#Crowley does not have a Bentley he is working two part time jobs HOWEVER

[ineffable-suffering]

Why Aziraphale is an unreliable narrator

Part 3: The Story of the Magic Show in 1941

Let me at first put a small index for you here, since this is a three part meta and you might want to read the posts that precede this one:

Part 1: The Story of Job

Part 2: The Story of wee Morag

... and now: Welcome to the final Part 3! We made it! Or well, we will have, soon-ish. Because let me give you a fair warning: This one is definitely the longest one out of the three. And by long I mean literally almost 5k words long. Mainly because there's a lot to work with since the 1941 minisode is less mini and more the entirety of S2E4 and also, in my opinion, needs a lot more context than the others. But! That shan't discourage me, as I am currently stuck in bed with a bit of a sore throat, a steaming cuppa tea and an entire afternoon to spare.

So, for the third and final time in this meta series: Let's get cracking! Under! The! Cut!

I shall spare you another summary of the points I have made so far and, should you not have read or remembered them, I kindly redirect you to the end of Part 1 and the beginning & end of Part 2, where I summarize most of it. Don't worry, the link to this post will be in both of them, so you can hop right back once you're done!

On commence with some needed context.

I think one of the most important things to point out at the very beginning here, is that unlike with the other minisodes, we don't have a direct indicator that this is once again one of Aziraphale's memories or diary entries. In the Story of Job, we see him read the part in the Bible and actively immersing himself into the flashbacks (so deeply, even, that Crowley leaves in between, since Aziraphale seems to be so intensely lost in thought). And the Story of wee Morag is being narrated to us by past Aziraphale's diary entry.

All we see before the start of this episode's minisode, however, is Aziraphale driving the Bentley before Shax unconsensually hitchhikes with him and then leaves again. The title squence rolls and we're in London, 1941. And once the minisode ends, it's also not with Aziraphale looking like he just remembered something or a shot of his diary, but instead with present day Shax going to Beelzebub to request permission for the attack on the bookshop and then Aziraphale arriving in Soho, back from his trip to Edinburgh.

It's safe to say, therefore, that these two somehow indicate why and when the 1941 flashback starts and ends the way it does. And they do! You just have to listen and look closely, because the hint of whose memory this is, is a bit more subtle. Let's take it bit by bit.

Shax reveals herself to Aziraphale, catching him off guard. ("You have the advantage on me." "I do, yes.") She then go on to introduce herself as "former admissions demon" and ...

"Now, a Hell's ambassador planner, potentially plenipotentiary* to this corner of the planet. Replacing the demon Crowley."

*(Thank you for pointing this subtitle error out in the comments, @odonataanisoptera!)

At first sight, this might seem like no new information. We already know this, we have seen Crowley and Shax talk multiple times, we know Shax is Crowley's hellish successor and we know Shax now lives in Crowley's flat in Mayfair and, due to that unfortunate circumstance, Crowley in his car. You know who doesn't know this yet?

That's right: Aziraphale!

Neil himself confirmed that the reason why Aziraphale hasn't yet asked Crowley to move into the bookshop is because he doesn't know Crowley is living in his car! Which also indirectly implies that he hasn't told Aziraphale yet that he's no longer Hell's representative on Earth! Massive communication issues aside, this means that four years after Armagedidn't, Aziraphale is realizing for the very first time that Crowley is no longer officially employed by Hell.

Which is quite big news! We don't really know what Aziraphale's exact state of employment is with Heaven, but we do know from Crowley saying so (to Shax, again) in S2E1, that they no longer talk to him and he no longer reports back to them about his work. We can therefore deduct that he isn't actively operating as Heaven's ambassador on Earth anymore – on Heaven's own volition.

After they pulled off their body swap stunt post Armagedidn't, Crowley and Aziraphale of course secured themselves some temporary freedom from both Heaven and Hell. But it was only ever that, right? Temporary. Crowley says so himself at the end of Season 1: "They'll leave us alone ... for a bit." Sure, they were both sort of free to do whatever they wanted, but up until this very moment in the Bentley with Shax, Aziraphale thought he was the only one out of the two of them who had not only been let off the leash a little but also, so to speak, let go from his former employment. Which really explains his genuine, surprised look once Shax lets him know she's officially Crowley's replacement.

Their body swap trick gave them some breathing space, yes, but that's still entirely different than actually officially being let go from your job obligations and duties. What Aziraphale doesn't know either, however, (because again, Mr. Anthony J. Can't-Communicate-Crowley hasn't let him known), is that despite having been replaced and technically absolved of his hellish duties, Hell still very much relies on and demands things of Crowley. And also that Crowley himself hasn't been able to drop his weariness and worries since he still seems to seek out any and every information he can get on what's going on in the Up and Down. David Tennant said in an interview about Season 2:

"[...] interestingly, when we first meet Crowley, he's on a park bench catching up with the person who's taken his job. He obviously can't quite let go. He still wants the updates, and he still wants to know what's going on."

There's just so awfully much Crowley isn't telling Aziraphale – but that's stuff for another meta.

Either way, it eeks me a bit that we don't certainly know how much and what exactly Crowley has told Arziraphale about Shax – but it clearly can't have been all to much, since the Bentley conversation is their first encounter and Aziraphale doesn't even seem to know what Shax looks like, let alone that she's Crowley's new replacement. Crowley must have mentioned her to Aziraphale at one point or another pre-S2, because he does name-drop her when Aziraphale is about to reveal the appearance of Jimbriel ("You'll never guess who Shax was asking me about").

But it's one thing for Aziraphale to know or deduce that Hell might still occasionally send someone (like Shax) to check in on Crowley and another thing for him to not know that Beelzebub still summons Crowley whenever they feel like it, trying to coerce/blackmail him and that Shax regularly follows, even threats Crowley and lives in his goddamn apartment because she now fully replaces Crowley in his former job.

So, to sum this up: Aziraphale just received quite a bit of news Crowley withheld from him until now, but is also still lacking some other context that neither Crowley nor Shax has given him yet in order to be aware of the full picture.

Now, you're probably wondering: What the f*ck are you on about, OP, what does this have to do with the memory and narration analysis that this whole meta is supposed to be about? Well, dear reader, I'll kindly ask you to just hold onto that thought I outlined here until a little later. Tuck it in your pocket, don't worry, I'll remind you to take it out again once it's time.

Despite looking clearly incredibly surprised and, what is is again– ah, yes, flabbergasted upon hearing of Crowley's replacement, Aziraphale only reacts with a short "Ah", trying not to give away the fact that this is indeed very much news to him. He then continues to try and deflect anything Shax is saying and suggesting about Crowley. Except for the part where Shax says that she doesn't think Aziraphale seems like Crowley's type at all. And I cannot, for the absolute life of me, keep that GIF out of here, so:

God, how I adore you, Mr. Sheen, master of immaculate microexpressions.

Alright, let's move on from the brief flash of sassy angel, onto what Shax says next. Because this is the crucial part:

"You know ... what, sometime in the last 80, 90 years I remember hearing that you and Crowley were an item. I didn't believe it then. Not really. Poor old Furfur. He thought you were his ticket to the big time."

Which Aziraphale replies to:

"I'm afraid I have no idea what you're talking about."

But you do, Aziraphale, don't you? Of course you do. How could he forget the time he almost got Crowley caught together with him by Hell ("Fraternising!") in what was probably one of their most insane and turbulent adventures (that we know of, at least). And now he knows that Shax knows about it too! At least some of it, because she used to work together with Furfur and was the one who pushed him to do his investigation in the first place.

We end their little Bentley encounter with Shax getting out, cryptically saying "You've already told me where Gabriel is" and Aziraphale hurriedly speeding off back to London.

I'd like to briefly point out that according to Google Maps, Edinburgh is almost an 8-hour drive away from London. Of course we don't know where exactly Shax semi-grand-theft-auto'ed into the Bentley, but it's safe to say that since it's still dark when she does and Aziraphale arrives in London when it's light out and morning already, he must have at least been driving for another couple of hours. All by himself, with nothing to think of other than a) Crowley never having told him that he's been relieved of Hell's duties and –– you guessed it –– b) what happened in 1941.

And here's where it gets interesting: It's not just Aziraphale who's remembering 1941. It's Shax, too. It hit me like a ton of bricks, once I realized. Shax is the one who brings up 1941 and Furfur's mission to get his promotion. So everything we see that happens in Hell, with the Nazi spies being processed, are Shax's memories. Obviously Aziraphale couldn't have known or remembered any of that. But Shax could! And she does. Because this entire minisode is their shared memory of it, stitched together with the parts both of them actually witnessed.

And alas, here you have it: The reason why it makes so much sense that this minisode is so much longer than the last ones and also happens right after Aziraphale's encounter with Shax. They both were just very much reminded of what went down all those years ago. And they're both thinking back on it to come to some sort of conclusion. And funnily enough, it ends up being the same one – but I'll get into that in a bit too.

Aziraphale's got time to kill in the Bentley. A few good and long hours alone, with the knowledge of Crowley's and his own sort-of-newly-found freedom at the back of his mind. (Crowley! No longer bound to Hell! Himself! No longer bound to Heaven! Blimey!)

What else would Aziraphale think of, if not the time he realized, after the demon had saved his precious books, he was utterly and irrevocably in love with Crowley. And what else could Shax think of on her way back to London, if not the time Hell almost got proof of Crowley and Aziraphale being "an item", putting one of her colleagues onto investigating it and only now, decades later, coming to realize that it was true after all – giving her the confirmation that there was only one place Crowley would hide Gabriel while Aziraphale was gone: the Bookshop. Aziraphale's bookshop. Because if there's any demon that would have unrestricted access to it, it would be Crowley – as Shax has just now realized.

Let's just say it's no wonder that this minisode is about to be an explosion (pun intended) of all the things we have seen and realized about how Aziraphale capital-r Remembers things (ft. a bit more behind the scene knowledge, provided by Shax). And yes, it took me this absolutely ridiculous amount of time and words to get to the actual beginning of this minisode. But I'll be as bold as to say that you'll thank me for it because if there's one thing all of this teaches us, it's that context is so very important for memories and decision making.

... let's continue!

