It’s days like these where I
Why you couldn’t have
Just said okay
Of pushing me away
Maybe we’d be
A billion miles away
On a cruise
Or a date
How I wish
I knew your
It’s days like these where I
Why you couldn’t have
Just said okay
Of pushing me away
Maybe we’d be
A billion miles away
On a cruise
Or a date
How I wish
I knew your
“Olive” has been his next target for weeks. She had been walking around her block for nearly twenty minutes now. It was a shame he couldn’t get a closer look. He really wanted these things to be more personal, but he had to follow the guidelines of his contract.
Olive finally entered her home about five minutes later. Her follower was forced to retreat and report for now. No sense in risking exposure this early in the plan for some peices of useless info on human behavior. ————————————————————
We didn’t follow the faithless. The faithless were too blind to see their own plight. We still do not follow them. That would be foolish.
We are permitted to watch, but not to interfere. We aren’t welcome, but we will be soon. The faithless will have to let us help them. They have no choice. This is the only way. The Plan can finally come into effect. We can finally be freed. It only requires Their cooperation.
This is messy. No context feels like the way to go though. Sorry for making it difficult to understand.
The underpainting of one of my greatest masterpieces, “Revelations: Heaven” which showcases the Battle of Armageddon in Heaven.
I would say they count as Divine and Threat to Humanity
Challenge Mode: Can they beat Ramiel or Zeruel?
Chapter Five: Beauty and the Beast Good Omens AU
He felt bad. He should feel bad. No, he should not. Crowley was a Fallen who took him prisoner. Yet he had not harmed him or anyone else for that matter, so he could not be that bad, could he? Aziraphale felt he should feel bad if someone who has not earned ire receives it. It is not like he had not been on the receiving end of underserved ire. But Crowley’s words were biting, they hurt to hear, so he should be mad for being insulted. Not to mention the kidnapping, or imprisonment, whatever this was. Therefore, he should definitely not feel bad for dismissing Crowley so easily and shutting the door in his face. No, he should definitely be mad and not worried he hurt Crowley’s feelings.
With a deep breath in, Aziraphale checked how he looked in the mirror, straightening his clothing. Smoothing down invisible wrinkles, most certainly to look his best (one must be aware of their appearances at all times) not to stall. He most certainly was not stalling, nor was he making sure he looked his best for Crowley. He was not nervous, he had no reason to be nervous to speak with Crowley, after all, it was Crowley in the wrong. Aziraphale had decided to forgive him, therefore, there is nothing he should worry about. Crowley certainly would not reject his company. No, he was not worried about that at all. Besides, even if Crowley did send him away it was not like that mattered anyway. What Crowley felt about him did not matter; they hardly knew each other. They were not friends or anything…more. They were enemies. Opposites within a cosmic battle of Good versus Evil. The fact that Crowley intrigued him, and despite being his “prisoner” (although Aziraphale really did question whether or not he was a prisoner) he did not feel anxiety about Crowley or being in his presence. There were a great many things that Aziraphale worried about; selling his books, dealing with other Favoured, doing the right thing when the right thing was not always clear, interactions with the Fallen, watching over the humans and making the decision of when to interact, intercept, or even stand by, watching what happens instead of acting. The worst was the standing-by and watching as terrible things happened to others, while he was not one for dealing with people, he did not want to see them suffer. Humans are wonderful, thoughtful, creative, interesting, and simply amazing. Sometimes he hated that he was able to be in the middle of it all yet still be completely separate.
Certainly, he influenced them to do the right thing, a gentle nudge in the right direction, which meant he rarely was directly involved in anything he watched over (a good deed here and there, almost daily, hardly counted as interfering with their actions)… that did not mean he did not wish at times to take a more active role (beyond the small amount of help he could do). On the other hand, he also did not mind letting people do whatever they planned to do because it meant he was left alone and necessity was the mother of invention. Humans blossomed under difficulty and strife. Just…sometimes it seemed like too much strife and hardship happened and what came out of it was not worth the price paid.
He could not put it off any further. Well, Aziraphale could. Aziraphale should escape, leave this all and pretend he never saw Crowley lurking about town. Go on as if nothing had changed for him, it would be even easier because so long as no one made a fuss, he could pretend he had not found the Fallen at all. Meeting Crowley, and supposing he continued to behave, it would mean Aziraphale’s biggest threat would be customers trying to buy his books. He would have more time to read. It was so tempting. Just bugger off back to his shop, the Favoured highly doubted the Fallen could or would stop him. That would be a very reasonable and sensible thing he should do.
