#ch; the archangel gabriel

[inevitably-ineffable-husbands]

Hi Steph, thank you for your fandom work! Could you please recommend some wing grooming or similar fics for Aziraphale and Crowley? I love the trope because of the not-sexual intimacy and the looking-after-each-other-ness, especially if one of them is touch-starved. Thank you so much xxx

Hey Nonny!

Sorry for the delay in a reply for this one, finally had time to sit down and search my fics for you!

Here are the fics I've tagged with "wings", can't guarantee they're EXACTLY what you're looking for (it's been awhile since I've read them) but they got some wings in them!! :D Hope you enjoy!

AZIRACROW AND WINGS

A Sky Full of Stars by Kedreeva (G, 2,575 w., 1 Ch. || Asexual Relationship, Wings, Stars, Fluff, Romance) – Aziraphale takes Crowley as close to Heaven as they can get, these days.

In the (Second) Beginning by cherryfeather (M, 2,661 w., 1 Ch. || Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Confessions, Soft Crowley, POV Aziraphale, Post-Canon, First Kiss, Wings) – Aziraphale realizes that Crowley's been saying something rather loudly for a week.

Your Reward Ye Shall Have by sussexbound (T, 3,146 w., 1 Ch. || Angelic Love, Wings, Emotional Intimacy, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Pining Crowley, Soft Crowley, Emotional Connection, Emotional Porn, Groping, Bums, POV Aziraphale) – It is not the first time Aziraphale has considered giving in. Crowley mumbles something in his sleep, unfurls his long limbs for a moment, before tucking them back in, curling tight, arms wrapped around his knees. He shudders and then settles again with a sigh, and Aziraphale loves him.

a garden all their own by leaveanote (T, 5,436 w., 1 Ch. || Post Canon, POV Crowley, Emotional Turmoil, Aziraphale Takes Care of Crowley, Crying, Nightmares, Love Confessions, First Kiss, Heart Wrenching Pining, Pining Crowley, Wings, Tired Crowley, Romance, Healing, Massage, Light Angst with Happy Ending) – The aftermath. An exhaustion deeper than body. A secret too heavy to carry when when grief burned so close. Crowley has to tell him. "What am I to you?" A saving thing, an agony, a binary star, tenderness, an unhealed wound, a home, a home, a garden. Come to me, we'll heal together.

i want to hold your hand (goddammit) by PersephonesReign (E, 7,695 w., 5 Ch. || Crowley POV, Pining Crowley, Emotional Turmoil, Slow Burn, Soft Crowley, Angst and Fluff, Love Confessions, Nervous / Anxious Crowley, First Kiss/Time, URT, Wing Kink, Anal, Top Aziraphale / Bottom Crowley, Hand Holding) – Crowley just wants to hold Aziraphale's hand. What's so difficult about that?

Exposed by LollipopCop (E, 8,867 w., 2 Ch. || Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Idiots in Love, First Kiss, First Time, Making Out, Wings, Love Confessions, Virgin Crowley, Angst with Happy Ending) – In which Gabriel can feel how much Aziraphale loves Crowley, and outs him.

Wings and How to Hide Them by triedunture (M, 10,134 w., 1 Ch. || Mutual Pining, First Time, Love Confessions, Body Swap, Wing Kink, Idiots In Love) – Crowley's been annoyingly in love for six thousand years. What's another lifetime between friends? Or: Aziraphale definitely fucks and isn't that just perfect?

If We've Got Nothing (We've Got Us) by Kedreeva (G, 13,777 w., 2 Ch. || Asexual Relationship, Fluff and Angst, Wings, Worried Aziraphale, Rebellion, Standing Together As One) – Two months after the world didn't end, Aziraphale finds the first dark feather growing in his wings.

Witness the Fall by Waifine (G, 14,512 w.., 5 Ch. || Pre-Fall, The Fall, Post-Fall, Crowley Was Raphael, Hurt/Comfort, Angel Crowley, Angst with Happy Ending, Crowley's Memories, Aziraphale POV, Not-Nice Archangels, Feathers, Soulmates, Wings) – Crowley never talked about his time as an angel. Aziraphale never asked. But when Hell sends Crowley a package containing his most painful memories, it is Aziraphale who is plunged into the nightmare history of when his beloved friend, the angel who had once been Crowley, was hurled from the Heavens into the bowels of Hell.

A Desperate Desire by IneffableToreshi (E, 15,944 w. || Post-Almost Apocalypse, 6000 Years of Pining, First Kiss/Time, Lust Potion/Spell, Anal/Oral Sex, Self Esteem Issues, Praise Kink, Top Aziraphale, Virgin Husbands, Bottom Crowley, Blowjobs, Wings, Idiots in Love, Mild Dub-Con, Fluff and Smut, Angst, Aggressive Aziraphale, Happy Ending) – Since the world didn't end Aziraphale has been hoping for things to move to the next level with Crowley. But every time he tries to get close, the demon seems to shy away. Aziraphale begins to think that maybe Crowley just isn't attracted to him that way. He decides, against his friend Anathema's advice, to try witchcraft as a way of making himself more confident, attractive, and desirable. It, of course, goes wrong, because the angel misses the footnote that warns him not to mix magic and alcohol. Part 3 of Accidental Confessions

The Nice and Accurate Love Story of A. J. Crowley and A. Z. Fell by SealandRocks (E, 16,353 w., 1 Ch. || Pining Crowley, Implied Mutual Pining, Emotional Love Making, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, POV Crowley, Jealous Crowley, Crowley’s Plants, Kissing as Healing, Moments in Time, The Arrangement, Love Confessions, Bottom Crowley, Gentle Aziraphale, Slow Burn, Falling in Love, Crowley is Bad at Feelings, First Kiss/Time, Anal Sex / Fingering, Wings / Wing Kink, Porn With Plot, Praise Kink, Kissing in the Rain, Symbolism, Historical References) – Crowley and Aziraphale have been dancing around each other since the beginning. From Eden to London, it eventually becomes very hard to avoid the only other immortal around. And after so many centuries, having a physically body becomes a bit uncomfortable. Crowley is left to wonder what it is about Aziraphale that helps ease the ache in his soul. It would only take him 6000 years to figure out that it was rooted in something deeper all along. Part 1 of Love Stories for the Oblivious

[dbacklot99]

Writers Guild Presents - That Part of You Was Ripped Away (After Heaven, Ch 11)

Image source

After Heaven 

Rated E CW/TW: Alcohol, sex, minor physical violence

Excerpt: Crowley was in the middle of a very pleasant dream involving a very naked angel when he faintly registered someone whispering in his ear. “Did you miss me?”

Half-asleep, eyes closed, he smiled and murmured back, “’Course I missed you, angel…dreaming about you…want me to show you?

“Yes!” the voice whispered back and Crowley opened his eyes and screamed to find Gabriel perched on the settee next to him. 

“What did you want to show me?” the former Supreme Archangel asked eagerly.

“Hrg, nothing! Wrong dream!”�� Read more here!

Thanks to @she-makes-things and @sixbynine-da for beta-ing!

@goodomensafterdark

[pengychan]

[Good Omens] Come What May, Ch. 4

Summary: While completely improvised, Gabriel’s plan to transfer his memories in the container fly before erasure was rather solid. It came very close to working, too. But ‘close’ was not enough. [SPOILERS FOR SEASON 2] Characters: Gabriel, Beelzebub, Crowley, Aziraphale, Muriel, Michael, Uriel, Saraquael Rating: T   All chapters will be tagged as ‘come what may’ on my blog.

[Back to Prologue]

A/N: Shax and Furfur demanded a role in the story. I could have said no, but I love them both, so here we are.

***

“Beelzebub speaking. What do you want?”

“Lord Beelzebub. This is Archangel Uriel. I am calling on behalf of--”

“So, are you the Supreme Archangel now?”

Not if Michael has a say in it, was the first thing Uriel thought, but of course that was not a viable response. First of all, it would disclose information to the Enemy that they certainly did not need to know; secondly, it wouldn’t be appropriate. Thirdly… well, same point as the first. 

Michael was obviously poised to try and snatch the position even though the Metatron had given no indication who it should go to, and Uriel couldn't pretend she agreed - and aggravating as she found the situation, she knew better than giving hellish royalty any inkling of the friction going in Heaven. Demons would smell blood in the water, much like… huh. There was some kind of beast on Earth that was known for smelling blood in the water. Turtles, maybe? Uriel was approximately eighty-seven percent sure it was turtles. Maybe she’d check later. But right now, there were other priorities. “No,” she finally said. “I am not the Supreme Archangel.”

“Then save both of our time. I speak with the Supreme Archangel, or no one.”

“The position is currently vacant, as I am certain Michael has informed you--”

“Surely it won’t stay vacant, no?”

“Certainly not. But until that moment comes, both me and Michael are working to fill the role.”

A scoff. “Good luck.”

“Excuse me?”

“Neither of you would cut it. Oh yes, Michael is great at swinging a sword, unless she got rusty, and you’re amazing at making drawings over door frames with pig blood--”

“It was lamb blood, and--”

“Could have been platypus blood for all I care. But neither of you knows how to conduct talks. That’s why neither of you was the first choice for the role.”

Uriel scowled, but forced her voice to remain even. “That’s your opinion and you have every right to be wrong,” she muttered. “Now, I believe the reason why I called should be plain. If Armageddon is to happen--”

“I told Michael she’s too below me to bother. Why would you get a different answer?”

As Michael had said. The scowl on Uriel’s face deepened, and this time her voice betrayed just the smallest hint of annoyance. A mistake, she knew. Beelzebub would pick up on the annoyance like a turtle would pick up blood in the… no, what wasn’t right. It was dolphins, wasn’t it? “Due to the unfortunate absence of a Supreme Archangel at the moment, it seems you have no choice but to hold talks with us. We’re certain you want the War to happen so we can settle the score at least as much as we do, so it would be beneficial for all--”

“Nah.”

“... Nah?”

“Sort your own shit out first. There has always been a Commander of the Heavenly Host, and I will only engage in talks concerning Armageddon with the Commander of the Heavenly Host. So pick one first, and then send them to talk to me.”

“The Metatron has elected not to choose--”

“Well, come up with something,” Beelzebub cut her off, their voice cold. “Talk the giant floating head into choosing. Draw lots. Have an election day. Have a coup if you don’t like the election results, those are always fashionable on Earth. I don’t care what you do, but Armageddon is not happening until we’ve had background talks. And those are only happening with an official Supreme Archangel I can hold to their word.”

“What you’re asking--”

“I am demanding. Now figure it out,” the Lord of the Flies cut her off, and ended the call without another word.

***

“Well. They don’t know we-- fine, Crowley. They don’t know I took Gabriel. They probably haven’t even realized he’s missing yet, with how remote the office was. That’s good news.”

Holding back a sigh of relief, Aziraphale nodded. “That really is good. I mean, low-level scriveners can go… a long time without anyone walking into their office. And there can be long time periods with little to no work coming through. With some luck, they may not realize Gabriel is missing at all for quite a while.”

The notion seemed to make Crowley relax just a little. He crossed his arms, leaning against a bookshelf. “Is that your plan to delay Armageddon? Throwing a fit to talk to a Supreme Archangel they currently don’t have?”

