#soft lines and colors for Aziraphale

[dingledraw]

Ineffable wives collab with @t-nartin! 🐍🍎🕊️ It was great fun to see how our art styles work together🤩

(pose inspo✌️😗)

#thank you again for collabing with meee 🤩 #hope we can do more art together at some point #I think it tuned out great! especially cuz our styles are so different and kinda fit with the aesthetics of each character 🤓🎨 #soft lines and colors for Aziraphale #and harsh lines and colors for Crowley #just a coupe of gals👯‍♀️ #they are in love 🤭 #and I love the background she did 🥰 #good omens #crowley #aziraphale #ineffable spouses #my fanart #aziracrow #ineffable husbands #fem!crowley #fem!aziraphale #other people’s art #ineffeble wives

[cobragardens]

CORRECTED & UPDATED Clothes + Equivocation = Romance: The Husbands in 1793 (Part 2)

From Part 1:

Crowley and Aziraphale share clothes as a common interest. They don't have the same style, but they're both aware of current fashions, and Heaven and Hell aren't. You can't tell me Hastur or Uriel would recognize the significance of Crowley saying "Dressed like that, he's asking for trouble" about someone else while wearing black stockings and cravat and waistcoat himself. And that means Anything the husbands communicate to each other through clothing choices goes undetected by their masters.

SO. With all this in mind, let's go through the 1793 scene again and look at what the husbands communicate to each other without using words or actions to do it, and how their clothing choices help them do that.

Hello. I'm here and I know you're in a spot of trouble. I like you.

It's you! I'm so happy you're here!

Sheen's voice and face when Aziraphale says Crowley's name in this moment makes me think that Aziraphale is in love with Crowley--the demon Crowley, not the angel who became Crowley--long before he consciously realizes it in 1941. The way Sheen has Aziraphale say Crowley's name is so soft.

The way you're he way you're lounging there and what you're wearing are uncomfortably sexy and also incredibly inappropriate for the Bastille at this moment in history. I suppose this is very on-brand for you.

Crowley: I listen when you talk about your interests and goals and keep track of your general whereabouts and pursuits.

Either they've spoken with each other recently or Crowley has been keeping tabs on Aziraphale. Aziraphale isn't upset that Crowley knows what he's been up to, which suggests the former, which in turn suggests they're in semi-regular (every few years or decades) contact at this point.

Also we've now got a general idea for when Aziraphale opens his bookshop.

Okay, brief tangent while I point out two things here.

One, my favorite thing about Aziraphale is that he is a sensualist. This is libertine behavior, y'all. He 'popped across the Channel' during the Reign of Terror because he wanted a specific carnal experience of a specific really lovely food.

And two, even when Aziraphale does weird, frivolous, silly, ill-advised things like this, things that clearly baffle Crowley...Crowley never makes fun of him. He never laughs at him. He always has this look of disbelief on his face, like Am I hearing this?--

--but Crowley never, not once, shuts Aziraphale down.

Until Aziraphale asks him to go back to Heaven.

Anyway. Back to our scene.

Aziraphale: I am unwilling to abandon my sartorial sensibilities even when it threatens my corporation, and I am insane, so I think this is reasonable. At least I'm not wearing a Slutty Monarchist outfit.

You're happy to see me, aren't you. You're relieved to see a demon. Go on, say it.

Tennant's delivery of this line cracks me up. It is so gloating and flirtatious and smarmy and indulgent of Aziraphale.

I am very happy to see you and lucky you're here, and I am willing to say so sincerely even though you are gloating about it.

And then there's the exchange where Crowley very carefully doesn't answer Aziraphale's question about why Crowley's in the area but also reassures him that he didn't cause the French Revolution and Aziraphale can still like him.

We can't speak openly about this. It's dangerous for me.

Message received: I won't mention what you did again. But I want to show my gratitude and spend time with you; is it safe for us to get lunch together?

Yes, but one of us is going to have to change so we can walk the streets of Paris without getting arrested again, and I'm the one doing the rescuing here so it's not going to be me. Your 'standards' will have to take the hit.

Fine, you've got me over a barrel. But hey, if I have to wear the silly hat anyway I might as well go all the way and wear your colors. Except not monarchist. And not slutty.

Oh, I don't know, I thought you looked pretty slutty too. (Meaning 2) I'm having this guy killed for touching you, btw. I will kill anyone who tries to hurt you. Immediately. I see you are having the guy who assaulted you killed in a copy of the clothes he would have killed you for wearing. I wholeheartedly approve of this (Meaning 3), your sexiness in those clothes notwithstanding. The utter insouciance of Crowley's little sniff and the inquiry about what they'll have for lunch drive home hard that Crowley could not be more unbothered by Aziraphale having the man who tried to harm him beheaded.

What really tickles me about this line is not only that Crowley's joke has three distinct meanings, but that Meaning 1 (the meaning that exists without reference to Crowley's clothes) is the opposite of Meaning 3--Anybody wearing clothes like that deserves what they get (Meaning 1) versus It rocks how you just killed someone who tried to kill you for wearing those clothes (Meaning 3)--and yet because of the clothes he's wearing, both meanings come through with perfect clarity, dependent only on whether the listener(s) can see his clothing and know its significance. Aziraphale can, and does, so he receives Crowley's real meaning. Hell/Heaven can't, and don't, so they just hear Meaning 1.

And then we get Aziraphale's pleased little smile and look of tranquil interest as he watches Jean-Claude dragged off to his death. Its such an interesting facial expression for an angel watching a demon have someone killed having someone killed, isn't it?

Crowley has just told him they're probably being listened to by Hell. That means Aziraphale, Crowley, and the audience all know this is the most Aziraphale can safely react. Aziraphale can't show any overt approval of anything an agent of Hell does, because by definition anything a demon does is demonic and angels must be against That Sort of Thing. In light of the fact that Aziraphale is the one who causes Jean-Claude's death, I now argue that this responsibility not to react too positively to something the other side has done falls on Crowley, and that the reason he makes this joke is primarily to tell Aziraphale I see what you've just done, and I like it without identifying aloud what exactly has just happened for their presumed eavesdroppers because an angel arranging a human's murder is the sort of thing in which head offices might take undue interest.

The awareness that their conversation is not private means the audience and Aziraphale know they need to be watching and listening for multiple meanings from Crowley, and it also means the audience and Crowley know we need to be watching Aziraphale's face closely right now. And that little smile shows us that Aziraphale has received Meanings 2 and 3 of "he was asking for trouble."

Or, at minimum, Meaning 3; even if Aziraphale picks up on Meaning 2--You looked really sexy in your vintage clothes, you crazy weirdo--that's not a message he can afford to react to at all. But he does react to the other coded communication Crowley is sending when he says "Dressed like that, he was asking for trouble" while dressed for trouble himself: I will kill anyone who tries to hurt you. Immediately. People who think your clothes give them the right to hurt you can go to Hell, and I am delighted you just sent one of them there.

You just had someone beheaded for assaulting me, I acknowledge and am pleased by your delight at my cleverness. and I could not be happier. Would you like to come enjoy one of my very favorite sensual pleasures with me?

***

EDIT: To be honest I like this reading better than my original, incorrect understanding of the story despite the fact that it is slightly less romantic, both because I love the idea of Crowley as a thirsty witness to Aziraphale quietly being a vengeful badass, because it gives us a glimpse of something important about Aziraphale's character that we don't get to see elsewhere: Aziraphale doesn't have a problem with killing per se.

We learn from the business with the Antichrist that, like Crowley, Az. can't bring himself to kill children. We learn from his perturbation at the Flood and the Crucifixion that he doesn't hold with killing innocents. He gave away his flaming sword. But this scene establishes that Aziraphale will actively cause someone's death if he feels they deserve it. That seems like an important character note for him that may become relevant in Season 3 (feathers crossed that it happens).

And I think there's something else in there too, something about how Aziraphale kills Jean-Claude, not with outright violence but with a trick. One party thinks he's in control of the situation; with a wave of his hand, suddenly a turnip has turned into an inkwell an executioner has turned into the condemned--or at least it seems that way long enough to get the job done. It's a bait-and-switch, like stage magic, and it slots right in to the motif in Good Omens of sleight-of-hand, of characters wearing other characters' appearances (for more on this, see fan theories re: Maggie is possessed), of supplying false meanings to an audience to disguise the true actions going on behind the scenes.

#good omens #good omens 2 #good omens s2 #good omens analysis #good omens clothes #good omens costumes #ineffable husbands #aziracro #azcrow #azicrow #good omens equivocation #good omens 1984 #good omens clothing and equivocation #good omens 1793 #good omens clothes and equivocation 2

[thorin-is-a-cuddler]

Don't leave your demon uncuddled

A/N: Crowley wants cuddles, but Aziraphale never stops reading. This calls for drastic measures.

When Crowley had introduced Aziraphale to the marvels of staying in bed all day – all week, all month, not yet all year – long, he’d had a very specific picture in mind: the two of them wrapped around each other, respective noses buried in shades of cream-colored and auburn-tinted hair, eyes merely opening to exchange glances of fond admiration, warmth encompassing them both in a timeless embrace, a fest of never seizing cuddles.

In Crowley’s opinion, this plan should have worked out fine. Not a single obstacle had presented itself to him when he’d set out to tempt the angel into the gentle embrace of warm blankets and soft pillows. What the demon had underestimated at the time, was the power of Aziraphale’s books.  

If the angel were asked to list his favourite things since… well always, he’d most certainly list Crowley first and foremost. The mention of his books were, nevertheless, only one breath away.

So, quite unexpectedly, since Aziraphale’s introduction to spending quality time in bed, Crowley had not been succumbed to countless hours of cuddling, but to a quite unsatisfyingly absent angel whose face tended to disappear behind the pages of a leather bound classic. Moving between the covers and pillows ended up being rather unpleasant, since numerous pointy hardbacks stuck out on either side of the mattress. And if he got really unlucky, Aziraphale even left their pillow fort for a while, putting many cold miles between their vessels, only to return with more books.

To be fair, the giddy face of the angel who seemed to experience a whole new level of dedication to his favourite hobby was rather endearing and Crowley could not seriously bring himself to complain to Aziraphale about the lack of physical attention to himself. Besides, the angel was a rather entertaining reader, exclaiming and gasping and giggling all the while which did give Crowley some fun hours, as he simply watched him, curled up by his side, shaking his demonic head with a soft smile.

Sometimes Aziraphale had found good compromises: petting Crowley’s back while reading out loud to him or drawing the lines on the pages out with a single finger between Crowley’s shoulder blades. He was also really unbothered about Crowley’s choosing of which way to position himself around or on top of the angel, across his belly, next to his side, underneath his arm – nothing disturbed Aziraphale when he was reading.

Crowley had therefore enjoyed some of the time they’d passed in bed together.

But after two weeks of frequent reading and of books piling up around them like a flooding tide, Crowley did start to feel like he was drowning in old ink and crinkly pages. And it had to come to an end.

“Angel,” he moaned, when hours had passed with only the sound of pages turning, the repetition transforming it into a form of torture to his ears. He was curled up by Aziraphale’s side, the blanket allowing for nothing but his hair and his yellow eyes to stick out – his expression was all but pleased. “Aziraphale!!” He repeated, slipping his head out from underneath the blanket entirely, intensifying the glare he directed up at the angel’s face.

“Hmmm?” He asked, not even looking at the demon, his blue eyes glued on the pages that shielded him from the warm and welcome temptation of snuggling in peace.

Crowley groaned and had to summon all his lazy powers to slip out one arm from underneath the comfort of the blanket. He moved it up to put his hand between the stupid book and the angelic face. “Haven’t you done enough reading for now?”

Aziraphale swatted Crowley’s hand away like a pestering fly and didn’t pay much attention to his responding hiss. “Crowley, why don’t you just go back to sleep, that’s a dear.”

Surprisingly, the displeased look in Crowley’s eyes grew even less pleased than prior and the demon struggled to pull out arm number two from within the sweet – and currently only – embrace of his blanket to cross both of them over his chest meaningfully. “Can’t you just put your book down for a few months and… just…” cuddle meee?, he continued in his head, but a sudden twang of insecurity avoided the words from leaving his tongue.

