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indigovigilance · 8 months

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Sovereignty, Citizenship, and the Bookshop

Credit to @flameraven for scripts

Read on Ao3 at: Sovereignty, Citizenship, and the Bookshop (1702 words) by indigovigilance Summary: The rules regarding who may enter the bookshop, and who may give others permission to enter the bookshop, are revealed by events rather than exposition. Parallel themes surround the Bentley. In this meta I generate a theory of sovereignty and citizenship as it pertains to the Bookshop, and what that implies about a statement Crowley makes and Aziraphale's final decision in S2E6.

What actually is the Bookshop?

First, Aziraphale explains to Crowley:

S2E5: AZIRAPHALE: We're perfectly safe in here. Technically, this bookshop still counts as an Embassy.

But then, speaking to Shax, Aziraphale further defines the bookshop:

AZIRAPHALE: Out of the question. Might I remind you, that this bookshop is technically an independent embassy. Being a former outpost of Heaven, and as such…

Which doesn't actually make any sense.

An embassy, by definition, is a satellite of another larger nation. It is usually the residence of an ambassador, and is considered the "soil" and jurisdiction of the home country, regardless of where it is in the world: "An embassy is considered “foreign soil,” meaning that it operates under the jurisdiction and laws of the home country, not the host country (the country where the embassy is physically located)." [ext source]

So an embassy, by its basic definition, cannot be independent. It's an oxymoron. I'll interpret this to mean that the Bookshop constitutes its own nationstate (and that Aziraphale just doesn't say it that way because he's a funky little guy).

Bookshop: A Sovereign Nation of Two

There has been extensive discussion about why Crowley seems never to have told Aziraphale that he was living in his car, and why, if/when Aziraphale figured it out, he didn't say anything about it. (I wrote a meta discussing how we know that Aziraphale knows by the beginning of S2E4 that Crowley is living in his car. Additionally, in S2E6, Aziraphale doesn't seem to look particularly surprised when Crowley announces to the room that he's tired of living in his car; you can interpret this as being distracted and phased out but I don't think Aziraphale is ever so dissociated that he would miss a statement like that and simply not react. So by then, he certainly knows.)

I posit that Crowley did not ask to move in and would have refused to do so even if offered for one very simple reason: moving in would have made him a citizen of Bookshop, and therefore a point of vulnerability for Aziraphale. Because as he explains to Shax in S2E3, he can't technically invite her in:

SHAX: if you won't let me in… CROWLEY: Not technically something I can do.

Of course, Crowley is a demon: he could be lying. But let's take the statement at face value, since Shax, also a demon, who seems reasonably familiar with the rules of entry, doesn't question it. So Crowley, by never establishing citizenship, ensures that he can never be coerced or tricked into letting anyone into the Bookshop. He maintains his foreign entity status on purpose to protect Aziraphale.

One more note, in passing: Crowley stays at the shop in S2E3 and S2E4, but he has been charged by Aziraphale to "mind the bookshop, and Gabriel." His role is more akin to a house-sitter than a houseguest. He's there on work visa, and it does not establish citizenship.

So Crowley isn't a citizen of Bookshop. But someone other than Aziraphale is.

S2E1: MAGGIE: I can be out of here in two weeks. AZIRAPHALE: Out of here? Why? Don't you like it anymore? MAGGIE: Oh, Mr. Fell, I love this shop! I've loved it since I was a baby. But I know how behind I am on rent. (…) MAGGIE: You can't just forgive me eight months' rent. AZIRAPHALE: Oh, I can. I'm very good at forgiveness. It's one of my favorite things. Now, you have paid your rent, I have my music, and I know exactly what I'll be doing for the next 21 minutes. [he giggles and leaves] (creepiest most disturbing giggle in all of cinematic history BUT ANYWAYS)

We've established that Maggie not only is a tenant of land owned by Aziraphale, but that her accounts are all paid up. Her citizenship (or at least, permanent residency) is secure. If simply renting out the space wasn't enough, we learn that she is a fourth-generation resident of the space owned by Aziraphale, which started inside the bookshop itself, and so Maggie may have been born into citizenship. Either way, the consequences of this arise in S2E6:

AZIRAPHALE: Maggie, what just happened? MAGGIE: I… I think I might have just told them they could come in.

Crowley can't tell demons that they can come in. But Maggie can. My explanation for this is because she actually lives (and is up on her rent) in a territory of the nation of Bookshop. It could be posed that Maggie can invite demons in because she is a guest of the ball, and so this is a temporary power, but Crowley was a "guest"/house-sitter and didn't have this power, so I reject this explanation and affirm it as a citizenship/residency power.

The Metatron's Offer

At time of writing, the fandom has spent two months trying to figure out why Metatron offered Aziraphale the job of Supreme Archangel. Was it to get him back into Heaven where he can keep a closer eye on him? Was it to get him away from Crowley? Did Metatron realize that he is a wellspring of power and wants to tap into it for nefarious purpose?

I'm going to propose a different, much simpler reason: he needed to get Aziraphale out of the bookshop. To explain that, we look to a line that Crowley delivers during the Conversation:

CROWLEY: I mean, if Gabriel and Beelzebub can do it, go off together, then we can. Just the two of us. We don't need Heaven, we don't need Hell, they're toxic. We need to get away from them, just be an us. You and me, what do you say? AZIRAPHALE: Come with me… to Heaven. I'll run it, you can be my second in command. We can make a difference. CROWLEY: You can't leave this bookshop.

Hang on, didn't Crowley just say that they should run off together? Why is he now saying that he can't leave the bookshop? These statements seem contradictory, but through the lens of sovereignty, they're not. You see, if Aziraphale goes off to Alpha Centauri without rejoining Heaven, the Bookshop still belongs to him and constitutes the sovereign nation over which he rules. It is the anchor and touchstone of his independent status. What ever new residence they establish will, in turn, be an embassy of that "independent embassy." The Bookshop then (I hypothesize, and posit that Crowley does too) grants Aziraphale protection from Heaven and Hell no matter where he is in the universe.

A Brief Aside on the Mechanics of Satellites

We have some evidence that Bookshop rules extend to wherever Aziraphale happens to be "residing," in that when Aziraphale borrows Crowley's car, Shax must trick him into giving him permission to enter (S2E4):

HITCHHIKER: I'm so sorry, can you be an angel and give me a lift? Only m-my car's broken down and my phone's dead. Just to the next town, there's a garage there. AZIRAPHALE: Oh… yes, well… I suppose you better climb in, then.

Thus establishing that, theoretically, Crowley and Aziraphale could "go off together" and still have the protection of the Bookshop.

The Consequences of Aziraphale's Final Decision

Crowley tells Aziraphale that he cannot leave the bookshop, but then we know that Aziraphale takes the job and ascends to Heaven. Metatron looks extremely relieved. No sooner do they ascend than Muriel enters the bookshop, where we know Metatron has placed them. Let's take this point by point.

The Bookshop is no longer a sovereign nation

By rejoining Heaven, Aziraphale has reclaimed his citizenship as an angel of Heaven. I'm going to go ahead and say (for sake of argument and because it is thematically consistent) that Heaven does not honor duel citizenship. Therefore, Aziraphale has given up his citizenship of Bookshop, but as it still belongs to him, it is now territory subject to the jurisdiction of Heaven. Muriel has been placed there as a representative of Heaven. Having been (we can surmise) the only "independent embassy" in existence where both angels and demons had to ask permission to enter, it is once again a good and proper embassy of Heaven.

This is important because now, neither Aziraphale nor Crowley have any place to go that is protected from both Heaven and Hell.

Muriel has unfettered access to Aziraphale's collection of books

My very simplistic theory for why Metatron went to so much trouble to get Aziraphale to cede control of the Bookshop is that he needs access to his collection of books. Specifically, he needs a certain Scrivener who enjoys reading to set up camp there and peruse every single book. This is because he is looking for something.

Gabriel left Heaven with a large box; he arrived at the Bookshop with an empty box. We can punt around all sorts of possible reasons but let's say, for sake of conjecture, that Gabriel stole the Book of Life on his way out to protect himself and Beelzebub from erasure. We don't know where the Book is now, but Metatron (who doesn't know the box was empty) has good reason to believe that the Book of Life is somewhere in the bookshop. But it's too dangerous to admit that they've lost track of it, so the best way to find a Book in a bookshop is to get the owner out of there, install an avid reader as steward, and wait patiently.

Other consequences of this theory of citizenship

We are given to believe that Crowley and Aziraphale are both outcasts of Hell and Heaven, respectively, yet Aziraphale seems to be the only one of them that benefits from the protections of independence. We could say that it is because Aziraphale owns land, and so that allows him to establish a nationstate, whereas the Bentley does not, but since Aziraphale brings the protections of independence with him when he borrows the Bentley, that seems flimsy. I find it more likely that in S3 we're going to learn something about Crowley that explains why he lacks these protections, and if I dare to make conjecture, it will be the subject of another meta.

I didn't get around to a discussion of the consequences of Aziraphale throwing his halo and "declaring war," or that war declaration being maybe-cancelled by Crowley; suffice to say, that may again be it's own meta.

~~~

If you enjoyed this, you may enjoy: Honolulu Roast: the story of a coup

another meta on the topic of ownership re the Bentley by @ineffable-endearments can be found here.

~~~

edit: I was reminded by @rekishi-aka to note that in S1, Gabriel and Sandolphon walk right in, because at that time the bookshop is an embassy of Heaven. For all of S2 except the final 30 minutes, celestials all have to ask permission to enter, including Michael, Uriel, Saraqael, and Muriel, because the Bookshop is independent. After Aziraphale throws his halo, celestials just appear inside the Bookshop: by declaring war, Aziraphale has relinquished his protection. It's unclear whether it would have been reestablished by Crowley cancelling the war, but it's a moot point because then Aziraphale agrees to become the Supreme Archangel.

#good omens #good omens 2 #good omens meta #aziraphale #crowley #ineffable husbands #neil gaiman #good omens maggie #muriel #good omens muriel #maggie #metatron #fuck metatron #ivoc

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televised-eyes · 3 months

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It really saddens me to see Aziraphale get the full force of everyone’s contempt over his reaction to the kiss & here's why:

What do we know about Aziraphale's true character? What they we been shown? Well, he’s a silly angel, who cares too much, loves his partner Crowley and truly wants to do what he believes is the right thing!

Don't get me wrong, I can see why a lot of people side and identify with Crowley after the final fifteen, given his trauma and the fact that he was the one making himself vulnerable by initiating the kiss.

But here the thing: it’s not like Aziraphale acted out of character after hearing Crowley’s proposal. We, as the audience, have been shown multiple times when Crowley has begged for them to run away together and every time we’ve seen it, it has been in a situation where Crowley wants to abandon all responsibility. It’s a trauma response and I don’t blame Crowley for being traumatized by Heaven and Hell. Just like I don’t blame him for not wanting to go back to either.

