#crowley's a terrible liar too funny enough

[everysongineverykey]

love that aziraphale is, in fact, a terrible fucking liar, but continously gets away with the most insane shit throughout history because either a) he's an angel so everyone figures he can't/wouldn't lie or b) EVERYONE can tell he's lying but they don't have enough evidence to do anything about it so they have to just exchange snide glances and/or send their most annoying interns over to bother him until they get something

[brightwanderer]

Good Omens Ate My Soul And Now It’s Come For My Dignity Too

I am RAPIDLY REMEMBERING why we always called these things plotbunnies back in the day. It's because they fucking breed.

So here's a Really Stupid Good Omens thing that popped into my head: it's the Millennial Heaven/Hell Corporate Party (occurs once every thousand years) and it's in some not-exactly-shitty but not-exactly-the-Savoy hotel (because that's where Business Parties Happen, as Gabriel understands it) and everything's going the way it usually does, i.e. the demons are skulking on one side of the room and the angels are Definitely Not Skulking on the other side, and no-one's drunk enough yet to get over the mutual distrust, and the first fight is at least five hours away, and everyone's watching with interest as Beelzebub gets into a heated argument with the DJ over Gabriel's chosen playlist (it features basically every song ever written that includes the word "devil" or "angel", on shuffle, with no regard for genre, volume, or good taste).

But this time there's a bit more movement a bit earlier than usual: various demons are shuffling over to try and strike up conversations with very wary angels (it is hard to say who is more awkward about the whole thing). And Aziraphale's hanging out as far back and in the corner as he can possibly get (with an eye on the buffet), but then Crowley pops up next to him like, "Well, fancy meeting you here, angel," and Aziraphale almost chokes on his drink and hisses, "What are you doing, we can't be seen talking to each other!" and Crowley smirks and says, "We can tonight." And Crowley explains that this millennium someone decided to make things interesting, and there's a bit of a wager going on in Hell, with a not inconsiderable prize pool for any demon who manages to get an angel into bed (or whatever convenient flat surface presents itself) over the course of the evening. "So we can talk all we like. They'll just think I'm seducing you."

Crowley's angling for a reaction from Aziraphale, of course, maybe a blush or a shocked gasp or a disapproving glare. What he's not expecting is for Aziraphale to stare at him for all of half a second and then just lose it, laughing so hard he has to cover his mouth and turn his face away so no-one can see the tears of hilarity streaming from his eyes.

"What's so funny, angel?"

"I don't think anyone's going to believe that, my dear."

And suddenly Crowley is VERY FUCKING OFFENDED, THANK YOU. Why wouldn't they believe it? He's great at seducing! Extremely Seductive, that's what Anthony J Crowley is, thank you, have you seen these hips? He could seduce an angel if he wanted to! He could seduce Aziraphale if he wanted to! And Aziraphale's just looking at him with this condescending little smile and nodding and saying "of course you could" and OH, IT IS ON.

You all know where this is going. Hours of comedy Crowley seduction attempts that get nowhere except they're getting drunker and drunker and whenever Crowley forgets he's supposed to be Seducing Aziraphale he goes all soft and sweet and there's hand touching and blushing and then after a while even the stupid seduction stuff starts to take on this edge and TL;DR they end up fucking in a hedge or something (or maybe a miraculously unoccupied and unlocked hotel room).

And afterwards there is snuggling and this fragile awareness that this is probably the only chance they will ever have to do any of this and not wanting to move and then Aziraphale casually asks, "So, this wager... whose idea was it, anyway?" And Crowley's like "Uh... well... um... dunno really... probably some desk jockey..." "For a demon, you are a terrible liar, my dear. But I'll allow you're quite seductive, after all."

POSSIBLE BONUS ENDING SCENE: it's the next day and half of Hell is hungover because someone spiked the punch with divine ambrosia and you can't miracle that away (Crowley is not hungover because he saw Michael lurking by the punch bowl with a contemplative expression and made sure neither he nor Aziraphale touched anything they hadn't poured themselves) and various demons are trying to claim they made good on the wager, except it's really obvious they didn't, Ligur doesn't even know what third base is, half of them think sex is when you lick someone and run away really fast, the other half know exactly what it involves but their idea of foreplay is to walk up to an angel and say "how about some fucking" (a LARGE number of drinks were thrown into a LOT of faces over the course of the evening). Someone asks Crowley about that angel he was chatting up, did he get anywhere, and Crowley panics and then is all like, "Oh yeah, definitely, totally, we did it three times" and the other demons all just roll their eyes, "yeah, thought so, guess no-one's taking the prize then"...

... then Beelzebub stomps in wearing Gabriel's scarf, smirks at all of them, grabs the prize pot and stomps right back out while everyone's still gaping. There is a single white feather stuck in her hair like a trophy.

