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lifblogs · 7 months

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Poison

AI-less Whumptober: Day 1 Drugging | Sick | Poisoned @ailesswhumptober

Fandom: Good Omens Rating: Explicit Word Count: 2224 Summary: Michael blames Crowley for Aziraphale ruling Heaven, and they decide to poison him. In his agony, the only person Crowley can call out to is Aziraphale. WARNING: Graphic Depictions of Violence READ ON AO3

Crowley pitifully dragged himself forward, gritty cement from the alley rubbing into his skin, his clothes. He didn’t much care for the coarse scraping, but it was almost nothing compared to the Hell he was in. Was the ground shaking? The sky falling?

His wings were burning off his back. He was sure of it. Could smell them crisping, feathers that were already black somehow even more so now falling around him. Ruined.

The pain. His world was on fire, his blood coursing with hot, burning poison. He could barely see as it was, the poison reaching into the blood vessels in his eyes, which had all burst. Tears streamed from his eyes. Tears! Such a human thing.

And all the while he didn’t even know where he was trying to crawl to as his body burned.

Would he be discorporated or destroyed? If he didn’t know any better he’d think Michael had gotten him with a drop of holy water.

He could hear their words in his ears, their hatred dripping into him even without the aid of that wicked ring: So you thought you could be clever? You thought you could let Aziraphale rule without any consequences? My dear Crowley, you’ve ruined it.

It. Heaven. The world he loved so much. All because he walked out that door, all because he let Aziraphale do what he wanted. And why wouldn’t he? There was nothing left to do.

But, oh, of course this was his fault. Wasn’t everything?

His burning brain briefly wondered, Maybe I should’ve been a better kisser.

His heart ached like a fist clamped around it, something even worse than the poison. No, no, no, no, no!

Crowley tried laughing at it, but he choked, an acrid taste deep in him alighting on his withering tongue.

“MICHAEL!” he screamed.

All seemed to go black for a second, but it wasn’t a blessing (oh, a blessing). It was more like he was separated from his body and then was forced to return to it. Forced to return to the ruin brought upon him by Michael the archangel.

They’d cornered him, cursed him; Crowley, the betrayer of angels, of God. His “stupid angel” was doing it all wrong, and things needed to get back on track so they could have their war.

War. Oh, what a funny thing. Michael existed not for God, but for war.

They’d jabbed him in the neck with a gold ring, a sharp end protruding from it, and then he had collapsed, everything in his existence changing in that one moment.

This was all his fault. That was the accusation, at least.

But no matter what he’d done Aziraphale didn’t want him, didn’t want to be a them, an us. Not on Crowley’s terms. Not in any way that was safe. And now, here he lay, a fallen angel, a fallen demon, burning away into smoke.

Aziraphale. Have to get to Aziraphale.

It was all him. All about him.

“Help—” Crowley choked out, ruining smoke issuing forth from his mouth; past chapped, peeling lips. Lips that had failed.

This set him in a coughing fit that was surely supposed to be the end of him. Each inhale brought nothing but death. No air, not for him. Nothing so sweet as air.

In a way, he didn’t need it, but he was tied to this body. It was him.

For a moment he imagined Aziraphale—his attachment to his own body—and imagined it being destroyed like this.

The thought broke his heart, even as it passed into shadows and smoke.

Wait…

Was this Michael’s plan?

Was Michael going to attack Aziraphale next? Or was it just that he was the demon, he was the bad guy. Got to smite them, right? Can’t have the bad guys running amok.

Crowley forgot where he was, what he was supposed to be doing. Time passed, surely, but he was hardly aware of it. Then a thought came across to him.

Aziraphale.

Help.

Right! Right, that’s what he was supposed to be doing.

But how? How?

Just stop burning. As easy as that. Just stop.

And Crowley tried, tried to tell himself he wasn’t burning, but he was! He was!

And Heaven was too far away. And could he even get in the entrance? He’d sink into the water surely, be dragged down to Hell. Maybe the elevator. But he’d only entered it once before with Muriel. On his own he didn’t stand a chance.

Bees.

Something about bees.

Crowley rolled onto his back, panting, gagging, and tried to call out for Aziraphale.

He couldn’t breathe. Oh, Satan, he couldn’t breathe.

With enough coughing whatever was in his burning lungs came up in his mouth, and he didn’t want to even explore what that was, what it could be.

Maybe it’s—

No, no, no!

If he thought about it he’d throw up. His stomach was already dying anyway, so maybe it was just—

Hot saliva crowded Crowley’s mouth and he tried to roll onto his side, but next thing he knew he was retching and choking.

Burning. Everything was burning. Maybe hotter than the fires of Hell. Fires they’d tried to kill Aziraphale with.

No, no.

In trouble.

Aziraphale was in trouble.

Had to be. What else would be going on?

“Azira—” Crowley tried to get out before becoming a choking, gagging mess again.

Aziraphale.

How to get to him?

Maybe he can come to me.

Yes, that’s what had to happen. There was no other way.

Crowley tried to look inward, to feel what was left of himself amongst this burning, poisoned ruin. And there, he found something. Not a light, or a soul, but something. He tried to look into that something he found, to find the parts of Crowley that were Aziraphale: the memories, the emotions, even the tiny gestures.

Images flashed in his mind’s eye.

Aziraphale smiling at him. Aziraphale saying smitten, looking at him with such an intensity that Crowley hadn’t noticed at the time. Aziraphale telling him to dance. You go too fast for me, Crowley.

He did his best to project those feelings and memories outwards, to picture the whole Earth, spinning and hurtling about through space, to picture the curtain drawing back on this realm, looking behind and finding Heaven. Crowley wasn’t sure he’d be able to actually find or sense Aziraphale this way, but he did what he could. He called out to him. And then he sent his pain, a black, writhing thing that was powerful enough to encompass the whole world. Pain so brilliant and ruining that Crowley wished for a drop of holy water, wished for someone’s mercy. But there was no mercy, not in this universe, or the next, or even the one after that.

Crowley started to realize how alone he was.

He didn’t have his car with him, his plants.

Didn’t have his angel.

He was just a demon in a filthy alley, sick and poisoned into wishing for nothingness.

Aziraphale.

“Crowley?”

He had to have imagined that. The word sounded garbled as it was with poisoned, scorching blood coming out of his ears, smoking against his skin, against the ground, his hair.

He cried, and tried to scream.

Alone. He was alone.

That voice wasn’t real.

“Crowley? Oh, good Lord!”

Hands were on him, and he tried shooting upwards, to fight, to push away.

“No… Michael…” he got out.

“I’m not Michael. It’s me. Aziraphale.”

Crowley could barely see through the damage to his eyes, the blood pouring forth. He thought he could make out white hair.

“Fake,” he coughed out, and then collapsed into tender arms.

“What’s happened to you?”

Crowley couldn’t answer. There wasn’t enough left working in his body to do so. He shuddered where he lay against Aziraphale’s chest, smearing his clothes with blood and the ash of his ruined feathers.

There was a hand on his chest. Was it glowing?

It was probing around, looking for something. And all the while he heard a familiar voice fretting away.

Crowley wanted to sink into that voice, sink into the body he was held against, not be himself any longer. It was too much. It was all too much.

“Good Lord, they’ve poisoned you with sulfur.”

Ah, that made sense.

Sulfur. The irony. Yet another trapping of what made him a demon, and now it was in his blood, destroying all in its path.

“I am permitted as many miracles as I like, and I think this calls for one.”

Crowley wanted to scream at him to get on with it. He clutched at Aziraphale with shaking, swollen fingers. They were surely discolored, all kinds of black and purple.

A feeling of emptiness whooshed through him, and next thing he knew the pain began to leave. It didn’t leave slowly, but in great waves that receded from a shore. And these were waves that never crashed back down, waves of an ocean that disappeared entirely.

He could see again, could hear again. And while he didn’t need to, he could breathe again.

Crowley gasped, awash in the feeling of being okay (how am I possibly okay?).

“Oh, Aziraphale,” he cried, throwing himself against the angel, and never wanting to let go, hoping that he wouldn’t let go.

He was shaking; and crying; and he didn’t even know why when being alive was, for the moment, bearable again.

“Crowley, I felt you calling for me, and I came as soon as I could. Oh, I’m so sorry.”

Then the anger came, anger that had been simmering for weeks, waiting for a time to rise and boil, to have prey it could pounce on.

The prey was here.

Before Crowley knew it he was drawing back from Aziraphale and had to physically restrain himself from hitting him by grabbing his own wrist.

“You idiot!” he screamed in his face.

Aziraphale dropped him. He didn’t land quite on the cement, and was in fact draped across one of Aziraphale’s legs.

“What?”

“You! You’re such an idiot! Didn’t I tell you they were toxic? Why did you want to work for them? Why?”

“Not for them,” Aziraphale clarified. “They work for me.”

Crowley rose, assessed his missing feathers, his bloodied hair and clothes. He was sticky with what had previously been his fiery blood. He ran his hands through his hair, pacing back and forth like a caged animal.

Facing Aziraphale again, he cried, “If that were true this never would have happened. Michael wouldn’t have hurt me. And if they’re doing this to me, then what”—at this point he grabbed him, pulled him to his feet and slammed him against a brick wall hard enough that it cracked and dust scattered—”do you think they’re going to do to you?”

“C-Crowley, I didn’t mean— They will be dealt with.”

“Sure. And what are you going to do all-mighty Aziraphale?” he taunted. “Give them a slap on the wrist? Or why don’t you just say fuck it and erase their name from the Book of Life?”

“You know I can’t—”

“To Hell with what you can and can’t do! Look at me! Look at me!” He took in Aziraphale’s horrified gaze, and yet it still wasn’t enough. How could it be enough when this had happened, when Crowley was sure he’d never sleep just so he could avoid the nightmares? He had to clean parts of his lungs off of himself and Aziraphale was surely going to go right back to Heaven with a skip and a hop and make sure things were all tickety-boo again. “You think whatever you do will be enough? You think you can stop whatever they have planned? I’m collateral to your stupid plans, your stupid want to rule.”

“Not to rule, to fix things! To make them better.”

“Look what better did to me.”

Crowley felt a sound of disgust rise in his throat, akin to the need to spit. He shook his head, mouth set in a firm grimace, and pushed away from Aziraphale. He turned away. Betrayed. Defeated. Alone.

“Go back to Heaven, angel.”

“Crowley, I—”

Crowley whirled on him. “Leave me alone!”

Aziraphale’s eyes shone with unshed tears. And knowing him they wouldn’t fall. Yet another thing to break Crowley’s heart.

His face was set in a look of helpless distress, perhaps of guilt, but his angel couldn’t do anything so un-angelic as to apologize.

He swallowed roughly.

“But, Crowley, you’ll be all alone. You were hurt. Let’s—”

Crowley turned away from him. Somehow he clawed words out through his gritted teeth, scraping them up from the remains of his respiratory system, “If you don’t leave right now I am going to do something very, very stupid.”

What that stupid thing was, he didn’t know. Perhaps exploding on the spot.

Aziraphale’s silence settled into the spaces between his heartbeats.

Finally: “As you wish.”

And then Crowley was alone. All alone, and covered in the gore of his poisoning, of Aziraphale’s failure to fix Heaven. Of his own failure.

