#liber juratus

[cryptotheism]

Is there a close equivalent to a "Necronomicon" sort of book you've found in your research?

The way that Lovecraft describes the Necronomicon describes many magical texts, but I have a hunch he based it off the Liber Juratus.

[talonabraxas]

Enochian Magic The Sigillum Dei (seal of God, or signum dei vivi, symbol of the living God, called by John Dee the Sigillum Dei Aemeth) is a magical diagram, composed of two circles, a pentagram, two heptagons, and one heptagram, and is labeled with the name of God and his angels. It was an amulet (amuletum) with the magical function that, according to one of the oldest sources (Liber Juratus), allowed the initiated magician to have power over all creatures except Archangels, but usually only reserved for those who can achieve the blessed vision of God and angels (beatific visionary).

The Sigillum Dei Aemeth, the black mirror and other tools used by John Dee, at the British Museum.

[juliokav]

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https://www.instagram.com/estrelasdeaco

oculto, sigillum, dei, aemeth, johndee, sealofgod, sealoftruth, signumdeivivi, símbolo, vivo, pagão, thelema, esotérico, sobrenatural, religião, ciência, ocultismo, espiritismo, teosofia, antroposofia, wicca, hermético, ordem, dourado, amanhecer, bruxaria, bruxa, magia, amor, deus, natureza, psíquico, nascer do sol, babalon, vênus, Crowley, lua, astrologia, deusa, caos, Eliphaslévi, Jung, Blavatsky, alquímica, diagramas, livros, definição, ciência, estudos, simbolismo, conhecimento, significado, astrologia, práticas, rosacruz, sol, galáxia, zodíaco, achad, ahba, 13, unidade, taroth, thoth, egípcio, cabala, pentagrama, hexagrama, heptagrama, diagrama, jackparsons, estrelas de aço, estrela de prata, estrela da manhã, anjos, liber, juratus, 1318, rosae, fibonacci, acrux, nautilus, taijitu, horus, selo, metatron, dionfortune, santo, espírito, quatro elementos, papus, natural, magia, parapsicologia, estrela, luxúria, misticismo, ocultura, maçonaria, cibercultura, ritual, respeitante, hinduísmo budismo, tao, cerimonial, macumba, mathers, mão esquerda, iluminação, xama, fractal, mapuche, treze, luas, tzolkyn, semanas, grávida, proteger, quatro estações, maia, cultura, calendário, tempo, idade, um , diversidade, sete, seis, cosmos, ferramenta, rocha, astrum, argentum, pirâmides, Egito, camunicação, rocha, história, consciência, arco-íris, música, notas, linuspauling, caoísmo, friedaharris, aeon, osmanspare, templo, ritualístico, teológico , equação, elegante, filosofia, popular, qabalah, enochian, iching, hermes, platônico, carrol, tradição, antonwilson, heavymetal, evolução, cibernético, liber, transumano, nave espacial, xamanismo, nulo, gnose, instrumento, nuit, mitologia,

#occult, #sigillum , #dei , #aemeth, #johndee , #sealofgod, #sealoftruth , #signumdeivivi, #symbol, #living, #pagan, #thelema, #esoteric ,#supernatural ,#religion ,#science ,#occultism ,#spiritualism ,#theosophy ,#anthroposophy ,#wicca ,#hermetic ,#order ,#golden ,#dawn ,#witchcraft ,#witch ,#magick ,#love ,#god ,#nature ,#psychic ,#sunrise ,#babalon ,#venus ,#crowley ,#moon ,#astrology ,#goddess ,#chaos ,#eliphaslévi ,#jung ,#blavatsky, #alchemical ,#diagrams, #books, #definition, #science, #studies, #simbolysm, #knowledge, #meaning, #astrology, #practices, #rosicrucian , #sun, #galaxy, #zodiac, #achad, #ahba, #13, #unit, #taroth, #thoth, #egyptian, #cabala, #pentagram, #hexagram, #heptagram, #diagram, #jackparsons, #steelstars, #silverstar, #morningstar, #angels, #liber, #juratus, #1318, #rosae, #fibonacci, #acrux, #nautilus, #taijitu, #horus, #seal , #metatron, #dionfortune, #holy, #spirit, #fourelements, #papus, #natural, #magic, #parapsychology, #star, #lust, #mysticism, #occulture, #freemasonic , #cyberculture, #ritual, #regardie, #hinduism #buddhism, #tao, #ceremonial , #macumba, #mathers, #lefthand, #enlightenment, #xama, #fractal, #mapuche, #thirteen ,#moons, #tzolkyn , #weeks, #pregnant, #protect, #fourseason, #maia, #culture, #calendar, #time, #age, #one, #diversity, #seven, #six, #cosmos, #tool, #rock, #astrum, #argentum, #piramids , #egipt, #camunication, #rock, #history, #consciousness, #rainbow, #music, #notes, #linuspauling, #caoism, #friedaharris, #aeon, #osmanspare, #temple, #ritualistic, #theological, #equation , #elegant, #philosophy, #popular, #qabalah, #enochian ,#iching, #hermes, #platonic, #carrol, #tradition, #antonwilson , #heavymetal, #evolution, #cyber, #liber, #transhuman, #spaceship, #shamanism, #null, #gnosis, #instrument, #interstellar, #nuit #mitology

#oculto, #sigillum, #dei, #aemeth, #johndee, #sealofgod, #sealoftruth, #signumdeivivi, #símbolo, #vivo, #pagão, #thelema, #esotérico, #sobrenatural, #religião, #ciência, #ocultismo, #espiritismo, #teosofia, #antroposofia, #wicca, #hermético, #ordem, #dourado, #amanhecer, #bruxaria, #bruxa, #magia, #amor, #deus, #natureza, #psíquico, #nascer #do #sol, #babalon, #vênus, #Crowley, #lua, #astrologia, #deusa, #caos, #Eliphaslévi, #Jung, #Blavatsky, #alquímica, #diagramas, #livros, #definição, #ciência, #estudos, #simbolismo, #conhecimento, #significado, #astrologia, #práticas, #rosacruz, #sol, #galáxia, #zodíaco, #achad, #ahba, #13, #unidade, #taroth, #thoth, #egípcio, #cabala, #pentagrama, #hexagrama, #heptagrama, #diagrama, #jackparsons, #estrelas #de #aço, #estrela #de #prata, #estrela #da #manhã, #anjos, #liber, #juratus, #1318, #rosae, #fibonacci, #acrux, #nautilus, #taijitu, #horus, #selo, #metatron, #dionfortune, #santo, #espírito, #quatro #elementos, #papus, #natural, #magia, #parapsicologia, #estrela, #luxúria, #misticismo, #ocultura, #maçonaria, #cibercultura, #ritual, #respeitante, #hinduísmo #budismo, #tao, #cerimonial, #macumba, #mathers, #mão #esquerda, #iluminação, #xama, #fractal, #mapuche, #treze, #luas, #tzolkyn, #semanas, #grávida, #proteger, #quatro #estações, #maia, #cultura, #calendário, #tempo, #idade, #um , #diversidade, #sete, #seis, #cosmos, #ferramenta, #rocha, #astrum, #argentum, #pirâmides, #Egito, #camunicação, #rocha, #história, #consciência, #arco-íris, #música, #notas, #linuspauling, #caoísmo, #friedaharris, #aeon, #osmanspare, #templo, #ritualístico, #teológico , #equação, #elegante, #filosofia, #popular, #qabalah, #enochian, #iching, #hermes, #platônico, #carrol, #tradição, #antonwilson, #heavymetal, #evolução, #cibernético, #liber, #transumano, #nave #espacial, #xamanismo, #nulo, #gnose, #instrumento, #interstelar, #nuit, #isis, #osiris, #zeus, #heros, #afrodite, #apolo, #mitology #set #hades #hecate, #saturno, #mitologia,

#babalon #cosmos #occultism #chaos magick thelema current 93 #sigillum #ritual #occult #dei #aemeth #johndee #sealofgod #sealoftruth #signumdeivivi #symbol #living #pagan

[malebeautyforumlifestyle]

[graywyvern]

( via / via )

A 44-page one-side page reproduction of Liber Juratus - Editio Minoris, in the Nordien language. Which, if you don't know, is "a simplified version of a Germanic conlang." (More.)

