#when you say you know the reported location of a one-time archangel of heaven

[that-giorgione]

I don’t know if anyone saw the new good omens 2 trailer, but i’d like to know what virginia was doing there.

[inhuman-obey-me]

The Agony & The Ecstasy

Can also be read on AO3 here

Word Count: 5.2k

Description: #HappyBirthdayAsmodeus 2021!! Before he was the Avatar of Lust, he was the Jewel of the Heavens. A journey from the angel Asmo used to be, to the demon he's become.

[cw: sexual mentions]

The Agony

He sat before the mirror of his bedroom, sketching his lean cheeks with their high bone ridges, his soft lips, the gentle curls of his champagne-toned hair, the light in his orange-yellow eyes.

The Jewel of the Heavens, they called him. The most beautiful of the angels. So lovely that even Jophiel, the patron angel of artists, had asked if she could have a painting to keep of him. And so, here he was, trying to capture his image on canvas for the archangel.

Asmodeus was proud of how everyone admired him, but truthfully he didn't think it was anything so special. Rather, he was more focused on how lovely everyone else around him was. He wouldn't say that he wasn't beautiful, but so was anyone, in one way or another. There was so much to admire in everyone that his heart ached every day. He longed to help them see themselves the way he saw them.

The lilting notes of a bird's song through the open window broke him out of his thoughts, and he set his sketch down for the moment to greet it.

"Well hello, bluebird dear," he greeted it with a smile, holding his hand out. "How are you today?" The bird trilled with delight in response, rubbing its head against his fingers, and he laughed, petting the creature. "Your singing is so lovely, my dear. What a beautiful day to hear your song."

"Oi, Asmo, good, you're here!" he heard his brother call from below the window. "Lilith and the twins snuck off down to the human world again, could ya go get them? Geez, those troublemakers...I've gotta help Lucifer with somethin' so I need you to go, okay?"

"Whaaaat, they went and they didn't invite me?" he pouted. "I can't believe them!"

"Hey, hey, that's not the point," Mammon groaned, rolling his eyes at his younger sibling. "Gabriel is looking for Beel and Belphie, and you know he'll flip if he finds out they went down to the human realm without permission."

"Okay, okay, I got it. I'll get them, don't worry! Walk with me to the portal?"

"Agh, I'm busy you know," Mammon groaned, though he didn't seem all that upset. "But fine, I get it, ya wanna spend some time with your big older brother! Leave it to Mammon!"

"You tell yourself that," Asmo giggled. He hopped down from the window, fluttering down gracefully on the lightness of his robes. "So where in the human world do you think they went this time?"

"Well, you know, Belphie always wants to go to that circus he likes. He mighta dragged the other two along with him."

"Ooooh, right, the circus! The acrobats are so graceful, with the way they glide around in the air. They don't even have wings, but they figured out a way to look like they're flying! Humans really are interesting, aren't they?"

"You think so? I think it's kinda scary, man," Mammon shuddered.

"Well just because you might trip over yourself even on the ground doesn't mean everyone's that clumsy!" Asmo teased.

"Oi! Take that back! I can walk just fine, thank you!"

"Heehee!"

"Anyway, if they're not at the circus, maybe one of those restaurants? Beel's been eating a lot lately, maybe he wanted to try some human realm food."

"Ah, yeah! The fancy restaurants down there make such pretty dishes! The chefs are such artists," Asmo said admiringly, eyes glittering. "I'd like to try one too..."

"Hey, don't forget you're goin' there to get the twins to come back! Don't get distracted by running off down there yourself!"

"But I never get to go down to see the human realm! And the three of them like it so much, you know, it'd be nice to see how pretty everything is for myself," Asmo smiled innocently.

The two of them stopped as they reached their destination.

"Oi, Asmo, I'm serious. You better not go off hitting on everyone you see again," Mammon warned.

"Hey! I'm not hitting on them, I just think everyone is beautiful, and they should know it," Asmo protested. "You're just jealous because they like me more than you. But if you saw the good in everyone you met like me, they'd love you too! You should try it sometime!"

"Ugh, Asmo...don't be gross. And seriously, come right back once you find them. Gabriel's gonna have my hide too if they don't report to him soon, after he asked me to send them over."

"Yeah, yeah. Okay, I'll be back before you know it!"

The younger brother waved breezily as he stepped through the portal.

--

When the light of the portal faded from his vision, Asmodeus found himself in a quiet, hidden spot of a sunny park. Birds chirped, dogs were playing, and he could hear the screaming laughter of children from farther away. In the distance, he could see a news board by the nearby street, which seemed as good a place as any to start checking for information about the circus.

Before he could make it over there, though, a young woman stopped him. "Ahh, excuse me! I just, um, y-you're really handsome, and um...I-I just wanted to say hello. Are you visiting our town? Would you like to spend some time together....maybe come with me to the bakery down the street?! I want to get to know you," she blurted out.

He laughed with delight. "Oooh, aren't you adorable! Forget me, you're so pretty yourself! Your skin is so radiant, and your eyes are so sweet," he cooed. She blushed bright red at the compliments immediately. "Oh! But...I don't have time to go to a bakery right now, I'm looking for my little siblings. Unless you've seen a pair of boys with a girl around there? A tall guy with orange hair, and a sleepy black-haired boy?"

"I, um..." she paused, mind racing on how to keep him interested. "You know, I-I might have seen them. Or maybe, um...maybe the baker has! P-people are going in there all the time, you know, s-so maybe he might have seen them...? I'm sure he'll be able to help!"

It was fairly obvious that she was lying, but Asmo couldn't help but be charmed by her shy attempts at staying with him. His heart tugged him to go along with it anyway, just as it tugged at anyone he came across, especially those who were so drawn in by him too. He couldn't help it, even if it got him into trouble at times. So he agreed.

"Hmm, is that so? Okay! Let's go then."

She led him along the road to the bakery, an extravagant little spot for the size of the shop, where the man at the counter unhelpfully told them that he'd seen a lot of boys around and couldn't possibly remember them all. "Maybe if you buy some bread, I might remember better. I recommend some of these tarts...and you'd better take this big loaf right here too, to be sure I don't forget again," he said with a vicious grin. "We charge by the ounce, of course."

The angel gave him a bright smile back. "Oooh, they do look delicious! You must be so talented to create such beautiful things, sir! Oh, but...I don't have any money on me..."

This clearly irked the man, though something about Asmo's cheerful expression at least stopped him from throwing the pair straight out of the shop, as he usually might with people like this, who came in with no money. He eyed the golden bangle on his visitor's wrist. "Give me that then," he demanded, pointing. "I'll give it to my daughter. She'll like it."

Against his better judgment, the angel obliged. After all, it was just a part of the human world disguise he wore - he could just make another one later. And the baker was going to give it to his daughter, which was certainly kind. Or at least, he thought that was better than just selling it, like most people would. How lovely for a father to want to give his daughter nice presents. "Here, you can have this then. So, about my brothers...?"

The human greedily snatched the bangle from his palm. "Sure, they came in, just about an hour ago probably. The orange-haired one bought more bread than I thought I would sell all day. The girl, she was talking about wanting to visit someone in town. She didn't mention where, but it sounded like it was near the square. And the boys, they wanted to go to the circus that's visiting. They're over at the edge of town."

Satisfied with this new information but not exactly pleased about what the exchange had cost him, he thanked the baker and excused himself from both humans.

Frustrating as it was, this was how it always went. Asmodeus felt himself filled to the brim overflowing with love for everyone, painfully so. And no matter how they lied, or tried to trick him, or took advantage of him, he still loved them so much. It wasn't that he was naive, or that he didn't notice, but just that he always still saw the good parts of them too.

At least he knew where to head from here, though. It sounded like Lilith had probably split off from the twins, but since Mammon had only asked him to send Beel and Belphie back, he'd worry about her later. First, the circus.

Luckily, by this point, Belphegor had been caught dragging his twin to such shows often enough that Asmo could pretty easily predict what area of the audience he'd find them in. He made his way into the tent and quickly located the pair. "You two!" he hissed quietly from the row behind them. "You know you shouldn't be running off to the human world while everyone is still working! Mammon said Gabriel was looking for you. You'd better get back, right now!"

The twins looked at him guiltily, two sets of apologetic eyes. "Sorry, it's my fault...Lilith said she wanted to visit someone, and you know Lucifer always scolds her not to go down alone. So I said we should come too," Beelzebub explained quickly.

"It's my fault too, Beel," Belphie added. "After she met up with them, I wanted to come see the circus again...sorry."

"Ahhh, okay, okay! I can't be mad at such cute younger brothers! Just hurry up and go!" Asmo said, waving away their apologies. "I'll find Lilith to make sure she comes back okay too."

Relieved at his easy forgiveness, the two of them slipped out quietly to head back.

The elder brother sat there a while longer. He'd never actually been to a circus himself before, and he was curious. It was entrancing - contortionists twisting their bodies in fascinating ways, trapeze artists flying gracefully across the air, the balance of the tightrope walkers and the authority of the ringmaster. Though he didn't know them, his heart ached with admiration at the performers below. It was easy to see why their youngest brother loved coming to these so much.

Before he knew it, he had stayed to the end of the show, and the audience was filtering out around him. But he didn't want to leave just yet, and longed for more. Without really thinking, he wandered out to the back of the tent, to the performer's entrance.

"Oh? A fan?"

He blushed a little as realized his mistake, meeting the eyes of the acrobat who had addressed him. "Hi there! I guess you could call me a fan, yes? Your performances out there were just sooo beautiful!"

An amused smile crossed her face. "Well aren't you a cutie. What's your name, hon?"

"I'm Asmodeus!" he replied cheerily. "But my brothers call me Asmo."

"Asmo, eh? Heh. Well, thanks for the compliments, Asmo," she said, leaning in to play with a strand of his hair. "I'm Naamah. Glad you enjoyed the show."

From this close, he could see every detail of how stunning the woman was. Her makeup was thick, as it needed to be for the stage, but it suited her somehow, like her face had always been meant to wear it this way. A tight bun of dark hair sat atop her head, ringed by a blue and red crown of feathers that matched the bright colors of a costume that showed off every curve of her slender, athletic body.

"In fact, Asmo, my dear fan," she continued, "today's your lucky day. I don't feel like sticking around for another of the top hat's fucking lectures about how we need to do better tomorrow. So what do you say we go find ourselves a party, love?"

He thought guiltily back to Lilith, who he had promised to find and escort home. But on the other hand, she had come to see someone, and he didn't really know when she'd be done meeting with this person, or where they were at this point. And he'd never actually been to a party before...

--

"Have another drink, Asmo, I insist," Naamah laughed tipsily, passing him another cup of wine. "You act like you've never let loose before!"

Truthfully, he sort of hadn't, and for his part, Asmodeus was having a magnificent time. A quaint little band of musicians played upbeat, joyful music from the edge of the courtyard, which was packed with merry folks in all sorts of costumes. His new friend had mentioned on their way here that it was a costume party, and the costumes truly did not disappoint - people here were dressed up as angels, demons, all kinds of animals, and even as things he'd never heard of before. Even after changing partially back into his angel form to let his wings free, he didn't feel like he stood out any more than anyone else.

And the dancing! The overflowing love he felt had an outlet for once, here where he could feed the energy back through his movements, passing from partner to partner without anyone to scold him for being too loose with his love. He couldn't help but think that the Celestial Realm felt so stuffy by comparison - all music back home being generally restricted to choirs to their father, and none of the raucous laughter and chatter filling the air the way the humans were doing here. The seraphs were strict on the lower angels, insisting on upright perfection at all times.

"This is so much fun," he said as he clinked his new cup against Naamah's with a laugh, giggling even harder when she then leaned in to give him a kiss on the cheek.

"Pass it on," she dared in a whisper to his ear.

Being the Jewel of the Heavens, always filled with love as he was, it didn't take long for him to find another person to pass the kiss on to. He got up and lightly pecked a man by the sidelines on the cheek. "Hi there, darling. Would you like to dance?" he asked sweetly.

The man reddened slightly at the kiss but agreed quickly to a song, and Asmo found himself soon in another round of dancing, whirling between partners until he had probably danced with each person at least three times. Mid-step as he was about to pass to Naamah again, he noticed a figure moving quickly by from across the road.

A very familiar figure.

"Ack, I'm sorry - I've got to go," he said quickly, leaving his companion very confused as he dashed off from her and the rest of the party.

"Lilith!" he called out, chasing after her in the now-fallen night.

His sister startled at the sound of his voice. "Asmo? What are you doing here in the human realm?"

"You know, really I should be the one asking you that, sis!" he responded, patting her on the head as he caught up. "Mammon sent me here to find you and the twins. Although I, hehe, might have gotten a bit distracted on my way to find you after I sent the twins back. Okay, your turn, what were you doing here?"

She looked away shyly. "I was just, um...meeting someone."

"Ooooh? Tell your big brother more," he teased.

"Well, um...a-actually, Asmo, you love everyone, right? But how do you know you're in love with them?"

That certainly caught him off-guard.

"Hmmm? I never really thought about it," he mused. "I guess it feels kind of warm and fuzzy, right? Or...sometimes it's stronger. Like fire! Like your whole body is in flames, and you're going to burst apart in one biiiig explosion!" Teasingly, he grabbed her by the shoulders and mimicked some explosion sounds. "Why, my dear sister, have you fallen in love with somebody? Were you down here to ask the humans for loooove advice? Who is it, hon? Uriel? Israfil?? Camael?? Or - don't tell me it's Michael?!"

"N-no!" she said, eyes wide. "Ahh, no! No, it's not like that! And don't tell Lucifer or Mammon that I asked about this either!"

Her older brother just giggled mischievously in reply. "Well, let's just get back," he answered, placing his hand on the tree by where he'd landed earlier to open the portal back up.

When they stepped through, their two eldest brothers were waiting for them with scowls.

Lucifer spoke first. "Where have you two been, exactly?"

"Eep! I'm sorry, I didn't mean to stay out so late!!" Lilith squeaked, quickly hiding behind her other brother. "I just, um--I just wanted to go meet with someone. And I lost track of time."

"What about you? Don't tell me ya got distracted hitting on people again," Mammon said, turning his attention to the other just-returned angel. "I've been havin' to cover for ya all day! Raphael is not happy."

"Hey, you're the one who sent me down there to find the twins!" Asmo argued back.

"Yeah, and they came back ages ago! So where have you been!"

"Well, one of the acrobats from Belphie's circus invited me to a party, so I--"

"A party?" Lucifer growled. "You were out late for a human party?"

"I mean...! I didn't know where to find Lilith or when she'd be done meeting her person, so I just thought I'd have some fun while I was down there," Asmo pouted.

"You still shouldn't be going to human world parties, Asmo," the eldest lectured, refocusing his gaze on their sister. "And as for you, about that person you went to meet...why are you meeting with a human?"

She just looked away.

Lucifer sighed. "Never mind, we'll talk later, Lilith. Just go back to your rooms for now, it's late and the next patrols will be by soon. You're lucky Mammon was the one on duty tonight and reported it straight to me so the other seraphs don't know yet."

With relief, the two of them scurried away back to their respective living quarters.

Back in his room, Asmodeus looked over the sketch of himself he'd been working on earlier that day. After the excitement of the day and the party, it looked so bland now that he looked at it again. It was perfectly in line with the classic portrait style of paintings all over the Celestial Realm, but it felt so flat. He saw the good in everyone, right?

And the best thing about him wasn't his face, or his hair, or the way the sunlight fell perfectly across his face at noon. No, the good thing about him was how he loved everyone, wasn it? The love that filled him to bursting at every moment, the love that felt like heavenly fire coursing through his heart every time he looked at someone. That was what made him the universally admired angel that everybody loved back. This painting needed to show that overflowing love too, didn't it?

He tore the canvas off, stretching a fresh one across the frame to start again.

&

When Lucifer came to the brothers to say he was going to rebel against their father, Asmodeus didn't hesitate. All of them had heard about what Lilith had done, and how she was set to be punished for it with obliteration. Utter destruction, wiping her from existence. And for what? For her love?

Well, Asmo was intimately familiar with getting in trouble over love. He'd certainly felt the sharp end of Raphael's spear enough times to know that love was not especially prized or respected in the Celestial Realm. Their father had created him with this overwhelming burning of love towards all, yet that same father commanded the angels without regard for love. It was his rules that forbade Asmo from having outlets to express his love, and it was those same rules that would now destroy his sister.

Lucifer had already tried arguing for mercy, to no avail. It didn't matter if it was out of love; all the worse, in fact, because Lilith wasn't supposed to have gone down to the human realm in the first place, let alone fallen in love with one of them. Their father didn't care about love. So, Lucifer would fight.

And so would Asmodeus.

The Ecstasy

When he came to, the first thing Asmo felt was weightlessness.

It wasn't just his clothes, which had transformed from a billowing mass of white robes to a slender, form-fitting black tank top and pants. Nor was it how his large, elegant wings were now turning to four smaller, curled bat-like ones.

No, it was the lack of burning fire in his chest. What normally felt tightly contained within him was looser, freer, like something had unlocked inside of him, allowing it to spill out.

It was such a jarring, unfamiliar feeling that he gasped out for air.

"Asmo!! Beel, Belphie! Levi! Are you all okay?!" Mammon called out at the sound, rushing over. He had landed not too far away, and seemed to have undergone his own transformation, his usual softly draping outfit now full of sharp, cutting lines instead. In fact, it looked like everyone had either changed or was mid-transformation.

"Where's Lilith?" Beelzebub asked immediately, sounding panicked. "She got hit by an arrow earlier and fell during the battle, is she here?! Is she okay?!"

Belphie sat up and looked around before shaking his head. "I don't think she's here," he said softly. "What happened?"

"Mmm, well judging by how we all look, I guess we're...demons now?" Asmo chimed in.

"Aaagh, dammit! I saw Lucifer fly down all of a sudden while we were fightin', but I don't see him here either. He's gotta be around here somewhere though," Mammon said. "C'mon, get up, guys. Levi, you okay over there?"

A pitiful mumble of affirmation came from the cerulean-haired lump. Levi had awoken but, it seemed, simply opted to stay laying on the ground, as if laying there would erase away everything that had just happened.

After a quick check over each of them, Mammon seemed satisfied that there were no major injuries, at least. Aside from, obviously, them all having lost their angel forms, and seemingly having transformed into demons here. Which meant...

"Welcome to the Devildom." A demon in a crisp black and red uniform walked up to them with a polite smile. "Lord Diavolo has requested for all of Lucifer's brothers to come to the RAD student council room at once. Of course, Lucifer himself is there as well."

Ignoring the confused chatter of the brothers, he led them to a grand building, through beautifully sculpted hallways, and into a large courtroom-like chamber.

A large, dark-skinned demon in what looked to be a red school uniform was seated at the judge's seat, and beside him...Lucifer, in a similar uniform as the man who had led them here, as well as a scary-looking blond individual they didn't recognize.

Five piles of cleanly folded uniforms sat on a table in the center of the room.

In what felt like a whirlwind of explanation, the demon at the center introduced himself as Lord Diavolo, confirmed that they were indeed demons now, and explained that, as the demon prince and current ruler of the Devildom, they were now part of his domain. This was RAD, a school for demons, and the demon who had led them here was Barbatos, his personal butler. His father, who had passed the reigns of power but still commanded more respect among the nobles, would help work out the details of their new positions here in the Devildom, but he wanted to welcome them as members of the RAD student council.

It was a lot, but most importantly, they would stay together down here. They would live together, with Lucifer working out the details of their new home, and they would attend this school. Apart from this, they would be eventually assigned other responsibilities, but they would be otherwise free to enjoy the Devildom as they pleased.

As they pleased. Asmodeus wasn't sure what this all meant for them, but he liked the sound of that phrase.

--

Asmo sighed happily, gazing at himself in his vanity mirror. He looked perfect. His outfit was perfect, with pearly flower earrings perfectly matching the flowery sleeves of his shirt.

After they fell, Mammon had worried and fussed over everyone - not that he would ever admit it outright. Still, the worry had been unmistakable, checking in on each brother every day to make sure they were adjusting okay. But for Asmodeus, things were more than okay. It was like a blindfold had been removed from his eyes.

When he looked at himself now, he understood why everyone had always fawned over his looks - he was gorgeous! How had he never seen it before? He was dazzlingly beautiful. No wonder they had called him the Jewel of the Heavens! And though he was no longer part of, well, heaven, he was still the most stunning being to exist, in all the three realms.

That being the case, it was only right to share himself with everyone, right? Everyone had always wanted to gaze upon him, and at last, with the chains of celestial modesty shed from him, he understood that it was his responsibility to share this gift of his beauty with all.

"I'm heading out!" he called out to his brothers in the common room as he skipped out of the house with excitement. By this point, he'd been to tons of parties, but the joy of it never really wore off. The energy, the dancing, the drinks, the new people, and most importantly? Getting to do whatever the hell he wanted.

The pumping music and the flashing lights of the club greeted him as he threw open the doors. "Who's ready for an Asmo party?! Your Avatar of Lust has arrived!" he cheered.

Everyone in the club went wild immediately, as they always did for these. A night of partying, hosted by the Avatar of Lust, filled with dancing and drinks, and inevitably ending in a wild orgy at some nearby hotel room with as many bodies as could be crammed in? The demons at the club always went wild for an event like that.

Cambores, his good friend, came up immediately to give him a kiss on the cheek and pass him a drink. "Asmo, baby, we've been waiting for you! There's a whole line of succubi who have been begging for a dance with you tonight!"

"Only a dance?" he giggled impishly, as he waved to the line his friend pointed out. "Well, they do have to take turns, since a beauty like mine has to be shared with everyone. But we'll have to see if any of them can tear themselves off of me after a dance!"

Wasting no time, he grabbed the hand of the first one and whirled her onto the floor. "Bothothêl, you're back for me again tonight," he teased. "Didn't get enough of me last night?"

"No, never, Lord Asmodeus," she responded, gazing adoringly into his eyes. She shimmied against him, pressing herself close against his body, and he responded in kind. "I want you every night if you'll allow it."

"Well, I'm flattered, my dear," he answered in a sultry whisper against her collarbone, "but I'm afraid you can't hog beauty like this. But maybe next time I eat you out, I'll eat your heart along with it so I can carry you with me, if you want to stay beside me so badly." He felt the lust emanating from her at that, and took the opportunity to give her a little nibble against her neck, before twirling her away to pull forth the next two succubi from the line at once.

By the tenth or eleventh song, he was about ready for another drink - and some actual action, rather than the intimate but very short flirts he was having with his dance partners. "Sarabocres, darling," he greeted the bartender cheerfully. "Can I get a Brimstone Kiss? And...a Death Tequila Sunset for this new friend of mine right here," he added, tugging over a random demon who had caught his eye from further down the bar.

"O-oh, um, Lord Asmodeus! T-thank you," the demon sputtered in surprise.

"You're welcome," he smiled sweetly back. "So you know my name, what's yours?"

"Kamusil, sir," she answered. Her eyes sparkled as she took him in, though she quickly scooted back and looked away. "Wow. You're even more beautiful than everyone says."

Smirking, he placed a finger under her chin and lifted her gaze back up to meet his. "Well, no one can accurately describe perfection, after all. But no need to be shy, cutie, you can drop the sir and all those formalities. Tell me, what kinds of secret desires are you hiding? If you could have, hmm...let's say, ten demons here in your bed tonight, who would they be?"

As if in a trance, any hesitation in her dropped away immediately. She pointed out various demons to him, some he recognized and some he didn't, all of them drop-dead gorgeous.

A mischievous smile spread across his face. He gave her a quick smooch, and whispered, "Okay, wait for me just a bit then, and don't you leave before me. Okaaay? We'll have a good time tonight, I promise."

With that, he downed his newly arrived drink and returned to join the throngs of dancers.

--

What a fun plaything she'd been, truly. Despite having been so shy, Kamusil had really had a knack for spying some of the wildest partners he'd been with in quite a while. He lay idly in the bed, tracing the sleeping form of one of the many sexed out demons beside him.