He sat down in the alley, and he thought perhaps a few days had passed before he had it in him to get back up again. When he did, Crowley made for the Bentley. He had to get away. Just away. And yet, nowhere would be far enough.

#ailesswhumptober2023 #day 1: poisoned #good omens #crowley whump #hurt!crowley #whump #good omens fanfiction #fanfiction #writing #my writing

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sarah-dipitous · 1 year

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Hellsite Nostalgia Tour 2023 Day 86

Sympathy For the Devil

“Sympathy For the Devil”

Plot Description: Dean and Sam watch as the devil emerges from hell and must deal with the aftermath

Would I Survive the First Five Minutes??: probably not, honestly. I’m not Winchester Special

Oh Luciiiiiiiiii, I’m hooooooooome (honestly I can hardly imagine waiting months between the end of last season and this episode. It was hard enough waiting 30-ish hours)

You brushed off the huge fight between your and your brother that ended with him breaking the last seal and then being teleported to an airplane as the ACTUAL Devil escaped ACTUAL Hell because you need to find Cas. Yeah. Okay 👍 never change, Dean

So like…if you wanted us to actually BELIEVE that Cas exploded, maybe don’t put Misha’s name in the credits like that. I dunno. Don’t let me tell you how to run your show

Ugh, fucking Zachariah…

Does…does the angel banishing sigil always need to be drawn in blood? Or does Dean just believe that because that’s how he saw his friend Cas do it that one time? (He called Cas his friend 🥰 we know this is a long and extremely slow burn that…still isn’t technically done slowly burning SOMEHOW)

…I just…that’s VERY convenient writing to say “whoever put Sam and Dean on that plane” cured Sam of all demon blood cravings

Oh…don’t know how I feel about Dean continually sweeping what happened last time under the rug. Yeah, there’s really nothing Sam can say to make up for freeing Lucifer but…the way Dean’s gonna stew because he knows but doesn’t want to confront it

Yeah, I dunno, dude, I wake up like that for like a week every month. It’s no biggie.

How DOES Lucifer choose his vessel? Like, if demons just possess willy nilly but angels need permission, someone to pray for that, and Lucifer IS an angel…

Omg i forgot about Becky…don’t know if I like her but I do understand her. If I found out my favorite series was real and I was sent by the person who created it to…even meet the main characters, it wouldn’t even have to be my favorites…no but really, if Horikoshi called me up and was like “I need you to go take this message to the League of Villains,” in my head, this would be me. I would be differently awkward, though

I never thought I’d hear Bobby tell either of those boys that they better lose his number. I’m no Sam apologist, the things he did last season were bad, setting Lucifer free was bad, but I didn’t think I’d see Bobby turn his back on Sam, if (when) they stop Armageddon. He didn’t know killing Lilith was the last seal! And before that Bobby was the one telling Dean that he had to try and keep trying to bring Sam back to them.

Again, I’m no Sam apologist, but he wasn’t the only Winchester to break a seal. Dean broke the first one

Ok yeah, THAT makes way more sense. Wasn’t Bobby at all, but a demon possessing him. And…is that New Meg??

Oh this poor man. The torture he’s going through. (It’s being highly insinuated that he’s lost his VERY VERY young child. Like still a baby young. But as he’s packing up blankets and stuffed animals, the baby monitor picks up crying even though he KNOWS there’s no baby in the crib.) is he going to be tortured until he can’t take it anymore and begs, PRAYS for an end to his suffering? And Lucifer grants that to him (I do know this dude becomes the vessel, I’m just curious to see HOW it happens)

I knew this plot point was coming, but I didn’t know it was THIS soon, Dean being meant to be the archangel Michael’s vessel

GOD I love how much of a special little guy Dean is. This stalemate between him and Zachariah is delicious. HE won’t stand around and let Lucifer burn the world to ashes, but he also has no interest in being Michael’s vessel. Zachariah would LOOOOVE to just kill Dean and maybe everyone he loves, but how is that going to get him to consent to being Michael’s vessel??

Zachariah, that is not how consent works. If you force someone to consent, that’s just coercion.

Castiel 🤝 Shoto Todoroki: showing up somewhere unexpectedly with a grand show of power and instead of answering HOW it is they’re there, they just point out that that’s a good question. Also, me loving them immensely

Yeah…I can understand how Nick would say yes to being Lucifer’s vessel.

I KNEW Bobby would never say that to Sam!!

Man, remember when they used to have even somewhat cute heart to hearts at the end of the episodes?? I get Dean saying everything thing he did about what happened and how he doesn’t think he can ever trust Sam again, but…fucking damn it hurts

“Been On My Mind…”: I guess Meg did kiss Dean but there was no love there. 8

#hellsite nostalgia tour 2023

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brandycranby · 3 years

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headcanon timeeeeee

Mikey comes from a long line of Italian immigrants ahem mafia au in the worksss

his great-grandparents came to America from Sicily in the 1890s and made their home in New York

the clan is huge, meaning family reunions are also massive; Mikey’s the youngest out of all his cousins so he gets shafted with babysitting every time.

he secretly likes being in charge of them because he is baby they look up at him with such admiration and he can teach them anything

accidentally says ‘fuck’ once and they all copy him

imagine a dozen little dark-haired kiddos going ‘Uncle Mike! Uncle Mike!!’ they hang off his arm and think he’s the coolest ever

it’s where he gets his curly dark hair and strong jaw. all his relatives have the same features but he has pasty skin because one of his grandparents married an Irish girl the enemy so now he’s cursed to burn instead of tan unlike the rest of his cousins

soooooo Catholic, like he grew up going to Mass every Sunday, don’t even mess with his family. his mom had him up, scrubbed, and in his Sunday best by 7:30 am; god help him, if he slept in or tried to skip

probably explains his wild behavior, Mikey has a good few years of breaking out of his strict childhood and committing every sin possible before calming down. hooking up was fun but each lay left him feeling sort of empty inside. lonely times, dark times.

definitely baptized and confirmed, he’s named after St. Michael the Archangel associated with death and conflict with evil 👀 his confirmation name might be something dumb like Basil or Benedict

lol Michael Benedict

Doesn’t have an accent because he’s basically third gen but will do a terrible accent to piss off his nonna “MAmma MIA that’s A spiCY MEATball-a!!” (gets smacked with a wooden spoon)

Mikey does know how to cook kinda, he mainly kneads bread and boils potatoes (uses pasta sauce from the jar, sorry nonna)

can speak Italian (badly, like he’s barely conversational), gesticulates so much even when speaking english. he does the typical pinched fingers a lot when he gets angry or serious, it’s actually kind of hot. (he very good with his hands, yeah? 🤭)

such a mama’s boy, he’s well-mannered enough but she moans about him being a punk every time he visits. if it’s not the jacket or the bike, it’s his hair being too long or his girlfriend not being ‘one of them’ or him being a writer instead of something substantial, why didn’t he study business or something useful

secretly wants a giant clan of his own with you, a lotta curly headed babies running around, hitting everything in sight while they gesture with pudgy hands

edit: ahhh I forgot, writer Mike hc comes from @hope-to-hell, check out her masterlist u won't regret it.

#hellraiser mike #mikey hellraiser #mikey #my writing #henry cavill

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jenneferofjengaberg · 3 years

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Supernatural 4x10 “Heaven and Hell” Rewatch

Uriel and Cas want to kill Anna, but jeez Uriel always makes everything so much worse. He needs that book, “How to Win Friends and Influence People”.

I note that Cas seems to try and be a bit less violent about this, but still Cas, my dude. I know he’s still in “obedient soldier” mode, but just a couple of episodes ago you were saying you’re not a hammer. Prove it son.

Luckily Anna banishes them with the blood sigil that she conveniently remembered just in time. Amnesia is rad.

Dean tells Sam to research Anna and Sam is like, “what are you gonna do” and Dean is like “oh you know, stuff” and Sam is like:

Dean and Ruby are having a moment and it’s…weird

Sam says that when Anna was two she said her father wasn’t her real dad and her real dad wanted to kill her. Interesting. We’re talking about Chuck, right? maybe early foreshadowing for how much of a dick god turned out to be

Pamela is back. Won’t they leave this poor woman alone for god’s sakes.

Pamela is mind-melding with Anna and she’s like “come on anna we just need one look”. um, girl have you learned NOTHING???

Anna is like “I’M A GIRLBOSS, DEAN”

None of this makes a lick of sense given future events. How come none of the other angels became human babies when they fell??

Anna and Dean talk about the nature of being an angel. Dean thinks it must be awesome (bc he thinks Cas is awesome lmao) but Anna makes it clear that it’s not all it’s cracked up to be. No chocolate cake, no sex.

Someone stole Anna’s grace from the tree. Oh gee I wonder who.

It’s très weird all this stuff between Anna and Dean, because later they have Cas basically repeat all of this stuff, about absent fathers and what happened in hell not being Dean’s fault, etc.. Did they really just replace Anna with Cas? Did they not see how that was gonna cause people to pick up the same romantic undertones to Cas and Dean’s relationship that there were between Anna and Dean?

Look, it’s Anna’s last night on earth and she’s going big (FUCK THE MICHAEL SWORD. FUCK IT.) before she goes home. I respect it.

I fully admit that when she puts her hand on Cas’ handprint I hear kill bill sirens. Although even if I ignore that, I’m…kinda confused about what they were trying to communicate there?? What the hell was that even about?

Dean is A BOTTOM (this sex scene is pretty hot ngl)

Uriel is here to be a mean debbie downer but he does utter his famous line about Cas:

*skips the ruby torture scene bc i’m a giant baby*

The subtitles tell us the wind is howling again, so we know Cas is on his way. He’s such a showoff. Keep it drama, Dorothy.

AND NOW CAS AND ANNA ARE HAVING A MOMENT. What the hell was going on in this episode?? What was the original plan for all this? I’m dying to know. Knowing the cw it was probably going to be some kind of twilight-esque love triangle. Oh my god…can you even imagine ha ha ha ha ha. In another universe we’d all be like “Who’s Anna gonna pick? Are you #Team Cas or #Team Dean?”

Cas is like…ethereally beautiful in this scene jesus h christ:

When Dean and Anna kiss, Cas looks all hurt and sad and I cannot for the life of me tell who he’s supposed to be jealous of. This is some good shit I kind of love it.

Cas and Anna “have a history”, like bc she was his boss? Or? I mean it’s canon that he was a virgin so this “history” is like what? Holding hands while they smite people in the fields of the lord? I bet it was something holy and Republican like that. lmao Cas was Anna’s #tradwife

Holy shit this scene between the angels and demons is FUCKING GREAT. This show really was good sometimes??

Did we ever find out why Alastair was so much more powerful than other demons? Was he like the demon equivalent of an archangel or something?

It actually makes no narrative sense for Dean to save Cas from Alastair at this point, since he should be pretty pissed at him for wanting to kill Anna. You know, unless…Dean has some feelings about Cas already, even if they’re just “that dude is my friend even if he’d like to kill my date, we can always work that out later.”

Oh noooo. I forgot this scene was in this episode. It fucking destroys me every time.

DON’T YOU DARE BEAUTIFUL CRY Mr. Ackles. If you make me feel things so help me god I will launch you into the sun. *sigh* Ok I’m kidding. You deserved an emmy or something for this. I hope they bought you the good liquor at least, because this actually looks like it would have been distressing.