Title sequence: Rolled. London, 1941: Begins. Nazis in the church: Bombed. Books: Saved.

(Aziraphale: in Love.)

Right away again, the title card for "London 1941" looks like an old black and white film, similar to the retro hue and colouring of the Job episode in S2E2. We see what we saw already in Season 1, with the bomb dropping and Crowley saving the books. What we didn't know is what Shax's memory will now show us: How the Nazi spies were processed in Hell. And how she offered to help Furfur with being promoted if he could get her some intel on "some demon being up to no good."

I have yet to fully take my time to take a closer look at Shax, but I think she's a lot more competent and smart than Hell gives her credit for (similar to Saraqael in Heaven). How else would she have gotten word of A Certain Suspicious Demon while she was still an admissions demon herself. Or figured out simply by Crowley's Bentley not being at the bookshop in S2E3 that Aziraphale must be the one who'd currently be driving it somewhere. But okay, I really don't want to divert too much from my own plot here, so let's jump right ahead into our next scene: Aziraphale's first memory in this minisode.

I'm just gonna play Captian Obvious for a second here: There's literal sparks flying in the air. Red, firey, passionate sparks. And an angel looking like this:

I'll just let the imagery do the talking.

Now we have that love-birdery out of the way: I was at first going to once again call bullsh*t on the timeline our dear smitten Aziraphale is giving us here. Because I thought: "You're really gonna try and tell me that while there was an actual Blitzkrieg happening just down the block, the girls playing Ladies of Camelot had nothing better to do than to happily perform at the Westend like nothing out of the ordinary had happened?"

But the answer is ... yes. Yes, they literally had nothing better to do – because they were still performing! I chastised our dear angel too soon, because lookie here:

(Source: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Windmill_Theatre)

I indeed didn't know that the Windmill Theater remained open during WW2 –– but it did put a smile on my face that the article specifically mentions it remaining open even during the hight of the Blitzkrieg. Neil, you clever man!

Also, one last nugget of appreciation: Aziraphale most definitely having no clue what sort of performances actually happened at the Windmill Theater (in case you don't know, just check Wikipedia for a sec), exclaiming "Sophocles! Shakespeare!" and Crowley simply going "Something like that" just warms my heart infinitely.

Fondly thinking about Aziraphale asking Mrs. Sandwich: "What exactly is it that your girls do?"

Another thing that seemed strange to me at first, that I think I also managed to semi-debunk, is the fact that Crowley's Bad Deed of that day seems to have been to deliver 80-percent-proof alcohol to the Windmill Theater. It made me frown and go: "Huh? I don't think alcohol was illegal in England in 1941?" However, upon googling around a bit, I think it might actually be not so much about the alcohol itself, but who it was given to. Which, in this case, is the American soldiers frequenting the nude shows at the Windmill Theater. All I could find were some books and essays, one of them titled "The Wet War: American Liquor Control, 1941–1945", as well as this short abstract of a paper that seems to talk about how American soldies consuming alcohol while at war/stationed abroad for WW2 were frowned upon by US Army chaplains because "the impact that alcohol would have on the men's moral well-being".

So, it would make sense for Hell to send a certain alcoholic temptation to one of the dens of temptation itself – the Windmill Theater. Enter Anthony J. Crowley, your local Nazi-church-bomber, book-saver, angel-seducer and alcohol-smuggler. (Albeit that last one sort of failing a little. Sorry, Mrs. H.)

(Sidenote: @createserenity gave a lovely and very plausible explanation of the whole alcohol delivery and also who Crowley's character design might have been based on in the comments of this post!)

Aziraphale then of course jumps in, offering to be the magician of the evening to repay his "good friend" (sideye), waving around his little handkerchief like an excited little boy. ("Ah, the ✨theatér✨!") We also get the first zombie!Nazis content, which I believe is probably a reconstruction of what the zombie!Nazis told Furfur once they met up with him again and what Furfur then probably told Shax once he failed his mission. Brains eaten, we continue to this glorious line:

He's just so very excited and giddy about it all – and I think that's partly because he a) just realized that Crowley loves him (and he very much loves Crowley too) and b) because Bentley!Aziraphale who is remembering this, probably remembers it even more fondly and giddily. We've seen his emotions bubble over a lot more during the other minisode-memories – so it only makes sense that in this one, he's remembering himself to be almost out of his mind with happiness and excitement about Crowley the magic show.

Remember what I asked you to tuck into your pocket?

Take it out again. Go on, there's a love! Because what is it that Aziraphale realized mere moments ago during his conversation with Shax? Crowley is free of Hell.* (*and remember, he doesn't know that that's not entirely true because no one told him the rest of the facts. So yes, we know it's not quite as simple – but Aziraphale doesn't.)

For all of S2, he has been trying to bring his relationship with Crowley to a new, more domestically intimate level (our car!), confidently and potentially even a bit carelessly ignoring the still-very-much-there threats of Heaven and Hell. I think one of the things that might have still been holding him back in his attempts to get to the next base (huehue) was the fact that he thought Crowley was still actively employed by and tied to Hell.

In all of S2, Aziraphale does come across as a little bit blinded by his desire to finally be with-be with Crowley (rose-tined glasses obstructing the view and all) but he's not completely carless. He knows Hell to be way more cruel to their employees and has always been careful to not get Crowley into too much trouble by being associated with him. But now he has (a little falsely) deducted that Crowley is in fact no longer in hellish demand – and isn't that just absolutely tickety-boo! Lacking the context that we, the audience, have, Arziraphale.exe is currently running hot on: Heaven and Hell don't care about Crowley and me anymore! We're free of our employers' interest in us and the threat that used to bring!! I've been trying to lock this serpent down ever since the World didn't end – and now I finally can!!! I'm We're able to do whatever I we like which is to finally confess to Crowley!!!!

From Bentley!Aziraphale's point of view, this is the literal green light on their highway to Alpha Centauri! Metaphorically, anyway. More like their country road to the Southdowns. And, for now, the M1 to London– back, back, back to Crowley!

For a minute, I did wonder about why he doesn't seem at all worried or stressed once he arrives in London after his journey. After all, Shax did very clearly threaten him and insinuated that she already knew where Gabriel was. But if you look at Aziraphale all throughout Season 2, it's so very evident that he's completely occupied with being soppily nostalgic of all the memories he recalls of him and Crowley and, even while facing off with Heaven and Hell again, seems oh too happy to ignore all that because he only has eyes for one thing.

Need I say more?

So, of course, realistically Aziraphale should probably be worried and weary of what Shax said (and maybe also a little taken aback by the fact that Crowley never told him any of this). But oh, isn't the world just that much lovelier when you look at it through shades of yellow and rose? And ignore everything else because if you only look at what you want to look at, both you and the serpent of your dreams are finally free to be together? So, of course! Azirapahle should be so! Very! Concerned! But instead, he is so! Very! Happy!

Both back in actual 1941, after Crowley saves his books, as well as in his memory of the story, aka in the current present day – which we don't get to see until he leaves the Bentley, but then it does show.

And it shows even more while he's still remembering 1941:

Crowley doing an American accent? Oh, that must have been so funny and charming, look at him slapping his thigh, unbuttoning his jacket, leaning back all suavely and watching me– I mean ... the Ladies of Camelot.

There's this excellent meta by @cobragardens I read on the colours of red and yellow in this 1941 minisode as well, which further makes a point of how red is clearly Crowley's colour in Aziraphale's mind – and it's so, so vibrant in this memory specifically. Poor angel has really got it bad for his beloved book-saving demon.

I'd also like to point out Aziraphale's tendency to exaggerate again, both when it comes to others and himself. We see this in the other minisodes as well, and here again, when he seems almost overly-clumsy, dropping those big trick-rings twice, making a tower of cards topple over and then dropping even more things on the counter. This is probably just a bit of a projection how he might have been feeling about performing as a magician: Slightly nervous, trying to overplay it and yet very keen on getting it right.

Crowley seems to always just be watching silently when memory!Aziraphale is acting a little out of character – possibly because there was no actual reaction from him since these slightly overdramatic things weren't actually this dramatic in the first place.

Another thing I would very much take with a grain of angelic memory salt, is one of the Nazi zombies actually walking into the shop while Crowley and Aziraphale are still in there. First of all, that would be pretty bold of him/them, given there's only three people in this tiny shop. And second of all, don't you think it's odd that neither Aziraphale nor Crowley would notice a literal undead person sauntering into the shop? I'll give Aziraphale the benefit of the doubt, since he's currently on cloud nine. But Crowley? How on Earth would he miss that?

Unless the zombie never actually went into the shop, put on silly costumes and rings (because given their track record, in my opinion, goofing around is a very un-Nazi-like thing to do) and it's just what the autopilot of Aziraphale's daydream is playing in the background, to fill in the gap for how the zombie!Nazis figured out where his magic show would take place. Because as we already saw, Aziraphale is a bit, well ... busy in that moment.

This GIF is not sped up, by the way, that is indeed the absolute astronomical speed Aziraphale shook Crowley's hand with when he agreed to pretend to shoot him on a live stage. He's my favourite. Of all time.

Alas, the curtains at the Windmill Theater draw aside, ladies and gentlemen: Enter Fell the Marvellous!

Firstly, I would like to point out that Aziraphale is literally being surrounded by all things Crowley – the red curtain to his back, the red and black feathers to his left and right and, well, literal Crowley in the audience to his front.

Just another little ode to how beautifully this whole minisode is done colour-wise.

If you read Part 2, you might remember me saying that how and what Aziraphale is feeling is actually translating directly to what we, the audience, are shown through cinematographic and auditory clues. And this very same thing happens here too. Its starts around the minute mark of 28:31. Right after Aziraphale realizes that his miracles aren't working and he still announces the bullet catch, introducing Crowley, you can tell that the whole frame starts to shake every so slightly.

At first, it's extremely subtle and you could possibly wave it off as simply being filmed with a hand-held camera. However, the further we progress into the bullet catch trick scene, the more the frame starts shaking.

I have taken the liberty to make a little cutdown of how this intense shaking progresses, so that in case you never noticed it before, I can spare you the time of going back to watch it for yourself.