Born into what world of rainbow gold, that you a ghost roam hungry for bright winnings?

The Giselian Realm. (via)

"Transatlantic Handshake"

Here is the rain you prayed for, blood on your hands: An anguish that none living comprehends.

Oncoming headlights, some are on, some off; This season of misrule far too owned to slough.

I call the Deep Ones in my ev'ry fiber, Drizzle-flags & Shilohwards the fibber.

I give the Grays munificence & shreds, Bell jar stuffed with thousands of poignant chads.

(2006)

"This desperate tongue-in-cheek disavowal of sincerity exposes the bare rusted infrastructure of our poetry moment, caught between the exhaustion of the confessional impulse and the exhaustion of ironic wordplay."

"Silent we came, and melancholy lay." --Pope's Odyssey, X.

581G.

[arcane-offerings]

#necromancy #theurgy #grimoire #grimoires #spirits #spirit conjuring #spirit conjuration #necromantic #liber iuratus #sworn book of honorius #liber juratus #occult #medieval magic #history of magic #magical manuscripts #ritual magic

[larkfall]

Seals of Solomon, a treatise on sigils, the Shemhamphoresh, demons, Liber Juratus circle and Seal of God, etc... images from Berengarius’ Summa Sacrae Magicae. [Source]

#magick #occule #esoteric #sigils #sigillum dei #liber juratus #shemhamphorash #manuscript

[profetizamos]

Incense/suffumigation for driving away visions, dreams, and nightmares:

"A suffumigation made of these herbs as follows expels and drives away all visions, and fantasies in sleep or otherwise.

Take peonies, pennyroyal, mints and the herb called palmacrist*, and make a confection thereof at your going to bed, or at any other time when as need requires, and it shall be done that [which] you require."

—From the grimoire Liber Juratus Honorii, trans. Joseph Peterson. Original text likely written prior to the 14th c.

*Palmacrist refers to the castor bean plant, which is known to be extremely toxic.

#grimtrad #grimoire #tradcraft #trad craft #herbalism #herbal magic #suffumigation #liber Juratus honorii #sworn book of honorius #poison path #my post #witchblr #spellcraft #divination

[uhrikanit-art]

This is my interpretation of a spirit of north according to a medieval grimoire The Sworn Book of Honorius. I did it for a RPG zine last year.

The spirits of north are spirits of hatred, evil thoughts, theft, and greed. They sow discord, give lead if desired, can kill anyone and destroy limbs.

#spirit of north #the sworn book of honorius #liber juratus honorii #spirit #honorius of thebes #illustration #black and white #demon #angel #christian magic

[screaming-in-reverse]

Hallucinogenic Flying Ointment

Making hallucinogenic flying ointment: various recipes.

Flying ointment is an herbal hallucinogenic salve applied by witches for the purpose of soul-flight. I aim for this guide to provide a variety of recipes and ingredients to choose from, highlighting both psychoactive and non-psychoactive entheogens.

Historically accurate recipes

Egyptian

The Greek Egyptian magical papyri describes a religious consecrating oil producing visions called kentritis, the most likely ingredients being Verbena officinalis (vervain) and Mandragora officinalis (mandrake). It is also likely that because of the spread of the Mithras cult from Central Asia, and therefore their hallucinogens, that Amanita muscaria (fly agaric) may be a component in the kentritis oil.

Grimoire

I only found one mention of flying ointment in a grimoire, and it was comprised of multiple unnecessary herbs that had to be handgrown and picked in a complex ceremony. For simplicity’s sake, we may consider the only psychoactive herb in it: vervain. In essence, this ointment is comprised of a single entheogen.

EDIT: I forgot to mention that most grimoires also use hyssop as a consecrating oil. The Keys of Solomon use in the water and hyssop ceremony both vervain, sage, valerian, and hyssop.

Witches’

A traditionally described ointment from reputable sources on the history of witchcraft. These sources describe two recipes.

Parsley and poplar leaves

This recipe contains no psychoactive ingredients, however parsley and poplar are sacred plants in the witchcraft tradition. Unless parsley and poplar are undiscovered hallucinogens ;)

2. Water parsnip, Acorus calamus (sweet flag), cinquefoil, Atropa belladonna (deadly nightshade), Papaver somniferum (opium/poppy)

Our modern recipes

One could make the authentic recipes described above, but there are many other options other than what the old books say. For example, although the uses of opium and fly agaric as ingredients in flying ointment is rather unsubstantiated, they are used as entheogens in other facets of European occultism (opium as incense in Liber Juratus for example) so it would not be far fetched or unauthentic to include them in your ointment.

A typical recipe for us might look like:

2-3 cups of oil

A small amount of wax

1 ounce of dried henbane

10 grams belladonna

10 grams mandrake

5 grams opium

4 ounces fly agaric

10 grams vervain

Add as much parsley, sweet flag, water parsnip, cinquefoil, and poplar leaves as you want. They aren’t poisonous or hallucinogenic so their inclusion is for religious symbolism more than anything.

If one is using the ointment for an indigenous American ritual like a mesada (Originating in the Andes mountains, translating as “altar ritual”) or velada (Mazatec Mexican origin, translating as “candle ritual”) which I would love to outline in a guide later, then it will be fitting to use:

1 ounce datura

1 ounce brugmansia

This could also be used for European rituals as datura and brugmansia are in many ways more desirable because of their more hallucinogenic properties rather than sedative/toxic and because of their more consistency in effects. I made my first flying ointment with brugmansia, and it works just fine. It just isn’t entirely authentic.

How to make it

Just know that you will be working with wax, placing it on your dishes, and wax is a gigantic pain in the ass to clean up. So if you make it you got a lot of scrubbing to do. Also, wear gloves when handling the herbage material and keep windows and doors of the room open to prevent fumes from intoxicating you. You might also want to wear one of those paper masks. This is potent stuff, and you don’t want to be meeting spirits in your kitchen just yet.

Melt the wax in a crock pot (Do not attempt it any other way, slow cooking is the safest. Using a stovetop creates highly volatile oils that can cause a wax fire very quickly).

Meanwhile, place foliage and oil in blender.

Blend the concoction and pour it into a small pot.

Heat the pot on low for an hour.

Strain the liquid from the herbs.

Pour a small portion of the melted wax into the oil, enough so that it becomes a thick consistency. But be careful: while the wax is melted it looks like liquid so you might underestimate how much wax you put in.

Place outside the fridge (because it might cool too quickly, meaning the wax wouldn’t dissolve into the oil), and when it is cool, pour the ointment. It will probably be enough to fill two mason jars! (That’s about 30 doses).

And then you’re done! Apply liberally, but work your way up the doses slowly. You can apply more if you aren’t feeling it. It’s not too strong, you aren’t likely to completely leave this world on the witches’ ointment. Next I’ll teach you guys how to make a witches’ brew! Tripping with purpose.

EDIT: Some are upset that I have declined to put a warning on this post. Some may even say it’s irresponsible. I justify this by saying that the toxicity of nightshades is known everywhere and it is impossible not to encounter the ever-present warning about their safety.