I relate very personally to the sentence “I wish I couldn’t feel a damn thing”.

#kate rewatches spn #4x10 #spn #i might do my rewatches like this now bc it's much easier #long post #text

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pengychan · 4 years

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[Good Omens] Winging It - Romans 13:4

Summary: Shockingly, attempting to destroy an angel without consulting God first comes with consequences. There is more than one way to fall, and a thousand more ways to inconvenience an angel and a demon who just wanted to be left in peace. Characters: Gabriel, Crowley, Aziraphale, Beelzebub, Michael, Uriel, Sandalphon Rating: T

Prologue and all chapters are tagged as ‘winging it’ on my blog.

A/N: Time to re-live some trauma, but it's for a good cause. Kinda.

***

“You think we forgot the Fallen - and we’re forgetting Gabriel - because we, not God, willed it? ”

“That’s what Gabriel believes. I think he might be onto something.”

“It makes no sense.” Uriel’s voice was sharp as glass, causing Sandalphon to wince. “We never wanted to forget him. We’re doing all we can to remember what he was like before--”

“Yes. Before,” Michael remarked, her voice calm, hands folded on the desk. “But there is something we’ve all been trying to keep out of our minds, isn’t there?”

Her words were met with a few moments of silence. Uriel worked her jaw, and Sandalphon looked down at the deks. Michael didn’t say explicitly what it was that they had gladly pushed out of their minds, but she didn’t need to. They all knew.

And who could blame them? They had to visit bloody punishment over someone who’d been by their side since the beginning of time, for a crime they had all been part of.

“Of course we’ve been trying to keep it out of our--” Uriel began, only to trail off when realization hit her. Her expression turned to surprise at first, then she slowly nodded. “... Thinking of Gabriel means thinking of what we did. Is that what you're getting at?”

“Yes. It was the first thing we wished to forget about, but we cannot truly do that without forgetting Gabriel. We have been trying to recall the comfortable things, but perhaps that is the root of the problem. We cannot pick and choose. So,” she Michael said, learning forward, “if we give it a try, how much can we remember of that day?”

As it turned out, more than they’d have liked.

***

When Metatron’s words fade - the order given, his presence no longer required - there are a few moments of complete stillness and silence. Nothing more than moments, because when angels are given orders from God they act upon them without discussion, without voicing displeasure or astonishment or disagreement.

He attempted to take God’s judgment upon himself. A crime born of pride. Seize him.

It is not in their nature to disagree with God, or else they would be among the Fallen. Displeasure was ignored, astonishment swallowed. No question was uttered upon hearing Metatron’s orders, any doubts pushed in the back of their mind; they did seize Gabriel, and he was too astonished to even try to protest, to question, to defend himself. He remained in their grasp and looked up to Metatron, as they all did, to hear his next words.

God commands that the one known as Archangel Gabriel is stripped of his wings with steel and blood, and cast down on Earth, a mortal among mortals, as punishment for his arrogance. You shall carry it out, here and now.

Gabriel’s sentence was uttered in deafening silence, and Metatron did not stay to see it carried out: he left, with the certainty only the Voice of God can have that the order will be obeyed.

And it will be. When God commands something, angels must see that Their will is done.

“There-- there must be a mistake,” Gabriel breaks the silence, his voice several octaves higher than usual. He looks back at them with wide eyes, lost, scared, reeling. Their expression remains stony in a supreme effort of will, because obedience may be their nature but oh, something within them screams against this task they have been ordered to carry out, lashing out like a beast throwing itself at the bars of its cage.

But the cage doesn’t so much rattle. Their expressions remain even.

“God makes no mistakes,” Uriel says.

He turns to look at her as though she slapped him. “But I-- the Great Plan-- we all--”

We all did this, he means to say, but his voice fades. Sandalphon’s hand squeezes Gabriel’s forearm in a gesture that means to reassure more than restrain, but which does both.

“We’ll do as God asks. But we will make it quick, Gabriel.”

Michael steps forward, holding up her hand; a burst of electricity, and there is a sword in her grip. It has been a long time since she last held it - last time she sheated it was in Rome in 590 AD, after chasing off Pestilence - but she holds it with practiced ease. Her weapon of choice, since the War - they each had one. A sword for her and Uriel, a bow for Sandalphon, and Gabriel had a--

“No!”

A surge of power, sustained by pure terror, and Uriel and Sandalphon are thrown back; a crackle, and Gabriel is holding up something, too, taking a step back. His spear. An attempt at defending himself, desperate as it is futile.

It has been a very long time since he last raised the spear over someone he held dear, even if he doesn’t remember it at present. When it last happened, he was unable to land a blow. He doesn’t land one now, either, because Michael is faster - ever the warrior. A clang of metal, a flash of light, and Gabriel’s spear falls in two pieces which shatter on the floor. Uriel and Sandalphon are on him before he can try to flee and then he’s pinned on the ground, overpowered, screaming and begging and knowing full well his cries are for nothing.

Above him, Michael lifts the hand that is not holding the sword; Gabriel’s wings, which like everyone else’s are usually tucked away in a different plane of existence for convenience’s sake, unfold from his back - blinding white, the primary feathers barely tinged with purple.

He beats them desperately, as though trying to take flight, but Uriel and Sandalphon are gripping him too firmly. Michael tightens her grip on the sword’s handle. “Be still,” she says.

“No no no no no, please--”

“You’ll make it easier, Gabriel. Please, be still.”

He’s not still. He struggles, he writhes, but it is useless; all he can do is strain against their grasp, against Michael’s weight on, and scream. There are words at first, calling out for them to stop - “Michael, please! Uriel-- Sandalphon-- no, no, no, please please--” - but then Michael puts her sword to use, and they turn to wordless howls echoing across all the spheres of Heaven.

There is no blood at first, because angels do not bleed. Then suddenly it is everywhere, staining feathers red, running over Gabriel’s back, pooling on the previously unblemished white floor; by the time the deed is done, everyone’s hands are coated in blood and Gabriel’s screams have turned into unintelligible noises, hysterical sobs that make his bloodied back shudder.

When Uriel and Sandalphon let go of him - “It’s over, it’s all over, it’s done” - Gabriel doesn’t try to rise. He remains on the floor, face pressed on the floor, limp and motionless if not for his sobs, the gaping wounds over his shoulder blades plain for all of them to see. His sentence, carried out as God willed it, with steel and blood.

And God saw that it was good.

A long sigh, and Sandalphon raises a hand in silence, willing the wounds to close and heal, but they do not. They remain open, bleeding, and God must be willing this too. For what reason they cannot imagine, nor they dare try to. Yet.

They miracle some clothes on him, the one kindness they can use him, and he is cast down as ordered. As he falls, the whisper - “We didn't want to do this, Gabriel” - follows him, but he doesn’t hear it.

For a time, he’s aware of nothing but pain.

***

It hurts it hurts it hurts it hurts.

It was the only thing going on in Gabriel’s mind as he tossed around in his bed, or at least it was loud enough to drown out anything else that might be possibly going on in that empty head of his. So much for trying to find out if he was remembering something from before the Fall, Beelzebub thought with a snort, pulling their hand away from Gabriel’s forehead.

It was sticky with sweat. Gross, but not enough to really bother the Prince of Hell and Lord of the Flies, whose usual appearance when not on Earth included open sores across the face. What did bother them was that the nightmare was too loud to let them search Gabriel’s mind for any relevant memories involving them, as they had planned to do.

All right, maybe they hadn’t precisely planned for it; it was more of a sudden idea. Beelzebub had appeared in Gabriel’s apartment in the middle of the night, having entirely forgotten that humans needed sleep - it seemed a dreadful waste of time, but they couldn’t function without it and Gabriel was of little use as things were - only to find him tossing and turning in the bed, sheets bunched around his ankles, face covered in sweat.

Peeking into his mind to see if he was dreaming of something relevant to their questions was a perfectly logical course of action, but what Beelzebub had found themselves looking at were not memories from before the Fall. At least, not before their fall.

Michael had done a number of him, but they had long since learned not to expect anything less from her. She was powerful as she was dangerous, which would have made her an excellent asset for Hell; certainly more useful than the whimpering lump on the bed before them, his thoughts so loud they filled the room without Beelzebub even trying to listen in.

Please please I’m sorry whatever I did wrong I am so sorry please stop it hurts it hurts it--

Giving him a different dream, or no dreams at all, would have been easy for the Prince of Hell; however it would be a kindness, and they did not do kindness, let alone when angry. Because while they showed nothing right there and then, they were absolutely furious - at God for being such a hypocrite, at their damn angels for obeying without question, for maiming Gabriel the way they had. Hurting him the way they had.

How dare they. He fell from Heaven, he is meant to take his place in Hell beneath me, how dare they damage what is mine. How dare they make him bleed. How dare they make him scream.

Beelzebub ground their teeth, feeling a strong urge to wring some archangel neck. However, as there were none in sight - only a mortal who used to be one - they sighed, and snapped their fingers. A small waterfall fell from thin air onto Gabriel’s bed, causing him to bolt upright, blinking and sputtering. Confused, but awake. No longer trapped in a nightmare.

“Good morning,” Beelzebub droned, with the voice of someone who doesn’t really think there is anything good about that particular morning, or any morning at all. Gabriel blinked again, squinted to see them in the dim moonlight coming from the window, and groaned, dropping his head on the sodden pillow.

“It’s night, Ba’al.”

“It’s called three in the morning, idiot, and--” the Lord of the Flies trailed off, brain catching up with the words that had just left Gabriel’s mouth. They frowned, and buzzed furiously. “What have you called me?”

“Huh?” Gabriel blinked again, looking all the world like an especially dumb owl at midday, face scratchy with stubble and hair all over the place. “Your name, how else--” he trailed off, eyes widening, brain finally catching up with what he’d said. Took him a while. “I mean-- Beelzebub,” he muttered, clearing his throat. “My apologies.”

A long breath that sounded much like a hiss, and Beelzebub let most if their anger go. After all, they had no reason to be bothered by a foolish mistake coming out of a fool’s mouth. There was no reason why hearing that name should bother them, so they chose not to let it happen.

Or tried to. They still were, at least, mildly annoyed. They chose to express that annoyance with a scoff. “You ought to refer to me as your Lord. You may consider it practice for when I claim your soul, as you know will happen. On an unrelated note, are humans not supposed to have an attire meant specifically for lying in the dark and hallucinating for several hours?”

A sigh, and Gabriel sat up, brushing back his wet hair before he reached to turn on the bedside lamp. A couple of flies immediately went buzzing around it, attracted by the light, while Gabriel used the sheets to dry off his face and bare chest.

“It is called pajamas and it’s in the laundry basket,” Gabriel muttered, tossing back the damp sheets and looking at them. “Did you find out anything about Daniel’s brother?”

Towering over him - not that they concerned themselves with trivial matters such as what mortals would perceive as physical prowess, but they quite enjoyed towering over someone for a change - Beelzebub shook their head. “Dagon is looking into it as we speak.”

“Good.” A pause. “Then why are you here?”

“I owe you no explanation.”

“It’s three in the morning, and I was sleeping--”

“Not a very restful sleep, was it?” Beelzebub muttered, causing Gabriel to stiffen and scowl.

“You had no right to look into my mind.”

