#And Aziraphale would be friends with Brian May

[thewomanwhoboughttheworld]

I reckon it is widely accepted that Crowley and Freddie Mercury were, at the very least, besties, sometimes lovers, sometimes had a fling or dated. But I have feelings and headcanons nobody asked for that I have to share.

They met while Freddie was still in college. Freddie saw Crowley, drew a quick sketch of him and got up and gave it to Crowley. "I promise I will draw you a better one, dear." He never did, but Crowley still keeps the drawing and miracled it to always look like just made.

Crowley never really liked Mary Austin. He didn't like her when she was Freddie's girlfriend and always found a way to inconvenience her. He still doesn't like her, especially after she put Freddie's belongings up for auction. He liked Jim Hutton, however.

Freddie kissed Crowley first. It was after a rehearsal of one of Freddie's early bands, Crowley was giving him his feedback. Freddie just leaned in and kissed him. He avoided the demon for the following two weeks as he was confused (he still hadn't realised he liked boys) and felt embarrassed.

Even though they were both adamant that there were no feelings involved, they both deeply cared for each other. Neither would admit it, saying they were only friends who (more than) occasionally hooked up, but they both knew there was more. However, Freddie fell a bit harder even though he knew Crowley wasn't in love with him. It did hurt a bit, but he was eventually fine with it.

Freddie actually knew about Crowley and Aziraphale being a demon and an angel. Crowley told him one night while they were both drunk and then Freddie remembered and asked him. Crowley tried to deny it, but Freddie insisted so much that in the end, he decided to tell him everything as he knew Freddie wouldn't tell anybody. And he never did, he treated this like his own secret.

The first time Freddie saw Crowley's eyes, Crowley thought he would be scared. But Freddie just said: "I know they're snake eyes, but they remind me of my cats. And what a lovely colour, darling. Yellow's my favourite, you know?".

Crowley ranted A LOT about Aziraphale to Freddie. He was always going on about how much he hated his being a goody-two-shoes, how infuriating his constant reminding him that he was actually a good person and how the fuck can 6000 years be too fast? Freddie just smiled because he knew. He could see how much Crowley loved that angel. It broke his own heart, because he knew he could never be loved that much, but never said a word.

Freddie did write a lot of songs about Crowley and Aziraphale. Obviously Good Old Fashioned Lover Boy, but also Crazy Little Thing Called Love, Somebody to Love and many more. Spread Your Wings is specifically about Crowley and he knew. But what Freddie would never tell anyone, a secret that he brought to the tomb with him, is that he wrote Love of My Life and You Take my Breath Away for him. (told you that Freddie was in love, my poor baby suffered too much in his life).

Freddie taught Crowley how to play the piano.

Crowley auctioned for some of Freddie's belongings. He got some kimonos, some handwritten sheets and his piano. He couldn't let anyone else have it.

Crowley never really left Freddie's side. He was always that mysterious, dark and handsome man showing up especially when Freddie needed someone. People eventually accepted it as part of Freddie's charm as he was always so secretive about his personal life.

Freddie let himself be vulnerable only around Crowley. Just as Crowley took off his glasses with him, Freddie allowed himself to cry only those times in which they were alone. He cried in Crowley's arms so much when his illness was worsening, when he was scared of how much he would have suffered. One night it got so bad that Freddie was basically begging Crowley to end his suffering and Crowley had to perform a miracle so that he could sleep. Neither brought it up ever again.

When Freddie died, Crowley was there with him. He gave Freddie just enough life to allow him to say some words. "You promised me you wouldn't come," Freddie told him. "I'm a demon, I lied" replied Crowley with a broken voice. He then sat on the bed and stayed with him until the very last moment. Aziraphale was there too. He followed Crowley without telling him because he felt he needed him. Aziraphale took away Freddie's suffering so that he could go without pain.

That same night, Aziraphale tried to persuade Crowley to stay at his library because he thought Crowley needed a friend. Crowley refused, hopped on his Bentley and drove away. He parked in front of his apartment building and found a used packet of cigarettes and an old pair of sunglasses that belonged to Freddie in his car. As the radio passed Love of my life, he couldn't hold it anymore and burst into tears. He cried hard, really hard. He felt a familiar hand on his back but didn't look and didn't ask. Aziraphale never said anything either and didn't leave until Crowley stopped crying but before he could be seen. He remembered how much it hurt and didn't want Crowley to grieve alone.

Master post: here

#I am deeply sorry for the last ones #Or maybe I'm not that sorry #I just love the idea of them together for a while #I mean Freddie and Aziraphale have some things in common #And Aziraphale would be friends with Brian May #Good omens #good omens headcanons #crowley #good omens s2 #good omens #good omens 2 #aziraphale #ineffable idiots #ineffable husbands #freddie mercury #crowley angst #good omens season 2 #queen #good omens spoilers

[ineffable-rohese]

Neil's picks for Aziraphale & Crowley's Angelic Playlist were Cry Me a River (Julie London), The Book of Love (Peter Gabriel), and The Show Must Go On (Queen).

Three songs. Two about the aftermath of a break up, and one about coming together in love. So very clearly, we can infer a Crowley POV song, an Aziraphale POV song, and a song for the two of them and their happily ever after. (Song lyrics for all three after the cut for reference.)

The Book of Love is a perfect wedding song. It's a song to play under two people declaring their desire to spend eternity together. With lines about dancing and reading and it's perfect. It's originally a Magnetic Fields song that was released in 1999. Peter Gabriel recorded a cover in 2004 for the movie Shall We Dance about which I know nothing but the Wikipedia summary. But since we know how movies are important here... It's a standard rom-com with a bored Richard Gere secretly taking up ballroom dancing after following a pretty lady from the train (J-Lo). His wife (Susan Sarandon) thinks he's cheating, turns out nope, just dancing, drama ensues, he gives up dancing but eventually his wife becomes supportive and he realizes he loves his wife. And dancing. And they live happily ever after, with both of them getting what they want. Maybe we can draw some parallels here? But I think the song speaks for itself better than its connection with what sounds like a standard early 2000s romcom.

The individual songs are where it gets interesting.

Cry Me a River was first released by Julie London in 1951, but became popular after she sang it in the 1956 film The Girl Can't Help It starring Jayne Mansfield as an aspiring rock 'n roll singer. Again, relying on Wikipedia here, but there is an interesting bit about a blossoming forbidden relationship, wiretapped phones, and someone editing the recordings to keep the love affair secret. But again, it's probably a stretch to look too deeply into the movie.

The song has a very classic jazz feel. It's from a decade and a half later, but if you were, say, an angel who enjoyed Moonlight Serenade or A Nightingale Sang in Berkley Square, it has a similar feel. You definitely wouldn't say it's bebop. The lyrics are about someone who was in love and had their heartbroken. Their former love (who never shed a tear over the break up) has returned and wants to make up. The singer essentially says "you love me? Prove it. Cry me a river like I cried when you left." Which, fair, but in our context, ouch.

The Show Must Go On is a Queen song, and we know how much Queen we hear in association with Crowley in particular. But this just isn't any Queen song. It was written by Brian May about Freddie Mercury's struggles as he neared the end of his life, and it was recorded in 1990. (Coincidentally or not, the year Good Omens was published, a book co-created by friends, one of whom would die too soon, and the other of whom would reflect on his friend's end of life struggles as the story was told more fully. Yes, I'm crying about this.)

In the song, the singer is fighting to reach a place of freedom, away from empty spaces and heartbreak. They are fighting with pure will, and even though their heart is breaking they smile and carry on because the show must go on.

What I really appreciate here with the POV songs, is that they are cross-coded. Queen is Crowley-coded, but the song about someone fighting through heartbreak to achieve something vital, while forcing a smile for the audience? That's absolutely Aziraphale in Heaven. And the 40s/50s jazz ballad is absolutely Aziraphale's style, but the jilted lover who may be willing to give their love a second chance but needs to see proof that the lover cares as much as they do is Crowley all the way.

It's almost like... Well it's almost like even in their separation, they are each carrying a piece of the other. The book of love has music in it, indeed.

The Book of Love

The book of love is long and boring No one can lift the damn thing It's full of charts and facts, and figures And instructions for dancing But I I love it when you read to me. And you You can read me anything.

The book of love has music in it In fact that's where music comes from Some of it's just transcendental Some of it's just really dumb But I I love it when you sing to me And you You can sing me anything

The book of love is long and boring And written very long ago It's full of flowers and heart-shaped boxes And things we're all too young to know But I I love it when you give me things And you You ought to give me wedding rings

Cry Me a River

Now you say you're lonely You cry the whole night thorough Well, you can cry me a river, cry me a river I cried a river over you

Now you say you're sorry For bein' so untrue Well, you can cry me a river, cry me a river I cried a river over you

You drove me, nearly drove me out of my head While you never shed a tear Remember, I remember all that you said Told me love was too plebeian Told me you were through with me and

Now you say you love me Well, just to prove you do Come on and cry me a river, cry me a river I cried a river over you

The Show Must Go On

Empty spaces, what are we living for? Abandoned places, I guess we know the score, on and on Does anybody know what we are looking for?

Another hero, another mindless crime Behind the curtain, in the pantomime Hold the line Does anybody want to take it anymore?

The show must go on The show must go on, yeah Inside my heart is breaking My makeup may be flaking But my smile, still, stays on

Whatever happens, I'll leave it all to chance Another heartache, another failed romance, on and on Does anybody know what we are living for? I guess I'm learning I must be warmer now I'll soon be turning, round the corner now Outside the dawn is breaking But inside in the dark I'm aching to be free

The show must go on The show must go on Inside my heart is breaking My makeup may be flaking But my smile, still, stays on

My soul is painted like the wings of butterflies Fairy tales of yesterday, grow but never die I can fly, my friends

The show must go on The show must go on I'll face it with a grin I'm never giving in On with the show I'll top the bill I'll overkill I have to find the will to carry on On with the show Show Show must go on, go on, go on, go on, go on, go on, go on, go on

#ineffable playlist #good omens #good omens meta #ineffable lovers #ineffable divorce #queen #peter gabriel #julie london #neil gaiman #terry pratchett

[mrhyde-mrseek]

We all know demons are associated with animals: Crowley with snakes, Beelzebub with flies, Dagon with fish, etc. But what about angels, or humans?

In other words, I’m bored and I like speculating on symbolic associations of characters.

(Note: I didn’t include Sandalphon because try as I might, I could not think of an animal that reminds me of him. Like, at all.)

Aziraphale: A lion.

Aziraphale is a guardian by nature, and while he’s quite peaceful most of the time, he‘ll do whatever it takes to protect the people he loves. Lions are associated with protection, and I also think their big floofy manes suit our favorite angel very well.

Gabriel: An ice pigeon.

I’ve seen so many people associated Gabriel with pigeons, and I used to think, “no, wouldn’t a peacock be more fitting? They’re so pompous-looking and flashy!” until my dumb ass finally remembered that they were (are?) used to carry messages. Whoops. But I chose an ice pigeon specifically because I found a picture of one with gorgeous silver-grey feathers that just screamed Gabriel.

Michael: A secretary bird.

There’s not much of an analytical reason behind this choice, they just LOOK like Michael. They’re also apparently called killer queens and stomp on their prey to kill it, which also seems like a Michael-ish thing.

Uriel: A barn owl.

I think Uriel is associated with wisdom (I’m not religious and I’m relying purely on Google for this stuff). Barn owls are one of Athena’s symbols, Athena being the goddess of wisdom. By extension, barn owls (or owls in general, I suppose) are also associated with wisdom.

Anathema: A black cat.

This one was pretty obvious. Black cats have deep ties with witches, and are seen as omens of misfortune. According to the dictionary, the word anathema means “someone or something intensely disliked or loathed” or “one that is cursed by ecclesiastical authority.” I think this one speaks for itself.

Newt: A Labrador Retriever.

Newt’s always given me dog person energy (although would he ever own a dog?). Now, I have a dog who’s part Lab, and like Newt, he’s very sweet, but also very accident-prone. Labs are smart dogs, and Newt is a total computer geek. He just . . . likes electronics way more than they like him.

Adam: A dog.

What breed? Any breed, though probably a terrier because of Dog. Dogs represent loyalty and trust, and although Adam was meant to conquer the world, all he ever wanted was Tadfield. He loves his home and his friends, and would do anything to keep them around.

Pepper: A honey badger.

Honey badgers are vicious. They may be small, but when cornered, the will savagely attack whatever predator has cornered them. Pepper is prepared to fight anyone who threatens her or her rights—even the literal embodiment of war herself—which is pretty badass, if you ask me.

