#i know crowley and aziraphale get all the love

[aziraphales-library]

Hi! I was wondering if you got any fics in which Aziraphale can't feel/detect Crowley's love? Thank you in advance 🙇‍♂️

Hello! We have an #aziraphale can sense love tag, so check that out. Here are some more to add to the collection...

what the fuss is all about by chisaron (T)

about food, love stored in said food, selfishness stored in said love, and kissing

Your Beauty Never, Ever Scared Me by midnightdragons (G)

“You – you are an idiot, angel,” Crowley rasped, his lips trembling as he spoke. “I am the farthest from beautiful that any being could ever be." “You’re wrong,” Aziraphale insisted almost angrily, his eyes glistening with tears of sorrow, sorrow that Crowley thought such things about himself. “Oh, my darling, I wish so dearly that you could see yourself through my eyes, for all you would see then is every single beauty that Creation has to offer.”

Made With a Little Something Extra by SparkKeyper (G)

One week after the world doesn't end, Crowley brings Aziraphale a blueberry muffin. ------ In which two immortals settle into a new normal, Aziraphale can taste love in the food Crowley brings him, and both of them really should have figured out what this meant a lot sooner.

Made with Love by Dancer_in_the_rain (G)

“It’s something about how the food is made, it’s… special. And I need to know more about it from the cook himself.” ”Special in what way?”, Crowley inquired, frowning again. ”You really haven’t noticed?”, asked Aziraphale softly. ”Noticed what?” ”The uhm… the love.” ”The uh… wha- ng… wha- what do you mean by that, angel?” Aziraphale took a deep breath. “The food. It’s made with a great deal of love. I could sense it from the first bite I took… No, I’m lying, I really noticed from the moment I first smelled it. Whoever prepared it… they did so with an incredible amount of love and care. And it was dedicated to somebody in particular, I could feel it. A-and I need to ask the cook about it.” Or: Crowley keeps bringing Aziraphale delicious food from a mysterious new restaurant. Not only is the food excellently made, it also reeks of love. Aziraphale wants to know more about the person who made it but can’t get the details out of Crowley.

Trust in My Love-spoons by CookieCatSU (T)

"What am I supposed to do with it?" "It's a soup spoon, Crowley" Aziraphale says, somewhat facetiously. "You eat soup with it" Or; Aziraphale pines, falls in love, and gifts Crowley many, many spoons.

No Nightingales by Doodling_Dork3562 (T)

Aziraphale’s wings appear after his fight with Crowley but when feathers start to fall out, more and more progressively over time, he is devastated when his pure white feathers have all started to diminish. What he didn’t know was that his loss of feathers was simply making room for a new pair of wings that seemed more appropriate for the angel. The only challenge? How long will he be able to hide his little, yet unbelievably huge problem from the demon he was at odds with?

- Mod D

[acheemient]

Things I think Will happen in Season 3 (it's not spoilers if it hasn't happened yet!):

Crowley takes up the roll of Duke of Hell.

Aziraphale was put into the role of Supreme Archangel so Metatron could keep an eye on him/get him out of the way/control him

God has been removed from the Book of Life or has been trapped or whatever by Metatron since the Not Apocalypse (hence no God narration in season 2)*

Crowley was a high ranking Archangel who Fell when he went to Metatron with questions. Crowley's memories have been erased (Duh)

Nina and Maggie will be back

Crowley dies in Aziraphale's arms, but Az is able to miracle him back from the dead (foreshadowed in season 2 by the whole "Lazuri" measuring system)

Crowley tells Aziraphale, "I forgive you," at some point**

Ineffable Husbands retire to a cottage in South Downs (because Neil loves us and will do right by us)

A Nightingale will sing outside the cottage and will be the last image we see.