“Oh? And why not?” They tilted their head, genuinely curious. “You’re a mortal. Demons and angels both pull this kind of thing on mortals all the time. Helps swaying them, doesn’t it?”

That, Beelzebub knew, was a point Gabriel was powerless to deny, so he said nothing at all and just stood, walking away a few steps and picking up something from the floor - trousers, which he put on while hopping a little awkwardly from one foot to the other. It… rather ruined the Dignified Anger thing he was trying to convey. Also, he didn’t seem to have paused to think that the scars on his back, which he’d tried to conceal the best he could until then, were in full view.

“If this is how you think you can sway me into joining you, you have another think coming,” he muttered, turning to glare at the Prince of Hell once more. They returned the glare with a scowl of their own.

“Accepting my gracious invitation would be the clever thing to do, considering how Heaven has treated you.”

If it struck a nerve, Gabriel did not let it show. A bit annoying, but Beelzebub found that they didn’t mind too much; they almost welcomed that glimpse of the Archangel they had known, the insufferable one who’d stick by the rulebook and seemingly allowed nothing to catch him off guard.

“And I'm supposed to believe Hell is kinder to its inhabitants?”

“You have my word you shall never be harmed again to such an extent,” Beelzebub said. They were surprised to realized, halfway through the sentence, that it was not a lie. Seeing Gabriel’s expression subtly changing for one moment, faltering, was even more surprising. However, it was gone before Beelzebub could even begin to savor it.

“... I didn’t join you last time you asked. I won’t this time either,” Gabriel muttered, crossing his arms.

Beelzebub, having no idea which exchange he was precisely referring to, didn’t think to ask. They simply snarled. “I don’t like your tone. I don’t have to remind you that you owe me something, do I? You owe me explanations,” they muttered. If a reminder was indeed needed it would have been a very painful one, they decided - but Gabriel shook his head.

“... No. As we agreed, I will share anything I can remember - once you have found Daniel’s brother for me. I keep my word.”

“You don’t want to.”

“What makes you think--”

“Don’t even think of lying to me,” Beelzebub buzzed, and Gabriel had the good sense not to.

“What I do or do not want is irrelevant,” he finally replied, his voice flat. “I gave my word I would hold my half of the bargain, and I will.”

A snort. Doing as he was told, of course; what a good angel, they thought with no small amount of disdain. As a matter of fact a willingness to obey orders without discussion or qualms was also a very desirable trait in a demon - the forces of Hell were no better at that entire Free Will fad than Haven - but they chose not to let that inconvenient details get in the way of their disdain. The Prince of Hell also could have appreciated the fact he was going to do as they had ordered, but the truth on the matter was that Gabriel was still as close to an angelic being a mortal could be, and they did not trust angelic beings.

Even those who, as far as they were aware, had always acted by the book.

“If you think you found a way out by having Heaven on the case and hoping it will find this mortal before I do, it’s not going to work,” they informed him. “The agreement was that I would bring you information, not that I would be the first to do it.”

“I am aware. I wouldn’t think you of all people would fall for something so trivial,” Gabriel muttered. He sounded rather sincere there, and come to think of it, Beelzebub ought to have known he’d know better. They had plenty business discussions over the eons, after all; each knew how well-versed the other was with wording and fine print.

Gabriel was nothing less than practical, if occasionally pedantic - which begged a question Beelzebub hadn’t asked him or themselves until now. “Why don’t you want to speak of it?”

“I don’t think it would matter, is all. What would change, knowing that--” a hesitation, and ah, Beelzebub knew there and then that Gabriel already knew something. Prying it from his mind would be easy, but they did not. Later they would tell themselves they could not be bothered, that they were above breaking a deal, and pretend there had been no pang of something stopping them that was a lot like concern, and a slight bit like fear. Did they want to know?

“... Whatever the reason why I was not keen in seeing you Fall, and you did not strike me down when you could, means nothing now,” Gabriel finally said, his voice quiet. “It has been a long time. We are not the beings we were then.”

“Of course we’re not,” Beelzebub snapped. Something in the back of their mind stirred, almost close to dread, and they knew they had to leave. “I know what I’m doing.”

I don’t and he’s right, this is a waste of time. It wouldn’t matter, it can’t matter, it won’t matter.

Gabriel gave them a somewhat doubtful look - an insolence they ought to punish, but again, they couldn’t be bothered. There would be time to do so later, in Hell, once they finally claimed his soul and that nonsense would be over with. And Hell was where they retreated, leaving Gabriel to stand alone, in silence, in the middle of a dark room.

***

“... He doodled at the corners of his paperwork, didn’t he?”

“He did!”

“And he was terrible at it.”

“I didn’t think he was that bad…”

“He was, Sandalphon.”

“He absolutely was.”

“You certainly are harsh critics-- oh! He had a thing for human clothing trends! He always wanted to keep up with it, he took me along a few times. He had this tailor during the Regency years who considered him his best client, I think he still had the suit somewhere...”

“Yes, he did have quite the collection of attires.”

“Remember the clothing he had in the Seventies?”

Michael and Uriel both made a face.

“God, I do.”

“I wish I didn’t.”

“One thing I would have happily not remembered.”

“Well, you did say you ought to remember the good and the bad, no?”

“Not the absolute worst, though.”

There was some laughter, and it was a relief. Bringing back what they had done to Gabriel, what they had been ordered to do, had been difficult and painful, but once they had, it was as though a door had opened - one they had jammed shut themselves without even realizing it. Now they could remember, at least. And while it may be more difficult than just forgetting all about him, while it raised uncomfortable doubts and questions they knew they ought not to have - why only him, why not us, was God’s will truly just - it was a relief.

“I was just thinking, remember that time--”

Michael’s phone pinged, cutting Sandalphon off, and as soon as she glanced down at it her expression changed; serious, more focused.

“... It’s from the archives,” she said. As soon as Gabriel had called upon her to inform her it was a brother they were actually looking for, she had put several angels in the archives to work on the new trail. She looked up at them. “... It seems they found something.”

***

“I hope this one doesn’t end in a supernova.”

“Mmh?”

“The star we finished build-- Ba’al, have you been listening to a word of what I’ve been saying?”

“You lost me at ‘I was thinking’.”

“... I said that right at the beginning.”

“Then you lost me at the beginning.”

The chest beneath Ba’al’s head rises and falls in an annoyed sigh. “I was saying, I really hope that the star doesn’t turn into a supernova at the end of its life cycle. The last one to do that made a dreadful noise.”

“I found it fascinating, really.”

“Of course you did.” Be’al can’t see Gabriel rolling his eyes, but they can easily feel it in his voice. “While I appreciated the light show, I don’t see why it ought to make such a ruckus. And I am not certain about the-- thing that came afterwards.”

“The black hole? It’s... interesting. I went inside.”

“You did?”

“Mildly painful experience, but interesting nonetheless. It swallowed up all light - hard to get out of. I wonder what it’s for.”

“Surely, it must serve a purpose.”

“But what purpose?”

A shrug, Gabriel’s wing wrapping around them. “Not my department,” he says, as Ba’al knew he would. It is all he ever has to say for just about anything God didn’t bother to explain them. They find it frustrating, but they can ignore it now, with a wing on them like a blanket. They glance up at the stars, head still resting on Gabriel.

“One of these days,” they say, although they don’t quite have a real concept of days yet, “you should come visit a black hole with me. Next time one happens.”

Gabriel is clearly not especially enthusiastic, but does accept, if reluctantly. Not that it will matter.

By the time a new black hole forms, Ba’al will be Fallen and forgotten about.

***

“Lord Beelzebub! We scoured the archives and we have found-- Lord Beelzebub?”

“Nnngh,” the Prince of Hell replied, eyes squeezed shut against what was probably the worst headache they’d had in several centuries and oh, they’d had plenty of headaches. Fine, mostly metaphorical ones, whereas this one was very, very real.

These are not things I am meant to try bringing back. I shouldn’t be. It was all forgotten for a reason. It doesn’t matter. Gabriel said we’re not the same beings anymore and he was right, for Satan’s sake, I should have listened to that idiot and--

“Lord Beel--”

“Be quiet!” Beelzebub snapped, standing suddenly from their throne. Knowing better than to defy an order Dagon did, in fact, shut up. She stopped several steps away from them, a few files under her arm. Beelzebub knew what they must be, of course. “... Have you located the mortal’s brother?”

“We have narrowed it down to five mortals - one of them must be the one we’re looking for,” she said, and finally stepped closer, though keeping some distance between the two of them. She held out the files, and when they took them oh, was Beelzebub tempted to burn them to ashes.

It was a stupid deal. I don’t want those memories anymore. I don’t even care if Gabriel joins the forces of Hell. He was a weak and useless archangel, and he’d be a weak and useless demon. There was never any good reason to work so hard to claim him - it was only a matter of pride, and Pride is Lucifer’s business.

What did it matter, Beelzebub thought, if they destroyed those files? Surely, Heaven would be able to find the mortal just as well. Gabriel wouldn’t need their help to get what he wanted, and Michael would get to win that stupid contest and be smug.

Very smug, knowing her. Insufferably smug.

“Do you require anything else, Lord Beelzebub?” Dagon asked, cautiously, and the Lord of the Flies shook their head.

“... No. That will be all,” was all they said, and vanished from Hell in a burst of flames, leaving Dagon to grapple with some confusion and a beginning of a headache of her own.

***

“What are you doing here?”

“Same as you, I suspect, but you needn’t bother. As it happens, we have found some promising leads in Heaven’s archives--”

“What a coincidence, so did I in Hell!”

“A valiant effort, but needless. I got here first, and I already have--”

“We narrowed it down to five mortals. We only need to go through them--”

“We narrowed it down to three.”

“What!” Some furious buzzing, a flickering of the lightbulb above their head which Gabriel eyed worriedly. “That’s bullshit!”

Michael frowned. “Angels do not, as you put it, bullshit.”

“Now that is bullshit.”

“We did narrow it down to three, because two of those we identified are currently in Heaven and confirmed they never had a sibling called Daniel - therefore you may as well admit defeat.”

“Defeat?” Beelzebub seethed. The light flickered again, causing Gabriel to sigh and down a shot of whiskey. Taken as they were glaring at each other, neither Beelzebub nor Michael noticed. “This isn’t over until one of us finds him, so you can stick--”

“God help me, if you two have another playground fight I swear I am going to lose my shit.”

Gabriel’s word caused both Michael and Beelzebub to turn to him, the former with clear surprise and the latter with some amusement showing on their face.

“That’s not a very heavenly thing to say,” they pointed out.

“I’ll put a pound in the swear jar later,” Gabriel said drily, putting down the glass. “This was never supposed to be a competition, and neither of you is going to go looking for this mortal. No the Prince of Hell, and definitely not the Archangel Michael. There’s a reason why I was always the messenger, no? And I’ll find him, first and foremost, to give him the news Daniel passed - and the message he could not give him.” A pause. “... Was he told he has a brother in the first place?”

Michael blinked. “Ah-- I don’t think so. I’ll make sure he’s informed once I return to Heaven. Are you certain you can find the mortal on your own? Even we may encounter some difficulties, we don’t usually keep such close tabs on random mortals. We know who these people are, not where they live.”