But Aziraphale has never responded positively to this proposition before. The only difference this time was the kiss. A beautiful, desperate, awkward kiss!

Aziraphale has always been wired to take responsibility and direct action even when he shouldn’t. For him, Azi’s personal code is to always do what he believes is the right thing to do, even if it might not end well. He gives the flaming sword to humanity, he saves Job’s children, he discorporates himself to stop the apocalypse, he does the thing with the halo.

I just don’t buy the narrative that he chose Heaven over Crowley. I think Aziraphale chose Heaven *because* of Crowley. He knew as long as he was in charge, he could keep Crowley safe.

Azi clearly loves Crowley despite his cognitive dissonance at all times. He can talk all the livelong day about how they "aren’t friends," but his actions speak the opposite. He cares deeply for Crowley. Azi trusts Crowley, he lets him get “plenty of use” out of the bookshop, he turns a neighborhood association meeting into a cotillion ball so that he can dance with him, he risked an eternity in Hell by wearing Crowley’s face.

He also knows that Crowley always comes back especially his angel needs him. Unless Crowley does a 180 and returns to Hell to actively thwart Heaven out of spite (which ngl that would great television & a theory I’d like to dwell deeper into elsewhere) this was just another disagreement and they will work it out somehow by working together. And hopefully learn how to communicate clearly!

The very root of the argument was misunderstanding and failure of communication on both sides.

The more I think about the “I forgive you” line, the more I think it may have just been Azi’s gut reaction to read the kiss as one of Crowley’s “temptations.” It’s a loaded word, but I think most people read the kiss as a last act of desperation to convince him to run away. In the past, we have seen Azi’s automatic response to what he feels like is a temptation from Crowley has always been to “forgive” him.

Is it irritating? Yes. Is it good communication? No. Is it a trauma response? I think yes.

I think that’s why the ending of season 2 didn’t upset me as much as it has upset others. I feel like I understand both sides—both how and why Crowley and Aziraphale make their decisions—because the writing is so damn good.

*Aziraphale did not reject or abandon Crowley.*

That last look at Crowley before stepping into the elevator was not a “good bye” or a “fuck you.” I truly believe he looked back to remind himself why he’s doing what he’s doing in the first place!!!

Aziraphale is protecting Crowley because he loves Crowley and believes their relationship is not only worth making sacrifices for, but also strong enough to withstand them!

#i’ve been meaning to articulate this for a while #and i’m still hoping any of this makes sense #i just love this story and these characters #good omens #good omens 2 #gomens #ineffable husbands #aziraphale x crowley #crowley x aziraphale #good omens spoilers #good omens meta #meta #fandom #tw abandonment #tw rejection

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aethelflaedladyofmercia · 3 years

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The Ritual of Propagation - Chapter 4

Aziraphale and Crowley are finally ready to meld and perform the ritual, bringing their little angel into existence!

Well, they think they're ready...

OK they're not ready.

WARNING: This chapter contains (flashback) scenes of r*pe and abuse, and present-day scenes of... well, the resulting PTSD and trauma. Also, metaphysical true-form s*x. Rated M.

The excerpt below is pretty much the only non-painful part of the chapter.

Chapter 4: The Astral Plane

Aziraphale felt the thrill run through one hundred and nine little angels as he lifted his sword from its table.

“You must all remember, a weapon is not a toy. You may hold it to train, or to spar, but you can never forget that it is a tool meant to harm another. Always respect it, and always take care.” A hum of agreement, or at least excitement. “Now. Let me show you a few basics.”

It wasn’t easy to move through his forms, particularly with the nearly-mature younglings on his lower right wing, but they always swarmed up near the joints when he gave these demonstrations and that helped a little. Odd, of course, that they would do such a thing; there wasn’t really any other evidence they could see what he was doing. Perhaps they simply liked the way it made him feel.

His emotions regarding the sword were… complicated, to say the least. He always felt better when he held it, as if a part of him had been returned. And the motions—as he demonstrated a few basic blocks and thrusts—seemed to fill him with a strength, a solidity, a purpose that had slowly drained away in his time at the facility. He loved that with this weapon, he could protect the Heaven he adored, and all the angels who toiled to create the World he longed to see.

But at the same time, he hated using it against his fellow angels, traitors though they might be. He tried not to let the younglings see that weakness in him, but he wished very much that the War had never happened.

“Now,” he pushed back the emotions to focus on the blade in his hand. “This is meant to be held in one hand, like so. There’s just enough space for a second if you need it, but additional power won’t always help. The sharpness of the edge alone is sufficient if your opponent is unarmored.”

He moved now through a more complex series of swings, designed to take full advantage of the weapon’s cutting power. He didn’t try to incorporate all the steps—moving back and forth like that would surely just lead to another fall—but his arm flowed from one position to the next, in a way that felt pleasant, almost satisfactory.

Aziraphale felt little nudges from Haniel, wriggling out of the crowd of larger younglings. “Is this what you’re looking for, little one?” The sword burst into flames, eliciting another wave of elation from the Soldiers-to-be.

Closing his eyes, Aziraphale moved through the next form with hardly a thought. He tried to imagine his charges as they would be after detachment: tiny little things with wide eyes and stubby wings, as he’d seen the last time he slipped away to the other part of the facility. Sitting on the floor, watching with rapt attention. A few standing beside him, following his motions, holding practice swords that were almost too big for them.

It wasn’t that he wanted to be a trainer. Aziraphale was happy… or at least, at peace with where he was. He had his Duty and performed it well, and there was a certain satisfaction in that, in knowing his little Soldiers would one day join the Legions, and stand to defend Heaven with swords and bows in hand, that he had made that possible.

He just wished he could see it, too.

A rustle along one wing, and he glanced over to find a flurry of globes bumping against each other on his upper right wing. “Enough of that. Don’t play so rough.” He set down the sword, gently pushing them apart with his fingers. “Who started this? Farris?” He watched the golden ball burrow guiltily into his feathers. “Your enthusiasm does you credit, but that is not proper behavior.”

Aziraphale settled on the edge of the table, drawing his wings close so that he could see all the little angels. “Yes, your purpose is to fight, but as Guardians, not aggressors, and certainly not bullies. It is not your place to start a fight, nor to escalate one any further than necessary. If a conflict can be settled without violence, that is by far the better outcome.”

Another question from the upper left wing, this time Curaniel. “When you must fight, and you one day will find yourself in that position, you should end it swiftly and decisively. That does not mean destroying your enemy,” he added, though the thought was probably too complex for the little ones. “Mercy is always a virtue, and one you should practice as often as you can. And, on the other side, never be ashamed to flee from a superior opponent. Become stronger, and return to fight another day.”

Sure enough, a ripple of confusion, particularly in his lower right wing from the younglings nearly ready for detachment. He cradled the wing in his arm, lifting it to better look at them. “Of course, there are exceptions. As I said, we are Guardians. When our charges are in danger, we do everything—everything to keep them safe.” He reached out to run his fingers along Bualu, feeling the joy ripple out. “Even if we’re scared, yes. There’s no shame in being afraid, but you mustn’t—”

The door of his room slammed open.

Read the rest on AO3!

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angel-and-serpent · 4 years

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Aftershock

Unbeknownst to almost everybody, the world had almost ended. It was the kind of thing one should really be informed about, really. Nevertheless, mankind carried on, ignorant of how close they'd come to their end. An earthbound angel and demon, however, were only too well aware of how close their brush with annihilation had been. Not just humanity's, but their own. They had been condemned to death by holy water and hellfire respectively.

And yet here they were, back on earth once again. Not just amongst people, as they had been from the beginning, but with each other.

The walk from the garden bench was charged with emotion. Despite this, nothing of much interest was said between them as they made their way to their destination. They idly chatted, still trying to wrap their minds around the full enormity of what had just happened. They walked side by side as they always had, despite the insurmountable victory they had accomplished. They had yet to put into words what they were thinking, as their thoughts raced by too quickly to be comprehended.

The impressive exterior of the Ritz came into view up ahead. The familiar sense of excitement grew inside them; the mixed emotions of joy and fear of being together in public.

Once the initial reaction had passed, however, Aziraphale did something he rarely did: he entertained new thoughts. The realisation had just begun to sink in.

There was no reason to hide anymore.

A spark inside Aziraphale began to turn into a blaze.

As they entered the lobby together, Aziraphale felt something in his chest rise up. There was the entrance to the restaurant, just as they'd planned. However, his heart tugged in a different direction, one he'd quashed countless times. With each step, his instinct told him otherwise. That same instinct had told him to give away his flaming sword, to shelter a demon under his wing, to protect a unique child in his moment of need, and how to decipher a prophesy to save them both. It had helped him so much over the years, so why shouldn't he just...?

The restaurant host at his podium was within sight. All they had to do was walk over, order a table for two, and...

No.

Not today.

Aziraphale's feet stopped. Crowley noticed the emptiness at his side and turned. "Everything alright, angel?"

Yes. Yes, it truly was.

The host had recognised him across the lobby.

"Ah, Mr Fell!" He called with familiarity. "Will it be a table for two this afternoon, gentlemen?"

Aziraphale opened his mouth to answer... but the words would not come out. He paused for a moment, wringing his hands in contemplation. Crowley looked at him curiously and wondered if he should speak for him.

Finally he replied. "Uh, n-no thank you, John, my dear chap. I'm afraid I've... just remembered some rather, uh, pressing business I should really attend to first. Perhaps later. Cheerio!"

As he turned around to back out, he faced Crowley and gave him a brief yet very distinct look. Crowley understood, to some extent: 'This is important'. He gave the host a shrug, and followed Aziraphale back out to the lobby. If Crowley was unsure what he was doing before, he was even more perplexed when Aziraphale crossed over to the other side. The side they'd never gone to before.

"Excuse me, miss?" Aziraphale asked politely, if somewhat nervously. Both the concierge and Crowley looked up at him.

"Good afternoon, sir. What may I help you with?" asked the woman behind the sleek desk.

Aziraphale barreled on. "I'd... I'd like a room. Please."

He turned slowly to look directly at Crowley, through his glasses. He looked at him expectantly. "...For two."

Crowley's mouth fell open. He looked at Aziraphale, dumbfounded. Aziraphale raised his brows expectantly at him.

"Wonderful, sir. Will that be two beds or-"

"One bed," responded Crowley. He slammed down his very dark and shiny credit card on the counter. He replied to the concierge but faced Aziraphale while he spoke. "The largest, nicest one you've got!" He grinned dashingly, biting his lip.

Aziraphale's heart soared in his chest and he could barely contain his smile.

If the concierge saw their delight, she was too polite and professional to acknowledge it. Instead she tapped away at her keyboard and searched the monitor. "Let me see what we have. I'm afraid we don't have much available for walk-in bookings, but I'll see what I can do..."

