#ineffable husbands ficlet

[ineffablyyours]

Crowley's looking for Aziraphale. He finds the bookshop empty, so he makes himself at home and helps himself to a few glasses of wine while he waits.

A short time later, Crowley hears some shuffling in the back and assumes Aziraphale has returned. Crowley's words are are a little slurred when he speaks. He's had one glass too many.

Crowley: 'Ngel? Tha' you?

Aziraphale: No, it's the Queen of England.

Crowley: Oh. Th' Queen sounds 'lot like sum'n I know.

Crowley looks up and sees Aziraphale standing in the doorway. The angel's face is smudged with soot, his clothes are ruined, and his wings are dark and heavy with ash, as if he's recently taken a waltz through some hellfire.

The glass of wine balanced precariously between Crowley's fingers shatters when it hits the floor. A red stain spreads beneath his shoes. Crowley is staring at Aziraphale in horror.

Crowley: 'S that really you, 'ngel, or 'mm I dreaming? Las' time I checked, your wings were s'pposed t'be white. You... 'aven't fallen, 'ave you?

Aziraphale: Anthony, what are you on about? Who's fallen? Gabriel came in looking for me this afternoon. He wanted my opinion on his new wardrobe, so I crawled up the chimney to hide.

Crowley: You means to tell me you're jus' covered in soot?

Aziraphale sighs.

Aziraphale: And I'll never get these stains out, either... I haven't cleaned the flue in years.

Crowley: And you won't 'ave to for at leas' 'nother decade, by th' looks of you.

Aziraphale: Very funny. And besides, if you must know... I fell ages ago for a demon with a penchant for kindness. And alcohol.

Crowley: 'Mm not-

Aziraphale: You're not what? Lovely? Charming? Irresistible?

Crowley: Sober.

Aziraphale: That too.

#good omens #gomens #crowley #aziraphale #incorrect good omens quotes #incorrect good omens #good omemes #good omens memes #ineffable husbands #ineffable spouses #drunk crowley #fallen aziraphale #aziracrow ficlet #good omens ficlet #ineffable husbands ficlet

[crowleys-hips]

i think it's really funny when people describe Crowley's hair as silky or soft or something along those lines in fics, because if you look at David Tennant closely, you can see they used like 50 hair products on his hair to sculpt that shit to perfection. it's probably hard as a rock or stickier than glue. i want a fic where it's like:

Crowley rests his head on Aziraphale's chest, snuggling close. The angel smiles and raises his hand to stroke his hair, but once his fingers are buried in those shiny red locks, they're trapped in a crunchy sea of slick goop. The slimy texture sticks to his fingers like superglue. He tries to pull his hand back, but it's completely stuck. Not even three consecutive miracles can do the trick. He prays for salvation.

#good omens #good omens shitpost #good omens s2 #good omens 2 #good omens fics #good omens ficlet #good omens fanfic #good omemes #good omens memes #ineffable husbands #ineffable idiots #ineffable partners #aziraphale #crowley #aziracrow #aziraphale good omens #crowley good omens #ineffable fandom #good omens incorrect quotes #good omens text post #xanshitposts

[sapphic-bats]

Warlock asks Nanny about it once.

She’s cutting apples for him, just the way he likes, and he’s gazing out of the window at the lush, green gardens that his mother so proudly upholds. Among the waxy leaves and spindly saplings, Brother Francis tends to the flora carefully, though Warlock’s quite sure he’s just taking certain leaves between his finger and his thumb, and studying them closely. But what did Warlock know about gardening?

He notices Nanny looking out those windows, too. Though she always gazes and stares with a deep intent, as if she only cares when she does, and it so happens that she never looks upon the garden empty.

What was that funny thing Nanny and Brother Francis had taught him? The thing that Nanny discouraged, to which Brother Francis promoted quite devoutly?

“Nanny, have you ever been married?”

Warlock knows what marriage is. After all, his parents are married, if you can call it that. They married, once, out of love. But it’s since faded. It’s more traditional, now. Out of convenience and a general apathy to trying again.

Nanny’s quick hand stills, blade edge flat against the cutting board. With her back turned to the young boy, he cannot make out her expression. He never can, what with her poised shades she wears pointedly upon her nose. But she speaks soon again.

“No,” she replies, simply.

Warlock considers this. “Do you ever want to be?”

Nanny, who had taken up the cutting again, pauses once more. She sets the knife against the board and tilts her chin towards Warlock. “Wherever have you learned such personal questions, dear?”

She’s not refusing to answer him. She never has. She just asks in true curiosity, and perhaps a slight avoidance. But Warlock’s eight, now, and he knows how to navigate her tricks.

“Where do you think?”

