon failing to destroy the traitors to Heaven and Hell themselves, Gabriel and Beelzebub realize what they much do - if they can't destroy Aziraphale and Crowley, they'll make them destroy each other. Idk if this really earned the graphic depictions tag, but better safe than sorry. It was originally far more bloody but I cut a lot of parts out to make it work.

The Night Of Time by NuriaSchnee (E)

Aziraphale and Crowley are about to take their relationship to the next level when Gabriel and Michael's wrath falls on them. To punish them, they implant a fake reality into Crowley's memory in which he becomes a proper demon for a while and hurts Aziraphale several times. However, they leave Azirapahale untouched and aware that none of it has been real.

The Uncanny Valley by mozbee (E)

“Oi, Crawley.” He freezes, then turns, because you should never turn your back on a Duke of Hell. He sees the woman leering at him, and kicks himself for not paying attention before, to her blank eyes, the slightly sour smell wafting off her now he’s looking for it. “Have a nice night,” she rasps, and suddenly lifts her hand and blows a palmful of black powder into his face. Crowley coughs and stumbles back, out of the elevator, dropping to the floor, eyes watering. Its gone up his nose, down his throat; he can feel it, cloying and irritating. “What the fuck—” he tries, but suddenly he’s gripped with a new, urgent thought: angel. He pauses, mind perking up at the thought. Angel. He stares up at Hastur, who’s giggling and tossing long blonde hair over his borrowed shoulder. “That’s right, demon: you smell an angel.” “I—” It’s important, this bit about the angel, but it’s harder to put his finger on why. “You smell the angel,” Hastur says, and reaches out, to grip his chin in harsh fingers. “You want to kill the angel, don’t you, Crawley? Don’t you, demon?”

Fire in the Blood by Lurlur (E)

Heaven and Hell are in disarray, Earth is feeling the consequences. Crowley is hit with a lust curse from a rogue incubus which triggers a series of events that he'll never be able to undo. This fic features explicit rape and the aftermath. It is emotionally ugly. Look after yourselves.

Branded by Bookwormgal (M)

The mark on Crowley's face was not a tattoo. When Lucifer, still furious and his pride damaged, took out his frustration out on the first thing to catch his attention after the Fall. Rage, possessiveness, and a need to prove that he was not as weak as he felt when he was cast out spurred him into action. He claimed the broken and fallen creature in every way, relishing the confusion and fear. And he left a piece of his power tangled up in the former angel's essence, the only easily visible sign being a shape manifesting on his eventual corporeal body. But rather quickly, Lucifer found other things to occupy himself and the demon was sent up to Earth to cause some trouble. Six thousand years later and newly-enraged by the betrayal and halted apocalypse, Lucifer finally decides to make use of that power that he left behind. The devil is not one to surrender something that he'd claimed so easily. And the traitor would pay. He would make Crowley suffer.

- Mod D

[potatoofdefiance]

My two cents and a rant on the allegations and Good Omens

(I will probably regret this later)

This has been eating at me for a while now, ever since the news broke that Neil Gaiman was a sex pest (see infamous TERF-adjacent podcast by Tortoise media) and I have been consciously and unconsciously ruminating over it for weeks now, so here goes.

I think the news of Neil Gaiman hit me harder than I was expecting, and certainly harder than I would have liked.

I didn’t (and certainly do not now) consider myself a “true fan”. I was never a hard-core fan, one that goes to signings or book fairs or cons to meet my favourite author. Partly because I never latched that much on any of the authors of the books or movies I loved, and partly (maybe for the best now that I think about it) because I never had the money, or wasn’t located in a geographically favored area. Meaning I never lived anywhere near wherever events with Neil Gaiman were happening.

So, with all this in mind, how is it that the news managed to hit me so hard?

I thought (read: ruminated) about it, and I think it is because of Good Omens. And the latest times. In my life, and I think a good chunk of other people’s lives too, these last few years have been a roller-coaster. You choose which particular scenario the roller-coaster is set into; mine is on fire, running through a sea of shit and we are being slapped by gooey flaming eels hard in the face.

Maybe someone might enjoy this. That someone isn’t me.

But the point is: I have been struggling. With my life, with a mental health condition, with the world and my place in it.

Enter Good Omens. In an effort to actively expose myself to “nice” stuff, stuff that would, if not make me feel better, at least make me laugh, I started tapping more into the fandom.

I’m not a fandom person. Again, never latched onto anything that had a fandom big enough (where are the Ann Halam fans? No one is making cosplays of Sloe from Siberia, are they?).

But with Good Omens, it seemed perfect for me. I wasn’t invested so much, it didn’t make me feel like I was “lacking” something in order to be part of it. I just felt like I didn’t care enough to really be vulnerable to it, I felt like it could have been a nice innocuous hobby.

But that’s the point. Thinking it was innocuous made me let down my guard enough to actually fall in love with the fandom. Fall in love with those two weirdos of characters (which by the way, I’ll say this now: I think Aziraphale and Crowley as portrayed in the series are more a product of fans and Tennant and Sheen than they are a product of Gaiman and Pratchett. And this is not a bad thing per se, I think, but let’s give credit where credit is due).

And let me be clear: I gained so so much from joining the fandom. It has positively affected so many seemingly unrelated parts of my life, and I’m so grateful to so many kind strangers on the internet who have shared such wholesome art with me, and have gifted me so much, that even putting it into words is simply not enough to explain all of it.

And one of the results of this “wave of wholesomeness” is I also started following Gaiman more closely.

Like so many, I loved Coraline. Gaiman seemed a genuinely nice person. An old guy who had wisdom to share, and who seemed to be fascinatingly non-stereotypical? If that makes sense. What I mean is that he was everything my father warned me against. A goth, weird, a writer therefore an artist (and in my family we know artists are fools who end up on the street jobless and homeless). And yet, to me now he seemed such a normal guy. Yes maybe someone who enjoyed that fashion style, but otherwise very far away from the usual excess of a rockstar. Of course I was too young when he was at the peak of his rockstar years. English is not my first language, and when he was 40 I was in elementary school and just learning about him, and you know, they do not write about his fans passing out at signings or his groupies on the back cover of children’s books.