It would be an exaggeration to say they'd all explored pleasures together he'd never dreamed of - he was the Avatar of Lust, after all - but certainly there were some obscure things he got to try out that night. And there was always tomorrow, or the next night, or the next.

After all, there was nothing stopping him anymore. No shame, no modesty, none of the rules binding him. He could do whatever the hell he wanted.

And he loved it.

[ineffably-good]

Prompt #5: Miscommunication

It’s Day 5 of the Good Omens Anniversary Month Celebration! Today’s prompt is miscommunication... and I have to admit I had a lot of fun writing this one. I hope you enjoy!

____________________

Friday morning, Earth

 “I got the strangest memo today,” Aziraphale said one morning at breakfast.

Crowley wasn’t quite awake enough to focus on memos, to be honest, but he was trying. He downed his espresso in one gulp and set about getting the machine set up to make another.

“From who?” he finally said.

“Gabriel, supposedly, but I think perhaps he’s got a new intern, some low-ranking angel who’s not quite up to speed on using the computer systems yet.”

“Whatsitsay?” Crowley mumbled, poking buttons wildly on the espresso machine until something started to happen.

“It says,” Aziraphale said with a hint of laughter in his voice, “that for the love of God, Aziraphale, can you please exorcise all restraint in your interactions with the demon Crowley.”

Crowley grinned, suddenly much more awake. “Exorcise restraint? Not exercise?”

Aziraphale grinned back. “Yes indeed.”

“So – you received an official reprimand letter from the wanker you no longer work for, telling you to please, for the love of god, remove all of your inhibitions, burn the modesty out of you, and go hog wild with the demon Crowley?”

Aziraphale smoothed down his waistcoat. “I believe that’s the long and the short of it.”

“Oh,” Crowley said. “Well I believe we should write a rather detailed field report on how you fulfilled those orders to the letter.”

“I think that would be most enjoyable,” Aziraphale said with a predatory smile. “Where should we begin?”

“Where’s that kama sutra book you hide away from the customers?” Crowley said.

Aziraphale raised an eyebrow and went off to look for it.

 --

Sunday morning

Up in Heaven, in the bowels of the smallest office, the angel Naviel watched the two printers he was in charge of grind away, one spitting out short tabs of paper that listed, line by line, each miracle used on Earth. This was quite a dull job, generally.  

The other was essentially the inbox for Heaven. All incoming documents arrived there and were routed by Naviel through interoffice pneumatic tubes to their proper locations. Unless they were very, very sensitive, and then he delivered them carefully and in person.

The letter that arrived this morning appeared to fall in the latter category.

“Oh my,” he said, reading it over. His coworker over at one of the many incoming prayer desks looked up.

“You all right over there, Nav?” she asked in concern. “You look pale.”

Naviel swallowed down the urge to fling the paper across the room to her. “How long has it been since Gabriel discorporated a messenger angel?”

His coworker narrowed her eyes, trying to remember. “I think he’s only done it twice. Which really isn’t that much at all, considering how long we’ve been at this.”

“I think he’s going to make it three today,” Naviel said. “If … if I don’t come back, please take over my printers, would you?”

His coworker, momentarily distracted by an uptick in transmissions on her own devices, nodded distractedly.

Naviel gathered the customary silver tray, placed the letter on it, and hurried off to Gabriel’s office.

 --

Friday evening

On Earth, a certain angel and demon came up for air, flushed and breathless after working their way through a remarkable number of increasingly acrobatic combinations of an amorous nature.

“Care for some sushi, angel?” Crowley said.

“Why, I think I could be tempted,” Aziraphale said with a grin. “But only if we get an amount that is truly, truly indecent. Might as well add gluttony to the list.”

Crowley grinned wolfishly. “I’ll feed it to you piece by piece, angel,” he said. “We’ll combine gluttony, sloth, and lust all in one go.”

Aziraphale laughed. “Oh, I so hope you’re keeping a list. I do need to report all of this accurately.”

 --

Sunday morning

Naviel knocked on Gabriel’s door and entered nervously when Gabriel bellowed. Gabriel was seated behind his immense mahogany desk, adjusting his hair in a pocket mirror. He hardly even looked up when Naviel entered.

“Field report for you, sir,” Naviel said hesitantly. “From the Principality.”  

“I’m busy,” Gabriel said. “Read it to me.”

Naviel swallowed. “I- I’d rather not, if you wouldn’t mind.”

Gabriel lowered his mirror and stared at Naviel, taking him in for the first time. “Nar – Nad – what was your name again?”

“Naviel, sir.”

“Right!” He gave the clerk a broad and insincere smile. “Don’t be a drip. Do your job and read it to me, okay?”

Naviel knew enough about Gabriel to know he should definitely not push back any further if he didn’t want to be demoted to cleaning duty. “If you insist, sir,” he said, clearing his throat. He put the tray down on the corner of Gabriel’s desk, and picked up the papers in hands that he had to visibly try not to let tremble.

“My Dear Gabriel,” he began. He looked up nervously and Gabriel motioned impatiently for him to continue, as he returned to examining his hairline in the mirror.

“At last, a missive from you that I can firmly get behind, so to speak. I was delighted to receive your request for a complete cessation of all inhibitions and restraint in my dealings with the demon heretofore known as Crowley, now currently known to all and sundry as my spouse and the love of my life. As per your note, I took a few moments to excise the last remnants of modesty and restraint from my heart, and set about seeing what we could do to fulfill your instructions. The following is a rather thorough list of my activities over the last forty-eight hours. I know you do so prefer for me to be thorough in my reports.”

 --

Saturday afternoon

Aziraphale stretched luxuriously and took a moment to admire the sight of his husband lying thoroughly debauched in their bed, his pale skin a lovely contrast to the dark blue linen sheets that were gathered around his hips. He ran a hand down his back and then hopped out of bed for a moment to pad downstairs and retrieve his favorite fountain pen and a few pieces of creamy stationery emblazoned with his winged crest.

He rejoined Crowley in the bed and leaned down to give him a kiss on the temple. Crowley murmured at him but made no effort to stir.

“Stay put, love,” Aziraphale said. “I have a letter to write. And I thought it might be a lovely bit of irony to use your beautiful, naked back as my writing desk. Would you mind terribly?”

Crowley chuckled. “Is this letter to a certain wankwings archangel?”

“But of course,” Aziraphale replied.

“Be my guest,” Crowley said. “But you have to read it aloud to me as you write.”

Aziraphale laid the paper on Crowley’s back, and began composing. “My Dear Gabriel,” he said aloud, writing in his tidy and extremely old-fashioned copperplate. “At last, a missive from you that I can firmly get behind, so to speak.”

Crowley snorted and Aziraphale patted his backside appreciatively.

“Hush now,” he said, “don’t go tempting me. And you have to hold still for this to work – do you or do you not want to know that Gabriel is holding a letter that was written on your naked body?”

Crowley smiled. His husband was the best bastard in the entire universe. He did his best to hold still.

 --

Sunday morning

Naviel made it to the bottom of the first page, his face burning bright red and his tongue feeling dry as shoe leather and twice its usual side, as he read item after item on the world’s longest and most mortifying bullet list of debauchery.

Gabriel sat stony-faced at the desk, mirror forgotten, looking too shocked to even breathe. Not that he needed to. But he liked to keep up appearances.

Finally Naviel dared to take a slight break to cough and try to return some moisture to his tongue.

“That will be quite enough!” Gabriel shouted, returning to his senses and realizing that he was allowing another, lower angel to witness this moment of abject humiliation at the hand of his oldest and hardest-fought rival. “Leave it with me, I will read the rest.”

Naviel put the pages down in vast relief. “I do believe there are a few venn diagrams on the final pages that help to summarize some of the information,” he said. “If you’d care to send a response, I can return with the official letterhead –”

“That will NOT be necessary,” Gabriel said, waving a hand imperiously. “Leave me at once. Go!”

Naviel scurried for the door.

“And Nagriel?” Gabriel called after him.

“Navriel,” the lesser angel corrected him.

“Whatever,” Gabriel said. “Speak of this to anyone and I’ll ensure your memory is reset to the day you were made, do you understand me?”

“Absolutely sir, yes sir,” Navriel said, latching on to the doorknob like it was a life raft. He made it to the anteroom and closed the door behind him, then all but ran for his office.

That was a close one, he thought. He wondered if he could get transferred to the library. Nothing bad ever happened in a library.

[riseupandcomeaway]

Dear left,

I am writing to you in the hopes that you actually don’t need to read this. This should only be read if all of a sudden I disappear along with millions of others and you’re still here. Many have noticed that a common denominator of the missing people is their spiritual belief in Jesus Christ as Son of God, Savior and Lord.

Immediately after the Rapture there will be accidents involving all kinds of vehicles with missing passengers, including cars, trains, airplanes, boats… you name it. There may be piles of clothes and personal belongings lying around everywhere, all over the planet.

Why did it happen?  Because the Lord Almighty is about to pour his wrath upon the earth. God is about to pour His wrath out on the inhabitants of the earth in one last ditch effort to get humanities attention. You have been left behind because prior to the rapture (the snatching away of the true Christians) you have refused to believe in Christ for salvation, or to repent of your sins that have separated you from Him.

PLEASE UNDERSTAND: We were not abducted by aliens, we have not wandered off, we have not disintegrated from a horrible disease, and we have not been taken hostage.  Any other scenario presented to you about our disappearance is a lie. We have been Raptured.  It was foretold in the bible. “For the Lord himself shall descend from heaven with a shout, with the voice of the archangel, and with the trump of God: and the dead in Christ shall rise first. Then we which are alive and remain shall be caught up together with them in the clouds, to meet the Lord in the air and sol shall we ever be with the Lord.” (1 Thes. 4:16-17). We are with God. Plain and simple. Don’t take my word for it, please read it for yourself in a book that’s been around for centuries. In fact, more than two millennia - The Bible. The Bible is a long book; in fact it’s a compilation of 66 Books / Letters. Takes a while to get through, but it does end. Let me save you the suspense. God wins.

You are in for some extremely difficult times. You will want to start finding some remote location in which to hide. Save drinking water, food stores, vitamins, medical supplies, a generator, gasoline and oil. You’ll be needing all of these things. You’ll need to know how to grow your own food. The lawlessness that will scourge the earth will have seen no rival. Grab a bible now! There may come a time when it will be impossible to obtain one and illegal to own one. It can give you the truth better than my simple words ever could. Don’t believe anything that is being fed to the world through the media or the government. Cling to Jesus Christ and His saving work of atonement on the cross for your sins.

Now, you need to prepare for the next seven years. This seven year period will start with a world leader who will emerge and broker a peace treaty with Israel for 7 years. This is the antichrist. Three and a half years into this treaty, he will break it himself and force the world to worship him as God. This will occur in the rebuilt Third Temple Mount of Israel. THIS IS IMPORTANT. Look in Daniel 9:26,27. This week is seven years. This begins the Tribulation. After seven years, Jesus will come (the Second Coming) and touch Mount Olives causing an earthquake and He will reign for 1,000 years. When you hear this treaty announced (probably within a few months, or at most a few years), you can mark your calendar and know when Christ will come.

The antichrist will sit in the Jewish Temple, and he will say he is god.  He is NOT! This beast is a great deceiver. The whole world will be amazed and follow him. People will be drawn to this remarkable, charismatic, dynamic, compelling, nearly irresistible man as he masquerades as a saviour, forming a one-world government for a world craving for direction and order. The world will hail him as its savior. He will set himself above all else and will deceive many into accepting him as the supreme dictator.

He will want to control everyone and modern technology can now easily accomplish that. With the world in chaos, perhaps more terrorism, and missing people, keeping track of everyone will sound necessary for the world to become stable and safe again. He will institute a new way of things, including demanding that all people, everywhere, get a special mark on their right hand or forehead. This is the manifestation of the mark of the beast; 666.  At the time of this writing, we do not know exactly what form this mark will take. A lot of people think that it will be some sort of implantable microchip. This makes sense because of the ability to track purchases electronically is commonplace. It could be that the microchip will be tied into a huge database that verifies the person’s bank accounts and automatically deducts the funds. Also, the antichrist may pitch different selling points of the mark like the ability to track lost children, the ability to catch criminals very fast, the ability to safeguard your money. However, I believe the main point of the mark will be to show your allegiance to the antichrist. You will know it is the mark of the beast because you will not be able to buy or sell ANYTHING without it; not food, water, clothes, shelter; nothing. This will control all your financial transactions. More than likely, money will be obsolete and any funds you may have in the bank (or stocks, etc ) is worthless unless you take this mark. Living day to day will become difficult without the ability to buy or sell anything. Once someone takes this mark of the beast they cannot take it back to make a choice for Christ.  The stakes are high and the decision that you make will determine where you will be for eternity.

DO NOT, UNDER ANY CIRCUMSTANCES, AGREE TO TAKE THIS MARK!!

TAKING THIS MARK WILL SIGNIFY THAT YOU ARE A SATAN WORSHIPPER, YOUR SOUL WILL BE LOST, AND YOU WILL SUFFER FOREVER.

I won’t mince words about what this system (the mark of the beast ) means to you. Your chances of making it alive to the end of the tribulation period is slim. It will likely cost you your life here on earth but will give you eternity in exchange.

The whole world is going to hate you and it will be a daily struggle to just to stay alive. The only way I can see for you to get from where you are now to where we are now is that not only will you have to pass through great tribulation, but also you will probably have to suffer a martyr’s death for refusing to worship the “Image of the Beast.” It’s a shame. It really is. But you had your chance, just like the rest of us. It would have been so much easier back when the Church and the Holy Spirit were on earth for you to accept Jesus Christ as your Savior. It’s going to be hard now, really hard, but you can do it. YOU HAVE TO DO IT. Look at it like I used to look at my life on earth. Even if I lived to be 100 years old, that compared to eternity would be like one tiny drop of water compared to all the oceans. It’s the same with you. Even if you have to suffer 7 years of hell and even if you have to die a martyr’s death; compared to eternity it is like a tiny drop of water compared to all the oceans.

Let me assure you that your reward in heaven is incomprehensibly better than any temporary safety you may garner from accepting this mark. I want to leave you with this verse:

Revelation 21:4

And God shall wipe away all tears from their eyes; and there shall be no more death, neither sorrow, nor crying, neither shall there be any more pain: for the former things are passed away.

If you happen to have read this before the rapture, here are some of the site I highly recommend you to visit on a regular basis to keep yourself informed as the hour draws nearer:

NOW THE END BEGINS

ACTIVIST POST

WHATFINGER

RAPTURE READY

GERI UNGUREAN

LISA BOYD

JASON A ON YOUTUBE

THE CORBETT REPORT

SPIRO SKOURAS

BREITBART NEWS

THE JERUSALEM POST

ZERO HEDGE

Till the glorious appearing,

🤍

ctto

[honey-bri-books]

The Barn: Team Castiel

The character of Castiel created by Eric Kripke. Based off of CW’s SUPERNATURAL. Location of story: The barn where Castiel and Dean first met. Takes place roughly two days/nights after episode 15 x 03′s ending.

Angels:

CASTIEL: Angel of Thursday

LAILAH: Night, Conception

JOPHIEL: Wisdom, Understanding, Judgement

AGLIBOL: The Moon is his domain.

Four angels exit a bar, when a small pack of vampires pull into the lot. The angels slow, and try and veer off to the side to avoid confrontation. The first vampire to exit the car, calls out to the angels as they reach their jeep parked at the other end of the lot. 

Vampire #1: Lailah! Where are you off to in such a hurry? He sneers viciously, and raises a hand as if he were only interested in polite conversation. Lailah rolls his eyes and turns around, with a plastic smile on his face.

Lailah: Terry! Long time no fighty! Decided to take a break from the killing spree in Kansas City? A recent bloodbath (supposedly caused by a vampire nest) had been reported on angel radio, but just for the sake of keeping all informed on current events. All angels had been ordered to avoid as much confrontation with vampires as possible. The  dwindling population of seraphs had put everyone on high alert and self-preservation had taken precedent to soldiering their namesake around, protecting humans. In other words, no fight was worth another angel’s life. If a severe crisis were to arrive at any point in time, allowances were to be made. As if that didn’t mean every day, here on out? 

The other vampires who were riding in the same car, step behind their leader, as if ready for a fight. They were all in an off limits zone, the parking lot being included with the actual  safe-spot bar, so no one was going to leave with blood in his mouth. But that didn’t make the incident any less irritating.

Terry: Surprised to see you’re still alive. Still no wings, though? Any angel juice left in that vessel, at all? The others sneer, but keep their fangs in. The truth being that everyone was just plain tired of one another. Even the opportunity to talk down an angel before grabbing a drink (stolen blood from the hospital on the menu), didn’t satisfy nowadays. Castiel and Jophiel stand behind Lailah, daring the vampires to try anything stupid. Aglibol steps in front of Lailah, trying to prevent anything embarrassing from occurring. 

Aglibol: You know that if you so much as let your fangs out, you’ll burn where you stand? The witch who runs this place has spelled this lot to a level where most don’t even bother looking others in the eye, if they aren’t belonging to the group they came in with. We were just leaving. Hope you have a nice night. Aglibol forces a friendly smile while thinking How many died tonight, because of this blood-sucker? How many innocent lives? At the hands of a monster who would suck the life out of a pre-school for dinner, if given access? A part of him respected the no-kill zones set up, over the years. But when confronting monsters like Terry and his gang, and to be banned from drawing his blade.. The other vampires are already bored and call Terry to join them. Lailah waves goodbye, ending the conversation.

Lailah: Your children seem to need your help in getting the door open. We’d better let you go. It was awful running into you like this, call me, Kay?, Bye-bye! Terry starts to respond, but the four angels are already in the jeep. Jophiel gives Terry the finger from the rear window, as Aglibol speeds out of the parking lot.

Castiel: That was awkward.

Jophiel: That was a friggin’ waste of time. How are those creeps still alive? Aren’t hunters usually more on top of crap like that? Do they even care anymore? It’s not as if we’ re allowed to do anything. Castiel leans his head against the window. He thinks of Benny. While his initial reaction to the vampire had been untrusting, he couldn’t deny that Dean survived Purgatory and escaped successfully because of him. Rumor had it that Benny had even chosen to remain sick, with little access to blood, in a resistance to feeding on humans. Cas remembered Dean mentioning bringing Benny hospital blood, to try and help.

Castiel: Not all vampires deserve to be killed. Some can be useful, they may even care to help the innocent, at times. Jophiel stares at Castiel as if he’d grown a second head. Both are in the back seat. 

Jophiel: Are you out of your mind? When was the last time you even killed a vampire, before the new law? And we heard, but didn’t believe, that you helped keep a were-wolf safe for a stretch and then let him escape? What’s happened to you, man? Aglibol and Lailah are quiet in the front of the car. Aglibol clears his throat. 

Aglibol: Calm down, Jophiel. Times have changed. I’m sure Castiel had his reasons....

Jophiel: You know, ever since that demon trash Meg tried to seduce him, Castiel never really bothered to help with...Jophiel stops. Castiel’s stare is deadly. Lailah shakes his head, annoyed at it all, and starts fixing his hair out of nervous habit.

Lailah: Let’s just drive in silence, for once. Please? You’re all giving me a head ache. No one says anything for a long time. Day has come and gone again, since Castiel’s suicide attempt. While the expectation was to get Cas to open up in the bar and to explain himself, mostly the night out had been just drinking, staring at the ceiling, the floor, the table top. Cas had barely said a word, all evening. He was the only one who didn’t sing, when the other three signed up for karaoke slots. Some of the patrons scoffed him for it. When an angel walks into a bar with a stage and a microphone available to him, there are expectations. Angels’ voices have been known to heal and regenerate anyone listening, through music. But Castiel just stared ahead of himself, not touching his drink in front of him, the whole time.

After awhile Castiel recognizes a landmark on his side of the car. He scans the land up ahead, and sees a dirt road nearing.

Castiel: Aglibol, turn left at the next exit. Aglibol finds Castiel’s eyes in the rearview mirror, suspicious. 

Aglibol: Why? Not that they were in any hurry to be anywhere. But Castiel’s silence had been worrisome enough, since they found him at the rest stop, where they witnessed Castiel attempting to take his own life. And there was nothing of import within the vicinity as far as Aglibol could tell. But Cas pleads with him, so the jeep makes a sharp turn onto what seems to be an abandoned road leading to an old farm. When they pull up next to a barn seemingly wasting away to nothing, thunder can be heard in the distance. Lailah jumps in his seat and claps his hands together. 

Lailah: Hallelujiah, praise What’s-His-Face! I’m over-due for a re-charge!!! I’m actually at 7% right now. Whenever there was a major thunder storm, angels had the opportunity to chase thunder and hopefully get struck by lightning. While not giving you lasting power, a bolt of lightning could charge an angel to full power, sometimes on an archangel level, for 24 to 48 hours. After that, the power would slowly drain to whatever level of charge the angel had been at when first getting struck. But those first hours especially were prime. Think as if Captain Marvel and the Flash could split their super powers to form a new action hero. While not giving angels the same gift of flight as to when they had their wings, it was an upgrade from driving and helped out when running into trouble with monsters. The only thing better than getting struck by lightning was hiding out in heaven, if allowed in. Unfortunately, certain strictures have been set up where the elevator wasn’t always open for business. Mainly due to short staffing. An angel now needed to be waiting at both the bottom and the top of the elevator for it to be legal for access, but with the dwindling numbers....Breaking and entering had become a commonality.

The four angels get out of the jeep and Lailah and Jophiel sprint out to the open fields, looking up in the air. It hasn’t started to rain yet, but they’re hopeful. Aglibol starts to follow them but realizes Castiel isn’t with him. He sees Cas enter the barn alone. Sighing heavily, Aglibol longingly looks up at the sky and then heads back to join Castiel.

In the barn, Castiel carefully retraces his steps. The sigils on the walls have faded and with the chipped paint, were now of no use protecting hunters from demons or monsters if they were to take shelter there. The table where Dean had been standing by is gone, and there are empty beer cans and burnt cigarettes in the corner. When Castiel reaches the point where he first met Dean Winchester he stops, and looks up at the ceiling. Some of the roof is missing. He remembers parts of the barn rumbling and unhinging on his first arrival to the site. While he’d never forgive himself for wearing Jimmy Novak, stealing his life from him and his family, he was thankful for the protection his vessel gave to Bobby Singer and Dean, when they first met. 

Castiel thinks back to the moment he first spoke to Dean. How Dean had responded by stabbing him in the heart. Then the wonder and curiosity in his eyes, when Castiel just stared back at him. Even then there was no hate. Not disgust or even really any fear, on Dean’s side. The last look Dean gave him before he left the bunker, the day Rowena died, the day he killed Belphegor, burning Jack’s body to a crisp...Dean had never looked so angry. There was so much hurt, so much accusation in that stare. What could I do to take away the pain? What do you need? Castiel had hoped his absence from Dean’s life could be a start of new healing for them both. But now he wonders if just by Castiel’s existing, Dean would never be free to feel joy or pleasure in life, again. Aglibol approaches Castiel, not sure what they’re doing inside the barn when a thunderstorm is brewing outside.

Aglibol: Castiel (thunder can be heard rumbling), you need to recharge. When was the last time you were caught in a thunderstorm? You look worn, almost human. Please come outside with me. Castiel looks around the barn, wanting to understand why he was chosen out of all the angels to call on Dean. Why he failed, with every attempt to do the right thing? I’d do anything, if it meant you could rest. If it meant that you could be happy, with your brother, for the rest of your life. Don’t you understand that I don’t care what happens to me? Everything I’ve done since I met you has been for you, because of you... Aglibol puts a hand on Castiel’s shoulder. Cas turns around to look at him. What are you doing? Aglibol removes his hand, trying not to look hurt. He knows he’ll never take the place of Dean Winchester, in Castiel’s heart. It was a lost cause. Friendship was the most he could hope for, at this point.

Aglibol: Let’s join Lailah and Jophiel. The rain’s begun to fall and we have a real chance of catching the lightning, tonight. It sounds brutal, out there. He holds out a hand to Castiel. You don’t care for me, in that way. But I’ll take what I can get. I’m here for you, Castiel. Please? For me? 