Aziraphale flicked his fingers where only one person in the lobby might have seen it.

"Oh, well here we go! We've had a last minute cancellation for a two room suite with king sized bed. Will that be suitable, sirs?"

Both of them were lost for a moment, and had to be asked a second time.

"I'm sorry? Um, uh, YES! Yes, that would be lovely!" Aziraphale managed to get out.

"And how many nights will you be staying?"

They looked to each other, Aziraphale for permission and Crowley for confirmation.

"Let's make it... a week?" Crowley replied. There was a slight noise from Aziraphale's direction that might have been a gasp or a surprised huff.

"Allllright, sirs, bear with me one moment, please, while I put your details into the system. This won't take too long. Would you like your luggage brought up to your room?"

Crowley answered, "No luggage."

Aziraphale nudged him. "Nonsense, dear. Our, uh, suitcases are in the car. No need to bring it up now. We'll bring it up ourselves later, if that's alright?"

"Yes. 'Course," Crowley quickly recovered.

"That's not a problem," replied the concierge, not letting on in anyway if she truly understood the situation. "You can always call through to us at the front desk if you need anything or have any questions. The bellhop will show you to your room. Here's your keycard and a brochure to our available amenities, including opening and closing times of the restaurant."

Aziraphale was about to inform her that he was already well acquainted with the restaurant's times, but he was in a hurry to be on their way.

They followed the bellhop who led them to the lifts. The doors opened and the three of them stepped into the car. The bellhop stood in front of them by the buttons. To Aziraphale and Crowley, two immortals who'd been on earth since time immemorial, it was the longest ride they'd ever had to suffer through.

Aziraphale and Crowley hadn't made eye contact since the front desk. They still stared dead ahead, and silent as could be. What wasn't said was felt, though; the space between them was electric.

Aziraphale saw movement out the corner of his eye. Without even looking down, he knew what it was. Crowley's little finger was secretly reaching for him. Surreptitious as always, but shy and tentative as well. Aziraphale needed this affirmation, too, that this was really happening, and that they were together in this. He, also, extended his own trembling little finger. He felt it brush against Crowley's, desperately ready bridge the gap between them and to entwine-

The elevator car lurched as they reached their floor. Their hands snapped back at their sides as a reflex. The bell chimed, and they stepped out.

They were led down the hall and to their suite. The bellhop showed them inside, pointing out the rooms' features. Crowley sauntered around slowly, regarding the rooms with practiced disinterest. Aziraphale assured the young man that everything looked tip-top, and was perhaps a little too eager to bid him on his way. Finally, he closed the door which locked soundly.

Aziraphale paused at the door, as if he was waiting for someone to come bursting through and interrupt them.

It never came.

They were alone.

They had their privacy.

They had their freedom.

Unsure of what to do next, Crowley sat down on the end of the bed. The silence between them was deafening.

Aziraphale turned to face Crowley.

"I'm sorry," he said, his voice unsteady and hushed. "But if I didn't do that... I might have lost all my nerve!"

The space between them evaporated immediately. Crowley instantly threw his arms open wide and Aziraphale rushed into them. They clung to each other tightly; not a space for even a breath between them. However, some things don't need breath. Angels and demons, for example, or expressions of true love.

A lot can be accomplished in a week. God created the World in six days and rested on the seventh. For an angel and a demon, they can slough off the shackles that held them back from being themselves. Walls can be broken down around guarded hearts, and the love within them can finally be allowed to flow freely. They can make the world they always wanted for themselves.

#good omens #ineffable husbands #aziraphale and crowley #good omens ficlet #ineffable fluff #good omens fanfiction #crowley and aziraphale #my writing #jumping on the bandwagon #me writes too #good omens fanfic #good omens fan fiction

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cheeseanonioncrisps · 5 years

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A lot has been made of Aziraphale's giving away his flaming sword in terms of it being a rebellion of sorts, signalling his willingness to put aside Heaven's agenda to do what he thinks is right— but I don't think I've seen anyone talking about what a profound lack of faith it shows.

I mean, you've got Crowley, who is questioning the divine plan, exactly the thing that got him Fallen in the first place— but he's questioning the direction of the divine plan, not the existence or rightness of it. He's wondering whether God didn't intend for humans to eat the fruit all along, arguably questioning Heaven, not God.

And then you have Azriaphale, who apparently took one look at the world outside the Garden— cold, vicious animals, and with Eve expecting already— and came to the conclusion that God probably didn't care enough to protect the humans from that.

He may parrot the party-line about God's plan, but when push comes to shove, even before meeting Crowley and spending 6,000 years living outside of Heaven, he has more faith in a flaming sword to protect humanity than he does in Her.

Crowley the rebel, by the way, takes for-fucking-ever in comparison to get to this stage. Crowley is shocked and horrified 1,000 years later when Noah's Ark happens, because he can't believe that God would do something like that to humans. Crowley is significantly more disillusioned but still very bitter and upset about the whole Jesus thing, because it still seems like something Heaven shouldn't be doing.

Aziraphale, meanwhile, is clearly very uncomfortable with the whole Noah's Ark thing, and by Jesus is actively trying to distance himself from Heaven's decisions by saying that he's not in charge of "policy".

And by WW2, he's helping, or at least trying to help. Which I really don't think is something he's meant to be doing.

Aziraphale has been put on Earth to thwart evil in the form of Crowley, but otherwise he's supposed to be leaving the actual thwarting up to humans. The two of them are there to direct souls to their respective sides— they can tempt or bless people, and they can create situations where people are more likely to do good or bad, but I really don't get the impression that they're supposed to interfere with politics.

Aziraphale could try and encourage the Nazis to repent, or he could give a member of the Allies an idea for how to stop them, but I think actively participating in a sting operation to get them captured might be a bit outside his jurisdiction.

But, again, he has to help. Because who else is going to help them? Certainly not Heaven, he's seen Heaven, he knows they don't give a shit about individuals. Certainly not God.

Sure, he believes that God will stop the apocalypse. Because he believes that She will want to stop the AntiChrist sooner rather than later. He's not shocked by the idea that God would allow a war, he's shocked by the idea that God would allow a war for the sake of war when She could just murder a child.

There's a scene from the book that was cut from the series (because they didn't have the time or money to film it) where Aziraphale posesses the body of an American televangelist in the middle of an excited speech about how the apocalypse is just round the corner and all the good people are about to be raptured out of there. At which point Aziraphale interrupts to tell him that no, no they won't, because nobody cares about humanity. Humans are basically a way of keeping score at this point, and nobody gives a shit if a planetful of them are caught in the crossfire of Heaven and Hell's last great battle.

I'm really not sure if Aziraphale even thinks there is a great plan.

I mean, he ends up averting the apocalypse with the power of 'realising that Heaven and Hell have no idea what the fuck they're talking about'. His whole "would that be the ineffable plan?" thing depends on the idea that nothing has actually been written down and nobody has been given any explicit instructions.

Crowley not only doesn't come up with this himself, but is surprised that it works. "Surely? Crowley thought, they don't actually know." is the line from the book. Crowley has doubts about whether it's a good idea to follow the ineffable plan (or Heaven and Hell's idea of it) if it means screwing up Earth— in fact by the time we get to the apocalypse he's openly against it id it means that— but he doesn't doubt that there is one.

At the end he even speculates that maybe God intended them to stop the apocalypse all along, and their rebellion was also part of the Great Plan, just like he did when Adam and Eve ate the apple. (For someone who rebelled against God, Crowley is surprisingly anti-free will.) To which Aziraphale responds with a non-commital "wouldn't put it past Her."

Even the ways in which they approach God show their different levels of faith. Less so in the book, but in the TV series Crowley prays. He raises his weird serpenty eyes to Heaven and he questions God, on the assumption that there's at least a chance She might be listening.

Aziraphale never does that. When Aziraphale wants answers from God, Aziraphale petitions God's secretary. The idea that there might be an unofficial channel to the Creator of the Universe doesn't occur to him. He knows that God exists, alright, but he doesn't believe She's listening.

Aziraphale wants there to be a divine plan. He wants Heaven to be good and Hell to be evil (with the single exception of Crowley) and God to be looking out for everyone after all. But, deep down, I really don't know if he ever truly believes it.

#good omens #good omens meta #good omens analysis #good omens spoilers #a structured argument you say?#oh no we don't do that here #this is word-vomit #crowley #aziraphale

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sundry-whovengerslocked · 5 years

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Let Me Know, Tonight And Evermore - Chapter 1

Prompt and Post that inspired this fic

Special thanks to @crowleysansweringmachine and @ineffable0husbands for helping me with ideas and editing for this fic! Without you guys this would be... not so tickety-boo.

Warnings: mentioned war, mentioned genocide, angst, self-doubt/anxiety, some mutual pining

Tag list: @crowleysanwseringmachine @ineffable0husbands @idkimbadwithusernamesandstuff @elrilsf @askazfellandco @dystopianinterstellar @ampyrsandrya @chaosfandombeing @butttteeerrrrrr

It was the first of October, 1941, when the Principality Aziraphale opened the door to his bookshop to see the demon Crowley standing there, smelling of alcohol with tears in his eyes.

Now, dear reader, God at the time had been very busy, so I was in charge of watching over these unlikely friends during World War Two. You may ask who I am, and how I was there, but my story is for another time.

This tale is what we shall focus on: one of despair, one of War and Death, and one, ultimately, of hope and love.

Are you ready?

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It had been about five months since the two immortal beings had stood in the ruins of a church during the Blitz; it had been just as long since Aziraphale finally realized he was completely smitten for Crowley.

Aziraphale had been reading, or at least trying to. He was absentmindedly leafing through one of his prophecy books (one that had been saved by a little demonic miracle), subconsciously fussing with his hair. The bookshop was quiet, as it had been since the beginning of the war.

So when he heard a rapid knocking on the door, after the sun had gone down, the man nearly jumped out of his chair. Shuffling to the front of the shop anxiously and opening the door, his eyebrows raised at the scene before him. The very being he had been thinking of was on his doorstep, in a sorry state: he was drunk and crying, sunglasses folded into his shirt collar.

"Angel... I need your help."

After a moment of staring, Aziraphale ushered Crowley inside - nervously making sure the sign said closed - then handed the distressed man a cup of just-miracled tea. He sat down across from him in his armchair, but Crowley reached out his hand to him. Aziraphale didn't think he had ever seen such desperation in his eyes before. He let himself be pulled over to sit next to him on the sofa before speaking.

"My dear, whatever is bothering you so much?"

Crowley took a single sip of his tea out of politeness before placing it down on the table. He took a deep breath, a moment to put his sunglasses back on, then lightly grabbed Aziraphale's hand.

Aziraphale swallowed, silently scolding the butterflies in his stomach.