I chose not to beat the dead horse. If you cannot do any research beyond what you read in this post, then nightshades aren’t for you and you should face the consequences of your own actions. I’m not a babysitter, so I’m not responsible for your own safety and well-being. You are.

I think also that the ‘dangers’ of the Amanita muscaria mushroom are vastly overstated and warning people not to ingest fly agaric because other members of the family are poisonous is a misnomer. There has never been a death from fly agaric. There has never been a death from transdermal nightshade for that matter, if I may be bold enough to say.

(COPIED FROM AN OLD FORUM THREAD)

#witchcraft #flying ointment #vampire aesthetic #dark romanticism #screaminginreverse #vampire #vampirism #vampcore #dark grunge #i-am-drinking-your-milkshake #bl00d #dark aesthetic #witchy

[cryptotheism]

hey ct whats the liber juratus

Aka the Sworn Book of Honorius. One of the most influential medieval European grimoires. Nobody really knows who wrote it or why or when. It's a mish-mash of various European magical systems all influencing each other in this big wonderful confusing pot.

[scionofchaos]

Celtic Paganism, Wands, and Magic Symbols

I have spoken at length with my sister, a Celtic Pagan who aligns strongly with Brighid, about her use of wands in her practice. While I have yet to seek out a wand for myself, I have begun to understand the cultural ties and the reasons why incorporating a wand is valuable.

The first written reference to magic wands comes from Homer, who depicted Hermes, Athena, and Circe as having them. According to one source I have read, many occult practices draw their use of wands from a common root -- the Oathbound Book of Honorius. Also known as the Sworn Book of Honorius, Liber Juratus Honorii, or Liber Sacer, it is a medieval grimoire purportedly written by one Honorius of Thebes. The book is supposedly the product of a conference of magicians who condensed all of their knowledge into one volume, ranging from escaping a fate in the afterlife, to seeking justice or wealth, to conjuration of demons, among other workings. Many ideas from the Oathbound Book were incorporated into the Key of Solomon three centuries later. The Hermetic Order of the Golden Dawn got their ritual objects -- dagger, sword, pentacle, and cup -- from Eliphas Levi, who in turn used the information found in the Key of Solomon, as well as the Tarot. The Order used several different wands for different purposes, while in Wicca, wands are traditionally used for summoning and control. Whereas the athame is used to command, the wand is inviting and encouraging. Raymond Buckland's knowledge -- drawn from the Golden Dawn -- suggested that the wand was a fire element, though it is usually thought to represent air. In my practice, I associate wands with air, and the athame with fire.

Now that you have that context, let me talk about wands from my point of view. First of all, they have to be wood. A metal "wand" is an athame at best, and a needle at worst. A plastic "wand," or other synthetic materials, is flouting your materialism and association with consumerist society. Now, barring the possibility you have a phoenix feather, unicorn horn, or whatever, nothing physical you could infuse into your wand is going to make a difference. Bit of Harry Potter humor there. Simply put, a wand is made of wood. Now, why is that a problem for me? I am Fire. In an elemental sense, I am comprised of Psychic essence and the metaphysical flame. I can't use a wand the way other people can. It is more beneficial for me to harness vital essence, to harness the wind, by moving myself and my spiritual being through the open air. No wand or staff necessary. I will feed on the air, and use its power through myself to alter the rest. Unlike the other classical implements, wands and I have a bad rapport. Now, when DO I use a staff? Like many people, I use them when walking, when hiking through rough terrain. So if anything, I use it as an Earth implement.

I possess two unsanctified pocket knives, and one sacred sword. In origin, it is just a silly display sword with a crossguard and pommel utterly ill-suited for use, and a blade that cannot cut. But it was a gift from my Ancient love brought back through the ages, and I have treated it with reverence I give to no one and nothing else. It is a powerful source of and focus of Psychic essence, for me and me only. I keep it in a high place where it is not to be toyed with by visitors, positioned next to one of my father's guns (also for display and unused), to further communicate that it is a weapon and it is powerful. The athame is aligned with Fire, as am I, so this blade is very key to my work. I can call upon variants of its essence from anywhere in this world. Naturally, I am biased in favor of the athame, and believe everyone should have a good knife or sword. Wiccan practice also makes use of a boline for practical purposes, and I share the view that one should have one or more practical knives, and a sacred blade that is never used for material purposes.

I do not possess an amulet of any kind. I have not made an attempt to acquire one, and the material element is not a strength of mine. Perhaps I should get one. But the thing is, I was born without the sense of smell. Utterly useless to me. That sense is elementally assigned to Earth, to the Physical essence. I have also lost my gallbladder, which TCM associates with the Earth element. You can start to see why I have a strange relationship with Pentacles. Whether someone else chooses to use one...I honestly have no opinion.

Finally, we have the Cup. I do not have a sacred cup or bowl, and probably should get one. Consider that it is tied to Water, my antithesis, and realize that I would be very selective about incorporating one into my home. Now, Water is a sister to me. Not an enemy. Despite that, our powers are anathema to each other; I boil Water and cast it to the air; Water extinguishes me. Ritually, my "bowl" is my bathtub. When taking a shower, I focus on spiritual cleansing as well, of weakening myself to pay for physical and spiritual wellness. When I absolutely have to cool down and unload, I actually fill the bath and submerge fully in it. For more traditional purposes, I have no designated tool for the Water element, and do not use something in that appropriate way. For sensory work, I either work without a tool, or make use of the horizon as a focus. For spiritual growth, I instead feed my internal Fire with material food; education and obsession; or psychically joining my material counterpart in its consumption of wood. Should you use a Cup? I could care less. If it means something to you and does something for you, go for it. If not, it is a useless implement you can do without.

#magic tools #magick #spiritwork #energywork #wands #athame #pentacles #tarot #mysticism

[noise-vs-signal]

“Sigillum Dei Aemeth” by John Dee (1582), based on the 14th Century Liber Juratus.

#john dee

[elvthron]