His lips turned into a thin line, when Aziraphale’s sole reaction consisted of a quickly uttered: “What? Yes, jolly good, indeed.”

Fiddling with his hands, he sighed and glared at the ceiling for a while.

“You’re not going to pay attention to me then?” He asked eventually, moving his head to look at the angel’s face. And just then did a small smile and a very smugly raised eyebrow grace that oh so innocent face.

“I guess not.”

Ohh, thought Crowley. Ohhhh. That was how he wanted to play? Foolish, foolish angel. No one could beat Crowley at a game of ‘You can’t get a reaction out of me anyway’. That was a challenge, the demon was more than apt to live up to.

A smile took over his brooding features as he nodded to himself, feigning peacefulness, his eyebrows rising just as smugly as the angels’ had. “Huh.”

Another page was turned – extremely slowly and extremely loudly. Crowley narrowed his eyes. The angel was still smirking ever so slightly, thinking himself clever. The smile on Crowley’s features grew.

“I see. Don’t let me disturb you then, I’ll just get a little more comfortable.” Lifting his upper-body, Crowley crawled on top of his angel, placing a hand on either side of his body, before lowering himself down. His head came to a rest on Aziraphale’s belly, the soft cotton of his pyjama smelling of fresh waterlilies. With a loud sigh, Crowley cuddled himself as close to the angel’s body as possible, his arms finding the space between the small of his back and the mattress to cross underneath and wrap him up in his embrace.

Aziraphale didn’t allow any of that to disturb him in the least. Behind his book, hidden from view, he bit his bottom-lip, concealing a little smirk. Mischief was in the air and he was quite prepared to see whatever Crowley would come up with to gain his attention. The letters on the pages turned into senseless repetitions of the same line, his attention not really remaining with his lecture.

Crowley was feeling particularly mischievous in that very moment and he was in a rather perfect position to act out his mean little plan. Moving his chin over Aziraphale’s tummy, he tightened his grip around him ever so slightly. Suddenly he buried his nose in the soft, angelic belly and inhaled deeply. “Ahh, you smell so good, angel.”

Aziraphale’s grip on his book grew a little stronger. Oh dear, maybe he was in more trouble than he’d expected. “Crowley,” he warned meaningfully, conveying unmistakeably with his tone of voice that the demon better not do what he appeared very much about to do.

“Yes?” The demon answered innocently, a playful grin settling on his face, as he started circling Aziraphale’s belly with the tip of his nose.

“I’m warning you.” The angel stated, shifting a little on the covers and lifting one hand from his book to hold up a reprimanding finger. His face stayed hidden behind the hardback copy which merely propelled Crowley’s grin to new dimensions of evil.

“I’m not doing anything.” He lied, placing a kiss in the middle of Aziraphale’s belly, before more kisses followed - to his sides, to his ribs, to his hips, all soft spaces that got Aziraphale to hold his breath and press his lips together tightly.

He tried not to react too strongly to the sensations spreading on his midriff, but truly, Crowley started to tickle him more and more and soon enough, Aziraphale was sure of it, it would become unbearable. He cleared his throat and shifted around some more, trying to distract himself with the sentences under his nose, but it was to no avail. He was about to lose their little game, but he tried to stay afloat for as long as he possibly could. Little titters of laughter tinted his voice when next he spoke. “You- you will regret this.”

“I sure hope I will.” Crowley answered, his smirk audible in every syllable and all hell broke loose when next he dipped his head to Aziraphale’s tummy and started growling into it. A loud screech left the angel’s lungs as he slipped out of his comfortable sitting position, starting to hit Crowley’s head with the next best weapon – which turned out to be the very enemy, the book itself.

“NOO!!” The sweetest squeals emerged from the bibliophile angel as Crowley continued to snarl, growl, gnaw and nibble all over the cotton covered ticklish belly at his mercy, paying no heed to the painful attempts at self-defence directed at his poor head. “DON’T DO THAT!!! OH CROWLEY YOU’LL-“ A peal of high-pitched laughter cut off Aziraphale’s line of thought as wily fingers started prodding his sides, adding to the unbearable sensations that overpowered his vessel.

“I’ll what? Tickle you until you pop? Maybe sooo.” Crowley snickered when Aziraphale finally tossed the dangerous book aside and started pushing and hitting at him with his hands instead, his scrunched up face decorated with the sweetest smile and his cheeks painted a very rosy colour.

“I BEG OF YOU!! STOP THIS!!”

Crowley merely smirked lazily, rubbing his face against Aziraphale’s ticklish sides and wiggling his fingers into easily accessible ribs on either side of his favourite body, never wishing for one second to stop.

“Can’t ignore me now, can you?”

Aziraphale arched his back as best he could and pushed his head into a bunch of pillows violently. They went flying, coming in handy and appearing a new wonderful weapon against Crowley’s ticklish attack. The demon started laughing when one of them came down next on his tousled hair, softer than the previous weapons, but nevertheless dangerous in the hands of the angel.

“Hey, stop hitting me!” He chuckled, removing one arm from underneath Aziraphale’s back to protect himself, trying to pull the pillow from the other’s grasp.

“NEVER YOU FOUL DEMONIC-“ Aziraphale choked on a new wave of laughter when Crowley’s hand disappeared underneath his arm, fingers hitting the centre of his armpit and making it impossible for him to keep from squeaking with laughter. The pillow was left harmless on the mattress next to the pair, as Aziraphale tried to curl up into a little ball.

Crowley followed his every move, expertly attacking whichever weak spot revealed itself next, until Aziraphale’s position on the bed had changed from upright to sideways.

“TRUTH, TRUTH!!” The angel squeaked when Crowley’s fingers were gently scribbling up his sides, kisses tickling him underneath his chin. “YOU GOT ME! I GIVE UP! I DO! CROWELY!!”

Chuckling softly, Crowley stilled his skilful fingers and removed his mouth from Aziraphale’s sensitive neck. The angel was panting, a big smile on his face and small titters still spilling from his lips.

Crowley had missed their tickle fights especially during these last two weeks of the angel’s insatiable hunger for books. Nothing was as sweet as his angel’s reaction to having Crowley kiss and tickle all over his middle. Though Aziraphale would probably not agree with him on this – he kept teasing that nothing could be sweeter than his demon flailing like a bug in  the water whenever Aziraphale’s fingers came near his hips or the backside of his ribs.

“You,” Aziraphale exclaimed when his breathing allowed it, “are in for quite the ordeal!”

“Oh, am I?” Crowley chuckled, pushing their noses together and planting a quick kiss on the angel’s lips. “Do you really think you’d have the singlest tidbit of a chance against me right now?”

Aziraphale threw his head back with another peal of laughter when Crowley’s fingers continued their ticklish way up his sides. “NO NO!! NOT A ONE!! CROWLEY PLEASE!!”

“Not a one.” Crowley repeated meaningfully and grabbed Aziraphale’s shoulder to roll them over, grinning happily up at his angel’s bright face. “I won. Now I demand-“ He stopped himself, too embarrassed to say it out loud.

“Cuddles?” Aziraphale offered, smirking knowingly.

Crowley growled  and hissed in response, but his blushed cheeks made it lack any vigour. “Yes, that!!” He spat out, before burying his face in Aziraphale’s neck and turning them over again.

Aziraphale smirked at the demon’s antics, wrapping his arms around him to pull him as close to his body as possible and allowing him to keep his face hidden at his neck. “You shall have your cuddles then, you wily snake.”

Crowley grabbed the blanket and pulled it around them, before letting out the loudest sigh of relief, happily enveloped in the hug he had wished for. Occasionally he allowed his snake tongue to slip out between his lips to tickle Aziraphale’s neck. But apart from that, their cuddle session was not interrupted for an impressive amount of time. And Crowley couldn’t have been happier.

#good omens #tickle fic #good omens fluff #ticklish!aziraphale #tickling #ineffable husbands #aziracrow #aziraphale x crowley #crowley x aziraphale #cuddles #snuggles #pillow fights #don't ignore the lil snake aziraphale

[llflorence]

When you are old - Rated E - human AU, professors, slow burn

It was possible Crowley was even more beautiful five days later.

(Five days? Had it only been five?)

However long it was, it had been an excruciating wait until year's end. Aziraphale's house had never been so clean, his kitchen never so full of homemade treats and delicacies. Stress cleaning and baking had never been one of his 'things,' but apparently, it was now.

When the day finally arrived, he found himself wide awake at the cleft of dawn, staring at his ceiling, second and third and fourth-guessing.

It wasn't that Aziraphale was displeased with himself, with where he was in life. It was just – they were so different! What could Crowley (handsome, intelligent, questioning, enigmatic) see in an overweight, undertoned, introvert of a man?

After breakfast, Aziraphale put on his hat and coat and slid into warm mittens and scarf and took his sad excuse for a middle-aged adult for a walk in the park. He lectured himself about the insecure feelings; he had plenty of things to be proud of. He'd written a book! He'd been to Chicago! He'd successfully designed and constructed a greenhouse in a backyard he owned! He'd –

He'd better get back home and prepare for his date.

Because that's what it was; no explaining it away. He and Anthony J. Crowley were, later that evening, getting in that long lank of a black car and driving north for snowshoeing and hot cocoa, and who knew what else?

It was the 'what else' that had Aziraphale in a panic. It had been a long, long time since he'd been on a date with the potential for 'what else.' What if he turned out to be a disappointment?

But no. That kind of thinking would only make things worse. He had to believe in himself, in Crowley, in – whatever it was they had. One certainly couldn't force one's – well, it was best to leave the future where it was, perpetually out of reach.

One very, very hot shower and a cold towel over the face later, Aziraphale stood in his bedroom staring into the closet. He faced a conundrum: wear something soft and comfortable for traipsing through the woods or something that conveyed how he longed to be rogered over the back of the sofa.

He settled for soft and comfortable (long-sleeved tee, cotton button-down, fleece-lined slacks), but left a few more buttons that he normally did unfastened. He did like the picture it made, exposing the thin skin at the base of his throat (and he wouldn't say no to a good rogering).

Nothing, however, would ever change what he looked like in snow pants. Puffy and voluminous, elastic stretched as far as it would go over his belly, it made him look like the Michelin Man. The large one, from the fifties.

Aziraphale slouched against the mirror in the hallway, forehead touching the cool glass of his reflection.

"OK, Bibendum," he sighed, unable to see his toes over the stack of tires that was his torso. "Time to get our sexy on."

He took off the ridiculous pants and rolled them into a ball, then stuffed them with more force than was necessary into the duffle he'd procured for the occasion.

His heart began to hammer a good half hour before Crowley was expected to collect him, and the vague rumbling in his stomach became a torrent thunderstorm. He started to sweat under all those layers, causing another button to be released, and his hands shook as he tried to tie his bootlaces.

And then, there he was. Dazzling smile, shock of red hair poking out from under his knitted stocking hat. He wore an overstuffed coat and the same scarf from Christmas, but his skin glowed and his eyes shone and he was somehow so much more lively and vividly colored than ever before.

"Hiya, 'Ziraphale!" he purred, voice seductive yet joyful. "Ready to see how absolutely unathletic I am?"

Aziraphale's cheeks were instantly warm. The organ inside his chest jumped and skipped happily along. "I quite think I beat you in that department, my dear."

Crowley positively beamed. He held out his hand to take Aziraphale's bag, offering the other arm like the gentleman he was.

He snorted. "Yeah. Right. Says the amazingly brave individual who bikes to work every day."

The gentle ribbing did something to Aziraphale's brain; he was suddenly not at all nervous, just eager.

And warm.

Crowley fired up the engine, talking animatedly the moment they pulled out of the alley, motioning with his hands, turning his head often to look at Aziraphale. For the first few miles, their smiles matched each other's, and Aziraphale's cheeks became sore from holding it for so long.

"I've always wondered," the energetic man mused, well into a cheerful lecture about Venus and her outstanding characteristics (the planet, not the goddess), "if the clouds of sulfuric acid could be smelled from space. I mean, as a ship full of oxygen approached, would it be overwhelmed by the stench of rotten eggs?"