What I mean is that I didn’t have access to all the media and information about him.

So I start seemingly connecting to this writer, whose works I have enjoyed for the most part, and who seems such a nice guy in how he interacts with his fans and people in general. Such an inoffensive, kind person. And kind seemingly to everyone.

I started liking him. To the point where I remember telling my partner: you know, Neil Gaiman is someone I’d take a coffee with (which in Italian culture is one of the greatest honors one can give you. Having a coffee while sitting at a café and chat for hours is what good friends do).

So, in my mind he had a special place now. He was someone I started to admire and look up to.

And this is, I think, where it hurts. It hurts because even if I wasn’t personally victimized, I never met him, he never acted creepy with me, he doesn’t even know me, it still felt like I, as part of the fandom, had been used for his clout. And also, it hurts to feel like someone you trusted because of how they presented themselves has lied to you.

And on top of that: it is so fucking disrespectful. The fact he thought he could get away with it. With hurting so many people (one is one too many by the way), and causing so much pain, while also enjoying crowds of adoring fans, both online and in person.

I find it personally difficult to reconcile my love of the GO fandom with all of this right now. And I think it’s for a number of reasons.

Firstly because the silence of institutions and people around these facts has opened some old wounds and made me angry again towards a system that I perceive as hostile towards me and people like me who might be vulnerable.

What I mean is: I know that Gaiman is a powerful person, and a lot of people need to bring money home and are tied to contracts and what not (yeah I’m looking at our favorite two male presenting british actors here) and I understand it. I do. And this is exactly why this stuff makes me angry again. Angry at the whole shitty system we live in, where if you happen to be in some kind of power imbalance you might end up having to eat shit and shut up while witnessing violence against you or others and not being able to utter a word about it. This sucks. It makes me angry. It makes me angry that Michael Sheen, someone I like to believe would be among the first to shout “I BELIEVE THE VICTIMS” if he was talking to friends at a bar, likely has to shut up and play nicely because Darth Amazon has some fucking clause written in Braille somewhere that says he has to sacrifice his firstborn if he ever dares to suggest he doesn’t like anyone related to the franchise.

It makes me soooo angry that we stay in the dark, and we only know from those people who are brave, and powerful enough to speak up about something that (allegedly) has been known for fucking years in the writing community. That this person was a creep. That he was treating people, mainly women and non-binary folks, if not bad, at least poorly.

And you know, this makes me even more angry because I have been in such shitty situations too! I was a victim of a system where exploitation and borderline abuse were normalized in a work setting.

And it wakes something deep in me to read that “it was an open secret bla bla bla” and again: I understand why people set up whisper networks instead of taking these giants down. I understand it. It still makes me angry because I simply do not want to live in such systems. Systems where I’m either the sacrificial lamb or I’m the one tying it on the table, or handing the axe over to the butcher, or a witness who has no power to stop the suffering.

I don’t want to live in such a system. But I have to. In my real life. I have to put up with so much shit sometimes, shit that makes me feel like I cannot stand up for my values because hey, I need to pay the bills too. And Good Omens was one of those few things where I could escape a bit into an alternative reality, where everything could be a bit better.

And I’m sure the fandom is still like this for most of the fans. I have witnessed first-hand how supportive and cheerful this fandom can be.

For me though, it still makes me think of all this...tsunami of shit.

I want to be able to enjoy the silly fanart, the memes, the wait for season 3 again. But I can’t. I can’t because my brain does not work like that. Good Omens still means Neil Gaiman too much to me. And I cannot go around talking cheerfully about Good Omens while feeling like I’m feeding into the clout of someone who used their power to coerce vulnerable people. Because (and I might be wrong) it feels like the message I’m sending is: my comfort show/book is more important than your pain or your life. And I can’t. This is not the truth.

I feel for the victims. Probably I feel even more than it would be healthy for me, or normal. But I don’t know, I feel like I connect to them. Maybe because I’ve been a victim of abuse perpetrated in clear power-imbalanced relationships, or because I felt like nobody cared about me and my wellbeing for so long, that eventually I stopped caring too.

And it is bad. It’s dehumanizing to a point where you really start believing you don’t matter. Your wellbeing doesn’t matter. There are more important things.

Ok so, I don’t want the victims, the survivors, to feel like this. They matter. They matter to me because if there’s one thing that is going to re-ignate the sacred fire of defiance in me is being able to stop this self-feeding cycle of self-loathing and misery. You matter. We matter. Vulnerable people who have been hurt matter to me. If there is one thing we can do to resist these systems of oppression and these people who abuse their power, that thing is believing that the people they hurt matter. If not more, at least as much as them.

And the way I show myself and others that the victims and their lives matter to me is by distancing myself from Neil Gaiman and his works, at least for now.

I feel bad for people who might have found themselves unwillingly tied to all of this. I feel bad for Sheen and Tennant, for all the wonderful artists and craft-people who have put so much of their work and love in Good Omens and I don’t want to let them down.

My two cents are that season 3 will not be canceled if they see there’s enough traction, and definitely won’t be canceled unless fans start a crusade against it, which won’t happen most likely.

The fandom loves Tennant and Sheen too much, and these are too much nice people to really hold a grudge against them, so I don’t think it will be canceled.

I’m afraid we (I say “we” meaning everyone who loves Good Omens) will be “held hostage” by Gaiman in the sense that he knows season 3 is not going to happen without him, so it’s either “we” or the majority of “we” behave, or it’s not going to happen. Which again, I don’t think he would lose the opportunity to make some money, and he also has contract duties to fulfill, but it still is worth it for him to try to leverage his power.

I wanted to end this rant on a positive note, somehow. But I don't know exactly what to say. Recently one of the things that has brought me laughs and joy has been the Channel 4 series “We are Lady Parts”.

In one of the episodes they quote a very beautiful poem, which came back to mind when I was listening to Claire (the latest woman who has come forward with allegations) on the “Am I Broken” podcast.

