#Heaven is a bureaucracy

[dee-morris]

I Promise I'm Not Trying to Start Anything

I know the Golden Rule of Fandom: headcanon and let headcanon, theory and let theory. (Unless you say something ableist or hateful toward Aziraphale, obviously bc fuck you that's why.) So feel free to keep scrolling if this question bothers you.

But I'm a little puzzled, and again this is a good faith question, not passive aggressive, I promise it's not a shit post, *waves hands* ALL THE DISCLAIMERS but anyway why do I keep seeing theories and headcanons that Aziraphale is going to Fall? Or that he should Fall? Like that's a natural next step in his journey, something he needs to do or ought to do so he can be with Crowley.

I considered the possibility myself before seeing season two, but my friends, Falling isn't an option for him. It's off the table. Gabriel's trial made that clear. He WANTED to Fall, and Metatron said, "For one prince of heaven to be cast into the outer darkness makes a good story, but if it happens again it suggests an institutional problem."

As a manager of an unsustainable bureaucracy, the Metatron is kind of stuck. If he gives Aziraphale the boot, first of all he'll be giving Hell the nuclear codes, but also he'll have to admit that heaven isn't perfect and angels can make mistakes. That they can change and make choices and become something other than what they were created for. If he admits that, the whole system crumbles and his control is gone baby gone. He CAN'T make Aziraphale fall any more than he could Gabriel, bc then he'll have to admit things that he cannot admit.

What really bothers me is that people think that this is something Aziraphale needs to do in order to be free of heaven. I get the logic, but I do want to point out that Crowley isn't free either. Falling out of the frying pan and into the fire isn't character development. They need to take down the whole system , and that means joining together from opposite sides.

[rcreveal]

The Trouble with a Keen Manager-Ch 12

A little relationship development in the 1990s pre-Antichrist when Crowley lost his demonic powers to a hellish Accountability drive. This chapter is almost a one-shot from Aziraphale's POV-sweet, pining, a might conflicted while Crowley takes refuge in the Bookshop after a long and eventful 24 hours. Not that he's going to tell Aziraphale that's what he's doing.

For the second time in the last week, Aziraphale did not immediately recognize Crowley when a nattily dressed young man sauntered into his shop.  With the irritant of his demonic wiles nearly absent, and the camouflage of a young Scottish lad overlaying his corporation, Crowley just felt different, but also achingly, hauntingly reminiscent of other times.  Aziraphale’s heart flip flopped a bit.  Silly old angel, he remonstrated himself.  Those days when they were both angels together were long over and done.

Putting his feelings aside, Aziraphale sang out in greeting, “Hallo young sir! How might I be of assistance?” then dropping the affectation, said, “I do like this new outfit on you!  You pull off old-money-goes-to-University, quite dashingly,” the angel said, coming around to close up the shop.

“Hey yourself, angel,” Crowley sounded amused at Aziraphale’s over-the-top antics,  “I could do with a sandwich.  I’m famished,” Crowley replied, looking unusually stiff, as he lowered himself gingerly onto the Chesterfield.

Aziraphale couldn’t get over the unexpected enjoyment of sharing food with Crowley and it put everything else out of his mind for a moment.   “Oh!” he beamed and clasped his hands in anticipation,  “I laid in an afternoon tea!  You’ve never wanted to try one with me before and I thought…” he was starting to natter, it did happen when he got excited.

“Yeah, angel, that would be great,” Crowley smiled fondly at him, resting an elbow on the arm of the couch, hand dangling nonchalantly, but Aziraphale thought he looked rather done in.  Nevertheless, Crowley offered,  “What can I do to help?” probably trying to keep their accounts balanced, well, he’d let the demon do the dishes or some little thing that could be wrangled into compliance as a ‘fair exchange’.

Holding his hand out to forestall Crowley gathering himself to get up, Aziraphale said, “No, no, no, just sit!  You’ve been serving people all week.”

Crowley said, “Okay.  I’ll just sit here then,” before leaning carefully back into the couch with a little sigh.  Aziraphale hurriedly bustled off to the kitchen.