Aziraphale shook his head and thought Crowley's cheekbones were absolutely perfect.

"The vacuum of space is devoid of molecules, so the smell couldn't even travel to the air inside the craft." Crowley shrugged, both eyes on the road for once. "It's sort of like the old saying, 'If a bear shits in the forest –"

Aziraphale guffawed. "Oh, my dear. I believe the saying is, "If a tree falls in the forest."

Crowley swiveled his head, a smugness hiding at the corner of those thin lips. His eyes pierced the dark interior of the car. "You've got such a lovely laugh."

Aziraphale wavered under the compliment, looking down at his hands in his lap. "Oh. Well. Thank you."

"So. I've told you the story of my inspiration; the nun that taught Astronomy my first year of college," (who, Aziraphale had learned, disappointed most of the students by explaining how it had nothing at all to do with Astrology and that they would find no fortune telling in that class. Not Crowley, of course. He'd been delighted by the nun's dry sense of humor and candid approach to the fact that the universe was much, much older than what her Catholic faith allowed). "How about you? What got you into the art of language?"

Aziraphale very much liked how his colleague – his date – described his profession. "Oh. I don't really remember. I picked up a book when I was young and never put them down."

In the glow from the dash lights, it was easy to see Crowley's gaze linger on Aziraphale's hands before returning to his face (and not the road where they should have been). "Do you remember your first?"

Something skipped in Aziraphale's chest. The man spoke of books as if they were people; Aziraphale felt a sudden kinship blossom between them, stronger than it was before. "Oh. You know," he stalled, finding it difficult to breathe normally. "It was probably some nonsense about a cat chasing a rat carrying a bat."

Crowley still hadn't looked at the road. "Wearing a hat?"

Aziraphale smiled, loving the man's brand of humor, so much like his own. "Something like that."

Crowley laughed and finally turned his eyes to the task at hand. His profile was lovely. "Tell me more. Who was your favorite teacher?"

Aziraphale knew how to answer that. It was both his most favorite at least favorite, at different times. "He – he was a linguistics instructor. Also while I was in college. He opened my eyes to the beauty of the romance languages and the vulgar things done to it when it devolved into English." He cleared his throat, trying to dislodge the instant blockage there. It still hurt to think about it. "And he made me realize what a harsh, cruel, lonely world it could be."

Crowley turned to look at him, although Aziraphale didn't meet his eyes. "He dumped you?"

Aziraphale nodded. "It was my own fault. I was young, and he was French – one tends to lose one's faculties when one meets a Frenchman."

There was a long, uncomfortable moment where Aziraphale regretted saying anything about it at all. He opened his mouth to say so when Crowley's warm hand covered his own.

"It was his loss, the absolute numpty."

Aziraphale smiled, turning his hand in his lap to be able to clutch Crowley's fingers. "Yes. It was indeed."

The conversation turned from the past to the future. They were headed thirty miles north of the city to a small range community where his uncle's farm was located. (Said uncle was currently living in a home with full memory care. Crowley said he visited him twice a month, even though he no longer recognized him.)

"Uncle Fur Fur was a bizarre old fart," Crowley said, squeezing Aziraphale's hand tightly. "Don't be alarmed by what you see there. He was – a bit of a collector, of sorts."

"A collector?" Aziraphale could appreciate a good collection; he fancied himself a curator of words in print form, after all.

"More of a hoarder," Crowley clarified, rubbing his thumb over the ridge of Aziraphale's first knuckle. "He didn't have any kids, and Hastur and Ligur wanted nothing to do with it, so I've been steadily working to move some stuff out. The old farmhouse serves its purpose, though."

Aziraphale rather liked the soft, mushy texture of his insides as Crowley held his hand. "How so?"

The smile on Crowley's handsome face had grown sadly fond. "Well. We don't need a security alarm, that's for sure. I'd be glad to pay someone to steal all the stuff inside the garage alone."

Apparently, it was an ongoing issue in such a rural area. People broke into older, unoccupied homes to steal anything metal they could get their hands on. The money was good, for aluminum and copper especially. Sometimes, people went as far as to rip out gas lines and pipes inside the walls to be able to sell them.

"But that's awful!" Aziraphale gasped, horrified.

Crowley shrugged again. "People have to eat, right? The economy is tough on marginalized individuals. The house should really be torn down. And if they can make money off things my uncle no longer needs — ?"

Still shocked, Aziraphale felt even more warmth toward his date. "I feel like you could find the goodness in anything."

Crowley arched an eyebrow and said nothing as they pulled off the highway and onto a side road. Aziraphale looked out the window and relished the way their hands seemed to fit so well together.

They took another turn and drove down a dirt road that looked as if it hadn't been plowed in some time. Crowley's car didn't seem to have a problem with it, but he did let go of Aziraphale's fingers to be able to grip tightly to the wheel. He piloted the vehicle through the deep snow and gunned it over the frozen sludge left by a plow, settling into a driveway next to a garage that had seen better days.

It was boarded up, the paint peeling and faded. Each of the two overhead doors were padlocked, probably to deter further broken windows. And as Crowley killed the engine, a security light turned on over the front door of the shoddy-looking house, shining on the glossy black hood of the car and nearly blinding them.

Crowley got out of the car and trudged through the snow to Aziraphale's side. "Come on," Crowley said, opening his door and offering that ever-present hand. "Let's go inside. Don't bother taking off your boots."

Aziraphale hoisted himself from the low-slung seat, and Crowley collected two bags, one for each of them, from the back seat. He clicked his tongue as he passed as if to a horse, jerking his head toward the house. Aziraphale followed (it was unlikely there was nowhere he wouldn't).

The pressure from opening the front door pushed a wave of warm air outside. Aziraphale hadn't expected the place to have electricity, let alone heat. He stomped his feet on the mat and stepped inside, totally unprepared for what he saw as Crowley turned on the hall light.

He hadn't been kidding that his uncle had a lot of stuff. There were assorted-sized boxes piled against both walls, furniture loaded with more boxes, some packed, some not. The floor in the living slanted dangerously downhill into the adjoining kitchen, which was also full to the brim with a variety of things.

"See what I mean?" Crowley drawled as he lifted both bags above his waist and moved between the stacks of boxes. There was just enough room for a walkway into the living area, but then no space at all to sit on the horrible yellow-flowered sofa, or the ratty-rust-orange overstuffed chair.

"Yes. I do," Aziraphale said, turning sideways to be able to fit.

He followed Crowley into the kitchen, where a bigger area had been cleared. One could make out the cracked-green linoleum that had begun to roll back on itself. It was warmer here; Crowley had apparently freed up the vent so that the heating ducts could work properly. The warm air blew out at their feet, filling the kitchen with a musty reheated smell that was just this side of unpleasantness.

"Fur Fur had cats," Crowley said, wrinkling his nose. He set the bags down on the slanted floor next to a small wooden table, two matching chairs tucked underneath. "I don't think I'll ever get rid of the smell."

More of a dog person himself, Aziraphale did like cats, as long as they were somebody else's.

"Take a seat. Figure we can dress inside where it's warm before we venture outside."

Crowley pulled out a chair for him, and Aziraphale took it. He pulled his duffle closer and watched as Crowley did the same, sinking into his chair with a weary-sounding exhale.

He looked up, cheeks pink, and smiled. "Would you like an energy bar before we go? Bathroom break?"

Aziraphale hesitated before saying yes to the loo. Who knew what kind of mountain he'd have to climb to get there?

He needn't have worried, though. It appeared Crowley had begun with the bathroom. It was completely emptied, ceramic tub and sink and toilet all sparkling clean. He did his business and returned to the kitchen, where Crowley had removed his boots so he could wiggle into his snowsuit.

It was like watching a snake shedding its skin, only in reverse. Like he was crawling back into it. Crowley arched his back and bent at the waist, pulling the one-piece contraption over his knees and thighs and then –

Oh, his eyes were so pretty.

"It's cold out," he said plainly, although his eyes said something more. Narrowed and teasing, that one eyebrow arched upward, he made a stunning picture as he threaded one arm through a sleeve. "No wind, but we better bundle up."

The one-piece garment was tight and fit incredibly well. It made his long legs were even longer, and it left little to the imagination (what exactly was the man packing in the region below his navel?).

Aziraphale averted his eyes and sat in the chair to remove his boots, too. He dug in the bag, refusing to even chance a glance at the man standing so close, zipping into his snow gear in a way that was almost –

Well.

He looked up and found himself being watched with a seductive smirk. Crowley had paused his zippering in the act, forefinger and thumb holding tight to the pull. His gaze fell on Aziraphale as he had put both feet through into his snow pants, as he leaned forward to get up out of the chair, as he shuffled clumsily into them, as his face flushed hot.

Getting dressed had never before been so sensual.

Crowley finished with his zipper and began with his boots again, tying them smartly and standing tall. "I'll just head out and get the snowshoes. Meet me by the car when you're ready."

Aziraphale, sweating under the close scrutiny, would probably never be wholly ready. But he smiled and he nodded and he collapsed back onto the chair the second he heard the front door close.

"Oh my lord," he breathed, sucking in his gut where the button pushed uncomfortably into his navel. "What am I getting myself into?"

Crowley was waiting at the rear of the car when Aziraphale shut the door behind him. He stood in the harsh overhead light, a pair of jet-black metal snowshoes slung over one shoulder. There was a tilt to his head and a tooth-baring grin. And a little white tag dangling from the end of one shoe.

"Are these – did you buy these new?"

Crowley looked over his shoulder at the price tag, ripping it off with bare fingers and stuffing it into his side pocket. "Of course!" he smirked, nonplussed by the omission. "Nothing but the best for my Aziraphale, after all."

Aziraphale tripped and nearly fell to the ground (to make snow angels, of course).

"Where are we going?" Aziraphale asked, not even trying to hide how it felt to be called such a name.

"The cabin."

"The cabin?" It seemed there was an echo.

Crowley handed over the snowshoes and returned to the trunk for a second pair, also brand new. "Yep. There's a river that runs alongside the property border. Fur Fur built a little place before he started losing his marbles. It's really very charming."

Aziraphale fumbled with the straps as he adjusted them to his size and did absolutely nothing but think about how charming his companion was.

Crowley was elegant, even as he sat spread-eagle on the ground. Even as he struggled with his own straps. He listened and watched carefully as Aziraphale showed him how to slide his boot all the way into the toe piece, then wrap the strap around his heel. He tried and tried and tried without success to copy him while Aziraphale smiled and smiled and smiled. In the end, he got down on his hands and knees with Crowley's boot between his legs, reaching under the man's knee to help him out.

"Be kind," Crowley joked, his low thrum of a voice close to Aziraphale's ear. "I'm going to look like a clown in these things. All elbows and knees and long, crooked nose."

Aziraphale finished with the binding and sat back on his heels. "You'll look nothing of the sort. And I'll have you know that I happen to find your nose attractive."

That one eyebrow peaked once again and Crowley waggled both feet back and forth. Aziraphale didn't try to hide his satisfied smirk, and finished strapping his own boots into the contraptions.

They set out slowly in the dark, taking the direction Crowley indicated. It appeared to be a trail, double wide, wide enough for two cars to pass, although there was no road. The man exaggerated each step, like a diver wearing flippers out of the water. Aziraphale kept a wide berth, giving him plenty of room for those elbows and knees, hiding the fact that he himself was well out of shape for that kind of exercise.

They stopped several times to laugh and tease and joke (of the gentle kind, of course). And as the twilight gave way to night, the stars came out in full force. Even without a moon of any sort, Aziraphale could see clearly how happy Crowley looked. He hoped it was the same for him.

At one point, they paused to rest and were assaulted by the bark of a coyote, followed by the excited yapping and yipping and barking howls of more.

Crowley reached for Aziraphale's elbow and squeezed hard. "That sounded close." He peered intently into the darkness. It was endearing how protective (or scared or both) the grip appeared to be.

"There's no wind," Aziraphale explained, sounding surer than he felt. "We seem to be in their territory."

Crowley stiffened, and Aziraphale laughed. "No cause for worry. They won't attack us; I'm too big and you're too scary for that."