The poem is Speak by Faiz Ahmed Faiz, I will paste the version from the show, because I think it’s very powerful and beautiful.

Speak, for your two lips are free Speak, for your tongue is still your own This straight body still is yours. Speak, your life is still your own.

See how in the blacksmith’s forge flames leap high and steel glows red, padlocks opening wide their jaws. Every chain’s embrace outspread.

Time enough is this brief hour Until body and tongue lie dead. Speak, for truth is living yet. Speak, whatever must be said.

[bi-bard]

When a Demon Stumbles onto the Doorstep of a Bookshop - Crowley Imagine [Good Omens]

Title: When a Demon Stumbles onto the Doorstep of a Bookshop

Pairing: Crowley X Reader

Word Count: 1,944 words

Warning(s): **SEASON 2 SPOILERS** mention of abandonment, drunk character

Summary: [Post-Season 2] After Aziraphale's departure, (Y/n) joins Muriel in the goal of taking care of the bookshop and the tasks that may come with that. One of those many tasks includes being prepared for the moment that a familiar demon finds his way to the doorstep at odd hours of the night.

Author's Note: Listen. I said that I was going to focus on my writing challenges. I know. But someone made this headcanon on Tiktok and I couldn't shake it. If anyone has the user, please let me know because I cannot find it, but I might also just be stupid.

-------------------

When I first found Muriel in charge of Aziraphale's bookshop, I knew that I needed to step in and help where I could.

Well, that's not quite right.

I actually started off very scared.

After what had happened the night before that with the legion of demons coming to attack and Crowley ushering everyone away from the building, I knew that I needed answers. The only way to get those answers was to get back to the bookshop when the coast seemed to be clear.

If I had slammed the doors open any harder, then they would have surely popped off the hinges.

What I saw was Muriel standing in the middle of the room with a stack of books in their hands. They jumped at the sudden noise, quickly scrambling to keep from dropping the books.

"Oh, you scared me," they said before placing the books on the table. "Hello!"

"Who are you," I asked, ignoring any introduction.

"I am a human police officer," they motioned down at their all-white uniform. Angel. Got it. "And bookshop owner... now."

"Where's Aziraphale?"

"Oh, just... off."

That was the very moment that my fear turned to annoyance and anger. "Off?"

"Yeah... y'know, off."

"Where?"

"Oh, well..."

I stepped forward. "Listen. Aziraphale has been one of the dearest in my life for years now. I know about the angel thing. I know about demons that were here last night. Hell, I know about the failed apocalypse. So, when I hear that he's 'off' and has left his beloved bookshop in the charge of some random angel that I've never seen, I get very upset and very worried. I suggest that you tell me what happened to him."

"I can't-"

"And I suggest that you do it quick because he is not the only celestial being that I have on speed dial."

That seemed to be the only push that Muriel needed to tell me everything that had happened while I was gone. Gabriel's memories coming back, Gabriel and Beelzebub running off together, the offer that Aziraphale had taken, and the one that Crowley had apparently turned down. All of it. Well, as much as Muriel knew at the time.

I stood there for a few moments. Stunned into silence.

"Are you-"

"He didn't even say goodbye," I muttered.

"Well, the Metatron seemed very insistent that he needed to go right away- where are you going?"

I had already turned around and walked out of the bookshop again. I looked down the street before going to grab my phone. I frantically clicked Crowley's contact.

It rang a few times before going to voicemail.

"Crowley," I murmured. "Please, answer. Please. I... I found out about Aziraphale and I... I don't know what to do or where to go. Please."

I hung up and walked a little further down the road, wiping my eyes as tears started falling.

The moment that I went to call him a second time, I heard a car engine racing closer to me. I looked down the road to see the all too familiar Bentley pulling up to the curb next to me.

I put my phone away as he got out of the car.

"Crowley-"

I was cut off by him pulling me into a hug. I hid my face in his shoulder for a moment.

"He didn't even say goodbye," I repeated pathetically.

"Trust me, it would've been worse if he had."

It was then that I knew that we were losing the same person, yet grieving two very different things.

After that day, I made myself a new home in the room that had previously been used by "Jim". I had thrown a bit of a fit about the bookshop being entrusted to some random angel instead of a friend. Muriel was kind enough to let me stay. I think that they needed the help, but I was willing to call it merely an act of kindness if it made them feel better.

I didn't know how beneficial my presence would be in the shop.

I knew that I could help organize and clean. I could protect Aziraphale's precious books and keep Maggie's record shop safe. I could try to teach Muriel how to appear more human. I knew that stuff.

I never expected to become accustomed to Crowley turning up at odd hours of the night, often- if not always- drunk.

He would knock on the door or just barge in, yelling for Aziraphale. He wouldn't stop until I had gone down there and broke the news to him that Aziraphale may not come back. That he might be staying in Heaven forever and we may never be able to see him again.

It hurt. And I imagine that it always will. Having to put him to rest on the couch or watch him stumble back outside.

He always wore his glasses, but the heartbreak was so clear that it passed the lenses too easily.

It was one of those nights that he told me the truth of what happened before Aziraphale left. What happened between them.

I had been startled awake by the loud sound of the door slamming open and shut.

I walked out of my room immediately. Muriel stepped out, but I held a hand out. I had been taking care of this since it all started. I wasn't going to stop now.

I walked downstairs, hearing Crowley calling for his angel as I made it downstairs.

"Angel!" he was spinning in circles as he yelled. "I know that you can hear me! Come here and talk to me!"

"Crowley," I said gently as I approached him. "Stop it."

"Angel!"

"Stop it!"

He didn't listen to me, instead still walking around and spinning as he yelled for Aziraphale to just talk to him.

He didn't stop until I grabbed his wrists and forced him to look at me.

"Stop, Crowley," I tried to keep my voice firm. "This is not going to get Aziraphale to come back! I don't even think that he can hear you! Stop it!"