An annoyed buzzing sound. “If you have a better idea, please do let me know,” Beelzebub muttered, tilting back their head. “With Gabriel no longer in control of Heaven and those left in charge pressing for war, delaying is all I can do. They won’t think anything of the fact I’m being difficult, it’s part of my job description.”

“And if they do, as you put it, sort their shit out?” Crowley asked, only for Beelzebub to shrug. 

“We’ll burn that bridge when we get to it.”

“Cross.”

“Huh? Where?” Beelzebub turned, just a touch alarmed - not that crosses could harm demons like they would a literary vampire, but their presence was never a welcome sight regardless, Aziraphale knew. Crowley rolled his eyes.

“No, no crosses, I mean… it’s cross. We burn bridges after we’ve passed them. We’ll cross that bridge when we get to it.”

“That's what I said.”

“It’s really not--”

“Regardless,” Beelzebub spoke a little more loudly, holding up a hand to silence Crowley, “it will definitely buy us time. If there isn’t some kind of power struggle going on over who is going to take the highest chair available, I’ll throw myself in a vat of holy water.”

That was… not something Aziraphale had trouble picturing, all things considered. A power struggle among Archangels, that was, not Beelzebub throwing themself in a vat of holy water. Having seen first hand what that did to demons, he was not keen to witness it either. “Aren’t you concerned they may suspect you’re purposefully trying to delay things?”

“Doubtful. And even if they do, what are they going to do? Cast me down to Hell?”

“I know it’s not something you wish to concern yourself about at this time, but--”

“You are correct,” Beelzebub cut him off. “Right now, I am concerned about nothing but--”

“Uuugh, my head…”

Three heads and their respective three pairs of eyes turned to the sofa as one, just in time to see Gabriel groaning and sitting up, rubbing his head and tousling his hair in the process. He blinked a couple of times, then turned to look at them. He blinked. Squinted. Blinked again.

Then, he smiled. “Hey! Nice to see you!”

Ah. Aziraphale blinked as well, taken aback. “You… know who we are?”

The smile grew wider, brighter. “I have absolutely no idea,” he replied, chipper as they come. Then his gaze moved from Aziraphale to Crowley and then Beelzebub, and the smile somehow grew larger. That shouldn’t have been physically possible. “Oh! I know you! I drew your face!”

Crowley turned to look at Beelzebub, and his eyebrows went up almost to his hairline when they smiled. “That you did,” they said, and sat on the sofa next to Gabriel, looking at him intently. “And it was a pretty good likeness. You’re really good,” they added, like they didn’t know that all angels, as well as all demons as far as Aziraphale was aware, had the innate ability to draw anything they lay their eyes on in perfect detail. 

Going by the smile on Gabriel’s face, he was ignoring that detail too. Or maybe he really was not aware of it. “Thanks, uh…” A pause, and he looked around. “... Actually, who are you guys? And where am I?”

Well. Those were… loaded questions. Aziraphale hesitated a moment before stepping forward. “May I?” he asked, and Beelzebub briefly glanced at him before nodding. Aziraphale nodded back, and smiled at Gabriel. “You’re on Earth, specifically in my bookshop. My name is Aziraphale, but most people here refer to me as Mr. Fell. This gentleman here,” he added, nodding towards someone who was not a man and was plainly not feeling very gentle either, “is Crowley. And they are - please, do not be alarmed - Beelzebub, Lord of the Flies.”

“Oh,” Gabriel said, and paused for a few moments to take in the information. He was not, apparently, in the slightest alarmed upon being informed he was in the presence of the highest ranking demon in Hell after the Adversary himself. In the end, he shrugged and smiled again. 

“Nice to meet you. My name is Jibreel. I’m a junior recording angel, 38th class.”

Something crossed Beelzebub’s features, which looked something like pain and something like anger, and it was probably both. Gabriel didn’t notice, though, and Aziraphale spoke before they could, crouching in front of him.

“Nice to meet you, Jibreel. So, how long have you been a junior recording angel, precisely?”

“Uh… a few days? But I’m good at it. Muriel says I am.”

A smile. “I am sure you’re amazing at it. But do you recall what you were before, Jibreel?”

A frown creased his brow, and there was a flicker of… something in his eyes. Recognition? No, that was not it. It was more like concern, even fear. Gabriel pulled away just slightly, leaning against the backrest of the sofa, and looked back at Beelzebub,

“Don’t make me do that again,” he blurted out. “It hurts to remember. My head can’t handle it.”

This time, there was more sorrow than rage in Beelzebub’s expression. They had to swallow before they could speak. “... I won’t let anything hurt you,” they said in the end, their voice tight. “Or anyone.”

“... Why would this anyone want to hurt me?”

“Because it’s what happens to those who don’t toe the line,” Crowley spoke, looking at him with a tilt of his head. “You used to take part in the punishing part pretty enthusiastically, if not precisely successfully on one notable occasion.”

“Crowley…”

“Punishing? I don’t recall--”

“Oh, but I do recall well enough for both of u--”

“Crowley,” both Aziraphale and Beelzebub spoke up at the same time, in two vastly different tones, and he trailed off with a groan, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Fine, fine. The long and the short of it, Jibreel, is that Heaven took your memories away.”

Gabriel blinked. “Memories? What memories?”

“What do you mean, what memories? Your memories, from before three days ago!”

“But I don’t have any memories from before--”

“Yeah, that’s the point, you know? You don’t have them because they took them.”

“They?”

“Heaven. Archangels, Metatron, God herself, I don’t know. They took your memories.”

“Oh.” Gabriel frowned. “That’s unfortunate.”

“Oh yes, it is. For me especially, since you’re now--”

“I reckon I should go ask to have them back.”

Oh dear. He had not quite grasped the severity of the situation, had he? 

“I… don’t think that’s a viable solution,” Aziraphale spoke up. “They didn’t take your memories by accident, Ga-- Jibreel. They did so on purpose. You really shouldn’t return to Heaven.”

Gabriel looked back at him, utterly baffled. It was almost eerie, how lost he seemed and yet how utterly trusting; at no point, Aziraphale realized, had he even questioned the truth of their statements, or shown any distrust. If they were to tell him the sky outside was a lovely shade of green, he’d probably believe them without question.

“But I am supposed to go back to work. I shouldn’t have left, I told Muriel I’d stay put.”

“Muriel?”

“My superior. They’re 37th class, and really good,” Gabriel, who not long ago wouldn’t have bothered to glance in the general direction of such a low-ranking angel unless he absolutely had to, seemed thoroughly impressed. “They taught me how to record everything and send it to the archive.”

“Well… I am sure that Muriel is lovely, but a 37th class scrivener is not going to be able to protect you from Heaven. They already took your memories, if they decide to do worse--” 

“But why would they do that? Are they mad at me?” Gabriel asked, and Aziraphale was… fairly certain that whether to tell him everything or not was not his choice to make. He cleared his throat, looking at Beelzebub. They hesitated, of course; from what they’d told them, trying to force Gabriel’s to remember had put him in excruciating pain, and they were wary to try again. They seemed concerned that just telling him everything would be too much, too soon.

“... Well, we’re still not sure why they wiped your memory, but they did,” they finally said. “I won’t try to get in your mind again, but it’s really important that you try to remember what you were before becoming a scrivener. Can you do that?”

“I…”

“Not right now, necessarily,” Aziraphale spoke up. “Perhaps it will come back to you in time? Clearly, you do recall some things,” he added, gesturing towards Beelzebub. “Their face, for example,” he added, and Gabriel turned to Beelzebub again. He smiled.

“I like your face,” he informed them. Beelzebub did an impressively bad job at pretending that didn’t please them.

“Thank you,” they said, while a few steps away Crowley rubbed his temples as though to chase away any mental image currently taking residence into his brain. “I like yours, too.”

Aziraphale cleared his throat. “Well-- that’s very-- more to the point, Jibreel, this is a sign not all of your memory is gone. You have met them before, and part of you remembered that.”

“Right,” Gabriel conceded, still looking at Beelzebub, then squinted. “... Unless I miracled you into existence when I drew you?”

“You did not miracle the Grand Duke of Hell into existence,” Crowley informed him. 

Again, ‘Jibreel’ didn’t seem in the slightest concerned upon being reminded who he was sitting on a sofa with. “Maybe that’s why Heaven got mad at me.”

A slight scoff, and Beelzebub’s lips curled in what was almost a smile. “I can assure you, it wasn’t you who created me. We met before. You were… a powerful angel.”

For a few moments, Gabriel stared. His expression was grim, attentive. He worked his jaw a moment, then… he laughed. “Hah! You’re funny!” He turned to Crowley and Aziraphale with another laugh, pointing at Beelzebub. Who was… plainly not used to be laughed at, let alone while also being pointed at. “I like them.”

“But they’re telling the truth,” Aziraphale said, and looked around for a moment. “Here, let me show you something…”

A few strides, and he was picking up one of his copies of the Quran. He flipped through the pages, then walked back to the sofa and handed the book to Gabriel. “Here, this page. The third paragraph. Read - see, Jibreel? That’s your name right there.”

Gabriel seemed baffled - but then again he was baffled by most things - and looked down to read. “Whoever is an enemy to Jibreel, for he brings down the revelation to your heart-- hey! That’s-- is this about me?” he looked up, eyes wide, and looked over at Beelzebub. 

They nodded. “It was you. As I told you, you were pretty important.”

“But I don’t recall--”

“Because they don’t want you to.”

“But why?”

“... We’re going to find out. And get your memories back,” they added, patting the back of Gabriel’s hand. However, this time, Gabriel did not smile. 

“I don’t know if I want them back,” he finally said, causing Beelzebub to freeze and look at him, clearly at a loss for words. Gabriel cleared his throat. “It just… they hurt.”

That was… not a response they had expected, and Aziraphale decided to intervene before those words entirely sank into Beelzebub’s mind. “You don’t need to worry about it right away,” he said instead, more to Beelzebub’s benefit than to Gabriel’s. “You had a lot to process just now, so take a break. Would you like some hot chocolate?”

The offer made Gabriel smile again. “Sure! I love it!” he declared, only to pause. “...I don’t know what that is.”

“Oh! It’s really nice. You drink it. Crowley, would you be so kind?”

“Wha--” some undignified sputtering. “I’m not making him hot chocolate!”

“I’m asking for all of us,” Aziraphale replied, all innocence, only about forty per cent of which was real. It got the frustrated noise to end all frustrated noises out of Crowley, but it also got him out of the room. Aziraphale took advantage of his absence to gesture Beelzebub to come closer; they did, leaving Gabriel on the sofa to look around and comment on how many books Mr. Fell had. 

“I am sure we can get his memories back,” he told Beelzebub, not being sure in the slightest. Their stony expression didn’t give any indication of whether or not they had guessed as much, so he switched tactics. “... He probably just needs time. This must be all very confusing. We should give him time to settle - after all, your miracle ensured he’d be safe here. There is no rush.”

A long breath, and Lord Beelzebub finally nodded, turning to glance at the sofa. Gabriel seemed to have noticed the fly buzzing near the ceiling, and was smiling up at it like one would greet an old friend. The briefest, most tired smile Aziraphale had ever seen made a brief appearance on Beelzebub’s lips.

“... Very well. I have business to tend to, and a too long absence would be noted. I should go. Let’s pretend I have already made my list of threats in case anything happens to him.”