At that, she pauses, lips pursed with their consistent purple tint. The lipstick she wears, that faintly stains Warlock’s forehead when she kisses him goodnight and tucks him in after a bedtime story: often about a garden, or a bird that chirped too loudly, and was cast down to the ground by the other birds. One who became the kind bird of the grounds, and took in other reject birds that had fallen similarly.

She considers his answer a moment more, satisfied with the obvious influence she’s had on him. She turns back to the apple slices.

“Perhaps,” she answers.

There is quiet for a moment. He doesn’t mind, he’s grown up with Nanny at his side, and has become quite fond of the silence. It is where thoughts are made, she said once.

She finishes cutting the apples, and plates the sweet snack to serve to the boy. “What troubles you, dear? You seem awfully curious, all of the sudden.”

Not that she minds. Nanny never rejects curiosity.

“Nothing’s wrong, Nanny, it’s just—” he pauses, considers his next words and how to place them. “You look at Brother Francis a lot, and—”

Nanny interrupts him after an audible, suspicious gulp. “Who?”

He frowns, eyes boring into the back of her head. “You know Brother Francis.”

She seems quite comically nervous, like she’s pressed a wax-seal act over her true thoughts. “Oh, yes,” she decides, too much breath coming with her words. “The gardener.”

“You like him, Nanny.”

She turns, abruptly. “I most certainly do not!” Her voice comes out a tad shrill, though perhaps it’s just outrage and scandal.

Warlock narrows his eyes, perplexed. “But you look at him all of the time.”

“When has that ever had anything to do with- with love?” She struggles with the word.

The boy shrugs. “Mum and Dad don’t look at each other,” Warlock observes. “But Brother Francis looks for you, too.”

Nanny’s mouth, ready with a retort, or perhaps a counter-argument, flicks towards a different shape. One that might be, he does? Or perhaps Warlock is mistaken. She pauses, lips pursed again, and sets her teeth.

“I’m sure he does, love.”

The plate is set before him, and Warlock soon forgets his questions. He never asks Nanny again.

But he’s reminded of it when her eyes, barely visible in the light, flick towards the window into the dazzling garden.

Years later, Warlock is nearly sixteen, and has since let the thoughts from half his lifetime ago fade. They never die, just sort of… wait. Wait to be plucked again, notes of memory leaping from their tinny strings. Like a harp.

His mother takes him into town. Soho, where he has no interest in seeing, but his mother so desperately needs a new vinyl, a coffee, and though she never says it: a moment to get away from the house, or more specifically, her husband within it.

She agrees to let him wander. She trusts him, for all she hasn’t before. And perhaps, she says, the fresh, un-televised air could do him some good.

He’s only taken two steps out of the coffee shop, where his mother remains to await her tea, before he almost runs smack into two pedestrians, arm in arm. He takes a surprised jump back, tongue set with an angry scolding, when he gets a good look at them from behind.

“Nanny?”

They both freeze in unison, as if they both know the name, and the voice that has conjured it forth once more for the first time in five years. Warlock notices something else.

“Brother Francis?” He prods, shocked. “Izzat you?”

Both of the two now turn, and everything around the three fades into blurring colors and churning noises.

Warlock would be a rotten liar if he had said he hadn’t missed them dearly. He would also be a lousy boy if he didn’t recognize them by the backs of their heads alone, he thinks. Because he would know them anywhere. They’d always done a much better job at raising him than his own parents.

They both look different now. Brother Francis seems to have had dental work done, and has cleaned up quite nicely. Nanny, though, appears to have changed her style completely. Her- his? Their? Who knows. But she still sports a fine pair of shades upon the bridge of her nose.

The pair seem to stutter, splutter with a little awestruck surprise. It’s as if they’d never expected to see him again.

“Oh- Warlock,” Nanny Ashtoreth begins, feigning a cool-headed surprise. “How good to see you.”

She sounds different too. Less of a high strain on her voice, more natural.

But Warlock seems to finally feel a gear shift, and a puzzle piece clicks into place. He glances down to the space between the two, where their arms are linked.

In his dumbfounded state, he feels a smile split the trance.

They both see it at the same time, chins tilting to follow his gaze. When they catch where his eyes are, their stares mingle together in concern. It’s a look that wonders aloud whether or not they should be worried, or blatant.

Warlock looks back up to their faces. “I see now why you two left,” he adds, grinning wider.

He can’t help it. He was right all along.

Warlock remembers something, then. It takes all of his power not to burst out into a triumphant laugh.

“I’m sure he does,” he says, slyly.

Nanny’s eyes, illuminated from behind with daylight, widen. She remembers, too. Of course she does.

And she bites back a twinning smile.

#good omens #ineffable husbands #aziracrow #good omens 2 #ineffable idiots #warlock good omens #crowley good omens #aziraphale good omens #nanny ashtoreth #brother francis #good omens fic #good omens ficlet #fic #ficlet #author #ao3 #good omens fan fiction

[actual-changeling]

There is a man with fire-red hair running a bookshop in Soho.

