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I love how Crowley saw this angel on the wall & slithers up and is like ssssssss and the angel goes Wot? and Crowley repeats, Well that was a shit show wasn't it? and the angel goes Oh, yeah, it was and Crowley goes God's being a bit of a bitch about an apple, eh. Anyway s'not like the whole good/evil thing even matters and the angel goes Stfu it was your idea in the first place and Crowley goes Ehhh my boss just said to come up here and fuck shit up & God seemed tetchy 'bout the apples and they talk about God and the Great Plan and Crowley goes Hang on, you had a great big bleedin sword earlier to defend Eden, where is it? and the angel goes Uhh yeah well I gave it to the humans God just kicked out and Crowley instantly falls in love ?? and this whole time this angel is like Bsjxbsbsudpuxeb I've had a crush on you since before Creation and now you're a bad boy demon and I like it even more??

And then God rocks up and goes Where's ya sword, Eastern boy? and Aziraphale deadass LIES TO GOD and God just fucking NOPES out halfway through his bullshit speech about losing it, and 6,000 years later She's watching them go on dates, and She fucking ships it

good omens mascot here: why i relate to crowley

Okay I know I've only watched the first season and there's a lot I don't know about season two But. I have a lot of feelings about Crowley and I'm trying to figure out why and this is what I've got. I'm sure at least some of you relate to some of these. I'm using he/him for him this post.

One. He's so disillusioned with almost everything (I say almost on purpose). Heaven? He lost faith in heaven when he fell, maybe before he fell, maybe he fell because he lost faith in it. He's so frustrated with Aziraphale's belief in the goodness of heaven, but he still respects that belief and even admires Aziraphale for it, only really showing how upset he is when Aziraphale lets that blind faith guide decisions. Crowley always says things that imply being an angel is a good trait, but that facade breaks when Aziraphale is fucking up, because he doesn't want Aziraphale to get hurt or this world to end. As for hell? He certainly doesn't have faith in hell, and doesn't belong in it. Mankind? Nope, he frequently points out how flawed and cruel humans are. Himself? Crowley doesn't have faith in himself, really, either.

And I relate to that feeling of... losing faith in all the things that are supposed to be Right and Good, like society and family, parents and friends, lovers and yourself, government and laws.

Two. I said almost, and that's because Aziraphale. He has such relentless faith in the fact that they are friends, they are best friends, they are lovers. 6000 years, and he keeps reading beneath the lines, continues to stand by Azi even when Aziraphale reminds him that he is a demon, that they are on opposing sides, that Aziraphale does not like him, that they are not friends, that Aziraphale couldn't care less about him. Crowley knows Aziraphale doesn't mean it, just like we know. And we're so used to seeing romances where one character says something they don't mean and the rift goes on forever and we get frustrated because idiots, he didn't mean it. But Crowley knows Aziraphale doesn't mean it. He doesn't stop saying they are best friends. That they are more. He calls out Aziraphale on his bullshit and points out that Aziraphale does love him. And he does it without pushing, just lines dropped over millennia, a reminder to Aziraphale that Crowley feels the same, that he knows, he understands. It's such a relentless, powerful optimism from a demon who has lost faith in everything else.

And I know how that feels, to believe in a love so strongly that you can take blow after blow to that belief and have it remain unshattered. To give gentle reminders that you see through the lies, and that you are there and you know they didn't want to hurt you.

Three. Another caveat, though. How much can that belief withstand? Yes, Crowley knows that Aziraphale is his lover and best friend. But how many doubts have crept in over those thousands of years? When Aziraphale said he didn't like Crowley, and the demon replied with you do, how much of it was posturing? When Crowley has been cast out from heaven and persecuted by hell, found no friends in humankind, it must have shattered his sense of self-worth. He calls Aziraphale his only friend, his best friend. Imagine your only friend repeatedly insisting you aren't friends. Yes, you know it is because to be friends is to put both of you in danger, that Aziraphale does not mean it and has shown time and again that he loves Crowley and that's why he's lying to protect him, but still. It must hurt. It must chip away at logic and rationality, bit by bit.