Hallucinogenic Flying Ointment

Making hallucinogenic flying ointment: various recipes. Flying ointment is an herbal hallucinogenic salve applied by witches for the purpose of soul-flight. I aim for this guide to provide a variety of recipes and ingredients to choose from, highlighting both psychoactive and non-psychoactive entheogens. Historically accurate recipes Egyptian The Greek Egyptian magical papyri describes a religious consecrating oil producing visions called kentritis, the most likely ingredients being Verbena officinalis (vervain) and Mandragora officinalis (mandrake). It is also likely that because of the spread of the Mithras cult from Central Asia, and therefore their hallucinogens, that Amanita muscaria (fly agaric) may be a component in the kentritis oil. Grimoire I only found one mention of flying ointment in a grimoire, and it was comprised of multiple unnecessary herbs that had to be handgrown and picked in a complex ceremony. For simplicity's sake, we may consider the only psychoactive herb in it: vervain. In essence, this ointment is comprised of a single entheogen. EDIT: I forgot to mention that most grimoires also use hyssop as a consecrating oil. The Keys of Solomon use in the water and hyssop ceremony both vervain, sage, valerian, and hyssop. Witches' A traditionally described ointment from reputable sources on the history of witchcraft. These sources describe two recipes. Parsley and poplar leaves This recipe contains no psychoactive ingredients, however parsley and poplar are sacred plants in the witchcraft tradition. Unless parsley and poplar are undiscovered hallucinogens ;) 2. Water parsnip, Acorus calamus (sweet flag), cinquefoil, Atropa belladonna (deadly nightshade), Papaver somniferum (opium/poppy) Our modern recipes One could make the authentic recipes described above, but there are many other options other than what the old books say. For example, although the uses of opium and fly agaric as ingredients in flying ointment is rather unsubstantiated, they are used as entheogens in other facets of European occultism (opium as incense in Liber Juratus for example) so it would not be far fetched or unauthentic to include them in your ointment. A typical recipe for us might look like: 2-3 cups of oil A small amount of wax 1 ounce of dried henbane 10 grams belladonna 10 grams mandrake 5 grams opium 4 ounces fly agaric 10 grams vervain Add as much parsley, sweet flag, water parsnip, cinquefoil, and poplar leaves as you want. They aren't poisonous or hallucinogenic so their inclusion is for religious symbolism more than anything. If one is using the ointment for an indigenous American ritual like a mesada (Originating in the Andes mountains, translating as "altar ritual") or velada (Mazatec Mexican origin, translating as "candle ritual") which I would love to outline in a guide later, then it will be fitting to use: 1 ounce datura 1 ounce brugmansia This could also be used for European rituals as datura and brugmansia are in many ways more desirable because of their more hallucinogenic properties rather than sedative/toxic and because of their more consistency in effects. I made my first flying ointment with brugmansia, and it works just fine. It just isn't entirely authentic. How to make it Just know that you will be working with wax, placing it on your dishes, and wax is a gigantic pain in the ass to clean up. So if you make it you got a lot of scrubbing to do. Also, wear gloves when handling the herbage material and keep windows and doors of the room open to prevent fumes from intoxicating you. You might also want to wear one of those paper masks. This is potent stuff, and you don't want to be meeting spirits in your kitchen just yet. Melt the wax in a crock pot (Do not attempt it any other way, slow cooking is the safest. Using a stovetop creates highly volatile oils that can cause a wax fire very quickly). Meanwhile, place foliage and oil in blender. Blend the concoction and pour it into a small pot. Heat the pot on low for an hour. Strain the liquid from the herbs. Pour a small portion of the melted wax into the oil, enough so that it becomes a thick consistency. But be careful: while the wax is melted it looks like liquid so you might underestimate how much wax you put in. Place outside the fridge (because it might cool too quickly, meaning the wax wouldn't dissolve into the oil), and when it is cool, pour the ointment. It will probably be enough to fill two mason jars! (That's about 30 doses). And then you're done! Apply liberally, but work your way up the doses slowly. You can apply more if you aren't feeling it. It's not too strong, you aren't likely to completely leave this world on the witches' ointment. Next I'll teach you guys how to make a witches' brew! Tripping with purpose. EDIT: Some are upset that I have declined to put a warning on this post. Some may even say it's irresponsible. I justify this by saying that the toxicity of nightshades is known everywhere and it is impossible not to encounter the ever-present warning about their safety. I chose not to beat the dead horse. If you cannot do any research beyond what you read in this post, then nightshades aren't for you and you should face the consequences of your own actions. I'm not a babysitter, so I'm not responsible for your own safety and well-being. You are. I think also that the 'dangers' of the Amanita muscaria mushroom are vastly overstated and warning people not to ingest fly agaric because other members of the family are poisonous is a misnomer. There has never been a death from fly agaric. There has never been a death from transdermal nightshade for that matter, if I may be bold enough to say. (COPIED FROM AN OLD FORUM THREAD)

#witch #sabbath #flying ointment #recipe

[aethelflaedladyofmercia]

Reckless (6,275 words)

(This story is the sequel to “Careful” which I wrote in response to a prompt by @goodomensprompts and comments by @kedreeva - quite a few people asked for a follow-up, so here it is! I have one more part planned.)

(Available on AO3)

Aziraphale had always been careful.

Not anymore.

Rushing up Regent Street in the middle of the day at Crowley’s side, so close their shoulders brushed, so close every human they passed could see what had been kept secret for so long. Could see it in their clothes, still in disarray. Could see it in the smile on Aziraphale’s face, in the glances he shot at the demon next to him.

Crowley hid his expression better, with his dark lenses and perpetually sour face, but who could miss how both pairs of hands, ungloved, constantly reached out to touch the shoulder, the small of the back, the curve of the face?

Feeling daring, Aziraphale offered his elbow. Crowley wrapped both arms around it, clinging as if he were a drowning man and Aziraphale a spar of wood; as if Crowley were lost in a blizzard and Aziraphale were the only source of heat; as if the world were a monsoon and Aziraphale might blow away in the wind.

An angel and a demon, walking arm-in-arm down one of London’s busiest streets.

Utterly reckless.

Aziraphale walked faster.

By the time they reached the shop, they were almost running.

Aziraphale fumbled with the key as Crowley stood oh so close behind him, one hand at his wrist, the other sliding across his hip, his waist, the curve of his stomach, pulling him back into that unfathomable heat. Aziraphale’s hand shook and the key fell to the ground.

Careless.

“Crowley,” he gasped, winded not only from their run. “You said you wanted to talk.”

“Not only talk.” Warm breath stirring through his short hair.

“Not here. It isn’t safe.”

“Then get that door open!”

Aziraphale snapped his fingers and the doors sprang apart. Together they stumbled, tumbled, fell through the door, fell to the floor.

Crowley knelt over him, fists still clutching Aziraphale’s lapels from when he’d tried to slow the angel’s descent. The expression on that narrow face was something entirely new.

Aziraphale snapped his fingers again and the door slammed shut, locked, the shades drawn as Crowley leaned down –

And kissed him breathless.

Six thousand years.

Six thousand years since a meaningless reassurance, a bad joke, a shared laugh had untwisted the knot of anxious worry that was Aziraphale’s constant companion, given him a moment’s relief from the endless press of fear.

It had only lasted a second the first time. But again and again, this demon had made him feel happy. Safe. Fearless.

And in his heart, something had grown, something with an ineffability that had nothing to do with the Plans of Heaven.

When Crowley finally released him, sitting up, Aziraphale felt as if his soul went too – gently pulled out of his body by those lips, left to hover between them in the air of the bookshop.

“So. Ahem.” Azirpahale sat up, attempting to smooth his jacket, recover any of his dignified attitude. “I suppose now we, ah, talk.”

“Mmh.” Crowley reached up, adjusting Azirpahale’s cravat with a crooked smile. “I can’t think of a thing to say.”

Aziraphale snatched his fingers, pressed them to his lips.

Centuries of hovering around each other, fearing to even brush against the other’s skin in case the fire it ignited should burn them to ashes. Now that they’d finally crossed that line, thrown all caution to the wind, he realized he might never be able to stop.

It was addictive.

And he was powerless to resist.

The smell of Crowley’s perfume, the salty taste of his skin, the gentle burn of his fingertips as they cupped Aziraphale’s chin, turning his face toward those lips, oh, those lips…

Here we go again.

Aziraphale finally broke the cycle, broke the kiss, putting his hand on Crowley’s chest, tilting him back. Giving himself enough space to breathe, to speak, to think.

“Are we safe?”

Crowley reached up and pulled his glasses off. “I don’t care anymore.” Oh, the softness of those slit-pupil eyes was almost enough for Aziraphale to lose himself again.

“You said –” He took a deep breath, searching for that reserve of caution and worry that had kept them safe for so long. “You said Hell has been…watching you. Checking in more often. Is there a chance anyone saw us?”

“I think just about everyone saw us.” A laugh, just a hiss of breath across the teeth as Crowley leaned closer, resting his forehead against Aziraphale’s. “But my side…I don’t know. I won’t know until they come for me.”

Aziraphale swallowed around the sudden lump in his throat. “You aren’t safe. It’s my fault, carrying on in a public place like that…”

“No.” A hand on the back of Aziraphale’s neck, fingers playing through the curls. “I asked for this. I wanted this. I told you I was ready to fight for what we have, and I meant it.” He tilted his head, lips brushing across Aziraphale’s forehead. “Though it would help if I had Holy Water.”