He hasn't always been the original owner, as almost all residents on Whickber Street know, but it is a fact you never bring up with him. Hiding behind a pair of sunglasses and layers of rough sarcasm, he is a shadow moving silently between shelves and plants, the Bentley parked outside seemingly more for decoration than actual use.

Previously, there had been a white-haired man with gentle eyes and a favour up his sleeves living among his books, and while he barely sold any of them, he was a pillar of the community just like the building itself. When he disappeared, an unspoken vow to never discuss the subject matter in the vicinity of the shop was made.

There is a woman with fire-red hair sitting in St. James's Park.

She feeds frozen peas to the ducks and puts the fear of God into everyone who dares to offer them bread or attempts to scare them away. The bench is hers, always empty, awaiting her arrival; sometimes she brings a bottle of wine, other times she cradles a Polaroid in the palm of her hand, and even the dark shades cannot stop the occasional tear from dripping down her cheek.

Rumours of her companion and his absence spread quickly, yet no one dares to ask, and the spies scattered around the park form a mutual understanding to avoid her.

There is a person with fire-red hair wandering the streets of London, wearing sunglasses and no coat, no matter the weather or time.

Their head is tipped back, their eyes glued to the sky, and yet they navigate through the masses parting around them with an unnatural ease. No one stops them, no one dares to ask why, and even if they did, they wouldn't offer an answer, not when they are asking themself the very same question.

When it begins to rain, they stop moving, stretching out their hands in a weak imitation of a prayer and allowing the water to seep into their clothes until they're as dark as the wet concrete beneath them.

There is a man with blinding white hair stepping out of an elevator that does not exist, and the end of the world comes with him. If someone were to listen in, they would realise that the man with fire-red hair meets him in the middle of the street, the air thick with lightning that will never find a home.

As they talk, nightingales all over London begin to sing.

#alex writes good omens #good omens #ineffable husbands #crowley #aziraphale #good omens season 2 #go2 #aziracrow #crowley x aziraphale #ineffable divorce #good omens ficlet #a little warm up improvisation

[twilightcitysky]

Courtship

“Crowley, come in! I was just redecorating.”

“Really? You never redecorate. Last change you made was in 1860, when you had the plumbing installed.”

Aziraphale smiled at him. “After everything that happened, I started thinking things over,” he said tenderly. “We almost lost the bookshop, but here it is, good as new. We almost lost the world, and… and now that we didn’t, I want to make some changes. I think it’s time.”

Crowley frowned. “Here, have you got something in your eye? You keep blinking.”

Aziraphale stopped trying to flutter his eyelashes. “I’ve painted the back room,” he said eventually, in a more normal tone of voice. “Would you like to see?”

He headed towards the door without waiting for an answer and pushed it open. “What do you think?”

“Oh, um. Very nice. I might’ve gone with a warm gray, or maybe mother-of-pearl… but yellow’s good too.”

“I happen to like this particular shade of yellow,” Azirphale said, a trifle testily. “Very much.”

Crowley held up his hands. “Hey, it’s your bookshop. Are you ready for lunch?”

*

“What’s this?”

“They’re flowers. Roses, dahlias, and a few Peruvian lilies.”

"What do they do?"

Aziraphale, holding out the intricately beribboned, carefully wrapped and above all expensive display from the most exclusive florist in London, began to feel a bit awkward. "They… smell nice, I suppose? And they can brighten up a room."

Crowley peered over his glasses. "Sure, for a little while. But they're cut, see?" He touched the bottom of the bouquet, as if Aziraphale perhaps hadn't noticed. "They'll die in a week."

“I suppose. I thought you might–”

“Is this more redecorating? I can help with that, no problem. Listen, why don’t I get rid of these for you… and if you’re wanting something for the bookshop, we’ll get a nice rubber plant to put under the window.”

Aziraphale sighed.

*

“Oi, angel! Think you dropped something!” Crowley jogged to catch up with him and put the matte black box, which he’d left on the seat of the Bentley, back into his hands.

“Ah. Actually, you see… that was for you.” Aziraphale felt his cheeks heat. “In case you got peckish,” he added lamely.

“This fancy stuff? Men break into bedrooms at midnight to leave this kind of chocolate next to pillows. Saw it in an advert.”

Aziraphale brightened. “Would you like me to break into your bedroom?” he asked, a tad breathlessly.

Crowley laughed. “What for? Listen, why don’t you have these. You’ll appreciate ‘em more than I will.”

*

“Are you ready to go?” Crowley glanced at his watch.

“Just one more thing. I. Er. I-thought-you-could-wear-this,” Aziraphale said in a rush. “If you like.”