Crowley frowned sideways at him. "In California, they come right up to you in the city. Aren't afraid of humans one bit." He shook Aziraphale's arm gently. "And there'll be no more of that self-deprecation as long as I'm here. Understood?"

The temperature had dropped below zero after nightfall. Aziraphale could see both of their breaths. His cheeks were still very warm. "Understood."

They continued forward for a time, Crowley reminiscing about where he'd been born, grown up, and lived. Aziraphale walked beside him, breathing deeply, loving the sound of the man's voice in the woods. The snow muffled it, and the trees bounced it back to them. And the fact that it was black outside made it seem that much more mysterious.

Just as Aziraphale was about to ask for another rest, they turned a gentle corner, and a large, dark shape loomed ahead.

"Is that it?"

Crowley paused to take off a glove and reach into a pocket. He pulled out some kind of remote and clicked it. A light on a pole turned on overhead, shining down on them like a phone call from god.

"Yep," he said, zipping the remote back into a pocket and hurrying back into his glove. "And we've got three minutes to punch in the security code before a call is made to the local police chief."

Aziraphale made a squeaking sound, and Crowley took off for the building, now bathed in pale yellow light, and not looking like a cabin at all.

It was a house. A rather large house. An A-frame with massive windows, all of it natural wood colored and dark inside.

Crowley hurried through the snow, shuffling his feet in an expertly way that didn't make him seem at all like an amateur. It was difficult to keep up, and Aziraphale couldn't help but smile as he considered the fact that his date had used the snowshoes as an excuse to get him way out there in the woods to show him –

To show him what, exactly?

Puffing great billowing clouds of moisture, Aziraphale caught up at the side door. Crowley had already typed in the security code into an outdoor pad, then reached through the open door to flip breakers inside an electrical box. Things inside began to hum, indicators flashed into on positions. And Crowley turned to look over his shoulder.

"Welcome to the cabin," he said, sinking to the snow-covered ground and deftly working his straps loose. He kicked out of both shoes before Aziraphale had undone one, then crouched forward to help him with the other.

He was sheepish when he spoke again. "You mad at me about the —?" He waved vaguely towards the discarded snow shoes.

Aziraphale smiled because there was nothing else to do. "Dreadfully."

"Great!"

And Crowley helped him to his feet, guided him through the door and into the building.

It was colder inside, the shellacked wood floors creaking and snapping under their booted feet. Built from all wood materials, the place had an open-air design. The large, square windows on one wall all faced what was presumably the invisible river.

"Ready for a tour?"

Aziraphale blinked in wonder at Crowley’s child-like eagerness. It was contagious. "Of course!"

Where the old house was cluttered and stifling and old, this new place was the exact opposite. There wasn't any furniture, the walls bare and undecorated. Everything was spotless, and, although every surface was covered with a fine layer of sheetrock dust and littered with lady beetle carcasses, unlived in.

"Old codger only stayed in it for one summer," Crowley mused, voice echoing in the large, uncarpeted space. "Some friends helped clean it out, and we helped pay for the security detail. Been sitting alone here, in the woods, for a few years."

The ceiling over the living space was at least two stories high. Crowley led them up a wide staircase to a landing above.

Aziraphale's breath had already been taken away from the exercise. The beauty of the place was captivating.

"Look up," Crowley suggested as they reached the top of the stairs. A row of skylights ran from left to right, with a larger one over what appeared to be a sleeping space.

Crowley walked carefully across the wood floor, not wanting to slip from the snow packed in his boots. He stopped mid-center and cranked his neck back.

"I'm going to put a great, big, fluffy bed right here in the middle. So I can lay here at night and look up at the stars."

Aziraphale did a double take. "What? You're going to live here?"

Crowley hummed without tearing his eyes from the overhead view. "It's why I moved north from California. Fur Fur designated me as executor, and my brothers want nothing to do with the maintenance. Figured I'd keep the old house to deter the locals. Live here in the summer and spend winter in the city until I retire. Then take up residence here permanently."

He dropped his chin and made the most startling eye contact. "There's no one about for miles and miles."

Aziraphale laughed nervously under such an intense gaze. "That's wonderful."

He sounded terrified.

Crowley showed him the little work-study off the landing, the single bath with the shower, then headed back downstairs. There he took Aziraphale to the larger bathroom with jetted tub, past the laundry room and out a second door.

The patio was narrow and sprawling, with a screened porch all the way around. Crowley allowed Aziraphale to pass into the space, gone quietly sullen, all of a sudden.

"It's very nice," Aziraphale said, unsure of himself now and hoping to recover. "Plenty of room for your pets and a lot of light for your plants."

"It's a little too much space for me," he responded sadly. And then, cheering up, "Are you hungry?"

Aziraphale welcomed the warmth of that smile. "Only if you are."

Crowley turned and muttered something under his breath, heading back into the house, where he lifted his backpack off his shoulders.

He set the bag on the long marble countertop. Out came a thermos, two cups, a container of fruit. A package of crackers. A long cylinder of summer sausage. A ziplock bag of cheese. A knife.

"I'm no Frenchman," he said with a smirk, ripping open each package and laying it on the table. "And I hope you'll forgive me, but I did bring wine."

Aziraphale took the thermos from him, unscrewed the cap, and let it breathe. A red. Fruity. Sweet. Just like someone else he knew.

Crowley rounded up a couple of stools while Aziraphale poured. He carried one in each hand, still grinning like he was up to something untoward. Even if it was the plotting of evil-doing, Aziraphale would have been none the wiser. He thought Crowley hung the moon.

Wine from a thermos with Crowley was divine, even in the frigid emptiness of a barely used kitchen. They sat together at the counter, smiling as they enjoyed the impromptu picnic and shared company alike. Aziraphale lost track of time; his nose grew cold, and his feet did, too. But he didn't care. Truthfully, it was all quite lovely for a first date.

Eventually, nature called, and they packed up Crowley's bag and locked down the house. There was an outhouse a ways back in the woods that didn't require plumbing, and what looked like a shed with a stovepipe off the porch. Possibly a sauna?

Crowley did his own strappings this time while Aziraphale felt mildly disappointed. It would have been nice to have a reason to get close. Especially now that he knew his companion had planned the whole thing. There was a suggestion in it, a hint at a hopeful future. And Aziraphale's chest felt tight as he thought about that future.

(It could also have been the food and wine, too.)

Without haste, they headed back the way they'd come. It was much later now, and the stars had come out in the thousands. Crowley stopped several times to point up and gape at the Milky Way. The starlight was so bright, reflecting off the snow, that they didn't need a moon to be able to see each other's faces.

"Pop quiz," Crowley said, practically bouncing on his heels. Aziraphale's toes were freezing. "Any idea what the brightest object in the sky is?"

Aziraphale nudged a little closer, until the toes of their snowshoes pressed right up against each other. He liked the shadows playing on Crowley's face. It accentuated his cheekbones and drew every ounce of Aziraphale's attention to his mouth.

"That's a trick question. You're trying to fool me."

Crowley looked down on him, a flash of white teeth as he spoke. "Who me? I would never –"

"It's the sun, of course," Aziraphale interrupted, garnering a sound of surprise and pride from his companion.

"Clever Aziraphale."

The praise was enough to start something brewing deep down, an ache that had been hovering somewhere about his navel the entire evening.

Crowley leaned forward for more teasing. "How about the second?"

If Aziraphale could sing, he would. "That would be the moon, my dear."

"Very good!" Crowley took off a glove and brushed his knuckles over Aziraphale's cheek. "And the third?"

Aziraphale shook his head. His nose dripped unhelpfully. If he were to open his mouth just then, he'd be proclaiming something he knew would not be well-timed. He didn't want to break the spell.

"The third brightest object," Crowley said softly, withdrawing his hand and leaning impossibly close, "is –"

It was too much. Aziraphale was done resisting. He never heard what it was that shined so bright after the moon. He reached up and wrapped a hand around the man's long, thin scarf. He pulled him in. He didn't care that his nose was running and his feet were ice, because his lips were warm. And so were Crowley's.

It was a brief thing, this first, fervent kiss, the angle awkward for each. Aziraphale was up on his frozen toes, and Crowley had been pulled forward and slightly off-kilter. And Aziraphale felt right away that it was unbalanced in more ways than one.

He pulled back, gave the man's space back to him. Oh, how stupid could one person be? Taking something so dear without asking –

"I – I'm sorry," Aziraphale began, stomach dropped clear to the ground as he looked immediately away. "I thought –"

But Crowley took a step forward where there wasn't any room to, carefully rocking up onto Aziraphale's snowshoes with his own. A bare hand slid over Aziraphale's cheek, under his scarf, to the back of his neck. And when he looked up, Crowley, head tipped slightly, mouth open and eyes wide, touched the point of Aziraphale's chin with his thumb.

"Aziraphale."

He hadn't gotten it wrong; he'd been so very right. Hearing his name said like that was proof enough.

Crowley hovered for an exquisite moment before tipping Aziraphale's head back with the thumb on his chin. His eyes were ablaze, his whole body leaning and determined, and Aziraphale was weak for it. With quivering lips, he closed his eyes and met Crowley in the middle. Chest pressed against chest. A hand on the man's upper arm. Breath hot and humid between them. And then –

Crowley kissed him, well and properly kissed him. And it was everything.

When you are old - on AO3

#ineffable husbands #aziracrow #crowley #aziraphale #good omens #llflorence

[mimisempai]

It has always been there

Summary

The morning after the shopkeepers' meeting, Aziraphale awakens at Crowley's side.

Gazing at the sleeping demon, he once again realizes the depth of his feelings, and a moment of shared tenderness allows them to reaffirm how they feel about each other.

Notes

Just another lazy morning

On Ao3

Rating G -  1366 words

When Aziraphale awoke and opened his eyes, his gaze was immediately drawn to Crowley's red hair, which had caught the only ray of sunlight that had managed to flit through the curtains.

The angel turned a little more toward Crowley, resting his head on his hand and taking advantage of the moment of quiet to look at the sleeping demon.

He was so beautiful that sometimes Aziraphale couldn't believe his luck. He smiled fondly, for while Crowley slept, a strand of his hair, always slicked back perfectly, had fallen across the demon's forehead.

The angel reached out and delicately caught the red strand with his fingertips. He admired the changing shimmer in the sunlight before gently flicking the strand back.

He reflected that Crowley's hair was like the demon's personality, vibrant with color, full of different shades, but paradoxically, so constant.

He ran his eyes over Crowley's face, amazed to see him so relaxed in his sleep. So trusting.

His presence had been so precious and comforting during the stress of preparing for the shopkeepers' meeting and during the meeting itself last night. 

Stress that Aziraphale had to admit had been caused in large part by his own desire to do everything too well. 

Fortunately, Crowley had been there to channel it and help him gain some perspective.

Unable to resist a sudden impulse, he leaned forward and brushed his lips against the demon's forehead.

Crowley let out a small sigh, but kept his eyes closed as Aziraphale raised his hand and traced the contours of the delicate face with his fingertips. 

His fingers ran along the line of the demon's cheek, up to trace the line of his nose, then down the other cheek to end at his soft lips.

Suddenly, the lips under his fingers curved into a smile, and the angel raised his eyes to meet Crowley's, now wide open. 

He wanted to remove his hand from the demon's lips, but Crowley would have none of it and grabbed his wrist to kiss the angel's fingertips before saying in a still sleepy voice, "You really do look like an angel, like that."

Aziraphale chuckled slightly before saying, "You're not fully awake, you obviously can't see very well. 

Crowley immediately replied in a firm tone despite the fact that he had just woken from his sleep, "I can see just fine, on the contrary, angel. With the sunlight behind you, it looks like you have a real halo, but... it's mostly your smile that made me say that. And I won't accept any arguments."

Aziraphale shook his head, but didn't protest, knowing it was a losing battle. 

He stroked the demon's cheek gently with the back of his hand and asked thoughtfully, "Did you sleep well, my dear?"

Crowley replied unblinking, "I always sleep well when I sleep here with you.