A chuckle. “Of course. He will be safe here.”

As long as Crowley keeps his temper under control, he thought, but of course he knew better than saying as much aloud.

It wasn’t anything Beelzebub was not aware of, anyway.

***

“... It seems we’re at an impasse.”

“We are. With Beelzebub refusing to entertain talks before we choose a Supreme Archangel, we cannot proceed with the war.”

“Unless we simply attack, and Hell either fights or--”

“There are rules for this. You know as well as I do. The Metatron - and by extension, God - would never give approval.”

“We wouldn’t be having this problem if the Metatron had appointed someone as Supreme Archangel.”

“By which you mean you, don’t you, Michael?”

“Uriel, this is not the moment--”

“No, it is not. Well then, you should contact the Metatron now and tell him he must pick someone. I’m certain he’ll love the attempt at forcing his hand.”

Saraquael’s dry comment gained her a long look from both Michael and Uriel, neither of them particularly friendly.

“We didn’t hear you coming in.”

“I’ll rev my engine next time,” Saraquael replied with a tilt of the head, a hand patting the wheelchair which had absolutely no engine at all. “We all know that the Metatron is not going to change his mind and pick someone to replace Gabriel because you ask him to. That, and neither of you is sure they’d like his pick.”

“Thank you for the enlightening input. Anything else?”

“Well. I figure this might be a test?”

A pause. Michael and Uriel exchanged a quick glance, and looked back. “A test?” Uriel repeated, slowly.

“Yes. Maybe he’ll make whoever solves this impasse the next Supreme Archangel.” A pause, then a shrug. “Ah, but what do I know? I’ll leave this one to you to sort out,” Saraquael added, and turned to the door. She really didn’t need to look back to know Michael and Uriel were already pulling out their phones, walking in opposite directions, to make a discreet call that really wouldn’t be all that discreet after all. 

They could be predictable, really. But as long as it got them to do something other than sassing each other across a desk, Saraquael supposed it was something that would be worked with.

***

Hot chocolate. He was making fucking hot chocolate for the Archangel Fucking Gabriel.

The thought alone made him wish he had the foresight to buy some arsenic or cyanide or whatever it was that used to be all the rage a couple of hundred years earlier and sprinkle it in his mug. It would do absolutely nothing to an angel - aside perhaps cause some sort of stomach upset - but oh would it feel cathartic to at least do it. Except that Aziraphale’s kitchen only had boring things in it like cocoa powder, cinnamon and sugar, so there went the idea. At least, Beelzebub was gone when he walked back out with the mugs; one less headache to deal with. 

Three minutes later, with Gabriel making it loudly known how much he was enjoying his first go at hot chocolate, Crowley’s headache was worsening and he'd sincerely rather face the entire Dark Council and possibly Satan himself. That and… and… where had Aziraphale gone?

“Aziraphale?” he called out, and was about to follow up with ‘can I throw him out of the window just once’ when Aziraphale called back, somewhere upstairs. 

“Coming! I was just getting some clothes!”

“... Clothes?”

“Well, he can’t keep wearing that,” Aziraphale’s voice replied, clearly referring to the bland and blindingly white scrivener uniform Gabriel was wearing. “So I’m getting him better clothes.”

“Define better, angel.”

“Not as blinding to look at.”

“All right. I’ll concede that point.”

Gabriel didn’t seem terribly keen to swap his uniform for the clothes Aziraphale offered him - ‘Muriel said I should be proud of it’, apparently - but he was convinced with the argument it would make him less noticeable to humans.

“And besides, things get stained here, and getting stains out of white clothes is a nightmare,” Aziraphale had added.

“Unless you find a demon to miracle stains away for you,” Crowley muttered, and Aziraphale had the galls to grin at him while Gabriel finally took the clothes and changed into them. Right there on the spot. 

“Just for future reference, you need to pass off as human for a bit,” Aziraphale was telling him, handing him the tie on. “And humans usually go somewhere… private… before changing clothes.”

“Oh. What’s somewhere private?”

“Well, it’s… someplace where no one else can come in. You know, a spot all of your own.”

“We don’t have those in Heaven.”

“Ah, quite right. Well, I have one upstairs. Your bedroom, for now.”

“What’s a bedroom?”

“It’s… a room. With a bed in it.”

“Great! What’s a bed?”

“Ah, I think I will just show you, Jibree-- huh. Actually, that’s  a bit of a mouthful, isn’t it?”

Gabriel blinked. “What’s a mouthful?”

“Your name. Jibreel.”

“... Isn’t your name Aziraphale?”

Well, Crowley had to grudgingly admit, point for Gabriel 2.0 and his one brain cell. However, Aziraphale was admirably quick to recover. “That’s why people here call me Mr. Fell. That, and because they think I’m human. And you’re supposed to be incognito here, too, so would you mind terribly if we called you… uh…” His eyes wandered to the closest bookcase, paused on a book. “Jim.”

The being that had once been Archangel Gabriel, the Angel of Revelation, God’s Messenger, Herald of Visions, capable of speaking in all tongues known and unknown plus some Crowley honestly thought he’d made up himself just to look clever, frowned as he tried to focus on pronouncing the incredibly difficult name Aziraphale had just suggested.

“Jim?” he repeated, as though trying out a tongue twister. 

Unfortunately, Aziraphale was too polite to point out how stupid that made him look, and just smiled brightly. “Yes, Jim! Short for James. Or Jibreel. Close enough, no?”

“Jim,” Gabriel repeated, this time surer, and grinned back. “I like it!”

“Brilliant! So, just until you’re able to remember more, you’re Jim, my new assistant. Now, let me show you upstairs…”

As Aziraphale led Gabriel to the room upstairs, Crowley groaned and went to pour himself a glass of something that was most definitely hot chocolate. He downed it in a single gulp and looked up towards the ceiling. It took him only moments to find Beelzebub’s spy fly, and scoffed. “Look, I’m not kicking him into the Thames inside a sack weighted down with bricks, as you can see,” he sneered. “I’m tolerating his presence. Doesn’t mean I have to like it.”

The fly made a strange motion in mid-air, going down and then back up quickly in something that with some imagination - which Crowley had never lacked - could look like  shrug. 

“Someday you’ll have to tell me what the absolute fuck did make you think the Archangel Fucking Gabriel was worth all this hassle,” Crowley added, only to receive a few brief buzzes in response. Crowley had never been particularly fluent in fly, but he could get the message well enough. None of your damn business.

If only it had stayed none of his business, Crowley thought as the fly then went up the stairs as well, to make sure Gabriel wouldn’t stay out of its sight too long. He watched it go, sighed, and took another shot.

***

What this was all about, Muriel decided, was rescuing Jibreel.

Yes, it was a rescue mission. And also an investigation. A rescue-investigation-mission. They’d find out what had happened to Jibreel, and where he was now, and bring him back to Heaven safe and sound. Easy peasy. No one would even know he had been gone. No reason to get anyone in trouble. 

And of course they would find him, because they had clues. There was a cemetery, and this building called The Resurrectionist, and the face of someone they had never seen before but who was definitely important. And the drawing of a fly, which they guessed was probably not that important but still, a clue. 

It wasn’t a lot to go by, but it was enough to tell Muriel one thing: Jibreel had been on Earth, and at least two of those drawings were of places on Earth. Why had he done that? Was he remembering things? Was he trying to leave them a message? Was it both?

Muriel frowned at the drawings scattered on the desk. Surely, if they found out where on Earth those places were, they’d find more clues. That was how an investigation usually worked. And now that they had the handbook about Earth - fine, maybe a little outdated, but how much could things possibly have changed since 1923? - surely they would find out in no time. If needed, they could ask the locals. They’d go as a human police officer. The handbook said humans talk a lot to police officers. It also said it was a dumb thing to do without a lawyer, whatever that was, but Muriel was still certain it would work.

It has to. I want Jibreel to be back safe. I don’t want anyone to get in trouble. 

For a moment, Muriel considered aborting their plan and turning to the Archangels, after all. They had almost done so, but while on the way to their floor they heard someone muttering that both Archangel Michael and Archangel Uriel were in the most awful mood, and they’d quickly reconsidered. Muriel didn’t want to worsen anyone’s mood, and they were pretty sure telling them that they had lost the angel put under their wing would… likely not improve it, to say the least. And they could be scary when angry.

In the end, they’d decided there was no reason to bother them. They’d go to Earth, follow the clues, find Jibreel, and bring him back before anyone even noticed they were gone. Yes. There. A solid plan.

What could possibly go wrong?

***

“Lord Beelzebub. A word?”

“Any chance that word is going to be ‘take a holiday, we got everything sorted’?”

“That’s several words,” Dagon pointed out. 

“Sharp as always,” Beelzebub muttered, and sat back on their throne with a grunt. “Let’s have several words, then. What is it?”

Dagon cleared her throat. “Well. While you were away conducting dubious business, there has been some… information.”

Beelzebub tilted their head. “Some information,” they repeated, as though they didn’t know what that meant.

“Yes. Whispers, you see, not necessarily something to give credence to, but--”

Oh, for Satan’s sake. They were really, really, really not in the mood to do the usual song and dance alluding at a grapevine that was not supposed to exist. “So, Michael called you,” Beelzebub said, rolling their eyes. Taken aback by the direct statement, Dagon made a choking noise. 

“I mean-- if I had realized whose number it was--”

“Spare me the usual scene, you’ve had her number longer than I did,” Beelzebub huffed, then leaned their head against the backrest of their throne with a thunk. “Let me guess. The call was to whine about how difficult I am being with the Armageddon background talks.”

“Not exactly in those terms, but… yes.”

“Did she mention that they no longer have a Supreme Archangel?”

Dagon nodded. “She said Gabriel was assigned to a different, higher duty.”

Oh, a higher duty, sure. Beelzebub made a mental note to tear out Michael’s throat with their teeth should they get close enough to, and scoffed. “They’re hiding something, surely. The role of Supreme Archangel has never been vacant before. You’ll understand why I am unwilling to entertain background talks with the other side refusing to show their hand.”

“We don’t always show our hand, either.”

“Well, duh. This is Hell. We’re untrustworthy by definition. They’re the ones with the shiny PR about honesty being a virtue, despite being just as rotten as we are. No reason to complain if they’re held to their own standards. And why are they suddenly pressing so hard? It makes me wonder if they know something we don't. Perhaps an advantage they are eager to use against us."

"An... advantage?" Dagon repeated, but the way she narrowed her eyes showed clearly that the argument was working. It was easy, relying on the general and perfectly justified distrust towards Heaven's motive.

"Would explain the sudden rush, no? And I for one I am in no rush to fall into a trap - I'd rather wait for them to show their hand. Besides,” Beelzebub added, leaning forward, elbows on their knees. “I find it insulting.”

“Insulting?”

“They expect us to deal with anything other than the Supreme Archangel. How dare they think so lowly of us? Like we’d lower ourselves to talk with just about anyone? May as well send us a scrivener,” Beelzebub growled, and was pretty satisfied to see Dagon was bristling, too. They’d always known what buttons to press with her. And the rest of the Dark Council, really. 

“Of course. Of course, the insult cannot stand.”