"There... there was a massacre," Crowley said, voice breaking as he looked at the floor. "The 29th and 30th, in Kiev."

Here, allow me a brief digression. This slaughter of approximately 33,771 people at the ravine of Baba Yar was indeed real, and unfortunately I find myself knowing far too much about World War Two. I have known War for far too long, even if she does not remember me.

Now, throughout history, Aziraphale and Crowley found themselves taking tragedies among humans to heart. They would try to distract themselves, or hide themselves away, or would lean on each other, all while fearing deep down the way their actions may have ill affect on humanity. World War Two, and in turn, the massacre of Baba Yar, were some such instances.

Crowley exhaled slowly. He squeezed Aziraphale's hand, for he knew the pain that would be coming for his friend. "Tens of thousands dead."

The angel looked at him sadly but intently, urging him to go on.

"Aziraphale... some of the wounds... there were burns. I've been hearing rumors through the grapevine, and..." Crowley turned his head to him, swallowing. "Angel, they have your sword."

The Guardian of the Eastern Gate of the Garden of Eden, the one who gave away his flaming sword to the very first humans, felt his stomach plummet very suddenly. For what was at the very least a solid minute, he stared at his bookcases, processing what he had been told, all while attempting to anchor himself with the feeling of the messenger's hand on his own. Then, hesitantly, with his voice no louder than the squeak of a mouse, he spoke.

"What if I did... a bad thing?"

Crowley's eyebrows shot up, and he shifted on the sofa to face Aziraphale, nearly falling off as he did so. Huffing, he took a moment to sober up before talking. "No, angel, not at all! Remember what I said, all those years ago? You can't do the wrong thing."

Aziraphale frowned, tears forming in his eyes as he shook slightly. He took a sharp breath, pulling back his hand. "But what about what you said after that? If you did the right thing and I did the wrong thing?"

Crowley tried to interrupt, but his voice was louder now, sentences faster.

"I mean the apple, the apple gave them knowledge, it gave them creativity, it gave them this-" he gestured broadly to the books around him, "but the sword? The sword taught them violence, made them fight! The flaming sword might have been what gave birth to War in the first place!"

(War had not, in fact, been born of the Principality's flaming sword. She was created earlier, of the first Great War between Heaven and Hell. After all, there can't be war without War. So you mustn't worry there, reader.)

"Azir-Aziraphale!" Crowley finally managed to speak over him, placing his hands on his shoulders to get his attention. His expression was intense, even with his eyes hidden behind dark lenses. "You know as well as I do that the humans thought this all up on their own, even if it is horrible." He swallowed, not wanting to share with the angel the things he had seen recently. "Your sword falling into the hands of the wrong people is simply bad luck."

(It really was. I could go on to explain how some toast and a handful of careless magicians were involved, but let's continue with this story.)

The angel took a few deep, shuddering breaths, closing his eyes and clenching his fists. He felt hurt, deep in his soul. Something had to be done. "We have to get it back," he said, voice filled with conviction even as it wavered.

Crowley choked on his words for a moment before protesting: "Wh- No! No, angel, it's far too dangerous." He gripped his friend's upper arms, trying to get his point across. "That's a dreadful, stupid idea."

Aziraphale shook his head, not taking any of it. "No, Crowley, we must. We have to get it away from them." The demon began to speak again, but he cut him off. "You're a spy, for Her sake. You know how to infiltrate them. We can get it, and... and hide it away!"

Still hidden behind sunglasses, serpentine eyes widened until there was no white left. He was nervous, thinking not only of all the horrors he had seen in this war, but also all the close calls he's had in saving the life of the man he loved.

The two men stared at each other for a bit, letting the conversation sink in.

What Aziraphale put together, taken aback, was that Crowley had been using the word you, and that this demon really was concerned for an angel's safety. For Aziraphale's safety.

What Crowley realized, in the moments between, was that Aziraphale had been using the word we. Even with Crowley being adamant, he was determined that they could do this together. Maybe they were closer friends then he thought.

No matter what they felt, they were a team.

At least for now, they were on their own side.

"Dear," the blond man said, tone softer now as he tilted his head: "we can do it, I know we can. You can ask your fellow intelligence agents to help."

Crowley's breath hitched, and he dropped his hands back to his lap. "Angel... you don't understand how terrible it is out there... even without the sword."

Aziraphale kept eye contact. Or rather, eyes-to-sunglasses contact. "We can do it. You know I can handle it. And if I can't, well..." he smiled slightly, "I'll have you to protect me."

A blush spread across Crowley's cheeks, and he briefly wondered if his skin was turning the same shade as his hair. "Uh... oh, ngk..." He sighed deeply, frustrated, before whining: "Ugh... okay, fine."

Aziraphale grinned widely, even with sadness still evident in his eyes. "It's settled, then. We're going to get the sword away from them."

The bookshop was silent once again, this time filled with anticipation and determination for the decision that had been made. And if any angels or demons had cared to listen in... Well, I made sure I was the only one to remember the conversation.

#let me know tonight and evermore #Good omens #ineffable husbands #otp: ineffable #my writing #fanfic #fanfiction #angst #mutual pining #Sundry writes #6000 year slow burn #mystery narrator #flaming sword #apple #eden #original post

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askcrowley-g-o · 5 years

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Some time to themselves

((Okay, I know this is a little late, but when @ask-aziraphale-the-angel and Crowley both had some...alone time a while back, for those interested, I’m posting a link to the AO3 fic of what happened. Warning, this is NSFW and includes very adult content!. The fic is here For those of you who do not want to read all of that, there were also some plot relevant things that happened that I am posting here in this post. Continue reading for the SFW portion of the story:))

“I’ve never cuddled before,” he admitted.

"Well. I suppose this I'm technically tempting you into it then." He giggled happily, face still flushed but a new glow to his skin. He sat up, gasping as their combined fluids leaked rather obscenely from him.

He pressed his back to the headboard and motioned for Crowley to join him.

Crowley snorted at the temptation joke. Sitting up he leaned against the head board snuggling up beside the angel, snaking an arm around him. Sitting up like this, their height difference was once again apparent.

“Mmmm,” he smiled, “This isn’t so bad. Cuddling.”

He sighed into the embrace, eyes closed as he drifted in and out of sleep, "Isn't it though? Very bad. Oooh. Bad enough for a demon to participate in." He chuckled softly.

Crowley smiles down at Aziraphale, a stupid smile that he was fully aware looked lovesick, but could do nothing about. Placing a soft kiss on his head he sighed, resting his cheek there. “Not too bad, though,” he argued, “For an angel to be suggesting.”

The smile the angel gave him wrinkled his eyes and he beamed up at his beloved, "But of course." His voice was quiet for a moment, his eyes trailing down Crowley's face, reaching up to trace his finger tips along Crowley's lip, "Its so incredibly... human.”

Shivering at the contact, Crowley caught those fingers between his teeth. He flicked a wicked tongue across them, then released them. “It’s what we always wanted, isn’t it? Not angelic, not demonic, just human.” It was what had brought them together, over the centuries. The one key point they had both always agreed on.

A sort of sadness washed over his eyes but he smiled at the playfulness of the bite, "I still want that. Immortality has been good for my book collection but..." He laid his head against Crowley's chest, "I wish we could have been without the opposing sides long ago.”

“Yes but,” Crowley tapped Aziraphale on the nose, “Think of all the fun we’ve had.” He didn’t disagree. However, the past couldn’t be changed. The demon knew that better than most. No point in lingering over it.

Aziraphale wrinkled his nose against the bop, smiling up at him a little wider, "You're right. I shouldn't dwell. Things have happened exactly the way they're suppose to. Its..." he pressed a quick kiss to his lips, “Ineffable."

Crowley’s smile faded. He hadn’t told him. He needed to. This seemed like a terrible time and yet, he couldn’t imagine a good time. If he didn’t say something now, he never would.

There had been enough things kept hidden, secret, never spoken of. He was tired of it.

“I talked to God,” Crowley said, his voice oddly hollow, “She apologized to me. For the fall.” He took a deep breath. He didn’t want to admit, even to himself, how painful it was.

“I asked Her why. Asked her about the plan.” His jaw clenched. His entire body was rigid beside Aziraphale. “There isn’t one. Aziraphale, there is no ineffable plan. She’s making it up as she goes, just like everyone else.”

Aziraphale froze immediately, eyes slowly widening with fear and shock. He pulled himself from where he laid against the demon's chest, sitting further up to look him dead in the eyes, ".... What…?"

Swallowing hard, Crowley clenched his jaw against the fear he saw there. He felt the same writhing beast of terror in his own gut at the implications. “It’s what she said,” He responded, voice strained, “She wasn’t even awake for the flood, the crucifixion, any of that. It wasn’t her design, it was just nonsense.” He could not stop the bitterness from creeping into his voice. Better to be angry, than in pain.

Aziraphale shook his head, very slowly moving further back to look at him. He sat up on his knees, eyes so wide they looked like they may pop out. He stared down at his hands and his eyes welled up with tears, "There is.... no plan…?"

Blinking against the sting of his eyes, Crowley reached out, taking the angel’s hands in his own. “Aziraphale, I’m sorry, I...” I wish I could change it. Could make it better. I wish I’d never found out. Never had to tell you.

But there was nothing he could do. There was no making this better. This was something he could not protect his angel from. And it hurt.

Aziraphale brought his hands up to his face and sat very still for a moment before taking a deep breath in and looking at Crowley with red rimmed eyes, "So... everything thats happened... all the wars... the flood... Eden... everything was just... by chance?”

“Not exactly,” Crowley said, shifting his legs uncomfortably under the sheets, “She said, well She said the Metatron was speaking for Her, while She slept. Apparently, he decides those things.” The demon wasn’t sure whether this helped, or only made it worse, but he had to offer everything he knew. Which wasn’t much, that was actually about the whole of it.

Aziraphale looked away from him, stared down at the bed in absolute horror, "She didn't have a hand in it. None of that was part of the Ineffable Plan..." his eyes leaked down his cheeks and he shook his head slowly, "All those people.. I could have... I could have saved them... during the wars, the flood... I could have-" He choked on a sob.

Letting out a strangled sound, Crowley grabbed Aziraphale and pulled him close. “No.” He said sternly. “No, don’t do that. Those lives do not belong on your conscience. Their blood is on Her hands.” He spoke with intensity, his lip twitching in a way that suggested a snarl.

“She lied to you, to everyone. Said that there was a plan, said Her will had a reason. Then She went to sleep and left some asshole in charge. You did everything you could, did what you always thought was right. You could never do more than that.”

He stared back into Crowley's, his own wide with the weight of this new knowledge. He sniffled a little and shook his head, speaking softly and wiping at his face, "I... still could have helped. I should have. I was so caught up in not questioning anything. I knew it was wrong and still I-" He cut himself off, held his face in his hands for a long moment before looking back up to Crowley, "But you're right. What's done is done.”