Castiel looks down and sees a hand reaching out for him. It’s the wrong one. But he takes it anyway. Aglibol pulls Castiel into him, their noses almost touching. Castiel reluctantly looks up into Abligol’s eyes. He knows that look, too well. Hannah, Gadreel, …..Meg. I need to be careful, so as not to lose you too. 

Castiel: Alright. Cas takes one last look at the barn before turning to leave with Aglibol. Outside, Lailah and Jophiel can be seen holding each other, in the rain. A burst of lightning striking them simultaneously, making their vessels glow so bright that even Cas and Aglibol have to look away. When the lightning is gone, both angels stay connected, kissing each other tenderly. Castiel starts. How long have they....

Aglibol: A year. I’m surprised you didn’t know. They’re not as discreet about it, as they used to be. Aglibol sounds sad, almost jealous, but Castiel doesn’t push. He gently lets go of Aglibol’s hand and heads out into the storm. Lightning strikes again, but misses Castiel by a mile. Aglibol joins his side a few minutes later. Let’s hope for a lucky strike. They both look at each other.

Castiel: And soon. Cas opens his arms and looks up into sky, letting himself get drenched with rain. Minutes later, the lightning finds its mark. Castiel feels the warmth and electricity surge through his body. Aglibol reaches out and puts a hand on Castiel’s shoulder, absorbing some of the lightning into his own vessel. They glow bright, together. Castiel closes his eyes and prays....

Castiel: I will fight for you. For all of you. I will live for Dean’s happiness, for Sam’s pureness of heart. I will always be thinking of you, Jack. Will burn for all of you. Will redeem myself to you, Kelly. Forgive me Mary, for everything I’ve done to your family, and know I’m the one guilty for your pain. For Dean’s anger. For Sam’s broken heart. I will give all of me to your family, and your loved ones. If I could erase myself from Dean’s memory...If I could give him back his chance at peace.....I will try my best to give the Winchesters a life of never-ending joy. I will come when they call, and turn the other way when they cast me out. I belong to the Winchesters, and I will love them for the remainder of the my days, but quietly...so as not to be a bother.

Thunder rumbles. The winds howl, and the rain falls in buckets, drenching Castiel’s coat. Four angels burn bright amongst the fields....Four angels in love.

-The End

*See The Rupture: Castiel -Part 2, for back story with the angels/Previous chapter.

https://honey-bri-books.tumblr.com/post/188577693196/the-rupture-castiel-part-2

*See The Warehouse: Castiel (Slash) for continuation of this story

https://honey-bri-books.tumblr.com/post/188649062806/the-warehouse-castiel-slash-fic 

If not a fan of smut, there is a marker splitting the story in half. Continuation of this fic after the Warehouse will not be affected by not reading the slash portion of the next story etc.

[magicmagikarp]

Fragments of the Past: the Interview

tw: death, torture, amputation, just bad stuff i guess. --

Michael ⦁  מִיכָאֵל (Mikha'el)

meaning “Who is like God?”. This is a rhetorical question, implying no person is like God. Regarded as one of the archangels, he is portrayed as the leader of heaven’s armies in war and is thus considered the patron saint of soldiers within religion.

How fitting of a name for a man who achieved immortality just like a selected few before him. It is ironic that such an unworthy person of infinite life is blessed with such exemption from being mortal, but the universe is a funny creature as she blesses those deemed unworthy. Michael would say that this is a curse rather than a blessing, but who cares what a lowly fool thinks?

--

Dark brown eyes that were as dark as the night sky stared lazily at the shapes before him. How many days has it been? He could not remember, the time has slipped away from him and he could not tell if it was morning or night. Yet, it did not matter to him anymore as he has given up on keeping his sanity.

With a lick of the lips, his eyes looked over at the camera that was propped up over them. Ah, so they were going to record him this time just like the last. What did they think they will accomplish this time that they have not already seen or done?

Michael cast his gaze down at the doctor before him, dressed in white robes and wore a light blue shirt. He was beginning to hate the color blue.

DR. ████ : How are you feeling today Michael?

MICHAEL LETTERMAN : [ no response ]

DR. ████ : [clearing of throat ] Ah I see. Well, will you mind telling me what you remember on [ DATA RESTRICTED ]

MICHAEL LETTERMAN : Was I not detailed enough in my report, doctor?

DR. ████ : Yes, but that does not answer the question.

MICHAEL LETTERMAN : I was stationed at [ DATA RESTRICTED ] to find and locate [ DATA RESTRICTED ]. It took less than a week to locate and things were going as planned. The mission was complete within two weeks, but there were complications.

Michael exhaled as the ringing in his ears slowly faded and he could finally relax. His job was always like this, waiting for an opportunity to strike and to take it the second it showed up. He had done this countless of times, but he was still a rookie in comparison to the other members of the squadron. This was one of the few missions that he went solo. His partner, Tango Hotel, was completing another mission that would take a few months.

Shifting onto his knees, the young marksman quickly collected his equipment. Best to leave as soon as possible before anyone figures out that his target is dead and search the area to find the matching gun to the bullet.

Tch.

Michael clicked the back of his teeth as he adjusted his jacket and was hoisting his rifle over his shoulde-The sound of the door opening and the thundering sound of shoes against the floor filled the room. His instincts told him to react, grabbing the knife he kept on his person to try and defend himself, but he was quickly overtaken with the number of men he was up against. Michael found himself face-first against the dirtied floor beneath him and his body being restricted from moving.

“My my, what do we have here? A little rat in our territory, well I guess I should thank you for killing that guy for us, he was a real dick. But he was one of our own, so I can’t exactly let you go scot-free.”

MICHAEL LETTERMAN : I was taken prisoner. Interrogated and tortured for an unknown amount of time. 

DR. ████ : You say this so calmly.

MICHAEL LETTERMAN : [ no response ]

DR. ████ : Sorry, please continue.

MICHAEL LETTERMAN : [ no response ]

DR. ████ : I mean, please elaborate? 

Michael blinked once as he stared at the doctor in silence. It was obvious that they wanted to see how traumatized he was of his experience. Standard therapies did not work before due to his short and direct speech. It seems that they were coming with a different approach, and by the way the doctor was sitting...she was uncomfortable.

“Were the videos not sufficient?” Michael questioned as he watched the doctor’s eyebrows raise. Ah, so she did not know of the videos. How unfortunate. And here he thought they gave all the files to the interrogators therapists. Guess they left out the videos they sent to Giovanni in hopes of pressuring the Boss to save such a high valued operative. Ha. What fools.

“Michael, please...elaborate.”

Michael’s head and eyes glanced up towards the camera sitting in the corner. How long were they going to treat him as some lab rat? Pretending like he was some sick patient when all the did was see how far from human he was at this point. He closed his eyes as he let out a sigh. Eyes returned to the doctor with that same bored expression. This was a waste of his time.

His arms and legs were shaking out of fear as he was dragged up to the table. This was a familiar scene that was replayed every day thus far. And the trembling of his chest and breathing were doing nothing to calm his nerves as he was struggling to breathe. All his life he had not known fear, perhaps this was what it felt like. Certainly, the way he was breathing and the noises he was making were of those who had been caught betraying Rocket. So was this fear? Was he fearful of what was to come?

“How cute, the bitch is shaking. Don’t worry, it’ll be over before you know it. Just like it was yesterday.”

That voice again and that face. Michael pressed his lips together as his teeth chattered. Fuck. He refused to make a noise. He would not give them that satisfaction of showing them any more weakness than he was already displaying. Not when his face was forced to look forward. Not when he saw that rusted blade that was lining up just below his knuckle. Not when he could feel tears dripping down his cheeks.

“Shhh, take it like a man why don’t you.”

Michael wanted to close his eyes, but he knew the consequences if he did. He struggled to keep them open as his vision was blurred. He bit his lip and drew blood as the pain in his fingers and hand were amplified once again. The sound of a blood curtailing scream was so unfamiliar he didn’t realize that it was his own.

Michael watched as the doctor listened to his answer. Even when he used very few words, he could tell that she did not believe any of them. To say that he had lost his hands up to his forearms by amputation did not seem plausible when she could clearly see his hands were still attached to him.

Yet he could see the strain in her eyes. There was no doubt that she noticed the scars the littered his knuckles. How they appeared like rings and lined up perfectly to where he said they chopped them off. It was making her head spin just like his was already, unfortunately for Michael, he was stuck with it forever.

DR. ████ : Uh huh [ pause ] Right. So they just took off a knuckle [ pause ] twice a day.

MICHAEL LETTERMAN : [ no response ]

DR. ████ : Michael?

MICHAEL LETTERMAN : Correct

DR. ████ : Was there [ pause ] anything else?

MICHAEL LETTERMAN : A brand, a cut on my lip, and my eyes were gauged out before I was shot a few times in the chest.

His answer was short and sweet, like the other times. Michael knew that she thought he was insane with the way she shifted and stared at him. All the interrogates doctors were like this. Doubting his words, not that he could blame them.

“Okay...and how did you um...survive...”

And there was the question that everyone was asking. What he has repeated over and over again not only in his reports but also vocally countless of times. How many videos have they recorded him saying the same thing? Michael could not tell, but he knew that the Rockets were not the sanest people in the world.

“I don’t know,” Michael started, “I woke up to a city in shambles and my six gyarados demolishing everything in sight.”

He woke up to the sound of gyarados howls and roars. The scent of death and destruction lingered in the air. All he could do was push his body up off the ground. The rubble beneath him pressed into his skin and his body ached from having fallen asleep on the ground. The first thing he noticed was the dried blood that was beneath him and that he had his hands back.

Michael looked down at his hands with haze. From his dream he had lost them so brutally, same with his eyesight. He formed his fingers into fists before extending them again. A hand would be pressed to his chest as he felt three small divots in his chest, where he had been shot in the chest.

Eyes widened as he took in a deep breath and looked around. He was alive. And in the middle of a destroyed city. All around him, buildings were on fire and there was a deafening silence, well aside from all the broken water pipes and damaged electrical system. Michael could only fall to his knees as he took in the sight before him.

The sky was dark with storms and the shadows of six large gyarados soaring through the sky were daunting. A shiver ran down his spine as he slowly saw the patches of grass and vegetation slowly forming over the stone. It seemed almost unnatural as the terrain lacked anything that could hold life...

No.

His eyes stared at the bodies that were near him. He saw how plants were coming out of their bodies, as if they were a breeding grown for nature to thrive. It was a haunting discovery, to see corpses littering the abandoned city and to slowly turn into a tiny forest. Michael turned his head every which way as his eyes caught a four legged creature disappearing into the distance.

DR. ████ : And after that?

MICHAEL LETTERMAN : I took a walk.

DR. ████ : Why did you not return to Team Rocket?

MICHAEL LETTERMAN : It did not cross my mind.

DR. ████ : Did not cross your mind?

MICHAEL LETTERMAN : I was abandoned, was I not?

DR. ████ : [ long pause ] Where did you go?

MICHAEL LETTERMAN : [ no response ]

DR. ████ : Team Rocket sent in agents to find you.

MICHAEL LETTERMAN : [ no response ]

DR. ████ : What happened to them?

                                      “GOD PLEASE NO!”

                        “PLEASE!”                  *squelch*                   “HAVE MERCY!”                      *chomp*                                                    “please no”

                            “MONSTER!”           “NONONONONO!”                                                            *gulp*                                               “why me”

                 “AHHH”                                             “GOD”                                           *crack*                                                  “STOP!”

Michael inhaled the pleasant scent of cooking meat as he stared off into the night sky. The ocean was so beautiful in this light. How long has it been since he truly been at peace like this? When he did not have to worry about anything at all.

MICHAEL LETTERMAN: I don’t know.

DR. ████ : You telling me they just disappeared?

Michael blinked lazily at the doctor in front of him. It was always the same reactions, always the same questions. How are you? What do you remember? Where did you go? Where are those missing agents? Why did you abandon Team Rocket?

Michael sighed as he closed his eyes. The results were going to be the same. As soon as this therapy session was up, he would be back on that table. The only thing he could say is that he doesn’t scream as much as he did before, but it still hurt like a bitch.

“Michael, answer me!”

The agent opened his eyes to stare at the doctor once again. Her hair was a mess and by the way she was breathing, it seemed like she was yelling at him for quite a while. Ah, he must have ignored her for too long.

“MICHAEL DID YOU KILL THEM?!?!”

She was angry, more than any other one that had interviewed him. 

Michael looked towards the mirror that he knew as a one way mirror. He knew there were guards outside in case he got out of hand. Not that he could actually do anything as he was pretty much changed to this chair like a prisoner. Though, he honestly did not understand why they chose doctors that were too emotionally invested in this case.

“Just give her the gun,” Michael said as he stared at the high ranking officer behind the mirror, or at least in the direction of them. Team Rocket was a mess and a shit hole. To think that they expected him to actually care about an organization who abandoned him and left him for dead? Ha.

                                    BANG. BANG. BANG.

[not-a-space-alien]

Into the Unknown, Part 11: Collect Call

Prologue | Dramatis Personae | Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 | Part 10

Series masterpost

On AO3

They left Mykas to his endeavors that night, figuring he could handle himself and Angelo for a few hours while the rest of the group pressed on.  They made plans to meet back up at the church at sunup if they couldn’t find each other otherwise.

Alternate-universe-Soho was their next stop, thanks to Angelo’s directions. They located Aziraphale’s bookshop, which had the same veneer of dust and unfriendliness as always.  The only difference, as far as they could tell, was this version’s hours of operation: Thursday from 6AM-7AM, instead of 5AM-6AM.

Quite generous of him to shift it closer to the morning rush hour.

The approach would be to try and finagle the information out of Aziraphale through trickery, before resorting to violence or intimidation.  To interview him about an incident, a run-in with a rogue demon.  They were just blindly guessing at how the interaction between Here Crowley and There Aziraphale may have gone; Angelo hadn’t known any details about Crowley’s whereabouts, but Aziraphale had likely at least seen him.  Crowley would have tried to find him first thing, and Crowley was resourceful enough to manage it, probably.  So There Aziraphale must at least know something of use.  So they had to talk to him.

There Aziraphale likely wouldn’t talk to a demon, so Maltha couldn’t do it, and Aziraphale himself certainly would raise an eyebrow.  Victoria and Uriel had both fallen in this timeline and as such, their presence would elicit more questions than answers.

That left only Ramial, poor shy, nervous Ramial, who opened the door to the shop with one trembling hand and an official-looking notepad in the other. “Excuse me?  Aziraphale?  I need to talk to you.”

The bookshop was so strikingly similar that Ramial could have forgotten she was in a world where the sky was purple had there not been windows. Stacks of books teetered everywhere, and the tip of Aziraphale’s curly hair appeared from behind one of the shelves. “We’re closed.  Didn’t you see the sign?”

“Erm, well I’m here on official business.”

Aziraphale’s disgruntled face rose up above the books.  He looked the same, except his pattern of freckles was slightly different.  “Oh.”

“Do you have a few minutes to speak with me?”

“I suppose,” said Aziraphale distastefully.  “Come into the back room, why don’t you.”

Ramial took a seat at Aziraphale’s card table in the back while he grumpily moved about in the kitchenette.  “Would you like some noll?”

Ramial glanced up at him under surprised eyebrows.  “Some what?”

“Oh, you probably wouldn’t know it,” said Aziraphale.  “If you haven’t been on Earth much.  It’s what we drink in Great Britain.  Noll and scones in the afternoon.”

Ramial bit back the You mean tea? that built in her throat.  That wouldn’t make any sense to say.  Maybe this was going to be harder than Ramial thought.  She really wasn’t built for subterfuge.  “Yes, of course, that’s why I didn’t know what it was.   Apologies.”

“Think nothing of it.”  Aziraphale took a seat across from her.  “What was it you needed to talk about?”

Ramial wrote on her notepad, which had been enchanted to communicate with the notepad that Maltha held.  Anything Ramial wrote on it, Maltha would see, and anything Maltha wrote on hers, Ramial would see.

Ramial wrote Crowley doesn’t appear to be in the shop.

“I’m afraid we’ve never met,” said Aziraphale.  “Or I’ve forgotten your name.”

“Of course,” said Ramial, extending a hand.  “My name is Ramial.  I’m stationed under—”

Oh, bother, that was an embarrassing lie to begin and not know how to finish.  She had almost said Raphael. Was that a good idea?  Raphael wasn’t an archangel here, but Miriam was. “—Miriam,” she finished, after an awkward pause.

Aziraphale removed a cup from the counter, pouring some steaming hot liquid into it that looked suspiciously like tea, but it didn’t smell quite right.  The scent was vaguely like hot shoe polish.  He sipped it.  “Mmm, yes, all healing-class angels are under Miriam’s domain.  But you’re specifically…?”

“Ah, in Heaven,” she said quickly, hoping Aziraphale wouldn’t ask for too many more details.  “Miriam sent me down to interview you.”

“Mmm,” said Aziraphale.  He resumed his seat.  “I assume this is about my most recent report.”

“Yes,” said Ramial.

“I’ve already filed special reports with both Camael and Gabriel,” said Aziraphale.  “Why would Miriam also take interest in this matter?”

Ramial bit her lip.  She scribbled on the notepad quickly, This isn’t going so well.

“We’re just interested in the potential medical applications of, the, ah, contents of the report,” Ramial bullshitted terribly.

Aziraphale narrowed his eyes at her.  Out of the corner of her eye, the words You can do this scratched out on her notepad.

She erased them quickly.  “All right, then,” said Aziraphale.  “I don’t quite understand it, but go ahead and interview me, then.”

“Right,” said Ramial, clicking her pen and frantically writing What do I say?????

Ask about his adversary the reply appeared.

“Is everything quite all right?” Aziraphale said, sounding annoyed.  “You seem rather nervous.”

“I—I’m sorry!” said Ramial.  “I’ve never been down to Earth before—it’s still a little scary to me.”

Now here was something that never failed to put Aziraphale in a good mood: someone making him feel experienced and wizened.  He leaned back in his chair, looking smug.  “Yes, it can be quite overwhelming at first.  But you get used to it when you’ve been here as long as I have.”

“I’m not even used to my corporation yet,” said Ramial.  “First one I ever had.”

“Mmm, yes, I can tell,” said Aziraphale.  “You’re obviously a little clumsy moving about in it still.”

Ramial, who had in fact been in the same corporation for the last 6,000 years because of her good maintenance practices for it, struggled to hide her offense.

“Okay, let’s get back on track,” said Ramial.  “I wanted to ask about your demonic adversary.”

Whether it was luck or Ramial’s own good thinking, that seemed to get Aziraphale talking without much more prompting.  “Oh, yes, what happened was very anomalous.  He’s been dead for hundreds of years, and then about—oh, what was it, two days ago?—he shows up in the park.  Acted very strange—he didn’t seem to understand what was going on. But I assume you’ve read the report.”

Ramial wrote all this down.  As Aziraphale finished the last sentence, the words Ask how he died appeared on the pad.

“Ah, I glanced over it,” said Ramial.  “But they didn’t give me much time to read it.  I read very slow, unfortunately.  Not like you, I’m sure.  I’m sure your reading speed is positively terrific.”

Aziraphale puffed up.  “Mmm, yes, I’m sure it is.”

“And Camael didn’t explain anything to me very well, said he was busy.”

“Of course,” said Aziraphale.  “He’s always doing that.”

“So could you refresh me on the basics?  Seeing as how I’m not as good at reading as you are.”

“Of course,” said Aziraphale magnanimously.  “Always happy to help out the less world-wise among Heaven’s ranks.”

Ramial could not help but think this version of Aziraphale was a rather large prick.  Then again, regular Aziraphale was also a prick.  She tapped her pencil.  “His name is Crowley, right?  How did he die?”

“Well, I killed him, of course,” said Aziraphale.  “A very clever trick with holy water.  I received a commendation for it.”

A prick it was, then.  Ramial struggled to hold back the tears that sprung unbidden to her eyes and wrote the newest revelation on the notepad.  “And did you manage to…?”

“Kill him again?  No, I’m afraid.  He managed to get away, thanks to the interference of a well-timed demonic warrior.”

He what?????? came the reply from the notepad.

Holy water, Ramial wrote.  But ours is still alive.

“Do you recall which demonic warrior?” said Ramial.

Aziraphale leaned back.  “Hmmm…I believe Hastaphael said his name was Botis.  Terribly ugly thing, he is.  Hastaphael hates the brute.  He’s killed many an angel in this territory.”

Ramial nodded and wrote this down, biting her lip and feeling her eyes threaten to leak.

Aziraphale clucked his tongue.  “Now why would Miriam need to know those sorts of details?”

Ramial scribbled with a trembling hand Can I please leave now?

“I had assumed Miriam would be more interested in the obvious implication of demonic resurrection….Are you quite all right?”

The word Yes appeared on the notepad. Ramial snapped it to her chest and stood at attention.  The tears finally broke through.  “Thank you for your time, excellent work,” she babbled, then spun on her heel and dashed out of the shop.

She bashed through the door, ran into the alley, spread her wings and leapt up, zooming into the eaves of a building nearby where everyone else had nested out of sight.

Tears streamed down her cheeks as hands reached out to pull her back to safety.  “I’m sorry,” she blubbered, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”

“It’s all right,” cooed Maltha.  “You did just fine.”

“He’s such a prick,” she sobbed.  “He killed Crowley and wasn’t even sorry about it.”

Not even their Aziraphale found it appropriate to muster up a defense of this new version of him.

Victoria hugged her comfortingly.  “We got the information we needed, you don’t have to be sorry.”

“This world is horrible,” said Maltha.  I can’t wait to leave.”

“I dunno,” said Uriel.  “I don’t think it’s so bad.”

Maltha gave her a dirty look.

“What?  It’s organised. We’ll be able to track Crowley down by his paper trail.”

“And just because it’s organised, that makes it okay?” said Victoria.

“It’s not okay,” said Uriel.  “I’m just saying it would be less work to fix than ours was.”

“Whatever,” Maltha said.

“This is what would have happened if we had a Satan who was methodical and organised,” said Uriel.  “Instead of just sadistic and directionlessly cruel.”

“If you like it so much then why don’t you just stay here then?” Maltha snapped.

“Please stop fighting,” Ramial cried.  “I can’t take it.”

“Sorry,” said Maltha.

“Sorry,” said Uriel.

“Sorry,” said Victoria.

Uriel dabbed at Ramial’s eyes with a handkerchief wordlessly. Aziraphale wrung his hands.  “All right,” he said.  “So here’s what we’ve learned.  The Aziraphale that exists in this universe killed this universe’s Crowley a few centuries ago, permanently dead.”  He swallowed the lump in his throat.  “Then, our Crowley showed up a few days ago and ran into that Aziraphale, who assumed his nemesis had been resurrected and tried to kill him again.  There was a conflict involving two warriors named Botis and Hastaphael, and Crowley managed to get away and is still alive.  Is that what we can glean from what Ramial conveyed to us?”

Everyone around him nodded.  Ramial sniffled.

“So the next logical step is to track down either Hastaphael or Botis,” said Uriel.  “The demon is more likely to know where he ended up, since they presumably escaped together.”

“Right,” said Victoria.  She tapped her chin.  “Hmmm…We know that Mykas exists as a member of the Infernal court in this universe, so maybe we could leverage that to get Botis to tell us what we need to know. He wouldn’t talk to any of the angels, and Maltha doesn’t exist here.”

“Hmm, yes, but Mykas is currently occupied,” said Aziraphale. “Although if we can’t think of something else, we can pull him away from distracting Angelo.”

Maltha tapped her chin.  “We could call Botis through the infernal communication network and lie about our identity.  We don’t know what Mykas is like in this universe anyway, so impersonating him might be difficult.  I don’t know if our Mykas could manage it.”

“Fair point,” said Victoria, cringing.

“Let’s call Hell, then,” said Uriel.

“All right,” said Aziraphale.  “That’s good.  Whom shall we say we are?”