It might be a trick of the eye but it even seems like the edges of the frame grow blurrier the closer the actual firing of the gun comes. And I don't think I have to tell you what feeling this is trying to convey. Anyone who's ever had a panic attack would probably describe it exactly like that. At least I would.

Everything is shaking because Aziraphale was most certainly out of his mind with fear and adrenaline. He wants to do this, he has to because he needs to show up for Crowley the way Crowley showed up for him at the church – but he's also literally risking being discorporated for good. And once again, we feel his panic, we feel like just like it's our own blood pumping through our veins, just like when we ourselves are shaking with fear. Because this is his memory. And a memory of such a tense and dangerous moment takes a long time to feel less scary.

Once they successfully pull of the trick, the shaking stops, of course. Fell the Marvellous nails his second trick by stealing Furfur's picture, the Nazi!zombies wander off to Satan knows where and we get another one of Shax's memories when we see Furfur not getting his promotion. (Almost makes you feel a little sorry for him, poor bugger.)

I don't have much to say about their romantic red wine candle light boogaloo, apart from the fact that it makes me want to punch holes in walls with how smited smote smitten Aziraphale looks at Crowley the entire time. And also there's this awfully sweet post about Crowley deciding to still sit and drink with him despite not knowing yet that Aziraphale had stolen the evidence picture.

HE IS SO IN LOVE I AM GOING TO SCREAM–

Back to reality, whoa, there goes gravity (as we plummet down to Hell).

Because remember: While most of this was indeed Aziraphale's memory, some of it was Shax's as well. And I'm pretty sure she knows most of what went down that night. After all, Furfur was most definitely the one who caused the rumors of Crowley and Aziraphale being "an item".

So, while Aziraphale was in the Bentley, indulging and revelling in his love-struck memories of the night he almost died* (*discorporated) twice and managed to survive both times because Crowley was there and trusted him, Shax also thought back on all of this since it was the final nail in the coffin that confirmed to her that Gabriel was hiding in the bookshop with Crowley.

So, what's the conclusion that both characters have come to during this very long flashback? It's simple:

Aziraphale loves Crowley. And Crowley loves Aziraphale.

There's only one person Aziraphale would trust with Gabriel – and that is Crowley. And there is only one place that no other demon would have access to except for Crowley. And that is the bookshop. Shax knows this now. Which is why it makes so much sense that once we're back in present day!Hell, she immediately requests a legion to attack the bookshop. Because she knows this is the only place Crowley and Aziraphale both consider safe from the outside world, and the only place Crowley would have access to because Aziraphale loves trusts him. Reflecting back on it, 1941 confirmed to her that they have been and still are the item everyone suspected them to be.

Clever, clever Shax!

As for Aziraphale: It's less of a conclusion, to be honest, and more of a reassurance, an affirmation of sorts. As I pointed out in my horrendously long context introduction, Crowley no longer working for Hell is exactly the push Aziraphale needs to finally feel like it's possible to make his move and confess to him.

And what does that news- and memory-induced realisation look like? This:

Ah yes, what a lovely day to confess your millennia-long love!

Too bad Crowley's not really up to speed yet and Aziraphale's rose-tinted little moment is met with:

... a face-full of plants. Whelp.

It's okay, they'll figure it out eventually.

My final little sidenote: The Jane Austen Ball and why it wasn't about Nina and Maggie

By all means, if you're already sick and tired of my tangents, do feel free to just skip this and end the meta early. I hope you had a good time with it, let me know your thoughts!

And for those of you who are up for a last burst of tinfoil-hatting: My conclusion to all of this is that I am 100% convinced that the whole Whickber-Street-Association-turned-Cotillion-Ball stunt Aziraphale pulls off in the next episode, was never actually meant for Nina and Maggie.

Why? Because up until getting a mouthful of plants once he arrives back in London, Aziraphale hadn't even known yet that Crowley's awning of a new age under the canopy had failed! The last time they spoke was over the phone in Edinburgh which ended with Crowley hanging up on Aziraphale to go make the love mission happen. And yet, Aziraphale clearly already has the whole ball thing planned out once he arrives in Soho, because he already calls it 'a night to remember'.

So, riddle me this: Why would Aziraphale plan this whole over-the-top romantic Jane Austen Ball on his ride back to London to make Nina and Maggie fall in love if he didn't even know yet whether or not Crowley's attempt at it had been successful or not?

It's almost like he meant for it to be his ideal way of a romantic confession for someone else.

'member the pub scene in S2E2?

Aziraphale: "People would gather and do some formal dancing and then realize they had misunderstood each other. And were actually deeply in love!" Crowley: "Now that sounds unlikely."

Resolving a deep misunderstanding like, hm, for instance, your "de facto partner" not telling you he'd been let go by his toxic employers just like you and also your quarrel about you wanting to protect your former-asshole-turned-cottage-core-dad boss from your own former toxic employers? With ✨a ball✨? (And that being, well, really unlikely to work? Oh, deary-dear angel. Oh, Aziraphale. Be still, my beating heart. You're a soldier for trying, I'll give you that.)

Are you goddamn done yet, OP?

Yes. I am. The tinfoil hat defense rests. I'm aware this was less focused on the actual unreliable narration and a bit more on contextualizing memories and feelings with decision making, deductions and actions – but hey, the road to epiphany has many winding paths. Or something.

Once again, here are Part 1 and Part 2 and if you made it this far: Congratulations, you have reached the end! Thanks for baring with me. I hope you enjoyed the journey just as much as Aziraphale did his daydream in the Bentley. And if you and me both feel strong enough for it, I might see you around in a cheeky little Epiloge to this meta series!

(Also: @dancingcrowley asked so nicely for me to tag them once Part 3 came out, so here you go!)

Cheers!

[goodomensblog]

Afterward

A Good Omens Choose Your Own Adventure Fic

Here’s how it works:

I’ll write a chapter.

At the end of each chapter, you’ll be presented with 2-3 options for what the characters will choose to do next.

Comment or reblog to vote for your choice. I’ll count all votes within the first 24 hours after each update is posted.

Read Part 1 Here

Afterward - - Part 2

- - - - - - - - 

Dark, acrid mist seeps from the ground, spiraling up, ravenous, as though intent on swallowing up the sun. At it’s center, Beelzebub, Lord of the Flies, rises - born of mist and smoke. And there, Crowley stands, one hand on the bookshop door, his back open and unguarded. 

Aziraphale is lunging, ancient instincts buried in his bones, deeper than marrow, driving him to throw up his arms as he leaps in front of Crowley. 

Several things, then, happen nearly at once. Even if the surrounding humans weren’t instinctively driven to avert their eyes and attentions from the standoff happening before them, they still would not have been physically capable of registering the speed at which the following exchange occurred.

There is a sharp intake of breath and a garbled noise of panic behind Aziraphale. Where they press together, Crowley is rigid, every angled line of his long body tensed - and Aziraphale can feel his body twisting, splayed fingers grasping at the angel’s shoulder, yanking -

Beelzebub is faster.

A soot-stained boot twists, grinding pavement to dust as the Lord of Flies moves-

Aziraphale throws his hands up.

Crowley’s fingers, white-knuckled and grasping, drag at Aziraphale -

And Beelzebub stumbles, knees buckling as the glow in their eyes flickers and extinguishes. 

Aziraphale’s hands, which he’d raised to fend off the demon lord’s attack, catch Beelzebub as they drop.

Beelzebub’s dark mist is dispersing, hissing as it falls away from their body; and Aziraphale holds them in much the same way as one might hold a tranquilized wolverine - that is to say, with care. Aziraphale has an arm gingerly hooked around Beelzebub, supporting beneath their arms. The demon lord’s neck is curved and their head dangles forward, limp. 

Crowley’s hands are no longer attempting to drag Aziraphale back to the safety of the shop. The angel can feel Crowley pressing into him, fingers clutching at his arm as the demon peers over his shoulder.

Carefully, carefully Aziraphale extends a hand.

Crowley’s touch reflexively squeezes.

With two fingers, Aziraphale tips back Beelzebub’s head.

Crowley sucks in a breath. “What the bless.”

The mist, which had wrapped Beelzebub like a second skin, has all but faded. Beneath bright sun, four long gashes weep red. The left side of their face is flayed. The gashes, which are deep as they are fresh, run from Beelzebub’s dark hairline to the soft, fleshy underside of their chin.

Aziraphale blinks, and then blinks again. As though it will somehow change the reality before him. When he blinks a third time, and Beelzebub is still inconveniently bleeding out in his arms. Aziraphale heaves a deep sigh.

Licking his lips, he presses a hand up under Beelzebub’s chin. As Aziraphale’s hand glows, the demon lord’s skin bubbles, reacting to the ethereal healing touch. The bleeding does, however, slow.

Crowley is rigid, white knuckled fingers clinging to him like a vice.

“Angel,” he says, voice low and insistent. “Drop Beelzebub. We’ve gotta go.”

“Not that dropping a Lord of Hell isn’t an appealing option, but aren’t you the least bit curious-”

“Aziraphale,” Crowley hisses, and the hand at Aziraphale’s shoulder is pressing him forward, guiding him toward the Bentley. 

Aziraphale, who hasn’t let go of Beelzebub, stumbles awkwardly with the demon lord in his arms.

“Crowley, hold on. Wait-”

Crowley spins around. Yanking Beelzebub’s head back again, Crowley flings out a hand, gesturing at the demon’s flayed skin. “Does that look like the work of an angel to you?”

“Well of course it’s not. Look at the shape of them, they were obviously made by-”

“Claws. Something demonic. Yeah.”

“Crowley, I don’t understand. Demons fight - you told me that demons sometimes even-”

Groaning, Crowley paces a tight circle. “Yeah demons fight. Demons, however, don’t nearly do in a Lord of Hell,” Crowley says, and stops, pointing emphatically at Beelzebub. “We. Do. Not. Want to be here when whatever did that to good old Beelz climbs up, looking to finish the job.”

Which begs the question-

“What exactly do you think did this, Crowley?”

Raking a hand through his hair, Crowley twitches, and shifts, shaking his head. “I-”

“Satan,” Beelzebub croaks.

Aziraphale, despite his earlier protests, nearly drops the demon in his surprise.