The demon fell quiet as he stared at me. There was a long pause between us. I immediately began to question what I had said. I was constantly terrified of being too harsh. I didn't want to be some additional reason for Crowley to be hopeless over the whole event.

I grabbed the wine bottle that was sitting in his hand before placing it on the table nearby. "Come on... you're staying here tonight."

He didn't follow me when I tried to drag him over to the small couch.

"Crowley..."

"I don't... I don't want to sleep on that couch."

I frowned at him. "I'm not letting you sleep in your car right now, Crowley."

We both stopped. I had learned a lot about stubbornness over the course of my friendship with Crowley. And he knew that. And I'm certain that some part of him despised teaching me that skill.

"Come on," I said, dragging him toward the staircase. He followed me begrudgingly.

I pulled him to my room and motioned to the small bed in there.

"Go on," I pushed when he didn't move at first.

I heard him grumbling under his breath as he walked over. He somewhat flopped on the mattress, and I shook my head as I went to pull the blanket over him.

"Better?"

"Yeah, sure," he grumbled.

"Want to take off your glasses-"

"Leave them."

He hadn't taken off his glasses in front of me since Aziraphale left. Not that he often did anyway.

I took a deep breath and went to walk away.

"Would you...," he trailed off.

"What," I asked.

"Nothing. Never mind."

There's that stubbornness and closed-off attitude. "What is it, Crowley?"

"Would you stay?" he finally muttered.

"Just stay in here? Sure-"

"I meant lay with me. Please."

I glanced at the minimal empty space next to him for a moment. "Are you sure that you'd be comfortable with that?"

"I'm a demon. I have spent my nights in far more uncomfortable places than a small bed."

One day, I would need to question him on those 'I'm a demon' excuses.

I awkwardly shifted my way under the covers, fixing them over him as I did so. After a few more awkward moments, I reached out and wrapped my arms around his torso quietly. I expected some grumbling or some kind of fight. Nothing happened. Instead, Crowley merely sighed and seemed to relax into the pillow more.

I spent some time thinking. Mainly about whether or not demons actually had any need for sleep or for blankets to keep warm. I had thought about it before.

There was plenty that I knew.

I knew that food was more of a luxury than it was a necessity. I knew that they had a lot more control over things around me than I thought before. I knew that they could travel to and from Hell with a particular elevator or particular stairways.

I also knew that Crowley had the ability to sober himself up in an instant.

He had shown me that trick ages ago because I was curious.

So, when he began showing up at the bookshop while completely drunk, I questioned why he wouldn't sober himself up when on the couch or in his car or on any occasion like this.

It didn't take me very long to figure out why that was the case.

It was grief.

Not just normal grief, but grief for someone who was still very much living and breathing.

There was something so much worse about grieving someone who wasn't even dead yet.

When they aren't dead, there's always some remaining shred of hope that they will choose to come back. Which should be comforting, in theory. But when they don't come back... it only feels like a constant reminder that you truly may not be enough for them to fight for or want to fight for.

I could only guess that those thoughts were going through Crowley's mind because they were going through my mind.

"I kissed him."

My ears pricked up at his sudden words. "What?"

"I kissed him," Crowley repeated.

I knew that Crowley and Aziraphale loved each other. It was painfully obvious. I always thought that one of them finally saying something about it would have a dramatically different ending. I imagined them both hiding away in the bookshop. Not much changing... just what was normal for Aziraphale and Crowley but with a little more hand-holding. Not this.

I took a deep breath. "When?"

"After I rejected his offer to become an angel," he explained. "He had told me all about the Metatron's plan. I would have rejected it no matter what, but I had just been scolded by Nina and Maggie for not telling Aziraphale about how I felt. It just... It felt like the only chance that I had left to get him to stay."

I wondered if Crowley was telling me this because he trusted me or if it was merely because he was drunk.

"I miss him."

"I know," I muttered, hugging him a little tighter. "I miss him too."

I closed my eyes as I did that.

What else could I offer?

There was so much that I could understand. So much that I could offer him in terms of help and comfort. All I could do was hope that everything would eventually work itself out.

And at that point, that hope was getting harder and harder to hold onto.

Maybe some force in the universe would keep me from letting go of it completely. Eventually.

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[the-willow-tree]

In Season 2, Aziraphale was Going Too Fast for Crowley

There's two primary reasons this is the case.

The first, is that in this season we saw Aziraphale reaching out to Crowley in ways he hadn't done before. We saw the increase in physical touch, we were told about the increased communication, the whole 'our car, our bookshop' thing and of course, the ball scene.

The second is Crowley's depression and the numerous hints we got this season that he wants to run away from it all.

I'm going to start with premise number two, because it makes me sad and I want it explored first, so the romanticism of Aziraphale can sooth that hurt.

There are multiple ways Crowley's depression is shown to us in this season. The first we see in the very first episode. As he's on the bench with Shax, he asks this:

"Do you ever just think what's the point? ... Heaven, Hell, Demons, Angels. It's all... it's all, well, pointless."

This is the first indication we get that Crowley's depressed. He's struggling to care but also - and this will be a running theme - he wants to run away from it all. He doesn't want them to be his problem anymore. He doesn't see the point of them anymore.

But the biggest demonstration of his depression is his relationship with the Bentley this season.

He's literally living in his car. And we see no indication that he wants to it be any other way. It's insignificant to Aziraphale. They don't bring it up at all. It's not mentioned between them. Which means it's a status quo that's been established and set in stone.

When Aziraphale returns with the Bentley after his jaunt to Edinburgh, Crowley is literally waiting at the door to the bookshop with his plants, almost anxiously.

He's ready to shove a box into Aziraphale's arms the moment he steps near the door. "There you are!" Crowley exclaims as he shoves a box of plants in Aziraphale's arms. And while Aziraphale is a bit shocked at being met so suddenly, he's not surprised Crowley is going back to the Bentley. He even helped.

But why? Yes, he loves the Bentley, it is his world, he's extraordinarily connected to it. But I also think it's more than that.