Beelzebub gave a grimace which was a good enough approximation of a smile, flies crawling behind their teeth. “So, there you have it. They either explain what is truly going on, or they choose a new Supreme Archangel to lead the background talks for Armageddon. Let Michael know it won’t be them to dictate the terms.”

Any seeds of doubt Michael may have planted in Dagon’s mind were clearly gone, going by the eager nod he responded with. “At once, my Lord,” she said, and left the throne room. 

Beelzebub groaned, alone once again, and looked up at some of the flies buzzing above their head. “We don’t have a lot of time, do we?” they murmured, and didn’t really need a reply.

***

“... I am really not sure what you expect me to do with this information.”

“You want Armageddon to happen, no? So that we can settle the score once and for all?”

“Of course I do, we all can’t wait to destroy you utterly in battle--”

“And we’re offering you the chance to try. Not that you’ll succeed, but you only get a fair shot at trying once Beelzebub stops dragging their feet for no reason whatsoever.”

Leaning back against his chair, Furfur rolled his eyes and looked at the wall ahead. There was an old poster on it, with the portrait of some poet who’d somehow wandered into Hell before even dying a very long time ago. He had caused quite a bit of ruckus before he’d been kicked back to Earth. Now they had posters about him, with a red cross over his face and the writing Dante Alighieri, Not Allowed right beneath. Although, Furfur was reasonably sure, he had probably been dead for a long time and no longer a threat.

“Lord Beelzebub does nothing for no reason, Ariel.”

“Uriel.”

“My apologies,” Furfur replied, not in the least apologetic. “... Very well. I don’t really know what to do with this information, if it’s true at all--”

“Archangels do not lie, demon.”

“Yes, and the road to Hell is paved with good intentions. Either way, I know someone who might be interested in knowing this. So I’ll pass it along and whatever happens, happens. No guarantees. Have a miserable day,” he added, and ended the call without waiting for a reply.

Archangels, Furfur thought, starting to dial Shax’s number. They’re always so unbearably pretentious.

***

[Back to Chapter 3]

[weapon-ish]

you know, actually, frankly, i think it's rather bullshit that aziraphale pulls the "our car" move. and he doesn't say "our bookshop," he says "it's like the bookshop ... we both get plenty of use out of it."

does he even know crowley's living in that car and not his apartment? because as much as i believe that the shop is an embassy of heaven and maybe, maybe that's a reason crowley couldn't live there... it doesn't seem like he's even tried asking crowley to move his things in. or would even know to. and also, like, he hangs out there fairly regularly anyways? so what, jim gets a bedroom immediately even though he's a fugitive of heaven? arguably as risky to keep in heaven's embassy as a demon would be?

the plants only go inside the shop to make room for aziraphale's things, and he doesn't even ask about them. and sure we can say, oh well crowley probably didn't ask to stay, crowley might not have said anything. but good fucking lord, would you just not notice if your only friend was living in their car? would you really not? would you not try to offer something? anything?

aziraphale is so, so comfortable asking-nigh-demanding that crowley entrust him with the bentley, so comfortable telling him to stay in the shop with gabriel... and can't even apply his own logic of ours, ours, ours to the shop. is that not uneven? is that not unkind? and he changes the bentley. it's not his fucking car! but he turns it bright yellow as if it's not big deal to miraculously alter it. this from the angel who insists that miracle-ing things into one form or another is tangible, that you can tell it was different?

i've seen people say the bentley changed color for az - i disagree. it may have played him different music because he expected nice music on the radio, and the bentley theoretically has a functioning radio. but that car is black, and always was black, and aziraphale knew that and would know not to expect it to change color on its own. he changed it to suit himself without even thinking of the fact that that car is damn near a part of crowley.

he changed the color crowley chose for himself - to something sunny and bright and agreeable to him - without even considering what that could mean. without even thinking that crowley might notice something had changed when it returned. so comfortable changing something so integral to crowley, without a hint of a thought about the implications or impact. hmm.

not even touching on the fact that he just expects crowley to accept being told to stay back and look after, oh i don't know, the archangel fucking gabriel. even if jim was harmless himself, being with him might've been dangerous! but no, it's fine, stay with the being you're clearly afraid and suspicious of. stay here in my shop - that we both get so much use out of, of course - with the most sought-after being in the universe, while i take our car to go figure things out. oh, sure. sure!

and yes, yes, i will admit that crowley wasn't communicating a lot. probably didn't say he was homeless, probably didn't tell aziraphale exactly what gabriel had said. didn't say he was scared, didn't try to explain things more. but would aziraphale have even listened? crowley had valid concerns ignored and came running back anyways, just to be told to do a little song and dance apology and continue to have his worries swept under the rug. listen, i said jim needs help and we have to shelter him, so bugger alle this about your fears. i'm good and i'm right and that's just that.

i know aziraphale has been manipulated by heaven for all of time. i know, i get it, i do not fault him for that. i do fault him for seemingly not having a shred of empathy or consideration or compassion for how any of this affects crowley. for not listening to the things crowley was saying, both out loud and between the lines. god, that hurt.

all you've been through and you can't, you just can't fathom the implications of asking crowley to be an angel? how that is fundamentally changing crowley - to be sunny and bright and agreeable to you? you can't fathom how that's wrong, or how that's trampling over everything he's ever been, or ever shown you about himself. is that wanting to keep him safe, or is it wanting to be right and have things your way? could be both. but it's horrifically heartbreaking that he can't see what's wrong there. you can't change the bentley and you can't change crowley. they are only what they are and, god, after all this time - you should know better than to ask them to be any different.

[spn-fanfic-reblog-writes]

Schedule

Please feel free to ask questions ❤️❤️❤️

WIPs - Active

Poolverine x Reader (Deadpool and Wolverine movie; will be posted in @dis-plus-fanfic-reblog-writes )

MoL OC

King Ketch/Prince Consort Dean

The Fluffstiel Bang - Story Modern AU

The Fluffstiel Bang - Story 2.0 Medieval Fantasy AU

No, I canNOT decide which one I wanna do for the @the-fluffstiel-bang and have I have until November 2nd to decide, so I’m gonna keep writing them both. I’m already at the 5k minimum for both. Now it’s finishing the story.

Plan to Publish in 2024

FicFacer$ Request, Due October 31st

Anniversary Road Trip, Ch 3 (finish)

In The Mood, Part 2

Surprise Me, Part 2

Ask Request: Sheriff!Beau Arlen/Undercover Agent!F!Reader (Blue Sky)

Maybe—Ask Request: Sam Wesson/Archangel!Gabriel, S4 E17 Rewrite, POV Sam

Plan to Publish in 2025

Romancing the Hunter, Ch 17

Castiel’s Wings, Ch 3

Blood in Heaven and Hell, Ch 19 and 20 (final battle; finish)

Ask Request: Billy Butcher/FTM!Reader (The Boys)

Ask Request: Jensen/Older Woman, Film Industry OR Dean Winchester/Hunter!Older Woman!Reader

Ask Request: Stanford Era!Sam/Professional Student!Methos (Adam Pierson), Slow Burn (Spn/Highlander X-Over)

[anawkwardgalnamedtarazan]

Introducing,,,

📯Gabriel Goldenrod🎺

Herald angel of visions and messenger of Heaven!

🌟🌟🌟

Headcanons, of course.💛

One of the top students of the Archangel Academy's Visionary Track, with all the prophets and messengers.

He is one of Michael's closest friends from the Academy, despite being on different tracks and being basically polar opposites when it comes to their temperament. They often bond about their favorite legends from the first generation of Angels, and they went to the same young warriors' club (a recommendation from the Visionary Track to protect the mortals they preach). Pretty soon, he became almost as powerful as his friend and was annointed as Mike's lieutenant in battle.

Aside from horn blowing and super speed, Gabe also has the ability to understand and talk to any animal across the universe.

A total trickster and a brilliant military tactician. Can outsmart any con artist, like Mammon, create illusions and countermeasures to fool his opponents, and is an all around witty guy who's up for a good laugh. In fact, these wits are what gave him an advantage against Belial, one of the older fallen angels, during the Rebellion.

Being one of the more free spirited of the Archangels, Gabe believes all angels deserve a chance to shine, even the fallen ones. As the next generation of Angels were created, he tried to be a big brother to them during their times of need.

Along with delivering messages and revelations, Gabe was also leads many of Heaven's concert with sweet tunes from his horn and slick dance moves, which he tends to weaponize.

Probably the Archangel most associated with the Mortal Plane, encouraging mortals to use their talents an d resources for good and lead them to righteousness... unless they do something really messed up. He especially loves working with children as he sees them as the future of humankind.

Can talk with mortals and other Astral creatures in their dreams.

Helped Jophiel and the Warrior Track design the rock lions in Rugged Ridge to protect Calix Animi's history.

Invented coffee according to Qu'ran.

Learned to cause earthquakes and tidal wings with the power of emotion.

Can create structures from light, shadows, and air.

One of the few Angels to have more than 1 personal Cherub, his two Cherubs named Chaz and Cha-Cha (almost every Cherub has a "Ch-" or "C" name btw-_-) to act as additional help for messaging or as backup singers or trumpeters.

Also....

[gently-decaying-flowers]

i am on a roll no one stop me.

i realize the format is a little weird so i’m writing it like this

ch 1- crowley -> ch 1 azi -> ch 2 crowley -> ch 2 azi -> etc etc

so enjoy ch 1 from azi’s view 👀

The Reunion- Aziraphale Ch 1

Aziraphale had a lot of work to do as Supreme Archangel. Everyone was forced to respect him too, even though he knew most of the angels speculated as to why he, the traitor, was allowed back. Especially in a position of such power like this.

Today, was his day to relax. He had finally escaped his duties for the week, and sat in his office alone. His mind began to wander, and made its way back to his last day in Soho.

He had watched Gabriel and Beelzebub succeed in the one thing he knew Crowley had been trying desperately to do for years. He began to see why, he was even ready to go with him. Then, The Metatron showed up and gave Azi something he couldn’t turn down. He wanted to, but he knew he couldn’t trust anyone else with this task. He even foolishly believed that maybe he could convince Crowley to come back, to help him fix it. Then- Crowley went and kissed him and oh-

“Knock knock?” A familiar, childlike voice broke Azi away from his thoughts.

“Muriel! It’s been, well it’s been so long come on in.” He rubbed his temples tiredly and took his glasses off. He clasped his hands together.

“What brings you- back?” His voice was hesitant, not sure if he hoped it was, or wasn’t, related to Crowley.

“Well, Supreme Archangel Mr Fell, I was hoping you’d come back to Soho… just for a little bit.” They looked down at their feet, avoiding eye contact. Aziraphale sighed.

“Oh Muriel, I’d love to but-“

“Oh please! I want you to see what work Mr Crowley and I have done in the shop! It’s sparkling clean!” They looked up now, smiling enthusiastically. Aziraphale felt a tug in his chest at the mention of Crowley’s name. Wait-

“Has Crowley… left at all?” Azi asked, attempting to sound relaxed.

“Nope! He hasn’t left other than to go talk to Nina and Maggie across the street. They’re so nice too, I spent time at the record shop with Maggie all the time!” They continue chattering on about Nina and Maggie, but Aziraphale’s thoughts were elsewhere.

“Well Muriel,” He cut them off. “Let’s head down there once evening hits alright? for now, let’s catch up.” He miracled up a chair and two cups of tea for them.