Things I think Might happen in Season 3:

Crowley HATES being Duke of Hell, but he does it to spite Aziraphale

Aziraphale HATES being Supreme Archangle, but he pretends he's Fine. Lots of fake smiles

The Second Coming is a baby, and the Ineffable Husbands have to deal with keeping a baby safe from both sides

The Them come back to help save the day

Aziraphale brings Crowley back to life with a very tearful kiss **

Ineffables free God/bring Her back/add her back to the Book of Life somehow

God narrates the ending scene of the Ineffable Husbands living happily ever after, now that She has been freed/brought backby the Ineffables

The Ineffable Husbands end up raising baby Second Coming as their own in their cottage (throw back to them raising the fake Antichrist).

Thinks I Want to happen in Season 3:

So many kisses (I think we will get one, maybe two) between the Ineffable Husbands

A Big Hug between Aziraphale and Crowley (I'm taking about Embrace levels)

Crowley sarcastically bowing to Aziraphale and addressing him as "Supreme Archangel"

Adam still has some of his Infernal Powers. Nothing like before, but some left over

The return of Anathema, but I think her story is done, so this is less likely

A sex scene or an allusion to sex (but it won't happen, so don't worry - see below)

The last scene shows Aziraphale, Crowley, and the Second Coming in their garden outside the cottage in South Downs living as a happy little family.

Things I think we Won't see in Season 3:

Coffee Theory ***

Body Swap Theory ***

A sex scene or an allusion to sex between Aziraphale and Crowley (even though I want it, Neil won't bring it up one way or another. He'll let us all make our own choice on that one)

Newt. I just don't see him coming back

These are all just my opinions. Please do not get angry about anything listed above if you don't agree.

* God's Ineffable Plan was always for the Apocalypse to be stopped by Aziraphale and Crowley. Metatron still wants Earth to be destroyed. He wants his war.

**I'm hoping the "I forgive you" is heartfelt. Possibly when Aziraphale kisses Crowley back to life. Imagine Aziraphale holding dying/dead Crowley in his arms, saying, "Pease don't leave me, I need you, please don't go, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry Crowley" (etc.). And then Aziraphale's eyes glow purple as his pulls up every bit of his power and presses his lips firmly to Crowley's lips (much like their first kiss), and we finally see Crowley lift a hand to Aziraphale's cheek to kiss back, and Aziraphale is SHOCKED and pulls away to look at a very weak smiling Crowley who quietly says, "I forgive you."

***I know some people really hang their hats on this one, and no insult to them, but I don't think Aziraphale needed any extra prodding or powers used to get him to go back to Heaven. It's enough that he thinks he's going to be able to make Heaven better and/or protect Crowley. I kind of feel like it cheapens Aziraphale's agency and the story.

[edosianorchids901]

The Ways of Love

@flashfictionfridayofficial prompt - "in the heart"

Cw: blood and injury

As Crowley fell back, arrow sticking out of his chest, he vaguely thought it was a prime opportunity for a joke. Something something, shot in the heart, fall in love? Was that how it went? Eros, Cupid, whatever?

He crashed into the ground and laid there, staring at the blue sky. Fluffy white clouds danced along, herded by a gentle breeze. It was a nice view.

Nice place, honestly. Meadow with flowers and everything. Or at least, it had been a nice place before he started bleeding all over it.

Woozy, he turned to look at the grass. Yep. That was a lot of blood. And that sure was an arrow sticking out of his chest.

“Crowley! Oh dear!” Aziraphale wavered into view above him, eyes wide. He was carrying a bow. “Are you quite all right?”

“Yeah. Yeah.” Crowley trudged through the pain-hazed bog of his mind in search of a proper joke. “Cupid.”

“What?” Frowning, Aziraphale bent over him. “What about Cupid?”

“You make a bloody awful one,” Crowley complained, and then passed out.

Well, more or less passed out. He was vaguely aware of being moved, of being in loads of pain, and of someone holding his hand.

The hand holding was nice. He liked it. Or at least, he would have liked it if he was conscious enough to appreciate it, and also if Aziraphale hadn’t just shot him.

For that matter, why had Aziraphale shot him? It was very unusual. Sure, he and Aziraphale were technically enemies, but they didn’t generally go around shooting each other. What was that about? Why would he do that?