Aziraphale wondered why Crowley wasn’t responding to his nattering on with the demon’s usual snarky remarks, until the angel came back into the front triumphantly carrying a three tiered tray of sandwiches, quiches, scones, clotted cream, jams, and of course, a pot of tea.  Crowley was fast asleep on the couch, tie loosened, head resting in the crook of the couch, his hands crossed loosely over his stomach, with his feet still on the floor like the nap had snuck up on him.

“Crowley?” the angel set down tea and trays, a bit deflated that Crowley missed his big reveal but the demon didn’t wake.

“Crowley!” Aziraphale said a bit more loudly.

“‘M awake!” Crowley sat up abruptly and blinked at the angel and the food.  “Wow!” he breathed, wreathing Aziraphale’s face with a smile before an audible grumble from around his midsection made the angel chuckle.  Aziraphale smiled at himself for a sleep rightly disturbed.  Loading a plate, he passed it over, enjoying Crowley’s inhaling of the food almost as much as he enjoyed the repast himself.  The way the demon’s eyes lit up as Crowley greedily accepted each plate of goodies nearly made up for him sleeping through the initial “Ta-da” moment.

Why had Crowley fallen asleep during mid-day?  Aziraphale thought Crowley had gotten his corporation better sorted out than this.  

Something else was amiss despite Crowley’s complete reticence on the subject of last night.  A subject that had been on the lips of nearly every Whickber Street shopperson Aziraphale had spoken with today.  All that couldn’t be true?   Surely Crowley wouldn’t have actually gotten hurt?  He was a wiley demon!  He could talk his way out of almost anything!    

While sipping his tea, Aziraphale looked Crowley over critically.  Oh, dear…

“I heard around the neighborhood, that the Dirty Donkey’s new barkeep caught some ruffians trying to slip the mickey into the drinks of a couple of young ladies.  He threw them out on their ear and the Dirty Donkey’s owner banned them!  Upbraiding his clientele to mark these ne’er-do-wells that he might call the constabulatory should they show their faces again!” he said, pinky raised just before taking another sip.

“Didn’t know you listened to neighborhood gossip so much, angel,” Crowley went rather still while side-eyeing the angel.

 A hit.

“And, the same young gallant notified the local brothel, so that they might protect themselves from the frustrated rakes!” continued Aziraphale.

“You’ve been reading that Empire era stuff again, it always does this to your language, angel,” Crowley groused, not making eye contact.

Another hit.

“I also heard that the same group of ruffians were turned off the neighborhood patch by a group of daringly dressed young ladies who came to the aid of an unfortunate young fellow whom the self-same ruffians were attacking.”  Aziraphale gossiped.

Crowley stopped breathing for a beat.  

Gosh, another hit.

“By all accounts, the young fellow was giving as good as he got,” Aziraphale indicated Crowley’s battered knuckles.  “But I do hope he’ll make a speedy and full recovery,” the angel laid his hand over his own collar, mirroring where the chain had bruised Crowley’s throat, eyebrows wrinkled in concern.

“You’d think the neighborhood watch would notice that the “unfortunate young fellow” was in a kilt, just like the new barkeep,” Crowley said sourly, flicking his hand in a, ‘forget it’ motion.

Dropping out of his light tone, Aziraphale replied, “Yes, they jolly well did!  No one has seen you, him, leave Madame’s, so there’s all sorts of rumors about him either being rewarded by epic lovemaking or secretly having gone to hospital.” Aziraphale tipped his head. “Have you been able to heal yourself at all? That’s excellent make up, but you’re fairly beat about and your ribs are cracked!”

“Damn! An’ here I thought they might just be bruised!” groaned Crowley, arm to his side, leaning forward over his knees.  “It hurts more when you diagnose it, you know!”

This was wretched, thought Aziraphale, always having to dance around the requirements of their opposing positions!  Crowley was hurt, why wasn't he asking for help?  But they didn't ask and they didn't tell.  Anything more was just inviting trouble.

Biting his lip, then looking determined, Aziraphale made a little gesture.

Crowley took his hand off his no longer sore side and touched his throat in surprise, looking up at the angel, “You healed…”

“The gallant young benefactor of a couple of innocents!” Aziraphale sat up primly, straightening his waistcoat, suddenly a buzzing bundle of nerves,  “Just helped things along a bit!  That’s certainly allowed!!  Anyone would do it!!!” he bustled anxiously, putting more food on Crowley’s plate. “Have another sandwich!  Got to keep your strength up!!” 