Muriel stared at their tea and talked endlessly for the remainder of the day. Azi enjoyed hearing about their adventures, feeding peas to the ducks in the park, “reading” books and such. It was a nice distraction until it was time to leave.

“Oh! I forgot I have plans with Maggie… I guess you’ll have to check out the bookshop all alone sorry Supreme Archangel Mr Fell!!” Muriel exclaimed, running off once the elevator stopped.

Aziraphale knew it was a set up, but he wasn’t complaining. He nervously fixed his coat and strode toward his bookshop. He was extremely anxious for Crowley’s reaction. He must hate Azi now, and rightfully so.

Either way, he stepped into the shop without a second thought. The familiar scent hit his nose and he melted in nostalgia and longing to be back here.

Crowley didn’t turn around, simply waving his hand and telling the “customer” to go away.

“Oh, well then maybe just a cup of tea?” Azi spoke with much more confidence than he had anticipated.

Crowley whipped around in shock, dropping the books he carried.

[archangelraphael]

Hello so I saw your recent post about the nephils. I was wondering if you could tell more about you oc. Thank you

Anon, this ask was sent to me april 2022 and I swear that I thought about answering it every day but last year was insane to me. I will answer it now tho [Just a little disclaimer that since this was once a spn insert you might find similarities, but i'm trying to differenciate it as much as possible.]

I don't usually form solid canon for my ocs, so I just go around testing different ideas on the same characters. There are a couple of things i maintened "canon" for them tho:

About the story:

The basic setting is that it would be settled somewhere in ancient/biblical times. In this scenario, most of the events mentioned in the old books would be consequences of the ongoing battle between Heaven and Hell. In the middle of the chaos, nephilim would be created by deserted angels in hope of creating powerful weapons to use in the conflict. There also nephilim created as a result of the love between an angel and a human, but even those angels were punished aswell.

Most nephilim ended up dying by the hands of the angels. Aurie and a couple of other ocs are part of the survivor group that manages to go some time unnoticed. I planned on making it 7 survivors as a reference to the 7 archangels. I do have their concepts, despite not having worked on them. the idea is that each one would be the child of one archangel, but i don't plan on being 100% faithful to the religious lore.

The idea is that it would be a found family kind of story but i haven't decided if i actually want them to be related as a real family, but it's almost certain that not.

After one huge loss in one of the battles, Heaven ends up finding out about the remaining nephilim, and decide to "accept" them in heaven as their soldiers, as a way to take advantage of their power. Except some of them are children of dead/rebelious angels and have to be apart, some in heaven, some in hell.

In this world I also made angels have certain "specialities" in a way that was compliant with the angel types we already know like ophanim, seraphim, archangels etc, but it's an extensive research to do so by know i have been classifying them as: Warriors/Guardians, Healer, Messengers and Reapers.

About Aurie:

After oficially joining heaven she would be placed in an interesting position. Her father, Gabriel, who was supposed to be heaven's chief messenger and most of his angels are now occupying positions as soldiers along Michael's army. Then, it becomes her responsibility to replace her father in this position when communicating to mankind. Because she is a little too good at the job and has a taste for fighting it later becomes her responsibility to gather information about the enemy.

I make all her powers and skills around this idea of being a nephilim of a messenger angel. Messengers angels, aside from communication, are also responsible for heaven's writting, archives and sigils, meaning that they would have control over the "spells" and knowledge that heaven create. It would be the idea that later when she is little older that she wouold create some powerful sigils, but i haven't developed that part yet since it is a whole system to think of ksdjsdk.

I imagine her being able to sing and integrating that into the sigils she creates.

About her name and design i base her off almost entirely of this "Golden aesthetic". I found her name a long long time ago on pinterest originally as "Auriella", which also has some translations related to gold, but over time I changed it to "Auriel" since i find it more angel like you know? I also try to base her on angel cliches.

I also have one part of her story that while defending the prophet she ends up getting hurt by holy fire and ends up with burning scars but i haven't tried drawing it yet since i don't know if i will keep it in the story.

I think the story can pass during all the phases of her life, but mostly when the nephilim are children/teenagers or sometimes young adults.

Her:

Thank you for asking! ^^

[coal15]

I managed to get Ch.10 of All Roads Lead Back posted yesterday. In this chapter Aziraphale and Crowley learn how Maggie's mum ended up in Heaven's Corrections Department. Here's a short sample:

It was business as usual in Heaven. Gabriel strolling around enjoying how his very presence intimidated the lower Angels. Sometimes he even said hi to one just to watch them stammer out a ‘hello, sir.’ Lower Angels were always a hoot. But then Baxter, a mid level scrivener assigned to the Corrections Department flagged him down, waving a file folder in the air.

“I thought you should know, sir, that apparently one of those little pissant Angles we like to keep out of our way went human back in the 1980s and no one noticed, and now-”

“Who gives a crap?” Gabriel shrugged. “Let them age and die a mortal death, it’s their own fault for choosing well dressed monkeys over their own kind.”

“Oh I agree sir, but this particular human-humper is trying to go Angel again and work a miracle!”

“WHAT?!” 

Gabriel summoned the Metatron immediately and the two of them took exactly thirty one and two tenths of a second to absorb the file’s disgusting contents. Not only had this Angel chosen to be human, she actually conceived and birthed one? Gross. How dare she expect grace or favours from Heaven!

Meanwhile on earth, Zoe closed her eyes and drew deep breaths to hold impatience at bay as the familiar power of Heaven soaked into her flesh. The second her grace was fully restored she would work the miracle, then accept whatever came next.

“NO!” A voice she never wanted to hear again barked.

Zoe spun around to see Gabriel marching down the street towards her, imperious as ever. Having been so low on the totem pole as an Angel, she hoped it would take the Higher Angels at least a few minutes to get word of her sin. Enough time to change her family’s fate, at least. But no such luck. 

Was this all for nothing? She wondered as her heart sank. “Please Gabriel, please just let me-”

“Silence!” The Supreme Archangel stood an inch away from Zoe’s body with stiff posture, looming over her with the wrath of an angry Heaven at his command. “You clearly do not understand the enormity of your sin, Zoe, so allow me to explain,” he paused to snicker at his choice of words. “Haha, allow me. Yeah, I am going to explain and you are going to listen, like it or not. You did not just choose to go human, Zoe. No, no, you did worse. You procreated. And not even with another former Angel, but an actual earth-born man! The whole thing is beyond blasphemy! I mean, did you even think about what you were doing? Because we both know even a former Angel is still technically a divine being.��� 

The Supreme Archangel tensed up and shuddered at the word ‘technically.’ It annoyed him to his core that some elements of the previous Almighty’s design remained seemingly unchangeable. Half the reason he and his Higher Angel peers conspired to help the Metatron overthrow that old bat in the first place was so they could take charge. Full charge. But for the time being all he could do was hope eventually they would discover a way. Crack the code to demolish every natural law of Heaven and earth, and do things better. Correctly. Case in point: as far as Gabriel was concerned if an Angel decided to go human, that should be it. They give up every hint of the divine and become 100% fashionable monkey, no takebacks. 

“You turned your back on us, Zoe. The Metatron tells me God was devastated to hear what you’ve done.”

“WHY?!” Zoe shrieked. “So what if there’s a few slightly divine humans running round down here what harm does it do?”

Gabriel replied calmly. “It is not part of her natural design, and that is all we need know. It is unnatural, and gross, and you are to be sent straight to the Corrections Department. No trial, no appeal, and remain there until you renounce the decision to become human and beg forgiveness.”

“Fine,” Zoe sobs. “But Allan and Maggie are blameless in this, and at the very least my daughter deserved a future so please, I am begging you, let me work one last miracle!” A hollow pit opened up in her stomach as she realised no amount of desperation would help her cause. All the sorrow of all the mothers on earth wouldn't be enough to move Gabriel to sympathy.

So how the hell do I convince him to do me a favour? Has he EVER done a favour for someone?! She was fast descending into heartbroken panic when suddenly a new idea struck, offering a sliver of hope. Think like him . . .

“What if my time here ended in horrific pain?”

Gabriel’s eyebrows hitched up. “I’m listening.”

*********To read from the begging go HERE

[cosmosreign-a]

@hellruins​​      /    sneak  attack  tackles    /

[raith-way]

a spoonful of grace + troubled birds

the extended winchesters

the warriors of heaven

cast (in order of appearance)

jensen ackles as dean winchester

zoey deutch as emma motley

jared padalecki as sam winchester

jake abel as adam milligan

rob benedict as chuck shurley

misha collins as castiel

dominic cooper as michael

richard speight jr as gabriel

dylan o’brien as ezrael

zachary levi as ezekiel

tagging: @eleanorstulip @waterloou @vintagecptmrvl @hiddenqveendom @asirensrage @arrthurpendragon @jvstjewels @reggiemantleholdmyhand-tle @cas-verse

[creations-of-a-potato]

Archangels - Destructive

This was a bit of an experiment I did. I did the Archangels as the destructive parts of their elements.

Michael — Fire & Lava

Raphael — Thunder & Lightning

Lucifer — Water & Ice / Tsunamis & Blizzards

Gabriel — Hurricanes

I'll post the separated squares tomorrow.

I'm planning on doing a creative version at some point

Michael — Raphael — Lucifer — Gabriel

[dbacklot99]

Writers Guild Presents - Company (After Heaven, Ch 9)

Image source

After Heaven 

Rated E CW/TW: Alcohol, sex, minor physical violence Summary: Angst+slow burn+plot+porn+action+very happy ending! Crowley is hurt and waiting for Aziraphale as the angel tries to find his way in Heaven. The only way they can figure out God's ineffable plan is to work together again. And that means overcoming temptations and tests from Heaven and Hell - and finally breaking down the walls around them both.

Excerpt: "Crowley!”

”Gabriel!” He dropped the books he had been holding and turned. “Stop doing that!”

”Doing what?”

”Popping up like that!”

”Oh, Supreme Archangel habits. Hard to break.” The former Supreme Archangel grimaced, “The Jeffrey Archer is strong in here today! Anyway, what’s our plan to avenge my beloved and punish Hell?”

”What?” Crowley tried to shake his head clear. “There is no plan. I’m not helping you!”

”Ahh, cover story. Clever!”

Read more here!

@goodomensafterdark

[pengychan]

[Good Omens] Come What May, Ch. 3

Summary: While completely improvised, Gabriel’s plan to transfer his memories in the container fly before erasure was rather solid. It came very close to working, too. But ‘close’ was not enough. [SPOILERS FOR SEASON 2] Characters: Gabriel, Beelzebub, Crowley, Aziraphale, Muriel, Michael, Uriel, Saraquael Rating: T   All chapters will be tagged as ‘come what may’ on my blog.

[Back to Prologue]

***

Beelzebub, Lord of the Flies, was in a bad mood.

To be honest, being in a bad mood sort of came with their job description, because who takes a cheery demon seriously? No one, that’s who, least of all demons you’re supposed to lord over. As demons are by definition not terribly keen on being lorded over - that was what the entire Fall business had been all about, pretty much - the ability to be taken seriously was sort of vital in order to run Hell.

‘Taken seriously’ meaning something along the lines of ‘being feared nearly as much as Satan himself’, of course.