Getting more offended as he thought about it, Crowley opened his eyes. He was on a boat or something, based on the gentle motion and the sails blocking the sun. Aziraphale sat beside him, holding his hand.

Crowley blinked a few times, then squinted at Aziraphale. “Well? Well?”

“Well what?” Aziraphale asked.

“Well, why did you shoot me?”

“I did not shoot you!”

Crowley cast a very deliberate look at his chest. There wasn’t an arrow sticking out of it anymore, which was nice, but bloody bandages covered the area. “Someone did. And you had a bow.”

“Yes, well. I-I’m afraid I was with a hunting party. You know, of noblemen and such. I was attempting to convince them to be more charitable to the poor.” Looking embarrassed, Aziraphale patted his hand. “One of the humans in my party shot you.”

That did make more sense. “On purpose, was it?”

“I’m afraid so. They thought you were a poacher.”

“Why would they think that? I didn’t have a bloody bow or anything, did I?”

“You might have set snares.”

“Right. Right.” Crowley glanced around. “So. Boat?”

“Mhm. It’s quite a nice boat, really. I think you’ll appreciate it much more, once you feel better. We’re going up the Thames to a very nice hall.” Aziraphale gazed at him for a moment. “What did you mean earlier?”

Considering the frequency with which he and Aziraphale resumed conversations that they’d started years prior, Crowley had no idea what that meant. “You’re gonna have to be a little more specific than that, angel.”

“Oh. Um. Yes.” Aziraphale blushed. “What did you mean about Cupid, just before you fainted?”

Oh, that. “I was trying to make a joke.”

“About what?”

“About you shooting me in the heart.”

Aziraphale gave him an indignant look. “But I didn’t shoot you!”

“Right. Right. But… joke.” Gosh, Crowley still felt awful. “Anyway, being shot with Cupid’s arrow is supposed to make you fall in love or whatever, right?”

“Right,” Aziraphale said cautiously. “Are you flirting with me, Crowley?”

“No! Definitely not.” For a moment, Crowley stared at him. “Unless you want me to.”

At that, Aziraphale smiled. “I am deeply flattered, my dear, but I’m afraid I don’t really, um… I don’t have much of an interest in romance outside of stories.”

“Perfect. Me neither.” Crowley grinned and tried to sit up. He quickly stopped grinning and laid back, breathless with pain. “Ow. Okay, no moving.”

“I do think not moving is a better idea. Actually, now that you’re not so weak, I ought to try to heal that up.”

“Ngh.” Crowley laid there, thinking. “What if I flirt with you non-romantically? I mean. I mean. We are sort of partners or whatever, right? Arrangement and everything?”

Aziraphale’s expression went very soft, and he nodded as he fussed over the wound. He peeled the bandages back and bent, studying it. “Yes, I suppose we are. As much as an angel and a demon can be partners, anyway.”

“Yeah.” As far as Crowley was concerned, their individual sides really weren’t turning out to matter all that much. “So. Flirting? Non-romantically?”

“One moment.” Aziraphale pressed his hand to Crowley’s chest, right over his heart. “No more hole.”

Angelic power flooded through the wound, and Crowley hissed at the slight burn. But then, the overall pain dropped, and he relaxed. “Gosh. Thanks, that helps.”

“Of course. Quite happy to help. Since my attempts to encourage kindness and such among the humans seem to have failed, I suppose I’ll have to do it myself.” Smiling again, Aziraphale took his hand and squeezed. “Anyway. Flirt away.”

Crowley opened his mouth, then closed it. He frowned.

“Well?” Aziraphale prompted.

“Er.” Crowley sighed. “I have absolutely no idea how to flirt. Do you?”

“Not in the slightest.” Aziraphale patted his hand. “Why don’t we get some wine and have a nice argument about human charity instead?”

Crowley grinned. He already loved Aziraphale, in his own way, and he didn’t need to be shot with an arrow for that love to kick in. “Perfect. You start.”

[marauderingpaige]

Okay, I have thoughts that I need to remove from my head so I can attempt to get some sleep, so here we are, I guess.