The Bentley is literally his get-away vehicle. He doesn't want to deal with Heaven, Hell and all that lot. But he's also depressed. He's lost his flat, most of his plants, he no longer has the structure of Hell to fall back on. He's listless. But through it all, he has the Bentley. If he wants to leave, if things get to be too much, he can leave in the Bentley. He's already wanted to do it in season one, when he offered to literally drive them to Alpha Centauri.

This makes the scene where Aziraphale refers to the bookshop and the Bentley as theirs hit a little bit harder. For Aziraphale, the bookshop is safety and it's staying put. It's consistency. For Crowley the Bentley is an escape, in a very literal manner.

Which brings us to Aziraphale.

This season Aziraphale was reaching out, the scene above with the 'our Bentley' being one of those moments. But other moments is the increased touching they're doing. There's a lack of distance between them there's never been before. Aziraphale is reaching out physically and emotionally (our Bentley scene), like in these moments:

But of course, then there's also the Jane Austen ball, that was "supposedly" for Maggie and Nina, but let's be real, it was as much for himself and Crowley as it was for them.

But before I get into that, lets look at a moment after Aziraphale first proposes the plan.

Muriel is poking around the Nina and Maggie thing, and Crowley says to them, "Don't hesitate to ask me if you have any other questions about love."

And Aziraphale goes on one of those lovely face journeys Michael Sheen is so very good at. He looks all at once, hopeful, nervous, tentative and like he's gearing up for something. He sucks in a breathe and then blows it out silently. There's a lovely little gif of the moment which you can find here. But here's a couple of screengrabs as well.

He does this little silent out take of air as if needing a moment to gather himself because Crowley was acting like a master of love and Aziraphale was planning on them dancing together and realising they were in love.

Oh, right lets get back to that.

Okay, so when they were spitballing ideas about how to get Maggie and Nina to fall in love, Aziraphale comes up with this:

"People would gather and do some formal dancing and then realise they had misunderstood each other and were actually deeply in love."

Coupled with the increased physical affection, the whole thing with the Bentley and then Aziraphale's actions during the 'ball', it's clear he's ramping up to 'something'. I'm still personally of the opinion that as angels and sex-less beings there won't be much of an element of 'sex' or even kissing to their relationship. But Aziraphale was leading up to 'ramping up' their relationship, giving it a new title, possibly even cohabitation, one day.

During the ball scene, when Crowley joins Aziraphale, Michael has another lovely little facial journey where you can see Aziraphale working up the courage to invite Crowley to dance.

And then, when he does work up the courage to ask (or rather demand), he's absolutely giddy about it. (side not: that is also an amusing range of expressions for David there too)

But he's not listening. Aziraphale is too wrapped up in his fantasy to see what's happening with Crowley in front of him. And it's not something Crowley is expecting from Aziraphale either. In that last image, the focus is on Crowley and he's confused, bemused. Not angry, though, even though he's being ignored or even worried, in that moment, about the looming demon threat. Merely confused about Aziraphale's reaction.

So, we've got Crowley's depression and his desire to run away from everything, we've got Aziraphale's attempts to bring them closer together working himself up to a confession and then we've also got the outside pressures.

Nina, assuming they're together. The tension of Gabriel there in Aziraphale's shop, the strengthening risk from Heaven and Hell, the demon attack on the bookshop, Armageddon 2.0 readying and then Crowley gets the final push.

Gabriel and Beelzebub are in love, and choosing each other over their respective sides and positions, coupled with Maggie's meddling.

Prior to Nina and Maggie coming into the bookshop, Crowley tidies the bookshop and he clearly is making plans for them to go off together for an "extremely alcoholic breakfast at the Ritz." Their celebration place, their 'us' place, but with the extremely alcoholic and public segment of it, not likely a breakfast for hearts to be laid out. Crowley's not planning that, he simply thinks they need to unwind for a moment before he lays out the whole 'Armageddon 2.0 bit.'

And then Maggie says this:

"Because you and Mr. Fell don't ever talk to each other. You never say what your really thinking. It was all we needed; It's what you two need as well."

And he's been given an answer. Armageddon 2.0 is coming, Gabriel and Beelzebub just ran away together, but maybe if he lays his cards on the table, this at least will be fine.

But he hasn't dealt with his depression, he hasn't worked through his 'need to run away' issues, he hasn't dealt with losing Aziraphale in the fire and then Aziraphale comes in with the Metatron's offer for him to return to Heaven. And suddenly every other road bar offering up his heart is closed. And so he does.

And it's a mess. It's impulsive, and unscripted and it's painful, raw and unorganised, he can hardly get the words out, it's all in a rush.

Because Crowley, at his heart, wasn't ready. He wanted the status quo to continue. Aziraphale is ready. He's been gearing up to it the whole season. He's ready to take the next step. But Crowley isn't. He wants to be, but he's pushing himself into it too soon. He has too many issues to work through before he can get to that. So much he needs to work through before he's ready to vulnerable and settled that way. But Aziraphale is still there, ready, going too fast for him.

[dalliancekay]

"There is no 'our side', Crowley!"

I was looking for this gif and every post I came across was some variation on how poorly was Crowley treated here. Poor boy. How utterly cruel of Aziraphale. How heartless. How he just dropped Crowley like a hot potato. Cos Heaven was coming. And Aziraphale decided that they were over. And he was going back to them. Or something. If you know any that look into how Aziraphale is feeling, please tag me. What do I think Aziraphale is feeling?

Well. Was he happy to have Armageddon coming? No. But he did think it was inevitable.* However. They tried to influence the Antichrist. But had the wrong boy. Then they tried to think of how to find the real one and in that short time - what? Kill him? Talk to him? They had no idea what the kid is like. What powers he has. None.

The Great Plan. It is coming to its fulfilment. It is written. The War is about to begin. Heaven and Hell. The big one. They both know this. And this is not something Aziraphale or Crowley can avoid. It's not something they can just stop believing in. They had their Arrangement, their side (sort of), and they managed not to get caught. But now? Now Aziraphale is right. There is no OUR SIDE. There never really was. There might have been a moment in their existence on Earth (about 12 hundred years?) when they could feel like/pretend they are having their own side. But now the full reality of their existence is back. There are Heaven and Hell and they are preparing for War. They have no interest in Earth. Aziraphale and Crowley are tiny pawns in a very big picture. They both belong to their respective sides. They always have. Even when they found ways to work together. (Mostly cos their sides are conceited idiots both.)