Luckily, as the general environment Hell offered did nothing to put anyone in the vicinity of being in a good mood, Beelzebub had always done a good job at that. For the longest time they had been in no mood but a bad one, loathed and feared and little else. It suited them just fine, because it was how it had to be. By definitions, demons aren’t loved or lovable.

Until they’d met someone too stupid to loathe and fear them, and they’d forgotten to be in a bad mood in the first place. The signature Mood had started to feel less like a constant in their existence, and more like some kind of work-mandated uniform they were relieved to shed and leave behind for a few, precious hours of leave on Earth - where for the first time in thousands upon thousands of years someone would be happy to see them. Looking forward to see them, even.

They’d liked that. Loved it, in fact. And now that he had been taken from them, the bad mood was back, blacker than ever.

If the loss turned out to be permanent, they’d do their utmost to make sure no one else in Creation would know happiness ever again. After, of course, they’d personally fried Archangel Michael in hellfire. Which they might do whether or not said loss turned out to be permanent.

But first of all, they needed to find a fly.

Below them, angels went about their business unaware of the call they were putting out - a low, humming, continuous buzz that propagated miles in every direction, if human distance units meant anything there. Certainly not enough to cover all of Heaven, but as long as they kept moving and calling, their fly would hear the call and come to them. It had to. 

And if it didn’t, no matter. Beelzebub was ready to search every corner of Heaven if need be, however long it took.

***

“Er, hi! I’d like a--”

“Skinny latte, coming up.”

“... Wait, how do you know?”

“You always get a skinny latte.”

“Oh! You remembered?”

“It’s my job. I remember how everyone takes their coffee.”

Ah. Right. The smile that had been widening on Maggie’s face sort of froze into place, and she cleared her throat. “Well, you have-- good memory.”

“Thanks.”

“My name is Maggie. I run that record shop over there.”

“Nina. Nice to meet you,” Nina replied, but she seemed to be glancing at something over Maggie’s shoulder, and rather worriedly too. Maggie turned to see someone she was… not familiar with, per se, but not entirely unfamiliar either. She had seen him coming and going from Mr. Fell’s bookshop. He was sitting by the window, tense as a violin bow.

“Know him?” Nina asked, leaning on the counter. 

Maggie nodded. “I’ve seen him before - a friend of Mr. Fell, I think?”

“Ah, that’s where I’ve seen him. I was just thinking he’s been around here for years, but I never really placed him,” Nina said, tilting her head to one side. She tended to mind her own business most of the time - all she needed to know about people was how they wanted their coffee, and in general it was also all she needed to know to judge them - but it was near impossible to order eight straight shots of espresso in a cup and not catch her attention. And cause at least some concern, too.

Honestly, the man looked nervous enough before even ordering the shots, which made her wonder whether he had taken the name of her shop too seriously and was after both coffee and death, in the order.

“Ah, yes. He is around the bookshop a lot,” Maggie said. “I thought he was more of a boyfriend, really, but Mr. Fell was always very reserved about his life and I never wanted to pry. He, uh… he looks really nervous.”

“After eight shots of espresso, nervous is the least one can expect. Not that he looked peachy when he walked in.”

“He looks like he’s waiting for someo--”

He was indeed waiting for someone, and as said someone walked past the window to get to the door, both Nina and Maggie could see the man suddenly lean back against the chair as though a massive weight had been taken off him, and draw in a huge sigh of obvious relief. By the time Mr. Fell came into the shop a few moments later, however, he was the picture of calm, carefully-constructed coolness. 

“Oh, he is a boyfriend all right,” Nina muttered. Maggie chuckled and decided this might be the moment for small talk, after all… except that Nina’s phone began pinging, and the smile was gone from the face almost right away. The frown was back, and she was replying to messages rapid-fire, as though having forgotten Maggie was there. 

“I… maybe I should be back at another time?”

A sigh. “No, no, it’s fine. My partner is having a moment, is all. You can sit, I’ll get you the skinny latte in a minute,” she said, vaguely gesturing toward a seat. 

Partner. Well, of course. Did she really think someone like Nina would be single? Maggie bit her lower lip and went to sit at the closest table available, feeling like an idiot and trying not to let it show. Because then she might cry, and it would be awkward. You don’t cry in someone else’s shop. She’d just have some coffee, and go back to her own shop to have a good little cry which was unlikely to be interrupted by any clients. 

With a sigh, she glanced over at the table where lovely Mr. Fell and his brooding friend - or boyfriend? - were engaged in a clearly animated conversation, voices hushed, both of them leaning over the table. They seemed to be discussing something serious. 

Maggie could only hope they were having a better day than she was.

***

When the container fly answered their call, Beelzebub was roughly three minutes away from forgetting the ‘however long it took’ part of their vow and skip straight to discorporating angels left and right until Michael came out of whatever office she was holed in to face them, so that they could strangle an explanation out of her - or be discorporated themself in the attempt. 

In their defense, patience is a Heavenly virtue and demons are notoriously lacking in that department for reasons that should not need to be explained.

The buzzing sound was barely audible over their own, but Beelzebub clocked it immediately. They turned in mid-air and there it was, answering their call. Empty as the day they had given it to Gabriel, the first gift he had ever received… and ready as ever to answer to its master. Not literally answer, because that wasn’t what it was made for, but following orders? Oh, it could do that. 

Take me to him, Beelzebub ordered, and the container fly immediately took off again the way it had come, with its Lord and master following close behind.

***

“Yes, of course I stepped right out--”

“Took you entirely too long, angel.”

“No it did not. I actually happened upon an angel who took the book off me, so I was barely even in. It was rather convenient, really. And they were very nice.”

A soft snort. “No one in Heaven is nice.”

“Well. I like to think I am, at least to a reasonable degree--”

“You haven’t been in Heaven for a long time,” Crowley pointed out.

Aziraphale couldn’t argue that point. “... Well. Either way, Lord Beelzebub slipped in unnoticed. They were really as inconspicuous as they said they would be.”

A grumble. “As long as they stay inconspicuous.”

“They gave their word--”

“A demon’s word, and you trust it?”

“Well. You generally keep your word.”

“I’ve also been away from Hell about as long as you’ve been away from Heaven.” Crowley made a face, scrunching up his nose. “Beelzebub offered me a place back in Hell in exchange for helping them find Gabriel, can you believe it? Must have been desperate.”

“Yes, they do seem to care an awful lot for--”

“And desperately stupid, if they really thought I’d want to go back.”

Aziraphale nodded. “Fair enough. I cannot imagine anyone wanting to go to Hell, can you? It looked rather miserable when I was there.”

A shrug. “I found Heaven to be about as miserable, to be honest,” he said, glancing outside. The Bentley was parked on the other side of the road, backseat full of plants because, Aziraphale had been told, they ‘liked going out on rides’.

“Oh.” Aziraphale paused. “I mean, management aside, it’s not… all that bad.”

“You really didn’t want to go back when they tried to give you that promotion, angel.”

Ah, that. It had been quite the unfortunate timing, Aziraphale recalled; Gabriel showed up to tell him he’d been promoted back to Heaven just as he’d opened up his bookshop. He’d been smiling widely, and clearly expected Aziraphale to be overjoyed by the promotion. 

You get to come home, he’s said, obviously thinking Aziraphale had not quite grasped the magnitude of what he was being offered. He never understood what Aziraphale loved about being on Earth, and he certainly wouldn’t have understood if he told him the idea of leaving it for Heaven filled him with dread. Truth be told, Aziraphale wasn’t certain he could quite articulate the reasons for that dread himself. In the end he’d been spared both the promotion and the awkward explanation, as Crowley’s demonic intervention had convinced Gabriel that Aziraphale needed to remain on Earth to be his foil.

“Well, I do enjoy being on Earth quite a bit, and… I am unlikely to ever be called back, really,” he finally said, and that ended the conversation. For a time. “... His face,” he said suddenly, looking up, and met Crowley’s confused gaze. The realization felt like a punch to the gut. He searched his mind again, and drew a blank. “Crowley, I-- I can’t remember Gabriel’s face.”

That caused Crowley to frown. “I remember it all too well. Better than I’d like, really. They must have erased that from the collective celestial memory. Doesn’t sound good.”

“Do you really think they did something to Gabriel? But he’s the Supreme Archangel, surely--”

“Cute. And Lucifer Lightbringer was God’s little golden boy, once upon a time. No one is safe, no matter how high up,” Crowley muttered, and leaned back on the seat, still looking outside. “If Gabriel forgot that, he’s a bigger idiot than I thought.”

Aziraphale hesitated. “But surely he’d have fought back?” he asked. Crowley shrugged.

“If he tried, he lost. He may be the Supreme Wanker, but against Michael? My money’s not on him,” he said, and there was nothing Aziraphale could retort to that. There was a reason why Archangel Michael was nearly universally depicted as a fierce warrior - because she was. When the first ever War broke out in Heaven, she'd proved fearsome in a way Gabriel, the Messenger, had never been. It had caused some surprise when, the War over, Gabriel had been chosen as the Supreme Archangel instead of her. No one had dared question it, least of all Michael... at least publicly.

"No, he wouldn't have stood a chance," he agreed in the end, and for a time they both stared out at the people walking past, saying nothing.

***

“Well, look at that. I’m good at this thing!”

Jibreel’s voice echoed a little into the complete silence surrounding him, and that echo was the only response he got, but he didn’t mind too much. Well, maybe he did miss the faint buzzing of his little friend, but he had been told not to go anywhere, so it wasn’t like he could go look for it. It would probably be back, eventually, and Muriel too. 

And then he could show them both that he was good at… huh. He was pretty sure there was a word for making pictures on parchment out of ink, but he couldn’t recall. Still, he was good at it. The things he made on the parchment looked just like the real things he was thinking of. There was the elevator he recalled looking at as his very first memory, and the front of some building he had never seen, and his fly friend in perfect detail. And then there was that… face. 

Jibreel stared at it, frowning a little. He’d started it as Muriel, because to be honest he couldn’t recall seeing many other faces, but it had… changed on him as he went on. The hair was different, scruffier, and there was a hat, and the features were different too. The nose, and the shape of the eyes, and… no, it really wasn’t Muriel anymore. It was someone else. 

Only he wasn’t sure who that someone was. Jibreel stared at it a few more moments, then picked up the pen and began to do the mouth. The lips that appeared on the parchment were curled in a smile, and he smiled back; any leftover sadness for the disappearance of the fly was gone. “Hey,” he told the face on the parchment, still smiling, and began adding marks under the face’s eyes, humming that tune again. He really wished he could recall where he might have heard it before it came out of his mouth, but he kept drawing a blank and… ah, there was the buzzing again!

Jibreel looked up from the parchment, expecting to see the fly hovering around him again, and to be fair he did see it. What he did not expect was for its return to be followed by a literal explosion of flames that caused him to topple back along with the entire chair, as well as some parchment and the inkwell. His back hit the floor just as the smell of sulfur reached his nostrils, and a voice reached his ears. 

“Gabriel!”

Jibreel blinked, and looked up. Standing over him, clothes startlingly dark against the whiteness above (and below, and around), there was someone with the same face he’d put on the piece of parchment. It was smiling, too. Well, he thought, look at that. What were the odds?

“Hello,” he said, and smiled back. “How can I help you?”