Aziraphale glanced at the door of the shop. “I can’t just miracle it up. It takes time. And anything more than a few ounces and Heaven will notice, send someone to investigate.” He wasn’t ready for that yet. To confront the other angels. To admit how far he’d strayed from his orders and his purpose.

“A few ounces will kill a demon.”

“Do you think they’ll only send one?”

“It’s still better than nothing.”

Aziraphale’s mind reeled. They weren’t having this conversation. It was absurd. They couldn’t win a fight. Safety came from avoiding a fight. They had to be clever. “No. You need to leave London.”

“What?” Crowley pulled back in shock.

“We have to assume your side already knows. If they find you, they’ll destroy you. London isn’t safe. England isn’t safe. I don’t know if anywhere in the world is safe, but someplace quiet and secluded should do for a start.” He stood up quickly, bustled around the shop, searching.

“Angel!” The familiar snap was back in his voice. “I told you, I’m not going to leave you. You can’t just – send me away!”

“You can’t stop me,” Aziraphale reminded him mildly. “I’m a Warrior of Heaven.”

“What are you going to do?” Under that angry scowl, the lip quirked just a little, a smile fighting to get free. “Tie me up and throw me on a boat?”

“If I had to, yes. But it’s not necessary in this case.” He found what he was looking for, held it up: a heavy leather Gladstone bag. “I’m coming with you.”

The words weren’t quite as hard to say as he’d expected. They only tore through his heart a little.

“Angel, no.” Crowley scrambled to his feet, following after him. “This shop is…your dream. Your home. You can’t just leave it.”

Aziraphale dropped the bag onto the nearest table, clearing aside a stack of Charles Dickens and making room between statuettes of angels. He rushed back to the shelves, gathering books with shaking hands. “There are protections woven on the building. For when I’m away on assignment. Humans will just ignore it, walk past. They should last for years, decades without needing to be refreshed. Plenty of time to come up with a plan.”

“You can’t be serious,” Crowley objected, as Aziraphale turned back towards the table with his autographed books of prophecy and began arranging them into a neat stack. “Decades? You think they’ll give up on us that quickly? Aziraphale, if we leave London, they’ll – we might never be able to return.”

“Then we don’t return.” Aziraphale busied his hands with organizing his favorite misprint Bibles.

“You love this shop. These books,” Crowley reminded him gently.

“Not as much as I love you.” He said it with all the conviction he had, but it still hurt. Even when Crowley wrapped his arms around Azirpahale’s waist, buried his lips in Aziraphale’s hair.

He wanted that warmth, that love. Ached for it. There was no doubt in his mind that leaving was the right thing, the smart thing to do. But Aziraphale would leave a piece of himself behind, forever missing the life he could have had.

“There’s just…so much.” His eyes roamed across the endless shelves, just dusty enough to discourage enthusiastic browsing; the countless volumes, each one a priceless treasure, lovingly collected over the decades. “How do I know what to take?”

“We can rebuild your collection,” Crowley promised, nose brushing down toward Aziraphale’s ear. “Just take what’s irreplaceable.”

Aziraphale turned to face him, slipping his arms around Crowley’s neck. “Oh, I’ve already got that.” He closed his eyes, leaning in, seeking the soft lips and hot breath of the demon –

“The Lemegeton!” Aziraphale pushed Crowley back.

“I – what?”

“The Lesser Key of Solomon! I need to get that.”

“I know what – why do you want a demon summoning manual?”

“It’s a special edition,” Aziraphale explained, already running toward the shelves in the back. “Just pack those up for me, there’s a dear.”

Crowley grumbled something, then raised his voice to add, “Get that Austen one while you’re back there.”

The only sound was his footsteps – quick and sharp on the hardwood floor. He took his time over the grimoires – there wasn’t a moment to spare, but these could be useful.

The Ghayat al-Hakim fi’l-Sihr.

The Liber Juratus Honorii.

The Sefer Raziel HaMalakh.

The Book of Abramelin.

Aziraphale carefully stacked them on a table, and the pile grew worryingly tall. How would he carry them all? Did he have another bag, perhaps? Or could he miracle them small enough to fit? He hated miracling his books, of course, but these were dire circumstances –

The bell over the shop door chimed.

It should have been locked.

Cautiously, trying not to make any noise as he moved, Aziraphale shifted back to the end of the shelf, leaned past to see into the main circle of the shop. The door was still shut. He couldn’t see any customer. He couldn’t see Crowley, either, but another shelf blocked the table from view.

It was far too quiet.

Aziraphale stepped back into the shadows, clutching a thick book in either hand, concentrating.

He could sense Crowley somewhere nearby. Probably still in the shop. And another supernatural entity. More than one, but shielding themselves. He would have to –

“Aziraphale! Glad to see you’re alright.”

He spun. There, striding down the length of the shelf: the Archangel Gabriel, grinning with cheerful good humor.

“Alright – Of – of course. I’m fine!” Aziraphale tried to match Gabriel’s smile. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

Wrong thing to say. The smile vanished like a candle snuffed out, leaving only the warm violet eyes, carefully blank, revealing nothing. “Because of the demon threatening you.”

“Ah. Yes. That.” He tried to swallow, but his heart seemed lodged in his throat.

“We had reason to believe you were in danger. I came down personally to check on you.”

“Ah. Well.” Aziraphale shifted the books from one side to the other. How much did Gabriel know? Worse, what did he think he knew? “That’s…most kind of you, really. I’m – I’m flattered you would…er…”

“We assumed you’d be relieved to get backup from a few fellow angels.”

“A few?” He cleared his throat. “No. Yes. I’m – I’m – I’m…”

The arm Gabriel put around his shoulders was decidedly less friendly than usual. “Let’s get this sorted out,” the Archangel said, steering Aziraphale back towards the front of the shop.

Any protest died in his throat when he saw Crowley, still standing at the table where Aziraphale had left him, but no longer alone.

His hands were pressed flat on either side of the bag full of books. To his left stood the Archangel Uriel, to his right, Sandalphon. Each resting a hand on one of Crowley’s arms.

The demon stood absolutely motionless between them, eyes once again shielded by dark glasses.

Beside the table stood Michael, flipping through one of Aziraphale’s books.

“What did you find?” Gabriel asked, not releasing Aziraphale just yet. Three pairs of eyes – and one of black lenses – turned to face them, all four gazes equally expressionless.

“Looks like prophecies,” Michael said distastefully, tossing aside the book of Mother Shipton’s verses. It hit the ground with a sickening CRACK. Aziraphale tried not to flinch at the thought of the damage. The arm over his shoulders tightened just slightly before finally pulling away.

“What would a demon want with books of prophecy?” Gabriel gestured to the nearby armchair. “Have a seat, Aziraphale,” the Archangel offered. As if this wasn’t Aziraphale’s shop.

Michael picked up another book, turning pages so sharply that they tore.

“Oh, that’s…ah, quite alright.” Aziraphale shifted the two books he carried, pressing them to his chest, trying to steady his hands again. “I’ll…I’ll stand. After all,” a short laugh bubbled out, “everyone else is standing.”

This was bad, of course, but at least it was Heaven they were confronted with, not Hell. That must give them a chance. Surely, if he could just explain, the Archangels would be reasonable…

“Not everyone,” Gabriel corrected, nodding to Sandalphon.

The shorter angel struck, fist sinking into Crowley’s side.

As the demon fell to the floor, Sandalphon’s other hand caught him on the side of the head, knocking his glasses askew, throwing him back. Crowley sprawled on his side. Boneless. Defenseless.