How did Aziraphale and Crowley know that they could switch faces? Like, did they just read the prophecy and think, “ah, yes, we could try and switch ourselves with each other.”

Or, have they switched faces before? Perhaps by accident the first time. We all know how much they love touching each other/holding hands. But like, if they have switched before then when did they do it? And have we seen this moment?

And, have they switched faces since the end of season 1? If so, when? And have we seen it?

Anyways, just had to get rid of those thoughts for a moment. Need to attempt to sleep. Goodnight! I hope you are all having a wonderful day! Xx

[onceuponapuffin]

Fanatic Intervention Part 16!!!

My friends! I have heard your cries! You are worried about Muriel and yearn to know what has become of them! Rest assured, they are in this installment.

Let's do this.

Beginning || Previous || Next

*****************************************

After a moment of commiserative silence, Sardis gets up to go to the bar for another round of drinks. He says sometimes magic just isn’t as good as a properly mixed drink, and leaves. You’ve barely had a sip of your fishbowl.

Jesus is a 13 year-old boy who is white and rich and lives in Los Angeles with his rich parents. The world is doomed.

Your brain is still simmering in the sauce of despair when Anathema suddenly leans in close, pushing glasses to the side as she does. She gets as close to the middle of the table as she can, and you look her up and down because you’re pretty sure the table is sticky (and you’re too scared of the answer to wonder why).

“Okay, listen,” she says urgently, “I need to tell you before Sardis gets back. I got a call from Newt. Muriel’s missing.”

Whatever you were expecting to hear, it wasn’t that. You feel like you’ve suddenly been dropped into ice water. Muriel’s….missing.

“Missing how exactly?” asks Crowley.

“Like missing missing,” Anathema says. How is it that something so vague can clarify her meaning so well? “They went to see a movie, and Muriel just disappeared. He hasn’t been able to find them anywhere.” You don’t have the words to speak yet, but the expression you turn towards Anathema seems to be enough for her. “Listen,” she says to you, “They had every reason to think that it would be okay. The Metatron was after us, remember? He wants us.” You turn your eyes back to the table, wishing that Anathema hadn’t moved your drink away. You could really use something to hold on to right now.

“Right,” Aziraphale begins in a take-charge kind of way, “Tell him that there’s a summoning circle on the floor in my bookshop--”

“-- He tried that already. He says he just got voicemail, and...uh...dial-up.” You’re not looking but you can feel Anathema’s expression without seeing it. Who in the universe still uses dial-up??

“Oh,” Aziraphale sounds deflated.

“Maybe they just popped out to the shop?” Crowley suggests. The question sounds ridiculous and even sarcastic, but what he means is maybe they’re okay and not actually in any trouble at all, and maybe they’ll come back safe and sound and everyone will have a good laugh about it later.

“I mean, it’s possible,” Anathema answers, apparently also understanding what Crowley meant, “But honestly, I don’t think it’s likely.”

“Well regardless,” says Aziraphale, “I highly doubt the Metatron would do anything to harm Muriel. Heaven doesn’t work that way, least of all him.”

“No,” agrees Crowley, “They usually outsource that sort of thing to Hell. Might be able to twist an arm and find out if they...ah...mmm…know anything.” You haven’t looked up yet, but you’re pretty sure Crowley noticed that you haven’t said anything halfway through that suggestion.

Muriel is missing. Your friend. Your wholesome, lovely friend, who came to earth dressed like a lighthouse and who you persuaded to adopt argyle. Your friend who spun around to music with you even though they don’t dance. Your friend who watched the first time you had to calm yourself down from a panic attack and gave you a button to help you with the next one. It’s still in your pocket, you remember. You pull it out and stare at it in your palm. A good large-but-not-too-large plain green button. A good thing to fiddle with whenever you’re anxious. Suddenly you feel tears around your eyes, and maybe it’s the alcohol, but you can’t exactly fight them back. The most you can do is keep yourself from sobbing with worry. Everyone else is still discussing what to do.