Wensleydale: An elephant.

Wensley is the most studied and matter-of-fact of the Them, and frequently spouts his knowledge to his friends. Amongst other things, elephants symbolize wisdom and memory. They’re unbelievably clever creatures, having the largest brains of any land animal, and have also been proven to have excellent memories.

Brian: A bear.

While I was tempted to say a dog for Brian as well, as dogs represent loyalty, I settled for a bear. Bears symbolize friendship. If I’m remembering correctly, Brian’s narrated introductions begins with, “Everyone needs a Brian.” He’s a sweet boy, and is incredibly devoted to his friends.

(I’m going to make the Horsepeople their own post because I was going to include them here, but I hit the photo limit.)

#good omens #aziraphale good omens #gabriel good omens #archangel gabriel #michael good omens #archangel michael #uriel good omens #archangel uriel #anathema #anathema device #newton pulsifer #newt pulsifer #adam young #pepper good omens #wensleydale good omens #brian good omens #the them #animal symbolism #animals #good omens headcanons

[suavissimapenna]

20 questions for fic writers

Tagged by @andromeda4004 Thanks, friend!

How many works do you have on ao3?

Five at this point!

What's your total ao3 word count?

24,657 (though I'm currently writing a WIP that will probably double this for the Fairy Tale GO Bang).

What fandoms do you write for?

Good Omens, though technically I cross listed one of my fics to the Queen fandom.

Top five fics by kudos:

I feel like I'm cheating since this is all of them so far, lol.

Say the Word (T, 5k words) The aforementioned Queen fic where Aziraphale helps Brian May with his astrophysics research and Crowley makes a deal with Freddie Mercury.

Like an Angel (T, 1600 words) The classic "heard a Hozier song and wrote this in an hour" fic. A fluffy snippet Aziraphale and Crowley in the Garden ft. tender wing grooming.

Break Up, Break Through (T, 2k words) Post S2 reaction fic. The Bentley has enough of Crowley's moping, which it communicates in song and by kidnapping him back to Soho. Maggie and Nina have to deal with a maudlin demon.

Here I Am (G, 6k words) My first multi chapter fic AND my first AU. This is the first installment in a Church AU series with Priest!Crowley and Aziraphale as the music and liturgy director of the parish. Crowley arrives at the Church of All Angels, Tadfield as the new interim priest. Chaos ensues.

The Fellowship of Christian Minds (T, 10k words) The second installment in the Church AU. Crowley and Aziraphale learn how to work together amid church drama, parishioner gossip, and their own foibles.

Do you respond to comments?

Yes! I love getting responses from authors, so I do my best to respond.

What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

Break Up, Break Through is the closest to angsty I've got, though I tried to give it a hopeful vibe. I don't like to leave things on an angsty note, ha!

What's the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

Say the Word has the happiest, fluffiest ending, with a reference to "Good Old Fashioned Lover Boy" as "their song."

Do you get hate on fics?

No, not so far! I hope it stays that way tbh.

Do you write smut?

I've been too scared to so far, though I can see myself working up to it in the future.

Craziest crossover:

Does the Queen fic count as a crossover? If so, that's all I've got in that arena. I suppose you could characterize the Church AU as influenced by The Vicar of Dibley in terms of vibes, though it's not an official crossover.

Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Not that I know of!

Have you ever had a fic translated?

No, though I would love it if someone wanted to!

Have you ever co-written a fic before?

No, it's just been me so far. I think it would be fun to do at some point!

All time favorite ship?

The Ineffables are apparently my ride or die forever. I can't let them go!

What's a wip you want to finish but doubt you ever will?

I don't have any languishing WIPs because I don't really let myself start things I don't plan to finish, at least so far. I've only been writing fic for about a year now, though, so there's always a possibility.

What are your writing strengths?

I'm really pleased with my references and throwbacks to canon, generally, especially in AUs. I like to think I'm good at dialogue and getting character voices right, though that's so subjective. I know I can hear them saying it in my head when I'm writing, and I hope that translates!

What are your writing weaknesses?

I'm still figuring out how plot works, and making the transition from more argumentative writing to fiction has been a fun challenge! My beta reader has helped me edit out "thesis statements" from my fics, lol.

Thoughts on dialogue in another language?

I'm here for it! I'm not verbally fluent in another language, but I have reading knowledge of several dead ones (see my Latin usernames). I love a bit of multilingualism, though I worry that Latin in particular will either come off as pretentious or like I'm summoning a demon on accident.

First fandom you wrote in?

I wrote some for Tamora Pierce's Immortals series back in the FF.net days. I'm such a sucker for a heroine who can both talk to animals and shapeshift into them.

Favorite fic you've written?

Why do I have to choose??? Say the Word will always have a place in my heart as the one that got me into writing for fun again, and for how well my research on it helped it come together! I'm also really enjoying writing the Church AU because it's such a self-indulgent one for me. I do love all the priest smut in the fandom (and there is A LOT of excellent priest smut), but as I was reading it I wanted more of a look into the day-to-day hilarity of church life, so I decided to be the change I wanted to see in the world.

No pressure tagging: @noodlefrog-omens @sodiumazideandothertoxins @mirjam-writes and anyone else who wants to answer!

#fic writing #Ask game #good omens fanfiction #good omens fanfic #my fic

[godfrey-the-chaos-duck]

Sooo I wrote a Good Omens oneshot for Halloween cause I'm excited for Season 2 coming out next year (it feels like so far awayyyy)

Here, take this thing I wrote.

"Crowley, are you quite sure about this?" Aziraphale asked, fretting as per usual. "Oh, come on, Angel, it's only for fun," Crowley smiled, "And besides, after the whole body-swap thing, this'll be a walk in the park!"

Crowley adjusted his plastic halo, while Aziraphale admired his new devil horns with a faint smile on his face. Aziraphale had never celebrated Halloween before (he'd always been worried about getting into trouble with Heaven for "occult practices") but the idea of dressing up and eating sweets seemed rather fun. He and Crowley had decided to keep things simple this year and simply trade places. The angel dressing as a demon, and vice versa.

"Damn, I forgot how good I looked in white..." Crowley muttered to himself, admiring the pristine robes he had made. Aziraphale had insisted that they both make their own costumes by hand - no miracles allowed. So Crowley looked rather like he'd gotten tangled up in a king-size bedsheet. Aziraphale had learned sewing and haberdashery in the gentlemen's club (and from that lovely group of Roman women who had first introduced him to the art) and so his custom-made black and red suit looked perfect. "Ooh, Crowley, isn't this flattering?" Aziraphale giggled, "I designed it after your suits, dear." Crowley turned away and blushed scarlet. "You - you look great, Angel," he stuttered.

"Ah! Crowley, I've had an idea," Aziraphale suggested, a seldom-seen glint of mischief in his eyes. "Go on..." Crowley liked where this was going. "What if we introduce ourselves as each other and see how long it takes for people to notice?" the angel finished, before bursting out laughing. "Now that sounds like the kind of great plan I can really get behind," Crowley said coolly. "Now, come on! We have to get to Tadfield Manor or we'll be late for the costume contest!" Aziraphale started fretting when he saw that it was almost nine o'clock. "Easy there, Angel, the night is young," Crowley reassured him, "We can take our time. I may have, ah... arranged things so that late entries still count." "Crowley, you're the best!" Aziraphale squealed, throwing his arms around the disguised demon. Then the two walked out to Crowley's Bentley and drove off.

"You made it!" came the giddy voice of Anathema Device. She was wearing a pointed hat, a black cloak, sleek satin gloves and pointy-looking boots. "Oh - you're a witch," Crowley said, "Because-" "Yep," Anathema nodded, "I never really got into the stereotypes, but I wanted to have a little fun tonight. And look at Newt!" A man walked over to them, wearing a long black coat, a white frilly shirt, tight trousers and shoes with buckles on them. He was also wearing a long wig tied into a ponytail, but his square glasses gave away his identity immediately. "I'm Dick Turpin," Newt said giddily, "Like my car. Do you like it?" Crowley rolled his eyes behind his silvery reflective sunglasses, which he had worn for the occasion instead of his typical black ones. "Oh, don't be like that, dear," Aziraphale scolded him, "I think it's very witty." "Your costumes are hilarious!" Anathema laughed, "Crowley's the angel, and you're the demon - that's really cool."

The hall buzzed with excitement. Everyone was there; Crowley saw Adam and his friends dancing in the corner. Adam was dressed in a suit of plastic armour, Pepper had fake blood and torn clothes that absolutely screamed "zombie", Brian had a wizard's hat and cape, and Wensley was wearing a suit. He'd come as an accountant. Crowley suppressed his amused smirk; if there was an award for "Lamest Costume", Wensley would definitely win. Even Madame Tracy and Shadwell had come. Tracy's day-to-day "fortune-teller" look spoke for itself, while Shadwell had donned the uniform of Witchfinders from days gone by, which included a black hat that looked like he was wearing a bucket on his head. "Oh no," Anathema said jokingly, "A witch-hunter! I hope he doesn't burn me at the stake!" "Ah, unfortunately, I'm out o' that line o' business," Shadwell sighed, "But I'll be keeping a sharp eye on you!"

"Guys, they're announcing the winners of the costume contest!" Newt said, and the hall fell nearly silent as a woman dressed as a nun walked up onto a stage with a microphone. "Thank you all for coming, everyone," the woman began, "And may I just say, our judges had a hard time choosing the winners because you all have such amazing costumes!" The list of names went on for quite some time. Even Newt was beginning to get bored. "And finally, the award for Cutest Couple's Costume goes to... A. Z. Fell and Anthony J. Crowley!" Aziraphale's eyes sparkled as he and Crowley walked up to the stage to recieve their little plastic medals. It wasn't much, but it was something. "Aren't they absolutely darling?" the woman asked, "It just goes to show you, love is for everyone. Congratulations, guys!" Crowley, with his dramatic flair, took a bow, holding his sunglasses in place to make sure they didn't fall off. As the two of them left the stage, they felt a warm sense of acceptance. They were officially a couple - and an adorable one at that.

#good omens #ineffable husbands #halloween #aziraphale #anthony j crowley #ineffable muffins #this was just an idea that happened so i wrote it #chaos duck writes

[infinitevariety]

May Your Days Be Merry

Having never been able to celebrate previously, Aziraphale and Crowley decide to embrace the festive season and make the most of their first December together since the world didn’t end.

Chapter Twenty Two: Friends & Family (AO3)

Aziraphale and Crowley have a visit from the friends they saved the world with.

It was mid-afternoon when the bell above the door tinkled and the whole atmosphere in the shop changed. Crowley had been there for over an hour already, helping Aziraphale get set up. Putting out nibbles, miracling up extra armchairs, and, who is Crowley kidding, mostly lounging on the sofa watching Aziraphale do all of that.

Multiple sets of footsteps can be heard making their way inside, along with a lot of muttering. Crowley watches as Aziraphale stands, wringing his hands over his waistcoat as he moves to greet their guests.

Crowley grabs his special tray of ‘Ferrero Rocher’ and goes after him.

“Hello everyone,” says Aziraphale.

“Aziraphale!” cry back a couple of familiar voices.

Before any other words can be exchanged there are several loud gasps and a one awed-sounding “Woah!” and then four shorter-than average people are dashing into the shop at large, running between bookshelves and around the spiral staircase.

“Please do be careful, children!” Aziraphale calls after them.

Crowley privately wishes Aziraphale good luck in getting the Them to listen to him.

Aziraphale sighs, seemingly giving it up as a bad job. He shares brief hugs with Tracy and Anathema, a hearty handshake with Newt, and a begrudging nod with Shadwell. Then he ushers everyone to the seating and snacks area.

As they pass, Crowley offers a smile in greeting along with his tray of ‘Ferrero Rocher’.

He gets an, “I don’t think so, love,” and a knowing smile from Tracy.

Anathema says, “No, thank you,” and eyes both Crowley and the tray suspiciously.

“I don’t like to eat in front of other people, if I can help it,” says Newt. But he plucks a chocolate from the tray and slips it into his pocket, so Crowley counts it as half a win.

Shadwell turns him down with a, “Ferrero Rocher are too fancy for my tastes, lad.” He then heads straight for the box of Heroes and digs in.

Crowley scowls, more than a little frustrated his prank isn’t going to plan. He wonders if Aziraphale has prewarned everyone—he had been a little too quick to acquiesce to the whole thing. Flouncing just a little because he’s grumpy, Crowley collapses onto the sofa, thankful to have it to himself.