Crowley stills, hands loose and dangling at his sides.

And when the word registers, Aziraphale, despite six thousand years of practice, finds he’s quite forgotten how to breathe.

“Sorry,” he manages, and clears his throat. “What was that?”

Beelzebub’s lip curls. Squinting blearily up, they whisper, “I said, Satan did it.” And then their eyelids flutter. Their pale skin wrinkles as their brows draw together. “He - uh - something’s wrong with him.”

Breath returns without Aziraphale’s permission, and promptly leaves him in a gust of nervous laughter.

“Well yes, I should think there is something wrong with him-”

“No, you idiot,” Beelzebub says, coughing, “There’s something really wrong with him. It’s...different this time. Says he’s going to destroy it. And I believe him.”

“...destroy what?”

Aziraphale watches, out of the corner of his eyes, as Crowley circles them.

“Everything.”

At his back, Crowley hisses a curse.

“I…,” Beelzebub wheezes, and heaves a fortifying breath, “I think...I think I’ve got an idea...of how to stop him. But he’s -” they halt, teeth clenching as they groan, “he’s - gah, he’s coming for me.”

Behind him, Crowley gasps. 

Aziraphale turns to see Crowley bracing a hand on the Bentley. His shoulders are hunched, head dipped forward. 

“Crowley-”

“We’ve gotta go, angel. We have to hide. Now.”

And then Aziraphale feels it - a dark, malignant energy, pulsing - rising.

“Beelzebub-”

“Yeah, I know. We might need them,” Crowley says with obvious distaste. “Bring them along. Just for someone’s sake, hurry!”

By the time Aziraphale has tossed Beelzebub in the back seat and flung himself into the passenger side, Crowley is trembling, bent over the wheel.

“Can you-”

“Course,” Crowley snaps, and throws the car into drive. It growls, leaping into motion. “The Bentley can get us anywhere we need to go, but we’re gonna have to find a damn good place to hide.”

Aziraphale stammers, bracing a hand on the dash as the car roars, accelerating. “There’s Adam Young, of course, in Tadfield. He’s given up his powers, but there might be enough residual…” Aziraphale sucks in a breath as they take a sharp turn, wheels skidding over pavement. “It could be dangerous for him though - for Newton and Anathema as well. We could also go to America. Hide out near where the Dowlings settled. You know the place? There’s enough of a demonic aura there, perhaps, to conceal us - for a little while. At least until-”

From the back seat, Beelzebub groans. 

“Gabriel,” they mutter, voice nearly drowned out by the snarling engine.

“Excuse me?” Crowley says, golden eyes flashing over the tops of his glasses.

“Find...Gabriel,” Beelzebub says, and moans, sinking back into unconsciousness. 

“Gabriel,” Aziraphale says, and even the name leaves a bitter taste in his mouth.

He and Crowley share a glance.

“I can’t imagine Gabriel would be keen on helping us.”

Fingers clenching over the wheel, Crowley shakes his head. “Can’t imagine it either.”

Golden eyes flick up, checking the rear-view mirror.

“Angel, I can get us anywhere. Anywhere in the world - and beyond. Just bloody give me an idea of where to go.”

- - - - - - - - - -

Aziraphale tells Crowley to go to…

Tadfield to enlist the help of Adam, Anathema, and Newton.

Find Gabriel (preferably while armed with a flaming sword) to ask for his aid.

America, near where the Dowlings now live and get unlikely help from… Warlock??

Comment or reblog to vote :) 

(And I’m seriously excited about all three of the options and the direction they’d each take the story in. So I can’t wait to see what you all choose)

Read Part 3 Here

[shipaholic]

Omens Universe, Chapter 11 Part 2

Link to next part at the end.

(From the beginning)

(last part)

(chrono)

---

Chapter 11, cont.

Crowley purred upon seeing the Bentley. It was a little obscene, but he didn’t care. He hadn’t had a day off in ten years. Going for a drive was one of Earth’s greatest pleasures, as far as he was concerned,[1] and he’d been sorely neglecting it. He stroked the door lovingly before letting himself in.

“Don’t get anything on the seat,” he told Adam.

“Er,” Adam said, peering through the back window.

Crowley leaned back to wave him inside and saw somebody already sitting in the back seat.

“Hello,” she said.

Crowley’s mouth dropped open. “Who the Hell are you?”

Aziraphale leaned his head in through the passenger door. He blinked at the woman in the back, as if unclear whether Crowley had left her there by accident.

“My name is Anathema Device,” the woman said.

She was wearing a dramatic green coat and prim, thick-rimmed glasses. Despite the Wiccan-ish aesthetic, there was something stern and school-teachery about her. Crowley had the impression he was about to be told off.

“You’re two minutes late,” she said. Ah. There it was.

Adam decided he might as well sit down. He slipped into the back beside Anathema. She smiled at him.

Crowley made a decision there and then. No more tagalongs. Whoever this person was, she could get lost.

Anathema leaned forwards, business-like. “I’m here about the Antichrist.”

Adam looked offended. A lot of the people he’d met today seemed to have spoken to his mother.

“Nope. That’s it. I’m done with this. I’ve already processed everything I’m willing to hear today. Whatever revelations you’ve got, you can keep. I’m content not knowing everything, I don’t need whatever you’re selling. Get out of my car.”

“You’re going to want to hear this.”

“I definitely won’t. Angel, get in.”

Aziraphale got in the passenger seat. He gave Anathema a polite smile. “Hello, my dear.”

“She’s not your dear. She’s a woman who’s broken into my Bentley and spread patchouli everywhere.”

Anathema sighed. “Please. I didn’t break in, it was unlocked.” At least, it wasn’t locked very well.

“I don’t lock it for a reason. Because nobody touches my car.”[2]

“I remember you,” Adam said to Anathema. “You came round the house. You were trying to give us magazines. You talked to the head of security for ages. Most people don’t get that far.”

Anathema brightened. “Um, actually yes. I was trying to speak to you.”

“Oh. I was round the corner on my Gameboy,” Adam said.

Anathema had spent an interminable forty-five minutes keeping the security guard talking, hoping to catch a glimpse of Adam. “...Oh.”

“I read the magazines, though. They were cool.”

“Oh! I’m glad.”

“We’re actually in a hurry, if nobody minds,” Crowley said, to no-one in particular.

Anathema straightened up. “Right. Allow me to explain. I’m here to prevent the End of Days.”

Crowley and Aziraphale exchanged glances.

“Oh, that’s not a real thing,” Adam said, confidently. “That’s just stories an alien told me when I was a kid.”

Anathema looked up, sharply. “An alien? There are aliens in the Book…”

She hefted a much-thumbed, elderly tome onto her lap and flicked through it. Aziraphale’s bibliophilic senses rang a faint bell.

“Yeah, I like books with aliens,” said Adam. “This alien was real, though. Actually, there were lots of them. They kept telling me I was going to grow up and destroy humanity and burn the planet to a crisp. And then Hell would defeat Heaven and blah blah blah. I was a bit worried about it all.” Adam scratched his head, near his gem. Anathema’s eyes zoomed in on it. “But it all makes way more sense now I know it was aliens.”

“Oookay. This is pretty big, actually,” Anathema murmured. She was staring at Adam like a rare specialist who had just made the find of their career. “I wasn’t positive, even after everything… but it’s really you, isn’t it?” Her eyes shone with various emotions. Awe was in the mix. So was fear.

“Nanny was definitely an alien,” Adam said, darkly.

Anathema’s eyes flicked down to the open Book on her lap. They fell onto prophecy 1011, And the devile dide saye: we doe notte have time for alle this nonesense.

“We don’t have time for all this nonsense,” Crowley said.

“I know who you are,” Anathema blurted. “Agnes says you’re going to take the Antichrist away. The family don’t all agree where, there are a few different readings, but the important thing is that you won’t succeed. Listen to me. Armageddon will happen here, at this house.”

Crowley and Aziraphale exchanged tense looks.

“No human prophecies have come anywhere near predicting any of this.” Aziraphale craned his neck, trying to get a glimpse of the Book. “Did you say Agnes, my dear -?”

Crowley didn’t like this. Who cared what a prophecy said? He didn’t need strange women popping up and putting him off before they’d even set out.

“You two are in this whole batch of prophecies. You can set things right if you just listen to me and don’t leave. Your only hope to save the Earth is if you do exactly what I say -”

Crowley snapped his fingers. Anathema vanished.

“Crowley!”

“She was wasting our time. And we haven’t got much of that left.”

Crowley gunned the ignition. The Bentley sputtered to joyous life. He jerked the steering wheel and veered out onto the road. He almost took out a pillar box that mysteriously leapt into the air and settled safely a few feet down.

Aziraphale shook his head. “All her things are in the back seat. What if she needs them?”

“Should have thought of that before she touched my Bentley.”

Crowley took a corner at an alarming speed. He mumbled something about the emotional violation.

“I’ll be very cross if you’ve sent her somewhere bad.”

Crowley waved the concern away. He tore down the street. It had been too long since he’d done ninety in central London.

“Where are we going?” he asked.

Aziraphale finished crossing himself and clutched the roof of the car in the apparent hope that he could jimmy himself in place in the event of a crash.

“My old bookshop, if you would be so kind,” he said.

In the back seat, Adam picked up the Book and flipped through it.

~*~

Newton Pulsifer, Witchfinder Private, perched on the edge of the discoloured sofa belonging to his employer, Sergeant Shadwell. He was just starting on his third hour of daily newspaper clippings when a woman tumbled out of the air and landed on top of him.

There was chaos. There was screaming (mostly from Newt). There was shouting (from Shadwell). There were accusations of foul sorcery and witchcraft (from Shadwell; for once in his life, he was spot on).

Eventually, things calmed down enough that Newt noticed the woman was rather attractive, and that she seemed annoyed but not surprised to have teleported to a first-floor flat in Tower Hamlets.

Her name was, apparently, Anathema Device. Well. Why not. Newt recently learned he had an ancestor called Adultery Pulsifer. He wasn’t about to judge.