[this-is-hell-not-a-sauna]

Good Omens Gift Exchange

This is for @ximeria 

Crowley put the phone back in his pocket for the third time. Fuck. He sighed, and rubbed his eyes under his glasses. Everything had been going so well - and now it had fallen apart.

It was the 14th, and his first Valentine's Day with Aziraphale. Crowley had never cooked before - he didn’t need to eat, and as a result Aziraphale had made the meals. Crowley knew if he tried it would end in disaster. However, for the past fortnight he'd been at cooking lessons, trying to make something that he could replicate for Aziraphale.

He'd finally found a recipe that didn’t seem too hard, and had ordered some good meat from the butchers he knew the angel liked. Somehow, though, some idiot had cocked up a delivery order, and he was stuck. It was 7am on Valentine's Day, and he needed to fix it.

The butchers was the other side of London, and they didn’t sell venison at the Tesco near him.

Aziraphale let out a breath, and loosened his bow tie. The cinema tickets lay on the table in front of him; he had checked them twice already. Everything seemed to be going just delightfully so far!

He grinned at himself in the mirror, and went out to enjoy the fresh air for an hour. They were meeting at eleven, which gave him plenty of time to enjoy Valentine's Day.

Crowley had always avoided Valentine's Day in the past. Love used to make him uncomfortable - firstly as a demon, but also because he had never really allowed himself to think that maybe one day he could experience it.

Apparently though everyone else in his immediate vicinity could tell that he was in love with the angel, resulting in a group led by Anathema (and comprising almost everybody he knew) telling him to 'get his shit together and ask him out' which he promptly did for fear of being actually injured by Anathema.  

   And today was Valentine's Day. Crowley wiped his eyes furiously. Maybe he could still do something, although what he'd planned was clearly off. He grabbed his phone, and pulled up a different recipe.

   He had just really, really wanted to make it special.

The Soho streets were filled with the delicious feeling of love. Aziraphale's celestial senses were basking in it. His plans were going smoothly, his boyfriend would (hopefully) like it, and to top it off, it was his favourite day of the year. There was nothing at all to worry about.

   Suddenly, something collided with him - seemingly out of nowhere.

  'Sorry...'

  'I'm terribly sorry, did I hur- Crowley!'

  Crowley looked up at his boyfriend, like a rabbit in the headlights. The angel had grabbed his arm to help him up, and it added to the feeling of restrainment. Every part of him screamed 'shit!'. He had to get home. Something was going to burn soon.

   Aziraphale dropped Crowley's elbow, and frowned.

  'Is everything alright, love?'

  Crowley, the worst liar on Earth, nodded frantically, muttered a series    of indecipherable noises, and smiled ingratiatingly. However, Aziraphale wasn’t blind. 'What's wrong, Crowley?'

   Crowley's impression of what he thought ‘breezy' was supposed to sound like surfaced.

   'Oh, y'know, just...er... having a...saunter' His voice trailed off into an uncomfortable 'ngk' and he hid a bottle of Tesco's finest olive oil behind his back. 'Why don’t we...er...walk back to mine?'

  Aziraphale looked puzzled.

  ‘I’d rather walk that way,' he said, gesturing in the direction of the cinema. 'If that's ok - I mean you said you were just out for a stroll, dear.'

   Crowley closed his eyes in desperation, and tried to think of a way to persuade the angel.

   'Are you sure? I mean, maybe we could walk past the nice coffee shop or something?'

   Aziraphale wasn’t sure why Crowley was being so resistant. Stage one of the plan had been implemented, but Stage two was still hanging in the balance. He kissed Crowley's cheek.

   'Come on, dear,' he wheedled. 'You won’t regret it, promise.'

Crowley muttered something. 'What?'

   ‘Zira, I really have to go home.'

   Immediately, Aziraphale's face changed.

   'Crowley, are you ok? What's wrong? Of course we can go back to yours. It's ok.'

   'N...' Crowley's voice trailed off and he swallowed, trying to get rid of the lump in his throat left by his fraught morning and wonderful, trusting boyfriend.

Aziraphale leaned in with concerned eyes. He brushed Crowley's cheek and murmured softly,

    'Hey.'

A tear slid down Crowley's cheek, then another. The angel kissed his forehead and held him while he sobbed into his shoulder. 'It's ok, it's ok. Don’t worry my love, I’ve got you. It’s ok.'

Crowley whispered something into Aziraphale's jacket. 'What was that, dear?' Aziraphale asked.

  'I messed up. I didn’t get the venison and I can’t do anything and I really wanted to make it special but I’m not good enough, I’m just a stupid demon. It's all my fault, I should’ve done something to fix it, or thought of something. But I can’t. You could. You could do anything. You’re so perfect and beautiful and I don’t deserve you. I’ll never deserve you.'