He wrapped his arms around the angel's waist, pulling him closer until he was almost on top of Crowley. Aziraphale buried his hands in the red hair and leaned his head forward to press his lips to the demon's in a lazy kiss.

The sounds of the street awakening could be heard in the background, but the angel and the demon, so focused on each other, were oblivious as the kiss lingered.

Moments later, Aziraphale moved back a bit and began to rain a shower of butterfly kisses on the demon's face, causing him to laugh slightly.

The laughter changed Crowley's face so much that Aziraphale couldn't help but give a small gasp. The angel was always a little emotional when he saw the same joy on the demon's face that he'd seen the first time he'd met him as an angel. But at the same time, he was happy to be the one who had just brought that joy to that face.

He continued to shower the demon's face with light kisses, and after a last one on his lips, he caught the demon by the shoulders and with unexpected strength rolled him onto his stomach, causing Crowley to let out a small, startled yelp.

Crowley turned his head to the side and asked, "Angel, why are you..."

Aziraphale, now astride the demon's waist, leaned toward his head and whispered softly in his ear, "It's my turn to take care of you, my dear, because you've been such an incredible support these past few days."

"Angel, you owe me nothing for that."

Aziraphale pressed a kiss to his temple and replied softly, "I'm doing exactly what you keep telling me to do, which is what I really want to do."

He straightened and, after placing his hands on the demon's back, began to rub it gently, making circles with the palm of his hand. Then, a little unsure of himself, he tried to apply more and more pressure, attempting to replicate what Crowley had done for him when he had massaged his shoulders two days earlier.

He said softly, "I'm not sure I'm as good as you, I've never done this before."

Crowley replied gently, "I've never done this before either, you know. I'd say do what I did, let your instincts do the work, it's perfect as it is, I swear, Angel, I've never felt so good."

Aziraphale, emboldened by the demon's words, continued his massage, working his way down from the shoulders to the lower back, and judging by the little grunts of satisfaction that came from Crowley's mouth from time to time, he must not have done too badly.

When he was through, he leaned over the demon's head and, seeing his relaxed face, realized with amusement that Crowley had fallen back asleep.

Since Crowley couldn't hear him, Aziraphale dared to whisper in his ear, "I've never been prouder than I was last night to officially tell everyone that you were my partner. That we were together." 

Azirapahle felt his throat tighten, but continued, "Never in my wildest dreams could I have imagined this. That I could call you mine and show it to the world. I swear, my dear, I've never loved you as much as I love you right now."

Suddenly, he saw the demon's lips curl into a smile as he whispered, "I love you, angel."

Aziraphale blushed, embarrassed that Crowley had heard him, and had no time to react when, with a deft move of the demon, he found himself beneath him as Crowley murmured against his lips, "Don't be embarrassed to tell me how you feel, angel. Because I love to hear it."

He pressed his lips to the angel's, and when he pulled away, Aziraphale said without preamble, "I love you."

It was the demon's turn to blush slightly, surprised by the forthright declaration.

Aziraphale laughed lightly and said, "Who shouldn't be embarrassed, hmm?"

The demon buried his face in the angel's neck, and the angel wrapped his arms around him, still laughing.

Then he whispered into his hair, "I want to tell you again, I'm proud, Crowley, proud that here, those who make up our friends, those we pass every day, know what you mean to me."

Crowley lifted his head and added, "What we mean to each other."

He kissed the angel's chin and asked, "Do you think that one day we will be able to tell each other that we love each other without it being a surprise or thinking that the other can't hear us?"

Aziraphale gently replied, "Maybe it'll never be easy, but what's important in the end is that we know it. And you know, don't you, that I... that I l..."

Crowley burst out laughing, and it wasn't long before the angel joined in.

But it was the truth, after all, maybe grand declarations weren't for them.

For centuries, they had expressed their love for each other through their actions.

A multitude of small gestures over the millennia.

A wing that sheltered from the rain.

A spot of paint erased in a breath.

Books saved from the rubble.

Thinking of the other as soon as the word trust was uttered.

All of this meant "I love you" as surely as if the words had been spoken.

The difference was that now they knew it was love.

_________

Still not beta'd

Still not my native language

Still hoping you'll enjoy this story  🥰

Still thanking you for bearing with me 😝

Ineffable Growing Love series : here (After season 2)

Ineffable Husbands masterlist : here (Before season 2)

#good omens #aziracrow #ineffable husbands #ineffable boyfriends #aziraphale #crowley #good omens fanfiction #aziraphale x crowley #crowley x aziraphale #GOS2Spoilers

[midnights-dragon]

I am very proud of how this story turned out! It is fully and entirely inspired by the wonderful art of @tanpopomugishu's Good Omens First Responders AU (PLEASE check out their art it is SO GOOD y'all), and though it is a one-shot, it is rather long, at 11k words. Feel free to give it a read, and definitely look at tanpopomugishu's art if you want your eyes to be blessed.

Summary:

The EMT was a handsome older bloke, with soft, curly blonde-white hair and warm blue eyes that were soft and crinkled at the edges. His cheeks were round and flushed with red, and he looked rather frazzled, but in a way that somehow looked so utterly gorgeous. White gloves were pulled tightly over his hands, contrasting the dark color of his uniform, and spectacles balanced on his nose, slightly fogged from the smoke nearby, though they were, for the most part, out of range from the smoldering church. “Hi.” Crowley, who was caked in grime and smoke and debris and who was wearing a dirty, unwashed firefighter’s suit and who was barely able to speak in a voice louder than a raspy, hoarse croak, thought that perhaps he had died and gone to Heaven. Would’ve believed it, too, with this angel before him, if the adrenaline wasn’t starting to wear off, giving way to dull, throbbing pain in his skull. “M’Crowley,” he introduced himself, rather stupidly. “Anthony Crowley.”

Crowley is a firefighter; Aziraphale is an EMT. A First Responders Human AU one-shot of their first (whumpy but fluffy) meeting, inspired by artwork (link in A/N)!

And my favorite line:

Anthony Crowley did not believe in love, or soulmates, or red strings, and yet here he was, tied up in a knot of crimson.

I hope you enjoy if you read! <3

#good omens au #good omens human au #human crowley #human aziraphale #fic rec #good omens fic rec #good omens fic #good omens #gomens #crowley x azriaphale #ineffable husbands #ineffable husbands au #human au #first responders au #inspired by art #fanfiction #fanfic #good omens fanfiction #crowley fanfic #aziraphale fanfic #human good omens #neil gaiman #david tennant #michael sheen #fic

[the-apology-dance]

“Sense and Sensibility”

Aziraphale had spent hours painting petals of various colors, shapes, and sizes. In Heaven, he simply was given the duty to follow God’s orders and to obey commands that were in order with the Great Plan.

The more he stayed in line, the less he got reprimanded.

It wasn’t incredibly difficult and Aziraphale rather enjoyed the duties he had been assigned, it wasn’t too hard or stressful on the Angel. In fact, it was rather calming.

He had chosen to take his break, sighing heavily. Apparently he was not the only Angel who had chosen to do so. He could see Micheal, Uriel, and Sandalphon all standing together talking about something he was too far away to understand. Not that he particularly cared. Closing his eyes, he stretched his wings out. They had been folded closely against his back and were starting to become sore from lack of movement. He flinched slightly when a familiar voice came from behind him.

“Aziraphale!” Opening his eyes, he was met with an Angel who had bright red curly hair and a smile that could light up the already blinding light of Heaven.

“Raphael. You do know that there are other higher ranking angels you could be spending time with?” Rolling his eyes, Raphael’s wings fluttered and he shrugged.

“Yeah, but they are no fun. They may have fancy titles and all but they seem to be lacking in every other department.” Aziraphale examined the Angel, who had stardust on his white robes, and in his curly red strands of hair. He had clearly forgotten to dust himself off. Raphael tilted his head slightly, causing stardust to fall from his curls.

Like a mini meteor shower.

Aziraphale let out a noise he had never heard before. Interesting. Raphael looked at him curiously. Aziraphale knew The Almighty had created emotions, and he supposed that was what caused the reaction of “joy”. What they had called “laughter”.

“What was that noise you made?” Aziraphale looked around at the other angels, nervously wringing his hands. This was something they created for the humans, not for the Angels. Raphael seemed to get the message and brought Aziraphale out to where he could normally be found creating stars. It was a lot more private than where they had been previously.

“Okay. That was what The Almighty calls emotion. That was a laugh. It happens when you find something amusing. It usually is associated with a feeling of happiness.” Raphael seemed to be fascinated by it all.

“Oh. So an emotional response?” Aziraphale nodded. He was already telling this Angel most of the information he knew about the new creation. He may as well continue.

“There is that and a thing called senses. It helps humans experience and understand the world around them better.” Raphael seemed to light up, Aziraphale felt his face heat up and a tightness in his chest form, like someone had wrapped his heart in cellophane.

“Can you show me them?” Aziraphale nodded. Angels were also God’s creations so it seemed fair. Aziraphale gently grabbed Raphael’s wrist and lifted up his hand. He let his fingertips brush against his palm. He gasped and watched Aziraphale’s hand curiously.

“That’s touch. I’m touching your hand.” Raphael nodded. Aziraphale watched curiously as Raphael trailed a finger down Aziraphale’s wrist.

“You’re warm.” Aziraphale nodded. He watched on as Raphael traced the lines on his palm.

“Touch also can be used to show affection. Affection is fondness between people.” Raphael watched closely as Aziraphale moved closer. He slowly looped his arms around Raphael’s torso and let his chin rest on his shoulder. Raphael mimicked Aziraphale’s movements, and closed his eyes as his head fell down on his shoulder.

“This is a hug.” Raphael smiled softly as he felt the soft fabric of Aziraphale’s robe brush against his cheek. He seemed to feel everything about his being relaxed and calmed down slowly.

“I like touch.” Aziraphale went to pull back, but was prevented from doing so as Raphael tightened his grip. He whispered near Aziraphale’s ear, voice quiet.

“Don’t pull away. Not yet.” Aziraphale nodded, simply sitting there in the other Angel’s arms until he pulled away from him gently. Raphael seemed to be calmer than before.

Aziraphale snapped next to Raphael’s ear, teaching him about sound and hearing. The next few minutes were filled with Raphael trying to learn how to snap. Aziraphale smiling ear to ear. Eventually, he managed a small snap, his mouth forming an “o” shape.

“What else can you do with touch?” This could be a mistake. He didn’t quite understand how it worked yet. Aziraphale leaned forward and let his lips press against Raphael’s. It was clumsy and by far not the best a being could do, but it was enough to send a shock through both Aziraphale and Raphael. His eyes widened and Aziraphale pulled away, wringing his hands quickly as his nerves got the better of him. Touching his lips gently, Raphael smiled, Aziraphale’s nerves easing a bit.

“I liked that….” Aziraphale smiled and once again made the sound from earlier. A laugh. Raphael joined in this time, both Angels finding themselves in a laughing fit. A white wing was brought over Aziraphale’s head as a meteor shower began.

This was a secret that they were willing to keep. If it meant they could keep the other by their side. Another feeling filled his chest soon after Raphael began pointing out shooting stars. Aziraphale was truly fascinated by the curly red haired Angel.

He would later on learn the word for that.

Love.

#good omens 2 #aziraphale #crowley #crowley was raphael #ineffable husbands #good omens #good omens spoilers #good omens oneshot #i’m not okay #i’m coping #fanfiction #enjoy my brainrot #my writing #Heaven #five senses #creation of humans #I’m on thin ice currently #tooth rotting fluff #fyp

[twicearoundthebend]

Going insane over character design/acting choices again

This scene captures it perfectly, especially Aziraphale. Visually, from a character design/costuming standpoint, Aziraphale is the ‘soft’ one: light colors, worn clothing, rounded edges. And Crowley is the ‘sharp’ one: dark colors, structured shoulders, hard lines.

But they present opposite, Aziraphale sitting straight as a pin, and Crowley who doesn’t seem to have a spine.

Aziraphale wants to be soft, welcoming, go with the flow- but he needs structure and purpose.

Crowleys the opposite, wanting to appear harsh and devil may care, but really a softie deep down.