Crowley took the velvet box from his trembling hand.

He opened it. “It’s…”

“Yes?”

“It’s very sparkly.” Crowley held the ring up to the light.

“It’s a diamond,” Aziraphale said desperately. “A diamond ring.”

“Oh. And you’re givin’ it to me because…”

“I–” Aziraphale stopped. He searched Crowley’s face, looking for a flicker of understanding. “My dear, I would like–”

“Oh wait, let me guess. It’s for your magic act, right? Are you practicing palming again, or is this the sort of ring that squirts ink when you twist the jewel?” Crowley pulled curiously at a glittering stone the size of his thumbnail. “Happy to help if you need an assistant. Just no more bullet tricks, okay?”

Aziraphale stared at him. “Yes,” he replied dully. “My magic act. Yes. Exactly. I’m trying to make something appear.”

“Got it in one!” Crowley gave him a pleased grin. “I know you so well, angel.”

“I daresay you do.”

Aziraphale followed him out to the car. There’s nothing else for it, he thought. I’ll have to throw a cotillion ball.

#good omens #ineffable husbands #good omens fanfiction #good omens ficlet #Aziraphale #Crowley #Aziraphale is TRYING #crowley is as dense as a lump of teak that is canon #humor #silly fluff

[iwasthenightingale]

Maybe it's just the feral ace person who resides within me, but I desperately want Crowley and Aziraphale's first real kiss to be entirely awkward and innocent and honestly kind of chaste

I want Aziraphale, desperate to hold Crowley, words tumbling out of him as he says "You know, the first time in my bookshop didn't count. And I should very much like to try, er... kissing again. Perhaps. If you were amenable?"

I want Crowley, mute with shock, but nodding incredibly enthusiastically. And Aziraphale's hands, hesitant but still reaching, hovering over Crowley as he shuffles forward and tries to learn how to touch him

I want blushing as Aziraphale asks softly "so, um... was it something l-like... like this?" and Crowley doing everything in his power not to move or self combust as he inches closer

I want the gentlest, most barely there brush of lips, so soft and sweet, and a sharp inhale as Aziraphale wrenches back to take in Crowley, his beautiful Crowley, and feel the tingling warmth against his lips

And then I want them to melt together, not even because the kiss is particularly charged, but because they adore each other and have been kept apart for far far too long, and no amount of closeness or intimacy could ever be enough for them

#this fictional scenario has been sponsored by grey ace longing for intimacy #me *pushing their heads together*: NOW KISS BUT SOFTLY #ineffable husbands #good omens #crowley #aziraphale #aziracrow #ficlet #sorta #good omens season 3

[indigovigilance]

*On the couch at the South Downs cottage*

C: Aziraphale?

A: *puts down his book* yes dear?

C: would you still love me if I was a worm?

A: Crowley, I was standing right next you when you transformed from a giant snake into a man-shaped being.

C: …

C: but snakes are cool.

A: that’s because you were the first. If you’d been a worm, then worms would be the enduring cross-cultural symbol of wisdom, rebellion, and immortality.

C: you really think so?

A: Of course, dear. *returns his attention to his book*

C: …

C: Aziraphale?

A: *looks up* Yes, dear?

C: you didn’t answer my question.

#good omens #good omens ficlet #ineffable husbands #ineffable idiots #would you still love me if I was a worm

[tismrot]

GOOD OMENS in CHRONOLOGICAL ORDER (a fanfic helper)