“Listen,” Anathema is saying, “I know it’s hard, but we can’t stop saving the world to go back and look for them. The Metatron could be using Muriel as bait for all we know, and we’d be playing right into his hands.”

“Well surely we can’t just leave poor Muriel either,” Aziraphale replies.

“No,” Anathema responds, “I suggested he call Adam. If anyone can help him, Adam can.”

“Do you think” You finally say, “that Muriel knows? That they know we’re coming to find them?”

“I don’t know,” Anathema sighs, “I like to think that they know us well enough to have hope. Wherever they are.”

“Perhaps we could send them a message,” Aziraphale suggests.

“Mmnn,” Crowley seems to agree, “We need to make sure it’s something the Metatron wouldn’t pick up on. Like a secret code or something.”

The three of them start to discuss what kind of message or code you could all send Muriel. Meanwhile, the only thing you find yourself able to do is fidget with the button. The debate has gotten the other three nowhere when a lightbulb goes off. The button.

In dramatic fashion that only Crowley could match, you slam the button on the table. Everyone stops their discussion to watch as you grab the miracle enabler out of your pocket and tear off the number 2 with your teeth. As you spit it to the side, you watch and notice that it stays gone. The miracle went through. Anathema blinks.

“Okay,” she starts, “First of all, I get that you’re upset and that’s perfectly reasonable. But this stuff is important so next time can we please forgo the dramatics and discuss with the group first?”

“Sorry,” You say, even though you’re not.

“What message did you send them?” Crowley asks. In response, you hold up the button.

“You see this? Muriel gave this to me before we left. To help me with my panic attacks. As...as comfort.”

“Okay...” Crowley says. You see Anathema and Aziraphale exchange a look.

“So I sent them an exact copy,” You finish.

“That’s rather clever,” Aziraphale sounds impressed.

“Yeah, not bad.” Anathema agrees. “But next time please tell us first.” You nod in agreement and take a sip of your drink just as Sardis returns with more for everyone else.

Hang tight Muriel, you think to yourself, or Muriel if they can somehow hear you, We’ll find you. We won’t leave you on your own.

********************

Muriel scrivened away at their desk. It was hard to come back to scrivening after having such a lovely time on Earth, but they had been told it was an emergency and that they would be able to come back later once everything had been sorted out. Muriel hadn’t realized that what they’d meant was paperwork. They looked around their office and sighed. Every square foot of it was covered with teetering towers of file folders, leaving no way to see anything else. Not that there was anything else to see ever, it was Heaven after all. They had so much to catch up on.

“How are you doing in here, Muriel?” came a voice from among the towers of folders. Muriel jumped in surprise.

“Oh! Ah, I’m doing alright Metatron,” they answered, “It’s a lot to get through, but I’m starting to make some headway I think!”

“That’s excellent!” The Metatron replied. He wound his way through the stacks until he could see Muriel’s face. He smiled kindly. “I really am so grateful that you were able to return and lend us your help. As you can see, things have gotten a little out of hand in your absence.”

“Yes,” Muriel said, “Of course, Metatron! I didn’t realize that I was leaving everyone with so much. Please pass along my apologies to them.” The Metatron nodded with a thoughtful hum.

“It is the nature of our work, Muriel,” he said, “That we do now know or understand our own importance or place in the workings of things while we are doing them. It is not for us to know, after all! But when someone strays from their role, when they leave for a time and their absence is felt, then we often find out just how vital we are. Not one of us is a ‘nobody,’ we are all incredibly important in the workings of God.”

Muriel nodded. “Yes, Metatron, of course!”

“Ah Muriel,” Metatron said fondly, “You are a most diligent and dedicated soul. Be well assured that the Almighty knows just how grateful we are for you and your continued contributions.”

“Oh! The Almighty?! Really?? Wow! Thank you Metatron!” Muriel sat in awe. They had always thought that they were nobody really. But this whole time they had been so important that even God knew! Muriel looked around at the endless towers of files with new inspiration and purpose. If God knew that they were valuable, then they must do their very best to live up to it! “Don’t worry, Metatron, I’ll get all this sorted out!”