“A clerical demon trying to confirm the details of a case,” said Uriel. “If I’m Satan here, I’m positive Hell would have a lot of paperwork, even more than our universe.”

“All right,” said Aziraphale.  “That could work.  And if he gets suspicious, we could simply hang up, so it’s low-risk.”

“We don’t have the ingredients we’d need to construct an infernal communication sigil,” said Maltha.  “But it shouldn’t take too long to gather them in a city like this.”

“Blast,” said Aziraphale, “all the shops are different, though.  I don’t know where anything is.”  He peeked off the roof, where he saw his alternate-universe bookshop down at the end of the block.  “Except…I’m sure all the things we need are in my bookshop here.”

They all watched in silence as alternate-universe Aziraphale came out of the shop, looking around quizzically.

“He’s probably looking for Ramial,” said Maltha.  “He senses something isn’t right.”

The Aziraphale in the distance flared his wings, looking around uneasily.

“We could distract him to get him out of the shop for a while,” said Victoria.  “That would give us free access to it.”

“Or we could simply kill him,” said Maltha.

Aziraphale looked a bit queasy.

“What?  It would get him out of the way.  Even if we just discorporate him, we’ll only be here for three days, and Heaven might not give him a new body in time to come back down before then.”

“That’s, uh, not a bad idea, actually,” said Victoria.  “But, uh…”

“He kind of deserves it,” said Ramial, but she looked white-faced.

Maltha rolled her eyes.  “What weak stomachs you all have.”

She flicked her wrist. ��In the distance, the light pole behind There-Aziraphale soundlessly toppled over, squishing him with a startled cry.

“There,” said Maltha.  “Now he’ll be gone for a few days, and he won’t know it was anything other than a strange accident.”

Still, the rest of them looked a bit uneasy.

Maltha led the way into the shop past Aziraphale’s empty corporation.  A gaggle of human bystanders had gathered by now, including one valiant individual fruitlessly attempting CPR, and they were able to slip into the shop one by one while everyone’s attention was diverted.

Ramial locked the door behind them and switched the shop sign to “closed.” Uriel shelved herself alongside the volumes in the reference section, sitting primly on top of the case and informing everyone she would be of no help here as she had no experience communicating with demons.  Aziraphale rolled his eyes and waded through the messy shop to the back room, guessing the ingredients would be kept in the same place here and home.  Victoria and Maltha followed Aziraphale, but Maltha veered off when her eye caught on a particularly interesting volume.  When Victoria tried to get her back on track, Maltha excitedly waved the volume at her marveling at some detail that was interestingly different in this universe than their home one.

While Victoria tried to wrestle Maltha away from the shelves, Aziraphale threw open the cabinet in the back room.  Rows of corked bottles stared back at him.

“The spell ingredients are all here!” he called out.

He threw the rug aside, got down on his hands and knees, and drew out the chalk circle.  Maltha eventually came in and helped.  Ramial also tried to help, but like Uriel she had no experience with occult sigils and provided mostly moral support.  Victoria told them she would keep watch at the front of the shop.

Aziraphale, Ramial, and Maltha crowded around the circle.  “I should do the talking,” said Maltha, eyeing the two little angels a little condescendingly.  “I have the most experience interacting with the infernal hierarchy.”

Aziraphale wrung his hands.  “Well, all right.  But remember, you’re a low-level clerical demon, not the queen.”

Maltha grimaced.  “That’s right.  All right.”

They activated the circle.  “This is Dagon, lord of the files,” buzzed the response.

“Hello,” said Maltha.  “I’m trying to reach Botis.  Can you transfer me to him?”

There was a grunt on the other end of the line.  “For what purpose, and whom shall I tell him is calling?”

“I’m just trying to finish up some paperwork and need to contact him to make sure I’ve got the details right.”

Dagon responded in a bored way, “all right.”

“You know how Satan likes those details,” Maltha added.

Dagon didn’t respond for a moment.  He sounded like he couldn’t possibly care less.  Then:

“Botis has been informed and instructed to get in contact right away.”

“Thank you, sir.”

The light in the circle pulsed for a few moments as the line went silent.

“All right,” said Aziraphale.  “We just need to find out where Crowley ended up, and go there, and we’ll have this sorted out even before the first day.”

“This is Botis speaking,” came a voice from the circle.  It was the same voice, but it had a cold edge to it their Botis never had.  It was awful.

“Hello,” said Maltha.  “I’m filling out some incident logs regarding the interaction you had with the angels Hastaphael and Aziraphale a few days ago.  Just wanted to make sure I got all the details right.”

“Of course,” said Botis.  “Didn’t manage to kill either of them, unfortunately.”

Maltha pretended like she was writing this down.  “Okay, that’s what it says here.  It says there was also another demon with you, right?”

“Yes, his name was Crowley.  Strange fellow.  Not sure what was up with him.”

“Strange in what way?”

“He had no Eye of Satan.”

Maltha, Aziraphale, and Ramial all bit back the desperate urge to ask what on Earth that was.  “Right,” Maltha said falteringly.  “Very strange.  There’s one detail missing I needed to confirm, what ended up happening to him?  I assume you got him to safety?”

“Yeah,” said Botis.  “As per the Queen’s orders, I took him to an outpost for medical treatment, then escorted him down to the ninth layer of Hell for inspection by the Queen herself.”

Aziraphale let out a shaky breath and put his head in his hands.

“I see,” said Maltha, her voice turning hard.  “Would you happen to know the outcome of the inspection?”

“Huh?”

“Was Crowley ever released, or did Satan detain him?”

“Oh, likely Satan detained him.  He was quite an anomaly.”  There was a suspicious pause on the line.  “Why would you need to know that?”

“It’s for the report,” Maltha said icily.

“I’m afraid that’s sensitive information,” said Botis.  “And I find it inappropriate that you would ask for it. Remember that our Lord Satan is always watching us.”

“Yes,” said Maltha, her hand beginning to sprout angry talons.  “And where exactly might you, personally, be, at this exact moment?”

“What?” said Botis.

“Physically speaking, I mean.  Your location.”

Aziraphale stomped on the chalk circle and ended the call.

Maltha stood up and raked her claws down the wall, tearing off a board and huffing violently.  “That fucking fuck—”

Ramial held up her hands.  “It’s all right—”

“He took Crowley the one place Crowley would be terrified to go, and where it’s hardest to get him out of.”

Aziraphale didn’t try to comfort her.  He was holding back his own tears.

“I hate this fucking universe,” Maltha growled.  “I hate everyone in it.  I hope it burns to the ground behind us.”

Aziraphale sat in the corner of the room with his knees curled up to his chest, taking a few moments to collect himself.  Maltha got down on her hands and knees and began making alterations to the circle on the floor, muttering to herself.

“What are you doing?” Ramial asked.

Maltha grunted, absolutely fuming, and Ramial didn’t have the courage to repeat her query.

The circles for contacting Heaven and Hell were surprisingly, or perhaps not that surprisingly, not very different from each other.  It only took a minute for Maltha to convert the infernal communication setup into one for contacting Heaven.

Her skin smoked slightly as she activated it, and she stepped back out of the circle.

“Operator,” a nasally voice answered.

“Transfer me to the healing ward,” Maltha barked into the circle.

Whether it was the authority in her voice or the simple efficiency of Heaven in this universe, but Maltha was transferred wordlessly within the second.

“Healing ward, this is Gareniel speaking,” said a chipper voice.

“I demanded to speak to the archangel Miriam immediately,” said Maltha.

“May I ask who is calling?” the poor angel gasped.

Maltha stepped forward, burned when she touched the circle, then stepped back and continued hollering into it.  “Just put me in contact with her immediately.”

The angel fearfully put her on hold to be transferred.

“Maltha,” said Ramial.  “What are you trying to do?”

Maltha bristled and ignored her.

“This is the archangel Miriam,” said a melodious voice from the circle.  “What is so urgent?”

Maltha went rigid, standing there in agonising silence.

“Hello?” said the voice.

“You fucking coward!” Maltha exploded.  “You watched them all fall and did nothing!”

The line conveyed a stunned pause.

“You should have followed them!  You should have died for them, if it came down to that!  You should have—”

“Who is this?” said Miriam.

“The ghost of Christmas past.  Your conscious.  I don’t know how you live with yourself.”

“What?” said Miriam, and for an archangel, she sounded very small indeed.

“This world is Hell and you did nothing. The people you love were—are—tortured and tormented and you continue to do nothing.”

“What would you have me do?” said Miriam.  “Fly up to God and challenge him to his face?”

Maltha seethed.

“What good would ever come of that?”

Maltha opened her mouth to yell, but Ramial had swiped the chalk circle away and cut the call off.

Maltha’s enraged gaze met Ramial’s compassionate eyes.  Maltha softened.  Ramial held out her hands.

Maltha trundled over to Ramial and put leaned onto the top of the smaller angel’s head.  Ramial hugged and patted her comfortingly.

“We’ll get him back,” Ramial said.  “I know we will.”

They drew apart as Victoria entered the room.  “We’ve got company.”

Aziraphale unfolded himself and stood up, alarmed.  “Who is it?”

“Warrior.  A power. If I had to guess, it’s probably Hastaphael.  He’s banging on the door shouting about how Heaven sent him, and whoever is inside needs to let him in.”

“What?” said Maltha.

Victoria, jaw clenched, looked pointedly at Maltha.  “It seems he got word something unusual was going on in Aziraphale’s shop, on account of the report Aziraphale just gave.”

Aziraphale began to shovel spell ingredients from the cabinet into his jacket pocket.  “Let’s go.  Our business lies in hell, not Heaven. We can avoid some upset by dodging Heaven for a bit longer.”

“There’s been an alert already?” said Maltha.  “They mobilised a response that fast?”

Victoria had the grudging expression of someone losing a good portion of the respect they had for a close friend.  “The rules are different here, Maltha.  You can’t just do whatever you want without consequences now.”

[shirtlesssammy]

13x20: Unfinished Business

Then:

Gabe knows Dean likes Dr. Sexy

Now:

In a darkened back alley, a man walks drunkenly away from a liquor store. A kazoo sounds in the distance. Ah, it seems that our favorite archangel’s horn is actually a kazoo. And the drunken man is actually Fenrir Odinsbane, one of the demi-gods that sold Gabriel to Asmodeus. Gabe confronts Fenrir.

Fisticufts ensue. Gabriel wins, but barely.

The Winchesters, meanwhile, are checking into a motel. Dean’s updating Cas on the phone about their plans. SOFT. They really got married and didn’t tell us. Dean is frustrated with their lack of finding Gabriel, but Rowena’s spell said he could be close. He wants to locate him, and get a move on finding their mom and Jack. These thoughts all manifest before he knew this motel room has magic fingers of course. (Love the call back to earlier seasons. Not only is Gabriel back, but the room has a gritty and dark feel that evokes early seasons as well.) Their work is reduced by 100% when Gabriel knocks on their door.

In the AU, Jack is proudly telling Mary about his growing abilities. Mary’s concerned about the logistics of maintaining the resistance. (Hoard toilet paper!) Fellow freedom fighter, Jacob, arrives and tells them that the angels are leaving.

Gabe, torso bleeding and powers low, inquires about his grace. The brothers inform him that it’s gone, so he’ll have to wait for his grace to recharge before he can heal himself.

Jack uses his powers to see Michael’s headquarters. It’s just as Jacob reported: Empty. Jack wants to go there.

Sam and Dean ask Gabriel for his help (again) but he’s not much of a joiner. Before he can ditch again, they get a visit from Fenrir’s brothers: Narfi and Sleipnir.

Fisticuffs ensue. Gabriel offs Narfi but Sleipnir escapes.

Once at Michael’s headquarters, the resistance finds a map --it’s clearly the North American continent, but it’s not the United States anymore. It’s creepy! I love it. It shows a concentration of army figures in what was once the southern United States. They also find Kevin Tran! He was left behind when the angels left town. (So this apocalypse has only been happening for eight years? Like, did it follow the same timeline as our universe?) He reveals that “there’s a place in the south where the walls between worlds are thin.” He plans on entering our world there.

Sam and Dean locks Gabriel up and force him to spill his story. Loki and Gabriel go way back --to the time when Gabriel saved Loki. Loki owed Gabe one so when Gabriel needed to hide from the world, Loki set him up in Monte Carlo with porn stars. This sequence is pure gold. I love it all.

Well, the fun and games had to end eventually, and Gabriel was kidnapped and sold to Asmodeus. Gabriel wants revenge, and because he’s low on grace, he’s doing it the old fashioned way --with wooden stakes. 

He even has one reserved for Loki himself.

In the AU, the group continues to strategize their plan for Michael.

And, yo, Dean is in a bad place, guys. He’s drinking from his flask. He also isn’t convinced Gabriel’s revenge is the best plan.

Dean pulls Sam into the hallway to have a “private” conversation (really close to an archangel so how private can it really be?). He's concerned that Gabriel's revenge plot is a waste of time...for them and for Gabriel as well. Revenge never did a damn thing for himself, for their dad… Dean calls Sam out on his own unspoken revenge fantasy of killing Lucifer. Still, Sam convinces Dean to give Gabriel’s plan a try and they get ready to head out. Gabriel knows where to go, too. Loki is holed up in the penthouse of the Ophidian hotel. (Ophidian means snake.) How...obvious of Loki.

Gabriel gleefully pulls out his cartoonish kill list. Dean is...less than impressed. “This is so stupid,” he mutters, which puts a nice lampshade on the more obvious Kill Bill parallels.

So the plan is that they'll kill Sleipnir, then Loki in the penthouse. “Easy peasy like a breezy,” Gabriel declares. GABE. Stop charming us!

In the AU Mary strongly urges Jack to calm the fuck down and take it slow. She compares him to herself as a hunter. “Running in blind into every fight? That's how you make mistakes.” She begs for Jack to reconsider his plan to go south and attack Michael right away. “I can't lose another boy,” she says. (This reminds us all that she thinks Cas is dead and we spend the next hour weeping.)

Kevin interrupts. He tells them that Michael set him one more task...and if he does it then he gets to go to Heaven to see his mother. Everyone’s instantly on their guard because Kevin looks...intense. Mary pushes one of the resistance leader’s guns down and tries to talk to Kevin. She tells him that Heaven is just memories and that nothing there is real. (I’m like...FINALLY this show is really addressing again what a fucked up situation Heaven actually is! Thank you Mary, for calling it like it fucking is.)

Kevin doesn't care though. He's suffered. He's done terrible things. And now he wants it to end. Kevin tells Jack that Michael doesn't want to kill him. He wants to break him. Then Kevin presses his hand to a sigil carved into his chest and flaring blue light fills the room. Oh, Kevin. Getting the shaft in every universe. :(

Jack wraps his wings around Mary at the last minute.

Cut back to Gabe’s stylized revenge story. Our heroes stalk their way up through the dingy Ophidian hotel corridors. In the elevator Gabriel instructs the Winchesters that they can kill the guards but Sleipnir and Loki are his to kill.

The elevator opens upstairs to reveal Sleipnir and two guards in plain view. Both sides freeze for a moment, processing. And then...Gabriel douses the lights. Gunfire erupts and the fighting is illuminated in flashes of light as the Winchesters and Gabriel advance on their quarry.

When Gabe turns on the lights again he has Sleipnir on the floor beneath his blade...and Dean's disappeared with the suitcase full of the rest of the blades. Gabe kills Sleipnir and then he and Sam chase after Dean.

Dean stalks his way up to the penthouse, bearing Loki's wooden blade. He tips open the door and finds Loki at last. Loki sits calmly in his brightly lit penthouse suite sucking on a lollipop.

He places his sucker into his lollipop humidor - which is a delightful touch. I mean, I seriously want to send a card to whoever made it to thank them for being an awesome and creative human being. Loki reveals that he's out for his own revenge against Gabriel. Gabriel went against their original deal. He was supposed to lay low and stay out of his family's apocalyptic nonsense and in exchange, Loki would hide him. But when Gabriel drew all the gods to the Elysian Fields hotel back in season 5, he got Odin killed. For that, Loki wants his revenge.

Loki tells Dean that his father was terrible to him, but that he would do anything to avenge him – and wouldn't Dean agree with that? (Whoa, this episode is doing all kinds of digging up the past and I LOVE it.) Dean represses heavily, blows off his explanation, and tries to stab him, but it turns out that Loki is just a projected illusion. He's elsewhere in the hotel!

Cue Gabriel, tearing around a corner with Sleipnir's blade. He finds Loki hanging out downstairs…

Back in the penthouse, projection!Loki hits Dean and Dean realizes that Loki can hit him...but he can't make a dent in Loki. It's the “perks” of fighting a real trickster, apparently. Sam arrives, shoots, and fake Loki poofs out.

Meanwhile, (the probably real?) Loki taunts Gabriel about how he went to him for help during the apocalypse. Gabe can’t do anything on his own. I get the sense that if Loki had access to a pen and paper, he’d draw a sidewalk-artist caricature of Gabriel dressed in a dirty diaper. Dean and Sam show up and Dean slides Gabriel the Loki blade, but Loki continues to burn Gabriel. Gabriel lived for nothing. He'll die for nothing. Gabriel swallows down his despair, kills Loki, and then shares a nod with Sam. (This is where I see the seeds of Gabriel’s redemption sown. It’ll be interesting to see how this affects Sam’s journey.)

Back in the AU, light streams in through the crosses in the walls, illuminating ruined bodies. Jack's wings unfurl to reveal Mary unconscious in his embrace. He stares around the ruined church in despair. I stare around the ruined church in despair. Oh, Kevin.

Outside the hotel, Sam and Dean head to the Impala and stuff those cool wooden blades into Baby’s trunk. (I’m definitely NOT imagining Dean playing with them in his bathrobe in the bunker...when he’s mentally in a better place, anyway.) Gabriel thanks the Winchesters for their help and then asks how they all plan to kill Michael. He’s ready to help them. “No tricks?” Dean asks.

“Tricks are for kids,” Gabriel replies. Sam asks how Gabe is feeling after he had his revenge and he tells him that he feels, “Swell. I'm a whole new guy.” As Sam turns away, Gabriel’s smile fades....

In the AU, Jack tells Mary that Kevin’s attack was his fault. Mary consoles him. God, Mary is just the BEST. So strong and world weary.

Back in the bunker, Cas is reportedly helping Gabe get settled in while Dean healthily downs whiskey at the war room table. Sam asks Dean why he went after Loki without them. “This has become a whole thing with you lately,” Sam protests. He wants to know why Dean's treating him with kid gloves and keeping him out of fights.

“You remember what happened the last time we got front row tickets to the Lucifer/Michael show?” Dean asks. He tells Sam that he doesn’t care what happens to himself...but he cares about Sam. (I’ll take this moment to point out Dean’s flask drinking during the case earlier...and how Billie told him she’d see him soon. I’m pretty sure Dean’s staring down the barrels of impending death right now...and he thinks he deserves it.) Sam tells Dean that they'll save Jack and their mom together – or they'll die together. Dean loves this plan.

Dudes.

These Quotes are on my Kill List:

No gimmicks. No tricks. Just mano a mano.

He died as he lived. Side by side with the bottle.

Raspberries.

Don't let anybody ever tell you you're just a pretty face.

If I can't keep them safe then what's the point?

The hell are you guys? The hell are these guys?

Want to read more? Check out our Recap Archive!

[foxsstoriesarchive]

Angel Wings 101

[[ This, is a personal guide based on my own ideas and my own version of the realm that angels live in. It’s so that people whom roleplay with me have a basic idea of how my characters function and why they are as they are. I’d like to mention that I don’t want anyone stealing/using this without permission, without asking me. Simply because I took a long time creating this idea, developing it as my own in a way. It’s not perfect, and there may be stuff alike to this but I wrote it myself and.. I’m proud of it. Of course, if you wish to base a character upon something like this, as long as you ask me, I’ll be more than happy for you to use this little guide. New ideas are always encouraged/welcome! ]] I welcome you, the reader, to a simple guide that explains the main idea behind the Realm of Angels (ROA). While some believe in such places as ‘Heaven’, the Realm of Angels is somewhat an alike existence but rules out the idea of an all-powerful deity ruling over the land. No, instead there is a hierarchy within the society, a sort of way of recognising where an angel may lay and what their jobs are within the creation of the world that they belong in. And this guide will simplify the most basic of guidelines and ideas that come within this realm. So here, I shall list the basic colours that each angel goes by, from the moment they are born. Each angel is born with a specific colour of their wings, although the genetics are often passed down their families- which some are recognised as ‘clans’, even. Although it hasn’t been unheard of a different colour being born within a family when the less dominant traits clash together, causing the child to have different wings to their parents. (Much like hair and eye colours, but far rarer.) Please remember that this is a very simple list, and that there are far more colours as well as types of angels that have different jobs that they do within their homeland. Now without further ado, here is the list.