Looking at the nervous angel, askance, Crowley, nevertheless, kept his mouth shut, except to eat every morsel he was offered.

When they had finished the pot of tea and demolished the entire tray of tea treats, Crowley announced, “I can pay you now for my clothes, angel.  If you’ll take a check, that is,” he pulled out a brand new chequebook from his blazer pocket.. 

Aziraphale held out his hand for the chequebook, eyebrow raised, but refraining from commenting yet.  

Inspecting it closely, he exclaimed, “These are real!  My, but you did pick up a benefactor quickly.  Good for you!”  Aziraphale remarked, handing back the chequebook, then caught Crowley's pained expression.  “Anthony, good for Anthony.  Very bad of you, grift and forgery and whatnot, I've no doubt,” catching the demon’s devilish grin and muttered, “You don’t know the half of it.  Humans!”

“But how does Anthony have any money in the account?  Other than his work money, that is?”

“My benefactor gave me a ‘micro-loan’ while I’m getting back on my feet,” Crowley explained.

“Micro-loan?  Fascinating!  I’d like to hear more about those,” said the angel while directing Crowley on making out the cheque.  

“I’ll introduce you sometime.  Agatha Christie reader’s club member,” Crowley cherished the idea of the angel and the Madame talking about micro-loans to help raise up local people.  Damn, was that doing good?  Was it making trouble for an angel?  It was making his head hurt, so he probably needed yet another rest.  Bloody bodies were a lot of maintenance without unlimited miracles.

Aziraphale had succeeded in cleaning some of Crowley’s clothes, but several had become ‘regrettably tattered’.  Crowley assured him that he didn’t much care, just glad to be able to sleep in his own pajamas tonight.  Getting into the spirit of the ruse, Aziraphale considered that the tattered black suit was perfect!  With the addition of just a dark cap to cover his red hair, Crowley could walk down the street with a little wrapped parcel to a place where men often stopped.

Anthony walked into the front of Madame's, dressed in an outfit she hadn’t yet seen, sharp dark jacket and pants, fine craftsmanship, bespoke even, but sadly tattered.  Madame was working the front, but marked him immediately, “Thank you for coming by tonight!  Do come through.”

Taking his free hand and putting it into the crook of her arm, she was near enough to whisper, “A bold entrance.  Well done, Anthony!”

Anthony gave her a cheeky smile, “Mr. Fell sends his regards, and another book,” sounding surprised.

“You know the bookseller’s reputation, then?  Mr. Fell doesn’t go in much for ‘selling’ books, does he?  In this case it’s something of a hostage exchange.  I have some books that he’d very much like me to show him, so he’s trying to butter me up by lending me some of his extensive collection.  Let’s see what he sent.”  she held out her hand for the bookseller’s offering, “Ooo, Poirot!  With the author’s annotations!  Quite the master of temptation, that man!”

“Uh, not temptation.  Really, not his strong suit,” Anthony said.

“Maybe not to you,” Madame chucked the lad under the chin, “But to a bibliophile like myself, quite the sweet, sweet temptation.”

Turning at the entrance to her rooms, which she unlocked for him, Madame laid a hand lightly on his cheek.  “Go see to those injuries, there’s another meal laid out for you, and get some sleep.  I’m sure you’ll insist on working at the Dirty Donkey tomorrow.  Plus the neighborhood gossips are about to explode with curiosity.”Anthony gave her another stately bow, more graceful than last night's, perhaps his ribs had only been bruised, before closing the door behind himself.  When she stopped by the infirmary door later that evening, Anthony was well and truly asleep.

[tampire]

♪ Everyday, it's a-getting closer ♪

♪ Going faster than a rollercoaster ♪

♪ Love like yours will ♪

♪ Surely come my way ♪

♪ A-hey, a-hey-hey ♪

Gabriel and Beelzebub eventually survive the consequences of The Metatron and Satan

Bonus:

[acepumpkinpatrick]

Do you see it?!!

DO YOU SEE IT?!!

Like I'm definitely on Crowley's side of the divorce (sorry!) but I see Aziraphale's logic and his honest efforts to say

"I have the power to give you what you needed from heaven now!"

He's trying his damned best to hang on to his principles while keeping Crowley by his side at the same time!! It worked for the past 6000 years why isn't it working now!!!

