ocherrywine

[ocherrywine]

Babe, there’s something tragic about you

#good omens #good omens fan art #ineffable husbands

[ocherrywine]

From Eden

Fandom: Good Omens , Ineffable Husbands

Words: 947 Language: English Ch: 3/?? Rated: T Current Chapter Warnings: Extra Relationship Flirtation Future Chapter Warnings: Domestic Emotional Abuse , Talk of Cheating Characters: Crowley, Aziraphale, Agnes Nutter, Gabriel Other Tags: AU, Modern AU, TV!GoodOmens, Human!Crowley, Human!Aziraphale, Human!AU, Friends to Lovers, Asexual!Aziraphale In Beta

Aziraphale caught on rather quickly that this new book club of theirs was not so much about reading and discussing his collection of prophetic and non prophetic literature, but more so an excuse for Crowley to come by and simply talk to him. This was not a surprising revelation. No, the surprising thing, Aziraphale found, was that he didn’t mind.

Bits of Wilde and Shakespeare peppered into their conversations from time to time, sure. By matter of fact, they had managed to stay on track at one time for at least a full hour. Crowley would often bring over little treats from Agnes’s, or other little trendy spots Aziraphale had scarcely heard of. They would start with coffee or cocoa, or on the occasional Sunday afternoon Aziraphale would crack open a bottle of wine. Crowley would make a light hearted jab about not letting the boss find out Aziraphale was drinking during business hours [1] knowing full well Aziraphale was the owner and sole employee. 

Aziraphale had tried for a time to convince himself that he was perhaps merely pleased not by Crowley’s company, but by the idea that his books would remain in their proper place. Crowley would read what would interest him, and then toss it aside somewhere. Aziraphale would tut at the mercurial serpentine about how there was a system- but he suspected deep down that Crowley only did it to get precisely this reaction out of him [2]. However, this pretense on both their parts subsided as they merely began to talk more and more often. 

The book-keep found that the reality he must contend with was simply that he had made a friend. A friend who was not going anywhere any time soon. A friend he did not so much understand, but still found within a kinship. A common tongue between them. 

He could make his peace with that.

It became a comfortable routine, as familiar as his worn waistcoats.

Though, it would seem, Crowley always brought around some freshness. New life. A splash of vibrant defiance to fight the fading and dulling- today, quite literally. Crowley had presented Aziraphale, together with his patisserie offerings, a bouquet.

Aziraphale wasn’t sure what to say, or to think...so instead, he offered, “But I haven’t a vase.”

Crowley smirked, producing one from inside the large patisserie bag, “I figured- I have plenty.” Crowley had arranged the flowers in their tall clear vase on the table near one of the windows, next the armchair Aziraphale most favored when he sat to read.

Upon settling into this armchair, Aziraphale delicately examined the velveteen petals. The arrangement was of blushing Alstromeira, peach Roses with lips kissed a deep red, and little sprays of Queen Anne’s Lace. Crowley was draped on the couch, flipping absentmindedly through a novelty photography book of the night sky. 

“Where did you get these?” Aziraphale asked. 

“Hm? Oh- s’one of mine, actually.”

“One of yours? Are...are you a florist? Is that what you actually do?” Aziraphale felt rather guilty as he...had never actually asked about the kind of work Crowley did. Crowley just sort of...came and went as he pleased. He would appear some days, wouldn’t appear others- but was there often enough. He supposed he had to have some manner of job, didn’t he? I mean, with all the different pastries he bought and the flashy clothes and the vintage car…

“More of a hobby, actually. I...like to garden. Arrange flowers. I talk to them, sometimes. Well, maybe not so much talk to them as...just let it all out. Calms me down- all this nervous energy.”

“You have quite the eye, dear boy,” Aziraphale found a warmth in the idea that Crowley had put together the blooms himself...just for him “they look splendid.” It wasn’t a gesture Aziraphale had experience himself outside of the second hand in films or books...best not to examine that further, though. 

Aziraphale moved along with a different question“What is it that you do then, anyway? You’re here all the time, but I feel like we hardly know each other.”

“Oh, well it’s nothing too terribly interesting…” Crowley sat up, now leaning his cheek on his hand and looking at Aziraphale, “I work freelance as an art conservationist. And a critic. Go to a stuffy gallery show here, re varnish a painting there… The money is good, if you find a good client and convince people they want to hear what you have to say. Suits me fine, I’ve never been one for the standard 9 to 5...and I have a lot of opinions to share.”