Anathema surveyed her new lieutenants in her stand against Armageddon. A cigarette-charred man with an ambiguous regional accent and a scowl that could cut rocks. A nervous young man who was vaguely threatening her with a pair of scissors, but who was obviously likelier to injure himself with them than her. And some kind of “painted strumpet” (not Anathema’s words) across the hall who hadn’t shown up to the proceedings so far, but who they could tag in later if things went badly. Not a promising start. Lieutenants might be too strong a word. Sidekicks, then.

It frustrated her, leaving all her possessions behind in the car. Losing the Book would have devastated her, but Agnes had predicted it, so Anathema was prepared. She had compensated for its loss by memorising the remaining prophecies that seemed relevant.

“OK, guys. Is everything clear so far?”

Shadwell glowered. He held something that was apparently a Thundergun. It slightly resembled a bass trombone. He made no move to shoot her, and she doubted anyone had reloaded it any time in the last century, so his grip on it seemed to be for comfort. Newt had put down the scissors as a gesture of magnanimity.

“I think I’ve followed so far,” Newt said. “The world’s going to end. Um, there’s a boy called Adam Dowling who’s the key to everything, but he’s out of range now and there’s nothing anyone can do about that - er -”

Anathema nodded encouragingly.

“- And our job is to take care of stuff here, and hope that the people with this, er, Adam do their part, because otherwise the Earth is doomed,” he finished. Luckily, he’d passed through the barrier of absurdity and into the vista of calm that lay beyond.

“That’s about it, yeah,” said Anathema.

“So - what should we be doing now?”

“Now we need to stop the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse.”

“Great,” Newt said, weakly.

Anathema nodded, satisfied. It was coming together. She hoped.

It was the two men, or men-shaped-beings, with the Antichrist she worried about. They had to do the next part on their own. And if that went wrong…

She’d known there was no genuine hope of diverting them from their course to escape… wherever they were planning to escape to. But Agnes said she would try to stop them, so she had to try, no matter how vain the attempt. She had hoped to see more evidence that her words were sinking in before the goth one banished her from his equally goth car.

What they did next was out of her hands, so there was no point in worrying. She turned to her new sidekicks. There was work to do.

---

[1] Specifically, speeding.

[2] Crowley got pretty far, normally, assuming that no-one would dare break into the Bentley. He was mostly correct. Witches, however, were unimpressed by demons.

(Link to next part)

[ladyoutlier]

Here Today Gone Tomorrow

In which Aziraphale and Crowley are tasked with making a human.

[Read on AO3] | [Chapter 1]

Chapter 2: An Angel and Demon’s Offspring

Rain poured heavily on the shingled roof of the quaint little cottage Aziraphale and Crowley had miracled for themselves. It was a huge stand-out from the rest of Eden with its English aesthetic greatly contrasting the surrounding jungle. However, this was hardly a concern to either of them. Just because they had to take on the role of Adam and Eve didn’t mean that they had to live in the dirt like them. Both the angel and the demon had spent quite enough time doing that in the millennia before proper civilization occurred. And plus, the cottage reminded them of a time they were no longer in.

Crowley was sprawled out on the nice king-sized bed he had summoned for himself when Aziraphale entered the room carrying tea for the two of them. Crowley shuffled to one side of the bed, and Aziraphale sat down on the now vacant side. The angel handed him a cup.

“Quite the day. And here I thought nothing could outdo the past few ones in regards to exertion.“ A rather prominent frown developed onto Aziraphale’s face.

“Definitely makes the top ten of worst days.”

Rain plattered at the window. The two sipped their tea. Sitting inside they could almost pretend everything was normal. That they were in London, and the city was slowly falling asleep for the evening. That outside there were streets and people and Crowley’s Bentley was parked on the curb and that it was just another normal night for the both of them. Ah, but neither of them were good at fooling themselves, especially when the other was involved.

“Do you really think the Almighty has tasked us with bringing humanity into the world?” Aziraphale asked. “I don’t know about you, but I have absolutely no idea how to accomplish that.”

“We’ll figure it out as we go,” Crowley replied. “Try to miracle some clay into a person. If God hasn’t granted us the power to do that, well She’s got no one to blame except Herself for the lack of humans on the planet this go about.”

“Adam and Eve went about it a rather different way.”

“They were also human by default and thus had the proper genetics to accomplish that. Don’t think angel plus demon equals human.” Crowley tried desperately to avoid looking Aziraphale in the eyes which he was quite successful at because the angel too was avoiding his.

“Oh, um, I wasn’t suggesting that. I was merely speculating out loud.” Aziraphale took a long sip of tea which was strangely a lot more alcoholic now.

“Course. Just a conversation of what ifs. Nothing more.”

Another silence. The rain picked up. Not by a lot. Just enough to be noticable. A small rumble of thunder echoed from somewhere far away. The golden light inside the cottage was becoming very cosy. Aziraphale set his drink down on the nightstand and laid down as Crowley was.

“If we ever see the world the way it was again, I wouldn’t mind residing in a cottage like this. It would be a nice change of scenery from the bookshop,” the angel said rather dreamily. 

His alcohol/tea hybrid was taking effect much more quickly than anticipated as if it had divine influences to do so. God smiled to Herself as She sipped from Her wine glass.

“Mmhmm,” Crowley muttered, eyes rolling to see Aziraphale. Without his sunglasses on, it was quite difficult to not notice his added attention. “Yes, would be rather charming. I could see you enjoying the country life. Where would you want to go?”

“Not just me. I think I’d like you to be there too, Crowley.”

That was a brave, blunt remark that was most certainly pushed out of Aziraphale by his drink. That’s not to mean that he hadn’t meant it. He did. It would’ve just taken him a few more thousand years to say it on his own. Still, it was more than a surprise to Crowley. Now, who was going too fast?

“Oh, well, um, yes.” The demon’s eyes widened, and he pushed himself up onto his elbows. “Where would we go then?”

“South Downs is quite lovely. Calming and natural like this. Does that mean you’d actually go with me? I know you’re fond of the city life.”

“Angel, if we ever get things back the way they were, I’d go to the moon and back with you. Might even do that anyway.”

Aziraphale’s blue eyes stared into Crowley’s golden ones. The soft, little smile on his lips was warm enough to melt a glacier. The demon was very glad he was already lying down. Strangely, this day didn’t seem so bad anymore.

“I’ll hold you to that. The moon and back,” Aziraphale replied. “Would be exciting to get off planet.”

“Personally,” Crowley said, flipping onto his back. “I think you’re plenty of excitement on your own.”

If the raindrops became a bit fatter after that, it was only because God was crying. It was a happy sort of cry one only has when their ship finally begins to properly sail. No more sandy reefs for the ship to get beached on. No more last minute trips to the dock. Just full on open sea sailing. Aziraphale and Crowley were finally on their way to be properly shipped, and God was glad.

*

The next morning, Aziraphale and Crowley found a fruit bowl filled to the brim with apples on their countertop. It was not something that either of them had put there, and neither of them were gullible enough to believe the other had. Crowley simply rolled his eyes, picked up the whole bowl, and tossed it out the kitchen window.

“Is he even trying?” Crowley asked, taking a seat at the small dining table at which Aziraphale was eating a pastry.

“Maybe his heart’s not in it. It’s hardly a passion project to do a job that has already been done.”

“Yeah, but I mean, live a little. Throw the apples into a pie or something. Try the poor old woman tactic from Snow White. Hastur really has no creativity.”

Aziraphale finished the last bite of his breakfast and wiped his face. “Yes, well, creativity is one of your best attributes, my dear.”

“‘S really not, but it is a useful one.” He leaned back in his chair. “What’s the plan for today?”

“Thought we’d try your turn clay into people plan as I don’t have any better ideas.”

“It’s not going to work.”

“Likely. But at least it’ll be fun. Similar to making a snowman.”

“Alright then. Let’s go have some fun.”

It was another beautiful day in Eden. A bit on the windy side, but other that that, absolutely lovely. A hundred thousand leaves rustled away in the trees above, and a million different species of birds sang serenades to each other. If one didn’t know just how barren and white Heaven was, one could easily be tricked into believing that Eden was it. Aziraphale and Crowley stood in front of a small riverbank.

“Angel,” Crowley said, freeing himself from the mud which was acting more like quicksand than wet dirt. “Don’t really feel like getting my hands dirty, and I think neither of us are ones for ruining good clothes. Can’t we just draw a face in the mud and be done with it?”

“Nonsense! This was your suggestion after all.”

“Was mostly a joke.”

“And we hardly need to use our hands.” The angel miracled a shovel into being. “Even if this is a rather fruitless endeavor, I still want to give it my all to, at the very least, let the Almighty know that we’re trying.”

Aziraphale began to dig up mud, stacking it into a rather messy column. It looked more like a monster from a cheesy 1950s American horror flick than a human, but the angel continued to work at it anyway. Seeing that Aziraphale was dedicated to this, Crowley grumbled to himself. There were a million other things he’d rather be doing, but all of them involved Aziraphale being there as well. He cocked his head to the side. Guess this is what they were doing today. He miracled himself a set of sculptor’s tools.

*

Their clothes had gotten more than a bit dirty by the time they were done. Mud and river water practically soaked them. Although both Aziraphale and Crowley had no need to sweat, they both felt like they had done quite a lot of it. But they had gotten their human sculpture done, and the time was hardly past noon.

The body of the sculpture was a bit pudgy but also rather lean, and looked neither obviously male or female as if the person could fall either way if they so chose. They stood shorter than both Aziraphale and Crowley, looking as though they were just coming of age. Their face had a rather contrasting mixture of features. A sharp jawline and cheekbones, but pouty lips and an upturned nose. Their hair was a fury of curls with wisps of straight locks thrown in. And their eyes remained a mystery, shut to the whole world.

If perhaps, the angel and demon had modeled their parts of the sculpture off one another, they certainly were silent about it. Still the resemblance to the both of them was extremely clear. The sculpture was a perfect blend of the two of them, and God definitely noticed. Mostly because She had begun to sober up.

“So what? On the count of three try to bring it to life? That really what we’re going to do?” Crowley asked.

“Well, yes,” Aziraphale admitted rather sheepishly. “Does sound silly when you put it like that.”

“Because it is silly. Would get us both thrown in the looney bin if society still existed.”