Keeping himself low on the sofa and radiating an air of unapproachability, Crowley observes Aziraphale chatting animatedly with Tracy, Anathema, and Newt. He proudly shows off his collection of prophecy books, which Anathema shows a polite but unenthusiastic interest it. It doesn’t seem to upset Aziraphale even a jot. Tracy asks what predictions the books contain that have come to pass, and Aziraphale becomes a little flustered and changes the subject.

Crowley smiles privately to himself.

When the subject of Aziraphale’s computer comes up, Newt cranes he neck to get a glimpse of it in the back room.

“Is that a Amstrad PCW?” he asks, sounding not a little flabbergasted.

“I can’t remember what it’s called, but I did get it when it first came out in 1985. I’m not always so behind the times.” With this Aziraphale looks directly at Crowley with his eyebrows raised.

“I’ve not seen one of those outside of a museum,” says Newt.

Crowley chuckles and raises his eyebrows right back at Aziraphale.

“Does it still work?” Newt carries on, oblivious to the silent conversation between Crowley and Aziraphale. “Can I have a go on it?”

“Ah, no, Newt—that’s probably not a good idea.” Anathema curtails Newt’s excitement with her words and a gentle hand on his arm.

“Yeah, I suppose,” concedes Newt.

Aziraphale jumps when he hears a dull thud from somewhere towards the back of the shop.

“Children?” he calls. “Is everything all right?”

By ‘everything’ Crowley knows he means ‘my books’.

“It’s fine!” call back a chorus of four voices.

It does very little to settle Aziraphale’s nerves. Crowley can see his hands wringing a little tighter than usual.

“I’ll go check on them,” offers Anathema. “I’m sure they’re just antsy after being cooped up together in the back of Newt’s car all the way here.”

Aziraphale flashes her a grateful look and goes back to chatting with Tracy and Newt.

Shadwell seems to be oblivious to the conversation, busy wolfing down as many sweets and chocolates as he can reach. Within 20 minutes he’s leaning back in one of the newly miracled armchairs, eyes closed, mouth open, snoring like a trooper.

In an effort to tune out the sound, Crowley shifts his focus to the rest of the bookshop, and the children currently running around it. They appear to be playing some kind of fantasy game in which they’re trying to rescue an unspecified special old magical book from the evil clutches of someone or other. Crowley's can’t be sure on the details, but he doesn’t have to wonder where they got the idea of a special old book.

The game seems to run its course, with Pepper and Wensley defeating the evil henchmen (Adam and Brian), and ensuring the safety of The Book. Apparently worn out from their adventures, all four members of the Them come over and collapse on and around the sofa with Crowley. Pepper and Brian right beside him, Adam perched on the arm, and Wensley cross-legged on the floor.

“So, were you there when baby Jesus was born?” asks Adam.

“Not personally, but Aziraphale was.”

“And all the wise men and gifts and stuff, that all really happened?” Wensley speaks up from the floor.

“More or less,” says Crowley with a shrug. “Just don’t ask Aziraphale about the shepherds.”

Pepper is straight in with her own question. “Did God ask Mary’s permission to get her pregnant? Because if not that’s technically assault.”

“Pass,” Crowley says with feeling.

“If Jesus was walking on water and turning water into wine and things, why wasn’t he accused of witchcraft?” puts in Brian.

“He was, a bit, but—”

“But he was a man, and it’s mostly women who were accused of witchcraft because men are terrified of strong women and would have rather burnt them or drowned them if they couldn’t be kept under control.” Pepper crosses her arms to punctuate her point when she’s finished.

Adam, Brian, and Wensley turn from Pepper to Crowley.

“I mean… she’s not wrong,” admits Crowley.

Pepper lifts her chin proudly. Crowley grins, happy to admit, if only to himself, that he likes her.

Throughout the questions and answers, all four children reach for and idly munch on the many sweets and chocolates covering the coffee table.

Crowley clears his throat and casually asks, “Do any of you want a Ferrero Rocher?”

Four pairs of wide eyes stare back at him.

“Really?” asks Brian in a slightly breathy, disbelieving voice.

“Yes, really. Why?” He wonders if Aziraphale even told the bloody children.

“We’re not usually allowed them,” Wensley tells him.

“They’re grown up chocolates, apparently,” Pepper explains.

“My parents only have them for special occasions, like boring dinner parties and things,” adds Adam.

“Apparently we ‘wouldn’t appreciate them’,” finishes Brian.

All four of the Them roll their eyes in unison.

“Well, that’s absolutely rubbish,” Crowley tells them. “You should eat as many of these Ferrero Rocher as you want to.”

With matching grins of excitement, the children all reach for a chocolate. They hurriedly unwrap them, as though Crowley might change his mind and snatch them back again at any moment. It’s only a matter of seconds before the chocolates are stuffed unceremoniously into mouths.

Crowley is faintly thrumming in mischievous anticipation as he watching them all chomp down onto chocolate covered brussel sprouts.

As one, the children cry out in horror and disgust. Wensley immediately spits his back out into his bare hand. Pepper grabs the tray and drops hers off her tongue back to where it came from. Adam’s jaw hangs open with a look of despair on his face, but the sabotaged Ferrero Rocher remains in his mouth.

Crowley cackles wildly and idly wonders if he's put them off Ferrero Rocher forever. He kind of hopes he has.

Despite the joy his successful prank has brought to Crowley, there is still Brian, who continues to munch happily on his Ferrero Rocher. As everyone starts to realise he’s still eating they all look at him in shock.

Brian shrugs. "What? It's good!"

#good omens #good omens fic #ineffable husbands #ineffable husbands fic #ace ineffable husbands #ineffably festive #fic: may your days be merry #2020 advent ficlet challenge #i wrote this

[ineffablegame]

“It’s over. They’re not going to hurt you again.” :3c

I’m sorry this got so long!  Also at my Ao3.

-

Aziraphale is not, as a general rule, overly fond of children.

Oh, they’re wonderful, of course.  They’re wonderful as a concept.  Aziraphale may not be in Heaven’s best books, so to speak, but he still subscribes to their beliefs regarding children.  ‘For the kingdom of God belongs to those who are like these children,’ ‘you are all children of God,’ ‘the riches inherited by God’s children,’ et cetera.  Gabriel may have called Adam Young a brat, but Above is – at least officially – in favor of kids.

Broadly speaking, Aziraphale loves children.  He’s an angel, after all.  He loves everyone, and that includes children.

Less broadly – in the narrow confines of his beloved bookshop, for example – Aziraphale is happy to keep them at a distance.  So, when the Them show up at the front door on a cool, crisp day in late October, the angel is understandably alarmed.

“Hullo,” says Adam Young.  He holds the lead for Dog, who stands stock-still beside him, eyes flashing incarnadine.  Pepper, Brian, and Wensleydale flank him.  

Aziraphale fends off a full-body shudder with every scrap of angelic willpower he can muster.  Adam Young may be a normal boy at heart, but the rest of him remains very much the occult equivalent of ten million nuclear warheads.  The intensity of his focus is unsettling.

“A-ah,” the angel stammers.  “Adam Young. What a pleasant surprise.”

“Is that him?” Pepper demands.  She eyes Aziraphale, lip curling.  “He doesn’t look like a demon.”

“I never said he was the demon,” Adam replies. “He’s the demon’s friend.”

“Actually, I don’t think demons can have friends,” says Wensleydale.  “Because they’re evil.”

“Yeah.”  Brian wipes a mud stain – the origin of which is a mystery – on his shirt.  His eyes widen and he grins.  “Maybe he’s possessed by the demon?”

“Oh, I don’t think that’s quite the case,” Aziraphale fumbles.  He does wish the children would quiet down a little. If Crowley hears them speculating about who’s possessing who, he’ll never let Aziraphale hear the end of it. “You’re… looking for Crowley?”

“Uh-huh.”  Adam angles his gaze past Aziraphale, into the near-empty bookshop.  “He’s here, right?  We need to ask him for advice.”

“Whatever could you need—”  Aziraphale begins, only to fall silent as a familiar demonic presence crowds his senses. He turns and sees Crowley sauntering toward him.

“Angel, there’re a pair of tourists looking quite keen about the Ian Fleming books,” he says.  “I’d get them to clear out if I were you.  I keep telling you, move the Bond books to storage.  You might think they’re drivel, but they have some serious—”

Crowley looks back toward Aziraphale and catches sight of the Them. He draws up short.  “Oh!  Uh. Hey, um, kids.”

Pepper looks even less impressed than before.  “This is him?  Seriously?”

“Yeah.”  Adam strolls past Aziraphale into the bookshop with Dog and the Them in tow. Aziraphale watches the procession pass in bewilderment.

Pepper cuts straight to the point.  “We need you to teach us how to be devils.”

Crowley darts his eyes from the Them to Aziraphale and back.  “Um.  What?”

“For Halloween,” Adam clarifies.  “We’re going as devils.  But we don’t know how to act properly evil, so I thought, why not ask a real-life devil?”

“M’a demon, actually,” Crowley mumbles, apparently immune to the irony of Adam’s statement.  He considers the Them, head cocked.  Then, much to Aziraphale’s horror, he nods.  “Yeah, all right.  Why not.”

“Why not?” Aziraphale echoes.  “My dear, surely you can’t be—”  He freezes when Adam turns and pins him with a speculative look.  Mellowing, the angel stammers, “W-well, perhaps if you took your… er, tutelage outside…”

Adam shrugs.  “I dunno. I think right here is fine.”  He looks around the shop.  “Seems to me that you spend a lot of time here.  Might help you teach us better in your nat’ral environment, right?”

Aziraphale directs a withering look at Crowley, who averts his gaze.  “Uh.  I guess.”

“I really think…”  Aziraphale trails off; he knows when a battle is lost.  He threads his fingers together, knuckles white.  “Please be careful of the books.  They are quite valuable.”

He spins around and stalks toward the counter, intent on taking his wrath out on the first customer to cross him.

The next hour is an exercise in tolerance.  Crowley gets right down to the business of teaching the Them how to be proper demons, his gusto belying the apologetic glances he keeps shooting Aziraphale’s way.  From what the angel can gather in his covert eavesdropping, demonic work mostly amounts to being a nuisance.

“Another good—er, bad act of evil is never replacing the loo roll,” Crowley says. “That one’s a sure-fire win. Never fails to drive the humans mad.”

“I do that already,” Brian says proudly.  “And I never flush.”

Crowley winces.  “Yeah, you’re a proper demon, all right.”

“This is boring,” Pepper says.  “Don’t you do real evil stuff?  Like, killing people and all that?”

“There’s more to being evil than killing people,” Crowley says with startling patience.

“I don’t see why you want to celebrate Halloween at all,” Aziraphale says, stopping by their gathering with an armful of books – a clever pretext on his part, if he may be so bold.  “It’s only a new-fangled American holiday.”

“Actually, you can’t own a holiday,” says Wensleydale.  “America doesn't own Halloween.  Holidays are for everyone.  As long as they’re not religious.”

Aziraphale is sorely tempted to tell the little know-it-all to shove it, but Adam Young’s focus hones in on him with hawkish intensity, so he restrains himself.  “Of course,” he says coldly.

Brian plucks a book off the shelf and leafs through the pages.  “Is folding the corners demonic?  My parents hate it when I do that.”

“Ye—no,” Crowley says, catching Aziraphale’s warning glare.  “Nah, s’not really evil.  Nope.”

Adam glances between the angel and demon.  “Sounds right.”

Pepper looks at the book in Brian’s hand with disdain.  “Ugh.  Peter Pan is so sexist.”

Aziraphale’s temper slips its bonds.  “Don’t be ridiculous.  It’s a children’s book.”

“It is!” Pepper counters.  “It’s all boys doing the fun stuff and Wendy has to be like their mum!  And Tiger Lily—”

“What about this?” Brian says, clearly still stuck on demonic acts against literature.  He jams one finger up his nose and pulls it out, a yellow-green gobbet clinging to the dirty nail.  Then, much to Aziraphale’s horror, he smears the bogie on the inside cover of a first-edition Peter Pan.

“Crowley,” Aziraphale chokes.  He’s never fainted in his entire existence, but there’s a first time for everything.

Crowley, much to his credit, keeps a flimsy veneer of composure as he swipes the book from Brian’s hands.  “Books really aren’t the way to go,” he says.  Aziraphale feels the fabric of the universe pop a stitch and re-knit as the bogie dissolves into nothingness.  “Not enough people care about them.  The effect isn’t widespread.”