Only…

“I have utmost faith in your abilities, my dear,” Metatron began, “And yet I do sense a small seed of doubt. Is it perhaps something I can help you with?”

Muriel nearly jumped again. Could he read minds? How had he known?

“It’s nothing really,” Muriel said sheepishly, “It’s only...I wish I could have said goodbye. Newt must have been so worried for me to just leave so suddenly. My friends might all be very worried about me.”

“Well why would they be worried?” The Metatron asked jovially, “You’ve come back home! You’re much safer and happier in Heaven than you could be anywhere on Earth.” He looked at Muriel’s unconvinced expression, and relented to a thoughtful smile. “Although I suppose we could send them a message for you. Let them know that you are perfectly alright, and have returned at our request to save us from all of this,” he waved his hands to gesture at the mountains of paperwork. Muriel brightened.

“Oh that would be wonderful! Very kind of you, really Metatron. Thank you ever so much.”

“My pleasure, my dear Muriel,” Metatron cooed, “I shall be back to check on you later, shall I?”

With that, he left and closed the door.

“Ah! Metatron!” Saraquel called to him, speeding over, “Your Grace,” she nodded her head in deference, “Is there anything you would like for the Scriveners to...well...scriven? All of our paperwork has been redirected elsewhere and now I have scores of angels with nothing to do.”

“There is always something to do, Saraquel,” the Metatron smiled kindly, “I have the utmost faith in your abilities to lead. As always.” And he left.

Back inside the office, Muriel was beginning to feel much less...enthused. Now that Metatron was gone, the fatigue of tedious work was returning. There was just so much to do. And to think they had left all the other scriveners with all of this. They felt terrible for that. This was…horrible. This was...just so overwhelming. Muriel took a selfish moment to drop their head into their arms. This felt endless. For a short time, Muriel focused on breathing, before a small clatter made them look up. There was a green button on their desk. Carefully, Muriel poked at it. It was definitely a material object. How strange! They picked it up and examined it for a moment before recognition hit them. Oh! They knew what this was! They had given a button just like this to their new friend! The one that God had sent to help save the world with Aziraphale and Mr. Crowley! A smile of relief spread across Muriel’s face, and despite themselves they hugged the button close like it was the most precious thing in all of Heaven. Thank God. The Metatron had sent them a message, and now they knew everything was alright. For a minute there, Muriel had been worried that he wouldn’t.

❤️ ❤️ ❤️ ❤️ 🖤

Beginning || Previous || Next

[actual-changeling]

"You can be my second-in-command" summarizes their relationship perfectly. Aziraphale always puts Crowley second. Why does everybody think they´re the greatest thing since sliced bread this is the most depressing love story i have seen for a long time.

I've talked about that line at length before, but I will never get over the fact that THIS is the phrase that brings tears to Crowley's eyes and almost makes them spill.

All the vile, insulting things Aziraphale threw at him before peak with this sentence and the belief behind it:

I am inherently better than you, and you always have been and always will be inferior to me (and every other angel).

That is what he says and what he believes, it's a world view that has not changed since Eden; Crowley knows that and yet he had hoped that maybe Aziraphale would finally put him first. Then he throws this into his face and it fully breaks them apart.

Aziraphale is not only completely self-unaware, he's egocentric and selfish and prioritizes his own comfort over everyone and everything else. To him, calling Crowley his second in command is the truth. He's a demon, God hates him, of course he's inferior to me, an Angel of the Lord who can Never Do Wrong.

You're right, anon, and I agree. This is not some cute, romantic story with some hiccups along the way.

It's a comedic tragedy, and people need to stop romanticizing manipulative and abusive behaviour just because they're incapable of opening their eyes to what is happening on screen.

[foolishlovers]

anything can be a good omens au if you’re unhinged enough

[skullfragments]

Muriel is left at the Cliffs of Insanity to "deal with" the Man in Black once he reaches the top. They might not know the intentions of this mystery man, but why assume the worst? He seems grumpy but nice enough. Muriel doesn't see why Sandalphon insists on killing him, and especially why they have to be the one to do it. Either way, it's always best to lead with a smile!