Aziraphale knew the truthful “should” was he should vanquish, defeat, end… (whatever he was meant to do with a Fallen) Crowley. He could see his reflection go slightly pale, the idea of killing anyone was not one he liked. In theory, Aziraphale could defeat and vanquish a Fallen, ensuring their evil would not spread further. In theory, that is what he was made for. What, to his core, he was meant to do. Well, it was the core of the Favoured, perhaps it was not what Aziraphale was made for, whether that be in his core or his exterior. “Removing” Crowley was certainly what Aziraphale should do and be proud of doing.
The thought made him sick instead.
He rather the “should-do” that did not involve killing anyone, the one of pretending none of this happened. The should that left Crowley alive and they pretend to never notice the other again. Two outsiders pretending to not know or interfere with the other while watching over those on the inside and doing their job without much conflict. It was not like he actually knew Crowley anyway, they just met. They hardly had a few words exchanged! That was the most reasonable “should” Aziraphale could think of.
To bad for Aziraphale that is not how he works. As previously mentioned, Aziraphale was not good at doing what he should do but wonderful at doing what he wanted to do.
And what Aziraphale wanted to do was what he was going to do; go speak with Crowley.
With a nod to himself, Aziraphale threw open the door of his guest room to confidently stride out, heading in the direction Crowley had been facing earlier. At the main hall, Aziraphale faltered; he did not know where he was going. This was a grand castle that once housed all the Favoured before any became Fallen. That did not mean Aziraphale knew his way around.
As he did not know where to go anyway, Aziraphale decided that the best option was to go where he was “forbidden” to go. (That is the best way to ensure someone does or goes somewhere you do not want them to; tell them you do not want them to.) If he did not find Crowley, he could figure out what he was hiding and whether or not that would change his opinion of the Fallen. Aziraphale wanted to believe his first impression of Crowley, someone who was nice, but his existence had taught him that a smiling face did not necessitate a kind heart. If Crowley was hiding something, he wanted to know now. He had a duty to do for the people he was sent to watch over and to his own self. Best not be caught with one’s breeches down.
Hope for the best, but expect the worst. Always, always hope for the best. Never be shocked or unprepared for the worst.
Unlike the rest of the castle, the West Wing was left in complete darkness save for the light of the moon that might slip in through the tall windows. The moonlight was not enough to see details in the dark corridor, Aziraphale decided to use another glowing orb that appeared over his head with a snap. He assumed this was Crowley’s attempt at a “stay away”, leaving it too dark to venture. Aziraphale would hardly be deterred by darkness. The long halls of the West Wing were much the same as those he just came from; bland, sparsely decorated. Nothing to suggest personality, nothing to tell him about the person who lived in these walls, alone. Nothing to really speak of those who lived here before either. It was eerily quiet, especially compared to the hustle and bustle of the city. Even being an outsider, the sounds of life were far more comforting than the cold silence where the other Favoured called “Home” and more preferable to the silence of this castle.
Aziraphale tugged at the sleeves of his jacket as he walked, blue eyes taking in as much as he could. How could anyone exist here and be happy?
His attention was caught by the contents of the room he just opened, it jarred him for a moment because of the juxtaposition between room after room of nothingness and this room so full. Rows and rows of tables with all manners of jars, vials, and other instruments that looked to belong to an apothecary rather than within a random room of a (mostly) deserted castle. He could not begin to guess what any of it was because there was not a label in sight. The walls of the room were lined with rows and rows of small drawers. His curiosity tempted him too far, Aziraphale opened one drawer to find a stiff green bundle of sprigs kept together with twine. The Favoured gingerly lifted the dried vegetation to examine it closer, he knew that scent…rosemary? He returned the herbs before opening another drawer, instantly he could smell the sweet fragrance of dried rose petals. These drawers were storage for herbs?
Aziraphale turned back to one of the work tables, wanting more information. He grabbed a jar at random, probably not the most intelligent move considering he had no clue what was in any of them. Could be poison, he was in the home of a Fallen, poison was what he was likely to find. Lifting the lid he could only see a thick amber liquid within. A sniff told him this was honey, but it was mixed with something, something minty. There were other herbal notes but he could not place them. He stared at the jar in his hand before looking around the room. It looked like an apothecary because it was one.
But, why would Crowley, a Fallen, have a stocked and working apothecary? He returned the jar before continuing his investigation. This place was certainly in use, not a speck of dust to be seen (although the rest of the castle was in pristine condition as well, so that could hardly be a judge on how much the room was used) but even the herbs he found hanging from the ceiling in a dark corner were fresh, not yet dried; newly added.