Feeling completely, and utterly powerless, Crowley held his angel. There was nothing else he could do. “I’m so sorry, angel,” he said softly, wiping away a tear.

“I wish I could change it. I-“ I wish I could make it all mean something. I wish I could make it all worth while. Make it matter. Make anything matter.

“I love you.” At some point, without Crowley’s knowledge or consent, his eyes had started leaking.

Aziraphale's eyes twitched at the sight of Crowley crying and he reached up, trailing his thumb below the demon's eye to catch a tear. He smiled the smallest bit, adjusting to sit up and take Crowley's face in his hands, "It is such a relief to know no matter what was planned and what wasn't, that I have you.”

Crowley didn’t know what to say. There was nothing to say. Putting one hand over Aziraphale’s, he put the other on the back of the angel’s neck and kissed him.

A deep kiss, an attempt to convey all the things he couldn’t say.

The angel accepted the kiss for what is was, letting himself dissolve into it, because things were so uncertain but Crowley was here and wasn't going anywhere. His demon wouldn't leave him now. And if that was the only stability he had, that was ok.

Crowley’s hand trailed up the back of the angel’s neck to tangle in his curls. The demon had not felt this lost and afraid since the Fall. This time, though, he had Aziraphale. He needed the angel, needed to reinforce the fact he was not alone.

Without breaking the kiss he pulled Aziraphale into his lap. Pressed the angel against him as he ran his hand along the his back and hips.

The angel went willingly, curling up against the demon and leaned further in. He finally broke the kiss himself and stared deep into Crowley's eyes, "At least I will always have you…"

"Always," Crowley breathed, still running hands over the angel's back, still needing the reassurance of his presence, "Whatever happens. Angel, I am always yours." Tears had stopped streaming down his face, but his eyes were still watery. Still raw. The demon sat there looking incredibly vulnerable. Feeling so vulnerable.

The soft smile on his lips was gentle. The world was very scary now. Scarier than it had ever been. But together, he felt safe. And he hoped Crowley did too. "I love you... You... are all I need.”

“I love you,” Crowley said, managing to smile finally, “You are all I have ever needed, angel.” He kissed Aziraphale, still enjoying the freedom of being able to do so.

#crowley #aziraphale #ineffable husbands #good omens #rp #long post

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our-smooty · 4 years

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Flowerbeds and Fertile Soil: Chapter 11

Fandom: Good Omens

Rating: Explicit

Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens, )Anathema Device/Newton Pulsifer

Tags: Kidfic, Mpreg kind of, they can choose to present however so idk, Crowley Has A Vulva (Good Omens), Crowley Has A Penis (Good Omens), Aziraphale Has A Penis (Good Omens), Aziraphale Has A Vulva (Good Omens), OCs Galor, parenting, using your snake form to avoid confrontation, Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Pregnancy, if I missed a tag lemme know

Summary: They could do anything, go anywhere, all without the worry of Above or Bellow making a fuss. Even so, they mostly kept to their little patch of Eden, their cottage and garden and the simple life they’d carved out among the locals. Aziraphale opened a book shop in town, where he only occasionally sold any books (and the ones he did sell, were all modern and stocked specifically for that purpose). Crowley focused his attentions on the garden, and if he occasionally helped their elderly neighbour with her disobedient willow tree, then that was a secret no one needed to know. Lately, however, they had both been feeling rather restless, unbeknownst to each other. Aziraphale tried reorganizing his store, changing the way he tied his bowtie and even ate pizza –something he considered to be far too messy for him personally. Crowley had branched out into birdwatching, and then car maintenance (the human way), and even reading. Nothing scratched the itch for either of them.

Ao3 Link

The news of what happened to the bookshop came to them in the form of a very early morning phone call from the London authorities a few weeks after they started the nursery. It roused Crowley from a particularly satisfying sleep. Aziraphale had already been awake as he usually was early in the morning. It had only taken listening into the first ten seconds of the phone conversation for Crowley to be wide awake and scrambling to get dressed.

“A break-in? At the book shop?” Aziraphale parroted into the receiver. “Last night?”

“Shit,” Crowley hissed, wrestling his legs through the nearest pair of trousers he found. “Tell ‘em we’ll be there soon, ok angel?” Bottoms in place he threw on a t-shirt and jacket then began to gather together Aziraphale’s things. The angel had hung up after promising to make his way to London, and was now getting to his feet himself.

“A break-in…” Aziraphale said again, giving Crowley a grateful look as he took the clothing. “I’m not sure--shouldn’t my alarms have gone off…?”

“Didn’t know you had an alarm system,” Crowley remarked. They were both dressed and trundling down the stairs towards the kitchen within minutes. “Figured that’d be too high-tech.”

“Not a human one, dear. Wards, protections, that sort of thing. They should have gone off if anyone, human or otherwise, attempted to get into the shop,” Aziraphale explained as he began work on boiling the kettle. He got their two travel thermoses from the cupboard (Crowley’s own was a simple black, while Azirphales was tartan) and began to spoon in the appropriate amounts of sugar.

Crowley was in charge of tossing together a quick breakfast for the road. Leftover cake and biscuits might not be appropriate for a human breakfast, but he thought the angel might need to sugar. Aziraphale loved to comfort eat, and Crowley didn’t really see the harm, given that they weren’t really capable of getting sick. After he’d gotten everything together he snapped it all into the boot of the Bently and they made their way out to join it.

“D’you mind if I drive a little faster than usual angel?” Aziraphale nodded mutely and they took off, speeding down the backroads onto the nearest motorway that would take them towards London. He swerved expertly through cars, applying judicious demonic miracles when needed. In a parting from the norm, Aziraphale remained silent, though he did cling to the armrest and door at each turn. The Bently behaved itself as well, playing something quiet and classical the entire ride.

The two-hour trip took them a little under one and a quarter. As much as they both wanted to go straight to the bookshop, the police officer on the phone had told them to visit the station first. It was just a formality, she said. Crowley parked haphazardly in the station parking lot and ushered them inside. When the officers tried to get them into a room for questioning, he discretely snapped his fingers to make them believe they’d already given a statement. Aziraphale wasn’t looking too good, and he was still reticent while wringing his hand, so Crowley figured it was well worth the miracle to speed things along.

The officer who had called them came with them to the bookshop. Crowley followed behind the cruiser in the Bently and didn’t even make a fuss about going exactly the speed limit. While sitting at a red light just before they got into Soho he glanced over and offered the angel an open hand.

“Doing ok?” Aziraphale startled a little, like he’d forgotten he wasn’t alone. Crowley kept his hand out in waiting, just in case he wanted to take it. After a few more quiet moments Aziraphale did and gave him a strained smile.

“Just worried, dearest. My wards have never failed before,” the angel said, winding and unwinding their fingers. Crowley knew it was strange. Aziraphale was Guardian of the Eastern Gate of Eden and his wards were not bypassed easily. It would take a very powerful force, or someone who knew exactly what they were doing to break them.

“We’ll get there and see what happened. Probably something stupid like a-a rat or something eating through your sigils in the foundation.” Crowley was willing that to be the case very, very hard. Because the alternative was that someone from their previous sides was still trying to mess with them and that this was a warning of sorts.

“OK, yes, you’re right.” The light turned green and Crowley followed the cruiser through. They were only 5 minutes from the shop. “I hope the books--I hope everything's alright.”

When they pulled up, the initial damage was as clear as day. Two of the front windows were smashed, and the front door was vandalized with spray paint. There was caution tape around the front steps, barely hanging on to the bannister. Aziraphale let out a little “oh”, wounded and shocked. It made Crowley’s stomach drop, though that may have just been the baby protesting all the hubbub this morning.

“It’s ok angel, we can fix it. We can fix it,” Crowley murmured, holding Aziraphale’s hand a little more firmly. “We’ll listen to what the police-human has to say, and then when no one’s looking we’ll make it good as new again.”

Aziraphale nodded, still staring out the window. He was the one to let go of Crowley’s hand, and step out of the Bently first. Crowley followed, scrambling awkwardly out of the door. His belly was starting to cause a few issues in that department, but not so many that he was too frustrated yet. The officer they came with was also out of her cruiser and standing by the doorway. She waved to them slightly while shuffling her notes.

“All the damage seems to be on the outside,” she explained, skimming through the reports. “Except for some scuff marks to the floor where the rocks they threw through the windows bounced.” Crowley let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding.

“That's… good,” Aziraphale said, glancing at Crowley. “Isn’t it?”

“Very good angel. We can get the windows replaced and the door repainted in no time.” He smiled in pseudo-politeness at the officer. “Did you need anything else from us or…?”

“No, no. Just wanted to make sure you made it here alright. I remember this shop from when I was a little girl, it’s such a shame really.” The officer game them her card, then got back in her car. Crowley watched her go and made sure to carefully tuck the card away. In his line of business, you never threw out a perfectly good possibly contact. It was a hard habit to break, not that he really wanted to.

As soon as the police car cleared the corner, Crowley snapped his fingers and got rid of the outside vandalism. He even added a little mirage to it, where any human who looked at it would think it happened slowly over the course of a few days. He’d tackle the inside with more care when they got inside; Aziraphale never did like using miracles on his books unless completely necessary.

“Come on angel, let's get inside,” he said, resting a hand gently on Aziraphale’s lower back and guiding him up the steps. The bookshop opened its door automatically as Aziraphale reached for the knob, welcoming its owner home. Crowley followed swiftly behind, immediately taking in the damage. Glass from the broken window he hadn’t miracles away when replacing them. A few deep scratches to the hardwood where the rocks had landed, one stack of books knocked over, and a medium-sized stone laying amongst the collection. Nothing unfixable. Still, his chest burned with rage and indignation over whoever had done this.

“I-I have a broom, just in the closet over there. I’ll get it and sweep up this glass, if you could be so kind as to fix up the floor?” Aziraphale asked, not waiting for a reply before heading down the hall to retrieve the broom. Crowley didn’t object, partly because there was no reason, and partly because he knew Aziraphale had gathered himself enough to but on a brave face, which was a good sign.

They worked quickly, and before long Azirpahale had moved on to fixing the stack of books. Crowley left him to it, knowing the angel had a specific filing system that even Crowley hadn’t quite gotten the hang of, and went to go grab lunch instead. Fortunately, the smell of fish hadn’t made him nauseous in weeks, so it was no trouble to pick up Aziraphale’s favourite sushi. When he got back the angel was just finishing up.

“Oh Crowley! I’d wondered where you’d gotten to!” he exclaimed, looking much perkier than when they’d first arrived. Organizing the books often did that, and Crowley was glad to see his love back in high spirits.