And I know how that feels, too, to begin to doubt that you are loved, because that objective knowledge that yes, you are loved gets broken and eroded by so many instances of being hurt, dismissed, ignored, betrayed.

Four. No one seems to be putting Crowley first. Not heaven, certainly, heaven threw him out millennia ago. As for hell, Satan and the demons only tolerate him, willing to kill him as soon as he betrays the slightest hint of goodness. Humans are too fleeting, gone before you can blink, and they have never paid any regard to the individual over the 'greater good', certainly not to a lonely demon who can't get close to them because they die too soon. And Aziraphale chooses heaven, chooses being good over Crowley every single time. Some of the time, he is right. But imagine being Crowley. Given the choice between salvation and Aziraphale, happiness and Aziraphale, anything and Aziraphale, he would choose Aziraphale. And he has to watch, time and again, as Aziraphale chooses other things over him, finally pulling back from the kiss and choosing the heaven he doesn't even like over what Crowley offers him. Crowley, as far as he can see, is no one's first choice, no one's first priority. It may not be true. But it does feel like that.

And that feeling is so real, to know that the people you would die for would not do the same for you. The people you put first wouldn't put you first. That you are giving knowing that you cannot take. It may be real, or it may not be, but the fact is it often looks that way to me and Crowley and a lot of us, and that hurts.

These aren't all, of course, there's the relentless questioning, the needing to be good, the needing to be bad, the horrible urges and battling them, the kinder impulses and figuring out how to fit them into an awful world, the consequences for being good, whether they are worth it, just everything about Crowley. But the four above I wanted to elaborate on.

I'm fucked, I love a fictional character again. Again, I might be wrong about a lot of things, so there's that. Aren't we all.

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.

a tribute to @blairamok’s au, On Thin Ice. check it out, it’s amazing!

I've been thinking about Aziraphale's sleep patterns or the lack of it

From what I gathered, it's a fanon consensus that Aziraphale straight up just doesn't sleep and I agree. The bed in the flat over the bookshop has never seen even a wink of Aziraphale unless he entered the room to deposit more books there

HOWEVER

I like to think he snoozes in the armchair in the bookshop. Like, he's reading, and he leans back a bit. He's so relaxed that he lets his head fall back and his eyes close, just to rest.

He doesn't sleep, no. He is still alert and paying attention to his surroundings but he is on that state between awake and asleep that's low-key kinda uncomfortable but that's the closest he ever came to be voluntarily unconcious so he doesn't know better and somehow kinda likes it

Crowley has never caught him like that cause as soon as the bell jingles over the door, Aziraphale springs back to motion

The first time he witnesses it is in the cottage. Crowley gets spooked and thinks Aziraphale passed out, running to him all alarmed, but even before he gets near, Aziraphale opens his eyes and looks up at him.

"Everything alright, dear?"

"You-! You were-! Ngk!" He takes a step closer, leaning over the angel. "Since when do you sleep?! I've never seen you sleep! Not in 6000 years!"

"Oh I wasn't asleep. I was just resting my eyes." He smiles, closing the book that was resting on his chest. "It's relaxing. I used to do it all the time back in the bookshop." Crowley deflates, sitting on the sofa near the armchair. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah, yeah. 'M fine. Just...thought you passed out or something." He runs a hand through his hair before looking back at the angel. "How have I never seen you like this?"

"You've never lived with me before." Crowley rolls his eyes and playfully slaps Aziraphale's arm, the angel chuckles in return. "I would open my eyes as soon as I heard the Bentley outside or felt your presence before you entered the bookshop."

"Myeah, makes sense. Just could have given me a heads up."

"I'm sorry, dear boy. I'll make you a list of all my peculiarities just so you're not caught by surprise next time."

"You're ridiculous."

+ bonus:

Aziraphale: Crowley will have a plan! Crowley's plans in question: if I dump them somewhere, maybe they'll go away

I have read all the fanfictions in which Crowley Saved Kids Before the Flood in Mesopotamia 3004 BC and i think about it too much 😵

I have already written my own fanfic in my head and drew an illustration for it :“)

Hear me out, good omens au where everything is the same but everyone is a silly little duck

Duck omens.

Neil Gaiman does both.

they are actually so crowley and aziraphale

like hello