I tried to find this online, but I only found bits and pieces here and there. This should be a very good tool when writing fanfics, or just for understanding the narrative - so, here's my best attempt at a timeline for the canonized events in the show. Let me know if I missed any, or if something is wrong! CHRONOLOGY of GOOD OMENS 4004 BC: Before the Beginning (Sunday, October 21st, Nowhere, no name for Crowley) Aziraphale meets Crowley as an angel in Heaven pre-Beginning and Crowley makes a star factory. 4004 BC: The Eden Wall (Rather more than 7 days later, Crawley) Crowley finds Aziriaphale on the Eden wall and they talk about right and wrong. Aziraphale gave his sword to Adam and lies to God about it. Eve looks about 6 months pregnant. 3004 BC: Noah’s Ark (Ancient Mesopotamia, Crawley) Crowley finds Aziraphale in front of the Ark and they talk about how God will drown kids. 2500 BC: A Companion to Owls (Land of Uz, Crawley) Crowley and Aziraphale work together to save Job's kids from God. 1353 - 1336 BC: Nefertiti's reign as queen, during which, at some point, Aziraphale did a magic trick for her. (Thebes/Luxor, ancient Egypt, Crawley) (unfilmed, just mentioned) We know he fooled her with a "lone caraway seed and three cowry shells" 33 AD: Crucifixion of Jesus (Golgotha, Palestine, name change to Crowley) Crowley (canonically confirmed female form) tells Aziraphale she showed Jesus the world. 41 AD: Oysters in Rome (41 AD) Aziraphale playfully tempts Crowley to go eat oysters with him at Petronus' restaurant. If this isn't innuendo, I don't know what is. 537 AD: Medieval England/King Arthur (Kingdom of West Essex) Aziraphale as a knight of the Round Table meets the Black Knight (Crowley) who suggests the Arrangement for the first time. Aziraphale says no. 1020: The Arrangement is agreed to (unfilmed, just mentioned in the book or by Neil) I can't find the exact date - tell me if this is wrong? 1040 - 1601: Crowley and Aziraphale act on their arrangement "dozens of times", as mentioned in the Globe Theatre. As far as I've understood this arrangement (correct me if I'm wrong) it means that whenever they receive orders from Heaven or Hell, they tell the other, compare notes, and if it takes place in the same area, they agree that just one of them has to go do both tasks. Either that, or both tell their respective bosses that the task has been done, because they would have cancelled each other out either way. Letters would probably be too risky communication other than "Let's meet up at....", so I assume they have seen a lot of each other during this time. 1500s: Something related to the Catholic Church and the Papacy (Rome?). (Unfilmed idea) My theory: Raphael/Crowley (Raffaello Sanzio da Urbino) works as painter in Rome from 1508 until his "death" in 1520. He was invited to Rome by Pope Julius II and was immediately commissioned to work on a series of frescoes for the Pope's private library in the Vatican Palace. Crowley can't enter consecrated spaces. Hilarity ensues. This would explain his conversation about helicopters (in the book) with Leonardo da Vinci. 1601: Hamlet (Globe Theatre, London) Aziraphale and Crowley meet inconspicuously as Shakespeare struggles with Hamlet (both actor and play), and Aziraphale agrees to do both his and Crowley's assignments in Edinburgh. 1650: Aziraphale does his first apology dance (unknown) Nothing more is known about this event. 1655: Agnes Nutter's book is published, and doesn't sell a single copy. 1656: Agnes Nutter is burned (Lancashire, England, 1656) After writing the Nice and Accurate Prophecies, she is burned by Pulsifer's ancestor. 1793: French Revolution (The Bastille, Paris) Aziraphale puts himself in harm's way by dressing like a nobleman while looking for crepes in revolutionary Paris, just so that Crowley will save him. 1800s: Aziraphale opens his bookshop. (Soho, London) I can't figure out when, it just says 19th century online. Crowley asks if Aziraphale wasn't supposed to open a bookshop when he saves him in the Bastille.

1827: The Resurrectionist (Edinburgh, October) Aziraphale and Crowley discuss morality, meet Elspeth and Wee Morag - and the body snatching doctor.

1827 - ????: Crowley sleeps or is in Hell We don't actually know long or exactly when, but in the book it's mentioned he only got up to go to the toilet once. Why?

1862: St. James’s Park, London Crowley is paranoid, Aziraphale won't give him holy water. 1862 - ????: Wild West meetup (Unfilmed idea) Neil Gaiman just had the idea, it wasn't filmed.

1928: Crowley buys the Bentley And he keeps it in tip-top shape until the Not-Apocalypse. 1933: Aziraphale gets his driving license (unknown location)

1941: WW2 Blitz (London) Church bombing, magic show, photo taken, shades of dark and light grey.

1967: Aziraphale gives Crowley holy water (Soho, London) ...And says Crowley goes too fast for him. He does it because Crowley is about to orchestrate the robbery of a church. One of the robbers is Witchfinder Sergeant Shadwell, who we meet later. He offers his 'army' to Crowley.

1980s: Crowley designs the M25 (Hell) No other demons understand the whole thing about constant, low-level, effortless evil.

2007: Three children are born in a hospital in Tadfield The old switch-a-roo.

2007 - later that night: Godfather meetup (Soho, ca 2009) They're drunk, talking about whale brains and agreeing to raise Warlock as nanny and gardener.

2012 - 2018: Raising Warlock (Winfield House, England) He's way too normal! 2018: Not-Apocalypse (Saturday, August 11th, Tadfield Airbase) Do I need to explain this? 2019 - 2023: Beelzebub and Gabriel start meeting each other. We see them meet in an American bar, a Russian café and in the Resurrectionist in Edinburgh. 2020: Lockdown (London) Aziraphale goes on about cake, Crowley wants to come by and watch him eat. Aziraphale chickens out.