“Even if this doesn’t work—”

“Which it very likely isn’t.”

“—I’m still happy to have made this with you. Turned out rather well I think.”

“Just glad it turned out better than Warlock’s Year 1 arts and crafts projects.”

“I hope we would do better than a six-year-old.”

“Oh, your hopes are too high for us,” Crowley replied with a laugh.

“Are they? This may not be on Michelangelo’s level of quality, but he would hardly scoff at what we’ve done.”

“Eh, that’s true enough.”

“On three then?”

“Yeah. One.”

“Two.”

“Three.”

The angel and the demon both thought incredibly hard about bringing the mud person in front of them to life. They threw their hands forward, commanding the sculpture to move, walk, breathe, anything. And with the power of Heaven and Hell combined, absolutely nothing happened which was entirely unsurprising.

“Can’t say we didn’t try. Up for lunch, angel?” Crowley asked, letting his arms fall back down to his sides.

“I can’t say I thought it would be this easy. Why don’t you head back, Crowley. Give me a moment and then we’ll have lunch.”

The demon shot him a quizzical look. He took a few steps backwards. A small smile flickered nervously on the corner of his mouth before quickly disappearing. “Alright, yeah. I’ll be back at the cottage.”

“I won’t be long.”

“Course. Take your time.”

Crowley strode off into the wilderness. Aziraphale watched him go until the plant life completely obscured him. The angel released a breath he didn’t know he had been holding and approached the river. A fallen tree laid across it as a bridge. He merely crossed half of it and sat down, his feet dangling inches above the rushing water.

“Um, Lord,” he began. “I know my attempts to talk to You didn’t go too well last time. Found myself talking to Your secretary rather than Yourself. But given the circumstances, I thought I’d try again. I hope You don’t mind the less than professional air to the whole situation.”

Aziraphale waited for a reply, but got none. Still, God was listening.

“Ah, yes, well. Perhaps this whole sculpture idea was rather foolish. Not at all what You wanted from us. And I really do not want to inconvenience You, but I’m at a rather large loss for how to do what You wish.”

Again he left room for a reply from God without the need to.

“As much as I would love to be able to create a person with Crowley, I just don’t believe it is possible with the restraints You have given us. Only You can create a new being after all. Angels and demons, we can only influence them. Crowley and I would just quite like to be able to get back to our lives...”

Together. It was a word Aziraphale didn’t say out loud, but God heard it anyways. The entire riverbank became a bit warmer. The sun shone a bit brighter. The flora spruced up. All small changes one could easily miss. If one was not an angel, that is.

“I—I see. Yes, um, good talk. Thank you.” He stood up rather clumsily from the log. It was simply a miracle that he didn’t fall into the river (actually it was two, but God didn’t feel the need to let him know that).

As Aziraphale walked away to meet up with Crowley, God lifted the sculpture from the river bank and brought it into the ethereal plane with Her. She smiled at Her creations’ creation. Mimicry was the biggest form of flattery. She loved the human the angel and demon had made. Sure, it wasn’t alive, but care and love most certainly lived within it. God tucked its design away with everything else that had ever existed for safe keeping. Maybe there would come a day when She would need it.

Some of Crowley’s modern music led Aziraphale back to the cottage. The demon could not go a day without his tunes, and now with all of Eden to themselves, he could blast them at max volume without the irritation of bothered neighbors and passersby. Their annoyance wasn’t a problem to him. Rather it was their need to bug him about the volume that was. More tasking than the evil was worth.

As Aziraphale approached, “I Want To Break Free” by Queen played:

But life still goes on

I can't get used to living without, living without

Living without you by my side

I don't want to live alone, hey

God knows, got to make it on my own

Aziraphale found himself to the kitchen where Crowley was currently pouring two glasses of red wine. On the island sat a plate of sandwiches made of grilled steak, sauteed onions, and ciabatta bread.

“I don’t know about you,” Crowley said, handing the angel a glass. “But making a mud man really worked up an appetite.”

“Oh, Crowley, you made this?”

“No, I figured out how to make humans when you were gone, and one of them so happened to be a chef. Course I made this. Well, miracled it, but same thing.”

“That’s a real generous thing to do.”

“Yeah, yeah. Don’t go all mushy on me. We planned on lunch, and it wasn’t just going to show up itself. Kept me busy while waiting for you to catch up.” The demon picked up a sandwich a munched into it.

“Still, I very much appreciate it.”

Before Aziraphale could take a sandwich for himself, the front door swung open, and the familiar face of Archangel Gabriel walked in.

“I came down here to put a stop to the awful noise, but, uh, I see there’s a much bigger issue to address here,” he said, marching into the kitchen.

“Sandwich, Gabriel?” Crowley sneered, taking another bite of his.

“As if I’d take anything a demon offered me, much less gross matter.” The flame from his sword glowed rather brightly from his waist. “There’s an issue with the use of miracles down here. I mean, a whole house? Really? Where’s the justification for that?”

“It did rain last night,” Aziraphale replied.

“So? Don’t see me abusing miracles to get out of it. It’s only water. You’re supposed to be Adam and Eve. At what point did they live in a cottage that I missed?”

“You did say to make improvements, so we did.” Crowley flashed the Archangel a rather wide grin.

“Yes, improvements for the greater good. Not—” He closed his eyes for a moment and took a breath. “I don’t know why I’m arguing with a demon on this. Obviously this kind of behavior is expected from you.” He looked back to the angel. “I just thought there was something left of you, Aziraphale. Sure, you screwed up the End of the World, but there had to be a reason you haven’t Fallen yet. I’m starting to think that it’s just an oversight.”

“Oh, I’d back off real quick, Archangel.” Crowley swept around the island. “You’ll find I don’t put up with your pretentious bullshit the way Aziraphale does.”

“I think you’re forgetting who has a sword here and who doesn’t.” Gabriel chuckled, seemingly unfazed by Crowley’s threat.

“Oh, you can’t hurt us. In fact, I don’t think you have any authority to tell us to do anything. Your job is to guard the Eastern Gate. Not interfere with Adam and Eve.”

“Uh, yeah. Actually, this whole Earth thing might have to go on hold for now. Busy working real hard to get Micheal out of Hell.”

“Wait, Micheal’s in Hell?” Aziraphale asked.

“Thought your demon’s friend would’ve informed you on that after he so smugly informed me about it on the Wall. We are in negotiations right now. We both have people we’d like to see returned to their rightful side.”

“Like Beelzebub,” Crowley replied, leaning back against the island. His eyes remained rather narrowed behind his sunglasses.

“Our main negotiating point. Should really be an easy swap. Of course, when dealing with Hell everything gets complicated.”

“Oh yeah, sure everything’s so smooth Upstairs.”

“As if you have any clue, demon. You haven’t been up there in over 6000 years. Not sure I’d trust your memory.” Gabriel gave a squinty eyed smile. “You know what, both of you run amuck down here. Ruin it if you want. You’re the ones stuck down here. I’ve got a meeting I need to attend to in Heaven, so go wild. Just don’t blame me when the Almighty strikes you both down for your dismal performances.”

Without waiting for a reply, Gabriel left the cottage. A bright white light glowed from the front door and soon after faded, signalling that the Archangel was gone.

“Well, that was something,” Crowley said. “Sandwiches have probably gone cold, but there’s still plenty to have, angel.”

“Ah, yes, lunch,” Aziraphale replied, remembering exactly what they had been doing.

“Yeah, lunch. Couldn’t the bastard have at least waited half an hour before bothering us?”

“I think it was your music that drew him here.” The angel took a sandwich and bit into it. The center was still miraculously warm. God pretended not to notice that.

“Mental note: all it takes to piss off the Archangel Gabriel is loud music. Oh that’s a weakness he really shouldn’t have shown me.”

“I’m sure you’ll make good use of it, dear.”

“You bet I will.”

Aziraphale scoffed and smiled through a mouthful of lunch. It was a goofy look that made Crowley smile back. He was happy the angel was enjoying the food he had made even if it was little more than a snap of his fingers. This whole snippet of a domestic life was quite nice, and made the demon think back on last night’s conversation. Yes, if the world was ever restored, he’d like to live like this with Aziraphale. But in the meantime, this would do nicely.

[Chapter 3]

[thankchaosforspellcheck]

Genius omens au

(aka a Girl Genius/Good Omens crossover because I’m not gonna stop being on this kick until something better comes out.  Which nothing has yet.)

So I’ve got at least 2 ideas for this AU, first one goes like this:

Crowley and Aziraphale are both low-rung minions for competing families.  Neither are from canon, and while one of them prides themselves on the “help” they spread to the local commoners, the other on the chaos. (they are both pretty chaotic, honestly).

Gabriel and Beelzebub are top-ranked minions who mostly handle all the paperwork.

The actual sparks never appear.  The spark for Aziraphale’s family (who is essentially god) is too busy producing brilliant inventions to help the world... and then forgetting to include any instructions or telling anyone how they work.  (She actually does this on purpose, as a bit of an experiment to see if anyone will ever actually ask her how they work & to see if they can work it out on their own)  Meanwhile, the spark for Crowley’s family (Lucifer) creates horrific inventions meant to insight chaos and disaster on all those who are within it’s aim!  ...Which would be a lot easier to do if he had neater handwriting.  Or used less obscure scientific terminology.  Or didn’t spill coffee on half of it!

So Aziraphale & Crowley’s jobs are essentially to go out and try to figure out how the inventions work without getting themselves killed (the latter bit’s more for Aziraphale for Crowley, honestly.  And even then they only say that because they’re the “good guys”, not because they actually mean it), as well as to try to prevent the neighboring family from using their’s.

They are surprisingly good at their jobs though.  

Like, weirdly so.  

Everyone kind of assumed they were gonna be dead within the first week like all the past minions were.