Crowley is hanging on for dear life. He was built for swinging his slinky hips while he walks, not for clinging to a rockface by his fingertips. Crowley just wants his angel back, for somebody's sake!

more good omens x the princess bride, as promised

[fearandhatred]

went back to my crosshatching roots for this one <3 been obsessed with this photo ever since i saw it lol

timelapse under the cut because it's so satisfying to watch

[clumsycapitolunicorn]

"Will you please stay?" | "I need you."

TED LASSO | GOOD OMENS

[heynhay]

(coughing, spitting up blood) they got me…..they fucking got me……………

[cressthebest]

i don’t care how tired i am, nighttime is me time and i will do anything to avoid sleeping.

[pandorem]

Listen. Listen. Crowley picking up Aziraphale bridal-style and visibly struggling because he is a weak toothpick but both he and Aziraphale like the game they play of Aziraphale being the damsel in distress and Crowley being the dashing rescuer and/or roguish scoundrel rescuer too much so they are both delighted anyways

And then real shit goes down and Aziraphale scoops up Crowley like he weighs a feather and runs off with him and they both discover they like that too, very much

[songbird-is-crying]

nh. Z. what if

what if final shot of good Omens.

was.. like

2005 pride and prejudice forehead touch

what then

[h3rmitsunited]

No but the way this was the promo picture for season 2. And now we know the significance of getting caught in a rainstorm with someone special.

[actual-changeling]

crowley has never felt "damned", not directly after his fall, not centuries later.

it is hard to feel damned on earth, as he had discovered, when there is sunlight on his skin and wine on his tongue. when there are joys big and small, reasons to smile, to laugh. when there's aziraphale smiling back.

unforgivable, yes. fallen for certain. unlovable, sometimes, usually right before deciding to go to sleep for a few decades with the hope it will be gone once he wakes again.

he does not believe in salvation—it is hard to see god as a saviour when you remember her ripping everything good you had ever felt out of your chest. besides, compared to earth, heaven is empty. a room with bleached floors and sterile walls, devoid of anything truly real, truly alive. so the opposite, eternal damnation, logically cannot exist either.

believe in one, believe in the other. believe in none, and you lose them both.

maybe, he had thought, maybe there is no salvation but there certainly is hope.

hoping is easy when the world is whole, when his world is whole and next to him, smiling, constant, watching him with shining eyes. it had felt natural then, to dream about a future where all of this works out—where they worked out.

crowley remembers the burning hope in his chest, more gentle than her grace but just as alive, and it had danced over his skin, feeling utterly content and at home. sunlight and smiles flowing together with bubbling joy.

he has never been further from being a demon, and yet, with his hands falling and his lungs aching, damnation becomes tangible, definable.

after burning up in the sky, in fire and flames and pools of boiling sulphur, he falls a second time. crowley sees it then, clear on his face and sharper than the claws that had ripped him open and stolen his stars from inside his heart.

fallen. unforgivable. unlovable.

"i forgive you"

damned.

there had been a holiness to living, wisps of hope and promises. all of it is gone now, taken, stolen.

they were yours anyway, he doesn't say. all of me, it was yours.

offered to him with weeping hands, open and truthful, his heart beating and bleeding and melting through his fingers. take it, he had said, it's yours. let it be yours.

angels. white-winged and perfect and whole. blessed, the definition of blessing, of holiness, of everything good.

so, crowley tells himself, if salvation exists, if i can see it crack and shatter right in front of me, whatever remains must be the opposite.

it is all he can feel, the hollow that had been him, no soul to damn and yet there he is—damned. alone. lonely. power ripples through him, tasting desperation, tasting fury and heartbreak, and he allows it, embraces it. it doesn't matter anymore.

bad. evil. a liar and an enemy and unlovable the way he is—and worst of all, unchangeable. somehow after everything, that is what broke them. maybe he has been wrong about himself all along.

damned for now and all eternity, so he might as well, right?