#never going to shut up about them #good omens #my post

[invisibleicewands]

Hello! You are so good at writing review, I really like it! What is your opinion about Good Omens S2? To be honest, I hadn't have any expectations, so I wasn't upset by the plot. But, to my mind, unfortunately, there was a lot of bad writing, unnecessary characters and primitive dialogues compare to the first season.

Hi, Anon!

Thank you for your trust, even if mine are more random thoughts. I have to tell you, I’m not a binge watcher (I prefer to taste the episodes one by one, slowly) but this time I chose to make an exception watching it all in three days, with the last ten final minutes seen immediatly the first day, just to avoid the spoilers online (like “away the tooth away the pain“). So, my view could be affected by this.

Over the last few months I've been making a certain idea about the 2nd series and now I can say it wasn’t completely wrong, even though the result is maybe a bit better than my first expectations.

I find GO2 being like a colorful circus, with a parade of artists doing their best numbers and where MS and DT were the best attraction, the trapeze artists.

The plot is a pretext, 100% fans service: to monetize again the success of the first season, following the dreams’ fans, using their fanfictions as inspiration for the script, then putting all together in a glossy package with a bow on top: some fireworks, a bit of special effects and the effort of two titans, MS and DT, who took the 80% of the weight of this mission on their shoulders.

As very 'serious' and professional actors, with a background of theatre, tv and cinema, they did a wonderful job, transforming with their talent every line in something precious, every scene unforgettable, with skilful expressions or little gestures, even during the boring moments. They put on the table all the tricks of their playbooks to play their characters. Sometimes I saw some of Bill Masters’ glances, sometimes there were Kenneth Williams or Aro or Castor’s vibes. And the episodes were rich of references to their previous works too (Bright Young Things, Dr.Who, etc.), like a showcase of their careers.

I particularly liked Crowley’s clever lines, his dry humour, his pragmatism, also his soft side. A bit less, I must say, Aziraphale character, who was sometimes too much unnecessarily stubborn or dull if compared with the first season, too much 'Wesley Snipes'. But the actors, as I said, were both excellent and a wonder for the eyes. A mention for Jon Hamm too: I thought the nice reviews for his performance were exaggerated, but his scenes were really funny (his hug to Aziraphale xD), maybe because of the contrast between the absurdity of the moments combined with his mono-expression-marble-face. Pity for his story, which had to be the core of the mistery but was revealed and explained in a superficial and hurried way just in the last few minutes.

And here we are, the story. I've found the first two episodes well written, with comic scenes and smart lines, good timing, but then something suddendly changed: the plot became plain, childish, predictable. IMHO a lot of time has been wasted to tell useless or not so interesting stories. The barely hinted relationship between Nina and Meggie, the mere rethoric of their speech to Crowley, all the chaos of the demons battle for nothing, the travel to the cemetary in Scotland and all the resurrectionist thing. Plus, a lot of stereotypical characters: the ridiculous zombies, the boring angels of the Paradise, all like clowns, dolls to fill the void. And Jane Austen. There was nothing really important about her, just her name to justify a ball in regency dresses. Not enough for me. Also, the la-la land love story between Gabriel and Beelzebub to give a meaning to the mistery (really?), was cold and too quick to be interesting.

The turning point at the end of the 6th episode and it was like suddendly watching Barbra Streisand and Robert Redford in The Way We Were. MS and DT were simply amazing in giving to that scene such a depth and drama (nervous breakdown Aziraphale?), but the effect I felt was a bit alienating compared to what I'd seen just before. Like a leap too big, like watching two completely different and separate shows.

The final. Moving, exciting, wonderfully acted but... of course was not a final (like MoS ending in season 3). They should have called this Good Omens vol.2, like Kill Bill, since it’s obvious that was not a real end. Everything has been written for a third part since the beginning and you can see it, even if they tried to hide it somehow. Honestly I don't know if I wish to see another chapter, 'cause I'm worried about Michael's hair at this point... (I'm evil, I know)

Jokes apart, I think it was surely an entertaining, light, funny, moving, show with some brilliant moments and others less, and two great actors who covered the flaws with their skills. But I struggle to see it like a masterpiece or something worthing of an award (the special effects and the make up too, were a bit cheap). It needed of something more in the writing, for example, to reach The Marvelous Mrs. Maisel league, just saying.

But for sure it was a gold mine for fans and gif makers. ;)

A music video, to heal the heart of a demon:

#Good Omens #Good Omens 2 #Michael Sheen #David Tennant #Aziraphale #Anonymous #Crowley #I hope it will help audience to discover all the other amazing Michael's works

[rrcenic]

HI NIC I'M GOING TO GO WILD WITH THE QUESTIONS so feel free to skip this in case it's overwhelming or anything! favorite books? favorite music genre, song, and artists? favorite season and month? do you prefer cats or dogs (or neither, or both!) what are your hobbies? what's your favorite show? what is your least favorite show because it didn't meet your expectations? who is your favorite character in every fandom you're in? what headcanons do you have for your favorite characters? CAN I HEAR MORE ABOUT YOUR LOTF OC IF YOU HAVE MORE CONTENT OF HIM? (sorry i just adore him!)

KUNI ILY THANK YOU SO MUCH

favorite books: lord of the flies, les mis, good omens, enders game, and the house on the cerulean sea

favorite music genre: i like indie soft punk, anarchist early 2000s rock, and musical theatre!!

favorite artists: i adore green day, death cab for cutie, queen, aaron tveit, ben platt, mccafferty, marina, lincoln, cavetown, ricky montgomery, and penelope scott!

favorite songs: good old fashioned lover boy, riptide, trees, be nice to me, lotta true crime, american idiot, basket case, my heart is buried in venice, line without a hook, boys will be bugs, paul, twin size mattress, drink with me, stars, are you satisfied, i will follow you into the dark, the village, and so many more!!!

favorite season: late fall/early winter

cats or dogs: dogs i guess!! i love both but i’ve always been more of a dog guy

hobbies: art!! drawing, painting, sculpting, writing, singing, acting, etc

favorite show: GOOD OMENS!!! i also enjoy our flag means death, the umbrella academy, and the simpsons

least favorite show: not a tv show, but south pacific (the movie/musical). the ending is so wild and sudden and poorly done!

favorite characters for each fandom: aziraphale (good omens), simon (lord of the flies), grantaire (les mis), alai (enders game), lucius (ofmd), five hargreeves (umbrella academy)

character headcanons:

lotf:

simon survived his wounds on the island, and was secretly cared for by roger (not really “cared” for, just “kept alive”). however, he is left partially paralyzed in one leg and has chronic pain because of it. when they return to civilization, he uses a mobility aid

the choir doubles as their schools honorary gsa

jack is openly trans and jokingly blames transphobia whenever he doesn’t get his way. this infuriates piggy

simons guilty pleasure is fast food. he has strong opinions about what makes a good french fry

maurice makes british jokes and sam has to gently remind him that they are all in fact british

good omens:

crowley has trouble seeing because of his snake eyes. he misses the stars dearly. once, aziraphale brought him to an observatory on the top of a mountain and crowley cried because the stars were just bright enough for him to see

crowley also gets excited whenever humans discover new telescopes or ways to take pictures of other galaxies because it means people are getting closer to seeing more of his creations

aziraphale invented macadamia nuts (reasons: they’re buttery and soft and light and are really nice to bite and i like them)

les mis:

grantaire makes music. 3 am guitar recordings and random voice memos of lyric ideas. most are about enjolras

as a smart person and a victim of police brutality, valjean is a firm acab believer. he likes giving large anonymous locations to the les amis

marius is the token straight friend, even though he himself is a trans man. there’s such a lack of cishet folks in their friend group that the token straight is literally queer

enjolras is terribly allergic to cats but pets grantaires pet cat anyway. he suffers constantly

other hcs about my lotf oc: he likes swimming but hates the feeling of dried salt water on his body, he likes to paint his nails, he chews his hair and nails when he’s nervous (someone needs to introduce this boy to oral stim toys), and his favorite color is baby blue!

again, thank you so much for the asks!!! <333

#nic answers #kunfire #lord #good omens #les mis

[heartinajarofpickles]

Dinner Is Not Over

Part 6

I really wanna draw the line! when you wanna keep me out of my mind, you want to put me down until I'm fine

Things have never been more interesting, although the state in which Crowley was, was far from ideal, the peaceful (and boring) sleep had already finished, ever since he woke up he had kept on moving, the demon was on the road and nothing was stopping him. It wasn’t a good thought the one the angel was having, but it was not like he was going to tell anyone about it, after what felt like a zillion years of repeating their actions something was finally happening, of course he felt guilty about enjoying this, but the demon dancing around earth brought him so much pleasure, he just couldn’t hold back, so he indulged one more time for old times’ sake.

As good as it was to have him back the angel realized that everything he had purposefully interfered with one way or another drove the demon into madness, fist that goodbye which leaded him to steal and drink viciously, then the messages on the voicemail, that made him destroy his beloved old machine, and finally not watering the plants became the starter for the destruction of the flat in the hands of its owner, somehow even after all that, after all the mistakes the angel had committed, he still jumped to his Bentley and drove to the library, even after everything he had messed up Crowley still went to him when everything was crashing down.

Aziraphale couldn’t pay as much attention as he would’ve wanted, it was his little secret after all, so he watched her get in the coffee shop when Uriel came and scolded him for not having things ready on time, so he had to pretended to fill out a solicitation form, and while he looked away just for one second, when heaven once again stole the angel away from the demon, Crowley got hit by the car, once his attention drew back to the dark figure on earth he observed it there laying on the ground.

Thankfully for both of them, as one couldn’t stand the pain and the other couldn’t stand seeing him that way, Muriel came out of the library and helped her get back on her feet, doing what Aziraphale so desperately wanted to do.

It wasn’t just a detail that looked different, absolutely everything have changed, even just by taking a look at the entrance the angel felt like he was going to faint. Since he saw Muriel selling the books 3 years ago Aziraphale refused to take a look at his shop, instead of paying attention to his business he focused all of his energy and thoughts to the demon, vigilating, watching over his dreams praying that they wouldn’t become nightmares, keeping vigil on their soft vulnerable state; So to see such a minimalistic place with all the books in metal shelves with bright white lights and those funky chairs, stole all the breath from Aziraphale, his space on earth, the one that he had rightfully owned from many many years was deformed, twisted in the hands of what was assumed to be his successor, change wasn’t wrong of course but no one really asked Aziraphale if these changes could be done. Not that it mattered, first because the only time they asked for his opinion was as a way to show support, he was always part of the statistics never the leader of the campaign, on a second note he would’ve said no; If anyone asked him for permission to change things up he wouldn’t have let them as the bookshop was already perfect as it was, this probably being the reason why no one asked him.

As he was staring at the screen everything slowly became prettier, the harsh image dissolving, the absurd colors mixing, the world was blurry now, a shield his body crated to protect him from his new sad reality, so he embraced it, he let the tears run through his face, play on his cheeks and land on the floor, first one by one but then allowing others to join many of them came and once they arrived it became impossible to make them leave, the only way they left was when they landed on the papers scattered on the ground, but instantly being replaced with a new one that had emerged from that holy eye, just as this was happening Michael came to retrieve the solicitation forms Uriel had sent Aziraphale earlier, when they saw the archangel in an awful state.

— “What is your problem?”

Nothing, Aziraphale wasn't registering any information around him, for once the world was quiet, heaven hell and earth for an instant shut up, they left the angel there, all alone, so he could grieve, grieve the space he lost and his favorite guest there, tears holding onto the past and incredibly terrified of the future.