Although the colour can be associated with heat, Red Wings are actually the Psychics of ROA. These angels often stay in groups of their kind to elevate levels of energy around them, which allows them to be able to do greater things. Red Wings are often the Elders of the realm, a group of highly intellectual beings that spend most of their time looking into different times, whether present, past or future. As it suggests, their bonds to the psychic world are rather deep, allowing for stronger senses as well as powers. But with the increased powers comes danger for a Red Wing that cannot control their patience can be somewhat of an explosive bomb- Thus if a child is born as a red wing, they are taken in by the elders to teach them their ways. Other angels often come to Red Wings when in need of help with assignments, runes, enchantments, spells, or paths that they may be on currently. White Wings White winged angels have the largest popularity within the ROA. Although the most common, that doesn’t mean that they are powerless. Each angel has their own title, a job that they do the best out of all presented. It’s their.. Personal talent actually, something that makes them unique in their own styles and ways. From traits like cooking, art, right up to the studious and athletic angels, each that something that they began mastering from a young age. It is often between the ages of five and eighteen that an angel finds their talent, which they begin to polish- much like a raw diamond. The longer they spend practicing and perfecting their talent, the greater it becomes. Not only this, but with their special talent there comes an item to call as their ‘own’. It usually links to the talent they have- For an example an Angel of Art would have some sort of a stationary- A paintbrush or as such. These items are often hand crafted before being enchanted in a specific way (Which I will explain at some point in another post) to create a bond for an long-lasting tool that most angels keep with them all their life. Silver Wings Silver winged angels are known as the ‘Archangels’ of the realm, the higher powers. They are the ones that set the rules and make sure the others follow them, and if such rules are broken, they will set out the punishment for the angel. These Archangels are known to be rather strict and some who have lived the tale often spoke of how unforgiving these beings could be. But it is not only their personalities which are strict, for it is well known that they set out guidelines for everything, and their rules are created in such ways that they cannot be bent. To get on a bad side of a Silver Wing is to bring the harshest judgement upon you. Mentioned in the White Wings section was the fact that each white winged angel has a specific talent- But what hasn’t been mentioned is that it is a Silver Wings job to approve of an angel’s Talent in their adolescence, as well as give them the title that will stay with them all of their life. Thus Silver Wings are the most important angels in ROA, setting out everything for the community. You could even say that they substitute the idea of having a deity, instead having a group of Silver Wings to make sure everything goes well within their world. Grey Wings Grey Wings are the angels who broke rules, thus receiving a punishment. Usually this is with the form of being thrown out of ROA and instead having to roam in the Human Realm until they have been redeemed for their bad-doings. Indeed, Grey Wings are the ‘Fallen’ angels of the realm, but with a chance to be forgiven. Their punishment often lasts from a few years to a couple of hundreds depending on what the angel has done in the first place, as well as how well they’ve been doing in the Human Realm. Grey Wings can often redeem themselves faster if they do acts of good, although it sometimes is not the case. Yet again, it is all determined by how bad the act had been and what sort of a punishment had been given. Black Wings Black wings. These angels have been condemned to Earth for eternity, having broken one of the

fundamental rules set by the Silver Wings. To break one of these is to betray your own kind, to go against everything that the kind believes in. And of course that causes the most ultimate punishment- To be banished from the realm for eternity. This is often done in the harshest, most old fashioned punishment- To rip an angel’s wings off before marking them with a special rune on their lower back, which leaves the skin charcoaled black. This mark never disappears, being a constant reminder to the angel of what they did. Although when healed it doesn’t cause pain, the healing process is an extremely rough one and can last for up to fifty years. At the end of this process though, when the angel’s wings grow back, they would have been effected by the mark, causing each and every single feather to turn the darkest shade of black. This process is not reversible, and unlike Grey Wings, can never be redeemed. There is a strange occurrence with Black Wings though, where if they have a child, it’s likely that the child will be born with black wings too. It probably has to do with the mark that the Black Wing carries, although the child will be born without one. No one has quite figured what to do with such children, but it has been a legend that such a child’s feathers can whiten- If a dramatic and positive change happens in their heart. Gold/Yellow Wings Gold Wings are known as the hunters of the realm. Their job is to hang around the human world and keep their eyes out on Grey and Black wings. They report each act to the Silver wings, and when needed, punish- As well as destroy individuals who are causing chaos or give away too much information to the Humans. Golds are a small clan of angels and it is almost impossible for a Gold to be born outside of their represented family. Such rare cases have been recorded but less than a handful have been born in the past two thousand years or so. Gold Wings are often known for their fighting skills which tend to be taught to them from a young age, preparing them for the ‘duty’ they must follow. Golds also tend to have a unique trait of leaving a couple golden feathers behind, usually without meaning to. If a human stumbles upon such feather- or is given one per say, it is rumoured that the human will have great luck by their side. Whether this is true or not hasn’t been proved, but the rumours still stand. Brown Wings Angels with Brown wings are often avoided as they are the bringers of Death. While angels cannot die from old age, for they do not age past a certain age (Which also will be explained in more detail in the future) they can still die from certain things. It’s indeed a rare circumstance for an angel to die, but when that time comes it is the job of a Brown Wing to dispose of such an angel. While they seem like grim beings, they honestly aren’t as bad as others make them out to be. But you never quite know who they’re coming for, so they’re often avoided. They sometimes are seen as the loners of their kind, and it’s a natural trait for them to have somewhat red tinted eyes- Which only brings an uncomfortable air for most. Brown wings often carry a little notebook in their pocket which lists names of angels when their time is up. Pink/purple Wings With such set of colours, these angels are known as the Cupids, or simply Angels of Love. Their wings come in all shades of pink and purple, often matching their hair colour to an extend. Just like the name suggests, they’re the matchmakers for their own kind as well as humans in the Human Realm. Just like with Brown Wings, these angels also carry notebooks- Yet they do not give an angel the name. Instead they give the location and time of where their Assignment will appear. It is up to an Angel of Love to figure out who the person is, which isn’t too hard for these curious beings as a connection is often made from the moment their eyes meet. When this connection is made, a more physical bond is created which means that the Angel physically cannot leave their assignment too far- It’s like hitting an invisible wall. The distance

depends on the angel themselves. Some angels cannot leave their assignment further than a couple meters, while others can easily move to the other side of the city without the bond restraining them. It’s a job that needs upmost commitment and can be hard to keep up with, thus why this bond is created. If not for these beings, relationships in the world wouldn’t be as effective, causing a decrease in population- which would be a sure perish of the Human kind. Green Wings A Green Wings job is rather simple really. They’re the healers of the realm. With their usually pastel green wings, they are some of the gentlest angels who specialise with taking care of their fellow kind. It isn’t strange for injuries to happen when you have such a variety of a species with so many talents and powers. But that isn’t the only thing that Green Wings do. As healers, they are the ones who keep the fragile balance between the world and species together, with their powers not only extending to angels but also to the Human Realm. Ever heard of those times when a ‘Miracle’ happened in a hospital? It had probably been a Green Wing that was behind the act. They spend most of their time taking care of those around them, whether in the Human Realm or ROA. While in their spare time, they often lead peaceful and quiet lives, trying to bring a positive change in their surroundings. Blue Wings Blue Wings are the stereotypical ‘Guardian Angels’. These angels are assigned to humans who are in need of some care, or wished for something to be there. Keeping an eye on their assignments and making sure no harm comes to them, they are the angels that are seen as protectors. Of course Blue Wings have a spectrum of personalities and they are specifically matched with their assignment to make sure they are the most fitting pair- Personality clashes had been common in the early days and caused quite a lot of trouble. But these days everything has been regulated in such ways that clashes barely happen. Whether a Blue Wing decides to reveal themselves to their assignment is their choice, unless otherwise stated by the job description. Red Wings Although the colour can be associated with heat, Red Wings are actually the Psychics of ROA. These angels often stay in groups of their kind to elevate levels of energy around them, which allows them to be able to do greater things. Red Wings are often the Elders of the realm, a group of highly intellectual beings that spend most of their time looking into different times, whether present, past or future. As it suggests, their bonds to the psychic world are rather deep, allowing for stronger senses as well as powers. But with the increased powers comes danger for a Red Wing that cannot control their patience can be somewhat of an explosive bomb- Thus if a child is born as a red wing, they are taken in by the elders to teach them their ways. Other angels often come to Red Wings when in need of help with assignments, runes, enchantments, spells, or paths that they may be on currently.

[intangibel]

I found God but it wasn’t supposed to be (malec ff)

Based on this prompt by @writing-prompt-s :  Autocorrect changed your sentence from “I'm good” to “I’m God” an angel appears and says “There you are!”

Pairing: Malec Rating: T

Words: ~4500

Summary: AU - After closing a particularly spectacular legal case Magnus sends Ragnor a celebratory text only to find himself the victim of autocorrect and having to explain to a very handsome angel (Alec) that he isn’t God, no matter how much he wishes he was right now.

Beta’d by the wonderful @ladymatt

“It remains our primary mission, above all else, to locate God. Remember, this incarnation may take any human form - irrespective of race, age, and gender.”

“Why are they so sure God’s back? There have been no confirmed reports of sightings, let alone actual meetings with God in centuries,” Izzy whispered to Alec as they sat through yet another briefing from the Archangel.

“She’s got a point,” Jace added from Alec’s other side, “seems like they’re just trying to keep us busy. We’re not allowed to smite people anymore but they know everyone’s itching to slip and make a “terrible mistake” on that sociopath who was sworn in a few weeks ago.”

Alec sighed, they’d been having the same damn discussion for weeks now and, privately, he agreed that the search wasn’t a good use of their time. They had much better things to do. They had demons to fight, the occasional miracle to deliver, not to mention endless prayers to listen to and all the people of New York to watch over. But, seeing as the last time the angels stopped searching for God and began delivering ‘justice’ according to their own beliefs had resulted in genocide and a world war, Alec was adamant that such an uprising would never occur on his watch.

“Humans are thanking God at rates that we’ve never seen before,” Alec said resignedly, “Raziel’s laws might be hard but they are the law. If God’s out there, we’ll find them.”

“Lighten up, Alec -“ Jace began, only to be interrupted by the Archangel who was glaring right at them now.

“You each have your duties. Remember, summons may call you to respond immediately if a lead on God’s location is identified,” she said, “so I suggest you get started. The devil and all his demons are only going to get more active as more and more humans allow themselves to succumb to greed and ignorance.”  

———

[From Ragnor 18:45 Even for you, getting John Thorn to admit to being the only one to have ever fired his custom revolver and thus, admitting to murder at his own trial, was a coup.]

Magnus smirked as he read Ragnor’s message, surprised that his friend was even still awake let alone following his court case, given it was almost midnight in London. Even if taking down the head of a new White Supremacy group for murder had hit the international press hard when the trial had wrapped up so spectacularly this evening. Pausing just long enough to set down his black martini, Magnus quickly typed out a reply which he knew would likely rile Ragnor further. They had a competition each year to see who could prosecute the biggest criminal and this victory pretty much sealed the deal in Magnus’ favour, for the third year in a row. It wasn’t his fault he really was that good. But as he hit send he saw a bubble pop up above his final word and knew he was about to be the victim of autocorrect. Resigned to his fate, Magnus took a sip of his drink before looking back at his phone to see what the damage was:

[From Magnus 18:46 What can I say, unlike other mere mortals, I’m God.]

Nearly choking on his martini with laughter as he saw that for once autocorrect had actually improved his message, changing ‘I’m Good’ to ‘I’m God’. That really would incite Ragnor. But before he had a chance to properly indulge in thinking about Ragnor’s ire, a man appeared before him in a sudden glow of almost blinding light. As the light receded Magnus saw that it was not an ordinary man, but one that looked like some kind of avenging angel. His black, military-style clothes and tall, warrior’s body were paired with glorious snow white wings that looked like they’d been dipped in liquid emerald, the last row of feathers were a green so deep and dark they were almost black. Even though his expression was serious, Magnus could have sworn he saw a flare of interest in those hazel eyes that went so well with his wings.   

“There you are! God, we’ve been looking for you everywhere!” the angel said as though he’d been searching for Magnus forever, even though that didn’t make any sense.

“Were you looking for me?” Magnus asked intrigued, as he got up and walked toward the angel, deciding he may as well get a good look at him from up close before whatever kind of illusion this was shattered and he lost the chance, “I don’t believe we’ve been formally introduced, I’m Magnus,”

“Alec,” the Angel replied, a shy smile transforming his face as if he’s just as captivated by Magnus as Magnus was by him.

“Short for Alexander, I presume? And an Angel?” Magnus asked, smiling when Alec nodded, a slight blush heating his cheeks as he tucked his wings in as though self-conscious, "which makes me wonder why you came looking for me?"

“We lost you around 1800 and we've been looking ever since, but then there was your message saying 'I'm God' and we knew that finally, we'd found you,” Alec said matter of factly.

Magnus blinked, startled. Whatever he’d expected this angel to say, he certainly hadn’t expected to be mistaken for God. In fact, it was quite laughable really, given most of the people he prosecuted were absolutely convinced he was the devil incarnate. For once he didn't quite know what to say.

"And now that you've found me, what do you plan to do with me?" Magnus asked flirtatiously, wishing he really was God so that he could go wherever Alexander was planning to take him. He’d very much like to get to know him better.

“I’m going to take you to heaven,” Alec said, as though that was the obvious solution to all of this.  

Magnus’ breath caught as he imagined a very different way they could reach that destination.

“To meet Raziel and the other Archangels,” Alec continued, his words washing over Magnus like a bucket of iced water, bringing him crashing back to this strange reality.

“There’s just one problem with that plan, I’m afraid,” Magnus said reluctantly.

“Problem? Why? You’re perfect?” Alec stopped as if just realising what he’d said, before continuing hurriedly, “I mean, you said you’re God to one of your followers, so here I am.”  

Grimacing slightly, Magnus held up one finger, “that, I’m afraid, is the source of this entire problem. I may have said I was God to Ragnor - who believe me, would not take kindly to being called a ‘follower’ by the way, but actually, it was a typo.”

“I don’t understand,” Alec said, his brow furrowed in confusion.

Magnus sighed, he had a feeling this was going to be quite difficult to explain, “I sent a text message to a friend and my phone changed the word “good” to “god” and I didn’t notice it in time to change it back before I hit send and then you appeared.”

“But why would they do that? That’s sacrilege, isn’t it? Using God’s name in vain?”

“Not in this century, darling,” Magnus said with amusement, trying to think of a single person he knew who still only spoke God’s name with the kind of reverence Alec seemed to think it deserved.

“But people thank God constantly, they’ve even shortened their exclamations of his wonder down to three letters, they use it so often!  And what of the people who say it over and over as though in exultation?”

This time Magnus did laugh, Alec’s confusion was adorable. Apparently, heaven was completely out of touch with modern culture if they thought that OMG was a religious statement. As for his last point, Magnus couldn’t help finding his naivety refreshing, even if it did make him wonder just how innocent his angel really was. He certainly wouldn’t mind being the one to teach him how, on the precipice of pleasure, people often found themselves calling out, not just their partner’s name, but God’s too.

“Oh, I’m sure you’re more than capable of getting someone to chant God’s name in ecstasy, Alexander,” Magnus said as his gaze lingered on Alec’s mouth for a long moment before flicking his eyes up to meet Alec’s, his look full of promise, “in fact, I’m free right now if you want to try it out?”  

This time, Magnus could see Alec finally understood, a blush heating his cheeks even as his gaze dipped to Magnus’ lips before he looked away, swallowing roughly. While it wasn’t exactly the most enthusiastic reaction he’d ever received, nor was it a complete rebuff. Alec was interested, perhaps more than he was willing to admit. A fact Magnus found hard to understand, given the man looked like a Greek god, surely not even angels were immune to passion and love.  

“So you’re really not? Not God, I mean?” Alec asked, shying away from the more personal question and refocusing on his mission.

“For you?” Magnus asked teasingly but seeing the determination in Alec’s eyes, he sighed, “no, Alexander, sadly I am not your God.”

For just a moment, Alec’s disappointment was so blatant it was almost comical. He looked genuinely devastated, as though this was the first time he’d ever been wrong about anything. But then he managed to lock whatever emotions he was feeling away, his expression impassive, even though some of the sadness lingered in the depths of those hazel eyes.

“I’d - I’d better be going. Sorry for interrupting uh-” Alec said, gesturing vaguely at the room, as though unsure exactly what humans who weren’t God did with their time.   

“Why don’t you stay and have a drink with me?” Magnus asked impulsively, unwilling to relinquish this celestial creature’s company just yet. Realising that sounded a little desperate, he let his gaze travel leisurely over Alec’s rather magnificent body as he added, “to make up for interrupting my evening.”

Alec paused, one eye scrunching up as though he’s not quite sure he understands, as he looks between Magnus and the black martini. Magnus has just started to think a refusal is coming, when Alec surprises him by nodding, a shy smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

“Okay.”

Alec’s words are simple, certainly nothing that should set his heart racing, but they do.

It was like there was a magnetic force drawing them together, heightening their senses in anticipation and filling the air between them with tension.

“Wonderful,” Magnus said, hurrying over to the drinks cart before Alec could change his mind again. “Any preferences I should know about?” Magnus asked, trying to suggest with a lingering glance over his shoulder that he wasn’t only interested in whether Alec was more into whisky or cocktails.

“I-I-I,”Alec stuttered, blushing gloriously under Magnus’ gaze, before glancing away and trying again, “I’ll, um, I’ll have one of these,” Alec said, gesturing to the half-drunk black martini Magnus had left sitting on the coffee table.

“An excellent choice, Darling, a walk on the wild side,” Magnus says, pausing to wink at Alec as he deftly added Blue Curacao, black raspberry liqueur and vodka to the cocktail shaker. Having spent time behind a bar to pay his way through his legal training, he’s not above showing off as he mixes the drink, delighting in Alec’s surprised enjoyment of his little magic show, before finally straining it and crossing the room to present it to his companion.

“To us!” Magnus said, gently clinking their glasses together before each of them lifted their drink to their lips.

Alec’s grimace as the alcohol first hits his tongue is downright adorable but it’s nothing compared to the wave of heat that passes through Magnus when Alec’s tongue darts out to wipe away the dark blue-red stain it leaves on his lips. Magnus hides his smile behind his glass as Alec takes a smaller, more cautious sip the second time and seems to enjoy it, now the initial shock of the alcohol burning down his throat has gone.

 “So, when you saw me, you believed I could be God?” Magnus asked, more curious than he wanted to admit to know what Alec’s first impression of him had been.

Alec paused, humans seemed so primed to question authority in this century that Alec wondered how he could explain his absolute faith in the archangel’s directions? But the way Magnus was looking at him under his eyelashes suggested that perhaps this was influenced by a very real wish to know what he’d thought of him when he’d first seen him to confirm that view. As much as Alec wanted to hide behind his official duties, he couldn’t escape the fact that until he’d seen him there had been doubt in his mind about whether this would turn out to be just one more false alarm. One more false prophet.

“I was sent to find God and I found a man who exuded power and confidence, a man who bore all the hallmarks of a modern king,” Alec said matter-of-factly. “How could I see someone who has such magnificence, grace and beauty and not see divinity?”

Magnus felt as though all the air had been knocked out of his lungs. He could barely think, barely breathe. He wasn’t prepared for Alec’s sincerity or the conviction which resonated through each of his words. He hadn’t seriously considered that Alec had good reason to believe him to be God but he’d hoped, perhaps vainly, to draw him back to that one slip he’d made earlier when he’d described him as ‘perfect’. He’d expected to receive a superficial compliment and instead felt like this man had looked into his soul and found him worthy. And he didn’t know how to respond. He had no flirtatious repartee at the tip of his tongue which could adequately begin to describe what Alec’s pronouncement meant to him. For the first time in forever, he found himself looking at the man in front of him and wishing he would stay, and not just for the hour or the night. That terrified him.   

“Which makes me wonder,” Alec continued, oblivious of the turmoil of hope and fear his words were creating, “if you aren’t a monarch, and clearly we’re on the wrong continent and the in the wrong century for that, what is your role in this society?”  

It was such an innocent question, yet so matter of fact, Magnus thought with a near silent laugh, as Alec’s words jerked him out of his spiralling panic.

“I’m the New York County District Attorney,” Magnus said with a flourish and then paused, unsure just how up to date his angel was when it came to human law.   

“I wasn’t so far wrong after all. That makes you the state’s chief law enforcement officer and legal officer, does it not? Prosecuting the worst criminals on behalf of the state is a weighty responsibility, to protect the innocent and ensure justice is served.”

Magnus wasn't sure exactly what he expected Alec to say but he definitely hadn't expected him to know so much about his role as a DA.

Alec, seeing Magnus’ surprise, smirked, “we may no longer be allowed to interfere or smite those whose offences are crimes against humanity but that doesn't mean we no longer concern ourselves with the course of human justice. Our role has changed over the centuries, but your myths and legends of guardian angels are closer to the truth than you might expect. We don't just fight literal demons, we watch over the people of New York to help protect them from the ones who walk among them.”

“I almost pity those you protect us from. You may not be allowed to go all avenging angel on them, Alexander, but I can’t think of anyone I’d want more on my side than you.”

Magnus hid a smile behind his drink at the way Alec blushed and shifted foot to foot as though he was completely unused to receiving compliments. As he watched, Alec took a longer sip of his drink, momentarily forgetting why he’d been so cautious before, and his gorgeous shy smile transformed back into a horrified grimace.

“What do angels do when they’re off duty?” Magnus asked, attempting to inject a bit of levity back into their conversation which had become far more serious than he’d intended.

But before Alec could answer the tattoo on his wrist glowed and a series of words appeared below it, as though they were being written by an unseen hand. Sighing Alec set down his cocktail so that he could turn his wrist and read the summons properly. For a few moments, he’d almost forgotten that he’d only met Magnus because he’d been sent to find him. A suspected demon nest had been identified in the basement of the Flatiron building and he and Jace had been assigned to the search and destroy mission. He’d never been less keen to do the job he’d been born to do, especially because mission protocol stated that now that he knew that Magnus wasn’t God it was Alec’s duty to remove all traces that he’d ever been here - including taking Magnus’ memories.   

But just the idea of taking this memory from him set Alec's teeth on edge. To know that, for Magnus, it would be as though they'd never met and yet Alec knew it was a memory he would treasure for the rest of his immortal life. Centuries could pass and he would still remember this man and the brief time he spent with him.

“Duty calls?” Magnus asked with a teasing smile, breaking into Alec’s grim thoughts, “if that frown is anything to go by they must be recruiting you for something particularly dangerous or distasteful?”

Despite everything, Alec found himself huffing out a laugh, “just a routine mission that could have been assigned to any team who’ve attained their first battle chevron. Not that they aren’t important, we can’t have demons overrunning the flatiron building I just -” Alec paused and Magnus held his breath, wondering and hoping until Alec sighed and he found himself sighing too.

“I have to go,” Alec said quietly, as though trying to soften the blow, his eyes filled with regret and something else Magnus couldn’t quite understand, “just - just promise me you won’t tell anyone you’ve met an angel.”

“Would it bring you back to punish me?” Magnus asked with exaggerated playfulness to hide the hurt the ripped through him at the idea that Alec wanted him to pretend he’d never met him. But the pain in Alec’s eyes as he said it made him realise that perhaps it was more complicated than he realised.

“I’m supposed to erase all traces of my existence, including your memories,” Alec said roughly, unable to meet Magnus’ eyes as he added silently, ‘and if they found out I hadn’t, they’d take mine too. And I couldn’t bear that.’

“Alexander!”

The horror in Magnus’ voice was enough to make Alec look up and it was only decades of denying himself what he wanted most that kept his feet planted firmly on the floor when all he wanted to do was wrap his arms around this man and promise he’d always be there to protect him.

For a long moment, they stood looking at one another, seemingly at a loss now that Magnus understood just what was at stake. But in the end, it was Alec who broke the intense silence, managing a weak smile that contrasted with the resignation in his eyes.

“Goodbye, Magnus.”  

The finality of those words shook Magnus as he realised Alec wasn't just leaving, for now, Magnus might not ever see him again. And he couldn't bear that.

“Wait! Alec!”

Alec paused, turning back, the glow that had started to rise around him fading away again. He looked inquiringly at Magnus, regret lingering in his hazel eyes.

“How do I contact you?” Magnus asked with a hesitance he wanted to call coy but was closer to actual shyness than he’d like to admit.

This time, Alec looked genuinely perplexed.

“I assume claiming to be God won’t work a second time,” Magnus said, unable to stop his fingers moving up fidget with his ear cuff.

“But, why - why would you want to contact me?”

Magnus hesitated, not used to having to spell it out, but seeing Alec was still looking uncertain he relented. “For years I’ve been totally consumed by my work. Content to deny feeling anything more than fleeting attraction for anyone but I’m drawn to you, Alexander.”

Magnus paused, watching realisation dawning on Alec’s face, along with surprise, “so I want to see you again.”

Alec looked stunned, his mouth opening and closing as though at a complete loss for words, “I-I-I-I wish...I could...I -” Alec sighed as the mark on his forearm glowed again, the second set of instructions appearing below the first.

“I understand, Alexander, you need to go,” Magnus said softly, reaching out to gently brush an errant curl that had fallen onto his forehead back into line, his fingers hovering just above his skin.

Alec’s smile as Magnus’ fingers touched his hair was so pure and glorious, Magnus had to remind himself to breathe, even as it broke his heart a little knowing Alec would leave again so soon.

“I just hope you’ll come back one day,” Magnus said half to himself.

When Alec stepped back, Magnus was steeling himself to say goodbye, when he realised that instead of being surrounded by the glow that had risen last time, Alec had drawn one of his wings forward. It curved around his body, it’s tip pointed to the ceiling and he was running gentle fingers through its feathers. It made Magnus’ fingers itch to reach out and take their place. To find out if his feathers were as soft as they looked. Magnus couldn’t hold back a gasp when Alec drew his hand away from his wing finally, a pure white feather held carefully in those long delicate fingers.

“Take one of these,” Alec said, offering the feather to Magnus, “it’s not quite as good as all the devices you have to contact each other, but if you hold it in your hands and same my name twice, it acts like a heavenly summons, like the ones I just received, and I’ll come to you, wherever you are.”

Magnus felt like he was smiling with his entire face, the happiness welling up inside him was unlike anything he’d felt in years. Grateful and touched that Alec would offer him something so precious, Magnus reached out, expecting merely to take the feather from him but instead found his hand gently cradled between Alec’s two larger ones.

“Alexander!” Magnus breathed, getting lost again in those hazel eyes.

As he spoke, the feather grew warm between their hands. Magnus felt the warmth running up his arms and blanketing his body. It felt like that first exhilarating rush of love combined with the tenderness of the oldest, most familiar love.

“It’s an ancient method of communication, a method belonging to the guardian angels of old. Saying my name once initiates the bond, tapping into the angelic power it holds,” Alec said his voice sounding deeper, as though he’d been as affected by the rush of emotions as Magnus was.

“And if I say it again?” Magnus asked softly.

“Your name and how to find you will appear on my arm, just like the other heavenly summons did,” Alec paused, as though unwilling to say more but also felt compelled to. “Because it was intended as a last resort, a way of summoning an angel to protect or defend the innocent, or punish the guilty, when the bond is initiated we also sense strong emotions and -” Alec swallowed, his hands gently tightening around Magnus’, “and the thoughts of the person summoning us.”