“Not enough—”  Aziraphale sputters, indignant, only to stop dead when he sees Dog sniffing a shelf with Intent.  “Adam, dear boy, if you could please take, ah, Poochie outside, I would appreciate it ever so much…”

Adam considers the former hellhound.  “Think I’ll keep him with me, thanks.  He’s not used to the big city.”

“There’s a fenced-in yard outside,” Aziraphale says, a trifle desperately.  There wasn’t one a moment ago, and miracling around the logistics of Soho was a trial, but the angel is growing more and more desperate.  “Surely it needs to relieve itself?”

“Nah,” says Adam.  “He’s properly trained.  He won’t make a mess.”

In a feat of truly miraculous timing, Dog cocks a leg and wees on the shelf. Aziraphale’s heartbeat slams in his temples.  Dumping his books on the nearest open shelf, he hurries over to the little beast, waving his hands at it.  “Oh, for pity’s sake!”

“Got it,” Crowley says quickly.  He miracles the puddle out of existence with a snap of his fingers.  “See?  Not a stain, angel.”

“Cor!”  Brian is amazed.  “Can you show us how to do that?”

“Actually, I don’t think we can,” says Wensleydale.  “On account of we’re not real demons.”

“Shoo!” Aziraphale hisses at Dog.  “Shoo, you—you little mongrel!”

“Hey,” Adam says, and while his tone is mild, the rumble of irritation that sweeps through the bookshop is not. Aziraphale should heed it, really he should, but he can’t stand idly by while children run riot and infernal dogs eject fluids in his shop.  He waves his hands closer at Dog, intent on fending him off.  Dog’s lips peel back in a snarl.

Crowley’s voice is strained.  “Angel—”

Too late.  Aziraphale shrieks as Dog’s teeth sink into his hand, flowering fires of pain.  He yanks his hand back and clutches it to his chest.  Dog growls, eyes glittering red.

“I’m sorry,” Adam hastens to say.  “I didn’t think he’d do that.”

“Actually, Mr. Fell,” says Wensleydale, “it was a defense mechanism. Little dogs like Dog have a high prey drive and you got into his space.  Actually, you should have known not to do that, because growling is a warning that…”

“Ugh!”  On the other side of the shop, Pepper tosses a book to the floor in disdain.  “The Iliad is even worse than Peter Pan! My mum says…”

“Look at this, Mr. Crowley!” Brian calls.  “See that book, with the fancy cover?  I bet I can hit it from all the way across the room!”  He hawks deep in his throat.

Aziraphale has never killed anything before, but, frantic, furious, and helpless, he suddenly sees the appeal of cold-blooded murder.  “That’s quite enough of that!”

The Them ignore him, and several things happen in swift succession.  Dog squats on the floorboards.  Pepper pulls a copy of The Odyssey from the shelf.  Wensleydale keeps talking.  Brian spits a wad of saliva and phlegm.

The few remaining customers vanish, dispatched outside the shop with no memory of the past few minutes.  A blazing white light erupts from Aziraphale and floods the room to press, incandescent, against the dust-coated windows.  The dowdy, bookish angel suddenly looms, menacing and full of holy wrath, flaming sword raised to strike.  His eyes glow with the searing heat of Heavenly justice.  Crowley cowers behind the nearest shelf; Dog cowers behind Adam’s legs; the Them stare, spellbound.  Brian’s loogie evaporates with a hiss like grease on hot metal.

“THAT IS QUITE ENOUGH OF THAT,” Aziraphale says.  His voice resonates, multiplied and overlayed like a screaming horde of berserkers.  “STEP AWAY FROM THE BOOKS, PLEASE.”

The Them obey.  They cluster around Adam, eyes wide, mouths ajar.

“NOW.”  Aziraphale sweeps the flaming sword toward the door, which obediently flies open.  “GET.  OUT.  OF MY BOOKSHOP.”

The Them look to Adam, who nods.  “Yeah.  C’mon, I think we learned enough.”  He leads them to the open door, ushers them out.  He gives the angel and the demon a thoughtful look.  “Sorry.  I’ll leave you two alone now.”

He leaves.  The door snaps shut behind them, locks clanking into place.  Aziraphale sags as the holy wrath leaves him, his sword – a mere illusion – melting into the air.  He feels ready to burst into tears.  Or to smite something.  He hasn’t decided which.

“Angel.”  Crowley’s voice is gentle, the tone one might use to soothe a wild creature.  “They’re gone.  It’s over.  They’re not going to hurt you again.”

Aziraphale wraps his arms around himself.  “Don’t tease.”

“Sorry.”  Crowley slinks closer, still wary.  “Gosh. I thought your lot were all for suffering the little children.”

Aziraphale sniffles.  “Well, my dear, I c-could only suffer so much.”

“Ah, angel.  There, there.”  Crowley’s tone is sneering, but the concern in his eyes is genuine.  “Let me see.”

“Wh-what?”

“Your hand.  That little beast got you good, didn’t he?”

“Oh.”  Aziraphale holds out his trembling hand.  “I-I suppose it did.”

Crowley’s fingers enfold him, delicate but sure.  Aziraphale stares at the floorboards as his vision swims and the demon presses gentle touches to the bite marks.  “Didn’t break the skin, but might as well…”

Aziraphale swallows thickly.  The pain evaporates in prickling warmth.  “Thank you.”

“Nnh.  No problem.” A beat.  “I’m sorry.  For letting them stay in the shop.”

“We didn’t have a choice, really,” the angel mutters.

“I don’t know.  Adam Young’s not all bad.”

Aziraphale mangles a laugh.  “I suppose not.  For an Antichrist.”

“Aziraphale…”

“I hate them, Crowley.”

“You’re an angel.  You don’t hate anything.”

“But they’re so loud! And messy!  And annoying!”

“They’re kids.  Trust me, adults are loads worse.”

Aziraphale sighs and wipes his eyes with one hand.  Despite having healed the bite, Crowley still holds his other hand, and he is reluctant to take it back.  “Oh, I know, dear boy.  Please don’t think less of me for it, my nerves are just so…”

“Don’t worry,” Crowley says.  “Tell you what.  Let’s close up shop and open up that Talisker you’ve got squirreled away, yeah?  The eighteen-year one.”

Aziraphale gives him a watery smile.  “My dear, that would be wonderful.”

They close the shop.  As Aziraphale locks the front door, another miracle sings through the air, a plucked harp string vibrating through reality.  He blinks, unlocks the door, and opens it.  A new sign has appeared.

‘No dogs allowed.’

The angel closes the door and locks it again.  He turns, beaming.  Crowley smiles back.

-

That Halloween, the Them go trick-or-treating as angels.

#flipwizardmcgay #good omens #ineffable husbands #good omens fanfic #word prompt #long post

[lady-divine-writes]

Shedding Facades (Rated PG13)

Summary: Afraid that their marriage might feel like a lie if he weds Aziraphale in his human form, Crowley makes a bold, last-minute decision … (2237 words)

Notes: Written to include @drawlight’s ‘31 Days of Ineffables’ prompt 'wrapping paper’.

Read on AO3.

“I object.”

Stunned silence follows – gaping mouths, bugged eyes, the comical expressions of an audience thrown for such a phenomenal loop, they may not even be standing on planet Earth any longer.

“You what now?”

“I … uh … I … object. I’m sorry.”

“H—how can you object!?” Anathema asks, strangling the book she’s holding in her hands as if it had spoken those blasphemous words instead. “This is your wedding!” She glares at Crowley, eyes broiling on behalf of her good friend, poor Mr. Fell, himself staring at his betrothed with the depth of shock that comes from discovering that every person you’ve ever known and loved has been executed all at once on the exact same day when their severed heads arrive on your doorstep by post, collect-on-delivery.

But that’s exactly what Crowley is doing – the evilest thing he’s ever accomplished as a demon.

Destroying Aziraphale’s world.

If he’d ever wanted to discorporate Aziraphale in an instant, those words at this particular moment would do it.

Crowley doesn’t look up to face the consequences, even though he knows he’s expected to. He’s been silently staring at his and Aziraphale’s joined hands since the ceremony began.

And that’s where his eyes stay.

“I can’t,” he repeats. “I can’t do this. I’m sorry, but I can’t.”

“Wha—what?” Aziraphale has plenty more to say, but when it comes down to it, that’s all that will come out. “What are you …?” He shakes his head, trying to rattle more words together, but he doesn’t succeed. “What?”

“I can’t do this,” Crowley says a bit more firmly. “I can’t marry you this way.”

“But I …” Aziraphale looks at the party gathered – an intimate group of their closest friends, linking hands and forming a circle around them, standing so close there would be no mistaking what Crowley just said.

He looks at the ridiculously elaborate venue Crowley had insisted upon; at the fairy lights strewn over everything that wouldn’t move to complement the miracled constellations over their heads; at an ocean of flowers covering every conceivable surface; at the banquet table full of gourmet food waiting to be eaten; at the red velvet runners, the golden candlesticks, the miles of white tulle; the string quartet, sitting in a far corner, waiting for their cue. And the cake – the twelve-tiered wedding cake humorously crafted to display the nine levels of Hell, each ring adorned with tormented souls rendered out of fondant, and a staircase leading up to Earth, with Heaven cascading above, an angel in white robes and a devil in black hovering in the accentuated space between.

Finally, he looks at the demon standing before him, gloriously handsome in a simple black tux and classic rose boutonniere, staring at him from behind Armani sunglasses.

At this point in the ceremony, which Anathema was officiating, they were a few short acknowledgements away from exchanging vows and saying their I do’s. Then they’d be dancing and laughing and cutting into that cake, which he’s heard tell is filled with pitch-black, dark chocolate ganache. He doesn’t know since, like everything else, he didn’t order it. Didn’t plan it at all. Crowley did. He planned this whole shebang, saw to every little detail.

But now Crowley says he can’t go through with it.

After giving absolutely no indication whatsoever that marrying Aziraphale was something he didn’t want to do, he’s saying no.

“I … I don’t understand,” Aziraphale stammers. “Why?”

“Because …” Crowley chuckles “… I’m not dressed for it.”

A pause, then nervous laughter hops from the throat of human guest to human guest, starting with Newt, infecting Madame Tracy, bypassing Shadwell but migrating through Warlock and Adam and the rest of The Them. The only two who have yet to see the humor are Anathema and Aziraphale.

“I don’t understand,” Aziraphale repeats, his voice straying its course, becoming pitchy and weak, only finding its strength in embarrassment. “You picked that tuxedo out yourself. If you didn’t want to wear it, I … what are you saying?”

Crowley sighs. This isn’t going well. Of course, when you object at your own wedding, things will tend to go downhill after.

“I mean me, Aziraphale. Not the tuxedo. Me.”

“Please explain,” Aziraphale begs, beginning to back away. But Crowley, holding his hands like his life depends on it, urges him back.

“Look at me, angel, and tell me what you see.”

“I see you, Crowley! The same you I’ve been looking at for over 6000 years!”

“And what does that look like?”

Aziraphale’s head continues to shake – desperation, exasperation, and every other –tion twisting it side to side. “Red hair, yellow eyes, pale skin, sharp nose and chin …”

“Right. My human form. But that’s not me. Not inside.” Crowley gives Aziraphale’s hands a squeeze meant to comfort him, but he’s far from there. “I’m very fond of my human form but … it’s wrapping paper. It’s not who I really am.”

“It is,” Aziraphale assures him, relaxing when he comprehends. “It’s the way you see yourself. It’s the way you want others to see you and that’s fine.”

“I appreciate you saying that. But this …” He gestures with his and Aziraphale’s hands towards his body “I … run deeper. I have no intention of giving this form up, but it doesn’t feel real to me when I’m about to pledge my life to you. It feels like a lie. And that’s not what I want. Not today.”

Aziraphale swallows hard, his confusion returning. “So, you don’t want to marry me?”

“Of course I do! But not this way.”

Aziraphale glances at their befuddled friends, concerned if Crowley means what he thinks he means … “But how do you intend …?”

Crowley leans in and gives Aziraphale a wink. “I’ve got a plan.” He lets go of Aziraphale’s hands and claps to get everyone’s attention. “Okay, ladies and gents! I’m going to need you all to back up about twenty paces! And … uh … just a head’s up, there’s a sixty-two percent chance that what I’m about to do might melt your brains.”

Fearful eyes snap Crowley’s way.  “What!?”

“Or make you go blind.” He shrugs. “Either way.”

“Are you joking!?”

“He has to be joking!”

“Is that a fire exit!?”

“Let’s go check!”

He does get a solitary, “Awesome!” from Warlock, who fishes his cell phone from his pocket, opens the camera app, and waits for the show to begin.