Uriel grabbed his jacket, hauling him back onto his knees. “Hands where we can see them,” the Archangel intoned, and Crowley quickly obeyed, flattening his palms against the table once more.

He didn’t resist at all. He hadn’t even made a sound.

“Something wrong, Aziraphale?” Michael asked, studying his face.

Get yourself under control!

Aziraphale quickly schooled his features, trying to find the calm stillness he wore as a mask. It had always been ill-fitting, but now it was cracked, falling apart, broken by the emotions of the day.

Useless.

“I don’t approve of violence in my shop,” he said as evenly as he could. He tried to catch Crowley’s eye, beg him for some hint what they should do next. But the face was as stony as when they’d met at the park, when Crowley had first made the awful request that set all of this in motion.

“We should all just take a moment and…and talk this through,” Aziraphale continued. “There’s been a…misunderstanding.”

“Really?” Gabriel glanced at the other angels, arms folded now, face mildly curious. “Please, enlighten us. What have we misunderstood?”

Carefully, trying to buy time to think, Aziraphale placed the two books he carried on the table, angling the spines so no one could read them. On top was Crowley’s favorite, The Complete Works of Jane Austen. Below that, the Lesser Key of Solomon. That would be harder to explain.

“You all know, I think, the demon Crowley.” He gestured weakly, smiling into four pairs of uncaring angelic eyes. Or tried to – Gabriel stood behind him, Michael a little too far to the side. He had to keep turning, twisting, trying to see them all. “He’s been my adversary for nearly six thousand years. And he is here…today…to…defect!”

“Defect?” Gabriel frowned, brow furrowed slightly. “What, precisely, does that mean?”

Aziraphale took a deep breath, trying to marshal his thoughts, though his mind was a whirlwind.

When his eyes landed on Crowley, the demon gave a tiny head-shake. But it was too late now.

“Well, earlier today, he…Crowley, he sent me a message to meet him at a location. And, oh, I expected a trap because he is a cunning, wily enemy, as you know, always a step ahead of me!” He cleared his throat, wishing the other angels would respond, give him something to work with. “Or, half a step. A step behind. It’s a very, sort of, cat-and-mouse…yes.” Aziraphale’s hands kept twisting in front of him. He tried to fold them behind his back, tried to stop his body from swinging nervously. “In any case, he told me the Opposition had some…big plan brewing. Brought these books as proof. He wanted to…to stop this plan. He has agreed to renounce his Rebellion, and…and rejoin the Choirs of Heaven,” he finished triumphantly.

In the cold silence that followed, Crowley hung his head. Aziraphale tried to ignore the sick feeling inside.

He knew perfectly well Crowley had no interest in rejoining Heaven, had quite nearly spit in Aziraphale’s face the one time he’d suggested it. But it was the only thing he could think of right now, the only path that might end in safety for them both.

They’d been fools to think that they could fight. That Aziraphale could do anything other than obey, follow the purpose he'd been designed for. This was the logical solution.

The Archangels would be skeptical, of course, but Aziraphale was willing to vouch for Crowley’s loyalty, to swear by anything that the offer was sincere. Surely Gabriel would see the value of inside knowledge, and in time even come to accept Crowley as one of their own.

They could be on the same side.

If only Crowley would chime in with some plan of Hell’s, anything, to prove his worth.

The demon had never been so quiet.

Finally, after a long penetrating look that left Aziraphale feeling lost and exposed, Gabriel turned to the other angels. “Michael?”

Heaven’s Chief Soldier and Head of Intelligence began laying pieces of blank white paper on the table. Three of them. “Where did you meet?” A sharp, clipped voice.

“Far from here,” Aziraphale lied, not wanting to give Heaven any reason to look into their behavior at the Park. “The other side of London. At a pub.”

“Why didn’t you report this immediately?”

“It was rather a large story to swallow.” That was certainly true. “I…wanted to interrogate the demon privately, ensure he was telling the truth. I mean, I wouldn’t,” another laugh he couldn’t control. “I wouldn’t waste your time with an unverified report, would I?”

“How did you return?”

“Hired a carriage. Better to be seen by as few as possible. And we needed to move quickly. Hell could notice his absence at any moment.”

Michael straightened the three pieces of paper on the table, letting his words hang in the air a little longer. “And why was your name inside that book?”

Of course. Autographed books of prophecy. “Well, obviously, that one was mine.” He cleared his throat again, glancing at the bag. The rest were still packed. Michael shouldn’t have had time to check more than one or two. “I have quite the collection and I needed them to, ah, to cross-check. Confirm the others were authentic. I put it in the bag because…I…”

Gabriel’s heavy hand fell on his shoulder. “That’s all we need.”

Crowley still knelt, slumped over, nothing visible now but two long hands and a shock of red hair.

“Why…is the demon…being so quiet?” Aziraphale tried to smile. “Usually can’t shut him up, you know.”

“We have our ways.” Uriel stretched out one delicate hand, and with a snap of fingers manifested a smoky amber marble, hovering in the air.

And as they watched, it spoke with Crowley’s voice.

“I followed him to the park. Don’t know why he went, but he always goes alone. Makes it an ideal place for a Temptation. I tried to trick him into giving me valuable books, knowledge my side could use in the coming days. Didn’t work. Clever bastard saw right through it as always. So, I overpowered him, dragged him back here, forced him to let me in, give me his precious books. The only reason he’s going along is because I told him I can burn the shop down with Hellfire, him with it. Once he knows that’s not true, he’ll turn against me.”

“Lies,” Aziraphale whispered weakly. Their stories contradicted on nearly every point. In trying to save them both, he’d sealed their fate.

It was hopeless.

“We offered the demon mercy in exchange for the truth,” Uriel said, voice chillingly flat.

“Besides, a demon can’t renounce its rebellion,” Michael explained, as if to a child. “That’s what makes them demons.”

“Fortunately,” Gabriel interjected brightly, “we don’t need to rely on testimony alone.”

Michael reached across the table, turned over one piece of paper.

On the reverse was an image of Crowley and Aziraphale at the duck pond, the demon grasping at him even as Aziraphale tried to turn away. It certainly could look as if Crowley were threatening him, if you hadn’t been there, hadn’t felt the soft tenderness of his touch, heard his urgent voice – Angel. Aziraphale. I will never leave you.

“They met in the park.” All condescension was gone from Michael’s voice now, leaving nothing but ice.

The second page turned over, showing the pair running down Regent’s street, Crowley’s hands hooked around Aziraphale’s elbow.

“The demon dragged him back by the arm.”

The third page. Standing before the door of the shop, Crowley clutching his wrist as he fumbled with the key, jaw tight as he hissed into Aziraphale’s ear.

“The demon forced him to open the shop.”

Michael looked up, grey eyes flicking from Aziraphale’s face to where Gabriel stood behind him. “Only one story matches the evidence. Which raises another question: Why would an angel lie?”

The hand on Aziraphale’s shoulder squeezed, and it didn’t feel friendly at all. “I’m sure there’s a reasonable explanation.”

“The…the Hellfire,” Aziraphale mumbled, all but breathless. Crowley’s head tilted up again, and now he could see one golden eye visible above the frame of the glasses. Terrified. “He said…he’d…”

“You still feared him?” Michael asked, smiling dangerously. “Even with all of us here to subdue him?”

“Why didn’t you say something in the back of the shop?” Gabriel wondered.

“Why lie about the location of the meeting?” Uriel turned the golden marble between two fingers.

“Could be he was corrupted by the demon,” Sandalphon suggested, jerking back on Crowley’s hair, arcing his neck.