2023: Jimbriel (Soho, London) A naked archangel with amnesia shows up on Aziraphale's doorstep. --- UPDATED AND IMPROVED

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[foolishlovers]

i saw some pictures of flower crowns earlier and couldn’t get touch-starved! crowley making some to keep his hands busy out of my head

aziraphale and crowley are having their picnic in the park, resting on a shared blanket, the air between them sizzling with the unfamiliar feeling of sweet freedom after the no-apocalypse

crowley’s hands are twitchy, he doesn’t know what to do with them, doesn’t know if he’s allowed to reach out now, doesn’t know if the angel longs for his touch as much as crowley is pining for his

it’s been 6000 years and yet, the yearning still floods his throbbing chest, still swamps his jittery body

he’s always been gone on him

but there are no sides anymore, not for them at least, no heaven or hell to fear - times have changed

so of course (and how could it not), a silent, aching what if starts nagging on the back of his mind; he’s anxiously waiting for a signal, some sort of sign that the angel craves this too

crowley needs to keep busy, needs to occupy himself with something, anything that will distract him from the overwhelming desire to brush over aziraphale’s skin, to stroke over his rosy cheeks, to caress the wrinkles on his forehead

while aziraphale is savouring another one of the treats they’d bought on the way to the park, cheerfully chattering about the last few days, crowley begins plucking daisies from the meadow

it’s something, but it’s not enough

he sneaks a look at the angel, the soft white curls on his head drifting gently in the summer breeze, igniting a rather absurd idea within him

really, it’s a foolish thought

captivated by the image of aziraphale with the flowers in his hair, his hands abruptly stop obeying him and seize the daisies

he snaps his fingers, adding a bunch of other wildflowers to his growing collection

crowley makes one, then - reluctantly - another flower crown, twisting the fragile flowers until he’s somewhat satisfied, somewhat pleased with the result

only afterwards, aziraphale holds his tongue; he quietly takes note of the demon’s slender hands, possibly on the verge of trembling again now that he’d finished the crowns

“for us?”

nodding bashfully, crowley curses the lack of confidence he feels in this fleeting moment

aziraphale picks one of them, cautiously placing it on crowley’s buzzing head, his soft fingers pressing lightly against his long hair, lingering to adjust it again and again until he’s finally content

crowley’s barely breathing anymore when aziraphale grabs his hands, directing them towards the second crown, encouraging him to do the same for him

touching aziraphale - even just briefly - feeling the smooth texture of his hair, getting a taste of angel that he’d once believed he’d never experience - it is blissful, a marvellous sensation he fervently wishes to lose himself in

“thank you, my dear”

hazel eyes meet crowley’s amber ones as their heartbeats are adapting to a speedy, but steady rhythm, bodies almost embracing, almost intertwined like the invisible string tugging on their chests, pulling them closer to each other

tenderly, aziraphale draws crowley’s hand to his mouth, plush lips planting a hint of a kiss on his warm palm

and just like that, his fingers stay still for the rest of the afternoon, crowley’s earlier unease abandoned, long forgotten, eradicated by the angel’s soothing peck

they have the rest of their lives ahead of them, a study of touches just around the corner

#apparently i’m into flower crowns and significant hand touches who knew.. 🫣 #foolish writes #good omens #aziracrow #crowley #aziraphale #crowley x aziraphale #ineffable husbands #good omens ficlet

[sentientsky]

Do you think Crowley is ever driving through a tunnel at night, carving a path through the heart of London?

And do you think he watches the lights blur past like atoms colliding in the emptiness of a space before time or reason or the fear of a steep fall?

And do you think he blinks, and in that moment—with the road rushing beneath him and the staccato flicker of light against his closed eyelids—he remembers what it felt like to hold the universe between two palms?

To set the gyroscope spinning—to become both creator and divine witness, a hand print pressed into the rough edge of a cave wall (I was here and here I shall remain)?

Do you think he remembers it all?

And do you think he aches when he opens his eyes and finds nothing but chrome and fluorescence and the endless expanse of asphalt laid out before him?

#a little ib alex changeling and their ficlet ab fireworks #idk what this is. still have a headache and my words aren’t working well atm aksjakdj #i never ever have headaches. like e v e r. what is going on in my headddd??? #too tired to edit sorry lol #THE STARMAKER IS SO IMPORTANT TO ME. I ADORE THEM SO MUCH #good omens #crowley #ineffable husbands #good omens 2 #aziracrow #aziraphale #ineffable lovers #good omens season 2 #ineffable wives #go2 #gomens 2 #gomens #the starmaker #angel!crowley

[brainwormcity]

Imagining if Aziraphale and Crowley had a silly off-screenish love scene similar to Anathema and Newt's:

Crowley has just discarded his glasses and he and Aziraphale share a kiss in the bookshop but instead of being filled with desperation, it's loving and genuine. The two pull apart a little breathlessly, after a few seconds, and we see them looking at each other meaningfully. They kiss again, then bam! 6,000 years of longing come to head and they suddenly kiss harder, filled with a different type of desperation.