Aziraphale sensed here was a gulf, one which he could choose to pick up the paddle and row across to meet Crowley...or...or…

Instead, he chose to simply offer a proverbial hand- to turn on, tentative, the lamp of the lighthouse should Crowley choose to follow it’s guiding beam to shore, “I haven't been to many galleries before. I’ve certainly wanted to but...never the time, never found someone to go with me.”

“Angel,” Crowley had insisted on keeping up with the nickname, despite Aziraphale protesting, “Would you like to go along with me? I mean, it’ll be a work thing...dreadfully boring. Decent champagne, though. Gonna be at this little boutique gallery next Friday evening about 7-ish.”

“Well,” Aziraphale smiled, “I suppose you bother me at my place of business plenty. Why shouldn’t I get the chance to bother you at work for a change?”

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1. What Aziraphale never told him was that the bookshop was actually closed on Sundays. Aziraphale decided he would rather not mention this, for fear this would bring an end to these pleasant brunch visits.

2. It was.

#good omens #fanfiction #gomens #Ineffable Husbands #from eden

[ocherrywine]

From Eden

Fandom: Good Omens , Ineffable Husbands

Words: 1085 Language: English Ch: 2/?? Rated: T Current Chapter Warnings: Extra Relationship Flirtation Future Chapter Warnings: Domestic Emotional Abuse , Talk of Cheating Characters: Crowley, Aziraphale, Agnes Nutter, Gabriel Other Tags: AU, Modern AU, TV!GoodOmens, Human!Crowley, Human!Aziraphale, Human!AU, Friends to Lovers, Asexual!Aziraphale In Beta

A loud creaking and a quiet cough from a mostly unused shop bell alerted Aziraphale to the coming misfortune [1]. All of the enraptured contentment he had been feeling left him in a deflated puff from his lungs. Gingerly, he stuck his little decorative bookmark betwixt the sleepy pages as the cover fluttered closed. He stood and prepared to give a greeting one could generously call polite and conservatively call... well, acknowledgement one could suppose.

The tempest came, and it was in the form of a faintly familiar man with dark ruddy hair and even darker glasses. The gentleman did not remove his spectacles regardless of the dimness of the shop. He greeted Aziraphale first, “There you are, Angel. Come here often?” There was an air of mischief in his grin and light chuckle in the voice.

Aziraphale would play along, if only a little to indulge himself at the expense of the other- if only as retribution for interrupting his reading time, of course [2], “Actually, you know I don’t quite think so. I was moments ago spending time in Otherworlds, and the next thing I know I’m here in my own bookshop, name on it all, and talking to some vagabond who hasn’t seen fit yet to give me his name.”

A wicked smirk danced it’s way further into the angled cheekbones of the face, crinkling along the black moons of the glasses- Aziraphale swore he saw a little glimmer beneath, perhaps, “Crowley, Anthony J. Do just call me Crowley, all of the best people do.”

“Crowley,” Aziraphale let the creeping spice of it smooth over his tongue, “ As you may have read- Aziraphale Fell. And to what do I owe your visitation? Or do you often follow men to their places of business from dear Agnes’s?”

“So you remember me.” “I suppose I do. Do I need to be worried, now? Phone 999?”

“Hardly a way to thank a humble delivery man,” he held out an enticing smelling little cup, “Agnes said it was your favorite. I mentioned I was looking for reading material, she pointed me here and sent me off with this, for troubling you.”

Aziraphale cautiously and gratefully took the cup and took a little sip. It certainly did not taste any kind of tampered with, not that any part of him seriously believed Crowley had any reason to poison him. Or he hoped Crowley hadn’t, as he was actually rather beginning to enjoy the banter they were having- and he felt it would be tragic to have it cut short with his own death. “Well, thank you. I don’t suppose you’re particularly interested in books of prophecy? That is my specialty.” “Any of them happen to be right, you think? Any you think may change my fate, reveal to me futures ever nearer? Maybe give me a leg up on the doomsday prep, give me a schedule for the world ending?”

“None I’m afraid anymore than the average Horoscope in your Sunday paper. Though it is always up to interpretation- how broad your strokes and how willing to apply your imagination.”

“A challenge, eh? As I have a rather lofty imagination, you know.”

“Well then I suppose you needn’t my recommendation. Just pick anything up and be off with you.”

“You wound me. It’s almost like you don’t want me to hand over my money, after I even brought you a nice cocoa.”