Gabriel, who could think of two people who could help him figure that part out (on the sofa in Aziraphale’s shop, Crowley lifted his head suddenly with a very distinct Bad Feeling) just nodded, and Michael nodded back.

We remember you now, was the first thing she’d told him when she had showed up, minutes before Beelzebub did, and it showed in her words, in her mannerism. It was that of someone who knew him well.

“Very well. We did narrow it down to three people, as I said, and--” Michael began, only to trail off when her gaze fell on the spot where Beelzebub had stood only moments earlier. It was empty; Gabriel noticed the fly buzzing out of the half-open window, but he said nothing of it.

It’s best if they keep away.

“And who are these three people?” he asked, like he hadn’t noticed the absence at all, causing Michael to recoil slightly. She recovered quickly, however, and handed him the folder she’d been keeping under her arm.

“Right. So, the first possible match is called Owen Brown…”

***

[Back]

[Next]

***

For he is God's servant for your good. But if you do wrong, be afraid, for he does not bear the sword in vain. For he is the servant of God, an avenger who carries out God's wrath on the wrongdoer. -- Romans 13:4

#good omens #ineffable bureaucracy #ineffable husbands #archangel gabriel #beelzebub #archangel uriel #archangel michael #archangel sandalphon #crowley and aziraphale will be back in the next chapter #I promise #winging it

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ineffablegoodhusbandsomens · 4 years

Text

New Fic on Archive!!! My brother challenged me to write something angsty, and this was what came from that challenge! Enjoy!

And if it makes anyone feel any better, this hurt like hell to write!

It was the next day, and the world was still standing, everyone breathing a sigh of relief for reasons they couldn’t fathom. The war between heaven and hell reached a stalemate, before it could even start. Peace had been reached. That wasn’t to say either side was happy about it. On the contrary, they were seething with rage, and the focal point of that rage had been one angel, and one demon, walking together in St. James’s Park, neither aware of what was about to happen. Until it was too late.

The angel woke up in handcuffs, in a dark, damp, smelly place. Oh , he recalled. I forgot I’m not Aziraphale right now . At the same time, the demon had been forcefully seated in a chair, ropes tied to his wrists, binding him in his seat. Great angelic pricks , he thought, but resumed his clever act. Looking around, he surprisingly saw all four archangels standing in front of him. Who’s delivering the holy water to hell, then?

Aziraphale was led to a chamber room, empty, except for the 3 seats in front of him, and the demons clambering behind the window, at his back. Interesting , he noted, and listened to the charges against him.

“I think the greater good demanded…” Crowley began, trying his damndest to sound like Aziraphale.

“Don’t talk to me about the greater good, sunshine. I’m the archangel fucking Gabriel. The greater good was we were finally going to settle things with the opposition once and for all” Gabriel interrupted, looking hatefully at Crowley. God, what an absolute prick Crowley thought.

“And the murder of a fellow demon, a crime I saw with me own eyes” Hastur exclaimed, and Aziraphale simply stood, and listened.

“Creatures of Hell, you have heard the evidence against the demon known as Crowley. What is your verdict?” Beelzebub asked the demons behind the glass, in the most bored voice Aziraphale had ever heard.

“Guilty! Guilty! Guilty!” the demons shouted, and Beelzebub smiled at Aziraphale.

“Do you have anything to szzay before we take our vengeance on you” they asked, and Aziraphale shrugged.

“What’s it going to be then? An eternity in the deepest pit?” he asked in Crowley’s voice, laying on the indifference. Hastur, Beelzebub and Dagon smiled at him, wickedly.

“Oh, this is something you never would have guessed” Hastur said, and a chill ran down Aziraphale’s spine.

“We’ve got a little surprise for you, Aziraphale” said Gabriel, menacingly. Crowley pretended to look interested.

“Oh, how kind” he said, knowing this will only work if he can stay in character.

“Yes, you’ll like this one” Micheal said, and snapped her fingers. A television was miracled into the room, and the screen flickered to life. Crowley looked carefully at the image, and saw that it was Hell. A trial. His trial. And there, standing in his stead, was his angel. So this was their game , he thought. Try to kill us, and make us watch as the other supposedly dies. Shame their plan will fail .

“Smile, you’re on camera” Dagon said, and a television appeared above Beelzebub’s throne. Aziraphale could very clearly see Crowley, sitting on a chair, in the whitest room imaginable. Aziraphale smirked, Oh, this is going to be too easy , he thought to himself.

Catch the rest on Archive, or hit keep reading! https://archiveofourown.org/works/22690249

“So, Aziraphale ” Gabriel began, slowly, and Crowley felt his heart grow heavy, from the Archangel’s tone.

“Time for your punishment. For your crimes against the Almighty, and for working against the Great Plan, I sentence you to bathe in holy water” Crowley felt his heart stop, and heard a gasp from the television. He knew it was from Aziraphale, but he didn’t dare look.

“Fancy a stroll into some hellfire, Angel” Beelzebub said, and Aziraphale felt his blood run cold. They knew , he realized, and he instinctively looked at the tv, at Crowley.

“No” the demon said, almost a whisper, but somehow magnified to everyone in heaven and hell.

“Did you really think we wouldn’t notice a demon walking into heaven? Idiot” Gabriel said, his voice more smug than it had ever been. With one miracle, he could finally be rid of Aziraphale and Crowley, once and for all.

“Crowley” he hears his own voice say, more scared than he’d ever heard, and the demon looked into the tv. He saw his angel, glasses off, tears welling in the corners of his serpent eyes.

“Why are you doing this? Why can’t we be left alone?” the angel shouted, to whoever could hear him. Heaven, Hell, Satan, God, anyone. He wanted an answer, and he got one.

“Because, you’re traitors” Uriel said, and Crowley looked at her with disgust.

“Angel, switch back. I can’t have you dying for me. Not like this” Crowley said to the tv, not even sure if they could switch back.

“Crowley…” Aziraphale began, his throat tight, seeing tears catching in his own eyes.

“Please. I don’t want the last thing you see to be your own face” Crowley said, feeling the desperation in his voice, in his heart, his very soul. He refused to die in his angels body. He felt a tug in the pit of his stomach, and felt Aziraphale’s corporation fading from him, replaced by his own, glasses returned to his face. He miracled them away, and kept his eyes on his angel.

“I know for a fact, you lot have done worse than we ever have, or could have done. I seem to recall your youngest brother, Raphael, fell for asking too many questions. So tell me, my older siblings, why are we being put to death?” Crowley said, all but snarling at the archangels, as he tore his eyes away from Aziraphale. They all paled in shock, and Crowley felt a rush of pride.

“Lies! There’s no way in heaven you’re Raphael. You’re already as good as dead, so stop these tricks, demon” Gabriel said, not sounding as confident as he had before. Crowley smirked.

“Don’t talk like that, big brother. I’m still pissed you took credit for Alpha Centauri after I fell. I have a long list of things you lot did, that I wouldn’t mind reading off, if you’d like to hear about treason” he said, looking downright mad.

“On the subject of our dear, sweet baby brother, who we all miss dearly” Michael said, smiling. Crowley did not like where this was going.

“We have a proposition for you, demon Crowley. Turn your back on this foolish principality, let him burn, and we can help you rise. You can be an archangel again. You can be Raphael again. You can create things, more stars than you could possibly imagine. All you have to do, is let Aziraphale die. Become who you were meant to be, all along” she said, offering Crowley her hand, and his bonds miracled away. Crowley thought about it. Let Aziraphale die . Her words rang through his head. Like hell he would ever leave his angel behind. He spit into her hand.

“I am who I’m meant to be. You think I’d leave him for you lot? So I can what, create stars again? Never ” he said, and Michael backhanded him across the cheek.

“Don’t touch him!” Aziraphale shouted, and anger filled his chest. Michael smirked at the screen, and both angel and demon felt fear.

“I’m beyond saving anyway. I’ve fallen not once, but twice” Crowley said, smiling devilishly.

“Twice? How can you have fallen twice?” Urel asked.

“I fell from heaven, and then I fell for him” Crowley said, turning to look Aziraphale straight in the eyes, through the television screen. Aziraphale gasped, feeling Crowley’s love for him, wash over his soul, even through a screen. It shined in his eyes, in his heart, his soul, the very air around him.

“Impossible! Demons can’t love! They can’t feel emotions!” Beelzebub said, sounding almost scared.

“Never was much of a demon” Crowley said softly, knowing Aziraphale had been thinking the same thing.

“Crowley” the angel said, and that one word was enough to break the demons heart all over again.

“I’m sorry I never told you, angel. I guess I ended up going too slow” Crowley said, and Aziraphale stifled a sob in his hands.

“I’m the one who should be sorry, love. I was scared of what I felt. Now it seems too late for us” Aziraphale said, and Crowley felt his heart stop again. Us .

“It was never too late. I fell, I fell from God’s grace, from her goodness, from her miracles, from her blessings. But, against all odds, I was blessed with 6000 years of knowing you. I wouldn’t trade it for the world” he said, and remembered his surroundings. The archangels who were once his siblings, looked shocked, to say the least.

“If you think this gets either of you a reprieve, think again. It simply adds to the list of reasons why we are executing you both” Gabriel said, clearly trying to steady his voice.

“I don’t get it. Angels are beings made of love. It’s basically in their job description to love. What’s so bad if one of them falls in love?” Crowley asked, sounding genuinely curious. Gabriel looked at him, confused.

“Always the one to ask questions, weren’t you, little brother? Angels are meant to feel love, but that love is never meant to surpass the love they feel for God. If they fall in love, that love surpasses their love for the almighty. But, this failure of an angel has fallen in love with a demon. Disgusting” Gabriel said, sounding repulsed. Crowley felt anger in his chest again, and remembered he wasn’t stuck to the chair.

“Angel, when we get out of this, I’m going to kiss the hell out of you, in the first place we meet. I don’t care where we are” Crowley said, eyes meeting Aziraphale’s. It hurt to see the tears falling from those beautiful blue eyes.

“You will find no complaints from me, my dear. Lunch after that?” Aziraphale asked, not wanting this moment to end. This beautiful, simple moment, where they could both pretend they would make it out alive.

“Obviously. Shall we have a picnic, or dine at the Ritz?” Crowley said, echoing the promise Aziraphale had made him, in his Bentley, so many years ago. Aziraphale remembered the words, and Crowley knew it.

“The Ritz sounds divine. Where shall we go after that?” the angel asked the demon, grateful for this moment their enemies were granting them.

“The bookshop, my flat, St. James’s Park. You’re choice” Crowley said, giving Aziraphale a chance to make the perfect day for them to never have.

“I quite like your flat. The bookshop is too familiar. Whatever shall we do, when we get there?” Aziraphale asked, eyes closed, allowing himself to imagine this wonderful day.

“We can do whatever you like, Angel” Crowley said, feeling his throat beginning to tighten.

“What would you have us do, love?” Aziraphale asked, and Crowley felt the tears begin to fall.

“I would grab hold of you, and never let you go” the demon began, and his voice broke. He gave himself a second to recover, and began again.

“I would sit us down on my sofa, or my bed, somewhere comfortable. I’d pull you into my arms, have you sit with me, and hold you. I’d bring my wings out, and wrap them around us. I’d create a perfect bubble, for us to just be, together. No heaven, no hell, no great plan, no armageddon, just us, forever” Crowley said, letting the tears flow down his cheeks freely. He looked at Aziraphale, eyes still closed, tears falling from his eyes just as freely. A small smile, sad, yet somehow happy, appeared on his face.