Magnus stilled, aware of the rawness of his emotions and the thoughts that dominated his mind. The ones about not wanting Alec to leave and wanting to know what it felt like to have his lips pressed against Alec’s.

“But this is - is different,” Alec whispered, “you’re supposed to feel the heat and, then after they’ve said your name a second time, you feel the distant tug of distress, an image or thought of why they need you - not, not like this. It’s - it’s only supposed to be one way. But this…” Alec stared down at their linked hands, unable to hold Magnus’ gaze as he confessed, “...this is more like the stories I was told as a child. They say angels used to have soulmates and if you exchanged a feather with that person your souls would recognise one another and the connection that formed would be more powerful, carrying messages both ways.”

Magnus felt breathless. Overawed by what Alec had told him, not because he didn’t believe him but because he did. Because, despite everything he knew, it felt right. Magnus closed his eyes, taking a couple of deep breaths trying to clarify his thoughts but instead, he could feel the bond more intensely. He could sense Alec’s conflict - the almost indescribable hope and happiness warring with a sense of duty which was laden with self-denial.

“I’ll - I’ll understand, if you don’t, don’t ever -” Alec stopped, his voice shaking slightly as though trying to force the words out against his will, “I’ll understand, Magnus.”

Almost before Magnus had a chance to realise what Alec was saying he felt the hands around his begin to loosen, begin to pull away and Magnus realised he intended to break the connection altogether. He couldn’t allow that to happen. Not now he knew or thought he knew, what Alec meant. As Alec retreated, Magnus followed, his free hand reaching out to cup the side of Alec’s face.  

“Alexander,” Magnus said softly and watched in wonder as he saw Alec’s eyes darken, his lips parting on a gasp as the power of the completed bond jolted through them like a physical tug, pulling them closer. He struggled to draw breath as the thoughts and emotions tumbled through him in a hot rush until he didn’t know where Alec’s ended and his own began. All he knew was that he needed to be closer, needed to touch and to taste more than he needed his next breath.

“Magnus,” Alec sounded as desperate as he felt, his breath stuttering across Magnus’ lips as they pause on the precipice for a moment longer before moving as one so their bodies are pressed together, one of Alec’s hands finding Magnus’ hip, holding him in place as their lips finally come together. It’s intoxicating, the feeling of Alec’s soft lips moving against his, the tang of raspberry liqueur lingering as he gently sucks on Alec’s lower lip. Alec’s fingers curl into his skin moaning his approval as he shifts even closer, gently inserting his thigh between Magnus’, revelling in the way Magnus melts against him with the added pressure and taking advantage of the way Magnus’ lips part to draw in a ragged breath to slide his tongue into his mouth. There’s something desperate about the kiss even though their movements are achingly slow, almost like they’re trying to etch this moment into their memories.

Magnus is so caught up in this feeling, this heady rush, that he barely notices the way the skin on the inside of his wrist is burning brighter and hotter than the rest of him. It’s not until Alec starts to pull away, dropping gentle kisses to each side of his mouth as he tries to chase his lips that some of the haze starts to clear and he can feel his wrist, pulsing as though somehow mirroring a heartbeat that’s not his own.

“Magnus,” Alec’s voice is deeper and a little bit breathless as he smiles down at him. “I still, I still I need to go,” Alec pauses glancing down at their joined hands and Magnus’ eyes follow his, remembering reluctantly that Alec had been summoned twice already and trying hard to prepare himself to let him go. But instead of letting go of his hand, Alec’s tightens around it, lifting it up between them. With a shock Magnus realises, where there had been smooth tanned skin before, now there’s a dark symbol and a curling script similar to the one he’d seen on Alec’s forearm earlier. Magnus’ eyes dart up to meet Alec’s, surprised to see a blush stealing across his cheeks as he runs a tentative thumb across the mark.

“It’s true then,” Alec says softly, as Magnus feels the mark heat under his touch.

“Alexander?” Magnus asks breathlessly, feeling the heat wash over him in waves with each pass of Alec’s thumb.

“It’s -” Alec swallowed, his voice thick with emotion, “when I felt my wrist burning I thought it was another message about the mission but...” Alec paused, smiling shyly, “they say when you find your soulmate you’ll each be marked with the love rune, to symbolise your connection. And instead of further summons, I got a love rune bearing your name, and you got mine.”

[nvmlindseyallan]

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THE DIVINE WORD AND REVELATION OF GODHEAD THAT CAME THROUGH LADY #EmiliaClarke AND COMPANIONS AT #GAMEOFTHRONES #GAMEOFTHRONES8 #GOT8 TO THE COMMONDOMINION'S FIRST PRESIDENCY ON SEPTEMBER 20, 2018, AS IT HAPPENED.

What really made #HannaleiCabanilla and #CharityAndAndres won their respective yokebearing competitions? (Zechariah 4) Not Empire, but Godhead, but how? Through the Endtime Joseph. If it’s not through the Endtime Joseph, it is not Godhead Who Made them win. With Lady Hannalei, is a yokebearer held hostage by #ldsconf, Lady#JensenArnold, who is indeed like Lady Anderson and Sir Penate. We say this because at the Empire's Felipe Gozon-Alden Richards-Willie Revillame church, on one of their past series in over-mis-dis-abuse of our yokebearers, they have crowned as champions a yokebearing group that came from the city of the Endtime Joseph or God's Tiny Dancer, Joriz Mingoy Montes. Their group is named after the original name of #jsbmemorial and the Empire patron of the hometown of the Endtime Joseph, named Rose of Lima. This was also the name of the place where Edward X preached on September 26, 2009, and yet on September 25 this year, Empire officials as per their claims indeed will be preaching in a place in California named after the Endtime Joseph, that is, San Jose. As for #DarrenCriss, his name sounds like 'Cross', title of Empire memorials last September 14. He at present collaborates with #LeaMichele, whose name implies 2 counts of us: Michael (Godhead Adam the Archangel) and Micah, and 1 count of Empire, Michal (2 Samuel 6), who opposed our ministry of yokebearing during King David's time. Further, his name implies the Empire official #DarrenAronofsky, who witnessed the ordination of our very own Sir #DouglasBooth as the Endtime Noah, or Gabriel, as per Michael. Lea Michele has a husband, Sir Cory Monteith, who was martyred by Empire, and who came from northern United Saints, where Edward would speak from September 22 onwards. Sir Cory's name is also the name of an Empire official whose birthday is the organizing in 1949 of the Empire's locale through their church of Jun Santos and Jojo De Guzman in the hometown of the Endtime Joseph. If the Empire's church of Rolando Dizon, Farley De Castro and Joy Yuson would indict Edward's current tour of Canada to be purportedly a 'destructive storm', then they have indeed observed far more better than correct, because (Jeremiah 4, Ezekiel 7, Isaiah 34) that is the function of the Strong and Mighty One (Isaiah 7-8,28,30,36, Job 22, 2 Corinthians 5, Jeremiah 30), therefore he commands the weather as punishment and judgement of destruction against the Empire. In fact, Canada is against Edward X, as much as Dizon, De Castro and Yuson has been able as per Empire agenda to make Edward look like he would no longer be anything good but only entangled with the Empire under Jun Santos and Jojo De Guzman. Therefore Edward speaks and works not only against Dizon and company, but also against Jun Santos and company (Ezekiel 14, Philippians 2). If Empire might claim being purportedly 'Strong and Mighty One' then that's because they engineer weather as warfare, and even promote their officials such as Nathaniel Cruz and Lourd De Veyra not only against Edward but also against the rest indeed of your Commondominion (Revelation 13, Documentary History of the Church 1:221-224), more so against Ka Angel and Ka Ellix (DHC 1:298-299, 2 Kings 2,13). We know the prophetic significance of the number 70 in restoration and repatriation to the Promised Land (2 Chronicles 36). Last April 29 Empire marked 70 years of their yokebearer memorial, while just this September they marked their #emmys. Last August 5,10-13, 2018, King Edward X mentioned these 70 years at Jeremiah 29. This brings to our urgent, necessary faith and attention our being sent to the Promised Land by leadership and stewardship of a sent-out one by Godhead (Isaiah 41). His arrival and existence comes at the most pivotal time that Empire besieges us on all means at all excuses (James 4, Hebrews 3-4, 2 Corinthians 6). The Endtime King Cyrus, or Ravenous Bird of Prey, that we all need, will be seen as evident in the very work and nature of his ministry, just as what the Sugo Felix Manalo taught us to be identical of Commondominion Messengers just like him (Matthew 3, 1 Samuel 16, Numbers 16-17, Isaiah 8, John 1, Revelation 19,22,1). Notice that the original King Cyrus is a foreigner or alien, non-inherent, to the Hebrew Israelites. In the same sense, we're all fellows and yokebearers, mainly enslaved and claimed by Empire, therefore our savior (Obadiah 1) must come from elsewhere outside the Empire. There is eternally No Middle Ground- only Empire and Commondominion. Therefore the one whom Godhead has sent to liberate and shepherd yokebearers and fellows like those whom we have mentioned (Isaiah 40,51,49,62,21-22,28-35, Psalm 12) will be seen in his ministry of 'sealing' or tagging yokebearers and fellows in Twitter to warn them of being claimed by Empire (Revelation 7,14,22). This is indeed fulfilled in the Endtime Joseph, Joriz Mingoy Montes. This 31st Nate-al day of Mother Lindsey is very significant as we call September 21 #ArawNgKaligtasan (1 Samuel 11,14) or 'Salvation Day'- the first after Edward X declared the Close of the Finishing Touches for the Last Work of Salvation in account of the ongoing promised Millennial administration of the Commondominion on July 27, 2018 (Revelation 20). On the Julian calendar, September 21 is September 8, the Nate-al day of the Blessed Virgin Mary, therefore further reinforcing the most blessed office of Mother Lindsey. As much as September 21, 2018 is 1260 days from April 11, 2015, the reemergence of the Commondominion of Christ in these last days, we must say that the promise of that first relaunch, that was rather overturned by Diocletianites through their apostasy away from us last year, was rather recovered and is absolutely fulfilled in Mother Lindsey (Ephesians, 2 Corinthians 1,5). As we have already heard from (Psalm 48) the Endtime Joseph, last September 13, as per our ongoing commemoration of #RSCcityofhope120, is the 120th year of Prophet Lorenzo Snow's accession, while the birthdaysake of Brother Joriz's mother organized his legislature on September 15 of that same year. Days later, this September 20 is the birth of Girl Scouting matron Josefa Llanes Escoda, whose name implies Joseph. We also know that the number 120 is linked to the Jordan River, hence to other yokebearers like Ladies Jordan Clark-Rubio, Jordan Pelliteri and Jordan Lombardi (Revelation 8-9). On that same 1986, on January 21, when in 1991 the Endtime Joseph's alma mater was organized, Empire through one of their churches led by Jun Santos and Jojo De Guzman organized their locale in Rome, Italy, seat of the Empire, days after the birth of Lady #JoannieRochette. 20 years later, January 13, 2016 became one of the many numerous dates when many of us Hart, either living or dead, was raised back to life to ascend to heaven in glory with Godhead. I say this because seeing Empire having unrestrained control (Mark 16) over everything you surely would more than like to die now and pass out from this life, the problem is that when you die out you cannot see or control this, but Empire (Jude Thaddeus 1) would still pursue you to offer you one last pabebe rite. We know that Empire, as it was in John 2, would over-mis-dis-abuse against us the 46th edition of our Salvation Day this September 21, yet we can mention that 46 implies 1946 when Empire's American quarters claimed to give us 'independence', 72 years to this year. Of course we know that we're sent as the 72 Witnesses in Luke 10. Joshua 12 tells us that the number 31 is a sign of accomplishment and victory, as much as Joshua slew 31 Empire officials across Canaan, but it is also true that Joshua also slew 2 more Empire officials after that. The 31 Empire officials whom we have killed in clearing ground for Canaan was said to be 'west of Jordan River', while the 2 Empire officials that Joshua killed afterwards was reported to be located 'east of the Jordan River'. This configures much for our ongoing commemoration of the 50th year since Ka Erdy preached in the United Saints between July 27 and September 16, 1968. Mother Lindsey's 33rd Nate-al day will be, Godhead Permits, on 2020, 200 years since Joseph Smith's First Vision. From this year, 1985 is 33 years from 1985. consider what Godhead Did through us undeservingly during that Empire occult year: • King Edward IX the Martyr given endowments by Ka Erdy on May 5, 1985 • Ka Erdy gives endowments to Ka Angel on May 10, 1985 • His Majesty the King Apollo Quibuloy called to be Commondominion Messenger, September 1, 1985 On #cbnhumanitarian's claims of Matthew 9,20, Mark 8,10 and John 9 this September 23: those who only benefit from Christ's Healings are those who are with the Commondominion Central Administration as many renderings of Isaiah 42 states about the 'blind messenger' of Godhead. The problem though is that when the messenger becomes not blind anymore, is he still a Messenger of Godhead? In fact this is like you're not going to be a priest anymore and live should you take off your robe (Numbers 20). Rather, Isaiah 42 Joseph Smith Inspired Translation states that said Messengers is (Hebrews 11) just Enabled by Godhead (Mark 5-6) so that he may help those who are still inside the Empire. After all, Empire also claims clothing (Psalm 102,109, Zephaniah 1). This is just like the Double Connotations of wearing sack clothes (Psalm 30, Isaiah 61)- if you wear one then it means that you're with the Commondominion leadership (Revelation 11) but Ka Erdy said that this is identical with religious laws that are no longer effective in the Christian age (Galatians 1, Job 42, Nehemiah 9). Our leaders Hart are 'blind', if not spiritually or Empire, yet in a sense that they cannot monitor everything that Empire hurdles against us, perhaps because they don't have the resources to Shatter Empire claims, or because they are hindered by Empire persecution, or perhaps, because they could not persuade everybody to join them because (Psalm 71) they don't play deceitfully like this Empire, who always wax pabebe, Baal-raising and Central Archives-hoarding (2 Corinthians 10). Further, in Tagalog, 'blind' is 'bulag', hence implying the name of one of our prophets, Sir Artis Brent Bulla, whose name in turn implies a bull- this September 21 is the memorial of Apostle Matthew, who is represented in the 4 Living Creatures as the angel, while Apostle Luke is symbolized by a bull, while Apostle Mark takes the place of a lion, and Apostle John becomes the Ravenous Bird of Prey, or King Cyrus of his time. We know that this have Double Connotations with the 4-legged Empire (Romans 1, Revelation 6-9,16,20, Exodus 32), as much as 'blind' also sounds like 'bind', something that shall be done to this Empire unto their eternal death (John 15), though Hart we're all virtually bound too to Godhead (Ephesians 1, 1 Corinthians 1-2, John 6). We can say that Godhead rather more than Equip us for Empire: 'as your days are, so shall your strength be.' Our Victor Paul Wierwille said that the power that we need must be not only equal to, (Isaiah 59,10,13-14,19,40-48,57) but must be rather above the task needed to be done. Why we fellows and yokebearers exist, and why we do what we do, is only because of the Commondominion Central Administration and her First Presidency, more so of the Endtime Joseph (Ecclesiastes 12, Psalm 100,79, John 1,13,19, Exodus 12). It is because we have been indeed given 'thrones' (1 Thessalonians 2, Revelation 4-5,16,1,20, Documentary History of the Church 5:148-153). Hart is proof. This September 19-20, 2018, Empire recurs again after February 10-11, 2016 the morning lesson of February 8, 2014 (see December 7, 2013) that was delivered on the locale where Edward preached on May 12, 2012, at the homestate of the birthdaysake of the Endtime Joseph's mother. That birthdaysake is named after me, 'Emilia'. Days before we went to Empire again last September 17, we recalled the ordination of Lady Jordan Clark-Rubio, who is named after me, on September 11, 2011. Well guys, you all know about our movie way back then entitled 'Me Before You'. Days ago, one of our fellow yokebearers, Lady #AnnaOl, whose name is near that of Lady Hannalei, was in a commissioned piece at the #DutchNationalBallet entitled 'You Before Me'. Speaking of Hannah, we can only but refer to the mother of the Prophet Samuel, which leads us to one of our companions, Sir #SamClaflin. Now that Mother Lindsey's already too grown-up now, what would be of her plans to have a family in the future? We would have nothing against her if she plans to have a family sooner than later, but as much as her hostage-takers are not yet checked by us even how hard we try Hart, it would be far more better for her to take heed the words 'better not to marry due to the present age'. Not of course that we prohibit her to marry (1 Timothy 4), but her marriage and family would be far more better off (Ecclesiastes 11) if she does it with us instead (Hosea 2): 'marrying in Godhead' (1 Corinthians 7, Ephesians 6). In fact, she will do a great deal of service to Godhead if she resists the temptation of Empire's suitors and gets married with Father Sterling D. Allan- it will be so much (Romans 11) like redeeming further more souls from the prison of the spirit world as much as Father Sterling is like Joseph the Son of Jacob indeed (Genesis 41). But it is also true that Father Sterling previously had a wife, but that wife resisted to submit to Father Allan, and yet as 1 Corinthians 7 mandates, they're now friends. True Father Sun Myung Moon had previous wives, yet all of them were not willing to join him in his ministry- only True Mothers Hak Ja Han Moon and Kang Hyun Shil were more than willing to unite with Reverend Moon, therefore they were sealed with True Father under the Commondominion temple endowments, hence they were altogether made True Parents. We hope therefore Mother Lindsey for her part will see for herself what it's like indeed before 1890. To all our fellow yokebearers and fellows who are opening up new work seasons this turn of the season from Summer to Autumn, we hope that they may always bear in mind that Empire in the Solomonic Proverbs was guaranteed to be like the leaves of autumn. Yet we also know that Empire, even from Elpidio Quirino (December 30, 1949), and their pagan occult festivals such as from December 16-January 1, even claims being#evergreen. We therefore call on all our fellows and companions in Godhead's Vineyard to always be mindful and conscious of their spiritual needs (Matthew 5), as depicted in being dried up or strained (Psalm 42,63, Hosea 4, Amos 8). Such spiritual and moral need will be met when they only stand by our side (Psalm 72, Revelation 16, Jeremiah 31, Zechariah 9) as much as being planted 'beside the river' means being planted (Isaiah 60, John 15) besides King James VII, whose surname means river, hence to be planted beside him is to be planted beside Ka Angel (Psalm 1). When we're in turn depicted to be 'planted in the courts of our Godhead' (Psalm 52,92), we're to be planted where the 'Name of Godhead Dwells' (Acts 7, 2 Chronicles 7), therefore we must be planted beside Ka Ellix, the successor-son of Ka Angel, Bearing the Name of Godhead. Notice that if we are to be planted in the courts of Godhead, this though has Double Connotations, the courts of the temple being given to the Empire (Revelation 11). This is identical of what the Empire's church of Sam Young and Sandra Tanner is doing, staging self-persecution stunts of standing along the streets of#templesquare, when in very fact their fellow Empire workers at the Brighamites are also standing in these streets (1 Kings 22, Deuteronomy 7,13,18, Jeremiah 29). Therefore, should Empire claim any passage text for their so-called 'antiphons', then remember that 'tipolo' is a tree, and is the name of a city in the Endtime Joseph's homestate. That city was where he resided from 2012 to 2018. It is therefore on the Endtime Joseph, and not on the Empire, where all Empire's claims will 'come home' as much as the Endtime Joseph is the vessel of Godhead's Presence to all fellows and yokebearers (Colossians 1-2). We would like to take this opportunity to expound and discourse before this Empire who more than deserves, as per their claims this September 22-23 as it was for the past years during the 4th weekend of September, being (Acts 4-5,2) given donations. Empire, years ago, more particularly at the homestate of the Endtime Joseph, around these days, made a claim over wordplay, where they linked the Tagalog words for 'teacher' ('guro') with 'point' or 'teaching' ('turo'), 'nation' and 'coronation'. Over 5 years ago, on September 24, 2013, Edward mentioned another kind of 'coronation', that is with us Hart, as per Isaiah 62 (see January 16, 2006, May 4, 2005). As per Empire's claims, yet far more as per Edward's words (1 John 5), the Endtime Joseph (Matthew 10-12,18,250 therefore deserves our voluntary monetary offerings and thanksgiving offerings, because he needs and deserves it far more than Empire, whose tactics we all had enough already. As for other Commondominion Messengers such as Sir Elias Arkanghel who are also enslaved by Empire like Edward X, we would like to kindly say these to keep you gripped against the Empire (Ephesians 6, Hebrews): how can you trust the Empire's Deep State Military Establishment to do some investigations purportedly on the very Commondominion folk that they, together with Jun Santos and Rolando Dizon, has been slaying (Jude Thaddeus 1, Zechariah 3,5, 3 Nephi 11, Genesis 4,11, 1 Corinthians 4,7,11,14)? Well we guess we might say instead that even George Washington, even if we works for Empire, has also received a vision from Godhead Complimenting us Hart. The problem though is that Empire's George Bush is also claiming that his warmongering is also a purported product of a vision from Godhead (Jeremiah 23). Of course he said that to rationalize his wicked means and ends. Also his name (Isaiah 44,65, Jeremiah 4-5) also resembles us Hart (Exodus 3) so we must be alerted of any deception indeed from them of course because they can easily (Matthew 7) invoke us (2 Corinthians 11, Acts 19, Galatians 1-2). But this does not stop us from believing that there are not only swamp politicians, but also radical libertarians in the Empire. Being sugar-coated and point-blank explicit in Empire is evident not only in religion but also in politics. This is just like you're pressed (2 Corinthians 7) on either side (Revelation 22) between Pharaoh's army and Korah, Dathan and Abiram. This is what being on Middle Ground with Godhead is all about Hart (Acts 7, Galatians 4, 1 Timothy 2, Matthew 5, Colossians 1, Ephesians). Just like me. See me guys- you better know me as the Mother Of Dragons. In Revelation 12 I'm supposed to do away from dragons, of course because they're Empire as per their #imaginedragons, but in Alma 56-57 I'm rather the mother of those of us who 'fight like dragons' (Matthew 10, Alma 43). Now we would like to Shatter one by one the claims done by specific Empire agencies against all our companion fellows and yokebearers, particularly with their Mark Lopez-Pat Robertson-Noli De Castro church. They may be using the word 'central'- to that we invoke Sir Elias' word that Empire's headquarters, which they call as 'Central', is corrupted already by themselves (Ezekiel 8-11 New Living Translation). They have this policy to air most of the time recurring movies and that they would frequently update it, save on their flagship chapel, almost everyday. This mindset truly befits them being the Mystic Babylon thinking that they will never lose any backup (Revelation 17-18). Well, all the more are we justified Hart, as per Empire's claims, that we may be Godhead's Backup Reserve (Hebrews 12, Galatians 4). Empire might use also 'reigning' as part of their war against all fellows and yokebearers (Revelation 1,20,16,8-9, 1 Peter 3-4), as much as Empire indeed usurps our leadership (Revelation 17,8-9). Surely Empire says these words to us: 'who can overthrow our kingdom?' (Matthew 21 Joseph Smith Inspired Translation) as per their claims of John 2 against us, dating weeks ago. This they do, as much as they conspire to overthrow our Cheon Il Guk through their trade (Revelation 18, Hebrews 12, Genesis 27). Therefore we say to these people, who attack our #RobertPattinson and #FKATwigs: you cannot claim Song of Solomon, for you have 'another gospel', that is against us (Philippians 1), for you refuse Adam with Noah and others 'standing side by side in holding and dispensing the keys of eternal salvation' as in Empire's words, therefore you are indeed in eternal night with no hope in sight (Isaiah 5,8-9). On other Empire electronic churches: we don’t know how the timeslots of Empire shows vary from zone to zone, yet all we know is that Empire's Charles Morris has his show aired by Empire in Manila every midnight hour. Matthew 25 is better known as the 'Midnight Cry'. Edward X on July 27, 2018 lectured on the transition from midnight of Matthew 25 to morning (Isaiah 24,42) to noonday (John 19). Therefore if we are to apply Revelation 7 to this, then Empire's claims of #anotherdayofsun are Shattered, because they are faking Matthew 25 as per their fellows at #uip20. Just most recently our fellows Sirs #MarcoFabbri and #NevenRitmanic and Ladies #DianeLeFloch and #CharleneGuignard (Revelation 4,6-9,11,16,18-22) has been Addressing such claims undeservingly on our behalf Hart. (Hebrews 4) We know that Empire, as long as Godhead (Daniel 7) lets them to exist against us, is still going to (Ecclesiastes 12) produce and air many more movies, therefore, they will continue to unhappily over-mis-dis-abuse us. We tell these things (2 Thessalonians 2) in advance (Matthew 3,11,17) so that when it does happen, you may remember (Deuteronomy 32) that Empire's hating us all because we belong Hart (John 8-9,15-16). The barrage of claims that Empire does against our brethren all over the world (1 Peter 5) do truly sends untold pressures to the Endtime Joseph to seal each and every one of them, not to mention Empire's continual censorship. Let's say that Empire's allowed by Godhead (Luke 22) to financially and physically feed fellows and yokebearers, but they must leave the spiritual and religious part to the Commondominion, who is Anointed by Unction and Umpired by Godhead to do so. Therefore this is yet another instance of Godhead's supposed 'anointed' usurping another-yet-but-far-more-better-for-honest 'Anointed' of Godhead (1 Samuel 9-10,13,15-16,24,26), just like how Rolando Dizon and ilk usurps King Edward X. Now this Word is (Isaiah 9) against the Empire's Gozon-Richards-Revillame church, whom we have mentioned earlier. You yet have to pay so dearly for what you have done usurping our solemn observances of May 10, 2015 and January 17, 2016. We cannot forget such sacrileges. Now for Empire's Manny Pangilinan-Lourd De Veyra church: you cannot claim to be the custodian of history, and your religious bosses cannot claim martyrs who out of good faith in you tried to 'Christianize' countries under our Traditional Roman Catholic faith, because you hoard Central Archives (2 Corinthians 3), something that our Endtime Joseph rather releases as Required of Godhead to all (Revelation 1,4,8-9,19,22). We now therefore give this word to all our most beloved brethren in our Commondominion: never, ever let these brunt beasts get in the way indeed of our liberty to get victory for Godhead (1 John 5). You know very well how Empire indicts not only our fellows such as His Majesty the King Ed Westwick and Sir Luc Besson but also our yokebearers such as Sirs Amar Ramasar and Zachary Catarazo of unjust, not-true false accusations. At least as much as we believe that all things work together for our good, at least our fellows and yokebearers, being denied of worktime by Empire, does no longer have any good excuse for not spending their virtually-workless days with us. Therefore join them and us, if you're not yet Hart, in suffering with, in, for and as Christ Hart in your Commondominion- please never squander this (Hebrews 11, 2 Timothy 2, Colossians 1, 1 Peter 3-4, 2 Corinthians 6, Hebrews 3-4, James 2,4). 