“Thank Satan I found you, I was starting to think-- wait, what?” They trailed off, the relieved expression turning to confusion. Jibreel sat up, trying to recall the script Muriel taught him. 

“Do you need to check something from the archive? All you need to do is fill this form - I’ll get you one, just a moment--”

“What the-- I’m not here to fill out forms, Gabriel!” A hand, clad in an odd fishnet glove, grabbed his arm and pulled him upright so quickly, his head spun a little. Then two hands grabbed his own and held tight. They were warm, and Jibreel found himself holding back. “What happened? You just went and disappeared, your phone was dead and Michael was saying some bullshit about your position being vacant--”

“Michael?”

“Archangel Michael, yes. She just made this announcement about a new task, what is goin--”

“Oh. The one who spoke earlier? Just a little while ago, about-- ah! Do you need information about that thing she talked about, with Supreme Archangel Gabriel getting a new task? I am afraid that’s likely classified, but I can still try to see if--” he turned to the drawer where Muriel kept the forms, but a hand suddenly grabbed his chin and forced him to turn.

Jibreel found himself staring into two dark, widened eyes; they were so close to his face, he could see tiny reflections of himself in them. “Your eyes. What happened to your eyes?”

“Huh… they burned a little? Earlier. I don’t know what happened, there were voices and it was sort of a weird moment. But they feel fine no--”

“Do you know who I am?” the being cut him off, and Jibreel hesitated. 

“The face,” he finally said.

“The… face?”

“I drew you. Yes,” Jibreel added, and something in the back of his mind… didn’t quite ache, but rather itched, just out of his reach. “I think.. yes, that’s the word, isn’t it? I drew your face! And it was a pretty good likeness, want to see--”

“Do you know my name?”

A shake of his head, or at least as much as he could shake it with that iron grip holding onto his chin. “No, sorry. But if you tell me, I’ll do my best not to forget it. I’ll write it next to the drawing, how about--”

“Do you know yours? Do you know your name?”

Amidst the confusion, that at least was something he knew. Jibreel smiled, happy to finally have an answer. “I sure do! My name is Jibreel. Or Jibrīl, but also Jabrāʾīl. You can pick your favorite spelling, I can sign with all of them! How may I help--” he began, only to trail off when the being’s features twisted like something had hurt them. Jibreel could only assume it was a sign they didn't like his perfectly correct answer. He opened his mouth to speak again, to ask if there was another spelling he’d forgotten about, but suddenly there was something coming in through his eyes, into his head. 

If searching his own mind for memories like one would explore an abandoned house with a flashlight had been painful, this was so much worse - a blinding, searing pain that made him feel as though a lighthouse was shining its light through an open window, searching, finding nothing even as it drowned everything in white. Invisible hands searched through empty drawers and beneath floorboards, yanking them out of place, and it hurt and hurt and hurt.

There was a keening noise; Jibreel couldn’t tell right away that it had come from his own mouth. “S-stop…”

“What have they done to you? What have those bastards done to--”

“STOP! PLEASE! IT HURTS!”

The hand let go of his face, the light was shut off and the presence retreated. The pain was gone, leaving behind only a dull ache, but even so Jibreel staggered back, holding onto his head. He stumbled and probably would have fallen if the being hadn’t grabbed his arm, steadied him, and helped him sit on the floor. 

“Sorry. I’m sorry. I didn’t want to hurt you,” they were saying. Something about their voice suggested they very much wanted to hurt someone all right, only not him. Jibreel opened his eyes, blinking against the whiteness, very grateful that the pain was mostly gone. The being-- not an angel, somehow I could tell, this is no angel and yet I am not afraid --was kneeling before him, still holding onto his arm. They looked… concerned. “Something happened to your memories. Do you know what it was?”

Jibreel frowned, and shook his head. “No. I know it’s all empty where something was. I don’t know why. I don’t know where everything went. Or what everything was.”

“... But you remembered my face?”

“I must have. I drew it. Unless I made you up?” He blinked. “Did I miracle you into being?”

A faint smile. “No, you didn’t.” Their hand let go of his arm, and came to rest over his head. It was warm, and the ache that still lingered in his head faded, too. Jibreel leaned into the touch without thinking, and closed his eyes. “It will be all right,” the being said. “We’ll get it all back. Now I just need to borrow your body for a little while, so we can slip out.”

“Borrow my…?”

“Hush. Sleep,” they ordered, and he fell silent. The hand resting on his head brushed through his hair in a caress, his eyelids became heavy, and then there was nothing.

***

In the end, Muriel hadn’t given the handbook to the archive after all. They had stopped by a window, opened it for a quick look, and before they knew it had been… well. A while. Probably an hour or two and they were nowhere near done reading through it. 

That was a deviation from their usual duties, they knew it, but they just couldn’t resist holding onto it a little while longer. It had so much interesting information about Earth and humans and their funny little habits, as well as the demons who operated there! Waiting for work to come in could get so boring, and surely it wouldn’t hurt if they kept holding onto it for a little while longer. It was one of many issued to angels on Earth duty after all, they wouldn’t miss one copy that badly. 

And surely, Jibreel would like to have a look, too. He had never been on Earth, either.

No. Doesn’t remember being on Earth.

It was an unwanted, unpleasant thought that Muriel did their best to ignore. It made no difference, and besides, what Jibreel did or did not remember was none of their business. Everything was as it should be, an Archangel had taken him to work with them and surely that meant that… that…

Focused as they were on thoughts of how everything was absolutely peachy, staring at the cover of the handbook, Muriel didn’t see immediately that something wasn’t right with the office. But the smell reached them first, faint yet recognizable even though they hadn’t smelled it in a long, long, long time.

Sulfur.

And a smell of sulfur was a sure sign of demonic activity. It had to be. It said so right there in the handbook, on page 66, paragraph 6. With a startled gasp, Muriel lifted her gaze from the handbook’s cover and found themself looking at utter chaos. All right, not really, but an upturned chair and several rolls of parchment on the floor - along with an inkwell whose contents had all spilled on some of said parchment - did amount to chaos in Heaven. And most worrying of all was what Muriel could not see: Jibreel. He was gone. 

The handbook fell off Muriel’s hands, but they hardly noticed. They looked around, hoping to catch at least a glimpse of him - maybe he just wanted to stretch his legs? - but there was only whiteness as far as the eye could see. No trace of Jibreel in any direction.

Maybe he’ll be right back.

But what of the smell of sulfur? It means a demon was here, somehow, while I was away. I left him all alone and something happened and it was bad.

Oh, this wasn’t good. It wasn’t good at all. Muriel had to raise the alarm, and quickly. They took a few steps, picked up the handbook, and… they paused, gaze falling on the parchments on the floor. There was something on a few of them - drawings.

One drawing was of the elevator to Earth and Hell; they recognized that. Then there was the face of someone they had never seen before, the front of a building - The Resurrectionist, a sign read - and what looked like… a lot of crosses in a field, and a statue in the middle, too small to make out the features. They could tell it was holding a cross, though. Could it be a cemetery? One of those places where humans put bodies? 

There was something in the handbook about them. Muriel quickly opened said handbook, looking for the page about cemeteries. Ah, there it was - mortals considered it a hot spot of demonic or angelic activity, but there actually was very little of either. Why, though, had Jibreel drawn a cemetery? There was none in Heaven, obviously. And Jibreel was never… did not remember ever being on Earth. Maybe it hadn’t been him to draw it? He seemed to have been taken after a struggle. Was it a demonic message? Or maybe he’d remembered something?

No point wondering. Raise the alarm. Now. 

But for a long while Muriel stayed glued on the spot, completely lost, trying and failing to make sense out of utter nonsense.

***

Timing, Crowley would reason later, had really not been on his side. 

He’d really hoped that whatever was going on with Gabriel, Beelzebub, Heaven and Hell and whatnot would remain, very firmly, none of their business. He’d even managed to talk Aziraphale into going back to his shop to grab his coat before going out to try out that new Korean restaurant that had just opened in Holborn. A good lunch, he reasoned, would get his mind off whatever mess was cooking up. 

Except that they never got to find out, because Beelzebub’s voice rang out behind them just as Aziraphale was locking the front door. 

“You must let me in.”

Well, there went his plan. Crowley groaned and turned, looking down. “What do you mean, we must-- listen we held our half of the barg--” he began, only to trail off when he realized he wasn’t looking at Beelzebub’s face. Rather, he was staring at the chest of someone who was a good deal taller than the Lord of the Flies, clad in the kind of bland, white clothing Heaven gave to low-level angels.

Ah.

Slowly, Crowley lifted his gaze. Archangel Fucking Gabriel - or rather, Beelzebub in the guise of the Archangel Fucking Gabriel - returned it, markedly unimpressed. 

“My usual form is not that short,” they remarked. Crowley bit back a response that it absolutely was that short. He was already having a bad time, dealing with his old boss while also staring at a face he had come to despise more than almost anything else in Creation, and he’d rather not make it worse by angering said old boss.

By his side, Aziraphale hesitated. “Lord Beelzebub? Is that you?”

“Yes. I have found him, as you can see. Now let us in.”

“Us…?”

“Gabriel,” Crowley muttered, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “They’re in his body. This is his face, by the way, angel. In the unlikely case you wanted to refresh your memory.”

Beelzebub frowned. “Refresh his memory?”

“It seems Heaven ensured no angel would remember what Gabriel looked like.”

“... Of course they would. Makes sense.”

Aziraphale blinked. “But why are you-- well, why is he dressed like a scrivener?”

“I don’t have a full picture yet, but I will share what I do know once we’re inside.”

“Yeah, no. Neither of you is coming insi--”

“Yes, of course - do come in.”

“Angel, come on! We really don’t want to get mixed up with--”

“I have some cake. Shall I make tea?”

“I'll have neither, but thank you kindly,” Lord Beelzebub said through Archangel Gabriel’s mouth, sounding just a touch smug as they stepped past Crowley and into the shop - making Crowley very much wish he had, after all, crashed his Bentley into a bus the second the Lord of the Flies materialized in it.

***

While he had seen his fair share of unsettling things during his thousands of years of existence - more than his fair share, truth be told - Aziraphale had to admit that what he had just witnessed was particularly unpleasant.

He really hadn’t started the day thinking he would see his former boss lay down on a sofa and suddenly convulse as a swarm if flies emerged from his mouth and nostrils, and then watch as they came together until Lord Beelzebub themself stood in the middle of his bookshop. The thought he might have just done something stupid - inviting Hellish royalty in his bookshop, for Heaven’s sake! - crossed his mind, but the worry was short-lived. 

Beelzebub paid little mind to him or Crowley: the second they had a corporeal form again they turned to Gabriel, who lay motionless on the sofa with his eyes shut. They crouched beside him, resting a hand on his forehead. It was a simple gesture that caused something in Aziraphale’s chest to clench, and made him instinctively turn towards Crowley. He looked back at him before clearing his throat and looking away, clearly ill at ease.

“He’ll be asleep for a while,” Beelzebub was saying, voice soft. “It likely won’t be long before Heaven starts looking for him, and I cannot quite guarantee his safety in Hell just yet. I couldn’t think of anywhere else he could hide until I figure out how to undo what they did.”

“... Right. If you don’t mind me asking, Lord Beelzebub - what did they do to him? Assuming that by they you mean, uh, Heaven?”