GAAAH this show is driving me crazy.

[mamamissy]

Hear me out.

Angels can sense love.

It’s working.

But how does he know it’s working???

BECAUSE HE WAS AN ANGEL ONCE.

He can still feel love.

They all come from the same stock. Heaven and Hell is a social construct that means absolutely fucking nothing.

They have more in common than what is dividing them and anytime they spend an iota of time in the other’s presence, we wind up with epic love stories. Because it’s about finding that connection and not drawing arbitrary lines.

That’s your season three.

Anyway this has probably already been discussed at length. It’s almost 2AM for me and I just honestly don’t feel like apologizing for my brain today. So here, this is out and now you’ve read this. No going back. Kisses.

[strawberryseamstress]

technoblade, looking at two small children: .....hey kids what are your feelings on the heavenly bureaucracy

juanaflippa: its BULLSHIT

technoblade: attagirl. do you have weapons.

tilin: (pulls out a gun)

technoblade, wiping a tear: finally some good fucking parenting

[the-meta-tron]

Heaven Is A Cult

Not that any of us are surprised.

Source: The BITE Model of Authoritarian Control

[cobragardens]

What does it say about Heaven and about Hell, about the brokenness and emptiness of those places, that twice sitting next to each other in a pub and listening to a song is a connection so intense that Gabriel and Beelzebub are ready to leave the places they rule, places they have power, to keep experiencing that connection

[dysfunctionalcreature]

Ok but hear me out Aziraphale and Beelzebub with their respective partners are literally the definition of "the hero that would forsake their lover in order to protect the world, versus, the villain who would burn the world to protect their lover"

[grand-theft-carbohydrates]

"what kind of idiot puts a flag pole behind the monastary?"

Monastary Wukong is peak character design. see him face.

i love this detail so much bc this is what a real monastary looks like^. wu cheng'en would have passed by this kind of building 800 years ago and thought to himself "hey that's a face" and he decided to make it a key plot point in his novel. the secret novel he wrote instead of doing his government work. god he's just like me fr.

[kameonerd566]

Something so funny to me about good omens s2 is that when we get the big reveal of what happened to Gabriel he's literally just like "hehe hoho I disobeyed heaven oopsie doopsie time to go to hell-e-wellie-poo >.<" and then the council is like lol nah u can stay and he's just like O FUCC

[changantichrist]

"it almost looked like heaven's light"

[rcreveal]

Menaced by Memo

Summary:

This takes place sometime before the Antichrist arrives in S1. Ever had to fill out those surveys for work? Aziraphale and Crowley get them, too! A little fluffy work-humor for you. Sendarya's Discord Server Prompt a Week challenge 2024 Prompt: How you said I love you: with storytelling.  Thanks for the prompt @whocaresaboutdecent!

Notes:

(See the end of the work for notes.)

Work Text:

Aziraphale held the receiver of his rather elderly telephone to his ear and dialed urgently.  Waiting only half a ring before the much hoped for voice answered on the other end of the line.

“Watsup, angel?” Crowley answered.

“I hadn’t said who I was yet!” Aziraphale fiddled nervously with a piece of thick white cardstock on his cluttered desk.

“Nnnyeah. Caller ID, angel,” explained Crowley, not saying that he could feel the prickle on the back of his neck that meant the angel was in trouble.

Composing himself briefly, Aziraphale says, “I’ve had…a memo ,”  saying ‘memo’ as though he’d received a summons to be the guest of honor at an earnest inquiry of the Spanish Inquisition.

Picking up his own piece of heavy parchment, Crowley replies darkly, “Mmm, same,” managing to imply that the Inquisition was happy to entertain two honored guests.

“Usual spot, half an hour?” suggested the angel.

“Actually, I was thinking we might workshop this one?” replied Crowley drily, though only Aziraphale would hear the anxious edge to his laconic drawl that in anyone else might suggest incipient knee knocking terror.

“Oh, OH! Yes, certainly! I’ll just tidy up a bit, just give me a tick to close up.”  Aziraphale gently replaced the receiver and set to work making the Bookshop opaque to prying eyes corporeal and ethereal that might check in on their activities.  Especially as Crowley was coming over for an extended time.