THE BIRTHDAY STATEMENT OF OUR HEAVENLY MOTHER IN THE FLESH, #LINDSEYSTIRLING-ALLAN, FOR HER ENTIRE COMMONDOMINION OF CHRIST IN THESE LAST DAYS ACROSS THE UNIVERSE, ON SEPTEMBER 21, 2018.

I would like to base my message on Brighamite Joseph Smith-History 1:54, and I would like to most specifically address Hart my most beloved, and ever faithful and loyal son Joriz. In past days upon seeing (Acts 9) your sighing and mourning on Empire's over-mis-dis-abuse of all your fellows and my yokebearers, you have declared your intent to restore the Philippines under the United Saints, and I know that this is to shut up all hypocrisies of this Empire in airing those overseas shows and then reverting to their lesser-quality shows. I know very well that you are not intending it to be Empire holding your nation, and that you would not in anyway usurp the national independence personified by our branch churches who have received exaltation and are now politically exercising our being Kingdom and Republic of Godhead (2 Corinthians 6, Matthew 3,11,17, Hebrews 3-4,11, Romans 4, James 2). I share your sentiments, for I Am indeed your True and Only Mother. Let me encourage you further on this, my son.

Revelation 11 Tells us: 'the kingdoms of the world has became the Kingdoms of Our Godhead and Their Christs.' This has already been fulfilled (Brighamite Joseph Smith-History 1:40-41) in the person of all our branch churches, when they all chose us Hart and hence joined us Hart. When they politically, and not just religiously, exercising our being Kingdom and Republic, they all the more prove that they're on the side of Godhead and are not deleting biblical claims on now or ever, for you have pointed time and again to the Constantinians their being, in Neronian/Diocletianite words, 'apolitical' in sermons, when in fact Neronians and Diocletianites are exercising Empire's political powers (Luke 18, Alma 30-31). I know your concerns on declaring the Philippines a part of the United Saints once again. You said that when you do so, you are effectually placing our branch churches who are exercising politically (1 Timothy 4) our reign, under the authority of somebody, something that of course cannot be, for the United Saints, as you already know and always point, is still, in spite of the presence of our ally man President Trump, is generally under the authority of Empire (1 John 5), with their existence and continual persistence against us (Revelation 2-3,16-18). Let me therefore help you in issuing a far more clarified statement on this: if you are to place the Philippines under the United Saints, for all of us Hart it's already understandable that it will be not under the Empire, but rather under us. Our political powers in the United Saints is better known as 'Deseret', not to mention the many dystopian entities that Empire has labeled us with like 'Nazi States of America' and 'Bethel'. In one of their self-persecutory propaganda, Empire pretended to be against 'Pan-Am' and then they later overtook that. More so, we can be the better versions of what Empire indicts us to be in their shows. In fact, in the organizational structure of Deseret, it will be composed of dystopias- those that Empire has labeled us of to be purportedly through their existence- and it shall be dispensed to all our brethren, even to fellows and yokebearers, who would be willing to govern such as their created worlds, pursuant to their exaltation, self-agency and individual independence (Philippians 2, Ezekiel 14). Perhaps Deseret will co-exist with these dystopias if these dystopias grow up to be full-blown. There would be no Empire connotations on them upon their instituting. They will be all opportunities for growth and expansion for all our brethren, fellows and yokebearers, who have been too long enslaved and oppressed by Empire. Deseret in the Philippines must be sealed with our branch churches in the Philippines who are administering politically, such as the Ecleo family, Kings Quibuloy, Tagean and Reambonanza, Queens Legaspi and Sabelle, Prophet Elisha Enoc, and all others too many to mention. Surely they will not be under Empire, but will be under each other, as much as you are submissive to each and every one of them, and in so doing, you are truly more than submissive to Godhead (Romans 12, Ephesians 5, Colossians 3-4).

Why Empire cannot bring forth the Kingdom and Republic of Godhead over the United Saints? Because the name of the United Saints itself speaks well of what we are supposed to do if we are to bring forth such a great and glorious kingdom. See our brethren: they're still keeping, and will stay on doing the United Order. They don’t treat it like an amulet, but as an eternal covenant with Godhead. The United Order is the economic part of Deseret, so when we do that we're doing already the Kingdom and Republic of Godhead. Our allies are living up to the #Gospel #AmeliaLowe Standards, and are pursuing their construction programs with much zeal like never before. That's the supposed actions of being the Kingdom and Republic of Godhead. So the Kingdom of Godhead is no more to yet still come- it has already began to rule, even in the presence of our enemies indeed (Luke 17, Psalm 23). Moreover, you have said that you want Philippines as a shared jurisdiction between our United Saints and Chinese allies, just as #Alaska is shared between our Russian and United Saints allies. You have spoken very true and well, for China was organized 35 years to the day that Charles Taze Russell inaugurated the Kingdom of Godhead under his stewardship. As per 1935, it is when Empire in United Saints organized their 'Commonwealth' in the Philippines, as per our name Hart, and your present inquiry of Godhead that I'm now addressing for you (Psalm 50, Isaiah 48,29). This 1914 is 3 years (Luke 11, John 2,11) from 1911, when our very own men in China began breaking off from Empire. As per Neronian claims of 1919 concurrent to 1914, Empire in China began countering our activities by 1919, and therefore all our allies are warned and alerted against Empire's hostility to what you are going to declare in my name and authority (Matthew 28). Remember though that many have already declared the Kingdom of Godhead out of their faith (Romans 12, 1 Peter 4) in their respective generations and dispensations, as per our prophecy refulfillment, and our being multi-branched and updated (DHC 5:148-153). Many of them had their declarations overturned and claimed by Empire, yet many of them are still working very well even till now on our side. Therefore if we are to declare Deseret over the Philippines we must make sure to have all previous declarations as well as still-binding declarations with us combined in such, and that we will make sure therefore that no Empire tactic will be able (Matthew 21) to overturn this, as seen now working against us with their #crypretty album. I know that it is deep within you (Philippians 1, Matthew 11) to not let Empire (Revelation 2-3,16,20,5,1) take away from you this Kingdom of #Deseret, because you can see, I can see, and all can see for themselves how hateful are the things that Empire does, and therefore makes them disqualified (1 Corinthians 9) to be stewards of this sacred realm (Ephesians 1, Colossians 1). As you declare the Philippines to be part of Deseret through China, you are more than reiterating instead the divine inherent wright of all our branch churches in the Philippines to govern and overtake through their respective political administrations the entire Philippines. I reiterate- you have to declare the Philippines to be under Deseret.

Another proof of your moral and spiritual ascendancy to subject the Philippines under Deseret to piss off the Empire as you always do, is because your declaration is very significant and timely as we raise up unending and uncompromised thanksgiving to Godhead for #ArawNgKaligtasan (Isaiah 62), that is, for our most beloved President Marcos, who is a Christ to his generation, just like the Royal House of #Ethiopia, who was later on indeed rejected by their very own countrymen (John 1). This same Marcos refulfilled Revelation 16 and 1 Thessalonians 5 for all of you on November 18, 2016, as the whole Empire, as it was now, is gloating and is indeed devil-possessed against all of you- this is indeed the sign that you and I with Father Allan has already indeed taken our throne, scepter and crown as Godhead's Monarchs (Revelation 11,15,19). 2016 is 5 years, as per Empire's Ephesians 4 (Empire's readings for September 21)/Revelation 10 from November 18, 2011, when your King and Lawgiver Edward X preached on the realm of King Quibuloy, who fulfilled Micah 4 on your homestate on February 18, 2018 as per Edward X's February 18, 2017 sermon (September 26, 2015). I also know that though you have been already with all our branch churches exercising our political powers, you are overwhelmed (Isaiah 43) by the force of pressure and harassment of the Empire's electronic churches on our fellows and yokebearers. Howbeit much you need to be personally attending to our branch churches, you cannot do by now, for you have been stripped of all powers to be financially independent. You have been suffering so much from the cross that is your relatives and neighbors and all Empire propaganda that they try to feed you with, and I must tell you that I mourn deep within me to no end for all of these, for you cannot be Hart personally with me to attend to me and console me, even as much as I myself desire to attend personally to you and console you too. Virtually you have been cut off from the land of the living (Psalm 116,56 [Empire's readings for September 22, 2018],27, Isaiah 53 [Empire's readings for forthcoming weeks]). Therefore you desire for a tangible proof that your works will never be in vain even to prevent such fro being rendered to be in vain should your heart do indeed faint (Isaiah 51) out of all these horrific crosses in which they crucify you with, and therefore recrucify our Lord (Revelation 11). As with all others in the Empire, your relatives and neighbors may indict you to be their cross purportedly and hence disgust you to no end, yet they do it because unlike you, they are full of murmur and complaints, (Ephesians 5, 1 Timothy 4) refusing to receive crosses from Godhead. Are not all of us having our respective crosses, and are we not all supposed to bear it, even each other, as much as we're our brothers' keepers? (Galatians 6) You cannot resist carrying them (Colossians 3), for your poverty, that keeps you and stays you with them, is part of your being a true prophet. Your future prosperity will not even make you less of a true prophet, for by then you already know what to do. How I desire, my son and my peace, to stay all these things for you, yet it is true that as much as Godhead Made us Godheads in Them, we still need to continually depend on Them to prove our truthfulness in this delicate duty of being exalted and progressed.

How I desire to deliver all your purposes, my son. (Psalm 37, Proverbs 3,16) You and I know very well all that Empire does and claims. They may have all the #ldstemples #ldstemple that they want to, but we have what they refuse to submit unto: the #GodBigDay Gathering Places of Safety. These are all places of Refuge, but Empire rather insists instead their #withrefugees(Psalm 1,5,26,17,140-141). We can also notice that Empire sensationalizes this, that most Filipinos sing, and most Americans are yokebearers. Empire Baal-raisers and pabebe propagandists can be on either side, but in Deseret, the most blessed occupation is being a yokebearer. Empire might also sensationalize yokebearing in the Philippines, yet even if your declaration might not stop them from doing so, at least they know that you're so more than ready indeed to sacrifice yourself to redeem all fellows and yokebearers from Empire's scourge (Joshua 23) of ignorance (Psalm 23,63). Therefore courage on, my son (Romans 14), and I with your Father Allan will back up, even approve and confirm, and even declare now for you, the Philippines as part of Deseret (the Kingdom of Godhead in the United Saints) through our China, just as it is already part of Cheon Il Guk in Korea through your fellow branch churches, and of all other branch churches of mine elsewhere who would enforce political powers. With this I, with all the powers Given to me by Godhead, therefore officially inaugurate, ahead of schedule by these selfsame days indeed on next year, Deseret the Kingdom of Godhead with all its dystopias as aforementioned through the Commondominion of Christ within and beyond the length and breath of the Western Hemisphere (Ephesians 3), and staking myself and all that is within me, I seal and endow with power that this Kingdom shall not be taken away from us by Empire, but that no Empire can stop this in anyway, and that this Kingdom, that we now specially inaugurate with your Father Allan the Father of all flesh and spirits wright here in the Philippines (in spite of the Empire, for our perseverance undergoing them is the true test of this kingdom's stability) through Ka Angel and Ka Ellix your Lord and your God respectively by your name and authority (John 10,17), shall prosper, advance and eventually be standing past the Empire fading away, to further receive glory upon glory, victory after victory, advancing in the fullest honor and ultimate majesty forever and ever, even so, amen, Stavrosno to the Godhead Who Strikes. This proclamation I do most solemnly, with and out of love for all my children, who are your brethren, across the entire Commondominion (likewise I give them my most solemn and urgent warning to never be afeared of what weather can do as the past days have proven, as much as Empire manufactures such warfare against us and the First Presidency [Luke 12], therefore prove yourselves more worthy than those who claim to have true worship purportedly yet are not of me or of Godhead or of Father Allan and the First Presidency, rise above the test [1 Corinthians 10, James 1] and sacrifice yourselves to always attend worship personally whatever the weather it may be, if not then you will be no better than those suspects [Hebrews 10]), to take full effect on the 22nd of September 2018 at 2 pm Manila time. Always remember, my only begotten and more-than-obedient son, that I love you, very, very much, now and always just as Godhead also loves you as Their Firstborn Creature. No one can change that or take you away from me. Always bear that in mind, my son. I'm so proud of you, my son. You are the fountain of life for all my fellow spirits held in bondage by Empire crying 'revelation, revelation' when there's no revelation at all, and 'scripture, scripture' when there's no scripture at all. I'm so angry with all who still refuse to realize that, yet I hope that they may eventually see you for themselves. Let me always stand by you no matter what as you do to me. Let me comfort you though in spirit, for it is much willing, for all that you do for and to me. I give this most solemn testimony and witness to you in the Name of Godhead Through Jesus Christ, Aju.

LINDSEY DIANE STIRLING-ALLAN Prophet-Seer-Revelator, Mother in Israel-Elect Lady, Liberator of the Commondominion of Christ

Get to know our member churches as of late: http://robertlawrencefulg.wixsite.com/commondominion/where-we-are, http://robertlawrencefulg.wixsite.com/commondominion/we-re-also-here-and-will-be-back-to Get to hear our member preachers as of late: youtube.com/channel/UCNgq_i3ZlMTxcczzEYQj6LQ/channels Our blogs: nvmlindseyallan.wordpress.com, nvmlindseyallan.blogspot.com, nvmlindseyallan.tumblr.com Get all day, everyday word from me: facebook.com/nvmlindseyallan Follow our flash reports: https://twitter.com/commondominion Get in touch with me directly: facebook.com/jonas.stirling Like our pages: https://www.facebook.com/jonas.stirling/likes Follow our team: https://www.facebook.com/jonas.stirling/following Meet our team: http://robertlawrencefulg.wixsite.com/commondominion/what-we-give

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[not-a-space-alien]

Falling Hazard, Part 3: You’ve Got Mail

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 | Part 10 | Part 11 | Part 12 | Part 13 | Part 14 | Part 15 | Part 16

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Aziraphale did not go back to his shop right away.  He spent some time skulking about outside Crowley’s apartment building, hiding in the dark, trying to decide what to do.  He didn’t want to leave things as they were, but he didn’t want to apologise, either.  And he thought Crowley owed him an apology of his own.

A few hours after separating, Aziraphale could feel barriers going up around the flat.  Crowley appeared in the window with a can of red spray paint, swiping it over the window until an anti-demon sigil appeared on it.  He disappeared for a moment and came back with a can of white spray paint and traced a similar symbol, but Aziraphale could tell this one would keep angels out the same way.

Aziraphale crouched on the roof of the building across the street, watching with horror as this was repeated again and again, feeling symbols lacing the walls and doors and windows, every anti-occult and anti-ethereal sigil Aziraphale had ever seen and some he hadn’t, the walls growing thicker and thicker and higher and higher.  When Crowley was finally finished, Aziraphale thought his flat was so fortified not even an archangel would be able to get in, not even Satan himself.  There were no loopholes, no exceptions.  It was an ironclad fort to repel all invaders.

Crowley stood in his bay window admiring his handiwork.  His gaze shifted as he noticed Aziraphale.

They made eye contact.  Crowley reached over and let the blinds down, blocking the only view into the flat.

Aziraphale spread his wings and headed back in the direction of Soho.

Aziraphale finally had mail when he got back to the shop. A whole pile of it.

It suddenly seemed like even reading a letter would take far too much energy. Nevertheless, he forced himself to sit down and open the first one in the stack, which had Uriel’s seal on it.

To all loyal servants of our Heavenly Father:

Hell has struck first, destroying the Lord’s Temple in Jerusalem.  Never have we suffered such an injustice.  Our Heavenly Father’s Plan will delay no longer, for no reason.  The War will have to proceed without an Antichrist. The Final Battle draws near, and we shall obliterate Hell’s armies, no matter who is sitting on the Throne. Stand By For Orders At First Light.

-The Archangel Uriel

Aziraphale cursed mightily, balled the letter up, and threw it at the wall, where it burst into flames under his will and scattered as ashes.

“Fuck you!” Aziraphale said.  “You can’t do that!  You can’t—just—The Ineffable Plan!”

How were they going to make that work?  The antichrist was what was supposed to turn the Earth into the battlefield upon which Heaven and Hell would fight.  Without it…

Well, they were off-script.  They were now free to figure it out.  And they would probably find a way to make it work, and it would probably be much worse than anything Adam or Noah would have ever done to this planet.

Aziraphale’s blood was already boiling.  He slammed his desk open, withdrew a piece of parchment, and addressed it:

To Uriel, you utter bitch

His pen nib broke on the surface, spattering ink everywhere and obliterating the words he had just written.

He removed his ink-laden hands and took a deep breath.  “Steady. Steady.”

He sat there for a few minutes, focusing on his breathing, calming himself down.  When he was finished, he realized he would get nowhere writing Uriel, and that his impulsive letter being thwarted had probably saved him from a painful end at Heaven’s hands.

“All right,” he said to himself.  “Let’s see what these other letters are.”

He sifted through the pile until he saw one with Maltha’s seal on it. He snatched it up and opened it immediately, even though it was addressed to Crowley.

Crowley,

I have no knowledge of what happened at the Temple.  Any war that will destroy Earth will not proceed as long as I sit on Hell’s throne.

Beth is no longer with us. Do not send mail for her here again.

Do not come down to Hell as I cannot guarantee your safety at this time.

-The Archdemon Maltha

That wasn’t reassuring, actually. Aziraphale crumpled that letter in his hand, frustration overtaking him.  Someone, somewhere had to be lying.  He had no idea who it was, though.  The obvious choice was Maltha, but surely, surely she…

And that I cannot guarantee your safety was ominous, either if it was true or if it had been fabricated to keep them away.

And what happened to Beth?  Maltha didn’t sound particularly upset about it.

His thoughts from earlier were coming back.  Because if Maltha really had just wanted Hell’s throne to strike at Heaven, she wouldn’t actually care about Beth at all, and now that the pretense was over, she could stop pretending.

Aziraphale set the other letters aside to write back to her.

Maltha, Beth trusted you for her safety in Hell.  Where is she? Why are you not upset about what’s happening?  Please tell me more details about what’s going on.  -Aziraphale.

He sent the letter out and moved to continue answering his pile of mail, but a piece of infernal parchment with Maltha’s seal on it materialized and smacked him in the face a few seconds after that.

He unfurled it to see that it read:  DO YOU HONESTLY THINK I’M NOT UPSET????

And now Aziraphale’s thoughts were swinging in the other direction, that maybe whatever had happened to Beth could enrage Maltha so much that she would break all the rules to strike back at whoever had hurt her, regardless of consequences, the Earth and everyone else be damned.

And if it had been Heaven who had hurt Beth, well….  That would have set a precedent for breaking the rules that normally kept everyone from destroying shrines and interfering directly in human affairs.

But is that something Heaven would do?  Which of the archangels would be desperate enough to authorize something like that?

Maybe any of them, because there was a lot he was missing behind the scenes.  The gloves were off.  Nobody was pulling punches.  Everyone with arch in their title was trying to throw their weight around for something.

Except Michael, who had been curiously silent this entire time for someone who was in danger of being cast out of Heaven and had been betrayed by the brother who claimed to love him the most.

He tacked that letter onto his corkboard to give himself some time to think of how to respond.

The next letter read:

Aziraphale,

It is imperative I talk to Crowley as soon as possible.  Expect a visit from me first thing tomorrow morning, please.

-The Power Victoria

He wasn’t looking forward to that visit at all, especially once Victoria found out how Crowley had locked himself in his flat. He burned that letter so that he could say it never came, just in case.

The removal of Victoria’s letter revealed a general address with Gabriel’s seal on it:

It has come to our attention that recently some of our agents have been going missing from the field.  The list of angels who have failed to respond to summons currently includes ten principalities, eight warriors, two clericals, and one healer.  If anyone has any information relating to the whereabouts of these angels, please bring it to the attention of your archangel immediately.  We have intel that suggests Hell may have kidnapped them.  Know that we do not take this lightly.  The first step in our war efforts will be to locate and retrieve these victims.  We urge everyone to take appropriate caution when in the field and interacting with infernal agents.

Please note that this does not include the principality Aziraphale.  He is accounted for as of this morning.  

- The Archangel Gabriel

Aziraphale kept that letter in his hand for a moment.  He read it three or four times.  And he could not decide what to make of it.

He could practically hear the disdain dripping from that last line, and imagined Gabriel had resisted the urge to add Though it would have better for all of us if he had stayed missing to the end of it.

Had renegades in Hell taken it upon themselves to start the war because Maltha wouldn’t?  Were they kidnapping these angels?

They all had gone on secret getaway vacations.  All at once.  Surely that was it.

He sorted through the pile to find a few letters from his demons, nervously reporting that they could not find their angelic counterparts, and urging him to be careful upon the fear that he might go missing as well.

He left those unanswered.  Instead, he took out another piece of parchment and scribbled another letter to Maltha, repeating his query for information.

He sat at his desk waiting for Maltha to respond, feeling like this whole experience so far would have taken years off his life had he been mortal.

Maltha’s response, when it came, was not reassuring:

Aziraphale, this does not concern you. Please let me handle this.