All of this was wrong, and he couldn’t do anything but watch, that’s what he has been doing all along right? Just watching, watching how Crowley invented those beautiful stars, watching how Crowley tempted those humans all through history, in order to instigate curiosity, to make them made choices, freeing them or dooming them, the ways in which he made sure they live their lifes, that they could exploit their humanity and push them through the edge so that they could break their fragile minds and understand more, ask more, want for more, all of that just using her mind, perhaps putting them a few inconveniences on the way, he was a demon after all, but never doing anything that would truly hurt them, in the end his chore was to observe the humans, to accompany them, and Crowley was a being of word, he would stay there for them. But what had Aziraphale done in that time?, besides enjoy all of the earthly pleasures without giving the humans something in return, of course he was nice, but that was his nature, the sword too but that was so many years ago and he was created to be nice, a few miracles here and there, sometimes not even being committed by him, he was perfect because that’s the way it was intended to be, he was an experiment gone right on every single way; unlike Crowley that put so much effort into defying all the ideas others imposed onto him, that it became incredibly tiring for everyone, especially for herself, if only they inverted that time into being actually evil, they would’ve been Satan's voice already.

If it wasn’t clear before Aziraphale aspire to be like Crowley, but Aziraphale never had to hide, perhaps because of their agreement, but they were equally involved, so if they discovered them (like they did years ago) they would still have the other, but that’s not what he wanted, he wanted to be wise, he wanted to know, he wanted to ASK, he craved the skill that the demon have developed for thousands of years but that he wasn’t able to explore without being punished for, so he could only stare at pages full of knowledge and the demon by his side.

The glimpse of a light ceasing to exist pull him out of his string of thoughts, as he was watching around he realized Michael was standing there and that the earth between them had disappeared.

— “WHAT IS YOUR PROBLEM AZIRAPHALE?” Michael repeated yelling.

— “Please put it back on” came out of the angel's throat in a desperate attempt to keep feeding his soul with torment.

— You are not on lookout duty, that's for the angels below, but of course you aren't making your job, are you? I'll be surprised the day you do something! Just look at you, you pathetic excuse of an angel, the only thing you have done is stay in that little store of yours, you have committed more sins than the whole building and word says your faith is as weak as that friends of yours, do you want to end up like him? It would be ridiculously at this point that you would go against any of this, any of us, all the power you hold is thanks to us, everything you have has been given to you by heaven, including that demon you follow around like a puppy, and this is how you repay us? Wasting your time fixated on that screen looking at him, we have been generous but if this continues we might have to do some adjustments.

With each word Michael get closer and closer to Aziraphale’s face, until their noses met their eyes did too, although the archangel eyes were staring deeply into Michael's, Michael was nothing but a white and gold mass in Aziraphale’s crystalline eyes, he was there, but his soul was still on the image trying to rebuild it to its old state of glory, his consciousness was becoming incredibly small to search between the atoms, and then too big to be sorting through galaxies in order to find a glimpse of hope through all this mess. The yells from the most experienced angel make him weak, he wasn’t feeling good and his environment just made him feel worse, he fell into the ground and just like before everything went quiet, Michael was still shouting, or at least that’s what it looked like, their face was moving cheeks all blushed up veins popped and little drops of liquid emanating from their forehead but even like that Aziraphale wasn't listening, he stared in amusement and fear seeing how the universe kept moving leaving a passenger behind.

#ac #air conditioning #angst fic #azcrow #azicrow #aziracrow #aziraphale #aziraphale good omens #aziraphale x crowley #crowley #crowley and aziraphale #crowley good omens #crowley x arizaphale #crowley x aziraphale #dinner is not over #good omens #good omens 2 #good omens fanfic #good omens fanfic rec #good omens fanfiction #good omens fic #good omens fic request #good omens s2 #gos2 fanfic #i cried while writing this #ineffable #ineffable divorce #ineffable husbands #ineffable husbands fic #ineffable idiots

[celestialcrowley]

For the ask game! Aziraphale; 21 and 25!

21. If you're a fic writer and have written for this character, what's your favorite thing to do when you're writing for this character? What's something you don't like?

🪽 This is a tricky one. Buckle up! I am working on something, but I’m having a hell of a time actually writing Aziraphale. He’s giving me major anxiety, lmaooo, but one thing I have enjoyed writing for him so far involves this line. I bet you’re all thinking, if he can do this, I wonder what else he can do? BAMF Aziraphale.

I’ve not written enough of my fic to pick something I don’t like yet. I need motivation. I need someone to shout at me the way Michael Sheen shouted DAVID, WHAT HAS HAPPEN TO YOUR HAIR?

Here’s an apology dance for lack of a better answer.

25. What was your first impression of this character? How about now?

🪽 My first impression of Aziraphale is that he’s proper, and he loves human things. Magic, old bookshops, food. He’s soft. And he really likes the color yellow. Hm, wonder why.

My impression of him now is all of the above things and that he’s not as soft as he claims to be.

He also seems to be afraid of falling for lying to Heaven and thwarting God’s will, but not enough to stop. And I am here for it.

#thank you!!! 💚💚💚 #anonymous #the ghost speaks

[slidepool]

Good Omens Rough Draft Oneshot/Fic Idea: Hallowed Ground

Aziraphale had always loved the churches that the humans built, he'd seen numerous designs throughout his time on earth. He was determined to show Crowley at least one, the Notre Dame Cathedral.

"Are you sure about this Angel?" Crowley asked hesitantly as he sat in the newly miracled wheelchair with a soft red blanket wrapped around his legs and waist.

"Absolutely positive, if anything happens I'll teleport us out ticky-boo." Aziraphale looked so pleased with himself, he was very happy with the color scheme of the chair he made as it matched Crowley's aesthetic. "Ready dear?"

"As I'll ever be." The demon nervously held onto the blanket as Aziraphale stood behind him and pushed him over to the queue that was lined up outside the door. The angel started to absently touch Crowley's hair as they waited, lightly scratching his neck and soothing the hair on the back of his head, which also helped calm their nerves a bit. They had such a wonderful vacation in Paris so far, they had gone to various bakeries, wineries, vineyards, and châteaus. Aziraphale had made a point to visit equal amounts of the places they liked, if Aziraphale had visited bakeries for the day then Crowley got to visit wineries for the next day. Even though Crowley insisted he enjoyed the bakeries too Aziraphale knew he only liked it because the angel enjoyed it. Plus it had been too precious the way Crowley's eyes lit up when they arrived at the winery to sample various local wines and beers for the day.

The line went fairly smoothly and soon enough a group of them was rounded up and given the rules lecture before they would be let in. Aziraphale didn't really pay attention to it but Crowley listened with muted curiosity, "These rules are just about as extensive as Heaven's," Crowley commented quietly.

"Well, they want the place to be kept nice for generations to come. That way everyone can enjoy it." Aziraphale playfully rolled his eyes and patted the demon's shoulder.

"But Angel, that's so boring. I want to smudge up and touch the ancient architecture," Crowley whined before chuckling to himself.

"Hands to yourself dear," The angel lightly chided, but he knew the demon would be tucked away in his wheelchair for his own safety. They had a long discussion before deciding to come here, it's how they decided that a wheelchair would be best to keep his feet from getting burnt. They based their information on the time the demon had saved Aziraphale from those spies so long ago. He hadn't burst into flames then by simply being inside, only blistered and burned feed due to the consecrated ground, which eased Aziraphale's mind slightly.

~~~~~~~~~~

"Doing okay love?" Aziraphale checked in as they stepped through the threshold and into the building.

"Yes darling, as long as I don't touch anything I'm tickety-boo."

~~~~~~~~~

"Wow angel, it seems bigger on the inside," Crowley commented as they craned their necks to look at the high ceilings.