Aziraphale closed his eyes for a moment.

   'Crowley. Crowley, hey. It's ok, dear. You’ve done wonderfully.'

He rubbed the demon's back, struggling for the right words. 'I love you. I love you.'

    'Why?' Crowley lifted his tear-stained face. ‘I’m not funny, or clever, or good, or...'

    'Yes. You are, Crowley. You're all of those things. Maybe you don’t see it, but you are.'

    'But I didn’t...'

    'It's ok. It’s ok.'

    Aziraphale gently unwound Crowley from his body and looked him in the sunglasses. 'I love you. Not your cooking, or anything. You.'

    Crowley nodded, breath still uneven.

    'I love you too, angel. I just... I don’t know. I wanted it to be special.'

    'It is special.'

     A man in a suit passing by leaned into Crowley's ear and whispered 'He's a keeper, that one.'

      Crowley smiled slightly, and looked at Aziraphale. The man winked, and kept walking.

     'He’s right,' Crowley grinned. 'I’m keeping you.'

      Aziraphale beamed.

      'We still have the whole of Valentine’s Day left. What do you want to do?'

      'I don’t know. What do you have in mind?'

      'I did get tickets to that film about Freddie Mercury. But if you want we could watch it at home'

      Crowley's eyes lit up.

      'Bohemian Rhapsody? I haven’t seen it yet!'

      'I knew you wanted to.'

      Crowley laced his fingers through the angel's, and kissed his ear.

      'That would be great.'

      'Mine or yours?'

      'I don't mind. Mine?'

      'Alright. Shall we?'

______________________________

      'That isn’t true.'

      Crowley was curled, in snake form, comfortably across both the sofa and Aziraphale. Aziraphale shushed him for the 100th time and tried to listen to the song that had just started. He stroked Crowley's nose and picked up his mug of tea.

      ‘They’ve bloody remixed the song! This isn’t the original!'

      'Crowley.'

      'Sorry.'

      Aziraphale smiled affectionately at his boyfriend. He wouldn’t trade him for anything in the world.

@snek-snuggles 

[qqueenofhades]

#all these fall-related crowley illustrations Hurt Me#because i have a headcanon that while he dismisses it#and plays it off as a vague downward saunter#it really was genuinely painful for him#because falling can't be otherwise#and of course he uses snark to disguise it#but it's a sticking point#especially with his constant questions/personal code of morality/struggle with being a demon CARE TO ELABORATE ON THESE HEARTBREAKING POINTS, HILARY!?!?

Ahahahahaa. Ahaha. Haha.

HAH.

(My Fall-related Crowley feelings are Legion.)

Basically, it’s my headcanon that because Crowley is a sarcastic and dramatic bitch, plus not exactly someone who is prone to talking about his emotions and/or admitting how deeply he feels things, he is dismissive and flippant about his fall and describes it as “sauntering vaguely downwards” and otherwise is a master of British understatement about it. Because as long as he’s Funny and Cool about it, nobody, not even Aziraphale, can understand that it broke him.

I mean, think about it. Falling from heaven cannot be otherwise than completely painful and terrible and traumatic, especially if you’re a celestial being who has never known anything else, and especially when you are one like Crowley, who feels the injustice of things so deeply and is the only character in the series that we see genuinely praying/begging God to stop the apocalypse (“you shouldn’t test them like this... not to destruction,” stand by while the blogger suffers over that scene Again.) Because Crowley isn’t a character who talks to other people about how he feels, he can only do it with himself, and we see him like... at least three different times, at least, dwelling on this:

“I didn’t mean to fall, I just hung around the wrong people.” Crowley is still resentful and worried about having to help cause Armageddon, we have seen him be as unenthusiastic as possible about delivering the Antichrist, and it’s in the back of his head that he shouldn’t have to be responsible for this. He didn’t ask to be a demon, he wasn’t planning to get chucked out of heaven, and he still feels that it was vaguely unfair that it happened to him at all. He doesn’t agree with anything heaven is doing now and it’s not like he wishes that he stayed, but the burden of being Hell’s Great Evil or whatever they think he is... he hates it. He was the one who first proposed the Arrangement to Aziraphale the first chance he got. Crowley does not like hell, he does not like what he has to do, and he acts out to satisfy his own restlessness and enjoyment of low-level chaos like the M25 and bringing down mobile phone networks, but he isn’t someone who embraces evil. He doesn’t want it and it wears on him.