Aziraphale struggled to keep a straight face, to keep his panic under control. “That’s. No. Ridiculous.”

“I’ve heard such things might be possible,” Uriel offered, plucking the glasses from Crowley’s face, studying them, tossing them aside. “Enough demonic influence could corrode an angel’s Grace. Irredeemably.”

“Well, no angel is irredeemable.” Gabriel pointed out.

“There were some,” Michael reminded him. “A few thousand years ago.” All eyes turned to Crowley.

“We could let him speak,” Sandalphon suggested.

“It would be cruel not to,” Michael’s voice was almost sickly sweet. “After all, we’re angels.”

Uriel pressed the glowing marble to Crowley’s lips. The demon breathed it in with a gasp –

“You got me,” he said, voice strained from the way his head was still held back. Sandalphon released it, just enough to let him meet Aziraphale’s eyes. “I corrupted him. Or tried to. Stubborn bastard resisted me every step of the way. But it almost worked.”

Solid gold eyes, not a hint of white, pupils narrow. Filled with fear and desperation, but Aziraphale could still see what burned behind that, the fire he’d pretended to ignore for so many centuries. The familiar smirk appeared, arrogant and reassuring. “Discorporating me will undo my work, but don’t think this is the end of it, Angel. I’ll be back, if it takes a hundred years, if I have to claw my way out of Hell. And we will pick up exactly where we left off.”

Aziraphale swallowed back his tears. “Oh, you’re wrong. Things are going to be different next time,” he vowed. “I’ll be ready for you. I’ll be waiting.”

He knew he should be looking at the Archangels, gauging their reactions, seeing if they believed it. But he couldn’t turn away, couldn’t waste one second of the time they had left.

It occurred to him, almost idly, that Crowley had never actually said I love you.

He didn’t doubt it, of course. He just wished he had the words to hold on to, when the light left those eyes, to sustain him during the long wait for Crowley’s return.

“Oh, after a threat like that, I don’t think we should discorporate him.”

Blue and gold eyes turned to see Michael holding a blade. A stiletto, narrow and straight, little more than an oversized paperknife. But sharp, and the deep bronze-gold of a holy weapon, glowing with its own mighty aura.

Not a sword. The blade of the Archangel Michael could take whatever shape was needed, and a sword wouldn’t be necessary here.

“Don’t – that’s ridiculous.” For the first time, Crowley began to visibly struggle, trying to break free of the iron grips that held him in place. “You – you can’t!”

“This isn’t how we do things,” Aziraphale said, voice tight. “We deal with our own, Hell deals with theirs.”

“Naïve,” Uriel said, smirking, almost laughing, and reached over to loosen Crowley’s collar, exposing a pale throat.

As Michael stepped closer, Crowley ground his teeth. A flash of red and black across his body as he prepared to shift form – and the power dissipated, brushed aside by the angels who held him. “No.” More miracles flashed across his skin – black to change size, red to create fire, even brilliant white to stop time – each sizzled harmlessly into the air. “No!”

Sandalphon grabbed his hair again, pulling his head back painfully.

“Don’t.” Aziraphale cried, shaking with terror, with pain. “Please. This is murder.”

“It isn’t,” Gabriel said, almost soothingly. “You’ll see. Once we’ve removed this corrupting influence, we’ll bring you back to Heaven. Remind you of your loyalties, your purpose, everything you’ve forgotten. You’ll see this was right.”

Crowley continued to fight, to struggle, to scream every curse he knew at the ones who held him. But Aziraphale could only watch. Unable to move, unable to help, unable to think –

Witless. Powerless. Helpless.

This was Aziraphale’s fault.

This was where his thoughtless words had brought them.

All he’d needed to do was refuse the holy water, walk away, and they would have been safe. Crowley would have been safe. Instead, he’d shouted out words, emotions, things better left unspoken for all of time.

He’d been careless. Reckless.

Gabriel stood behind him, much as Crowley had less than an hour ago, when the world had seemed new and full of possibility.

Michael’s blade moved inexorably forwards.

Crowley screamed, wordless.

Aziraphale snapped.

--

There was one thing that every being in the room had forgotten, perhaps Aziraphale most of all:

The quiet, bookish angel with the manicured nails and tartan cravat had been created as a warrior. Not just any warrior, the Guardian of Eden.

Protector of Humanity, Heaven’s greatest weapon against all of demonkind.

He had rejected that role, run from it, hidden from it.

But now, seeing a holy blade mere inches from the throat of the one he loved most – he embraced it.

--

With all the power granted to him by Heaven, Aziraphale drove his elbow into Gabriel’s solar plexus, sending the Archangel reeling.

Then he grabbed the nearest book and threw the heavy tome at Michael, corner of the spine striking just where neck met shoulder.

Two down.

A calm settled over Aziraphale’s mind. He fell into a fighting stance, one he never remembered using or even learning. It was recorded somewhere at the very base of his being.

As he watched, his remaining opponents released Crowley, circling warily towards him. He could see their true power, hidden behind their customary forms, Sandalphon’s stretching upwards, tall as mountains, Uriel’s coiled like a steel trap.

They were warriors. Michael, too; a blow to the neck wouldn’t immobilize the General of Heaven’s Legions for very long.

Three against one might almost be equal odds.

He would need to end this quickly.

Dozens of eyes opened along Aziraphale’s arms, across his face, taking in the room from every angle.

Two steps and a lunge, fist rising to meet Uriel’s ribs, but the Archangel dodged away, swinging for Aziraphale’s head. He ducked easily; it was only a distraction, meant to keep him from noticing Sandalphon circling behind him.

As if he could be fooled so easily.

Aziraphale reached back, grabbed Sandalphon’s arm, spun, hurling the other angel at Uriel.

The impact, angel against angel, sent them both staggering back, colliding with the nearest bookcase. The shelves wobbled dangerously, dropping hardbound books, but didn’t collapse.

They would be back in a moment, but Aziraphale had accomplished his goal.

Crowley was free.

He turned back to the red-haired demon, kneeling on the floor, and smiled, though not with the muscles of his face. That’s not what they were for. Instead, it shone through his whole being.

“Aziraphale,” Crowley whispered, rising to his feet. “Is that…you?”

What a strange question. He’d never felt more…himself.

Walking on bare feet, white robes shaking gently in the breeze, Aziraphale reached out a hand to cradle his face. Had Crowley always been so small, so delicate? He hardly even reached Aziraphale’s shoulder.

He could see Crowley's true self, as well, coiled in the air around him like a serpent. Torn and scarred from timeless epochs of abuse, from fighting to survive, but still intact, still strong, still woven through with golden threads of love that no power in Creation could destroy.

Yes, it was all so clear now. This beautiful, precious being needed to be protected.

That was Aziraphale's Purpose.

Behind him, the other angels prepared to attack. He could see the energy gathering around Sandalphon – always smiting, that one. There wouldn’t be time for Crowley to reach the door.

“Angel…” Tear-filled golden eyes reflected the soft white light that surrounded them.

“Go, my love.”

He let himself linger on the demon a few nanoseconds longer, enough time to memorize every line and furrow on that face.

Then he turned his full attention to his opponents.

Sandalphon’s blast of energy raced towards him, and Aziraphale caught it in one hand, crumpled it like paper, let the power flow back into the air like the heat of summer.

Michael had joined them again, blade in hand. Where had Aziraphale’s blade gone? It was a nice sword, flaming. Very impressive.

Ah, well. Improvisation it is.

Three angels rushed towards him.

With a wave of Aziraphale’s hand, sixty-three angel figurines came to life throughout the shop, and flew in to intercept them.