“That sounds like a lovely end to the day, my dear” the angel said, not letting himself open his eyes.

“Would you like to know something, angel?” Crowley asked, voice heavy with emotions.

“What, my dear?”

“After this whole fiasco was over, if we survived the apocalypse, I was going to buy us a cottage, out in South Downs. Somewhere quiet, where we could stay, without anyone bothering us, without the fear of sides” Crowley said, using everything in his power to keep his voice steady and strong. He can’t waiver. His angel needs him to be strong, for the both of them.

“I’d already found the perfect one. A lovely cottage, with a large garden space, and so many rooms, for all your books, and our trinkets collected over the millenia. You’d love it. It’s called Eden Cottage. I thought it was perfect. A reminder of the first place we met, of where I fell in love with the strangest angel I’d ever met. Perfect place to start a new chapter in our lives together” Crowley said, finally giving in, and sobbing into his fist, as he fell to his knees. Sometime during this beautiful final moment between Crowley and Aziraphale, Hell had created a large wall of hellfire, and Heaven had miracled a bathtub full of the holiest of holy water.

“That sounds lovely, my dear. I would have said yes instantly” Aziraphale said, as he and the demon opened their eyes, to look at each others faces for the last times. To take in how beautiful each creature was in the others eyes.

“I love you, angel. Don’t you ever forget that. I have always loved you, and I always will. I love you more than the universe can fathom. I will never stop loving you” Crowley said, as Gabriel silently grabbed his arm, made him stand, and walked him towards the bath tub. Crowley went, willingly, knowing there was nothing else to do.

“I love you also, my dear. I wish I had said something sooner. I’ve never loved anyone as much as I love you, and I will love you, even in death” Aziraphale said, as Hastur dragged him towards the hellfire. The angel and the demon locked eyes for the last time, making sure the other knew how much they were loved, and both were thrown into their doom.

Both felt pain more extreme than they had ever felt before. Their efforts to quiet their screams for the other failed miserably. But both felt the love coming from the other, and it made the pain barrable. After what felt like hours, but had really only been a minute, both the tub, and the column of hellfire, were empty of any occupants. If the executors hadn’t been there, they would have thought there never was anyone there to be killed.

Centuries later, the story of the angel and the demon who fell in love, and died for each other, were told to the new angels and demons. Word spread to the humans, and someone wrote the story down. It was a tragic tale of forbidden love, and the names Crowley and Aziraphale, the doomed lovers, passed into legend. Some say they found each other in some form of the afterlife. Others say they were both born again, to different faces, bodies, voices. But they’re souls were connected eternally. They found each other, no matter what form they took. Still others say God took pity on her youngest son, and the brightest angel, gifting them a new life together, free from heavenly or hellish interfere. Regardless of what anyone says, there can be no denying that the love the two creatures had for each other was anything but pure.

#good omens #good omens angst #Good Omens fic #pure sadness #nothing about this is happy #i'm so sorry #but also not really

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vvivacious101 · 4 years

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Re-rewatching S05E10 - Abandon All Hope

This episode has to be the most appropriately named episode of all times. Abandon all hope, indeed. There one play this entire season has been to find the Colt and kill the Devil, well they got the Colt but killing the Devil, that is not going to be this easy. This is the lowest point in the story where they have lost all hope and now they need to come up with another idea to battle the apocalypse. I keep wanting to say that they can only go up from here but that is simply not true. I feel like the hopelessness this episode perpetuates is going to permeate all the remaining episodes, it is only in the last few episodes that they find another way of beating the apocalypse until then it is Haplessness Central. But surprisingly for the amount of hope it destroys there are so many new elements that are introduced in this episode. We finally meet Crowley. Crowley is so great watching this episode made me miss him so much. He is so snarky.

Sam: It's Crowley, right?

Crowley: So, the Hardy Boys finally found me. Took you long enough.

Crowley: [pointing the Colt at Dean] I want you, to take this thing to Lucifer, and empty it into his face.

Dean: Uh-huh. Okay, and why, exactly would *you* want the Devil dead?

Crowley: [putting the Colt down] It's called survival. But I forgot, you two at best are functional morons.

Dean: Yeah, you're functioning morons... more.

and my most favourite one ever -

Dean: Uh, excuse me for asking, but aren't you kinda signing your own death warrant? I mean, what happens to you if we go up against the Devil and lose?

Crowley: Number one, he's gonna wipe us all out anyway, two, after you leave here I go on an extended vacation to all points nowhere, and three, HOW ABOUT YOU DON'T MISS, OKAY? MORONS!

God, I miss him and all his moose and squirrel jokes. How could I have ever forgotten? I came across a poll about 'which character you would want to return to Supernatural in Season 15' and like Crowley had won the poll. So, I started thinking about it and I realised that is what I would want as well, more than anything. I can’t help but mention that Meg already knows Crowley and given their future relationship, I loved seeing the sparks so early in that journey. Of course, this episode also marks the deaths of Jo and Ellen and overall that scene was very well done. I have always enjoyed Ellen, and Ash (who they killed way back in like Season 2), but I was pretty ambivalent towards Jo but still I hated to see her go like that and they did a really good job with the scene because you take the tension from that scene to the failed attempt at Lucifer and it adds to that swirling mix of hopelessness and helplessness. I didn’t like the scene where Dean hits on Jo because it comes across as so awkward and embarrassing to me, but maybe that’s intentional. Now let’s talk Cas. Cas meets a lot of people he is going to have very interesting relationships with, in order, they are Crowley, Meg and Lucifer. Cas, Crowley, Meg and Lucifer is the recipe for seasons 7 & 8, so you know what I’m talking about. Cas and Crowley don’t meet each other in this one but man, future partners-in-crime. I can’t wait to see more of these two and even more than there season 6 dynamic, I’m talking about the later seasons. Cas and Meg are complicated for me. I love Cas and I really like Meg and I get how they fit together but I don’t understand why the show is so fixated on Megstiel to the point that Megstiel is something Dean actually utters on the show. They have this twisted chemistry, it’s there I can’t deny it but I still don’t understand how or why they make sense to the showrunners. Especially when you have Dean. Cas and Lucifer is a long and varied story. These two have a long long history. Just for reference, Lucifer has killed Cas twice and Lucifer’s son is Cas’ son. Also, at one point they shared a vessel. Cas and Lucifer are often aligned together by the other angels as mentioned by Zachariah in 5x01 - Sympathy for the Devil. They are both seen as problematic, angels who rebelled against Heaven but they are on two completely different sides of the equation. Cas rebelled because he loves humanity and well Lucifer rebelled for the exact opposite reason and that’s the difference between these two. Even though Heaven can’t tell the difference, we know. Cas and Lucifer got me thinking about Cas and the other archangels. Cas has to be the one angel who has come under the radar of all four archangels (of this Earth, we are not talking about AU!Michael, yet). Paradoxically, the next archangel I think Cas has the most varied relationship with is Raphael. Raphael and Cas are going to totally go at it in season 6 but just for reference Rapahel kills Cas the very first time and Cas repays the favour. The entire story of Season 6 is about a civil war in Heaven with these two being the heavy-weights of that challenge. Raphael and Cas also seem to know each other well but considering Raphael has killed Cas before there first ever interaction on screen I guess he better well know him. Cas and Gabriel are the only ones who have a somewhat warm relationship. It is weird but there is a dream sequence in some season where Cas imagines that Gabriel is alive and he is so happy about it but there is no context in the show as to how their relationship became that way. They do have a warm relationship considering the first time they meet Gabriel gags and binds him and then subsequently abducts him. I love how all the archangels have tried to get rid of Cas but he is the last one standing. Michael and Cas have to be my favourite personally. In season 15, I came to realise, unlike the other archangels Cas and Michael don’t have any relationship whatsoever. This is the extent of their relationship.

That digression out of the way. We can come back to season 5 and abandoning all hope as Lucifer says -

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alleiradayne · 5 years

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Sweet Leaf

Summary: Michael spies on Dean jerking off in a mirror and Dean in his head gets really upset about it. Square Filled: Dean/Michael Warnings/Tags: Drug use mentioned, marijuana mentioned, hate sex, anal sex, oral, ejaculate, dirty talk, angel orgasm, orgasms, masturbation, voyeurism Characters/Pairings: Dean Winchesters/AU!Michael Word Count: 2260 A/N: For @spnkinkbingo, this fills the square Dean/Michael. And I went really trippy-headspace-subconscious-sex weird with it. Song: Sweet Leaf by Black Sabbath

“That’s private!” Dean growled.

Michael laughed through the door of the freezer as he stared at Dean in the mirror. “Are you quite serious?” he asked. “Nothing about you is private, Dean. I own you, remember?“

Dean dug his fingers into the bar as Michael continued to stare at the sight of Dean, completely naked on a tall stool before his full-length mirror in his room of the Bunker.

Wait.

What the fuck?

“How are you doing that?” Dean barked at the freezer door.

“Doing what? Watching you?” Michael asked. “I see everything you see. Just because you locked me in here does not mean I am no longer privy to your thoughts. I see and know and hear and feel everything you do.”

“Then…” Dean asked as he looked at himself through his eyes once more. “How am I here, in my head, and… out there at the same time?”

“It’s… simple,” Michael drawled with an amused sigh. Dean watched himself stroke the length of his cock, gaining speed, and Michael sighed. “You are your subconscious. That is your consciousness. And your…” he paused as he cleared his throat, “your body. Your very taut, hard, flexing body.”

Dean growled to himself as he paced behind the bar. “Did I take drugs? I feel like I’m hallucinating.”

“No,” Michael stated. “I do not sense any mind-altering chemicals in your system.”

Dean said nothing, preoccupying himself by cleaning a glass.

“Oh wait,” Michael interrupted. “There are trace amounts of the chemical THC in your system. Sorry. I missed it the first time around.”

“THC… I smoked a bowl?!” he gasped as he dropped the glass. “DEAN. DUDE. HEY, ME. STOP. WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU?!”

Michael laughed over his shouts. “It seems as though you cannot hear yourself. Good thing, too, I am beginning to enjoy this.”

Son of a bitch. He had to get a grip on that damn archangel. But how? He could hardly control his conscious self, stroking his cock and grasping his balls as he stared at himself in the mirror. Was he really that vain?

“I had the same question,” Michael chimed from the freezer. “I should have figured, though. You are so very full of yourself.”

“Shut up,” Dean grunted. “Can you just… ignore me for a few minutes? Give me—him—some privacy?”

Michael cackled with laughter, a sound that rankled Dean’s nerves. “Dean, I ignore you all the time. But your body? I cannot ignore that. Especially when you’re thinking about the waitress from earlier tonight. You might be a polite lover, but you sure enjoy yourself a kinky fantasy every now and then.”

Dean thought he might puke. “Christ, dude, leave me alone,” he groaned as he slumped on a barstool, head collapsed to his arms.

“I am,” Michael said, “But again, I cannot help what your conscious self decides to do while I’m still in here.”

Dean chanced another look to find himself wearing an embarrassing face, eyes squeezed shut and mouth gaping as he moaned the waitress’s name repeatedly. Did he really look that ridiculous when he jerked off?