Aziraphale has Crowley held to him really tightly and Crowley's got his fingers in Aziraphale's curls. Then they're knocking things over, bumping into bookshelves, Crowley is literally just knocking books over for the hell of it, a property destroyer even when in the throes of passion.

Aziraphale pulls back: Be careful of the books, please

Crowley rolls his eyes: Yeah, yeah

And then they're back to kissing and we see them slowly lower to the floor. We hear Aziraphale giggle and then we see Aziraphale's hand with his pinky ring gesturing vaguely. The locks on the door lock miraculously and then the open sign flips to 'closed' so fast that it nearly falls off its hook.

We cut to the two side-by-side on the floor, just above the shoulders and Crowley is looking at Aziraphale like he's the one for hung the moon and they kiss again.

We then cut to the ceiling where the lights first flicker and then burst. Outside, the ground has started shaking and we see Nina and Maggie in the coffee shop as cups start falling off the shelf and breaking. Nina yells and starts grabbing them to try to stop them from falling.

Maggie runs over to help: What's going on? Since when do we get earthquakes in England?

Nina looks irritated: I bet it's-

She looks over and you can see loose pages swirling around in eddies through the window of the bookshop.

Nina looks at Maggie with a surprised smile: You don't think?

Maggie is light-heartedly scandalized: Nooo!

Nina laughs: I was right!

Maggie tilts her head in confusion: About what?

Nina redoubles her efforts to hold the cups as the quakes increase: Mr. Fell really is a dark horse!

We cut to the bookshop and it's dark outside now, with a very dim glow in the windows. We see Crowley and Aziraphale lying together on the floor, atop a bunch of papers, from the chest up. Crowley has one arm tucked under his head and the other is around Aziraphale. Aziraphale has his head on Crowley's shoulder and an arm across his chest, looking up at him lovingly. Both of their hair is a mess.

Aziraphale is smiling and blushy: That was wonderful, dear

Crowley looks away for a second but he's beaming: Shut up

#good omens #aziraphale #crowley #ineffable husbands #aziracrow #aziraphale x crowley #michael sheen #david tennant #good omens ficlet #aziracrow love scene #good omens love scene

[crowleys-hips]

Touch Forbidden

another Crowley pov poem

i have never known how to be human i watch them, and i mimic  try to replicate their gestures, the way they breathe, move, speak, love my hands itch for touch forbidden  so instead i’ll bury my hands in soil grow a garden in barren land watch plants starve  for light they have never known as they inch closer, closer, closer to the sun i’ll light flames from my fingertips  and paint the whole sky  until time crashes and all my creations explode in supernovas  i’ll stroke piano keys no, pummel them until i or the instrument bleed i’ll drown the silence in the violence of grieving sonatas let the black and white between my fingers blur into shades of gray  as i try not to think of how your hands would feel interlaced with mine instead i’ll write you love letters you will never read until my hand cramps and breaks until i run out of ink or my veins are drained i’ll sink to the bottom of endless bottles of liquor until the image of you is a cloudy haze until i can’t feel my skin anymore crying out for the touch of yours i’ll render my hands useless as i grip the wheel of my car and try to outrun my thoughts bolting out at lightspeed  going interstellar and try to find a home hidden among dead planets that have never known warmth i’ll dig myself a hole there and become rootbound maybe then my soiled hands will forget your shape my skin will dissolve and cry no more for touch forbidden

tag list under the cut:

@wibbly-wobbly-blog @phantomram-b00 @crowleys-bentley-and-plants @charlotte-zophie @crowleys-curl @quoththemaiden @thewibblylever @genderqueer-hippie @lickthecowhappy @halcyonnnn @celestialcrowley

if anyone wants to be added/removed let me know

#xan writes stuff #good omens #good omens 2 #good omens s2 #good omens fanfic #good omens fanfics #good omens fic #good omens ficlet #good omens fics #good omens fanfiction #crowley #crowley good omens #good omens crowley #aziraphale #aziraphale good omens #good omens aziraphale #ineffable husbands #ineffable idiots #ineffable partners #ineffable spouses #ineffable divorce #ineffable fandom #aziracrow #good omens meta #good omens fandom #crowley x aziraphale #aziraphale x crowley #air conditioning #poetry #demonic ramblings

[suzypfonne]

In the year 2025, a YouTube video appears:

"Hullooo, Michael Sheen, here. David and I wanted to thank each and every fan who supported us, the show, and Neil throughout the last few years.

I'm no stranger to the inner workings of the internet and I know that some fans were just a little bit disappointed by the lack of a certain storyline in season 3. So... Dai and I have decided to produce this missing piece on our own, as a little treat.

Click the Patreon link in the comments below to be taken to this exclusive video content. All proceeds will go to LGBTQ+ Youth Centers.