“Just popped down the road for a bit of lunch. Got all your favourites, and said hi to the chief for you,” he explained, holding up the takeaway bags. Strictly speaking, Aziraphale’s favourite sushi place didn’t do take-out, but when Crowley had called and explained who the order was for, he hadn’t even needed to use a Temptation.

“Thank you, dear boy. You’re so thoughtful. You didn’t walk did you?” Aziraphale left the neatly stacked pile and followed Crowley into the back room and to the little table they often used to eat at when then still lived here. “I was just getting a pick peckish.”

“Knew you would be. Everything all sorted then?” Crowley asked, setting out the containers and miracling a plate. Even if the smell wasn’t making him sick, he didn’t want to push his luck. He might try nibbling on some of the tempura, but anything more than that was tempting fate.

“Yes, yes. It was really only that one bunch that were out of sorts, but I checked the ones around it, just in case. Nothing else seems to be amiss.” Aziraphale took sushi from the boxes onto his plate, procuring a set of white chopsticks from thin air. “I do wonder who would have done something like this. I didn’t think I had any enemies.”

“Could be some of mine. Not sure if any of them would have the guts to do something like this, but humans are surprising,” Crowley offered, watching Aziraphale stack his plate high greedily. He made no attempt to hide his stare when the angel ate these days, especially when they were alone. It was a small pleasure, one that reminded him of some of the best times he’d had with the angel over the whole lonely 6000 years.

“It’s possible. I hadn’t realized --well, I shall just have to take another look at my wards and make sure they’re up to snuff, so nothing like this can happen again.” Aziraphale seemed much calmer than when they’d arrived, which in turn helped Crowley to settle down. Yes, this was probably a one-off, just like he’d said in the car. Everything was fine. He leaned back on the familiar sofa, resting his hands on the swell of his stomach.

“I can add some of my own. Always meant to, but I thought you might have accused me of meddling. And then we moved…” The purchase of the cottage had only come weeks after they’d confessed to each other, in the whirlwind of new and exciting experiences. He’d forgotten his intention to do anything with the bookshop's protections as soon as he’d been caught up making their new home safe.

“That would be marvellous dear. My protections may be strong, but yours are cunning.” They lapsed back into a short silence, Aziraphale enjoying the delicate sushi and Crowley enjoying Aziraphale. It was a familiar scene, one that had played out hundreds of times in the backroom. Crowley basked in it, taking comfort in the ritual. In his relaxed state, his mind began to wander, flitting down to the subtle rolling he could feel in his belly.

“They’ve been calm since we got inside you know. Thank they can tell this is one of your spaces.” Aziraphale paused just as he was about to pop a piece of nigiri into his mouth. The round redness of his mouth curved into a smile.

“I won’t pretend the shop isn’t a sort of nest. It would be impossible to argue that,” Aziraphale laughed, getting up from his armchair to settle down beside the demon and lay a hand on his belly as well. “They’re getting so big, do you really think it’s only going to be 9 months?”

“If it's like a human baby.” Crowley had half expected his corporation to work differently, but they were still all created in her image, even if he was a demon.

“Have you--have you thought about names?” Aziraphale asked, his voice barely a whisper. This was one of those topics that was clearly on the edge of being too much for Crowley, and the demon appreciated Aziraphale’s tentative approach. He was happy, comfortable and in a familiar space. She felt safe, despite the vandalism that had taken place not 24 hours ago.

“Not really, been calling them something in my head though. Just a silly nickname.” Over the past few weeks, as the baby had become more and more active and begun to kick Crowley in the ribs with increasing fervour he’d needed a name to call them when he became exasperated.

“Do tell! That is, if you’re comfortable.” Crowley miracled up his own pair of chopsticks. He carefully gathered a delicate piece of Tamago to feed to the angel. The way Aziraphale’s face lit up at the sweet, delicate morsel was enchanting.

“I’ve been calling them Sprout. S’silly, I know, but--” Aziraphale cut him off with a muffled sound and a quick flap of his hand.

“No no,” he said, once he’d swallowed, “I haven’t thought of a permanent name either, nevermind a nickname. And Sprout is very… fitting I think.”

Hearing the nickname out loud, nevermind in the angel’s voice, made Crowley’s cheeks heat up and his heart flutter. There was a mild fluttering in his belly as well, that he assumed came from the baby being disturbed by the poking and prodding at his stomach.

“Yeah, yeah I thought so too.” He grabbed himself a bit of tempura leak and nibbling on it. “Dunno about real names, but we have time right?”

“Yes, of course. Do let me know when you have any ideas.” Aziraphale leaned forward over his lunch again, quickly demolishing the selection Crowley had picked up. “Do you think, dearest, that you could help me with the wards after lunch. Only if you aren’t already tired from going out, and driving us here.”

Crowley did a mental once over of himself and decided he was alright. His back ached a little, and his feet were a tad swollen, but nothing serious enough to stop him making the bookshop safe. They should probably do his Mayfair flat, while they were in London, though they’d need to extend their stay overnight. Crowley was sure that he couldn’t pull off two warding ceremonies in one day.

“Sure angel. We can do my old place tomorrow maybe? Is the bed upstairs still fit to use?” he asked. Even though it was just after mid-day, he was beginning to feel a little sleepy. He’d always enjoyed napping, but it’d been sporadic, a few hours here, a week there. Now Crowley took almost daily naps, only two or three hours long at a time but extremely regular. Not to mention the vandalism had him feeling a little nostalgic and protective over the bookshop. It’d be nice to sleep in the first bed they shared as a couple again.

Aziraphale looked off into the distance, like he was thinking hard about something, then snapped. “It should be now. Fancy a kip then?”

“Mmhm, missed that stupid, fluffy bed of yours.” Truly a hedonist, Aziraphale’s bed was the softest, most extravagant thing Crowley had ever seen. Almost too much, which was why their bed at home was a little more reserved. But still, it was nice to enjoy a little bit of excessive luxury sometimes.

“Well then, let me just finish up here and then we can bang out those wards lickity-split so you can get to your nap. Thank you again dear, not just for lunch but for driving us here and handling the humans so well. You really do take such good care of me.”

“Pshaw, I do no such thing,” Crowley scoffed, nuzzling into the fluffy curls near Aziraphale’s ear. As the nausea had subsided, so did his sporadic distaste of the angel’s scent, much to both of the relief.

“Whatever you say, dear. Don’t get too comfortable. I’m just going to finish this last roll, then we can start. So thoughtful of you, to get my favourite maki with tuna. My clever, attentive serpent.” Crowley made a noise of embarrassment and hid his face further in Aziraphale’s neck, pleased that he’d made his angel happy.

Forbidding his eyes from closing, and his mind from drifting off, Crowley waited until Aziraphale was ready to get to work. The wards wouldn’t take too long--not with their combined experience--and then he could luxuriate in the bedroom for a good few hours. Maybe he’d be able to convince Aziraphale to bring his book to bed and join him. They’d gotten into the habit while Crowley had still been getting sick all the time and the angel had wanted to be close, but Crowley hoped they could keep doing it now. It wouldn’t be hard to convince Aziraphale at all, not if Crowley let him rest a hand on his belly as he slept, at least.

#fanfic #good omens #aziraphale/crowley #azirapahel #crowley #crowziraphale #ineffable husbands #gomens #tw mpreg #mpreg #fbafs

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scintillating-galaxias · 5 years

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give ‘em hell, darling

Chapter Two—Step 1

Sandalphon appears to read Aziraphale his charges and to collect him from Earth.

(read it here on ao3!)

“An’, get this angel.”

“What?”

“She told ‘im, ‘nothin’ wrong with the economy, just get your arse up and find a job!’” Crowley hooted loudly, sloshing a considerable amount of wine down the fist gripping the stem of the glass. Aziraphale, glassy-eyed, miracled it back into the cup. “An’ she hasn’t worked in years! ”

Aziraphale shook his head, tutting. “What did you do?”

“Nicked her credit card and left it for the bum.”

“Crowley…! Alright, I would have given him money anyway. Stealing from the rich, giving to the poor, or something like that.”

“See, you get it.”

A very sharp rapping on the door rudely interrupted Crowley’s drunken rendition of a fool he had made out of a woman on the street criticizing a homeless man.

“Someone’s here,” said Crowley after a minute.

“Obviously,” said Aziraphale. “Doors don’t knock themselves.”

“No, I bloody well know that!” hissed Crowley, drunkenness slurring his vigilance. “Someone’s here! Aren’t you closed right now?” He stiffened abruptly, nostrils flaring slightly. “I can feel it—someone holy. Smells like bleach.”

Oh, dear. Murmuring some very mild curses, Aziraphale quickly sent the alcohol in his system back into the bottles and then told the bottles to return to the dusty cabinets from which they came. He straightened his bow-tie and after he swallowed dryly, called, “One moment, please!”

“What the Heaven do they want? I thought you said they’d leave us alone!” hissed Crowley. He had sobered himself up as well and was agitatedly pacing back and forth, shooting poisonous looks at the closed door, which shuddered fearfully in its doorframe.

“I’m not sure,” Aziraphale said.

“We’ve wasted enough time already,” said a sharp voice, laced with—glee? That couldn’t be good. Aziraphale pushed down his growing concern and made for the door. “Open up. I know you’re not—ah.”

“Good day, Sandalphon,” Aziraphale greeted tersely. “What business brings you to Earth?”

“You,” Sandalphon answered with a grin that was too wide to be natural. His gold-teeth, hardly having to be changed for his human appearance, glinted. He produced a stack of papers and brandished them. “You’re being recalled to Heaven.”

The shot of dread that fired through Aziraphale’s body made him feel weak-kneed. He resisted stumbling by sheer force of will and managed to coolly ask, “Why?”

Sandalphon stepped inside the room without invitation. He glanced derisively about, empty eyes moving derisively from Aziraphale’s dusty shelf of not-for-sale (read: favorite) books, to the antique rug, and finally, to Crowley, who curled his lip and let his forked tongue flicked menacingly. “Your performance lately has been lacking,” Sandalphon said, refocusing his stony stare on Aziraphale. “Heaven has decided you’re no longer the best suited for this job.”

Crowley snorted ungracefully while Aziraphale blinked disbelievingly.

“You’re kidding,” said Crowley. “Was there another angel who’s secretly been on Earth this whole time?”

“Am I—Am I being fired?” Aziraphale asked incredulously.

Sandalphon’s plastic grin stretched wider, somehow. “No. You’re being recalled. You should be fired, but this is the next most appropriate action to take.”

“That’s not—Never mind.” Aziraphale discreetly wiped his hands on the backside of his coat. “What about my, erm, performance has been failing?”

Sandalphon gestured to Crowley. “Obviously,” he said shortly, “ that has not been permanently banished to the deepest pits of Hell.”