(what they don’t know, is that they have 2 advantages on everyone else: 

1. they met almost immediately and both went “oh shit he’s hot, hEY WHY DON’T I HELP YOU WITH THAT” and not only figured out how each other’s devices worked, but also realized that they negate each other (ex: one is meant to end world hunger, the other is meant to cause massive famines, together they make all the farms have solidly mediocre years)

2. they are actually both minor sparks, not that either has realized it yet.  See, Aziraphale’s breakthrough was probably the quietest breakthrough in the history of the world and Crowley just kinda vaguely sauntered his way through a breakthrough, and everyone else was too distracted by the latest disaster to notice (Aziraphale’s breakthrough sparkwork was a quick fix he did on the flaming sword he was given by the family spark (It was so easy, I hardly needed to be a spark to do it) which he immediately gave away to the Spark’s daughter (who’s as mundane as you get) since she’s going to be traveling through the wilderness with her husband. Crowley’s was the Bentley, which is a horseless carriage he bought off a passing spark and fixed up in his spare time (look, there was barely anything wrong with it.  I just did a bit of tinkering here, welded a few wires together there, and after some polishing and a good wax she was good as new!  Took me forever to finish ‘er anyways, a spark’d hardly take an hour to do what I did).  

Both of them have noticed that the other is a spark and revert to minioning when the other gets in a fugue.  Neither notices when the other is minioning while in said fugue, and they never actually bring the sparking out up.  Because they’re idiots.

Now, The second idea (under the cut because boy howdy did this get long!):

They are both still oblivious minor spark minions (because I just think think this fits them really well)  But this time it’s with some known families

Crowley is a Heterodyne Jager, though not one of the ones that’s particularly noticed by people (not one of the oldest, but not young enough for, say, Bill or Barry to have seen him take the Draught)

You know how 99.9% of Jagers take the draught because they are just so devoted to the cause and want to serve the Heterodynes for the rest of eternity?  Well Crowley’s that .1% that did it because everyone else was chanting “DO IT DO IT” at the time and he was just like “Welp, it’s not like I have anything else to do” and downed it.

(He’s possibly the only spark to take and survive the drought, no one has any fucking idea so he’s just considered as one of the minor foot soldiers.  Which is probably all the better for him, since he would have been on a dissection table in 5 seconds flat otherwise)

He looks more or less like he does in the show, just with scales under his clothes, black claws on his hands (which he generally hides with gloves, and some fairly small (for a Jager) fangs.  He definitely still has sunglasses, and if asked claims either “they look cool” or “I’ve got an eye condition and I don’t want a spark to make it worse or put lasers in” depending on who he’s talking to and how much they’ve annoyed him.  He also grew some black wings some time after he drank the draught (which, if the Heterodyne knew about, they would be extremely interested in) which he keeps under his clothes and extremely close to his back.

He also doesn’t have too much of a Mechanicsburg accent since he kinda just fucked off on the first mission out of town and away from the Heterodyne that he could get (look he loves his master and thinks they’re creations are fascinating but that doesn’t mean he actually wants their attention)

he’s also part of the same batch that Beelzebub, Hastur, and Ligur came from and hates all of them.

Meanwhile, Aziraphale is a minion of the House of Valois, and has been for quite some time.

See, around the same time as Crowley was made a Jager, someone from the Storm King’s line (probably a von Blitzengaard)  Decided that enough was enough and they were going to make their own Super soldiers (but prettier! and with wings and a melodious voice like an angelic choir and-!)

Aziraphale was the only survivor.

(He was not what the creator was aiming for.)

He also looks more or less like he does in canon, with beautiful white wings and white curly hair.  He looks strangely normal for someone who went through a version of the draught, honestly.  He does, however, still have the increased strength, durability, stamina, and whatever else the brau includes.  It just showed up at a much slower rate, so it was put down as a bad job and discarded.

(the reason he survived is because he was the only one out of all the subjects who had even the vaguest of sparks.  I think the duality of this is nice.  One survives in spite of his spark, the other survives because of it)

So when he fails to be Angel Incarnate he gets a disappointed dismissal from his creator and gets sent out on some away mission he’s meant to never come back from

(he doesn’t, but it’s only because he met Crowley on the way there)

Several Generations later, they are wandering around the wastelands, vaguely hear about the Heterodyne boys recalling all their Jagers and turning over a new leaf, shrug, and disguise themselves so that they can follow the kids from a distance (because they’re still his Heterodynes dammit).

(or at least that’s Crowley’s reason.  Aziraphale’s reason is that Crowley’s there and that’s good enough for him at this point)

They keep this up on-and-off for a good while whole events with the other and the attack at the castle happen and they lose track of them.

Crowley’s a bit worried, but figures he might as well just wander around the Wastelands like the others are and if he finds them, he finds them.

He was not actually expecting to find either of them

So you can imagine his surprise when Barry shows up near him one day with a toddler following him like a lost duckling.

So he does what any reasonable Jager would never do, and immediately goes up to the two and introduces himself and his husband TRAVELING COMPANION as everything but a Jager and Jager-knockoff.

Barry is, of course, paranoid at these complete strangers that seem vaguely familiar in the weirdest of ways, but they both seem genuinely nice and they both hate the other with a passion so he settles into an uneasy trust.

They both end up showing him their wings and explaining that they’re constructs who were made in such a way that they are immune to wasps.

(Crowley offers to demonstrate by eating one.  Barry hastily declines)

They start traveling together and, after that uneasy trust settles into an easy one, he asks if he gets whatever signal that made him decide to start tracking down the Other solo

But Punch and Judy aren’t there.  He never managed to run into them at all,

Crowley and Aziraphale, however, are.

Part 2:

Agatha Crowley-Fell has had a very normal, if interesting, life.

She’s raised by her two fathers (uncles, they insisted for a good long while until she points out that they’ve officially adopted her and they’re as much her parents as her biological ones are, and that she doesn’t think they’re replacing them, just adding to them (to which the respond with hugging and crying)) in Beetleburg. 

one of which works as a librarian at the local college (where he is more then happy to help anyone who needs anything besides books.)

an unofficial elective is “how to borrow a book from Mr. Fell”.  Everyone who passes gets hired by the university on the spot.

Crowley, meanwhile, owns a flower shop where all of the plants are guaranteed to be vibrant and spotless! (or else)

Occasionally, they’ll come to her right before bed and ask to see her locket, “to keep it in the best shape possible” they say.  One will take it to another room, while the other sits with her and sings a lullaby until she falls asleep

it’s always back on her neck come morning.

As time goes on, her headaches slowly get better.  She’s still never able to finish a project, but it pops up less during mild excitement or frustration.

They’re still incredibly annoying though

And then comes the day when her locket is broken and the Baron comes to town, and her life goes from tame to disastrous in a matter of hours.

[junker-town]

It’s a reset year for UNC football. How far will Larry Fedora’s Heels fall?

Now that North Carolina’s production finally makes sense, let’s find out what the program’s made of.

Chapel Hill is a lovely place, and it houses a lovely campus. UNC has an enrollment in the neighborhood of 30,000. It’s spacious but not too spaced out, it’s got plenty of trees and pretty, old buildings, and the athletics facilities are mostly baked into the cake.

The old basketball arena is on the main artery road on campus (the Dean Dome is separated but isn’t too far away), and the football stadium is in the middle of things. Downtown is nearby, and it’s got drinking (cheap and fancy) and eating (ditto) options. From the dorms, you can access virtually all of this by foot.

This is a semi-idyllic, normal college town, and for a couple of years now, it has had a normal football team for once.

Over Fedora’s five seasons, he has averaged a recruiting class ranking of 29.8 (per the 247Sports Composite), produced three S&P+ top-30 performances, and averaged eight wins per year. You could note that the other two teams were pretty far outside of the top 30, or that he should be doing a hair better in recruiting, but recruiting and performance are finally in line with each other.

For most of the 2000s, that hadn’t been the case. The Tar Heels were the poster boys for what could be. In John Bunting’s first season, they beat No. 6 Florida State and No. 13 Clemson by a combined 79-12. They also lost to Wake Forest and Maryland and finished 8-5. They beat No. 4 Miami in 2004 but finished 6-6. They beat ranked Virginia and BC teams in 2005 but finished 5-6.

When Butch Davis took over, he demonstrated the program’s ceiling by signing a top-10 class in 2007 and top-20 classes in 2009 and 2011. He went 8-5 for three straight years, and he was dismissed in the summer of 2011 as part of UNC’s ongoing effort to fight academic misconduct and improper benefits allegations.

Big recruits, big wins, and no top-15 finishes from 1998 to 2014. That was UNC’s reality. And now it’s something far more ... reality-based.

Fedora’s classes are almost identical from year to year, and from an S&P+ standpoint (presented in the format of adjusted points per game) his three good teams (2013, 2015, and 2016) have been within 0.4 points of each other: plus-11.1, plus-10.7, and plus-11.1. This is almost too normal.

How does Fedora raise the bar now? I’m not sure, but I know he probably won’t do so in 2017. Like 2014, when UNC slipped to 6-7 and 71st in S&P+ before surging, Fedora’s Heels have a lot to replace, particularly on offense: a top-10 draft choice at QB, two running backs who combined for 1,500 yards, five of the top six receiving targets, and two all-conference offensive linemen. A scary-in-a-good-way special teams unit is also rebuilding. The defense is experienced but lost its coordinator.

UNC is projected to fall from 21st to 38th in S&P+. The Heels’ schedule is kind, for an ACC slate — no Clemson or Florida State, and Louisville, Miami, and Notre Dame at home — and eight of 12 games are projected to finish within one possession, which means a few exciting new pieces could make the difference between a four- or nine-win season. The former might lead us to wonder about Fedora’s staying power; the latter might make UNC the 2018 ACC Coastal favorite.

2016 in review

2016 UNC statistical profile.

I got yelled at by UNC fans during the Heels’ 11-win 2015. UNC ranked a mere 28th in S&P+. It was easy to explain why — they lost to both of the S&P+ top-25 teams they faced (Clemson and Baylor), barely got by teams ranked 40th and 68th, and lost to a South Carolina that ended up in the 80s.

When you’re winning, it feels like you should rank high no matter what, but things normalized in 2016. The Heels exceeded expectations from an S&P+ standpoint (they were projected 27th and finished 21st) but finished with a win total (eight) right where it was projected to be. The schedule went from featuring two top-30 teams to six; that’ll cost you a few wins.