Aziraphale rolls his eyes. “Relax, everybody.” He snaps his fingers. From the constellations above, a sprinkling of silver and gold dust falls upon the onlookers, clinging to clothes and hair and faces till they look like they’re covered in stars. “There we go. Now no one’s brain is going to melt. You may have nightmares after, but I can fix that later on.”

“That’s a relief,” Tracy mutters sarcastically.

“But what about …?” Pepper nods pointedly over her shoulder at the two violinists, the violist, and the cellist watching the proceedings with interest.

“… the musicians?” Brian finishes. “They don’t know about you guys, do they?”

“They won’t see anything out of the ordinary. They think they’re watching a plain, old, normal wedding,” Aziraphale explains, bitter emphasis aimed at his groom. But as his world isn’t coming to an end, he feels free to joke. “They’ll come around right on time to play the wedding march.”

“Sounds good, I guess,” Wensleydale says, moving to hide behind Brian.

Aziraphale looks at Crowley, who has widened his stance, giving himself an invisible boundary for the guests to stay behind. “Are you ready, my dear?”

“Ready as I’ll ever be,” he replies, striking Aziraphale as more excited than he’s seemed all day. Crowley doesn’t like changing into his demon form. He’s always afraid he’ll forget how to change back so he avoids it when he can. So this must have been bothering him for a while.

All of today at least.

Crowley miracles away his glasses and closes his eyes.

The room falls deathly quiet, the human participants subconsciously widening their circle as they wait for something to happen. Only Anathema and Aziraphale remain inside, more prepared than anyone for what’s about to happen.

Crowley transforms by inches. His hair disappears, falling to the floor in clumps, the remainder oil-slick black. Wings erupt, glossy black feathers immediately shedding to reveal a thin, veiny membrane. Nails grow into sharp, curved claws. Bones elongate, joints popping as they widen to accommodate. He didn’t remove his clothes beforehand so the tearing of fabric is what the guests hear.

It covers for the less-palatable sound of tearing flesh.

Then there are the maggots. As much as he would hide them to lessen the impact on their friends, if he’s going to go through with this, he needs to go for broke. He feels them always, brimming beneath his human façade, squirming and rooting and otherwise being a nuisance. But he knows when they’re seen by the subtle grumblings of discomfort accompanied by the unsettling scritch of them falling to the carpet beneath his feet.

The tips of his wings hit the floor, signaling the end of his metamorphosis. The ache of splitting muscles and reshaping bones dies down, and he opens featureless black eyes. His full form with wings splayed is so cumbersome, it forces him to hunch, his spine curling into a jagged question mark.

It takes him a minute before he summons the courage to look at the faces of their friends watching him, see by their expressions what they think of him this way. It’s not as bad as he’d imagined. But then again, if it had been, he might not be able to call these humans friends.

“O…kay,” Newt whispers, but that’s all.

Madame Tracy throws a hand over her mouth - in disgust, Crowley imagines, but there are tears in her eyes and a wobbly smile on her lips.

Shadwell, who doesn’t know how to react, puts himself a step in front of her and gets his finger ready, just in case.

“Cool!” everyone under the age of thirteen says, unprompted and at relatively the same time.

Anathema clears her throat. “Good. Fine. Now that that’s resolved, may we continue?”

The demon Crowley, in his true demon form, limps towards his fiancé, one leg dragging with a grating nails-on-chalkboard noise, dulled for the humans by Aziraphale’s miracled star armor. Crowley stops in front of Anathema, swaying like a snake, balancing his weight on legs that should be too thin and brittle to support him.

“Where were we?” she asks, opening her book and doing her best to appear unfazed. She’d taken the liberty, after their Notta-pocalypse encounter, to study up on demons, learn everything she could about them, seeing as she was now personally acquainted with one. She’d read ancient texts, examined old drawings. She thought she was ready to face whatever Crowley might dish out.

She may have been wrong.

“The vows, I believe.” Aziraphale’s gaze never leaves his demon’s face. He raises a hand to it, cheeks damp and eyes moist.

“Of course. Who wants to go first?”

“I will,” Crowley snarls unintentionally, but he’s out of practice speaking through these pointed teeth and with this forked tongue.

Anathema nods, relinquishing the floor.

“Aziraphale,” Crowley hisses, “will you take me, me the way I truly am, to be yoursss – your ssspouse, your partner, your sssignificant other, for as long as we remain on this planet, in Heaven or Hell, or up in the ssstars? Even if …” And this is where he stumbles. Later, Aziraphale will reflect on this, come to the conclusion that this may have been what it was all about, what Crowley was sincerely afraid of “… for sssome horrible reassson, one day, I end up sssstaying this way? Will you marry me?”

Crowley reaches out skeletal claws and takes Aziraphale’s soft, pink hands in his.

Aziraphale stares into the stony black eyes of the demon looming before him. He’s never seen Crowley like this. In all the years they’ve spent as friends, Crowley as a demon, as a monster, is something Aziraphale never had to witness. On the flip side, Crowley has yet to see Aziraphale’s true form. But Crowley was an angel once. He would know what angels look like. It should be old hat to him.  

But Crowley is a sight to behold.

Aziraphale doesn’t speak, doesn’t nod, doesn’t indicate an answer in any way. He is struck dumb not by Crowley’s physical form, but by his vulnerability – his willingness to expose the part of himself that he fears the most to not only Aziraphale, but their room full of friends, just so their marriage might not be deemed illegitimate.

Well, if Crowley is going all out, he might as well, too.

The seams of Aziraphale’s jacket rip. Rays of light bleed through, forcing them open. A set of white wings springs out from underneath, then another, and another, slicing through like scissors. The remaining fabric of his fine, white coat falls to the ground in a tattered heap at what should be his feet. But he has no feet since he is no longer human shaped. He is formless, wings and eyes surrounding the spiritual essence of the Principality Aziraphale.

He is a golden light. A holy light.

He is infinite.

And soon, he and Crowley will be infinite together.

“I will.”

#good omens #good omens fanfiction #ineffable husbands #31 days of halloween #aziraphale x crowley #crowley x aziraphale #frankie writes

[writer-levi]

Day 15: Perception

***extreme amounts of nerdiness***

"Your party approaches the dungeon gates. Dark wood and metal lurch as they swing open by themselves!" 

Adam's friends react with a hushed "ooo", a more baritone "ooo" of Aziraphale accompanying them. Crowley just at his chair, flipped backwards so he could cross his arms over the back and rest his chin there. He glanced over at Aziraphale through dark shades. 

"Aziraphale. It's a door." 

"Yes, but it's a magic door." 

Crowley opened his mouth, but shut it again. He wasn't going to get into the "but you're magic" rant again… and it was kind of cute to see Aziraphale so engaged in this odd game. He shifted his reptilian eyes towards the makeshift board, one Adam had designed and made by himself-- very obviously so. Well, he supposed it wasn't half bad. He would never have the patience for it. Just like now, with how this game seemed to drag. Adam had begged them to join because they needed more people, and Anathema and Newt had already said they were busy. They probably weren't and knew Aziraphale would give in to the pleading. Crowley reluctantly tagged along.  

But… Aziraphale was loving the tabletop game too much for Crowley to back out now. 

"The darkness awaits you behind the doors. A sound like a low growl comes up from the depths before going silent. What are you going to do?" 

Adam's friends start to murmur to each other, Aziraphale joining in. Crowley started to poke at his character on the board lazily. He was listening though. 

"Oh! I can make it light!" Aziraphale mentioned happily before Adam groaned. 

"No, I told you, remember? You're not you in this game. You're the elf cleric. And you don't have that kind of spell." 

"Oh… yes, of course." Aziraphale looked a little perplexed after that as he scanned over his character sheet. 

"We can ask who it is," Crowley teased, but the kids stopped to ponder. 

"Actually, that's not a terrible idea," Wesley mused. 

"It is a terrible idea! What if it's a monster and it doesn't know we're there yet!" countered Pepper. 

Brian stuffed some snacks messily into his mouth. 

"We could… oh, what's that word you used earlier… um, perceive!" Aziraphale beamed as he remembered. "May I roll perception?" 

"You don't have to ask so politely," Adam mentioned. 

"You can just say I'm rolling perception and roll," Pepper added. 

"Ah. Well then, I am rolling perception."

Aziraphale blinked at the dice before him before recalling the correct 20 sided and rolling. There was a collective gasp from the children. 

"Oh! 1! That's good, right? Like number 1?" 

"No, Aziraphale. I think that's very bad," Crowley pointed out as he saw the horror in the trios' face, and the pure glee in Adam's. He was interested now. 

"Alright, lot!" Adam chirped. "The elf cleric is convincing everyone that there is nothing to fear in there at all! He's pretty convincing! Roll wisdom saving throw."

"No, that's not fair! We didn't get a 1!" Pepper complained. 

"Actually, shouldn't we get a chance to roll perception?" Wesley questioned. 

"At least we'll get to kill monsters soon," Brian offered. 

Adam looked sternly at them. "Roll." 

The trio begrudgingly obeyed, and every one of them failed the save. Adam looked to Crowley. "You got to roll as well." 

Crowley shrugged his shoulders. "No, I think I'm just fine to believe him." 

Aziraphale smiled giddily and Pepper crossed her arms. "But what about your character?" 

Crowley smiled smugly at her. "Wot is she again, chaotic evil? She'll just go in after you lot get munched up." 

"I'll accept it," Adam said quickly, to move it along. Pepper pouted but didn't keep on. "You enter the darkness, unaware of the thing lurking in the shadows above you." 

In excited haste, Adam was already putting out the monster piece. Crowley cocked an eyebrow. 

"Unaware? It's right there." 

"But your character doesn't see it," Adam protested. Crowley could tell he was getting under the little anti-christ's skin a little and mischievously poked on. 

"Well, how big is it? Awfully big to not notice something's there just in the entryway." 

"It's too dark." 

Aziraphale entered the fray without really meaning for it to be a fray. "Oh, I really think I should be able to make it light. It's very simple to do, in reality." 

"Most people can't do that, in reality," interjected Pepper. 

"Can't we hear it breathe?" pushed Crowley. 

"No, it's too quiet," answered Adam, steely.

"Oh, is it undead?" asked Aziraphale sincerely. 

"Sure," said Adam. 

"That's not a yes or a no," Crowley mused. "Did you just make that up?" 

"I can make it up if I want to," answered Adam with eyes narrowed. 

"I thought  we weren't playing ourselves?" Crowley put the last nail in the coffin. 

And that was when Dungeon Master Adam killed off Lady Crowley the Warlock and Zira the elf cleric and banished them from the table top lands permanently. Just when it was getting good. 

#good omens #ineffable husbands #adam young #writober #fanfic #oneshot

[perhapsitmaybedragons]

Best Friends

Another 15 minute prompt sprint. More happy things. Yay!

“You can only have one best friend,” Crowley insisted. His arms crossed automatically, and he was a little annoyed to see Adam mirror the action.

“Well, maybe you can only have one best friend. I have three.” Adam tried to bring himself to full height. Crowley still towered over him. “Anyway, I don't see why it matters.”

“Because,” Crowley said through gritted teeth, “You have somehow convinced your mother I can take you to a movie and I am only letting you and one of your little hellion friends into my car.”

“You have room for all of us,” Adam insisted.

“The back seat only seats three.”

“So I sit up front!”

“That's angel's seat,” Crowley hissed.

“So? He's not coming anyway, is he?” Adam cocked his head to the side. “I just feel like Mr. Aziraphale wouldn't like Robo Zombies Rebellion.”

“He's not going to like it. That's part of the fun,” Crowley said as though it was the most obvious thing. “If we're to keep arguing like this can I at least come inside? If that RP Tyler guy catches me out here again he's going to start talking to me again and I'd like to avoid it.” the last conversation had been about Crowley's tattoo and how he definitely wouldn't be hired by any self respecting company so long as he had it.

Adam stepped back and let Crowley through the doorway. They both took seats at the kitchen table. “Look, people have best friends. That's what your lot do. You only get one. That's why they're … you know best.”

“All of the Them are my best friends,” Adam insisted. “Pepper's the best at punching, and Wensleydale's the best at talking the teachers out of making us stay late and Brian's the best at finding weird stuff and making messes.”

“Well, Brian got two things, so clearly he's the best.” Crowley suggested, then thought better of it. “Actually... Wensleydale. He's clearly the best.” Or the least messy, anyway, Crowley didn't add.

“Just cause you've only had one best friend this whole time doesn't mean I should have to limit myself. Maybe you should make more friends. Then you could have a few best friends instead of just the one.”

“Sure, fine. But seriously, kid, just pick one. We'll end up missing our showtime at this rate.”