Aziraphale bristled as Crowley loudly said, “I am right here. ”

“And,” Sandalphon continued, unperturbed, “your reports have been disappointingly lackluster. You’ve reported nearly the exact same interactions with humanity from this particular part of the world for the last year, and the year prior to that, and the year prior to that. And the two hundred before that.” He sighed in the morose manner you’d expect from a greedy boss denying you a raise. “Our expectations for you have simply not been met.”

Azirphale gritted his teeth and forced out, “May I see exactly what expectations you are referring to?”

To his surprise, Sandalphon actually handed over the papers. Aziraphale took them, staring suspiciously at first at Sandalphon, then the papers. Crowley’s lip curled as Sandalphon pointed out a paragraph on the first page.

“You’ll see here that the terms to your assignment are laid out quite clearly,” he said. Lines began to highlight themselves in golden light, obviously larger points of discussion. Aziraphale scowled. He filed his own taxes to the point of investigation by the British government, for Heaven’s sake, he knew how to read the small-print. The light only served to amplify the bleak blackness of the curling Enochian. “To begin, you were given the task of protecting the humans of the Garden of Eden from Evil. This included the terrible temptation of Eve.” Sandalphon shot Crowley a nasty look. He shrugged unapologetically. “You were charged with a Holy Blade of Flame by the Almighty to assist you in this task. However, you lost it mere week later, and it ended up in the hands of the one of the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse, War.”

“It—That was to help the humans! It was in the name of good!” Aziraphale did not like where this was going. “It was cold. I could not send them back into the Garden after their ejection by the Almighty—but I had to do something.”

“Which brings me to my next point…”

Crowley rolled his eyes. Aziraphale could only grit his teeth and listen as Sandalphon went down a list of his apparent misdemeanors with excruciating detail and slowness. Being unable to keep peace in a small village teeming with anger over a corrupt political situation in 2200 BC, allowing said political situation to become corrupt, warning families of a blight in 13 AD, healing people who Heaven wanted dead in 403 AD, miracling people to full recovery during the Bubonic Plague, and, most recently—

“You’ve been observed to be indulging greatly in the sin of gluttony—”

“Now, just one minute,” Aziraphale interrupted, beginning to feel panicked.

Sandalphon’s smile turned sour. “Angels can’t sin. This goes without saying. However, you’ve clearly proven yourself to be something else ever since that little stunt with the Hellfire. We don’t know what you are. Obviously not Fallen, but you’re not Unfallen, either. Gluttony is a sin no matter what you are. It’s only appropriate we treat it as such.”

Aziraphale froze. Beside him, Crowley had also gone still. Crowley had recounted exactly what had happened to him while he was in Heaven, including Uriel’s disgusted comment of, “What is he?” Evidently, it had not gone unnoticed. Admittedly, it was a rather logical question to ask. But Aziraphale couldn’t answer, “I don’t know either,” and he couldn’t explain what he and Crowley had done to escape extinction. That would only tell Heaven they could try again, and get the results they wanted this time. He swallowed and said nothing at all.

“So,” drawled Sandalphon, “the sin of gluttony. Gabriel noticed you partaking in some Earthly food while he was here. You explained it was for your human disguise. However, you’ve been recorded sullying your heavenly body with gross matter for centuries now. You don’t need to eat. Therefore, anything you consume can be considered excessive and unnecessarily.”

“That’s bollocks,” Crowley cut in. Both angels turned to him, Sandalphon in annoyance, Aziraphale in surprise.

“What?” said Sandalphon.

“That’s wrong,” Crowley said impatiently. “I’m the demon here, I should know what sin is. Gluttony’s supposed to be, y’know, an excess of food or wealth or whatever withheld from the needy. Sure, he eats a lot for an angel”—Crowley pulled his face into a ‘well, what can I say?’ frown—“ans he eats every day like most humans do. But he’s never sat around and ate big ol’ honeyed hams and wine all day while telling the poor people to piss off. I would know; I’ve been, erm, adversary-ing him for six thousand years.”

Thank you, cried Aziraphale internally, but Sandalphon was not impressed.

“Then what of these books?” he said at once. “Surely you don’t think we haven’t noticed the way he hoards these things. They are a symbol of status he refuses to part with, even for the innocent human pursuit of knowledge.”

“That’s different! Humans don’t need books the same way they need food.”

“Fine,” Sandalphon said with great reluctance. “The food is excluded. Then do tell me, demon; what is the reasoning for his reluctancy?”

Sandalphon turned to Aziraphale, who had gone quite pale.

“Their contents would be wasted on them,” he said. “It would be a tragedy, really.” He wanted to say collectors only bought them for the name, but he knew that wasn’t true; most collectors were just like him, in reality. The only difference is that Aziraphale has been there, living the events that inspired the legendary books of their times. There was no experience like it. Any modern day collectors were simply grasping for a way to experience a past they never could live. And for as long as a story is passed around humanity, it is eventually lost in the mess. As long as they were with Aziraphale, they were safe.

Sandalphon raised an eyebrow. His bald head was shining in the lamplight. “You wouldn’t even spare that moment of joy for a human? They don’t have forever to indulge themselves.” Sandalphon took Aziraphale’s guilty press of his lips as a victory. His eyes shone triumphantly. “Do you have anything to say for yourself, Principality?”

Aziraphale blinked once and let all pretenses of politeness slide off of his face. “Nothing you would sincerely listen to.”

“Aziraphale!” Crowley whirled on him, gripping Aziraphale’s forearm in one hand and gesturing furiously with the other. “Wha’—You can’t just go with him!” he snapped. “There’s—You haven’t hardly got to make a case for yourself!”

Aziraphale forced a weak smile for Crowley. He patted his bony hand gently. “It’s looking like I’m having little choice in the matter, my dear.”

“Hell, even Hell at least has a jury!”

“Yes, well… this is Heaven after all.” Aziraphale leveled an icy glare at Sandalphon who shifted uncomfortably. “They can do no wrong. Can they.”

“No,” Sandalphon said airily, sounding severely less confident. His mouth opened to say something else, only it opened, and then nothing at all came out. In fact, it stayed perfectly still, as did the rest of the room; the dust motes froze mid-flight, the swaying of Sandalphon’s trench-coat was caught in a dramatic turn—

“Crowley?”

“Aziraphale, they can’t take you again!” Crowley had a snarl on his face as he angrily waved his hands in the air. “They brought a demon last time for the Hellfire, they’ll bring another to—to torture you, or something! You won’t last a second! Or they’ll find you over to Hell itself—!”

“I’m tougher than you think,” Aziraphale assured him gently.

Crowley’s face crumpled. “I want to believe you, angel, I do. But this is Heaven’s punishments we’re talking about.”

Aziraphale’s heart ached at the fear in Crowley’s voice. He took Crowley’s cold hand and folded it tightly in his own two hands, holding it against his chest. “I understand your concern, my dear. But I’ll be alright. They’re operating out of fear, at the moment, I’m sure.”

Crowley furiously shook his head and wrapped his other hand around Aziraphale’s, gripping it as though he would vanish right then and there. Which, Aziraphale thought grimly, he very well might be. “It doesn’t matter what they’re operating out of! They want to get rid of you—”

“That may be so. But I think that Heaven is being a tad ambitious,” Aziraphale said primly.

Crowley stared at him. Then he took off his sunglasses to really drive in the disbelief shining in his—entirely yellow, Aziraphale noted guiltily—eyes. “Aziraphale, what are you saying?”

“There is no such thing as luck,” he said delicately. It was not a coincidence I found a scrap of prophecy that happened to be exactly what we needed to live another day.”

Crowley’s pupils narrowed to thin lines. “I, you, wh—gh? Can you even hear yourself right now? You think—? Come on, after all of this, you really think She— ?”

The room had slowly begun to move again. Crowley’s miracle was wearing off.

“How can you be so sure?” he finally asked.

“Crowley, listen to me,” Aziraphale said lowly. “I honestly cannot say I know what they will do. Your guesses are as good as mine. But I know Heaven, and I am not stupid. They don’t believe the failure of the Great Plan was a part of the Ineffable Plan. They’re searching for someone to blame, and, well, I’m a prime candidate.”

“Then they should take me too!” Crowley said indignantly. “I’d rather be trapped in Heaven with you than be on an Earth without you.” Aziraphale’s cheeks grew faintly warm at the intensity and genuinity of that statement, but he had to focus right now. He shoved the tidal wave of adoration towards Crowley as hard as he could and hoped he would feel it.

The sway of Sandalphon’s coat has reached its apex and was now falling the other way.

“The feeling is mutual,” he said honestly. “Heaven does not care for Earth as much as they do about the War. But they do care about what will happen to Earth if Hell is given free-range. They won’t leave you alone. If—when—they take me, they’ll send another angel in my place.”

Crowley made a disgusted sound.

“Heaven does not appreciate the wonderful stories and intricacies of this place; I believe it is why they were so eager for the end of the world. And if they do send another in my place, it is under the assumption they can use any stuffy old angel to replace me. That anyone can appreciate humanity as I do. Crowley— you need to prove them wrong. ”

Crowley was always a particularly cunning demon. His distressed face went through a complicated series of emotions before ending on a positively, if slightly wobbly, serpentine grin. “And how should I do that, angel?” he purred.

The completely random thought of kissing Crowley dramatically before the miracle ended flirted intensely with Aziraphale. Startled, Aziraphale found himself leaning in to growl, “Give them hell, darling,” and then the miracle’s lifespan was up.

Sandalphon looked incredibly displeased.

“You’re only delaying the inevitable,” he said snidely.

“I delayed the ineffable,” Aziraphale corrected. Sandalphon narrowed his eyes. “Well? Go on, then. List my charges.”

Sandalphon tapped his foot on the ground and the pages went flying back into his outstretched fingers. “It is with these words that I charge thee, Principality Aziraphale, Angel of the First Order of the Lowest Hierarchy, Guardian of the Eastern Gate…”

Aziraphale stopped paying attention as the list of his crimes ( crimes, he thought with a mental eyeroll, this was ridiculous) was read. He nudged Crowley, and hoped the brief contact was enough to convey, I’ll be okay, we’ll be okay, I promise I’ll come back. I won’t leave you behind.

“I still hate this,” murmured Crowley, low enough to go unnoticed by Sandalphon.

Aziraphale gnawed his cheek—a nervous habit gained after reading the phrase from a book and trying to figure out what it meant. “It is not ideal,” he said back just as quietly. He smiled tightly when Sandalphon glanced at him. “But I believe it won’t be long,” he continued. “I’ll be back before you know it. Two shakes of a lamb’s tail.”

“...two thousand, seven hundred, and thirty-three accounts of gluttony…”

“Yeesh. You’d get a commendation from Hell for that one.”

“Hush, you.”