***

Crowley leaned his back against the front door of the  “Very Closed” bookshop as though he was just checking his phone out of the misty rain.  The door eased open and he slipped into the dim shop where the blinds were pulled down.

“Follow me,”  Aziraphale led him to the back stacks and pushed on a bookcase which, rather than being a wall, swung back revealing a snug little parlor paneled with warm cherry wood. The space was mostly taken up with a table that could easily accommodate charts or maps and the walls were lined with bookshelves and leather appointed benches with upholstered backs. 

“Uhhh…” Crowley looked over at the angel quizzically, “I didn’t know this room was here .”

“Pish posh, all old bookstores in London have hidden rooms!” Aziraphale said breezily with a brilliant smile, sweeping his arm out to invite Crowley inside.

“Oh, that makes sense,” Crowley murmurs, stooping into the room, completely missing the sharp glance the angel gives the front of the shop before following him.  

Closing the door behind them, Aziraphale made a little miraculous motion and Crowley had the eerie feeling that they were in some way outside of the world.  He opened his mouth to comment, but was cut off by the angel.

Pulling out the cream colored cardstock, Aziraphale says, “I got a memo from Home Office with something new!”  he explains as he places the memo on the table for examination.

The paper contains the words:

Congratulations! 

Your diligent efforts to uphold the Great Plan have been recognized and you have been chosen to participate in a survey to promote Quality Improvement!

Tap here to continue…

“Yeah, that looks bad,” Crowley threw his glasses onto the table.  “Lookit mine,” he puts his memo next to Aziraphale’s.

The thick parchment reads:

 Think you’re working hard enough? Think again!  

To make sure you’re putting in the proper effort towards the Great Plan, complete this survey so we can learn how to wring every bit of glorious success out of you!

“I mean, really, it amounts to the same thing, Crowley,” Aziraphale held both memos up and read them in turn, Crowley hovering over his shoulder.

“But, dontcha think they’re going to ask pointed questions about the assignments?  Only, I get a little muddled on which one of us completed which assignment…”

“Didn’t you keep copies of your reports!?” asked Aziraphale, surprised, tapping a panel in the wall and pulling out a stack of ledgers.

Pulling a small slender book out of a secret pocket in the lining of his coat, Crowley acknowledges, “Something like that, but I didn’t keep copies of your reports, did I!”

Sitting next to each other on a leather bench built into the paneled wall, Crowley swallows, and suggests, “You first.”

“Why me!?” wails Aziraphale.

“Upstairs doesn’t drop you into a mongoose infested maze for fifty years if they’re hacked off with you , right?” growled Crowley.

“No, but I don’t fancy a visit from any of my…supervisors, either!” Aziraphale countered, anxious not to name Sandalaphon, Michael, Uriel, and especially Gabriel.  Straightening his waist coat and settling his shoulders, he puts both hands on the table to either side of the memo.

Crowley made a little go on motion with his hands and Aziraphale says, “Oh, all right!” and taps the survey, watching the initial words dissolve and new ones form.

“Ah, it says it has ten questions.  That's not so bad!” Aziraphale smiles hopefully, Crowley looks dubiously at the memo, “‘Question 1: Full name’,” the angel enters his name,  “Why isn't anything happening? I entered my name!” Aziraphale says, querulously.

Crowley leans in and points, “Try tapping the little ‘Next’ arrow down there.”

“Oh yes, thank you,” Aziraphale tapped the next arrow, smiling brightly when the next question materialized.

“Question 2: Title (select every title you have ever held)’ oh, it's a ‘ drop in ’ menu,” Aziraphale scrolls through a seemingly endless list of angelic titles.

“Drop down menu, angel,” Crowley corrects absently while reading the list,  “There's really a 37th class Echo specialist? What's an Echo specialist do?”

Aziraphale, still scrolling and mumbling to himself, suggests, “Ah, makes sure there's an appropriate amount of echo for any meeting space?” 

“You made that up!”

“I really have no idea, they must have added it while I was down here. Did you see ‘Guardian of the Eastern Gate'?” asked Aziraphale.

“Mmmm, looks like it's alphabetical, keep going, keep going…There! Did you already get ‘Principality’” asked Crowley.

“No! Because it's alphabetical!” Aziraphale says waspishly.

After a few more minutes scrolling and bickering, Crowley suggests, “Didn't you do that thing, you know the thing you mentioned down the pub in 1327?  ‘S about designing hedgehogs?”