“But they all want to see it! And I can make your backseat bigger-”

“Please don't talk about changing the Bentley,” Crowley winced. “It's not meant to have kids in it in the first place, especially not that many.”

“Would you give up your best friend?”

Crowley grumbled and put his face in his hands. “No,” he admitted. “But then, I only have the one. Like you said.”

“Anathema and Newt like you,” Adam offered.

“Joy.”

“I just mean, it might be nice to have another best friend,” Adam's smile was older than his eleven years now, “Especially cause sometimes you may need to complain about him. My mom says that...that dad's her best friend, but Ms. Viola is her best friend that she can complain about dad to.”

“Your parents are possibly a little too forthcoming with you-”

“And,” Adam continued as though he hadn't been interrupted, “If you have a lover's spat or ...row or whatever, you and Newt could go to the pub and drink, like my dad does with Mr. Williams sometimes.”

“Right,” Crowley stood up and gathered his keys. “Call your little friends, we'll all go.”

“Really?”

“Yes, yes, just hurry.”

Anything to end this particular conversation, Crowley thought to himself. He shot off a text to Aziraphale to let him know to expect them soon. He resisted the urge to throw it when he saw Aziraphale's response:

I told you he wouldn't pick among them, dear. I'll help you clean the Bentley out after we drive them all home from the movie tonight.

#Good Omens #World's on fire #write nice happy ficlets #Crowley #Adam #Adam Young #Aziraphale

[smallest-clown]

Good omens as things my friends say

Crowley: I’m disappointed. My maid put my denim jumpsuit in the wash and I can’t wear it out with you today.

Aziraphale: oh no

Aziraphale: this is terrible

Aziraphale: I’m so shocked

***

Brian: what type of spaghetti do you have? Is it the yucky one?

Pepper: it’s no name brand spaghetti.

Brian: yeah, but is it white?

Pepper: wow! Racist.

***

Crowley: I went into a church for 15 minutes once.

Aziraphale: 15 minutes?

Crowley: yeah

Crowley: said church burned down a month later.

Crowley: and everyone blamed me.

***

Newt: I have the immune system of someone from the 1600s. I may as well catch the black plague while I’m at it.

Newt: it is extinct so it would be pretty hard for to to catch it, but knowing me I’d somehow manage.

Anathema: knowing you? Yeah.

***

Crowley and Aziraphale: *cuddling in a field in a public park*

Aziraphale: people are staring.

Crowley: they probably think we’re fucking.

Both: *laugh*

***

Gabriel: y’know...snake boy and the angel.

***

Pepper: *petting dog*

Pepper, to Adam: you mad I stole your bitch?

***

Crowley: oh my god look at your plants

Aziraphale: what?

Crowley: look at how many dead leaves there are! Oh my god.

Crowley: *furiously starts grooming the plants*

***

Aziraphale: cuddles!

Crowley: no!

Aziraphale: *pulls Crowley into his lap* cuddles?

Crowley: no!

Aziraphale, basically cradling Crowley: cuddles.

Crowley: *sighs but leans into Aziraphale.*

***

Crowley: everyone thinks I’m a top!

Aziraphale: If only they knew how much of a whiny bottom you are.

***

Crowley: *cooking lunch* oh that’s what we forgot! Music!

Crowley: *somebody to love plays as he makes direct eye contact with Aziraphale.*

***

Anathema: you know what, I’m just basically a mom

Anathema: but I’m bad at moming.

***

Crowley: why do people thing I’m dating my friends?

Crowley: *laying in a field cuddling with Aziraphale while love songs by Hozier plays and Aziraphale puts flowers in his hair*

***

Adam: I may be small, but I’ll fucking kick your ass.

#good omens #things my friends say #crowley #aziraphale #good omens crowley #good omens aziraphale #good omens adam #good omens anathema #good omens newt #good omens gabriel #incorrect quotes #incorrect good omens #ineffable husbands

[the-trans-anon]

Idiots who don’t know if they’re married or not

Inspired by @mud-foot‘s comic

Adam and his friends had a bet. They were trying to figure out how long the angel and demon, that had helped him stop the end of the world, had been husbands, as they were obsualisly married. Pepper said about 100 years (she believed they were idiots who wouldn’t know someone loved them if it was on a sign taped to that person’s chest), Wensleydale said at least 1000 years (he believed that, as they had known each other for 6000 years, it made the most sense), Brian said 2222 (because he liked the number 2), and Adam said 666 (mainly because one of them was a demon and as he was the anti-christ he found it fitting).

All of them were eager to win as quite a bit of candy was on the line. The first person they went to was Anathema. She had decided to stay in town a bit long and was currently giving her boyfriend a lecture about government conspiracies when they found her. “And by the way,” She was saying as The Them walked into her house, “birds are a complete lie made by the government to spy and keep tabs on all of us.”

“Anathema!” Adam quickly cried so his brain didn’t start getting ideas to make all birds government spies. “Do you know how long Aziraphale and Crowley have been married? We’ve got a bet.”

“No idea, why don’t you ask them?”

“Ok, bye.”

“Bye. So like I was saying-” Adam quickly ran home and found his telephone, with his friends right behind him. He pulled out the paper the angel had given him (“In case you ever need me.”) and put in the number.

“Hello, this is Zira Fell may I ask who’s-”

“Hi Mr. Aziraphale it’s Adam. I had a question.”

“Of course! What-’”

“How long have you and Mr. Crowley been married?” The angel went quiet, and it was a little bit before he spoke.

“W-well you know.” He laughed nervously. “Um, we’ve been married for a little while the ah years just go right by for us.” Another laugh. “Well, um, it was nice talking to you Adam but I have to go bye.” He hung up. Adam put down the phone and his friends, who had been listening in, looked disappointed.

“So, does no one get the candy?” Asked Wensleydale.

“I think I should get the candy.” Said Peper. “After all I was right about them being idiots.”

“We’ll split up the candy, evenly. And if there’s one extra then Peper can get it.” Adam decided. The others decided this worked for them, at least they were still getting candy.

Aziraphale, meanwhile, was getting no candy and was currently panicking. “Are we married is that a thing?!” He mumbled, pacing back and forth and tugging on one on his wings. “Can humans sense when others are married? Did we accidentally get married one night and not even realize it?!” Aziraphale decided that only one other person could answer this question and a few seconds later was in Crowley’s flat.

“CROWLEY WAKE UP!” The demon fell out of his bed with a shirek and landed on his face. He quickly turned around to face the angel and twisted the sheets around him in the process.

“Azira what the hell?!” Crowley screamed.

“CROWLEY ARE WE MARRIED?”

“...um.”

“OH GOD WE’RE MARRIED.” The angel collapsed to the floor and pulled his knees up to his chest. His wings curled around him. “I’ve missed so many anniversaires! I’m such a bad husband!” He cried.

Shit. The demon tried to stand up, tripped on the sheets, tried to stand up again, failed, gave up, and just crawled over to the angel. “No no no no no angel you’re a great husband! I mean- you would be! If we were married! Which we aren’t! We never got married!”

Aziraphale sniffled, and wiped his eyes. “We didn’t?”

“No, we didn’t. Why did this even come up?”

“Adam asked me how long we’ve been married.”

“Oh...I see...you want some tea angel?”

“Tea would be nice.”

“A cup of tea comin’ up.” The demon head towards the kitchen, leaving the angel alone. Aziraphale smiled. Now that he thought of it, being married to Crowley didn’t sound too bad.

#this was written at midnight #i'm so tired #my writing #good omens #aziraphale #crowley #the them #aziraphale x crowley #ineffable husbands #fluff #crack #sort of

[zaxal]

14. eggnog

day 14 for @drawlight’s 31 days of ineffables prompt list!

sorry this took me so long to get to; i had standing projects to work on and the prompt wasn’t speaking to me until it suddenly did. i hope everyone has had a happy holidays!

the branch that bears the bright holly on ao3

wordcount: 1057

~

Aziraphale is ageless. He came into existence before time had, born into the endless expanse of creation. There’s no telling how old he really is.

Ordinarily, it’s simply a fun fact, something he shares with what few humans know him for what he really is. A cheery Did-You-Know about birthdays and star signs that he pulls out about as often as he does his magic act.

But sometimes — not often, but sometimes — he feels so terribly old.

His mobile pings four times in quick succession, and Aziraphale eyes it with disdain.

There are few things more annoying than feeling as though he must be constantly available. He’s never been one to listen to prayers, to behave as a guardian angel for specific people. He has played many parts over the course of Earth’s history: friend, lover, patron, muse, and, of course, guardian. If not for the whole ‘averting the Apocalypse’ bit, Aziraphale would say that he’s been a perfect model of a Principality.

It’s not prayers he’s answering these days, but it doesn’t change the nature of the beast. He must be willing to put his tea aside, close his book, and pick up the mobile phone Crowley got him whenever he is summoned. And he has been summoned. The humans who remember the Apocalypse-That-Wasn’t have their fair share of bogeymen and traumatic memories that they can’t address with anyone else. Brian remembers the smooth skin where a mouth should be and wakes screaming in the middle of the night. Newton hears the blaring of alarms and the low level of anxiety that churns constantly in his gut spikes until he can’t breathe. Tracy feels strangely empty, despondent, as if the stranger who shared her skin left a hole in his wake.

They have, all of them, carried the world on their shoulders, and they bear scars that no other human will understand.

He doesn’t, either, but he and Crowley are the best that they have. Aziraphale will give them anything he can within reason, both out of a sense of duty and as his most humble and eager thanks.

So he picks up the mobile, unlocks it with a miracle because the security code is more to keep others out than to limit himself, and he stares at the first text message that pops up on his screen.

[Adam] It was Crowley’s idea.

Aziraphale takes a fortifying breath because he can afford it. No one’s in dire need of him. He can afford to be annoyed, to be tense, to be upset for the sake of his cozy afternoon.

The second message is from Anathema and Newton’s shared phone that Newt isn’t allowed to touch but is allowed to dictate to. It’s painfully obvious that it’s Newt struggling with text-to-speech which may or may not be one of Crowley’s inventions — he refuses to say.

[Anathema / Newton] Mr. Fell can Mr. Crowley do magic while he’s in snake form asking for no reason no need to worry about it send send send brian hit send

[Pepper] he’s gotten himself stuck

Aziraphale can only imagine, but he’s certain that whatever Crowley’s done, he can get himself out of.

Then, he teleports so suddenly from the cottage over to the Jasmine Cottage that his mobile clatters to the floor and its screen shatters. The screen, before it goes dark, shows the final message he’d read:

[Wensleydale] Mr. Aziraphale could you please help? I think he’s hurt himself.

The kitchen is a mess, and that’s putting it politely.

Crowley’s serpent form is large and long. He’s draped over counters and stools, writhing furiously. He thrashes, and a stool clatters to the ground. He stops moving for a moment until Adam calls out, “All clear!”

Crowley lifts his head again, preparing to start the fight again, and Aziraphale presses his lips together tightly.

Because if he doesn’t, he’s going to laugh. He’s going to cause a fight by laughing as Crowley struggles with the hefty cup that he’s gotten stuck on his head.

The Them each get their hands on the mug or on each other, but when Crowley pulls his head away, he drags the kids across the wooden floors.

“I should call Aziraphale,” Newton murmurs from where he’s gingerly holding onto the girth of Crowley’s body to help tug him free.

“No!” The kids shout almost all at once, eager to prevent another electronic catastrophe, and Wensley lets go to reach for his own phone.

“I’ll do it—”

“There’s no need for that,” Aziraphale says calmly, and, slowly, six heads turn towards him. Rather, five heads and one cup. He should release Crowley now, but Aziraphale decides to leave him in his self-made prison a little while longer.

After all, there’s no reason Crowley couldn’t get free himself.

“Who wants to explain what happened?”

“I—” Newton swallows nervously. “I’m sorry. We made eggnog! And Mr. Crowley—”

Crowley hisses, thrashes, a warning with no teeth.

Oblivious, Newt continues. “He said he could fit his whole head in the mug.”

“Adam dared him to do it!” Brian says, which sparks an outcry and an argument among the children.

“Where,” Aziraphale says with a sunny smile, “is Anathema?”

Newt blinks. “She just stepped out.” He manages to look dejected, and it occurs to Aziraphale that Newt likely worries about being left in charge of the children. He must feel terribly judged — it’s one of the worse parts of his anxiety.

“Dear boy,” he says gently. “Crowley is over six-thousand years old. He’s perfectly responsible for himself, and he can get out of that anytime he likes.”

Crowley cocks his head as if he hadn’t realized that yet on his own.

