The Wait-And-See Stage Has Started Again Thank Go... Sat... Someone, And We Know Neil Is Not Going To

I love that we live in a world where Michael Sheen called David Tennant his lover publicly, talked about himself and David “having sex mainly” also publicly, decided Aziraphale is a bottom and plays him as one, spends every interview staring at David like he’s the best thing that ever happened to him…

Absolute king. Never change.

The fact that we didn't get more minutes of 2007 Crowley is a bloody crime.

I mean. Look at that sluttiness.

They're the definition of gender envy.

Their full name is Anthony JenderEnvy Crowley btw.

And also very cute. 100% would shag against a fridge of something.

I love how when they meet in fics Crowley tends to be a bit to rude and dismissive of Aziraphale in his 'im trying to be cool and mysterious' way but in the show on the wall in Eden Crowley is like 🐍🐍 omg an ANGEL 😍😍 let me tell u a joke and get a good look at u 👀 wanna make you laugh show me that beautiful smile 🤩🤩 ohh you're such a good angel don't worry sexy!! ❤️❤️ How about we criticize God's plan and run away together 😏😏😏

It is

Forever thinking about the fact that Crowley rescued Aziraphale’s books because he knows him so well and he knows how much those books means to him. Aziraphale didn't ask him to do it, he hadn't even remember about the books until after the explosion.

It’s the kind of thing that you do when you love someone, when you respect someone and their interests. It’s personal. It’s intimate. And it’s brave.

the script book makes all the sweet, heart-wrenching moments even worse because you realise just how much of it is david and michael. i was reading through the tadfield manor scene and i will kill to get season 2 and 3 script books once s3 has been released.

a few highlights:

the paintball and coat scene where crowley does his little kissy blowy miracle? you know what the script says?

gestures. GESTURES. and i assume david went no yeah, kiss time it is, and here we are. unbelievable.

and that soft smiley "come on" it's killing me. someone take this show away from.

ah yes, pushing.

great pushing. amazing pushing. might even be called kicking.

crowley growling out hastur when the nun mentions the fire? not in the script! very curious who decided to add it because i love that change.

this change on the other hand? neil, neil who decided to cut this, NEIL stand trial for your crimes WHERE IS MY GRABBING WHERE IS MY HAULING

I’m indifferent to whether or not God narrates s3, but if she is, I hope it’s to call these two out on their bullshit.

You know what would be kind of interesting.

Assuming in the show Second Coming means damning Demons to eternal sulfur…

So we have Gabriel who’s openly in love with Beelzebub now. We have Aziraphale who took his job and let’s say he will not be told that carrying out the Second Coming means damning Crowley and other Demons to eternal torture.

But Gabriel can’t fucking have it now. He knows what it means. That’s Beelzebub who’d be taken away from him.

Imagine. Gabriel. The absolute prick of Season 1. Being the one grabbing Aziraphale by his fucking jacket and shouting at him that he wants to torture Gabriel’s love.

“I can’t believe you’d do this to Crowley, but I’m not letting you hurt Beelzebub!”

Azi *seduction mode on*: I wasn't always religious, but now I am, because you're the answer to all my-

Crowley: You're a literal angel, Aziraphale, what do you mean you weren't religious?

Azi:

Azi *trying again*: Did it hurt when you fell from heaven?

Crowley: Angel, I didn't fall, I just sauntered vaguely-

Azi *slams down 101 pick up lines*: WILL YOU LET ME FLIRT-

An angel and a demon walk into a bar.

It sounds like the beginning of a joke, one that would have annoyed Crowley greatly before- before. Maybe it would have been mildly amusing, were it not for the fact that it is a pub, not a bar (a mere technicality that somehow still mattered), and it is the first time in seven months that he is looking Aziraphale right in the face.

He chose the place, walked right out of the bookshop and across the street the second Aziraphale looked at him with his stupid purple eyes and opened his mouth. Same table, same drinks. New silence.

A demon leads an angel into a pub so he does not kiss him again.

Less of a joke, more like the beginning of a nightmare he has had every single time he tried to sleep, woken by whispered words either confirming his worst fears or greatest desires; both incite fear, one way or another.

The low table between them is enough of a barrier to prevent a repeat of their last interaction, it has to be, although this time Aziraphale is looking at him with violet-coloured longing and an apology on his lips, no longer pleading, no longer angry. He is asking for forgiveness, and if that isn't a deeply ironic twist of fate.

Before either of them says a single word, Crowley finishes his drink and raises his hand to order another one, clinging to the familiar sting of alcohol in his throat to burn away the questions lingering on his tongue.

An angel followed a demon into a pub because he loves him.

Aziraphale wishes he could tell himself Crowley looks like he did seven months ago, that he hasn't changed, but he is done lying to himself, to either of them. Behind his shades, dark, darker if that is even possible, he can feel his golden gaze heavy on his face, familiar and the answer to an empty longing in his chest.

His drink goes untouched as Crowley downs one, then another, and it is after the third that he finally begins to talk.

"What do you want?"

Bitter, sharp, spit at his feet with an anger he expected and yet doesn't know how to react to. Underneath it is pain—more pain than any being should ever have to experience—and instead of trying to carry some of it for him, he only added to it.

"I want to apologise."

"Fine." Crowley shoves his empty glass away and gets up. "I don't forgive you."

Reflexively, Aziraphale reaches out and curls his fingers around his wrist when Crowley tries to walk past him, blinking up at him with eyes the colour of dying Myosotis.

Forget-me-nots.

They both freeze, the point of contact a crack in the walls they have spent centuries building and seven months rebuilding, and he knows he has made a mistake immediately.

Crowley stares at him, still as stone, until he suddenly rips his arm out of his grasp, almost cradling it against his chest. With dawning horror, Aziraphale realises he is shaking, tremors running through him like waves breaking apart on a rocky shore.

"Don't you dare touch me." Panic, not anger. Pure, unfiltered panic blooming beside a mountain of fear that could outlast an eternity.

"I-" He doesn't know what he wants to say, what he is trying to say, what he needs to say to make him stay. Oh, the irony of it all.

Crowley leaves the pub, and the Supreme Archangel stays behind.

Not a demon anymore, not technically, he is done with sides, and deeds, and choices; he never makes the right ones anyway. His wrist hurts with the ghost of a kiss, and he cannot get the glint of purple where summer sky blue should be out of his head. 

The Bentley is waiting for him, providing an escape from the noise, the people, him.

Apologies instead of I'm coming back.

A sickening aura of holiness tinged with the burn of ozone instead of books and dust and soft, silly angel.

Seven months of waiting, of pleading with God, of cursing Her, cursing him, cursing the entire fucking world for taking and taking and taking from him without pause, without even a fragment of mercy.

For this.

An angel returns to heaven. Crowley curses the stars and cries.