Finally, after what felt like a day's worth of monotonous droning, Sandalphon lowered the papers. “Given this evidence, Heaven no longer sees you fit to be the angelic representative of Earth. You will be recalled to Heaven until given further notice, and during this time, Heaven will proceed with any necessary actions. Do you have any questions?”

Aziraphale made a show of looking cowed. “May I say goodbye?”

“To who? The demon?”

“Humans question things when a regularity in their life vanishes without imaginable reason.”

Sandalphon nodded after a very obvious hesitation. “You have one hour.”

And he vanished in a great crackle of lightning. Aziraphale slouched, unaware of how tightly he’d been holding himself up. Crowley squeezed his tense shoulder.

“I should get going,” said Aziraphale. “Clock’s ticking. Will you mind the bookshop for me while I’m gone?”

“‘Course.”

“If anyone asks, I’m on a business trip.” Crowley nodded, a pinched expression crossing his face. “What is it, Crowley?”

He didn’t answer for a pronounced moment. “Just—Don’t do anything stupid, angel.”

“I’ll miss you too, my dear.”

An hour later, after he had exhausted himself teleporting around London hastily explaining his absence to the restaurants he frequented, his manicurist, the bakeries, making phone calls, and leaving voicemails for would-be buyers of his books, Aziraphale was gone.

#good omens #good omens fanfic #aziraphale #crowley #sandalphon #gehd #my writing #drinking #drinking tw

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aethelflaedladyofmercia · 4 years

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What Might Have Been - 16

@goodomenscelebration - themes prompts!

Read the full story on AO3!

Happy Good Omens Armageddoniversary! How many of these can I post in one day?

(For those who have not read previous sections: Kasbeel is our Aziraphale, trapped in another universe and going by a pseudonym. Crowley’s “mirror image” is his AU self.)

Far Future

Kasbeel hovered in the air, giving his report.

“The demonic army attempted to strike from the Scottish Highlands, reinforced by several thousand of the Marked soldiers. They were driven off by Matafiel’s troops. We believe there may be some still hidden far to the north, on the Outer Hebrides.”

“These names mean nothing to us,” said Tufriel, rolling his eyes towards his partner. “Some of these scouts are starting to go native.”

“Won’t be a problem much longer,” Bezaliel replied. “Never mind the demons, we’ll get an update further north. Is this land still free from the blight?”

“Yes, Dominion,” Kasbeel bobbed his head with the correct amount of deference. “The whole of the Peak District is believed to be the last area free of Abaddon’s curse anywhere on this island, though rumors persist of some clear ground in Ireland.”

“Are there any humans left on the islands?” Bezaliel asked.

“The Retrieval squads took ours and we cleared out the rest last month.” Tufriel crossed his arms. “If only this island were so easy to deal with. Still, if this is the only unblemished land, it’s probably where the humans will gather. Once they realize they can’t get in the city. We’ll keep watching it. Good work.”

“Thank you.” He held up his messenger tube, sealed and directed to Michael’s base camp in Cornwall. “I will need to continue south with this. Do you have any details to add?”

“Only that I thought we’d be finished by now. Seven damn years of this. How much longer is it supposed to go on, anyway?”

Bezaliel grinned hungrily. “Not much more. Our offensive should begin in a little less than a month.” A wink towards the dutiful scout. “Keep an eye on the sky, tonight or tomorrow. Things are starting to happen.”

Kasbeel saluted, and the other two returned to their patrol. When they were well out of sight, he landed on a bare rock outcrop and hummed. Not with his lips; his wings vibrated, creating a single, perfect tone, echoing off the stones of the Peaks.

The humans began emerging from their hiding spots almost immediately, secreted behind stones or in deceptive hollows. Mostly teenagers, a few older, many younger, about half with a Mark upon their faces. They gathered around the angel, moving silently on the grass and moss.

It took nearly an hour for all to arrive. Kasbeel’s group of wanderers now numbered in the hundreds.

“Doesn’t sound like we’re going to be safe up here much longer,” Lyla said, without preamble. “Probably should have left last week, like I said.”

“Perhaps,” Kasbeel conceded, waving his arm to miracle up some food. It wasn’t much. Loaves of bread, potatoes, carrots. A little bit of meat, but he couldn’t produce anywhere near enough for a group this large. “But if we’d left then, Jennifer, Mickey and Ollie wouldn’t have found us.” At only five years old, Ollie was the youngest they’d taken in.

“Fine.” Lyla counted out the servings of meat and checked her list. “Group six gets the meat tonight. Only group six, Alex, I know that doesn’t include you.” She turned back to the angel who led them. “But we leave tonight.”

“Agreed.” He sighed, looking around the tumbling rocks one more time. “We’ll have to move quickly. This was a good hiding place. We won’t find another place this convenient, or this safe.”

“Where to, then?” Lyla grabbed Alex’s wrist, sending the thirteen-year-old over to the bread line. “Ireland? I don’t know how we’ll cross the sea, but it sounds like they’ve stopped looking there.”

Kasbeel pursed his lips. “Have you given up on finding New Eden, then?”

She spun towards him, fury in her eyes. “You know I haven’t. But it could be anywhere in the world! How the hell are we ever going to find it? We’ve barely searched half of England in over three years.”

He winced. “Three years, four months, six days,” he muttered. It was a very, very long time to go without hearing from Crowley. He’d tried contacting the demon in his dreams, over and over. He was here. He could sense that. But nothing else. “It’s in England. It must be. One of the patrols told me…Aziraphale,” he hesitated over the name, as always, “chose the location himself. He wouldn’t pick anywhere other than England.”

“Your double.” Lyla sat down next to him. She had grown, in the last three years, her hair getting long, her clothing replaced by whatever they could loot in half-abandoned cities, as was the case for all Kasbeel’s wards. Even her newest shirt was threadbare, the colors faded, as if the inanimate objects of the world had ceased to care. “You never told me what the deal was with you two.”

“No. I think it would be rather too much for you to understand.”

“Kasbeel, the world is ending. The ground is cursed. And I spend half my time talking to a rogue angel. What could possibly be weird at this point?”

He smiled. “My child, you haven’t the first idea.” He smoothed his hands down his jacket, then realized he was still in his scout uniform. A wave of his fingers turned it back to the familiar suit, bowtie and all. “Still, if you like, I can bring you all to Ireland before I continue my search. It should only take a few days to reach the coast, even with the young ones. After that…” he hesitated. Miracle up a giant ship? And how to make sure it landed somewhere unblighted?

“You know we won’t last a day without you,” Lyla sighed. “Wherever you’re going, you’re stuck with us.”

He turned back to the crowd that he had slowly gathered across the years. Orphans. Renegades. Many of them troublemakers who had been thrown out of the gangs they thought would protect them, others the only survivors by angelic or demonic attack. Exhausted, half-malnourished, so worn and dirty as to almost blend in with the rocks around them.

But not afraid. Of all the people left in the world, and Kasbeel feared there were not many, these few hundred slept safely at night, under the watch of an angel.

His godchildren.

“My dear Lyla, I wouldn’t have it any other way.” He settled down on a rock that conveniently grew to about the size of an armchair, with a thick cushion of moss.

She rolled her eyes at him. “How is it even out here, you manage to pamper yourself?”

“Millennia of practice. Now, what do you say we try for London again? It’s a risk, with all the patrols, but it may be the only place large enough to hide this many.”

“Assuming we can get in.”

“Assuming so, yes,” he said, gazing across the crowd. “And it sounds like there are many angels gathered in the south. But If I’m right about the wall of energy surrounding the city, I may know how to cross it.”

“And you still think your friend might be there.”

Kasbeel nodded. “I can’t imagine where else he might be. He should have contacted me by now, but they say no messages can get out of London. But, still, I would think–”

A cry went up from the gathered crowd, a scream of fear, echoed by person after person. “The sky!” Someone shouted, pointing. “The clouds are parting!”

In an instant, Kasbeel was on his feet, wings spread. He should have heard the trumpets, sensed the angels long before they parted the clouds – he had spent months honing his senses, in order to protect his charges. He braced himself for the orders that would arrive in his mind; if the Guardian of Humanity were among them, it would be difficult to resist…

Nothing came.

Instead, the clouds simply drifted apart, faster and faster, not a small parting but the whole sky, revealing the fading blue of twilight, deepening to black. Stars pierced the sky, just a few at first, but each bright as a jewel, clearer than he could ever remember them being, even in Heaven.

“Oh my God…” Lyla whispered, stepping next to him. “It’s clear. It hasn’t been clear since…since the war…I was a kid…”

Another star seemed to burst into view, white and shining, and Kasbeel fell to his knees, remembering…remembering a cottage in the South Downs, a blanket in the back garden, laying on his back and watching them arrive, while next to him…next to him…

That one’s Regulus. Not one of mine, Angel, that was some snooty wanker who thought he was so clever just because he could get four stars to orbit each other. And over there is Arcturus. Also technically not mine, but I had this really great idea and I needed a red giant to test it out on. It worked, by the way, so keep an eye out for a helium flash in the next thousand years or so…

It hurt, like being pierced by a spear, like being torn apart. He reached out a hand, grasping, wishing to feel Crowley, lying at his left side, as he always was, his protector, his partner, his friend…

A small hand caught his, wrapping around his fingers. He turned, blinking tears from his eyes, to see Lyla, kneeling beside him. A moment later the others started gathering around. Mickey, Rahima, Alex, Lochlan, Mariah, Amiyah, Dominic, Ollie, and so many more.

“Look,” Kasbeel said, pointing at the sky. “That star there. That’s Regulus. And over there…that one is named Arcturus…”

Far away, in a cell that seemed to exist in its own bubble far from anything else, Crowley snapped awake, emerging from a dream that was slightly less painful than reality.

Something had changed.

He could feel it, deep inside. Something that had been missing, suddenly returned.

“It’s the stars,” said his mirror image, across the cell. Shoftiel had left them both in their human bodies this time. The manacles that held their wrists – Crowley’s left, his mirror image’s right – were too short to lay down comfortably, so they both sprawled against their walls.

They didn’t talk much. The secrets they held were the only things keeping them alive. So they simply existed, here, together, witnessing each other’s pain and humiliation, waiting for their own turns. It bonded them in ways conversation never could.

“The sky is clear again,” the mirror image continued, looking up at the ceiling, lost to the dark above. “I wish I could see it.”

“Yeah,” Crowley said, allowing himself to remember a night on a blanket in a garden, just for a moment. “Me, too.”

“Not long now,” the mirror image said. “Seven years. That’s all it ever was.” His eyes met Crowley’s, and they were full of fear. They couldn’t hide their emotions without the glasses, and that was one thing they were never allowed. “If the stars are back, time’s nearly up.”

“So they’ve…learned everything?” It wasn’t something they asked each other. But if it was the end, Crowley wanted to know.

“Just one secret left.” The mirror image rolled his head, with a broken version of Crowley’s smile. “How to get into London.”

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