And so Aziraphale decided for one more desperate attempt to get God to see how the whole thing can be avoided. Does he think She might understand? We don't know. Does he look full of hope as he walks back to his shop? He doesn't. He gets broken up with again by Crowley who nonsensically (and yes, romantically, sure) wants to go to another star - to do what? Wait till the end of universe reaches them? (Why is everybody always defending Crowley? And act like he's being reasonable there?) And then Aziraphale gets punched in the stomach. By a fellow angel. And told by Metatron to not be a bloody fool and report for service as the good angel he surely is.

And he gets discorporated. Which looks like it really sucks.

And then he DESERTS the War AND Heaven (that he apparently still has faith in...) and goes on a limb to find the boy and just see if he can come up with something. Anything. Thinking Crowley is gone. Packed his stuff and left. Possibly with the friend he was talking to when he tried to call his flat earlier.

Because Aziraphale feels the War and ending of the world is such injustice. Written or not. Great Plan or not. Maybe he didn't think at first he could make any difference but Crowley showed him it's worth considering it. *Crowley is always showing Aziraphale that things can be questioned. It didn't take Aziraphale long at all to reconsider letting things just play out and instead fight to the last breath he doesn't need, for Earth instead. The conditioning he needs to fight isn't that Heaven is good and right. The conditioning he needs to fight is that things can't be changed. That it is all written out. That he is a nobody and can't influence anything. Aziraphale's biggest fight and learning curve is in having faith in himself. So. Much like he felt it was unfair to leave the first humans unprotected and how he felt killing Job's kids was cruel, he disobeys and does his own thing again. He learns he can. But all this comes at a cost. To himself (thinking he will Fall for these things) but also to his beloved - and THAT is much harder for him. He would never want to put Crowley in danger. And he does. Every time they meet. The guilt he must feel for this.

Aziraphale lives between two sides. And they are both awful. And he is often misunderstood for just acknowledging this as reality he and everything else exists in.

I think his view of his reality is pretty accurate. There is no our side. They wanted one. But they can't leave their sides. Even after S1 they couldn't. Not really. And they both knew it. And no, he is not in clutches of Heaven or sometimes reverts to their indoctrination or anything like that. He goes along with Heaven as far as he MUST. And his life alongside his demon, however tentative, was always precious to him. But.

Crowley who showed him how to keep questioning things, try to make them better, didn't see it his way and left.

Aziraphale has to do the best he can and just do something. Anything. He can not just do nothing. He can not try and run. Or hide. Or wait some more. Crowley showed him that things can be different and Aziraphale had to do all to try and make it better. And he will. And Crowley will help. He always does.

Is Aziraphale always right? No. Does he make mistakes? Yes. I am never saying Aziraphale is faultless - but I think many things he is blamed for are not right. And I also think Crowley is often seen as can do no wrong. Everything he says is right. 100% correct. The right things to do. He knows more. Understands more. If he disagrees with Aziraphale than it follows that Aziraphale is wrong. That's not true. They are both beautifully rounded, full, flawed characters I love. They complement each other in ways I bet I have not even noticed yet. And they are their own beings too. They don't only exist for one another.

[actual-changeling]

i am absolutely addicted to angry post-divorce sex with a heavy dose of self denial but we should also consider the opposite.

they have the most gentle and romantic sex you can possibly imagine without saying a single word the entire time, and it fills a hole inside their chests, it soothes all the pain and heartbreak for a little while.

maybe, they both think, maybe this means we can fix this.

crowley clings to him in the afterglow, his head resting right above his heart, and listens to it's steady, slowing beat, while aziraphale combs his fingers through his hair. it's longer now, almost shoulder-length, and he can feel the strands tickling his cheek in time with his breaths. aziraphale is warm beneath him, his arms wrapped around him, and neither of them wants to move first.

they don't talk. they hold each other, the duvet covering them as if to create a suspended bubble of frozen comfort. he wants nothing more than to fall asleep like this and wake up to a world where none of it ever happened, where aziraphale will stay, where they will get up together and cuddle in the kitchen while waiting for their morning cups of coffee and tea.

don't leave, he begs, silently, when aziraphale begins to stir. please, don't leave me again.

"crowley-" and oh, his voice is a soft whisper with apologies woven into every single letter. he could keep clinging. he could put up a fight, argue, try to change his mind, try to make him stay.

he doesn't.

instead, he loosens his grasp and pulls away, snaps his fingers and tries not to wince at the sudden loss of contact when his clothes and glasses reappear. they still don't talk. he doubts either of them would know what to say, anyway.

"crowley-" aziraphale tries again, but he shakes his head exactly once.

don't. don't make this harder than it already is.

the hollow in his chest reappears and swallows him whole, and he's glad it happened in the bookshop. easier to avoid the memories that way.

aziraphale leaves him (againagainagain) and by the time he gets back to his flat, the entire encounter feels like nothing more than a dream.

a dream that he keeps in a locked chest inside of his mind, a precious treasure never to be seen again, and the next time aziraphale descends with an apocalypse following close behind, tenderness disappears under stoic anger and desperation.

they talk.

they both wish they could share a dream in silence again, but once you wake up, it's impossible to go back—no matter how hard you try, the good dreams never linger.

only nightmares do.

[raz-writes-the-thing]

perhaps a lil crowley x reader req?

inspired by strange love by halsey?

as a treat?

not me going into this song for the first time (never heard it before) expecting something super melancholy. anyway! here you go, cutie!

Requests are: OPEN

No Pity for the Wicked (18+ ONLY)

Masterlist

Crowley x GN!Reader

No use of Y/N or pronouns (They/Them used only)

CW: angst, angry fucking, hair pulling, Crowley ignoring his feelings (canon honestly)

It's been six months since he left. Crowley's Angel. His best friend. His other half. It's been six months since he's heard a Goddamn peep.