That’s not to say the season went according to plan. (UNC hasn’t totally kicked the UNC habit, I guess.) The Heels went 3-3 against those top-30 teams, beating No. 6 Florida State and No. 14 Miami on the road and knocking off No. 20 Pitt at home. If you’re capable of that, you probably shouldn’t also lose to a mediocre Georgia and both chief rivals (28-27 to Duke, 28-21 to NC State). The record was less a product of the schedule and more a product of when they showed up.

UNC in eight wins: Avg. percentile performance: 83% (~top 20) | Avg. score: UNC 40, Opp 22 | Avg. yards per play: UNC 7.5, Opp 5.5 (plus-2.0)

UNC in five losses: Avg. percentile performance: 47% (~top 70) | Avg. score: Opp 30, UNC 20 | Avg. yards per play: Opp 5.2, UNC 5.2 (plus-0.0)

The defense was roughly the same, but the offense fluctuated. The Heels laid an egg in a rainstorm against Virginia Tech, but even in the other games, there was a clear difference between Good UNC and Bad UNC.

Maybe it’s a good sign that the defense was more stable, as the defense will far more closely resemble last year’s unit than the offense will.

Offense

Full advanced stats glossary.

Mitch Trubisky was only the starting quarterback for one year at UNC, but he made the most of it. He completed 68 percent of his passes and threw for nearly 3,800 yards with 30 touchdowns to only six interceptions; after completing 66 percent of his passes through two seasons as a backup, he proved small sample sizes can tell a semi-accurate story. That was enough to get him (over-)drafted second in the 2017 NFL draft.

If he didn’t produce, however, UNC wasn’t going to win. He threw interceptions in three games (two in each), and the Heels lost all three. When he produced a passer rating under 150, UNC went 1-4. The run game was decent but unspectacular (and it was horrendous in short-yardage situations), and the defense was decent but inefficient, and Trubisky had to be awesome for the Heels to survive.

Trubisky’s gone, and so are running backs Elijah Hood and T.J. Logan, receivers Ryan Switzer, Bug Howard, and Mack Hollins, and starting linemen Jon Heck, Lucas Crowley, Caleb Peterson. Yikes.

This isn’t going to scare coordinator Gunter Brewer too much; he’s seen things. His career got rolling when he coached Randy Moss as Marshall’s receivers coach, and he ended up holding the same roles at UNC and Oklahoma State (under Fedora). When Fedora left to take the Southern Miss head coaching gig, Brewer ended up as OSU co-coordinator, then as passing game coordinator for a year at Ole Miss. Once you’ve worked for a desperate Houston Nutt, not much is going to phase you.

Photo by Stacy Revere/Getty Images

Brandon Harris

With so much gone, let’s take stock:

LSU graduate transfer Brandon Harris was the Tigers’ QB for most of 2015, and he threw for 2,158 yards and 13 touchdowns while sharing a backfield with Leonard Fournette. He was inefficient but explosive, completing 54 percent but at 14.6 yards per completion. He struggled in a season-opening loss to Wisconsin last year, then got yanked after going 1-for-4 for eight yards against Jacksonville State.

If Harris doesn’t seize control, the job will go to sophomore Nathan Elliott (8-for-9 for 55 yards as Trubisky’s backup) or one of two redshirt freshmen — Chazz Surratt or Logan Byrd. Surratt was the most well-regarded as a recruit, and Elliott wasn’t awful in scrub time last fall.

Senior Austin Proehl is the de facto go-to in the receiving corps. Of the six players targeted at least 20 times, he’s the only returnee. He had 597 receiving yards at 8 yards per target, and his 49 percent success rate second-best of that six-man bunch. He peaked with seven catches for 99 yards in the win over Pitt and seven for 91 in the bowl loss to Stanford. The only other wideouts with more than three catches last year: former walk-on and potential possession extraordinaire Thomas Jackson (18 targets, 17 catches, 78 percent success rate last year) and Jordan Cunningham (10 targets, six catches, 82 yards).

Tackle Bentley Spain and guard R.J. Prince have combined for 35 career starts, and sophomore guard Tommy Hatton added an extra eight last season. They are joined by Florida graduate transfer Cameron Dillard and USC graduate transfer Khaliel Rodgers, plus a smattering of former star recruits — sophomore William Sweet, redshirt freshman Jay-Jay McCargo, freshman Jonah Melton, etc. In theory, there’s a nice starting five.

Oh right, running backs. Hmm. Auburn grad transfer Stanton Truitt rushed 31 times for the Tigers last year as a part-time RB/WR. Sophomore Jordon Brown gained just 45 yards in 20 carries last year. True freshmen Michael Carter and Antwuan Branch are options. Aaaaaand I’m not sure what else.

The run game will probably regress, which will put Trubisky-level pressure on the new passing corps. That doesn’t usually translate to success.

Defense

Former defensive coordinator Gene Chizik was really good at a couple of specific things. His Tar Heel defenses prevented big plays, waited for you to make a mistake, and then pounced, usually on passing downs. They were bend-don’t-break to the core, ranking 97th in success rate and 19th in IsoPPP (which measures the magnitude of the successful plays).

It’s hard to create an elite defense with those principles, but when you’re trying to restore credibility, it’s a good place to start. Before you can win (make stops), you have to figure out how not to lose (suffer big breakdowns), right?

UNC improved from 110th in Def. S&P+ pre-Chizik to 72nd in 2015 and 44th in 2016. But the 55-year old stepped aside to spend more time with his family, leaving John Papuchis to figure out how to keep pushing the defense forward.

The 39-year-old is a Bo Pelini disciple who spent 2008-10 as Nebraska’s defensive ends coach and 2012-14 as NU defensive coordinator. His last Husker defense ranked basically the same as UNC’s last year, but the Huskers ranked a more balanced 43rd in success rate and 56th in IsoPPP. They gave up more big plays but created far more turnover chances. And they did that with an ultra young front.

Jeremy Brevard-USA TODAY Sports

Malik Carney

Chizik had to deal with something similar last year. Among the 14 combined linemen and linebackers who recorded at least 8.5 tackles in 2016, six were sophomores, and three were freshmen. That didn’t do the Heels too many favors — they were 72nd in Rushing S&P+, 95th in rushing success rate, and 120th in stuff rate (run stops at or behind the line) — but assuming a normal developmental curve, that could mean improvement.

End Malik Carney recorded 8.5 tackles for loss and 5.5 sacks last year, while tackles Jeremiah Clarke and Aaron Crawford appear to have potential as boulders in the middle. Meanwhile, junior linebackers Cole Holcomb and Andre Smith and senior Cayson Collins combined for 15 TFLs and eight breakups. If younger players like ends Jason Strowbridge and Tomon Fox and linebacker Dominique Ross live up to flashes of potential, the front seven could be fun. And if it isn’t, it probably will be in 2018.

Photo by Streeter Lecka/Getty Images

M.J. Stewart

The secondary was dealt a tricky hand in having to compensate for such an inexperienced front seven. Opponents far preferred run to pass, rushing 68 percent of the time on standard downs (13th in FBS) and 45 percent on passing downs (second). And the return of safety Donnie Miles and corner M.J. Stewart gives the Heels a couple of anchors in the back once more.

Chizik didn’t employ a large rotation in the back, and the loss of safety Dominquie Green and corner Des Lawrence hurts. Even with Miles and Stewart, UNC will rely on youngsters — some combination of marginally tested juniors (Corey Bell Jr., J.K. Britt), sophomores (Myles Dorn, Patrice Rene, K.J. Sails, D.J. Ford), and freshmen (Myles Wolfolk, Greg Ross, C.J. Cotman, Tre Shaw).

The run defense better improve, but the timing might be right for Papuchis to dial up the aggressiveness.

Special Teams

First, the good news: punter Tom Sheldon is back. The 6’3 sophomore was a first-year hit, averaging 42.7 yards per kick with a good fair catch ratio and a 70 percent punting success rate (14th in FBS). Odds are decent that UNC will be punting more, and Sheldon could give the Heels a field position bump.

Now the bad news. No more Ryan Switzer (seven career punt return touchdowns). No more T.J. Logan (four career kick return touchdowns). No more Nick Weiler (7-for-10 on FGs longer than 40 yards last year).

UNC ranked ninth in Special Teams S&P+ last season, and unless Weiler’s replacement is amazing, there’s almost nowhere to go but down.

2017 outlook

2017 Schedule & Projection Factors

Date Opponent Proj. S&P+ Rk Proj. Margin Win Probability 2-Sep California 55 5.5 63% 9-Sep Louisville 14 -9.0 30% 16-Sep at Old Dominion 93 11.7 75% 23-Sep Duke 65 6.6 65% 30-Sep at Georgia Tech 31 -4.6 40% 7-Oct Notre Dame 17 -5.7 37% 14-Oct Virginia 70 9.4 71% 21-Oct at Virginia Tech 25 -7.0 34% 28-Oct Miami 18 -4.5 40% 9-Nov at Pittsburgh 33 -3.8 41% 18-Nov Western Carolina NR 38.8 99% 25-Nov at N.C. State 27 -5.4 38%

Projected S&P+ Rk 38 Proj. Off. / Def. Rk 59 / 32 Projected wins 6.3 Five-Year S&P+ Rk 6.9 (41) 2- and 5-Year Recruiting Rk 29 / 24 2016 TO Margin / Adj. TO Margin* -2 / 7.4 2016 TO Luck/Game -3.6 Returning Production (Off. / Def.) 41% (19%, 64%) 2016 Second-order wins (difference) 8.5 (-0.5)

UNC is experimenting with a newfound sense of normalcy, and it’s looked good in baby blue. But when you reach this top-30 level, one of two things tends to happen: you either upgrade, or you deal with bumps in the road. Recruiting isn’t changing much, so when experience isn’t distributed quite right, there will be setback years.

UNC will almost certainly regress, with this much offensive turnover, but whether the Heels fall to 35th or 55th or 75th will set the bar. Adding Harris helps to assure a higher floor, but if one of the younger guys beats him out for the starting QB job, that might not be the worst thing, long-term.

From Cal in the opener to NC State to finish the regular season, UNC’s season will be filled with relative tossups and ups and downs. The potential UNC shows will say a lot about Fedora’s ability to keep normalcy in Chapel Hill.

Team preview stats

All power conference preview data to date.