“It’s not so bad, Dean,” Michael mused. “I find it quite… attractive.”

“You would,” Dean spat. “Sadistic son of a bitch.”

“Ouch,” Michael mocked. “That hurts. And here I was trying to give you a compliment.”

“Too bad I don’t take compliments from assholes,” Dean shouted at the freezer door.

Nothing, no witty retort or smarm responded to that. A rare quiet settled over the bar. Uneasy, Dean did his best to ignore himself, but he was stuck there in his own head as lascivious thoughts of fucking the waitress’s mouth raced through it. From one fantasy to the next, Dean’s mind leaped, breasts and wet pussy and cum shots and facials—

A long low groan sounded from the freezer, loud enough that his corporeal body stuttered for a stroke. In his head, Dean glared at the freezer door, hoping he had not heard what he thought he had. “Michael? I swear to God…”

“God,” Michael groaned, “Isn’t here anymore.”

“If you are… if you’re doing what I think you are,” Dean bellowed, “Stop! I’ll kill you, I’ll fucking kill you, I mean it, stop, right now!”

“Really, Dean?” Michael moaned, “You’ll open the door and come in here and do what?”

No. He was baiting him. That was exactly what Michael wanted, to be let out, to take control again. Maybe he just had to ride it out, let them both get it over with, and then he’d forget it. Yeah. That was it. After all, it was his head. He could make himself forget it ever happened. In a few minutes he’d—

Another moan rent the air. “Fuck me, Dean, but you are so pretty when you’re about to come.”

He reacted without thinking, immediately looking at himself to find his hips thrusting his cock into his tight fist, his other hand stroking his asshole with two fingers all the way up to his palm.

And then his cock twitched in his pants.

“Uh oh,” Michael sang, “are you turned on watching yourself? You must admit, it’s almost like watching porn. Surprisingly good amateur porn…”

Dean tore his eyes away from himself as he shook his head. No. There was no way. He’d never watch himself do that.

“That’s not true,” Michael growled, the distinct slaps of his masturbation audible through the door. “Do you know how many people have watched that video?”

“Fuck you.”

“Come in here and do it yourself,” Michael demanded, “Although it looks like you might enjoy it if I fucked you…”

Dean chanced another look at himself and immediately regretted it. Vigorous strokes, thrusting hips, and pumping fingers extracted an orgasm that Dean felt in his subconscious. A long stream of cum landed along his chest, and in his head, Dean sighed.

“I take that back,” Michael whimpered, “I would like to feel that inside me.”

The angel binding handcuffs were in his hands before Dean understood what was happening. “No. No fucking way.”

“What’s stopping you? Obviously the conscious you had no qualms with my being here.”

“That’s because conscious you—er, me—doesn’t know you can see everything!” Dean bellowed as he punched the door.

“And feel everything,” Michael added with a moan. “It was quite the—”

“I know it was! SHUT. UP.”

“Make me.”

Dean paused at that, a thought occurring to him. “You are a giant slut for me, aren’t you?”

The sound of slapping skin stopped like a record scratch. “No.”

Dean eyed the handcuffs, then picked them up. “That’s a lie,” he said as he stopped in front of the door. “See, it’s my head you’re in. And that means I can feel everything you feel, too. You want me for more than just tearing this world apart.”

A long silent minute passed before Michael responded. “Alright, Dean. What did you have in mind?”

Dean closed his eyes, his thoughts racing. When he opened them, a small access door, barely wide enough for a serving tray to fit through, had appeared on the freezer door. “You want me to come in there?”

“After witnessing that lovely display,” Michael breathed, “I do.”

“Get away from the door,” Dean ordered. Shuffled footsteps echoed in the freezer as Michael moved. Satisfied, Dean opened the access, shoved the handcuffs through, then slammed the door shut. He immediately imagined away the little door, the surface returned to normal. “Put those on.”

He heard the teeth of the cuffs click into place, then grasped the handle of the freezer door. “I’m going to open this, Michael, and I swear to—”

“God?”

“I swear on Sam’s head, if you go apeshit, he’ll kill us both,” Dean spat.

“I’ve got the cuffs on, Dean,” Michael sang. “I’m all yours.”

With a deep breath, he ripped the screwdriver from the lock, pulled open the door, and rushed inside. In the far corner, Michael stood with his hands held out, the cuffs secure around his wrists. His pants hung from his hips, undone, the tip of his cock peeking out above the waistband. When he met his eyes, Dean froze, unable to move further.

“Okay, I forgot you looked exactly like me even in my head,” he muttered. “This is really fucking weird.”

Michael crossed the space between them with slow steps. “It doesn’t have to be,” he mused. “I can look like whoever you want. It is, after all, your head.” He paused, waiting, as if he expected something to happen. “You are kinky. You’d fuck yourself?”

“I…” Dean hesitated, but then his brow knotted as he grabbed the chain of the cuffs and wrenched Michael to his knees. “I have had enough,” he started as he unzipped his pants and shoved them to his knees, “of your bullshit,” he tore down his underwear, the hard length of his cock falling free, “now, shut up and suck my dick.”

Michael opened his mouth without question. Dean angled the tip of his cock to Michael’s lips—God dammit, his lips—and rolled his hips. The tip disappeared as Michael sealed his mouth around his cock, and Dean thrust, shoving himself down his throat. Without any reflex, Michael remained still but for the swirling of his tongue around his thick shaft, then bobbed his head.

Fuck. Dean moaned a long, low groan as he thrust, and Michael sucked. The rattle of the cuffs grasped Dean’s attention as Michael reached for his own cock, both hands wrapped around the shaft and stroking. Damn, but it felt amazing, despite how strange it was to look down at his cock pumping into his own mouth.

No. Michael’s mouth. Just because he looked like him did not mean he was him. He couldn’t conflate himself with the archangel. He fucked Michael’s mouth, and he had to admit, Michael was damn good at sucking cock.

“You angels are pretty damn kinky,” Dean grunted as he gripped Michael by the hair. “Jerk off to your vessel jerking off, let their subconscious fuck your mouth. High and mighty hypocrites.”

Michael reared back, withdrawing him from his mouth. “So? Pleasure is not the sole domain of humans,” he started as he stood, pressing his cock to Dean’s. Both hands grasped their lengths and stroked as Michael rolled his hips.

Dean’s hips stuttered as he thrust into Michael’s hands. “I suppose that works for us both since we’re stuck in here together,” he said. “What was it you said you wanted to feel me do to you?”

Michael’s eyes lit up as he moved to a keg. “I did. When I saw you come, I wondered what that would feel like inside me,” he said as he turned his back to him. “Show me how it feels, Dean.”

In the blink of an eye, Dean had Michael bent over the stack of kegs, then ripped his pants to his ankles with his underwear. “You want me to fuck you?”

“I do,” Michael moaned as he rolled his ass against Dean’s cock. “I want you to come in my ass.”

Dean angled the tip of his cock to his hole and pressed. “Beg for it,” Dean ordered. “I want to hear you beg.”

Michael’s breathless pleas swelled an ache in Dean’s balls he would never forget. Over his shoulder, Michael looked him in the eye and said, “Oh, please, Dean. Fuck me. Pound my ass with your big, fat cock.”

When he pushed, the tight hole eased, then relaxed as the head slipped in. “Oh fuck, that feels good,” Dean moaned.

“Just wait until you’re—” Michael’s thought cut off as Dean slammed his hips into him and he screamed. “Oh, fuck, Dean, you’re huge.”

“You say that like you know,” Dean growled as he began to thrust, “you like getting fucked?”

“Dean, I’m millions of years old,” Michael said, his words marked by Dean’s thrusting hips. “I’ve known many partners.”

“Whore.”

“So? You like it.”

Dean grunted as he thrust harder. “Oh, I do. Fuck, your ass is amazing,” he sighed. “I’m… shit I’m gonna come.”

“Do it, Dean,” Michael begged as he stroked his own cock, “please, I need it, I need to feel you come inside me.”

The warm ache of his climax burst at the seams, Dean’s hard and fast thrusts, coupled with Michael’s desperate voice, shoving him over the edge. Hard throbs emptied his balls, his cum coating his length and running down Michael’s thighs. And Michael’s ass flexed, the muscles of his hole tight around Dean’s cock, and he cried out a moan the likes of which Dean had never heard, a song so lascivious, he thought he might come all over again.

Dean withdrew from him with a snap of his hips, hauled up his pants, and rushed from the freezer. He jammed the screwdriver back into the lock, then grabbed a bottle of Jack from behind the bar and drank straight from the bottle.

“Oh, come now, Dean,” Michael sang through the door. “It wasn’t that bad. I found it quite enjoyable.”

“Seriously, dude. Shut. Up.”

“You should smoke more often if that means I get—”

The front door of the bar slammed shut as Dean stomped outside. He waited there, worried for a moment that Michael’s disembodied voice might follow him regardless of where he went. When Dean was met with nothing but silence, he sighed in relief, then drank another long pull from the bottle, emptying it.

“We have gotta get rid of that fucking guy.”

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tradingjack · 5 years

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Hey so uh I forgot that I hate drawing wings lol

Anyways, this is a headcanon I came up with sometime 2 weeks ago and I’m sure someone else already came up with as well and wrote about before I finished this involved-ass drawing and wrote about it myself but I’m sharing it anyway. Of course it involves Good Omens cause uhh that’s the current hyperfixation my dudes

Basically this is the Archangel, Raphael.

About the headcanon under the cut if you’re interested (prepare for a goddamned novel)

So yeah, this is a drawing of the Archangel Raphael. I’m sure those interested have heard the theory by now that Crowley could have been the Archangel Raphael before the Fall, based on the fact that Raphael is not in Good Omens canon (seemingly replaced by Sandalphon or whatever), Raphael’s symbol is a snake wrapped around a staff, and, for me personally, the fact that Crowley can just??? Stop time????? Like what kind of overpowered Bull Shit

(I’m sure there’s a bunch of other things that support this theory that I just don’t know, please look it up some people really go in depth and it’s awesome)

Also, a brief note on angel rankings. I looked it up, and it didn’t really help because there is a lot of conflicting information out there. In the end, I just kept it at Wikipedia cause fuck it, it is a pretty reliable source in the end. We’re gonna be focusing on the first and third spheres, since the second sphere really doesn’t apply. Basically, the highest order of angels are seraphim, followed by the cherubim and then the thrones. Skip the second sphere, and the lowest three rankings are, in order of most to least rank, principalities (or rulers), archangels, and angels. Now, concerning the difference between archangels and Archangels: apparently the capital letter makes a big ol difference. Archangels with a capital letter are not, in fact, the second lowest ranking but may be interpreted to mean above all other angels, and are the highest ranked angels even among the seraphim. Therefore, the highest angels of the highest are referred to as Archangels with a capital A. (Idk if the Archangels are even really mentioned in the book, I haven’t read it yet, so idk if their titles are capitalized. I’m talking mostly in the context of the Amazon Prime show.)