“Oh, right, yes.  Thanks.” Aziraphale tilts back his head, looking down his nose as he taps the memo with one finger.

“I think that's everything…There's no next button on this one!” Aziraphale wails.

“Try the ‘Submit’ token, it’s,” Crowley scanned all over the document and started to hover his fingers over it until a ‘Submit' button appeared. “Yeah, tap that.” The angel tapped and then a next button was supplied.

“Why not just make it work the same on each question!  I’d expect this sort of thing from your lot,” Aziraphale said, blue eyes flashing angrily. Crowley just shrugged in agreement.

“‘Question 3: How long have you served on Earth. (If in doubt round up to the quarter century)’. Well, that’s easy enough.” Aziraphale chuckled nervously.  There was a terrible tension building as he expected the inevitable shoe to drop.

“Question 4: use the provided map to indicate the locations where you have served.’” When Aziraphale tapped a country it zoomed in until he had tapped every city and town he'd served in on the modern map.  Once the modern map was complete, the next most recent map came into view.  Aziraphale's hair was curling more fiercely than usual as he moved further and further back in time, “What was the name of that town in the oasis that dried up 4300 years ago?”

“The one with the date wine or the one that imported beer from Sumer?” asked Crowley as he watched the angel's fingers dance.

“Why aren’t you working on your memo?” Aziraphale accused, shaking his fingers out after completing question 4 and searching for the mechanism to unlock the next question.

Crowley grunted, “No point in putting it off any longer,” and started his memo.

“Doesn’t say how many questions, that’s ominous, but I’ve got a little progress bar! Let’s see: ‘Question 1: Name(s) or sigil.’” Crowley signed the parchment with a fiery snake and it automatically advanced to the next question and the progress bar filled in half way.

“You got halfway finished in the first question!” protested Aziraphale while an infinity sign rotated on his parchment as Question 5 loaded.

Twisting his head from side to side Crowley hissed, “I don’t believe that for a second! They’re trying to lull me into a false sense of security, you just wait,” he predicted darkly, staring warily at the parchment as cloudy shadows clarified into text.

“Ngk” Crowley gulped and swayed a tiny bit in his seat.

“What’s wrong?” Aziraphale reached out and touched Crowley lightly on the forearm to steady him.

“Ya know how I always said they didn’t really read the reports?” said Crowley, eyes roving over dense text.

“Yes, it always seemed that way from my people, too,” Aziraphale replied as a soft chime sounded from his memo, Question 5 had loaded.

“Oh dear,” breathed Aziraphale.

“Nnnggghh” whined Crowely.

Both of them read, and read, and read.

“They’ve read the reports!” Aziraphale said.

“ All the reports,” Crowley agreed, hoarsely.

“And they’ve got questions,” said Aziraphale.

“Very detailed questions,” said Crowley.

“And pointed,” Aziraphale said, sitting with more and more exact posture, hand drifting up to his lips.

“And nastily leading,” intoned Crowley, as he slouched deeper and deeper into the upholstered bench, head dropping back, still reading the parchment he was holding up to his eyes.

***

After a brief period of denial, “What would they do, really, if we don’t complete these? Surely, it’s just a low level scrivener made to be painstakingly thorough!?,” opined Aziraphale desperately to Crowley’s rising eyebrows and faintly shaking head.

Anger: “This is low even for them! ‘V done buggerall to keep up appearances and this is what I get!” snarled Crowley.

And mute staring into the distance while fingers tapped or drummed and serious, desperate cogitation took place.  

They shifted at the same time, but Crowley broke the silence.

“What’s that you say about some of those books you like to read, angel?  Poet permit?” Crowley asked.

Aziraphale grumbled, “Poetic license.  What are you suggesting, you old serpent?”

Crowley leaned forward again, tossing his parchment on the table next to the angel’s memo, and smiled conspiratorially, “We give ‘em a story! One they’ll like!” he gestured at the memos and their heap of secret journals. Leaning further forward he presses,  “It’s what we’ve always done!”

“Crowley, how will that even work!  You weren’t even there for some of those assignments, and I didn’t write down all the detail they’re asking for!” Aziraphale frowned.