Not that his little army could do much other than provide a distraction, but they did that beautifully, tugging on hair and clothing, giving the other angels too many things to concentrate on. He could see the way they dodged, fruitless, careening into each other. The way their minds raced, trying to keep up with the action, to take everything in.

But Aziraphale’s mind was glacially calm. It was nothing at all to track all the trajectories, to see what each of the other angels planned to do.

To walk into the swirling melee and with a casual backhand, send Uriel across the shop to crash into the back wall.

His mind had never been so clear. If this was what hid behind the anxiety and fear, why, he should have given in eons ago.

The other angels moved so slowly. They were so tiny.

Even Sandalphon, fists flying, couldn’t keep up with Aziraphale’s movements; the Guardian picked him up and threw him across the shop.

It was so simple. So easy.

Effortless.

Until Michael’s blade sank into his right shoulder.

The brilliant fire of pain cut through the calm of his mind. Aziraphale screamed, not with sound, but with a wave of power rolling through the air, shaking the books from their shelves. His army of miniature angels fell, the glass and ceramic ones shattering with the sound of a hundred broken hearts.

He stumbled back, jerking the blade out of Michael’s hand. Bright gold ichor ran down his arm; dozens of eyes tried to blink themselves clear, focus on the room, the enemies again.

They were back again, all three, trying to rush him, overwhelm him. They thought this made him weak, to lose one arm, as if he didn’t still have another to fight with.

But suddenly his movements were slow, clumsy. He couldn’t see fifteen steps ahead in the fight anymore.

Now it was all he could do to keep them at bay.

“Aziraphale. You need to stop this.”

A handful of his eyes turned to look at Gabriel, standing just beyond the fighters, face a picture of stern disapproval.

“No.” His enemies still stood. He had to keep them busy…keep them from…

“Can’t you see what’s happened?” The Chief Archangel continued. “You’re fighting your own kind. The corruption must be worse than we thought.”

“I’m not corrupted,” he said, pulling the blade from his shoulder. It was so tiny. His fingers didn’t seem to want to hold onto it. His right hand was numb.

Useless.

“Come on, Aziraphale. Does this look like the work of a healthy angel?” Arms spread wide indicating the fight, the broken figurines, the toppled books, the shop itself. “We’ve had our suspicions for a long time. Frivolous miracles. Attachment to material objects. To ephemeral beings. To foods! Who knows how long the poison has been creeping into your mind? But it might not be too late.”

A steady hand held out, palm up. An offer. “Come back with us. We can purify you. Make you whole again.”

Aziraphale took a step back, but suddenly it was hard to keep balance. Michael's blade wavered, nearly fell from his grip. He was…tired. “That’s not…”

“What other choice do you have?” Gabriel pressed on. “If you continue to fight, you will lose. Why destroy yourself? Why reject the power of Heaven? For that?”

Two eyes on his shoulder followed the gesture.

There, by the open door of the shop, crouching, hidden, so that Aziraphale had failed to notice –

“Crowley. Why are you still here?”

He straightened, slowly, clinging to the doorframe. Tense, shivering, hardly able to stand – yet his eyes stayed locked on Aziraphale. Unwavering. “I told you. I will never leave you.” He held out his shaking hand, palm up. “Come on, Angel. Time to go.”

Aziraphale blinked half of his eyes, then the other half.

His right hand flashed, throwing the blade of Michael, pinning Gabriel to a bookcase by one coat sleeve.

Aziraphale scooped up the last book, lying on the table beside him, swinging it towards the other angels, scattering them. He felt it hit one, but he didn’t pause to see which, to notice if there was any damage.

He ran.

In three steps, he was where he belonged, beside his demon, grasping that hand, feeling Crowley’s strength pull him through the door.

With a snap of his fingers, Crowley miracled the doors shut, locked, and Aziraphale collapsed against them. Normal height, two eyes, familiar suit, rumpled and torn. No holy glow, just a long blood stain down one sleeve, a dull pain that went straight through his shoulder.

His head felt fuzzy, confused, packed once again with doubts and worries. He couldn’t even remember exactly what had happened – it was like sobering up after a particularly rough night of drinking. He needed rest.

But there wasn’t time for that.

He tossed the Key of Solomon to Crowley. “Page one-hundred eighty-three.”

“What?”

“The incantation.” He pressed his left hand to his wound, quickly drawing a circle of blood on the window of the door, right over the sign reading Sorry, We’re Closed. “Hurry!”

Crowley flipped through the pages. “I don’t recognize any of this!”

“I told you – it’s a special edition.” He glanced at the page Crowley held out for him, added a few lines to the sigil drawn in blood. “Manuals on summoning, binding and warding off both demons…and angels!”

He muttered the incantation under his breath –

Energy ripped through his body, down his arm, into the mark of blood –

And the whole shop glowed in a faint blue light.

Aziraphale let out a deep breath, letting himself fall to his knees beside the door, boneless with exhaustion.

“That should hold them. Not very long. Depends on how angry Gabriel is.”

“Angel. What…in there…”

“Crowley, I can’t.”

“Aziraphale, you –”

He turned to face the demon, and every fear and worry rose like the tears to his eyes, and he didn’t have the strength to hold them back anymore. “Please, don’t ask me. I just…what have I done?” He held one shaking hand to his forehead. He couldn’t even think through all the emotions. Anger. Grief. Pain. Fear. Loss. They seemed so much bigger than him. “I – I attacked the Archangels. I’m in Rebellion! Of all the angels who ever disobeyed, I must be the worst…most wretched…”

Crowley knelt beside him, pressing the book into Aziraphale’s chest. The angel instinctively grabbed it.

It was comforting, feeling the press of leather and paper against his hands. Even more comforting when Crowley reached across, traced a hand along his cheek, and whispered reverently: “You were beautiful.”

Then Crowley picked up something that lay on the sidewalk beside them: a brown leather bag. Aziraphale hadn’t even noticed it was missing from the table.

“My books!”

Without his glasses, Crowley seemed so different. Not the cold, distant demon full of ridiculous plans and cunning temptations. He seemed more frail, more vulnerable, and very, very tired.

But he still managed the same careless shrug and arrogant smirk. “Well, I might not be much good in a fight after all, but I’m not completely worthless.” He stood up, then held out his hand. “They’ll all be coming for us now.”

Aziraphale pushed aside the emotions that clouded his mind, grasped that hand, let it pull him to his feet.

And didn’t let go.

An angel and a demon, running hand-in-hand down one of London’s busiest streets.

Utterly reckless.

#good omens fanfiction #good omens prime #ineffable husbands #aziraphale and crowley #bamf aziraphale #aziraphale #crowley #anthony j crowley #love story #fight scene #aziraphale's bookshop #BAMF of the Lord #hurt crowley #but really not that hurt #scared crowley #thats more accurate #good omens gabriel #good omens michael #good omens uriel #good omens sandalphon #gabriel is a dick #michael’s a wanker #the other two are no better #tw: some punches thrown #tw: some angels get yeeted #they deserve it #AO3 #ao3 link #my writing

[faeree-layne]

A grimoire is a witch's valued instructional text of spells, charms, incantations, deity summons and so on. The word derives from the Old French grammaire (grammar); handwritten in Latin during the Medieval and Renaissance eras, most books cited ancient sources. Notable titles: The Key Of Solomon The King  (Clavicula Salomonis), The Secret Of Secrets (Secretum secretorum). The Sworn Book Of Honorius (Liber Juratus Honorii) and Paracelsus: Of The Supreme Mysteries Of Nature.

Sources: The Witch Book (Raymond Buckland); The Learned Arts of Witches and Wizards (Anton & Mina Adams)

#grimoire #witchblr #book #magic #spells #charms #titles #widdershins