Quick description of seraphim and therefore Archangels straight from Wikipedia: “fiery six-winged beings; with two wings that cover their faces, with another two that cover their feet, and the last two they use to fly.” (Oh shit I forgot the fire goddamnit I’m such a fuckin idiot oh well it’s too late I wrote this after I finished the drawing)

So, Crowley could be the fallen Archangel Raphael. However, as someone else brought up (and I’ve seen several posts stating this), the name “Aziraphale” is like a bastardization of the phrase “Also Raphael,” meaning Aziraphale could have been the Archangel Raphael but demoted and therefore forced to be renamed. It makes sense that Aziraphale could have been at least of a higher rank than a Principality because he was supposed to be guarding the Gates of Eden, which, in biblical canon, were guarded by higher ranking angels than Principalities (I think they were as high up as cherubim?? idk).

And then I heard, when Neil and Terry were writing the book, both Aziraphale and Crowley were originally just the demon, Crowley. I think it was Terry who made the decision to split that one character into 2 characters instead.

(Also if that isn’t the most soulmate-y shit I’ve ever heard)

But also like... What if that was how it was in canon?

What if........Crowley and Zira............................were both........the Archangel Raphael before the Fall?

Cause like, Raphael (or Israfel, in some religions) literally means “God heals.” Some of the things they’re the patrons are are of “young people,” “guardian angels,” “lovers,” “travelers,” basically everyone in the medical field, and “ordained marriage.” They’re like... everything optimistic and loving and hopeful about humanity. (Nothing about time but like, wtf?? That’s so powerful it’s gotta be the power of the seraphim, it’s at least equal enough to Lucifer’s power that it’s able to give them more time before Lucifer shows up to make a game plan, like it stops Lucifer???? That’s some power to give a lowly-ass demon, that an angel as powerful as a Principality isn’t able to do) It makes you think huh, maybe they care about humanity a lot more than most of the others would. So how would they have fallen?

Well, maybe they got angry at God for testing the humans so damn much. Like Crowley said, a tree right in the middle of the garden that’s super accessible? Literally the only thing the humans aren’t allowed to touch when humans, the most curious and spiteful things in the universe, are more likely to touch something when they’re told not to, when it’s obviously not allowed, and doesn’t appear to present any immediate danger? It’s not very fair.

Another interesting thing; in some canon, Raphael is even considered to be the closest to God, able to talk directly to Her, and possibly even the highest ranking angel of all, even above Michael. So God was likely very close to Raphael in return. (Of course, in the context of the show, it seems that all of the Archangels are very disconnected and are also all on equal footing, it not being entirely clear where Michael, Uriel, and Gabriel stand with each other in terms of ranking even though Michael is usually considered the highest ranked in most biblical canon. One explanation I came up with is that after God banished Raphael, that would be two of the seven archangels that She would have had to banish, her favored, so She could have withdrawn from everything in order to have some alone time, and just became more and more withdrawn as time went on until it was like She’d completely abandoned them.)

And if Raphael started questioning this wrathful god who just kicked out like, half of heaven, including Lucifer, one of her other favorites, I imagine she’d be pretty upset and not willing to hear about complaints right now. But she trusts this angel, so instead of straight kicking Raphael out, she gives them a choice instead. It’s not like they’re trying to straight rebel, anyways.

When Raphael chooses to leave, She doesn’t have a choice then but to cast at least that part of Raphael out, the part that cares too much, who doesn’t want to harm the humans. She says, “crawl under the feet of those you care so much about,” and splits their eyes and casts their staff down into hell cause like, you can’t just have a rogue ethereal being wandering about Earth with the humans, so the newly formed snake which represents all that Raphael chose to leave heaven for is Lucifer’s problem now.

But in splitting Raphael like that, she’s left with this less powerful being who’s still attached to heaven, who still has the gold of an angel but it looks washed out on their head, and who looks up with sky blue eyes and who looks lost as anything. She doesn’t want Raphael gone, so She pretends this one is also Raphael, but She’s still kinda upset so She sends this “Also Raphael” to Earth to guard Eden. Because they’re weakened, She equips them with a limited edition Flaming Sword™ and sends them to guard the Gates of Eden.

Meanwhile, the Raphael that got sent to Hell gets processed (?) and realizes that they’re now a snake. They really don’t like the name “Crawley” in the future so I imagine that when they joined hell, they were given the name “Crawley” based on the fact that they’re now a snake, and none of the residents of Hell wanna go to Earth since the entire reason almost all the demons in hell got kicked out of Heaven is cause they didn’t wanna love humans. “Crawley,” however, got kicked out for caring about humans too much, so the lords in hell decide to send them. So “Crawley” ends up tempting the humans into eating the fruit, making sure it’s on their terms and happens somewhat safely, and watches the humans leave.

And then he meets “Also Raphael,” and, as someone else has pointed out, Crowley has never had to ask for their name. They just know 👀

Crowley, imo, has been the better of the two, consistently throughout the series. Crowley’s never killed, has always questioned why humans have to be tested and hurt and killed, including motherfucking Jesus Christ, hasn’t even lied to Aziraphale, tries to get out of doing their job consistently, jumps on the opportunity to perform miracles alongside their dastardly inconveniences, has been in love with Aziraphale ever since they found out that Zira helped protect the humans by giving the couple Zira’s own protection??? The “god-given Flaming Sword™?” HELLO THIS DEMON IS IN LOVE AND THAT IS ACTUALLY CANON?????? That, and like... while Aziraphale, who’s still a part of heaven’s whole bureaucracy deal, felt the need to contact god through a whole damn ritual, all Crowley did to try and contact God was just look up and talk. I think Crowley knows about the choice and about who they were before the Fall, but doesn’t associate themselves as Raphael anymore, therefore the “I didn’t chose to fall, (BUT) I just sorta sauntered vaguely downwards.”

(Going off of that, I don’t think Crowley knows that Aziraphale is literally their other half; I like to think that Crowley just thinks Aziraphale was the angel chosen by Her as their replacement in heaven, therefore “Also Raphael” meaning another Raphael and not literally part of them that they left in heaven. They don’t know why they knew that Aziraphale was named Aziraphale right off the bat, but it doesn’t really matter to them tbh; before they fell in love, they thought Aziraphale was just another angel, and then after they fell in love it still didn’t matter cause they were in love baby!)

Meanwhile, Aziraphale’s goodness is either out of fear of disobeying heaven or being nice to Crowley. Which, they’re not even that nice to Crowley when it matters tbh. Or humans, most of the time. Like they protected Adam and Eve but wasn’t gonna blink an eye about all those children being drowned until Crowley guilted them about it.

Although they used to be the same angel, I think that, over 6000 years and even then, in the Garden, Crowley and Aziraphale ended up becoming their own person. Aziraphale, even though God cast out the part that cared about humans a little too much and is basically Raphael’s attachment to heaven and God, ended up caring quite a bit on their own, giving the first couple that sword for protection and growing very attached to the things humans created, and abandoned their allegiance to heaven after losing their faith. Crowley, who is the care and defiance and power of the archangel Raphael, ended up a pretty lowly ranked demon and is pretty damn bitter, especially after the death of Jesus of Galilee, and when they do use their power, it’s usually to fuck with humans in some capacity (unless it’s to help himself or Aziraphale :P ).

TL;DR I think that both Crowley and Aziraphale are remnants of the Archangel Raphael after the Fall because Raphael questioned God concerning the testing of the humans and chose to leave heaven. God wasn’t happy and did some shit that ended up with Crowley and Aziraphale being as they are. But both are still their own person.

#good omens #my art #crowley #aziraphale #Archangel raphael #headcanon #dude I went off jesus I'm not doing a wordcount on that shit but goddamn #thanks for reading all of that if you did #I don't blame you if you didn't

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almaasi · 5 years

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reaction post typed while watching SPN 14x08 “Byzantium”

*insert gif of me with raging fireballs for eyes and a huge smile, throwing flowers everywhere*

03:45pm

WHooo a meredith glynn episode!!!!! my fave

i always hear the 10th doctor saying “byzantium” and i can’t even put my finger on why. i guess he said it once. followed by the word “crystals”. probably what powers the tardis tbh

brb gonna get a lil snackaroo

04:04pm

okay a whole mealaroo, same difference

LET’S WATCH THE THING

04:06

i like that this recap is mostly women saying important things, quoted from multiple episodes

the stars have aligned

04:08

sam: “tell them yourself, they’ll get back in a minute”

oh no the pain in sam’s eyes

i lowkey forgot jared could act

04:10

jack: what happens next, for someone like me?

sam: i don’t know

jack: then it’s gonna be an adventure

he is THE PUREST SOUL

04:11

sam: “he’s gone”

WHAT??? NO?????!?!?!

WHAT??2RF

JDFG?

/????????

NO? I WAS 0% EXPECTING THIS

WHAT THE HELL

EXCUSE ME I WANT A REFUND FOR THIS EMOTIONAL INVESTMENT

SERIOUSLY I 100% BELIEVED HE’D BE OKAY

WHO ALLOWED THIS

/frowns and continues watching because nope this will be FIXED

at some point

undoubtedly

04:14

oh nooooo

does cas always check with dean’s emotions so he can reflect them, or because he wants to check if dean’s okay before allowing himself to feel his own emotions?

because he always does this

04:16

also i wanna know why this is clearly affecting dean so much more than cas or sam when they all cared about him like parents

does he just take things to heart way more, or is jack specifically linked in his mind to something he did wrong and the guilt is overwhelming?

also i totally would’ve loved to see them all bawling their eyes out tbh

04:18

why is cas the one holding everything together

dean’s in pain, cas helps him

sam’s in pain, dean lets him be but cas wants to help

but how is cas feeling

04:21

would fresh wood even burn???? i thought you’re meant to get dead, old wood

or maybe i know nothing and you’re meant to chop down poor, innocent trees

04:24

dean: “tonight? we get loaded”

and now i’m crying ;~;

04:25

fuk u

04:26

it’s obviously misha but it’s also canon cas now and he’s smiling and i’m sobbing and i can’t handle this

okay dean needs to kiss that lil bit of caramel off his lip RIGHT NOW

100% the reason the editors used that shot

04:28

okYA THAT RIGHT THERE/ THAT’S DRUNK JENSEN

NESNEJ, IF YOU WILL

I KNOW THAT LOOK ANYWHERE

THAT’S JENSEN LOOKING AT MISHA WITH DRUNK HEARTEYES

they must’ve used real liquor somewhere in this, either that or jensen is REALLY good at acting drunk with his eyes

AND FUCK THAT’S ALSO DEAN LOOKING AT CAS WITH DRUNK HEARTEYES

SHIT

this episode is just a list of things i did not fucking expect to see right now

04:33

tbh jack’s heaven is probably very close to my idea of heaven too

endless team free will/destiel soft fanfiction where nothing is wrong and they like me

04:35

how does he look SO. GOOD.

04:37

honestly right now as they’re having this conversation about angel tablets, my bladder is straining in sympathy for dean’s

please somebody let him leave to use the bathroom

i cannot imagine how much liquid is inside him right now AND AT THE SAME TIME HE MUST BE THE MOST DEHYDRATED

save this boy

04:41

oooh is jack gonna meet his mom in heaveeeeeeennnnn

04:44

dean: “psycho ex-angel killer”

um dude everyone you know and love has murdered angels

04:50

oooohhhh yes i did recognise the black inky skeleton thing but didn’t place it until now

04:50

duma: “what does it want?”

naomi: “the boy”

unsure if that counts as a bechdel test pass but it was close

duma: “so what do we do?”

naomi: “give it what it wants”

okay THAT counts