Aziraphale chuckled, it was...rather nice to speak to someone who could keep up so well with him, “Truth be told- this is...almost more of a library than a shop. I much prefer many of my copies stay here- the Plath and Wilde and Anniversary Edition of Shakespeare with Foil Cover and all that are disposable, but… well, I suppose I’m more a rare book collector than dealer. I’m more or less part time in my own establishment.”

“Well then how about I cut you a deal?” Crowley leaned, languid over a stray display stack, “I take one of those copies of Shakespeare off your hands for the coffee table, and just come...visit and read some of the others? I get to see what all the fuss is about, your collection stays here and in tact.”

Aziraphale’s mouth opened for but a moment before the words fell dead and he closed it again. He was going to inform Crowley that this was more of a private library than a public one- but something tugged at Aziraphale’s insides. He found that, despite his many friends surrounding him on shelves all round- it had been sometime since he had truly made the acquaintance of flesh and blood. Through the crowd of books, Azirapahle had to confess he did sometimes grow rather...lonely. He entertained the thought that, perhaps, he could make due with what was in front of him. The spindle of dark leather and snakeskin boots before him certainly wasn’t a poor choice. Aziraphale found the stranger actually...rather charming, in a way. His wit and bravado were at the very least enticing- in some unspoken way. Crowley just seemed so...confident in himself, so sure- and Aziraphale rather admired that. A different answer, then, presented itself in light of this choice, “Very well. I suppose the sofa is rather dusty and could use some breaking in again- and if you keep the cocoa coming, I could tolerate your company, my dear boy.”

Aziraphale disappeared for a moment, finding one of the gilded copies of Shakespeare- tracing the spiraling and swirling embellishments of the filigree gently with his finger [3]. The cover opened with a satisfying groan of the binding, and Aziraphale clicked open a pen from his desk, scrawling his number just inside the cover, signing cheekily ‘Angel’. 

Crowley’s teeth flashed, like a crocodile who had snapped its scaly maw onto the biggest fish in the pond, or a plump toddler who had waddled too close to shore.

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Others would instead call this ‘misfortune’, a customer.

It would be approximately 6 months and 17 and ½ days before Aziraphale would look back on this moment and admit, openly, that this was not the case- and that he had found the tall dark stranger rather dashing and wanted to delight in his company.

Crowley, for whatever reason, found himself utterly captivated by the simple motion, and found that it sent an unrecognizable longing crawling about just under his skin he had not previously known- and that would plague him for a long time to come.

#Ineffable Husbands #ineffable spouses #fanfiction #gomens #good omens #aziraphale #crowley #modern!au

[ocherrywine]

WIP - Light and Background study featuring the lads. [x] [x] [x]

#Ineffable Husbands #good omens #Aziraphale #crowley

[ocherrywine]

How to Make Out: 15 Steps (with pictures)

#Ineffable Husbands #crowley #Aziraphale #shitpost #good omens #drawing edit

[ocherrywine]

From Eden

Fandom: Good Omens , Ineffable Husbands

Words: 1058 Language: English Ch: 1/?? Rated: T Current Chapter Warnings: Conspiring to Cheat , Some Potentially Homophobic or other Strong Language Future Chapter Warnings: Domestic Emotional Abuse , Talk of Cheating  Characters: Crowley, Aziraphale, Agnes Nutter, Gabriel Other Tags: AU, Modern AU, TV!GoodOmens, Human!Crowley, Human!Aziraphale, Human!AU, Friends to Lovers, Asexual!Aziraphale In Beta

Based on a request I’ve seen floating around for Gabriel featured as Aziraphale’s not-so-lovely boyfriend-- and Crowley, as a best friend pining there after him.

“That man is going to be my future husband,” he said, matter of factly, despite himself. 

“You may find some trouble, that,” the response, “as you’ll find that the gentleman is already...affianced.” 

“That man is going to be my future husband,” he said, matter of factly, despite himself.

“You may find some trouble, that,” the response, “as you’ll find that the gentleman is already...affianced.”

The word tasted bitter on his tongue and rolled out and across like a bad taste dropping into a napkin at the dinner table, “Affianced, pfft, come off it. How pretentious.” He was still staring at the subject, a crown of rolling cloud atop a head and a jacket flutter in the breeze that was making its way middle distance and sinking further still into somewhere else- but still searing in his memory. ‘Not if I can help it’, he thought.

“You come off it. He’s engaged, and last I checked not to the likes of you.”

He ran a hand through his hair, so carefully mussed. He was searching for his thoughts somewhere in its tangles, “You know ‘im? What’s his name?”