“I’m merely wondering if she wants you all to clean this up by hand or if she would prefer me to miracle it clean.”

“Oh my God—” Anathema’s voice sounds from behind him.

Crowley jumps and abruptly appears in human form, sitting and sulking on the counter with the cup in his hand. “Y’don’t have to bring Her into this!”

“What did you do?” she demands, staring down a demon without hesitation, without fear, gesturing with her bread knife more for emphasis rather than as a specific threat.

Aziraphale stops mourning the afternoon he’d been planning.

This is going to be much more fun.

#good omens #31 days of ineffables #aziraphale #crowley #fic post #likes and reblogs and kudos and comments would be a wonderful gift! #ineffable husbands #ineffable partners #ineffable spouses

[dietraumerei]

Whump!tober Day 4 - Human Shield

“No! My love, no!” Aziraphale shrieked, as the arrow meant for him instead plunged into Crowley's corporation. The foolish demon had flung himself in front of Aziraphale after sending the great beast fleeing to lick its wounds at its master's feet, and its master was intent on revenge. “You can't, no, no, no...” he moaned, as he knelt over the dying demon.

There were drops of red on Crowley's lips, and Aziraphale tenderly wiped them away. “Shh, shh, it'll be all right, I'll get you to safety.”

“No...” Crowley coughed, more flecks of red staining his lips, some landing on Aziraphale's sleeve. “It's too late. I can feel it.” Another weak cough. “I've only wounded the beast. You...you've got to run, angel.”

There was an unearthly howl, and the voice of the beast's master, commanding it to attack again.

“I won't leave you,” Aziraphale said. “I can't, don't ask me to...”

“Go.” Crowley pushed weakly at him. “Go and. And live for me. All right angel? Promise me?”

“Ask of me anything but that,” Aziraphaled moaned, hands clutching Crowley's jacket. There was no life for him without Crowley, he knew that. “Foolish, foolish demon,” he whispered.

“Promise me!” The life was already fading from Crowley's eyes, and what was Aziraphale to do but promise him, and kiss him even as his lips stilled beneath Aziraphale's own.

The beast's horrific cries grew closer, and Aziraphale closed Crowley's eyelids, the last thing he could do for his best friend, his beloved.

“May we meet again in a better life,” he murmured, and rose, gathering his robes around him and making away. He had not even a token of his love, but it was too dangerous, and time was too short.

So lost in grief, the angel didn't even see the Valkyrie approaching.

“Hi-yahhh!” Pepper screamed, leaping onto Aziraphale's back and dramatically stabbing him with her knife. She'd asked for a proper one for her birthday and instead got this stupid plastic thing, but the blade did retract into the handle, so she guessed it was okay. It was the best for playing with, anyway.

“Acccckkkkk,” Aziraphale said, doing a deeply un-credible imitation of someone choking on his own blood. He staggered from side to side before collapsing onto Crowley.

“Hah,” Pepper said, and stabbed him again. Aziraphale obligingly made an 'urk' noise and stuck his tongue out.

“No fair!” Brian said. “Adam and Dog and I were gonna get him!”

“You got Crowley,” Pepper argued. “And I have the fun knife!”

“Actually, Beast was supposed to kill him too. For poetic reasonance,” Wensleydale, who had scripted their little scene, announced to the gathered playactors.

“Yeah but they were getting all gross and mushy and lovey,” Pepper said, wrinkling her nose.

“We were being Shakespearean,” Crowley announced.

“And doing a very good job of it too,” Aziraphale piped up. “Get off, Pepper, Crowley's elbow is about to stab me and it doesn't retract into him.”

“Oh, right, yes well, it would only be in revenge for landing on me,” Crowley said, as Pepper obligingly scrambled off and Aziraphale rolled away.

“Look at this! Berry stains!” Aziraphale showed Crowley his sleeve. “Really, my dear.”

“Nothing like it for emergency fake blood,” Crowley said, popping another raspberry into his mouth. He did wave at Aziraphale's sleeve, though, leaving it pristine. “You remember that, all you Them.”

“Yes, Crowley,” Brian said. He had been looking a little more worshipful than usual lately, and Aziraphale might have worried for the state of his soul except that, well, it was Crowley. Not exactly the type to lead a young soul to hell.

Besides, Crowley's general neatness and cleanliness seemed to be having a good influence on the boy. Aziraphale had never met a child who was quite as sticky as Brian was.

With the angel and demon properly defeated, and the argument over who was supposed to defeat them totally unsettled, everyone decided that it was past time for ice cream. Various costume bits were shed and returned to their rightful owners – mostly Aziraphale, his penchant for collecting clothes through the ages resulting in the world's only dress-up box that contained a genuine, original, robe anglaise in hand-embroidered silk.

(Many, many years later, a less-young Pepper would come across a photograph in a book, and require a rather strong drink because she had definitely rescued Princess Crowley wearing a nearly identical gown. She had torn part of it in the rescue, but Aziraphale just shrugged and assured her it was an old thing, and anyway it never had fit him right.)

Aziraphale and Crowley trailed behind their young friends, holding hands in the deep and abiding hope that it would annoy the living shit out of R.P. Tyler. They stayed for ice cream – strawberry for Aziraphale, chocolate for Crowley – and bid the Them goodbye after informing them that no, they would not be getting a ride in the Bentley and definitely would not be driving the Bentley.

“I don't even drive the Bentley,” Aziraphale pointed out.

“But my uncle taught me to drive his tractor, and it can't be that different,” Pepper reasoned. “Besides, Aziraphale, I've seen you on a bicycle. I wouldn't let you drive the Bentley either.”

“She's not wrong,” Crowley said, in response to the mute appeal for assistance.

“I'm way better on a bike,” Pepper said.

“Still not driving,” Crowley said. “Right.” He touched one finger to his temple. “Mrs. Patterson's away in Dorking to see about her oh my. Ah. On business. Her plum trees have just ripened to perfection.”

“Thanks Crowley!” Adam called, leading the way for a plum-raiding party.

“Don't forget to drop a few! They'll ferment and the squirrels will get drunk!” Crowley called after him.

“Oh for goodness' sake, dear,” Aziraphale fussed, as they headed for the car.

Crowley had on his best shit-eating grin. “Aw, it'll be fine. Mrs. Patterson is having a very good day out.”

“I don't want to know,” Aziraphale said, closing his eyes tightly as they reached the car. “I truly don't.”

Crowley just smirked. He'd wait til they were just about in London, to let the angel know just what Mrs. Patterson was up to. Madam Tracy had nothing on her.

They settled in the car, and Crowley was about to start her up when he felt Aziraphale's hand on his leg, just above his knee.

“Angel?”

Aziraphale smiled, and squeezed. “Oh, nothing, not really. Just.” He looked over at Crowley, and leaned in and kissed him. “I quite love you, you know.”

“I love you too,” Crowley said, a little puzzled but smiling. “I er. I. Had fun today.”

“Oh! I...I did too.” Aziraphaled blushed and smiled. “Perhaps we both should have been actors.”

Crowley imagined this for a moment.

“I don't think so,” he said frankly. “But I did like dying dramatically.”

“You're very good at it,” Aziraphale said. “Did I do all right, you think?”

“Oh, wonderfully, wonderfully,” Crowley assured him. “That little urk sound you made? That was genius.”

“Well, I wouldn't go that far,” Aziraphale said modestly. “But I did try.” He smiled. “I am rather glad I have you, you know,” he said, eventually winding his way to his point. “Would be pretty dull. Doing this on my own.”

“Oh, shut up, angel,” Crowley said. Of course, he then pulled Aziraphale into his arms for a good, long, tender kiss. To make sure he didn't say anything else horrifically embarrassing, of course.

#whumptober2019 #no.4 #i am quite sure that rp tyler will loudly tell anyone that he has no problem with gay people #he just doesn't want it shoved in his face #he seems the type

[taizi]

so take another breath

good omens pairing: adam & warlock word count: 1465 title borrowed from “icarus” by bastille part 5 of the is there a better bet than love? series read on ao3

x

Warlock magicks up another ball for Dog and gives it a hard throw down the hill. The terrier tears after it like a mad thing, folded ear flapping in the wind, and Adam shades his eyes against the melting summer sun to watch him go.

“Nice one,” he says approvingly.

As far as Antichrists go, Adam is alright. He’s easier to get along with than anybody at Warlock’s school ever was, anyway.

Dog’s breakneck pace takes him past the stupid little picnic table Aziraphale miracled up for the afternoon. He closes in on the plastic ball where it rolls to a stop against a tree stump and snatches it up in victorious jaws.

Their parents are down there, too. Crowley’s lounging to one side, drinking two-hundred pound wine like it’s going out of style while Mr. Young talks his ear off about vintage cars, and Aziraphale and Mrs. Young are deep in enthusiastic conversation. It looks like they might be stuck in The Middle of Nowhere, Oxfordshire for awhile yet.

Warlock rolls his eyes and sits in the grass next to Adam.

The Them didn’t come along today. Warlock’s glad for it. He likes them well enough, and Pepper is cooler than all the rest of them put together, but he feels outnumbered around all four of them. Sometimes he feels outnumbered when it’s just him and Adam.

“What are you thinking?” asks Adam. It’s nice of him to ask, when he could probably just find out by looking a little harder than usual.

Dog is coming back, dropping the slobbery ball in Warlock’s lap and sparing him scraping together an answer for as long as it takes to send him hurtling back down the hill in pursuit once more.

He’s thinking it’s odd, that this life could have been his. He’s thinking it’s odd that he hates the idea.

If Adam hadn’t come along, if the Dowlings had been left alone, then Warlock would have been raised here, in Tadfield, as Albert or Baldwin or Oscar Young. He would have gone to school with Brian and Wensleydale and Pepper, and he would have had a mom who baked birthday cakes with his name written in crooked icing, and a dad who went over homework with him that neither of them understood and he maybe would have been a pretty happy kid. He maybe would have turned out like Adam.

But he wouldn’t have his parents. Even though Aziraphale can’t cook, and Crowley would rather climb the walls than look at homework for very long, Warlock would still pick them over the Youngs or the Dowlings. He’s pretty good at maths on his own, anyway. That's why he majored in it.  

“I’m thinking it’ll be a miracle if the bookshop’s still standing when we get home,” Warlock says, leaning back on his hands. If he gets muddy, it will only take a thought to clean himself up again. “Considering who we left to look after the place.”

“Nanael’s there, aren’t they?”

“Yeah, but so’s Grem,” Warlock points out. It’s hard to say Gremory’s name without rolling his eyes and most of the time he doesn’t even try. “She’d start a fire just to have something to talk about later.”

“Bookshop’s fireproof,” Adam says matter-of-factly. “Made sure of that this time.”

Warlock looks at him sideways, weighs his options, then decides that it’s way too late to pretend he has a healthy dose of self-preservation in face of someone who could rearrange his entire existence with a blink.

“Fireproof doesn’t mean Gremory-proof. Those guys spend so much time reading weird grimoires they probably know plenty of stuff you don’t.”

The Antichrist tips his head back with a grin. “That’s pretty cool. Y’know, I could probably fix it myself. How many years have you been sneaking around behind their backs at this point?”

Warlock scowls. “None of your business.”

“I mean, I guess not.” Except Adam’s business is whatever he sticks his nose into and they both know it. “I won’t always be around, you know. A hundred years from now I won’t be able to offer again.”

“A hundred years from now we’ll have figured it out for ourselves,” Warlock snaps, sitting up straight. “Nanael’s close, I know they are.”

“I didn’t mean to fight,” Adam says peaceably. He never gets riled up. “I was just saying.”

Feathers ruffled, Warlock slumps back down again. “Well, quit.”

Dog was waylaid by a sausage that rolled under the picnic table. He’s begging for more scraps now. Adam brings his fingers to his mouth and whistles, which is something Warlock has never been able to figure out, and the Hellhound comes running right away.

He left the ball behind, so Adam just tussles with him for awhile. The terrier ends up in his favorite spot, pressed against Adam’s side in the sun-hot grass, a small and trusting thing.

“You wouldn’t have to be gone,” Warlock says after a moment, surprising himself. “You could still be here, if you wanted to be.”

“If I wanted to be,” Adam agreed. “I wouldn’t, though. Not when everyone I love is human. Not when they’d all be gone without me.”

He says it very easily, like it’s not even worth thinking about. Warlock has always envied how certain Adam is about everything, from as far back as the first time they both met, when Adam took one look at him and said in a self-satisfied way ‘you and I will be good friends.’