His tour of the room ended before a table covered in parchment, ink, and quills the only space within the whole room (the whole castle so far) that was a mess. Crumpled papers scattered the tabletop, an inkwell that was beyond dried-up because someone forgot to replace the cap, and most of the quills had broken nibs. Aziraphale was careful as he worked the discarded papers open to see a large and messy scrawl accompanied by blotches of ink. The shakiness of the lettering suggested the person was trying very hard to make their writing legible but it seems they saw their failure and tossed out the attempt. Many of the pages he looked at were the same words over and over, trying to list out instructions but failing over and over to make all the words clear. He picked up a carefully folded envelope, looking it over before putting it back to examine a wax seal of a wiggling snake, he had seen that symbol before… but where?
Aziraphale went looking for answers but found more questions because if he did not know better he would guess that Crowley’s letter earlier that night held medicine. But why would a Fallen cure people?
Stalking from the room, he was going to have a word with Crowley and get answers.
What was this game he was playing at?
Now just to find him.
“Oh! How foolish of me!” Aziraphale snapped and his little pink tracking orb was back. He had the golden light gently floating about his head so as to see while he walked, and now this smaller pink one that danced in front of him leading his way. He was led to the end of the West Wing, the light floated right through a door made of stained glass and wrought iron. He could barely make out the shapes of plants beyond the beveled glass, a greenhouse? Had this always been here? Deft fingers traced the black iron of a tree trunk as he looked at the rest of the design, its branches and roots coming together in a knotwork along the sides of the door. The light above his head glittered off the bright green that made the leaves of the decorative tree but it was the red glass apples that really stood out in the pale luminescence.
With his hand on the door, it was the first time Aziraphale felt nervous about being in the West Wing. This was the first time his earlier worries came back to haunt him. He had made it this far, he had more questions than answers, and it was time for those answers. A final nod to himself for reassurance, an adjustment to his vest (that did not need it) and he pushed the doors open.
I did not intend for this story to focus so much on Aziraphale’s contrarian nature. But it is. I’m not sorry, if I can’t get him to behave you have to read it too.
No really, I had a different plan for this chapter and the discovery would come later but Aziraphale went “I DO WHAT I WANT” (Mentally I see that gif of Loki hanging out the car window with his arms raised but instead its Aziraphale).
I admit I was inspired by @veykun‘s comic “Black Death Omens” for Crowley to be a secret healer. What postponed me from starting writing this story was that I just didn’t know how to get Crowley or Aziraphale to cross each other’s paths and the thought that our “evil” Crowley going out of his way to help people was perfect.
As always, a huge huge HUGE thank you to @brstudios for all her help on this AU.
How This Chapter Came To Be:
Me: Okay then, Aziraphale you are going to go straight to the greenhouse.
Aziraphale: Explore the West Wing? Okay!
Me: No, no, go to the greenhouse… it is in the West Wing, yes but I need you to go straight there.
Aziraphale; oh, I need a light for this exploring
Me: N…nn..no. You can find your way to the greenhouse just fine.
Aziraphale: Ooo what is in here?
Me: Damnit -_-
Yup, this discovery was supposed to happen later.
sometimes i like to think of angels as just really eerie spirits that like to observe humans from afar ,, for example ,, a bunch of pigeons all making eyecontact with you on the street at once, or the family of deer you saw watching and following you on the drive home at night. it could be the two raccoons making themselves a home in your garbage, judging the things you threw out. it could even be the little pack of homeless cats that stalk you. knowing you’ll give them food every day when you get home from work , and knowing they’ll repay you for your kindness in the future. you know something’s off with them ; their eyes seem too aware, too old. when you turn your back to them — their gaze burns into the back of your head , and when you walk away ; you can hear their language, like gentle, eons-old bells ringing and windchimes making soft sounds in the wind.
I had the most fascinating conversation with a friend today about working with the archangels. It was one of those wonderful moments where you realize that you and someone you love think very, very similarly.
Me: I’ve just considered something.
Me: How does the Bible say demons were created?
Wife: A battle in heaven with 1/3 of the angels joining Satan and falling from grace.
Me: Yes, doesn’t that happen in Revelation?
Me: And isn’t that prophecy set in the future?
Wife: …No. No, it has to be set in the past.
*scurried searching through verses, no other reference found*
Wife: If demons aren’t fallen angels… what are they?
big sad for you.
“It is more than I thought could exist.”
New instalment of angel recipes
2012 Good Omens-inspired pencil practice drawing of some kind of.. future… fantasy or sci fi… setting?
Went to Art History Museum!