And yes, he doesn't care so much anymore about blaspheming against the name of God. He was always so careful about it around his Angel.

Now? His Angel is gone. His Angel isn't there to care what he says.

Gone to follow along with the Metatron's plan all the way to his and everyone else's destruction, no doubt. How could Aziraphale not see that? How could Aziraphale not see past the surface to the rot underneath? And they called Hell ruthless.

Nevertheless, the last six months had been Heaven on Earth for Crowley. His only Hellish piece of reprieve was his favourite pet. His mortal. They'd all been friends before Aziraphale left.

Well, this moral had accompanied him and his Angel around despite their warnings against it. A Demon and an Angel could be discorporated and come back, but a mortal? Well, one little mistake and they were gone for good.

This little human. This pet had stuck extra close to Crowley since Aziraphale had left. Crowley hated to see the pity and concern painting their face when he was having a particularly awful, nice day. Not that any of them were all that... Hellish any more.

But it was the pity that really irritated Crowley- a Demon already prone to frustration and mild to moderate anger issues, mind you. And if this human- asked him one- more- time, if he was okay; he was going to lose it.

Of course, as humans were always going to (a flaw in the design if you asked Crowley)- this particular mortal would push, and push, and push until Crowley's metaphorical buttons were all but snapped in half. And Crowley had had enough.

And that's how Crowley found himself balls deep inside his pitying little mortal, doing his damndest to convince them that, actually, no. Crowley did not need their pity.

Crowley snarled above them, pulling at their hair, yanking their head back away from the Bentley's door. His mortal's breath fanned across the windows, streaking the glass with damning evidence of the acts being carried out within.

"I- am a Demon," he snarls, teeth flashing dangerously by the mortal's ear. "I am not to be pitied." This is emphasised with a hard thrust from behind, causing the mortal to yelp, hand slapping up against the fogged glass to keep themselves steady.

Crowley lets out a deranged throaty chuckle, hand coming down to grip harshly at his pet's hip.

"I've lived eons on this pathetic excuse for a planet. This Earth-" The hand wraps harder around the mortals' hair. The hand on the glass slips, smearing through the fog marks. It's a wonder they can hear Crowley over the sounds of their own whimpers and moans. "This breeding ground for sin. I have seen eons of pain, and I'll see eons more!"

Crowley's head tips back, baring his throat's apple. A little lock of hair falls over his forehead- the only indication that he was at all affected by the pleasure of his hips snapping forward into the tight heat before him.

His mortal whines out Crowley's name, lost in the haze of being fucked by a Demon. Crowley had had thousands of years to learn how to fuck the way Humans liked it. More than enough time, clearly, given the fact they'd already come twice and another was well on the way.

Of course, the mortal knew deep down that this was not a convincing way for him to show them that Crowley was okay. That was obvious to anyone with half a brain cell, but this didn't mean they were going to argue- what with Crowley's decidedly not entirely human-feeling dick buried inside them.

"Fuck- Crowley-" They whined, eyes squeezing shut.

"No," Crowley hisses, twisting their hair so the mortal could just see him over their shoulder. They couldn't see his eyes though, sunglasses still hiding those from them. A coping mechanism, they suspected. "Look at me, pet. Look at me when you cum."

The mortal whines, hand reaching back to brush Crowley's hip in warning. They were sure the human body wasn't quite meant to be this flexible, but Crowley didn't care. He needed this, whether he knew it or not.

Crowley's thrusts increase with urgency, both for himself and his mortal. They're both close, and they know it. Crowley lets go of his pet's hair, allowing their head to flop forward and their cheek to press against the Bentley's leather backseat.

With his other hand free, Crowley is able to grip both sides of their hips and pull them back against him, thrusting hard and fast to reach that blissful peak where he might be able to forget. Just for a moment.

His mortal finishes with a cry, fingers grappling with the leather as they try to work their way through the assault. Crowley fucks them through their orgasm, prolonging the pleasure they're feeling without mercy.

It takes only a few more thrusts before he finishes too, coating their insides with ropes of his cum, an almost-roar ripping its way through his throat. The pleasure hazes his brain for a minute or two, courses of pleasure wrapping around his nerves.

Slowly, he pulls out, watching the way his mess starts to drip out of his mortal. He chuckles breathily and waves a hand to miracle away the mess. He's kept the Bentley in such pristine condition all these years. He's not going to let it go now.

"I- do not- need your pity," he pants, pointing an accusatory finger at his mortal who promptly nods and collapses against him, snuggling up close. They know it's not true. They know he needs them right now.

They're happy to wait as long as it takes though.

Crowley's worth it.

[brainwormcity]

Imagining if Aziraphale and Crowley had a silly off-screenish love scene similar to Anathema and Newt's:

Crowley has just discarded his glasses and he and Aziraphale share a kiss in the bookshop but instead of being filled with desperation, it's loving and genuine. The two pull apart a little breathlessly, after a few seconds, and we see them looking at each other meaningfully. They kiss again, then bam! 6,000 years of longing come to head and they suddenly kiss harder, filled with a different type of desperation.

Aziraphale has Crowley held to him really tightly and Crowley's got his fingers in Aziraphale's curls. Then they're knocking things over, bumping into bookshelves, Crowley is literally just knocking books over for the hell of it, a property destroyer even when in the throes of passion.

Aziraphale pulls back: Be careful of the books, please

Crowley rolls his eyes: Yeah, yeah

And then they're back to kissing and we see them slowly lower to the floor. We hear Aziraphale giggle and then we see Aziraphale's hand with his pinky ring gesturing vaguely. The locks on the door lock miraculously and then the open sign flips to 'closed' so fast that it nearly falls off its hook.

We cut to the two side-by-side on the floor, just above the shoulders and Crowley is looking at Aziraphale like he's the one for hung the moon and they kiss again.