“You do, though,” Adam goes on. “Want to, I mean. You said ‘we’ earlier, when you were talking about the future."

A prickle of unease works its way into Warlock's stomach, the way it always does when he looks too far ahead.

He doesn’t think Aziraphale would approve of this conversation, given how much of Crowley’s existential dread (and Murmur’s general dread) that Warlock has inherited; but Aziraphale is down the hill playing human the way kids play house, and Adam probably wouldn’t let him overhear, anyway.

So Warlock says, “Of course I do. Your family may be human, but mine isn’t.”

Adam considers him, the shadow of something much older than the two of them in his eyes. “You can’t take it back once you make up your mind.”

Protective of the ones he loves, of his place in their lives, Warlock loses his temper. His words come out in a tone sharp enough it makes Dog lift his head.

“I don’t care what you say, Adam. You may have nearly ended the world or saved it or whatever, but you can’t boss me around. Crowley’s my Nanny and Aziraphale’s his angel, and the two of them, and Nanael and Grem and Murmur, are more my family than my mom and dad ever were. If I want to stay then I’m going to stay.”

The air is thin and dry, like brittle paper, heat building around them in a dangerous way. Adam’s curls are sticking up with static electricity from simple proximity to Warlock in a snit, but his expression is caught between amused and fond.

“I’m really not trying to fight,” he says. It bleaches the venom out of Warlock like a poultice, like the easiest thing in the world. Warlock resents it a little bit, at the same time he's grateful.

I’ll miss him when he’s gone, Warlock realizes. The thought settles in to stay, uncomfortably heavy, somewhere close to his heart.

He scowls anyway, and pulls up some grass just to feel the satisfying give beneath his hands, and they sit together in the silence of two almost-brothers who almost-entirely understand one another.

“You could stay if you wanted to,” Adam says after awhile, an unnecessary olive branch. “If you really wanted to, you could do it. You could stay forever. I mean, you’ve got a pretty good start.”

They were born at exactly the same time, and Adam will be thirty in another year, but Warlock is still nineteen. He rather feels as though he’ll be nineteen until he gets bored of it.

“I could make sure of it, if you’d like,” Adam offers kindly.

Warlock doesn’t trust himself to speak, so he nods.

Adam turns his hand, and reality turns with it, and they both feel a little bit better when it’s done.

“C’mon,” Adam says, standing with Dog tucked easily into the crook of his arm. “Mum made hummingbird cake.”

The heat has dissipated, typical English gray sponging across the sky and cooling all the sun-touched planes of the countryside. It won’t rain, not when it would ruin the picnic, but petrichor is thick and syrupy in the air as if it already had.

Warlock sinks into the chair next to Crowley, soaks up Aziraphale’s fond smile, and looks forward to the future.

#good omens #warlock dowling #adam young #aziraphale #anthony j crowley #the introduction of gremory and murmur whom im SO excited about #my writing #gomens fic #is there a better bet than love #yall nanael is here to stay

[tisfan]

Ineffable Husbands Bingo

Title: Infernal Machines and Demonic Pigeons Written by: @tisfan & @27dragons Square: G5 - Lawn Mower Accident Rating: General Triggers/warnings: blood, accidental maiming of small garden animals, Crowley is disappointed with the lawn mower Tags: tadfield, post apocalypse, the Them, gardening Link https://archiveofourown.org/works/20338366 Created for: @ineffablehusbandsbingo Word count: 1,874

 God, it was said, did not play dice with the Universe. She did, rather more frequently than strictly necessary, give people exactly what they wanted in such a way that they didn’t want it any longer.

Crowley was just staring up at the ceiling of the little cottage in Tadfield that he and Aziraphale had moved into following the Apoca-could-ya-not. Just to keep a closer eye on Adam. And maybe to avoid some of their fellow angels and demons who stood out like sore thumbs in even larger cities and therefore would be quite easily spotted in a little village like Tadfield. He was staring at the ceiling, trying to decide if the crack in the plaster looked more like a duck or a cow, thinking he was blessedly bored and what he wouldn’t do for a little bit of action, when Aziraphale shrieked from out in the garden.

It was the sort of shriek that meant something was very, dreadfully wrong.

“Crowley! Crowley, I need you right now!” His voice was rather higher-pitched than usual, full of panic and distress.

(more below the cut)

“I see you up there, having a laugh at me,” Crowley said to God as he rolled off the sofa in an awkward lump of too many bones and not enough muscle before bolting out of the house.

The scene was--

Bloody awful, and he meant that in every literal meaning of the words bloody and awful.

The grass, fresh cut and quivering with the need to please, was coated with blood. And feathers.

White feathers.

“Angel!” Crowley practically exploded into panic, arriving at Aziraphale’s side in seconds, looking him over for some sort of celestial wound. Angels and demons weren’t entirely able to be killed, but they could be destroyed. And Aziraphale could certainly be discorporated. Who knew what would happen to him, if he ended up going back upstairs now.

“Oh, Crowley, it’s just dreadful!” Aziraphale wailed. “Do something!” His hands were flailing, waving helplessly in the direction of the lawn mower, which had spatters of blood all around its edges, and a few mangled feathers trapped under the front wheels.

“You!” Crowley turned on the mower fiercely. Unlike Aziraphale, he had not been issued a flaming sword, but he could make do with a pair of summoned garden hedge trimmers. He didn’t exactly borrow any hellfire to make the blades drip with infernal glee, but there were a few volcanoes in the south Pacific that wouldn’t miss a bit of lava. “You had one job! One! Cut the grass! And you manage to bollox it all up? I am very disappointed in you.”

One might think that something like a yard tool, like the Flymo Easi Glide 330 wouldn’t be able to be terrified of a demon. It’s as if one might expect a computer to be nervous, or a camera to want to take a better picture. But anyone who’s ever cursed or yelled at or pleaded with one of their electrical devices can tell you; machines think. And they’re rather diabolical, at that.

What this particular machine was thinking was that the grass was much greener. Somewhere else. Anywhere else.

The mower started itself with a rumble and fled, spewing feathers and blood and grass clippings as it went.

“Where does it hurt, Angel?” Crowley, having dealt with the bad machine, turned a tender hand on his Angel, looking for the wounds.

“What? No, no, I’m fine, but look at this poor thing!” He bent and scooped up a pile of feathers from the lawn, holding it tenderly in his hands, and extended it for Crowley’s examination.

Upon closer look, it wasn’t a pile of feathers at all, but a bird, rather severely mangled, cut nearly in half by the mower’s blades.

“It’s a pigeon,” Crowley said, both of his eyebrows going up so high that he could rather feel them arguing with his hair. “Rather a lot of them around these parts, aye? Seen ‘em at the park, the kiddies feed them. Blasted waste of bread if you ask me.”

“I don’t know what it was doing in the grass,” Aziraphale said. Crowley got the impression that if his hands weren’t full of dead bird, he’d be wringing them. “I was just going along and suddenly...” He tipped his head and gave Crowley a faint little smile. “Can’t you fix it? I never meant it any harm.”

“That’s more your thing than mine,” Crowley said, vaguely annoyed now that there was no need to panic about that fact that Aziraphale’s wing hadn’t been torn off by the lawn mower. Speaking of which, the Easi Glide was all the way down in Hogsback wood by now, and they’d like to never see it again. Pity that. On the other hand, Crowley had obtained rather a lot of enjoyment from the act of purchasing it, and now he’d get to do that again. “I’m not supposed to go around bringing things back to life. Could get in a load of trouble that way.” 

To be fair, Crowley didn’t really know what he was supposed to be doing any longer. He wasn’t, technically speaking, employed by Hell any longer. But on one had yet stopped by with a manual. Or a new job offer. He and Aziraphale were keeping an eye on the boy, a familiar occupation, for lack of something else, and concentrating very hard on being Left Alone by the Forces of both Light and Darkness.

Aziraphale pouted at him, petulant and maybe just a touch disappointed.

“Miracle it up, Angel,” Crowley scolded. “For Sata-- for Heav-- for someone’s sake, stop being a wimp about a little blood.”

“I’m not being a wimp about the blood,” Aziraphale said primly. “It was just so awful, darling. I’m never going to be able to get the image out of my mind. And if I can’t picture her whole, then you know I can’t make it work.” He turned up the intensity of the pout. “Won’t you? For me?”

“Very well,” Crowley said, because he never could resist that pout. Or, not even so much the pout, but the beaming smile that happened afterward, the one that said Crowley had done something right. When God spoke, and said Let there be Light, Crowley liked to imagine that that was the moment that Aziraphale came into existence. The embodiment of that very first sunrise. “But you know, she’s going to take after me,” he said. He cupped the dead thing in his hands, little broken bones and mangled feathers. He imagined this pigeon shitting on the mayor’s car, right after he washed it. Of stealing the candle off some poor child’s birthday cake and leaving bird tracks in the frosting. This particular pigeon would be the very worst sort of bird, annoyingly loud, waking up people who worked the night shift by singing joyfully outside their window at sunrise.

And she would have babies. Dozens of eggs in a nest, hundreds of terrible, wretched pigeons. Smart, too. The sort that would figure up a way to take down anti-pigeon devices and leave them in the yards of the people who voted such measures into place.

A demon bird.

Or, to be more succinct: A pigeon. 

It wiggled all over, flapped its wings and Crowley turned it loose. It shit on his jacket as he did so. “Ug! That’s gratitude for you!”

“Oh!” Aziraphale clapped his hands and smiled like the first dawn, and everything seemed just a little brighter and better, even the pigeon shit on his jacket. “Thank you, my dear.” He kissed Crowley’s cheek, blushing a little over it being such a public display. “Well. I think we’d best take a trip into town this afternoon, hadn’t we? I’ll need a new mower -- you didn’t need to frighten the poor thing so badly! -- and of course we’ll need a little roost for our new friend.”

“The mower upset you,” Crowley told him, trying to remember not to brush at the bird poo, since that would only smear it around more. The things you learned, living in Hell. Poo was sticky and smeary and the more you tried to clean it up, the worse it got. Crowley took the jacket off instead, folding it inside out and slung it over his shoulder. He could get a new jacket. “It obviously doesn’t belong here.”

Aziraphale gave him a look that was trying to be stern, but was far too fond and pleased to come anywhere near the mark. “Be that as it may,” he said, “try not to traumatize the next one so much, or folks will wonder why we need a new one every other week.”

“I’ll just tell them their mowers are rubbish,” Crowley said, taking Aziraphale’s arm and leading him back into the house where they could have tea and whatever little nibbly things Aziraphale had gotten to go with the tea. “And I’ll do it in that same sort of loud, complainish voice as if I were an upstanding member of the Tadfield Neighborhood Watch and they’ll jump to it.”

“Yes, dear, as much as you like,” Aziraphale said, patting Crowley’s hand before breaking off into the kitchen to put the kettle on and arrange a tray. “You’ll want to change before we go into town, I expect.”

Crowley didn’t much care for tea, or crackers, or little dainty chocolates. He liked fizzy drinks and terrible biscuits from corner petrol stations. He never needed to buy petrol, but he did like to stop at the stations. But Crowley did enjoy watching Aziraphale have his tea and his chocolate biscuits.

The doorbell rang, and Crowley sauntered off to answer it. It was tea-time and he was going to give the neighbor who rang the bell what for, because no one interrupted Aziraphale’s tea-time, and someone was going to have to learn the rules around here.

“Hi, Mr. Crowley!” The Them were clustered on the stoop, beaming up at him. Behind them, tied to what Crowley suspected was Dog’s lead, was the Easi Glide, motor sputtering somewhat resentfully.

“Your mower escaped into the woods,” Adam told him.

“My mower never does anything exciting like that,” Wensley added.

Pepper rolled her eyes, and Brian leaned to one side to peer past Crowley into the cottage. “I say, is that tea?”

“Indeed it is,” Crowley said. He glared at the mower, which promptly sprouted a petrol leak, soaking the sidewalk. “Mr. Fell might be willing to share some biscuits with you, if you all ask nicely.” He liked children, and the Them were top on his list of favorites. Of course, it wasn’t always a good thing to be the favored child of a demon.

On the other hand, they were also favorites of Aziraphale’s, and having a guardian angel sort of equaled things out.

“Tie the mower up outside, Adam,” Crowley said. “I’ll take care of it later.” That was a little more threatening. “Well, go on then, in you get, have some tea.” He stood in the doorway a moment longer, watching the mower shiver and shake. “Infernal machine. You get one more chance, and consider it a miracle. I’ve gone soft.”

That was all right, then. Aziraphale liked soft. 

#ineffablehusbands bingo #crowley x aziraphale #lawn mower accident