Their gaze darkened, and they finally turned away from Gabriel to look back at Aziraphale. “They have broken him."

"Broken him?"

"His mind is a clean slate. They took away all his memories and knowledge. Stripped away all that was him, renamed him Jibreel, or Jibrīl, or something. They told everyone Gabriel was given a new task before they reassigned him as some… lowly scrivener,” they said, somehow sounding almost as insulted by that as they were by the fact Heaven had erased his memories in the first place. To be fair, going from Commander in Chief of the Heavenly Host to scrivener was probably the biggest demotion to ever take place in the history if anything ever.

Crowley let out a scoff. “Not very creative, that name,” he said, gaining himself a quizzical look from Beelzebub. Aziraphale, on the other hand, caught on immediately. 

“That’s what Prophet Muhammad called him. Jibrīl, Jabrāʾīl, or Jibreel - it all boils down to the same angel. Gabriel,” he explained, and tilted his head towards the shelf where some of his most prized possessions - antique copies of the Quran - were on display. “Highest ranking angels aside, Heaven always paid woefully little attention to the texts of human prophets. A shame of you ask me, a lot of those small additions and misunderstandings make for a compelling read, such as that business with the camel and the needle’s--”

“Angel.”

“Right, right. Yes. Staying on topic. Well, they clearly didn’t think anyone would take notice of his new name. With his new position being so low and no one in Heaven remembering what Archangel Gabriel looked like--” 

Beelzebub scoffed. “I don’t believe for a moment other Archangels erased that particular memory from their own minds. Only from lesser angels’. No offense.”

“None taken,” Aziraphale reassured them, although he was… dubious that Beelzebub would care in the slightest if he did take offense. “You are correct, they would certainly recognize him if they happened to--”

“Come looking, yes,” Crowley cut him off, voice tight the way it can only get when you’re watching a nightmare scenario unfold without being able to do a thing to prevent it. “Lord Beelzebub, once they realize he’s gone, they will check surveillance. They may not notice you, but they will know that Aziraphale visited on this particular day. He’s on precarious standing as things are, and it’s only a matter of time before they come looking. If they find--”

"I'll use a hiding miracle,” Beelzebub cut him off. “They may come look for him, if they wish, but they won’t ever see him. Your angel won’t be in any danger.”

“Isn’t that something Hell will clock--”

“Not if I perform it. No one is overseeing the overseer,” Beelzebub pointed out, and that was it. The miracle was done with the gesture of a hand, but for a few more moments they remained motionless, eyes once again fixed on Gabriel’s features, hand still on his forehead. They seemed to blow gently, barely ruffling his hair, and something came out of their mouth - a fly, not too surprisingly. It landed on Gabriel’s chest and there it stayed, buzzing softly. 

“I will be back as soon as I can, but meanwhile I’ll be able to keep an eye on the situation through this fly.” And make sure Crowley doesn’t give in to the temptation of kicking him in the Thames, was the clear undertone. “It was not my intention to involve you more than necessary, but this is the safest he can be for now. The fewer beings are involved, the better. You will be rewarded for your help,” they added, and stood. Crowley grumbled.

“Yes, well, as a reward we’d like to opt out--”

“No reward necessary. We’re happy to help.”

“Uuugh, angel…!”

“It’s obviously the right thing to do.”

“Nothing about having him in your bookshop sounds right to me!”

“They did something awful to him, I can’t--”

“Well, he tried to do something awful to you, personally, so forgive me if I’m not--”

“Oh, of course you’re forgiven.”

“Not literally!” Crowley groaned, and seemed about to add something else when a blood-curdling scream caused both of them to wince and turn to Beelzebub, who took a cell phone out of their pocket. On the sofa, Gabriel kept sleeping like a baby. Except that babies never sleep like babies and whoever came up with that comparison either never had a baby, was in denial, or wanted to purposely mock people who did have babies.

“It’s Uriel calling,” Beelzebub said, voice cold. “I suppose I am expected to answer this.”

Aziraphale bit his lower lip. “Uh, why would Uriel…?”

“Either Heaven already knows what I have done, which would be annoyingly quick on their part, or they really want to push ahead with Armageddon the Sequel,” Beelzebub said, then sighed. “Well, I supposed there is only one way to find out,” they added, and took the call.

***

[Back to Chapter 2]

[aziraphales-library]

Hello! Curious to know if you've seen any AUs around where A/C don't meet/become close until after heaven and hell end the world and go to war? Thank you~

There is a search tag - Alternate Universe - Never met, although there aren't many fics in it just yet.

Not exactly a during-a-war-meeting, but this is what I was able to find:

A Handbook on Half Holy Hoodwinking [T], WIP (10/12 ch) by cassieoh

“Why the fuck,” Raphael says, voice as smooth as the linseed thick in the air, “do any of you think you have the right to hurt my betrothed?”

There’s a pause in which Aziraphale can distantly see the confusion passing between Gabriel and the others, but he can’t really process much past ‘betrothed’. It feels as if the entire universe has ground to a halt around them.

***

Aziraphale is to be executed post-Apocalypse, the only way his friend Raphael can think to stop it is to claim they're to be married (can't kill an Archangel's husband afterall). They arrange to have the wedding as soon as possible on a little island with great Holy power. Meanwhile, Crowley (having escaped his own post-apocalyptic execution) is hiding out from Hell in one of the only places where there's enough Holy energy to disguise him.

They might not have meet in Eden, but really what's 6000 years between adversaries?

(quite a lot, as it turns out)

The Long Way Around [M] by Kurikukun, reduntant_angel

Aziraphale and Crowley never meet in Eden and the pair go on through time believing that other is the enemy. With Armageddon quickly approaching, Crowley is sent on an important assignment: to kill the angel and retrieve the flaming sword.

Things go sideways, however, when Crowley is severely injured. As Aziraphale naively nurses the demon back to health, Crowley begins to wonder if he'll be able to go through with it after all...

The Way Home [E] by GiggleSnortBangDead

Aziraphale and Crowley meet in 1979 while working on a film adaptation of an Ezra Fell novel. Aziraphale just had another fight with Gabriel and is looking for something casual, even if it's with a human. Crowley is not a human, but Aziraphale doesn't know that. In Crowley's defense, he also doesn't know that Aziraphale's not a human.

Aziraphale and Crowley meet again in 2019 while working on a film adaptation of the same Ezra Fell novel.

~Mod N

[mattchase82]

CHAPLET OF ST. MICHAEL ARCHANGEL

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Daniel's Prophecy of Saint Michael in the End Day's.

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But at that time shall Michael rise up, the great prince, who standeth for the children of thy people...

(Daniel Ch. 2:1)

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Each year Padre Pio made a preparation of forty days for St. Michael's feast. "Consecrate yourself to St. Michael and to the angels," Padre Pio would tell people. "You will need the help of St. Michael, living in this world."

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One day, Saint Michael the Archangel appeared to Antonia d'Astonac, a most devout Servant of God and told her that he wished to be honoured by nine salutations corresponding to the nine Choirs of Angels, which should consist of one Our Father and three Hail Marys in honour of each of the Angelic Choirs. The vision was approved by Pope Pius IX in 1851.

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Promises of St. Michael

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"Whoever would practice this devotion in his honour would have, when approaching the Holy Table, an escort of nine angels chosen from each of the nine Choirs. In addition, for the daily recital of these nine salutations, he promised his continual assistance and that all the holy angels during life, and after death deliverance from Purgatory for themselves and all their relations."

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How to pray the Chaplet of Michael Archangel

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The Chaplet is begun by saying the following invocation on the medal:

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"O God, come to my assistance!

O Lord, make haste to help me!

Glory Be...

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Say 1 Our Father... and 3 Hail Mary... after each of the following nine salutations in honour of the nine Choir of Angels.

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1.

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"By the intercession of St. Michael

and the Celestial choir of Seraphim,

may the Lord make us worthy

to burn with the fire of perfect charity.

Amen."

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1 Our Father... and 3 Hail Mary... in honour of the 1 st Choir of Angels.

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2.

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"By the intercession of St. Michael

and the Celestial choir of Cherubim,

may the Lord vouchsafe to grant us grace

to leave the ways of wickedness

and run in the paths of Christian perfection.

Amen."

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1 Our Father... and 3 Hail Mary... in honour of the 2 nd Choir of Angels.

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3.

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"By the intercession of St. Michael

and the Celestial choir of Thrones,

may the Lord infuse into our hearts

a true and sincere spirit of humility.

Amen."

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1 Our Father... and 3 Hail Mary... in honour of the 3 rd Choir of Angels.

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4.

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"By the intercession of St. Michael

and the Celestial choir of Dominions,

may the Lord give us grace

to govern our senses

and subdue our unruly passions.

Amen."

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1 Our Father... and 3 Hail Mary... in honour of the 4 th Choir of Angels.

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5.

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"By the intercession of St. Michael

and the Celestial choir of Powers,

may the Lord vouchsafe to protect our souls

against the snares and temptations of the devil.

Amen."

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1 Our Father... and 3 Hail Mary... in honour of the 5 th Choir of Angels.

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6.

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"By the intercession of St. Michael

and the Celestial choir of Virtues,

may the Lord preserve us from evil,

an suffer us not to fall into temptation.

Amen."

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1 Our Father... and 3 Hail Mary... in honour of the 6 th Choir of Angels.

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7.

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"By the intercession of St. Michael

and the Celestial choir of Principalities,

may God fill our souls

with a true spirit of obedience.

Amen."

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1 Our Father... and 3 Hail Mary... in honour of the 7 th Choir of Angels.

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8.

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"By the intercession of St. Michael

and the Celestial choir of Archangels,

may the Lord give us perseverance in faith

and in good works,

in order that we gain the glory of Paradise.

Amen."

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1 Our Father... and 3 Hail Mary... in honour of the 8 th Choir of Angels.

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9.

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"By the intercession of St. Michael

and the Celestial choir of Angels,

may the Lord grant us to be protected by them

in this mortal life

and conducted hereafter to eternal glory.

Amen."

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1 Our Father... and 3 Hail Mary... in honour of the 9 th Choir of Angels.

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At the end, say 1 Our Father... on each of the 4 beads in honour of each of the following leading Angels: St. Michael, St. Gabriel, St. Raphael, our Guardian Angel.

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The Chaplet is concluded with teh following prayers:

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"O glorious Prince St. Michael,

chief and commander of the heavenly hosts,

guardian of souls,

vanquisher of rebel spirits,

servant in the house of the Divine King,

and our admirable conductor,

thou who dost shine with excellence and superhuman virtue,

vouchsafe to deliver us from all evil,

who turn to thee with confidence,

and enable us by thy gracious protection

to serve God more and more faithfully every day.

Amen."

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V. Pray for us, O Glorious St. Michael, Prince of the Church of Jesus Christ.

R. That we may be made worthy of His Promises.

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Prayer

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"Almighty and everlasting God,

who by a prodigy of Goodness

and a merciful desire

for the salvation of all men,

has appointed the most glorious Archangel St. Michael,

Prince of Thy Church,

make us worthy,

we beseech Thee,

to be delivered by his powerful protection

from all our enemies,

that none of them may harass us

at the hour of our death,

but that we may be conducted by him

into the august presence of Thy Divine Majesty.

This we beg through the merits of Jesus Christ our Lord.

Amen."

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