We then cut to the ceiling where the lights first flicker and then burst. Outside, the ground has started shaking and we see Nina and Maggie in the coffee shop as cups start falling off the shelf and breaking. Nina yells and starts grabbing them to try to stop them from falling.

Maggie runs over to help: What's going on? Since when do we get earthquakes in England?

Nina looks irritated: I bet it's-

She looks over and you can see loose pages swirling around in eddies through the window of the bookshop.

Nina looks at Maggie with a surprised smile: You don't think?

Maggie is light-heartedly scandalized: Nooo!

Nina laughs: I was right!

Maggie tilts her head in confusion: About what?

Nina redoubles her efforts to hold the cups as the quakes increase: Mr. Fell really is a dark horse!

We cut to the bookshop and it's dark outside now, with a very dim glow in the windows. We see Crowley and Aziraphale lying together on the floor, atop a bunch of papers, from the chest up. Crowley has one arm tucked under his head and the other is around Aziraphale. Aziraphale has his head on Crowley's shoulder and an arm across his chest, looking up at him lovingly. Both of their hair is a mess.

Aziraphale is smiling and blushy: That was wonderful, dear

Crowley looks away for a second but he's beaming: Shut up

[edosianorchids901]

When You Fall Asleep

Ace Omens Hugfest prompt - "an accidental hug"

Rome, 41 AD

“Would you like any more oysters?” Aziraphale asked, leaning forward to acquire a bowl of grapes. “Or are you all set?”

“Nnnh, this m’ set. I don’t, er. Eat big meals all that often.” Blinking slowly, Crowley pushed his tiny dark glasses up onto the top of his head. They knocked into his silly silver laurel wreath, and he hissed in irritation. “Guh. Here, hold this.”

He wrenched the wreath off and put it on Aziraphale’s head. It slid to one side and bumped into his ear, threatening to topple off.

With a chuckle, Aziraphale adjusted the wreath and fluffed his hair up to accommodate it. “Very stylish. What is with your outfit, anyway? I don’t think togas are supposed to be black, are they?”

“M’ not gonna be caught dead in white, am I?” Crowley snapped, snatching the jug of wine. “Probably literally caught dead. D’ya have any idea what Hell would probably do to me if I showed up wearing white? Besides, blood shows on white. S’ not exactly a good thing for a demon to be wearing.”

Aziraphale frowned, confused by the sudden outburst. “I know you’re a demon, but it’s not as if you’re running around stabbing people. Are you?”

“No! I’m the one getting stabbed, usually. And beaten, cut, whipped, whatever.” Crowley’s irritated expression slid to deeply glum. “It’s better when I can stay on Earth. I like Earth, even when I’m having to deal with bastards like Caligula. At least it’s not… I can get away from it all, up here.”

“Ah.” Unsure what to say, Aziraphale twisted his hands together. He eyed Crowley, suddenly quite chilled. “And you had to go to Hell recently?”

“Whatever gave you that idea?”

Even Aziraphale, who sometimes struggled with such things, couldn’t miss the heavy sarcasm in Crowley’s voice. Swallowing hard, he slid a little closer on the dining couch. “I’m sorry. Is there, um… anything I can do to help?”

Crowley shrugged and poured his wine. He largely missed the cup, pouring wine all over his leg. “Shit. M’ not very coordin… whatever. Maybe had too much to drink.”

He drank more anyway, then clumsily topped off Aziraphale’s cup as well. Aziraphale drank, a trifle lost. He was quite intoxicated himself, and that made it rather difficult to determine the right course of action. But there must be something he could do.

“Are you injured anywhere?” he asked, leaning to look at Crowley’s toga. He didn’t see any bloodstains, but it was black, after all. Much harder to see blood, indeed. “I could heal you.”

“Nuh. Not hurt anymore.” Crowley swayed, reaching for the jug again. He let out a derisive snort. “Too bad we didn’t run into each other yesterday. Coulda used it then.”

“Oh! Oh dear.” Stricken, Aziraphale clutched his hands together again. “Oh, I didn’t realize you’d been hurt so recently. I’m sorry. You really ought to be resting, rather than me pestering you to spend time together.”

Something odd tugged at Crowley’s expression. He took another drink, then set the cup down and leaned back. His dark glasses fell off his head and vanished amid the pillows. “Nah. This is, er. A good distraction. Hanging out and everything. It’s loads better than just sitting around being all blah. And we can argue and stuff! I like when we get all…”

He did some sort of complicated flailing gesture with both arms, as if trying to demonstrate the enthusiastic verbal sparring they’d engaged in earlier. Then he overbalanced, toppled over, and slammed into Aziraphale’s side.

“Oh!” Aziraphale automatically caught him, pulling his limp body closer. “Crawley— Crowley, are you quite all right?”

“Nnnnyeaaah,” Crowley mumbled, eyes closed. “I just. Just. Er. Drinking.”

“Yes, you certainly have been drinking.” Concerned, Aziraphale hugged him closer. Then he realized he was hugging a demon, and wondered if he ought to stop.

But no. He didn’t want to stop. And Crowley was certainly too drunk to straighten up. Really, Aziraphale was more than slightly drunk, and therefore possessed lowered inhibitions. It was quite reasonable to hug a demon, under those circumstances.

Crowley had been rather tense all day, a fact Aziraphale had noticed earlier without realizing the cause. Now, though, Crowley went quite liquid in his arms, like a cat fitting into an oddly shaped container. “Oh. Wow. You’re really ridiculously warm, you know that? S’ like. Like. Sunning on a really soft rock or something.”

“Quite a compliment,” Aziraphale teased softly. “And you look rather thoroughly intoxicated and on the verge of dozing off.”

“Nnnhrgnmph.”

Smiling, Aziraphale cradled the demon to his side, Crowley’s head on his shoulder. Crowley had somehow gone even more liquid now, his lips slightly parted, eyes still closed. His breaths slowed, deepening. Perhaps he really was falling asleep.

Remarkable, that Crowley could feel safe enough to sleep here after being hurt so recently. The trust was quite an honor, really, and Aziraphale gladly settled in to watch over him.