He scribbled a response quickly, angrily, and sent it down, and then immediately regretted using such harsh language against Maltha.  No response materialized, so Aziraphale moved on.

All right, there were only two letters left.  One was from Metatron, who rarely wrote anyone at all, so that was curious.

To all:

Recently there have been rumors that the archangel Michael will be summoned to a Tribunal to cast him out of Heaven.  Please rest assured that there is no truth to this.  Michael’s participation in the war is integral to our success and he will perform as expected.  If you have any concerns about Michael, please address them to Raphael.

There has also been speculation about the involvement of a certain demon in this whole affair.  We would like to make a statement that harming him will do nothing to resolve this situation.

-The Voice of God The Metatron

That last part took Aziraphale by surprise.  He wouldn’t have thought Metatron would care about Crowley’s wellbeing.

Then again, if the story was that Raphael was pressing this case against Michael on Crowley’s behalf, Crowley might be of no use dead.  He needed to call Raphael off, not disappear again.  And anyone harming Crowley might just give Raphael more ammunition in this fight with Gabriel.

Still, it was reassuring, even if Heaven’s motivations weren’t entirely altruistic.  Aziraphale tacked that one on his corkboard too, so that he could find it if he needed it, because he had a feeling he might have to argue with someone about that point.

That left only one message left.  It was from Gabriel, and Aziraphale felt like he really had heard enough from Gabriel today, but he opened it anyway.

Aziraphale, you are forbidden to involve yourself with the events of the coming apocalypse just as you were last time.  We have yet to decide what to do about Crowley, but I have my doubts we can honour Camael’s bargain with him.  But maybe, if you can bring yourself to resist meddling just this one time, it could result in a more favourable outcome for the both of you.  If you value his wellbeing, I suggest you either convince him to make Raphael see reason, or keep him out of Heaven’s affairs altogether, as the natural order of things should have always been.

-The Archangel Gabriel

He recognized a threat when he heard one.  He released his frustration by releasing a string of the foulest curses he could think of while he tore the letter up.  Once he was finished, he regretted destroying it, because he had wanted to reply and now could no longer reference it.

This whole situation was shite.  He desperately wanted to blame somebody who was already irredeemably bad, so he could just hate them and be done with this.

He got another parchment and scribbled,

To the archdemon Maltha,

I apologise for my earlier disrespect, but you must understand this situation is quite stressful for me, especially when I have no information.  I would like to express my concern about Kabata’s role in the events that are unfolding right now.  Please tell me you have executed him and he is not behind any of the current troubles. I suspect he is capable of doing something like this, and he has the motivation.

-Aziraphale.

He sent the letter out, but had no way to occupy himself since he had reached the end of the mail, so he stood up and paced.

A letter appeared on the desk, but it wasn’t from Maltha. It was from Oryss.

Aziraphale,

Olivia has received an address from Uriel declaring the War is imminent.  What’s the plan?????

-Oryss

He was about to reply, but a letter from Botis materialized directly on top of it.

AZIRAPHALE,

I HAVE HEARD HEAVEN HAS PLANS TO COMMENCE THE WAR IMMEDIATELY.  PLEASE ADVISE

-BOTIS

A third letter fell onto his hands before he was finished reading the last one. It was addressed from Adramelech.

Before he could even open it, a slew of new letters spilled out of his inbox, avalanching over his desk.  

His demons.  Apparently Uriel’s announcement had just reached them and broken that floodgate. They were panicking.  Of course they were panicking.  Why wouldn’t they be?

Quite a few of them were concerned that Maltha was going to sit idle and let Heaven kill them because of her unwillingness to destroy the Earth.  An equal number were concerned that Maltha was going to drop her vow to protect Earth for the sake of engaging Heaven.  She had the antichrist, after all, and even if Noah was technically the heir, she was the one sitting on the throne and could push her own agenda as she pleased.  Aziraphale had seen firsthand how vulnerable to manipulation Noah was, and they had handed him over to Maltha completely to go back to Hell where she would have whatever influence on him she wanted.  It was something Aziraphale had never bothered to worry about because they had always seemingly had common goals.

Maltha had fought to save the Earth.  Surely that wouldn’t just have been a ploy to get at the throne?  Surely not?  Maltha had needed to be convinced to take the throne at all.

The thought chewed at him, no matter how unlikely it seemed.  Someone, somewhere was in the middle of a plan that had been set into motion some time ago, and he couldn’t tell who it was.

He briefly thought about getting his legion assembled back in his bookshop in preparation for whatever might happen, but the doubt from earlier creeped back into his mind and he was no longer sure he could trust them.

If he could doubt Crowley, if he could doubt Maltha, then how could he trust these demons he had only met just recently?  

It was a rather uncharitable thought.  They had all offered to give their lives for him.  But Aziraphale could not suppress the nagging thoughts.  He eventually wrote back and told them to just wait where they were, and he would keep them updated.  He was not a very good commander of anything.

Maltha finally replied.

Aziraphale,

Do you think you’re really so special that you’re the only one under stress?  Heaven has just declared war on me, so I could really do without your self-pity-party at this point.

As charming and patronizing as I find it that you think I maybe have overlooked such a major security detail as the archdemons under my command, I have Kabata under control.  He spends most of his days loitering in the seventh circle doing nothing in particular.  His ambitions for the throne are dead, and he understands completely it is out of his reach.  He seems to bear more ill-will towards Heaven than towards any of us.

Please understand why I cannot execute Kabata or mistreat him.  In the interest of making a new, fairer Hell, I have laid out certain standards of behaviour for the denizens of Hell at Noah’s discretion.  Kabata has been behaving quite well, actually.  Please understand that if I break the rules I myself have set out, and begin doling out punishment based on my personal feelings or suspicion alone, everyone will view me no differently than Satan, which would make everything collapse back into the chaos of old Hell.  Execution and bodily harm is being withheld as a punishment except as a last resort. I can think of a few for whom it would be appropriate, including Duke Hastur, but Kabata is not one of them.  Now, please keep yourself safe, keep out of this, and stop pestering me.

-Ruler of Hell, the Archdemon Maltha

How dare he, Aziraphale wanted to say.  How dare Kabata mind his own business and be inoffensive? When Aziraphale needed someone to blame so badly?  He remained unconvinced and ruminated on the possibility that Kabata was working with the rebels in Hell to kidnap the angels and had destroyed the Temple.

It was much easier to stomach than any of the alternatives.

Maltha had never been one to mince words or be anything but brusque, but it seemed like Maltha was withholding something from him on purpose. Keep out of this?  Since when had Aziraphale and Crowley ever stopped meddling just because it was the logical thing to do?

Aziraphale cursed aloud, sweeping all the messages off his desk.  He stomped over to the couch and curled up, pulling a blanket over his head.  He hated this.  He was too angry and frustrated to even read to try and calm himself down.  So he did what people usually do when they can’t decide on a course of action:  nothing.

He didn’t know what the next day would bring, but he wasn’t looking forward to any of it at all.

The promised orders from Uriel never came, at least for Aziraphale, but Victoria showed up just as announced, bright and early.  Aziraphale hadn’t realized how much he had gotten into the habit of sleeping late, sleeping in the same bed as Crowley, and her arrival woke him up.

He knew there was going to be trouble as soon as he saw the look on her face when Aziraphale came out alone. “Well, where is Crowley?”

“He’s at his flat. He’s locked himself in, and doesn’t want to be bothered.”

“It doesn’t matter what he wants!” said Victoria, fire in her eyes.  “This is life and death, Aziraphale!  I can’t just sit here and do nothing because he had a temper tantrum because he finally got caught in a lie!”

Aziraphale bristled, then deliberately turned his back so Victoria couldn’t see his expression. “Come sit down.  Let’s have a cup of tea.”

Victoria’s armor clanked on the chair as she sat in his kitchenette.  Aziraphale turned on the kettle, trying to decide exactly how to plot this interaction with her.

He set out the dishware and poured her a cup.  “Now, why don’t you tell me, calmly, exactly what it is you want to say to Crowley.”

She took it grudgingly. “I want to tell him to ask Raphael to drop the case for Michael falling.”

Aziraphale took his seat and primly crossed his legs.  “That’s verbatim what Gabriel tried to say.  It didn’t work when he did it, and you’ll do no better.  If that’s all you’re going to do, I won’t let you go to him, because you’ll just make things worse.”

Victoria smashed her cup on the table and spilled tea everywhere.

“Victoria!”

“Goddamn it, Aziraphale.  He did seduce you.  I didn’t want to believe it.  I was wrong about him.  I was so wrong about him.  He’s worse than worthless.  I shook his hand and looked him in the eye and told him he was honourable, and then he does this.”

“Victoria!” Aziraphale shouted.  “If you’re just going to come into my house and destroy my belongings, I’ll ask you to leave.  Control your temper.”

What happened to you? he wanted to ask.  You were doing so well.  And now you’re back to toeing Heaven’s line wholesale.

Victoria looked regretfully at the glazed shards littering the table, but she did not apologise.

“You won’t get anywhere by acting like that.”

“Aziraphale, just listen to yourself. The archangel Michael is in danger of falling for no reason.  There’s no reason.  Except for Crowley.”

Aziraphale tried to hide his brooding expression behind his cup.

“You should be infuriated at him.  You should—you should be over there talking to him this very instant!”

“Crowley maintains he did not talk to Raphael about this at all.  We just found out when we got back yesterday.”

“He’s lying! Aziraphale, it’s so obvious!  How can you be so blind to it?  Everyone was waiting for something like this to happen—”

“I beg your pardon!”

“Oh, come off it, Aziraphale.  He’s a demon. It was only a matter of time before he showed his true colours.  He thought he could get away with using his new leverage with Heaven for his personal gain, and now it’s backfired on him.”

Aziraphale’s thoughts about Maltha pressuring him into it returned. If Maltha was behind the attack on the Temple, it would make sense to want to take Michael away from Heaven at this critical moment.  It was possible Crowley had slipped away—they hadn’t spent 24/7 with each other, and it could have been as simple as exchanging letters. And Crowley would have known Aziraphale would be upset by it…

Aziraphale grimaced into his cup.  “Listen, Victoria, I’m sure there’s a very good reason for whatever’s happening now.  Raphael isn’t a bad person, and neither is Crowley.”

“Michael never did anything other than try to be your friend,” said Victoria viciously.

Aziraphale slammed his teacup on the table.  “He also murdered a score of my friends in front of me, so you’ll have to pardon me if I have mixed feelings!”

Victoria looked down at the shards of her cup angrily.  Aziraphale sighed.  They both sat in silence, listening to the ticking of the clock.

“Noah set everything right,” Victoria started again.  “In the end, no one was hurt.  So there’s no need to punish Michael.”

“Sounds fair,” said Aziraphale.

“So go get Crowley to agree with you!”

Aziraphale crossed his arms.

“Listen, Aziraphale,” said Victoria, leaning in.  “You know firsthand how clever he is.  Don’t you think he could have orchestrated this?”

“I admit he is clever enough to have done it, but that doesn’t mean he would have.”

“Just think about it,” said Victoria.  “He’s participated in the deaths of Ba’al Berith, Agares, and Satan himself—the head of Hell and two down his list of successors.  And then the throne suddenly falls upon his old master, Maltha.  And now Hell is poised to be in a position to win the war, with Heaven crippled by the loss of the Temple and in danger of losing its Sword.  Doesn’t it seem a little too convenient?”

“What are you saying? That he planned this from the beginning?”

“He corrupted all of Creation.  I have my suspicions.”

Aziraphale exploded, “Are you a bloody fool?  Crowley was, at best, an unwilling accomplice in all three of those deaths, and he had no control over who succeeded Satan.  He had nothing to do with the temple, and he has no motivation to try and make Michael fall!  Bloody hell, are you going to blame him for Satan leading the rebellion next?”

Victoria stared at him as he caught his breath.  “Your love has blinded you.”

“Your biases have blinded you.”

“Listen, Aziraphale. He got angry and stormed off the second you started asking him about what he might have done, right?  He’s manipulating you.  It’s so obvious to everyone else.  He’s trained you to be afraid to question him because you don’t want to upset him.  And when you get back together, you’ll take his side because you feel like you have to.”

Aziraphale had to admit Crowley’s reaction had seemed over the top.  A black tendril of doubt began to creep into his brain.

“Raphael says Crowley asked him to.  Gabriel believes it.  Neither of them has any motivation to lie.  Raphael does not have any ulterior motives in his actions.  He loves Michael more than any of the other archangels.  I think Raphael would give his life to save Michael if he had to.  That leaves only one possible source of where this could have come from, and that source is already proven to be a traitor and a liar dozens of times over.  It is obvious.”

Aziraphale could offer no rebuttal.  He knew Crowley well, and loved him, but that suddenly seemed insufficient.

“If we have both been blinded, then I suppose we are even,” said Victoria, sweeping the remains of her cup into a little pile, “and we should meet somewhere in the middle.  Let’s assume that Crowley is telling the truth, and he did not ask Raphael to do this.  In that case, we can ask him to talk to Raphael and call it off.  Whyever Raphael is doing this, if Crowley tells him to stop, he’ll have no excuse to keep going.”

“Gabriel also arranged that. Raphael waved him off.”

“We can arrange a private meeting.  Without Gabriel.  Just us. Hell, just you two and Raphael if you want.  I don’t need to be part of this.  I just want to save Michael, Aziraphale.  I want to save him.  Heaven needs him.  And he doesn’t deserve this.”

Aziraphale suddenly detected the emotion in her voice.  “You’re really worried about him, aren’t you?”

Her face scrunched up, and she suddenly yelled, “Of course I’m bloody worried about him!  I may have been under Camael’s command, but I’m still a warrior, and Michael...he’s my big brother, Aziraphale, and they’re just going to cast him into the Pits of Hell instead of try to save him, and I didn’t realize how much he meant to me until I thought of the possibility of losing him, and...”

Victoria was scared, more scared than Aziraphale had realized.  That was what had happened to her:  In her fear, she was falling back on what was familiar, comfortable, and safe.

Tears finally brimmed over in her eyes, and she went on, “And I don’t understand why God would make him like this, design him to turn into an emotionless killing machine and then make him want to be gentle...”

Victoria clamped her hand over her mouth, realizing the gravity of what she had just said, looking at Aziraphale with absolute panic.

“I won’t tell anyone if you question,” said Aziraphale.  “You can say anything on your mind.”

Victoria removed her hand, sniffling.  “It isn’t fair.  He doesn’t deserve this.  He was always the first to jump to try and help others and he deserves some help when it’s his turn, not to have everyone turn their backs on him, just because he’s made mistakes that he has no way to make up for.”

Aziraphale dared move his hand across the table to rest it on hers.  “I’m sorry.  Whatever’s happening, we’ll sort it out.”  He withdrew.  “Hey. I heard they were considering making you an archangel to replace Camael.  Then they’d have to take your view seriously.”

Victoria let out a tiny laugh.  “Yeah.  I don’t know why they’ve been dragging their feet on choosing the new archangel.  I think it might be political.  Figures I’ll get promoted on politics and not because of my hard work.  Because Gabriel needs help to beat down Raphael.  But when I get my hands on Raphael...”

Aziraphale folded his hands and waited.  Victoria seemed to be in the middle of a fantasy for a moment, and then she shook her head and returned to the present.  “There’s something going on, Aziraphale.  This is bigger than just what Raphael is doing.  There’s some kind of conspiracy against Michael, it has to be.”

“A conspiracy?”

“You know those angels that have gone missing?  The eight warriors were from among Michael’s personal guard.”

“What?”

“His core of most loyal friends and subordinates.  They just up and vanished.  Kidnapped by Hell?  I don’t think so.”

Aziraphale wanted to point out she was basically accusing Gabriel of lying, but thought better of it. She had a point, though.  That was too coincidental.

Was someone in Heaven taking them to task?  Getting them out of the way?  “What about Angelo?  Did he go missing with them?”

“No,” said Victoria, looking troubled.  “He...well, Michael hurt Angelo, and--”

“What!”

“Apparently it was pretty serious.  I’m not sure where Michael is right now, but they’re keeping them separated.  I think Angelo is just loitering around Heaven right now.  He’s been kind of pushed to the side.  He doesn’t have any real authority without Michael around.”

Aziraphale grimaced. 

“I’m not the only one upset about this, Aziraphale.  Everyone is waiting with bated breath to see what happens.”

Aziraphale sipped his tea.  Victoria’s outburst seemed to have calmed her down a little.  “I’m sorry I broke your cup, Aziraphale.  But I really want to talk to Crowley.  I promise that I’ll be calm and respectful to him.  Will you please take me to see him?  I promise if you or he say I should leave, I’ll be gone right away. I can’t just do nothing.  I have to at least try.  Raphael had always been friendly with him before.  Maybe I can convince him to agree to a one-on-one with Raphael if I can arrange it.”

“Okay,” said Aziraphale. “Okay, we’ll give it a try.  He might have calmed down by now.”  He made his way to the liquor cabinet.  “I’ll bring something that might improve his mood.”

Victoria got some strange looks in the hallway on account of the fact that she was in her light armor, but she ignored them, oblivious.

There was a wiggly sigil painted on the outside of Crowley’s front door in drippy red spray paint. The neighbors must have loved that. Aziraphale was a bit afraid to touch it, but it looked more like an anti-demon symbol than an anti-angel one.

“Crowley,” said Aziraphale, knocking on the door.  His hand felt like it was hitting cold steel.  The ethereal walls were that thick.

There was a rustling sound from the other side of the door, evidence of activity.  Then, a stereo clicked on, muffled music blasting through the door.

“Oh, come on, Crowley,” said Aziraphale, banging on the door again.  “Don’t be like that.  I need to talk to you.”

The music increased in volume.

Aziraphale sighed. “Come on, Crowley.  I brought you a bottle of that nice chateau you like so much.  I just want to talk to you for a few minutes.”

A pause.  The music clicked off.  Footsteps approached the door.  The chain rattled off, and the door swung open.  The sigils must have been linked to the one on the door, because as soon as it opened, the walls fell, humming in the background, ready to go back up as soon as the door shut again.

Crowley, in a pair of rumpled sweatpants with hair all mussed, looked Aziraphale up and down. Then his eyes fell on Victoria.

“You brought her here?” he hissed, but Aziraphale had already got his foot in the door and was halfway in.

“We need to talk, Crowley, just for a minute, okay?  Come on, you can have this wine all to yourself.”

Crowley scowled and backed into his flat.  Victoria and Aziraphale came in, shutting the door behind them.  The walls zoomed back up, the flat resuming its function of ironclad fortress.

“Aziraphale,” the demon said in a low voice, “use your brain; the warrior angels are going to have the most reason to be upset with me.  You can’t—”

“Crowley,” said Victoria, “I just want to talk with you.  That’s all.  We’re on the same side here.”  

Aziraphale said, “This is Victoria we’re talking about here. You know her. Please calm down and take a seat.”

Crowley, still visibly angry, deliberately walked away from them into the kitchen, got exactly one wine glass, and came back out to plop onto the couch.

“Well, go ahead and say whatever the hell is so important,” said Crowley, prying the cork off the wine bottle.

“Crowley,” said Victoria, leaning in.  “Just let me talk for a moment, all right?  Let’s look at the facts.  Raphael is pushing for Michael to be cast out of Heaven.  He claims it’s at your request.  Gabriel, Uriel, and Metatron are united against him.  Hell has destroyed the Temple and the archangels have declared they’re somehow going to proceed with the War without an antichrist altogether.”

This last bit must have still been news to Crowley, for he began to down the wine without skipping a beat.

“Your old master is on the throne,” Victoria continued.  “From anyone’s perspective, you have to admit it looks like you’re doing this to try and give Hell leverage.  You have to meet us halfway.  We need Michael, or Hell would destroy us.”

“You lot sound like a broken record,” said Crowley.  “I know.  There’s still nothing I can do about it.”

“Crowley, listen,” said Victoria.  “Given the extent of your fortifications, I think you have a good idea of exactly what kind of trouble you’re in.  If you did lie, you can admit it to us.  I promise it won’t leave this room.  Whatever you’ve gotten yourself into, you can tell us, and we’ll help you dig yourself out. We can help you.  But you have to tell us what’s going on.”

“Why is it always me, huh?” said Crowley.  “Why is it when the universe needs a punching bag, it always decides, ‘oh, let’s just load it off on Crowley, I’m sure he can handle it!’  Why is it when someone needs to get the short end of the stick it always falls to me!  I used to be an optimist, you know!  Raphael said he was going to help me, not throw me under the bus.”

“We can talk to Raphael,” said Victoria.  “If I can arrange for you to meet with him one-on-one, without Gabriel there, would you do it?  All you’d need to do is try one more time to ask him to drop the case against Michael.”

“It won’t work,” said Crowley.  “There’s no point.”

“You don’t know that, dear,” said Aziraphale.  “We should at least try.”

Crowley leaned forwards and opened the drawer of his coffee table, withdrawing a piece of Heaven’s parchment.  He threw it on the table.

Aziraphale and Victoria leaned forwards to read it.

Crowley,

I’m so sorry. I anticipated having everything resolved before you showed up again.  Please just sit tight and keep quiet.  I’ll come find you after this is all over and make it up to you.  Gabriel is watching me like a hawk and there are certain factors at play I can’t let him find out.  Don’t try to contact me again.

-The Archangel Raphael

They looked back up to Crowley, who was fuming.  “Raphael’s already told me to sit down, shut up, and go along with it,” he said. “What do you want me to do?  Lie and say I’m in collusion with Raphael?”

“This letter doesn’t have Raphael’s seal on it,” said Victoria with sudden malice.  “We don’t know that he wrote this.”

“He didn’t put his seal on it so that if Gabriel got ahold of it he could say that I fabricated it,” Crowley said.  “It’s why Hell’s nobility doesn’t use seals at all.”

“Convenient,” said Victoria darkly.

“Victoria, it’s Raphael’s handwriting,” said Aziraphale gently.  “What Crowley said makes sense.”

“Nothing about this makes sense!” Victoria said with frustration surging again.  “You’re suggesting Raphael is a traitor!  And this is all so close to the destruction of the Temple!”

“I was thinking about that,” said Crowley, gesturing emphatically.  “Really, wasn’t the timing of that perfect for Gabriel? He and Raphael are fighting about Michael, and suddenly the Temple is destroyed and the war is back on, presto! Gabriel has exactly what he needs to overrule Raphael—Heaven is doomed without Michael in the war.”

“Are you suggesting Heaven destroyed the temple?” Victoria said.

“I wouldn’t put it past them,” he answered.                                                             

“I ought to smite you where you stand for suggesting that,” Victoria seethed.  “First you try to shift the blame for this onto Raphael with this extremely convenient letter that excuses you from the situation, which for all I know is fake, and then you suggest Gabriel destroyed the Temple.  Will your shameless lies never end, you vile creature?”

Crowley jammed the cork back into the wine bottle.  “We’re on the same side, huh? I think we’re done here.”

“Crowley, wait,” said Aziraphale as Victoria stormed towards the door.

“I sssaid we’re done,” he hissed.  “Get out.  Both of you.”

“I was just leaving,” said Victoria, opening the door.  “I might not be able to control myself around you any longer.”

“Wait,” said Aziraphale. “Surely we can—”

Crowley pushed the wine bottle into Aziraphale’s chest.  “You can have this back, I don’t want it.  Get out.”

“Crowley—”

“Get out!”

He found himself in the hallway a few moments later, the door closing behind him and the walls going back up around the flat.

“I told you he was manipulating you, Aziraphale,” said Victoria.  “Do you see it now?”

“Why did you say that to him?” said Aziraphale.  “You said you were going to be respectful!”

“He’s lucky I didn’t kill him,” said Victoria.  “I’m done with this.  You can play your games with your demons, Aziraphale.  They’ll never be trustworthy.  Maybe someday you’ll realize that and come to your senses. I’m going back up to Heaven to actually try and get something done about this.”

She stalked off, leaving Aziraphale with the bottle of wine in the hallway.  The music started up again from inside the flat, but this time the door did not open no matter how much he knocked.