Crowley waited quietly. leaning in with his head slightly turned and raising his eyebrows, waiting for the penny to drop.

Aziraphale’s face cleared as he said, “Oh!” and raised a finger, only trembling slightly with excitement bourne of wild hope.

“I’ll have to write some of yours, the assignments you weren’t actually there for,” said Aziraphale.

“And I’ll write some for you.”  Crowley grinned, suddenly animated, “Hand it over, angel, we’ve got this!”

Aziraphale wrote feverishly on the demonic survey, “I’m going for a ‘brash and snide’ tone, but only to the point that you could actually pull it off.” Crowley looked over at the demonic memo in the angel’s hand while he worked on the angelic survey, “You really are a bit of a bastard, you know,” Crowley said approvingly, his coifed hair disheveled from the number of times he’d run a hand through it trying to draw out old memories.

Aziraphale flushed happily, he’d removed his jacket and rolled up his sleeves, but not relaxed his bow-tie, there were standards to be kept! “And you certainly mastered ‘humble but forthright’ for mine!” Aziraphale gave a little smile with a touch of a mischievous twinkle in his eye,  “You could pass for an angel.”

Crowley snorted, “I have passed for an angel.  Just like you’ve passed for a demon.  To humans.” Crowley said dismissively, “Swap out. You did this one.”

Aziraphale finished an entry and passed over the parchment, “Well, yes, but I just wanted to tell you, you’re doing a splendid job on the survey!” 

***

The next day they stumbled out of the hidden room together and flopped onto the Chesterfield sofa.

“Alcohol,” moaned Crowley, eyes closed, from where his head was propped up on one corner of the couch while the rest of him oozed and pooled from there.

“And crepes,” sighed Aziraphale from where he was crumpled into the opposite side of the couch.  His tie was still perfectly knotted but his hair was wild and what looked like sweat stains made dark moons under his arms.  One of his tartan socks had gotten loose from a garter and slumped over his ankle.

“ With alcohol,” insisted Crowley, passing the angel a sky blue ice pack while he laid a jet black one onto his forehead.

“Paris?” Aziraphale said wistfully, holding the ice to the back of his neck.

“Paris,” Crowley agreed, sitting up and holding out a hand to the angel.  

As they clasped hands, they took off to Paris for quite extraordinary amounts of crepes and alcohol, secure in the knowledge that they could craft the best stories together.

[aziraphales-library]

Hey, hope you’re well! Can you recommend any fics that really focus on the “politics” of Heaven and Hell? There can ofc be other themes, but I’m looking for the main ones to be political-thriller-style struggle. Thanks!

Hello. We have #heaven is a corporation and #hell is a bureaucracy tags with a couple of posts you may be interested in. Here are some more with a bit of politics...

I’m So Sorry My Dear: 1941’s Dance by Waspsfire (M)

It's the evening of the magic show, just after they toast to shades of grey. Azirphale finds the courage to admit his feelings to a shocked Crowley. They spend the next several days tucked away together in the bookshop but someone suspects that they are hiding something from Heaven and Hell. Things escalate quickly with visits from demons and angels demanding to know what has been going on and desparate action, and a proper apology, are needed to avoid destruction.

Face it alone by Angelica_Tree (G)

Aziraphale has every intention of changing Heaven for the better, but how do you change a large organization where everything is apparently working as intended? And who would’ve thought his new position would include so much paperwork? But Aziraphale soon discovers that his problems with staying afloat are nothing compared to what is heading his way; a power struggle between the Almighty’s Voice and Her Son. Aziraphale has to choose sides. Quickly. And without Crowley by his side. This is the second fic in ‘The power of love’ series. Can be read separately, since the first fic (Keep yourself alive) deals with Crowley’s experiences on Earth.

