10 Jul 2021
“And then? What next?”
The human’s eyes are wide and hazy with alcohol. Who is he, anyway? Crowley can’t even remember. He’d just happened to be the only person sitting at the bar when Crowley got there and is thus now the most fortunate recipient of Crowley’s whiskey-sodden ranting. To his credit, the man seems genuinely invested in the cock-and-bull story Crowley’s been nattering on about for the past two hours, even granting the way he’s been embellishing it with ridiculous detail.
[Or: a Blitz fic where Crowley unknowingly inspires Ian Fleming to write James Bond.]
The year after the apocalypse that couldn't has been good to Crowley and Aziraphale, and their relationship has never been better. All of the things Crowley was never allowed to do before - to touch, to kiss, to love openly and freely - are his to do now. But there's one thing left to do.
Five times Crowley tries to propose and the one time he succeeds.
“Is that a temptation, darling?”
Samael doesn’t elaborate. All she gives is a mysterious smile. It reminds Raphael of Almighty. Beautiful and all-knowing.
Once all angels were in Heaven. Once they all knew God’s light and Her infinite love. There was love between the angels too.
Raphael was in the middle of it. He saw it all unfold. He didn’t know that soon enough he will learn what it means to be scraped of all that is familiar.
Aziraphale had once asked what is Falling.
Crowley had responded with a dry smile, “An answer you do not wish to have.”