“Aziraphale,” Agnes answered. She rolled his name with purpose, and to Crowley it sounded like music. Aziraphale. It was a hum in his throat, and then flowed from his lips as a babbling brook. Like a spring breeze in the trees. It was a name that floated, just like the wisps of his curls. Like angel wings. “He’s the bloke that owns the bookshop just down the way. Comes in here all the time, picks up little pastries and the like. Sweet fellow. Too good for you.”

Crowley shot her a look, let the bitter wash of his iced coffee clear spiteful words from his tongue. “You’re entitled to your very wrong opinion, this time. Only because I don’t want to have to find a new place, ya old croan,” though tempered there had been some spite left, “Never seen ‘im here before. And I don’t see the boytoy. What’s the story?”

“Only seen the boyfriend come along a couple times, but they’ve been together awhile as far as I can tell. Kind of a jet-setter corporate type, can’t imagine what it is he actually does though. Travels a lot? American business type things?” Absentmindedly, Agnes cleaned the counter with a rag, the cafe a-chatter lightly. Soho, London- Agnes Nutters Patisserie, and (unsolicited) Nice and Accurate Advice (1). Agnes was a woman who knew too much. “Don’t you go ruining it for that nice boy. I mean it. He’s one of my favorite customers and I would like for him to continue to come back. You, Anthony J. Crowley, have a reputation for what you do to men. And I won’t have it.”

“Yeah yeah yeah,” he bit back, impatient, “which shop is it then?”

“A.Z. Fell & Co., has the nice red doors. Vintage, eclectic, smells like mildew. Very bookish. Sits reading more than he does any actual selling. Not your type.”

“I’ll decide if he is or isn’t my type after I stop in and have a chat. I’ve been meaning to dust the shelves off and actually put up a book or two.” Crowley knew this was strange behavior for him, admittedly. Agnes, as she usually was, had been Nice and Accurate in her assessment (2). His usual type was some twink or twunk, back alley and wrapped in mesh or leather who he would never have to see again if he didn’t want to. He never quite cared for them- it more so just...filled the hole, passed the time. A dalliance here or there. But there was something...different about the man Aziraphale. Somewhere between his bright and genuine smile and little upturned nose, between the stupid Tartan tie and the way he nervously waved and muttered ‘pardon me my dear boy, may I perhaps grab the sugar behind you?’-- Crowley felt like he had known him all his life. 

“You’re a devil, and if you’re going to give the poor lad the trouble of you,” Crowley was unsure if Agnes was affectionately teasing or serious- likely both? “- bring him this, from me. It’s his favorite.” Primly, Agnes set down a little cup on the counter beside Crowley.

“What do I owe you for it?”

“If it were for you, double the normal cost for wasting my time. But for him? No charge. Off with you, now, before you hold up a line.”

“Why are you helping me?” he narrowed his eyes and sniffed the cup she had set down- it was cocoa. It was sweet, almost cloyingly so. He wondered if she had done anything to it. He wondered what grown man drank cocoa in a mildewy bookshop. He took a slow dragging sip of his coffee, wondering if he should venture a taste (3)… 

“I’m not, I’m just trying to get you out of my shop,” she tutted at him, shaking the cleaning rag at him, “Truthfully, though… I don’t quite trust the boyfriend. More than I don’t trust you. And the boy seems...lonesome much of the time. Something tells me you’d make right chummy, in odd sorts.”

He turned the cocoa over in his hand, “I’m not going to thank you, hag (4).” 

“You aren’t welcome. I don’t trust you even quite as far as I could throw you- and if I hear a word of you hurting that angel of man in any sense trust that I will make good on that. I will throw you.”

“Right-o,” he made a show of straightening his scarf like a tie, “Until next, hopefully your funeral.” As Crowley set himself in motion out into the throng of Greek Street, the shop bell tinkled a contented sigh. Agnes recalled it said every time a bell rang, an angel gained its wings or some hocum like that. She had to wonder, though, what she had just set into motion- trouble, she suspected, more than likely. 

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The Patisserie part was advertised in gold on the window, where as Agnes’s advice was not so much advertised, but one would soon get a taste of it after frequenting the shop often enough.

2. Nice here was relative, but she was in fact painfully accurate.

3. Whether he meant of the cocoa or Aziraphale, or both, he was not quite sure.

4. Translated: “Thank you, hag.” This was more or less the way in which Crowley’s tentative friendship with Agnes Nutter worked. He would leave her a generous tip, and she would know but say nothing of it.

#hozier #from eden #cherry wine #ineffable husbands #aziraphale #crowley #human au #gomens #good omens #fanfic #fanfiction