The Myth of Aziraphale by Shay_Moonsilk (E)

“I didn’t really Fall,” Crowley reflected, twisting the apple about in his hands. “Just, you know. Sauntered vaguely downwards.” “Downwards, into ruling the Underworld?” Aziraphale asked, unable to keep the dubiousness out of his voice. He kept his gaze on the demon’s face, lest he be tempted to eat the apple and seal his fate to Crowley. It did look rather tempting. The King shrugged and said, “Promotions come easy to me,” and took a large bite, though it was Aziraphale himself that felt devoured. --- Armageddon never happened. Crowley is the King of Hell. Aziraphale doesn't want to get married to an angel he doesn't love. Perhaps time in the underworld will help them find the answers they need.

tales from a bookshop by Rizandace (T)

Post-season-two. Crowley's moping, Aziraphale wants to fix things, and turns out, there's enough blame to go around. ----- “You’re being ridiculous.” Crowley very nearly falls over. Like, actually. He very nearly loses balance for no reason at all and tumbles to the sidewalk next to his car. He’s been playing Aziraphale’s voice in his head for weeks, he’s been trying very hard to drown out the sound of it, in fact, and now suddenly, abruptly— “What are you doing here,” is all he can think to say. He whirls around, and there he is. On Crowley’s right, standing there like he’d never left. Where he belongs, Crowley’s mind helpfully supplies. He wishes he could punch himself in the brain, knock the thoughts right on out of there.

Taking Your Heaven By Force by Varjo (T)

Gabriel and Beelzebub have a conference after the Apocalypse went down the drain and they failed to punish the culprits. Venom is in the air; they need a new plan, new directions, a new... something to direct their, and their underlings' efforts toward. Also, both of them just very much would like this to be over, thank you very much. Then, how would it be if they just cut the middle man out? If Lady Almighty won't allow them to have their respite, their Elysium, among the shattered remains of a burned Earth, maybe it is upon them to turn Earth itself into their Elysium. Humans should be much easier to sway and influence than their angelic and demonic brethren. One of them will win, in the end, and be able to have their much-needed rest in a world built according to their ideals.

two of hearts by doctormissy (E)

Crowley winced and turned around. He squinted at the King of Hell and his two-day stubble and expensive suit and bloody audacity. His Hell-trained survival instincts really didn’t like this. That ancient part of him who’s known this man-shaped being since he was a hatchling filed away his escape plan for later, however. Or: Crowley and Lucifer are siblings, and sure, they’re not exactly on speaking terms now, but that doesn’t stop Lucifer from knocking on Crowley and Aziraphale’s door on a Sunday morning, asking for help. Needless to say, it doesn’t go exactly as planned… [Or or: on relationships, the Throne of Hell, absolution, and the universe's most dysfunctional family—maybe—coming to senses.]

- Mod D

[beastsovrevelation]

Shelley Conn as Beelzebub and John Hamm as Gabriel (Good Omens)

[imacowboy3]

Headcanon that every angel has a demon who's their soulmate (romantic or platonic)

That one being they can trust and be themselves with, someone who can be their safety net and help them break their conditioning from their respective sides (I'll make a post with more on the conditioning later)

Till now we've seen:

Aziraphale has Crowley

Gabriel has Beelzebub

And there's been some speculation and shipping of:

Muriel and Eric

Michael and Dagon

(I only mentioned shipping cause those seem to be popular as romantic pairings but they could also easily be read as platonic!)

Now going to my point: I have this headcanon that metatron is just taking advantage of the systemic problems of heaven and spewing more and more bullshit to the angels to manipulate them into doing "what God wants" and has taken over by this point (mind you he is not necessarily THE problem of heaven, he's more of a representation of what is wrong with the system as a whole while also representing real people who are in positions of power and take advantage of a broken system to meet their own interests).

Now what if God,knowing that would happen, decided to pair the angels and then made half of them fall so that they'd have different points of view? Which yes is cruel and again a representation that God is kinda fucked up and so is her system and you might ask why do that? Why make all of them go through all this suffering to learn a lesson that wouldn't even be necessary in the first place if only she hadn't created the very problem the lesson was about?and my answer to that is: go read any passage of the Bible, that's just how God is,with all of her trials and tribulations...

But anyways, back on track: since they'd be fighting they would need a middle ground that didn't belong to either side (earth) and as they'd compete for human souls they'd end up meeting their soulmates and together they'd hopefully get closer to the humans and would start a process of deprogramming (I'll dive more into it on the conditioning post), cause that's pretty much what's happening with Zira and Crowley, is what happened with Gabe and Bee, they met their soulmate and started learning to enjoy life outside the feud between heaven and hell,they started learning that there's nothing wrong with just being happy and finding out who they want to be outside the limitations of their sides

So yeah

God knew shit would go down because she designed it to happen and decided to pair them all up to have some support on their journeys