Next, in all the flashback scenes (Eden, Mesopotamia, Golgotha) where we see Crowley directly challenging/questioning the Almighty’s various decisions (exiling Adam and Eve, drowning everyone, crucifying Jesus), he is genuinely upset over them (especially the killing kids part, “that’s something you’d expect my lot to do.”) Crowley has never lost his sense of right and wrong and his anger that heaven had the gall to throw him and the others out, but then keeps on doing shit like this, and he’s equally angry at Aziraphale’s circular logic and deflecting platitudes about how it’ll all be for the best, rainbow means they won’t get drowned again when they did nothing to deserve it in the first place. When they’re watching Jesus get nailed to the cross, he tells Aziraphale flat out that his lot put him on there. Crowley is just a quietly stewing ball of demonic rage over the unfairness of this, and the fact that his demon-ness means he is forced on a side he doesn’t want to be on, and the one he left behind isn’t any better. No wonder we find him in Rome eight years later, trying to drink his sorrows away and wearing sunglasses for the first time. I have a lot of feelings about the fact that Crowley tries to hide his eyes and hence his demonic nature (though as that post the other day pointed out, he doesn’t really need to do it? He could just make them not notice) for the first time after witnessing the crucifixion. He is just... tired. He doesn’t want to be recognized for what he is and he wants to separate himself from both heaven and hell. He feels guilty about what he has had to do and what he’s going to be asked to do, and when Aziraphale brightly asks him if he’s still a demon, he snaps back that what else would he be, an aardvark? Once again, with his usual sass/deflection, but he has never been more aware in his life about the fact that he is and he is going to be for eternity, and it’s killing him.

“I didn’t really fall, I just sauntered vaguely downwards.” Yet again. He’s dwelling on it, he’s repeating it to himself, he’s trying to get some comfort out of it, he’s justifying it to himself somehow. Because again, Crowley can’t talk to anyone about his feelings, especially not Aziraphale, who’s the only person that he has that kind of relationship with. Especially if he’s thinking about there ever being something between them, and the fact that Aziraphale seems until-now unshakable in his loyalty to heaven, no matter how infuriating they are. The fact that he constantly throws Crowley’s demon-ness in his face, trying to insist that they’re different and they have nothing in common and so forth (I love you Aziraphale, but You Are a Liar), can only salt the wound. The love of Crowley’s entire ineffable existence apparently can’t get over the fact that he’s Fallen, and I don’t think Crowley regards that as any kind of joke. It hurts him. 

And then. AND THEN, the scene that kills me the MOST for many reasons. After the bookshop has burned down and Crowley is trying to drink himself into oblivion before the the world ends, the two things he’s drunkenly shouting at to nobody in particular are a) Falling, and b) losing Aziraphale. “I NEVER ASKED TO BE A DEMON!” he yells at a clientele of mildly confused day drinkers. “ONE DAY IT’S LUCIFER AND THE GUYS... OKAY.... AND THEN I’M PERFORMING A MILLION-LIGHT-YEAR DIVE INTO A POOL OF BURNING SULFUR.”

Just again: the one thing Crowley returns to, the only thing that he places on a level with losing Aziraphale, the one thing that’s tormenting him equally when he thinks the apocalypse is hours away and there’s no point in fighting anymore, is the fact that he never asked to Fall. He never asked to go through this pain, he never asked to be torn away from heaven and everything he used to believe in and fight for, he never asked to be who he is and do what he’s doing, and now that has cost him everything. It’s cost him Aziraphale, it’s cost him the world, it’s cost him the human race (as far as he knows) and it’s made him responsible for it. He can’t get around or avoid that fact. He didn’t ask to Fall, but he did, and he’s the one who has done all this for six thousand dirty, drudging years with the likes of Hastur and Ligur. He’s the one who took the Antichrist to the nuns and set all of this in motion. Not asking for it doesn’t excuse him, and he is more than aware of that.

Because. This is the demon who fell in love on the spot with an angel who was kind to him, who gave away a flaming sword to the original sinners rather than punish them with it and who held a wing over his head the first time it rained in Eden. Who constantly is asking why, why, why, whether of heaven or hell, and so rarely getting an answer that satisfies him. Who has thought about his Fall until he probably can’t think about it anymore and still hasn’t gotten an answer for that either. Who has reinvented himself constantly, been a chameleon, taken on the style and hair and fashion of every age, as if one of these days, he, like the snake he is, might shed enough skins to find something underneath that he can actually live with. Because right now, he can’t. No matter what he tries and what he looks like and no matter how fast he goes (too fast for said love of his life, apparently) he still can’t get away.

“I only ever asked questions... that’s all it took to be a demon in the old days.”

tl;dr, Crowley’s Fall was the worst trauma of his entire existence and he still hasn’t really dealt with it and one of these days he might just lose it a little and deeply alarm Aziraphale, thank you for coming to my Ted Talk.