Archive warnings apply: Crowley/Aziraphale, post S3, non-canon/canon divergent, explicit, plot what plot?, porn without plot, they're switches bitches.

Enjoy."

#incorrect good omens #good omens #aziraphale #crowley #david tennant #michael sheen #ineffable lovers #let me dream #shut up and take my money #ficlet #release the sheen #feral Sheen #Please Michael WE NEED YOU #gif omens #ineffable husbands #aziracrow #fanfics #vavoom #sorted #rpf

[actual-changeling]

Aziraphale sees Crowley standing next to his their car and he hesitates; this is his last chance, the last possible moment to change his mind about leaving.

Do you think he feels the sunshine on his hands, against his stomach, and remembers how warm Crowley had been in his arms? How warm he had felt beneath his palms even through several layers of fabric?

How for the first time in his existence his body had felt complete, like there was no longer something— someone missing?

Do you think he sees him standing in the sun, all shining fire-red and hidden golden eyes, and regrets not sliding his hand to the back of his neck, up into his hair? Do you think he regrets not taking the chance to feel it silken soft and familiar between his fingers?

Do you think he remembers all the times they enjoyed a warm, sunny day together and the way the star seems to remember that Crowley had put its siblings into the sky? Do you think he remembers rays of sunlight caressing his cheekbones and wishes it had been his fingertips instead?

'Anything you need?' the Metatron asks him, and he is still looking at Crowley with the sun on his skin.

I need you, he thinks, and even though his eyes are hidden away, he knows Crowley is looking at him.

Do you think Aziraphale remembers the kiss, remembers the love he could taste on his tongue, the six millennia of do that, please, kiss me, the slow, painful minute of do that again, please, right now?

(The realization that he won't.)

He almost stays. Almost. But the Metatron is already walking away, and he looks at Crowley again, looks past sunset conversations and sunrise breakfasts and the heart-shaped star in Crowley's chest, and feels his pain.

(Their pain.)

Do you think that's why he leaves anyway? Not just because heaven needs fixing but because all that pain, all the hurt they caused each other, can't have been for nothing?

I can't leave him— no, I don't want to leave him.

No.

No, I want to go back to him.

Do you think he takes his anger and holds onto it until it burns his palm because it is easier to be angry at Crowley, at himself, than to think about everything they just took from each other? Everything they just lost?

Everything they could have been?

Aziraphale takes the memory of sunshine on his skin (Crowley's lips on his) and locks it away in a golden cage made out of faith; faith that Crowley will be there when he comes back.

Once he does (because he will, he will, he has to), there will be sunshine and warmth and Crowley, and they will finally be able to love each other with the sun and the whole universe as their witness.

No more shadows or shades of grey. Just the two of them in the light where they belong.

#alex writes good omens #good omens #ineffable husbands #crowley #aziraphale #good omens season 2 #go2 #aziracrow #crowley x aziraphale #ineffable divorce #the final fifteen #good omens kiss #aziraphale meta #fuck the metatron #idk what to call this flavour of post #character analysis and ficlet in one with some heartbreaking screenshots #see this is what happens when i watch the kiss scene frame by frame

[ineffablerainstorm]

Above Crowley everything was colour. Explosive bursts of starlight, of bright fire painted the night sky. It reminded him of what it had been like before time itself. When entire galaxies had erupted into existence.

There was one key difference though: There were no angels here tonight. Only a man-shaped being that had been an angel once and wasn’t quite a demon now.

He was lying on his back on the roof of his apartment building in Mayfair. Next to him were several bottles of wine. Most of them had been empty for hours. It was New Year’s Eve and Crowley was alone.

No, not just alone. Lonely.

This was the first year in the existence of this planet that he would be truly on his own. Sure Aziraphale hadn’t always been with him as such. But he had always been somewhere. Only one small miracle away. Now earth had lost its guardian angel. And Crowley had lost everything that mattered.

Below him people were celebrating. Glasses were clinking. Couples were kissing.

Crowley had sworn that he wouldn’t cry (again). He did anyway as he whispered softly to the heavens:

“Happy new year, angel.”

Somewhere far above Aziraphale didn’t dare to whisper back. But he heard. And he saw. And he felt just as lonely.

#happy new year #the sad Crowley mood got me again #im sorry #good omens #good omens ficlet #crowley #ineffable husbands #aziraphale #aziracrow #ineffable divorce

[eviebane]

Post-story ficlet of Flawless by @mrghostrat & @chernozemm

The pale band around Aziraphale’s finger had long faded when the letter arrived.

#yes i am ficlet-deep in the brainrot #bilv can i have my brain back yet #flawless au #good omens #crowley #aziraphale #ineffable husbands #aziracrow #good omens fanfic #good omens fic