"The stained glass is so pretty. Oh, look! It's making rainbows with the sun shining through it."

~~~~~~~~~~

"Okay, be sure to lock your wheels and we'll get you lifted up in a moment," The attendant said cheerfully as Crowley looked at the lift warily. Aziraphale wheeled him on and locked him in place as told before stepping back which panicked the demon for a moment.

"It's alright dear," Aziraphale softly said as he stepped up the few stairs and smiled.

The ride up was smooth and short with Aziraphale waiting with a gentle smile.

"Now that wasn't so bad hm?"

"I guess..."

#slidepool writes #slidepool’s writing prompts #slidepool’s fics #good omens #ineffable husbands #notre dame cathedral

[ofpineapplesanddawns]

Here’s a little bonus story for the android au, sometime later down the line with Aziraphale and Crowley, before a relationship starts and before Crowley finds out Ezra is really named Aziraphale, and Crowley finally decides on a name.

For this, Crowley is called AJ, short for the serial number AJ0440. However, the android had discovered gender and is playing with them, so for this one-shot, the pronouns are they/them.

As for eating, I was considering that Crowley can’t eat, why make an eating android, but then I realized that biofuel can be used through processing foodstuff (there’s this delightfully soul crushing mini anime that DT was in about robots where they made biofuel from fruits and stuff). So, Crowley can eat just a tiny bit as backup fuel, like an extra charge. But not a full-on meal, no, there are robots that can do that to process the food into biofuel for other robots. 

On with the fic!

--

“I don’t often go to the little shops,” Ezra started as he walked down the streets with AJ’s arm hooked around his own, “but they sometimes have just the thing I need!”

“Did you really need me to come along with you for this?” AJ asked, not that they minded, they loved going anywhere with their angelic cyborg, but a little trip to a shop didn’t seem like much.

Still, being anywhere with Ezra was a blessing for them.

“Well... I figured we could go to the park afterwards, I know you like to feed the ducks.”

That they did, AJ had grown very fascinated with the little waterfowls. Such simple activities were not really required of their original protocol and purpose, but since gaining free will, they greatly enjoyed the little joys in life.

“Ah, here we go.” Ezra stepped into a small store with AJ. “Have a look about, I just need to grab a few things. Pickout something if you see anything, alright?”

He left them to stand by the door and AJ looked around, toying with the sleeves of their hoodie, before noticing colorful items. A quick scan indicated that the items were makeup and nail polish. AJ had tried makeup before, and rather liked it, 

They looked at their fingers though, at the translucent tips, where impressions to make it look like they had fingernails were. They feared that painting over the fake nails might be bad, what if it didn’t come off? But... they wanted to try out nail polish, they had seen humans with it, it always looked so nice.

They picked up a few bottles, red and black, and a lovely, sparkly silver. They wanted them. Maybe they could paint Ezra’s nails! Oh, but he likes blue and gold. Maybe they could get those instead?

Then AJ spotted something next to the polish, a little packet of things. A smile came to their lips and they snatched those up, along with a blue bottle and a gold, bringing them over to Ezra. “I found things.”

“Oh?” Ezra blinked and looked at the bundle in their arms. “Oh, those are lovely, did you want to-?”

“Yes!” 

“Alright, I can get those for you.” Ezra said with a smile that always made AJ wonder if it made their pupils change shape.

--

“I’m thinking about getting some ice cream.” Ezra spoke as they sat on their favorite bench, the android next to him currently opening up a package of fake fingernails to put on the ends of their fingers. “Did you want anything?”

“Huh?” AJ looked at them, blinking behind their shades. “Ice cream?”

“Yes, uh... oh, that’s a rather dumb question, do you even eat?” 

“I... I can. It’s not something I really need to do, but if I consume a small amount of food, typically in a soft, more-liquid like form, I can process it into extra fuel for my internal batteries if I am not close to a charging station.”

“Would you like something?”

“I could eat something small, yeah.”

Ezra nodded, excusing himself to approach a cart nearby. AJ returned to looking at the nails and started to process of trying to put them on each finger correctly. Once secured, they dug through the bag, careful to not knock the nails off, for the silver nail polish. 

Ezra returned before they could start to apply, holding a strawberry lolly and a vanilla with a flake, holding the latter out to AJ. “I hope this is okay.” 

“This is fine, thanks.” They took the frozen treat, sticking out their tongue to give it a lick.

“Can you taste? I know you said you can smell things, but how is your sense of taste?” Ezra asked as he sat down, licking his own treat. 

AJ blinked. “Ah, well, it’s... I can taste, I have a very strong sense of taste, actually. I was programmed to be able to taste my owner’s food for them before they ate, in case of poison.”

“Goodness!”

“I was created to serve people of power and money, they tend to have enemies.” AJ shrugged.

“Gosh, glad I don’t really have enemies.”

“What about those men in dark suits that sometimes try to come into the shop?”

Ezra smiled, but there was ice to it. “Oh? Those gentlemen? They know better than to bother me, once I have a little talk with them.”

AJ wondered if they should question Ezra more on that, but their angel was a brave, strong, dangerous man when he wanted to be, so they shouldn’t worry. “You live a weird life, angel.”

“I suppose I do, but I like my life.” Ezra smiled. “And you?”

“I love it. Look at me! I’m in the park, attempting to eat ice cream, wearing fake nails, which I’m totally painting silver and black cause that’d look so cool! And look, there’s the ducks! And that swan that tried to eat your pocket watch! It’s a beautiful day, and I’m not stuck being yelled at my some asshole who treats me like garbage. Instead, I’m out here with my best friend, having a nice day.” AJ said, grinning, leaning against their human. 

An arm slipped around their shoulders, keeping them close. “Same here, my dear. And when we get back, you can paint my nails, if you’d like?”

“Really? You want me to?”

“Don’t think I didn’t notice those other colors you picked, I know you want to.”

AJ’s grin grew and they wiggled closer, before biting into their ice cream, much to Ezra’s dismay. 

#good omens #ineffable husbands #aziraphale #crowley #anthony j crowley #john's drabbles #do androids dream of cyborg angels au

[aethelflaedladyofmercia]

Perfection, Chapter 7--Perfectly Balanced

Aziraphale and Crowley live in a heartbreakingly perfect world. There is no sadness. There is no loss. Every day, the sun rises on an idyllic peace far beyond mortal imagination.

The end of the old world brought Salvation. Justice. Perfection.

But not everything is what it seems. And one angel learns that perfection cannot be bought without great pain.

In this chapter, Aziraphale and Crowley find a way to balance the pain of their real memories with the peace of the dream world. Also, Aziraphale finally gets a chance to pamper his demon.

Read on AO3! (Rated M for dark/violent content)

Aziraphale ran the comb through Crowley’s hair from scalp to tips. It moved freely now, though it had taken a bit of work to get there. The curls had been broken up, leaving long, silky red waves. “Alright. What next?”

“Depends how thorough you want to be.” Crowley sighed, shifting a little in the curve of the bathtub. He seemed perfectly content, head tipped back so his hair spilled down onto Aziraphale’s lap.

“I want to do this properly.”

“Mmmh. Is there any oil? Not the little scented ones. Something with a pump on top.”

His hands moved automatically to the line of products, selecting a large bottle of what might have been olive oil, but more amber in color. There was a familiarity to it, the way it filled his palm, the faint hint of rosemary blending with the other scents of the bath.

They’d done this before. Of course they had; everything they needed was there by the bath, an exceptionally long and deep freestanding tub, well away from the walls so he had room to move around while Crowley soaked. 

The memories drifted around him like curls of mist, tempting him to reach for one, allow himself to be engulfed by one of his two minds, but Aziraphale resisted, acknowledging them but letting them flow by. He didn’t need to remember, he just needed to be, here in this moment, no past, no future, just him and Crowley.

The thick steam rising from the bathwater helped, as did the row of flickering candles, transforming the room into something unreal, a dim and misty vision that they floated through, far from all their troubles.

“Start with the ends, then the scalp,” Crowley instructed, not opening his eyes. “Then neck, shoulders, wherever you like.”

“Is there anywhere I should avoid? Anywhere you—you—”

“No. I trust you.”

“Um.” Aziraphale grew warm at the powerful meaning behind Crowley’s simple words and casual tone. Some of his fear returned, accompanied now by a strange giddy thrill, ignited by the possibilities. Intimacy of all kinds had certainly been part of their life here, a larger and larger part as time passed and they became more daring in their explorations of—

No. Don’t try to remember. Just drift.

The moment his oiled fingers touched Crowley’s hair, they leapt to life, moving without his command. Rubbing oil into the dried-out tips, scratching careful lines and circles across his scalp, working their way back from his hairline systematically. The demon murmured with appreciation, looking so much more relaxed than he had since they woke up. So much more at peace. So beautiful.

Aziraphale paused, resting their foreheads together. With his eyes closed, the world shrank even further, just the line of warmth where they touched, the soft, thick hair between his fingers, and the scent of rosemary, lavender, chamomile, and vanilla.

Water, too, soaking into the knees of his trousers, and the edges of his sleeves, rolled up past his elbows. Normally, he’d have worn the cream-colored bathrobe hanging in the closet, but he’d so missed the feel of his clothes—the starch of the shirt, the soft trousers—so missed being dressed as himself that he’d decided to keep them on.

One thought, drawn from two contradictory sets of memory. Aziraphale took a deep breath and let it go, watching as the two ideas rolled through his mind, moving past each other without turmoil or conflict. And then, once again, it was just him, and Crowley, and the feel of oiled fingers massaging the demon’s shoulders.

His smile began to grow. He could do this. Two pasts inside one angel.

“Let me try your hand next,” he said, shifting to one side of the tub so he could take Crowley’s wrist, lift his arm above the bubbles. Just a thin layer, no enormous mounds like in the films; Crowley preferred it that way, grumbling that too many bubbles just got in the way. Possibly because Aziraphale would insist on scooping them up and dabbing them on Crowley’s nose.

He laughed a little at the image but kept his mind on his task. Rubbing oil into Crowley’s palm, his wrist, between his fingers. His touch slid easily across the soft skin, slowed down here and there by rough calluses from the garden.

“Your nails are lovely,” Aziraphale commented, running his thumb along the perfect curve of Crowley’s thumbnail.

“Should be. My manicurist is very particular.” Glancing up, Aziraphale caught the gleam of Crowley’s eyes, languid and half-open, and a wide, lazy smile.

He rubbed a little more oil onto his hands and started working up Crowley’s forearm, but something pushed through the calm of the moment.

Scars. So many scars, old and new, crisscrossing Crowley’s arm and chest and neck—

“Angel? You alright?”

“Mmm.” He shook himself, tried to get back to work, but even with a generous helping of oil, his movements were stiff and jerky, his hands refused to glide.

“Just relax.”

“I am relaxing.” His voice rose higher, tighter as the panic built. White-robed figures shifted in the mist. Or was that just his imagination?

“Maybe that’s enough—”

“No! I can do this!” Aziraphale snapped his jaw shut, frightened by his own voice, fingers digging compulsively into Crowley’s arm. He pried them loose and forced himself to take a deep breath. “It’s working. Or… it was, for a little while.” More breaths, his heart rate slowing. “I… I think I’m alright now. I’d like to continue, if… if you don’t mind.”

Crowley’s face was tighter than before, but he nodded, leaning back again.

Even now, the thought refused to drift away, adhering to his mind. A vision of bruises, lacerations, infected wounds, burns; some old and faded, some… very much not. Hints of other differences in the mist, the grey tile walls glinting like black glass. Nothing as vivid as that morning, when he’d nearly awakened; more like a fuzzy double-exposure, a trick of the light. A fragile illusion, really.

He ran his hand up and down Crowley’s arm, keeping to the rhythm set by his slow breaths, and imagined the scars being erased. With each pass, they became fainter, more insubstantial, until there was nothing but unbroken skin, fresh and pure. As it should be.

Circling the tub, Aziraphale started on Crowley’s other arm. When the wounds appeared again, he was ready for them, letting one set of memories fill his eyes while the other guided his hands. Now that he was paying attention, he could feel the smoothness of the skin, and that helped to weaken the unwanted vision, until the memory of the Tower released him. And then, once again, it was just him and Crowley and the bath.

It was relaxing, in so many ways. Not just having something to occupy his hands, keep them from anxiously wringing. He could feel his muscles, his nerves, his mind unknotting, the tension of countless years draining away, leaving him feeling… not renewed, but resuscitated, perhaps. A bit of his old self rekindled, a growing warmth that moved through his heart, down his fingers, and into Crowley.

There was something he craved in this, Aziraphale realized as he finished massaging the shoulder and collarbone. Something in the curve of the joint, in the softness of the muscles, dipping slightly under his fingers. Something in the slickness of the oil, the brush of the cheek.

Crowley felt solid. He felt real.

Ironic, isn’t it? Aziraphale thought as he moved down to start on the feet, which were propped up on the tub’s wide rim. All those years in the Spire, time passing like an unchanging dream, but here—

No. Let the thought go. Concentrate on what matters.

Read the rest on AO3!

#good omens fanfiction #good omens prime #good omens #ineffable husbands #south downs cottage #crowley #aziraphale #aziraphale and crowley #bathing #comfort #also angst #always angst #whump #aziraphale loves crowley #crowley loves aziraphale #au: apocalypse happened #dreams #shared dreams #perfection #my writing #my wip #ao3 link

[mimisempai]

Masterpiece

Summary

Aziraphale uses the fact that his demon is asleep to paint his portrait... but it's hard not to touch beauty when it's right in front of you.

Notes

After seeing Gabriel's portrait, which seems to have been drawn by Aziraphale, I thought what if the angel had tons of sketchbooks full of Crowley sketches.

On AO3

Rating G -  598 words

It was a quiet afternoon.

The rays of the summer sun shone through the windowpanes, illuminating the back room with a warm glow.

Aziraphale put down his pencil for a moment, took a sip from his cup of tea, and looked down at his sketchpad, studying the angle to be approached before continuing.

He picked up his pencil again and let his eyes wander over the sleeping figure on the sofa, allowing himself to be distracted for a moment.

How could he not be distracted by the view he was presented with?

Aziraphale couldn't suppress an amused smile when he saw the red hair completely disheveled by sleep. He began to trace the outline, only regretting that black and white didn't do justice to the unique color of his lover's hair.

Aziraphale nibbled on his pencil before continuing to draw the sleeping demon's face, the eyelashes shadowing his cheeks, the outline of his thin nose, his mouth slightly open.

Just as he was about to begin drawing the tattoo on his left cheek, Aziraphale moved closer to get a better look.

He stopped abruptly as Crowley had just made a small noise and moved his head slightly. Aziraphale waited, pencil raised, and when he saw that the demon was still asleep, he resumed his drawing.

He was now so close to Crowley's face that he had to resist the urge to touch the beautiful face. If only to smooth the small frown that had just appeared between his eyebrows. But he didn't want to wake his demon, who seemed to be sleeping so peacefully.

He moved from the tattoo to the cheekbone, then from the chin to the neck, to the half-open shirt that revealed the beginnings of his chest. He spent a long time drawing the demon's upper body, amazed that he could still sleep so peacefully.

Finally, he came to one of his favorite parts, the hands. Crowley's hands, which moved constantly when he spoke, even more when he was angry, but which could be so gentle when they touched Aziraphale.

The angel could no longer resist.

He put down his sketchpad and pencil before gently grasping one of Crowley's hands. His fingers were thinner and longer than Aziraphale's, and as the angel pressed his palm against the demon's, he felt the connection between them once again. That indefinable bond forged over millennia. Aziraphale gently brought the demon's hand to his lips and gave the palm a soft and lingering kiss.

A small gasp amid Crowley's steady breathing told the Angel that the demon was awakening.

Still with his lips against Crowley's palm, Aziraphale watched him awaken, eyelids fluttering over his peculiar pupils, and as their eyes met, Crowley's hand slid from Aziraphale's lips to his cheek, lingering there in a gentle caress.

Crowley murmured in a hoarse voice, "Angel, you can claim to know how to wake a demon."

Aziraphale chuckled slightly, leaning his cheek into the demon's hand, and Crowley, glancing at the pencil and sketchpad left on the edge of the sofa, continued with a raised eyebrow, "Did you find anything interesting to draw?"

Aziraphale smiled at first without answering, then, taking the demon's hand back in his own, he said softly, "Yes, a rare and precious specimen of a demon."

He continued to smile when he saw from the slight flush on Crowley's cheeks that he realized he was the subject of his drawing. 

So the angel leaned forward and pressed his mouth to Crowley's, telling himself that no pencil line could ever do justice to the softness of his demon's lips.

_________

Still not beta'd

Still not my native language

Still hoping you'll enjoy this story  🥰

Still thanking you for bearing with me 😝

Ineffable Husbands masterlist : here

#good omens #aziracrow #ineffable husbands #ineffable boyfriends #aziraphale #crowley #good omens fanfiction #aziraphale x crowley #crowley x aziraphale