Ineffable Wives (canonverse transfem Crowley / GNC Aziraphale)
Rated E (for 'Explicit,' not for 'Everyone')
3/4 chapters (I lied, there are 4 chapters, & it will finish Wednesday, 4/21)
currently 21k words (this sponge dinosaur of a fic has now expanded so much that it's big enough to have eaten Chris Pratt)
This is a sappy gift fic for the love of my life who encourages my shenanigans, but y'all are welcome to read it, too, provided you aren't going to be an asshole about it.
“I… I love you.”
When she’d made the decision to say those words, Aziraphale had thought it would be for the first time. However, as she felt the shape of them fill her mouth, Aziraphale knew that it couldn’t have been. Thrilling as those words had been to say, they were familiar, too. They rolled off her tongue like she had said them a thousand times before this moment.
Words from another dream, she thought to herself. That’s what they must be. I must have been brave enough to say them in some other dream.
The Apocalypse has been averted, and Crowley and Aziraphale are free to be honest with one another. To put it lightly, Aziraphale is terrified. It had been always easier to tell Imaginary Crowley she loved her, but Real Crowley? She didn't even know where to begin.
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just a silly idea i sketched out with the ghost hunter wives
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🍊 WIP Wednesday: Dream River 😴
Soooooo, I definitely had to up the chapter count on Dream River. The Wives were having too much fun with their newfound post-Apocalyptic freedom to fit in just three chapters, so now there are going to be four.
Chapter three goes up today, 4/14! In the meantime, please enjoy a snippet of Aziraphale trying to figure out how to talk to the Real Crowley after their dinner at the Ritz. Things were always so much easier in her dreams...
Crowley’s hand was only a few inches away as they walked, and Aziraphale had no idea how to reach out and take it. Her face was right there, too, and as much as Aziraphale felt like she was about to vibrate apart at the seams from the compulsion to dip the demon into a passionate kiss, right here on the pavement, she couldn’t. She hadn’t been able to say a thing to her at the restaurant. Oh, she’d babbled and laughed and chattered away with the lovely familiarity they normally only shared on the sofa in the bookshop after a few glasses of wine, but she hadn’t been able to tell Crowley she loved her.
She’d said it thousands of times by now in her dreams, she was sure. At the very least, she woke each morning with a sense that she’d left no secrets unspoken the night before. Unfortunately, saying that kind of secret to an imaginary Crowley who would vanish like a shadow at dawn was different than saying it to a very real Crowley who would hear it and remember it and react to it. Part of her wanted to keep on as they had for decades now. Crowley surely knew, didn’t she? She must. They could bumble onwards for another few centuries like this, and maybe by then the demon would catch on to the fact that Aziraphale was mad for her.
Except… Aziraphale didn’t want to do that. She’d been bumbling on in uncertain silence for so long she didn’t know another way, but she knew there was another way, even if it felt impossibly out of reach. She wanted to tell Crowley how much she cared for her, that she was happy to have chosen their side and would never regret it. That she desired closeness, intimacy, and time together, as much as Crowley herself wanted to give. That she didn’t want to be parted from her again.
She wanted to say all of those things, needed to say them, even, but more than that, she wanted Crowley to hear all of those things, too.
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A - Oh, Crowley... Please...
C - Come on, what's the problem about it? No one will ever know.
A - I don't feel... I don't...
C - Oh, but you do, you know you want it.
A - Do not say that, you know nothing.
C - In fact, I do. More than you can imagine...
A - I beg of you, please don't do it...
C - It's nothing, it's going to be quick and painless. I promise.
A - Crowley...
C - Angel...
A - Alright, alright. Do it. Do it now!
*Crowley is holding the prophecies open and he folds one of the pages, because they don't dispose of a bookmarker in the moment.*
A - I will overlook this small sin just because we'll need that information soon and there's no other way to find it that easily. But don't you ever, ever do that to one of my books ever again, Crowley, or I swear I...
*But Crowley is already walking away with the book under his arm. Aziraphale has to run a little bit to catch up and there they go, looking for the Antichrist together, as they were meant to.*
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This is my favorite GO sketch so far, enjoy :)
*C and A are strolling around, just careless and juvenile in a hot summer afternoon. C has his glasses on, as usual, and Aziraphale is finishing a strawberry ice-cream. *
C -... I'm just saying you could, if you wanted to.
A (licks his ice cream very discreetly) - Oh, I could not... Angels are not meant to be flirty, Crowley! That would be... Well...
C - A sin?
A - I would dare saying that it depends on the point of view, but that would be more like something you would say. (he giggles) I do not think we are meant to flirt around, that is what I mean.
*Crowley stops, turning to Aziraphale, provocatively. He puts his hands in his pockets, a daring position.*
C - I bet you can do it. Flirt with me.
A (outraged) - Excuse me?
C (gets closer, studying his face) - Do it. Entice me.
*Aziraphale is embarrassed, looking at his ice cream.*
A - OF COURSE I will not. That is preposterous! And here, in the middle of the street, that is...
C - Oh, so you need a more intimate place? Name it, where do you want to go? I'll take you there.
A (impatient) - How far do you have to go to make a point, Crowley?
C (grins) - You have no idea.
A (upset) - I do hope to keep it that way.
*Crowley slightly smiles, hands still in his pockets, getting even closer to Aziraphale.*
C (trying to sound innocent) - Just give it a try... If you do, I promise to take you to that restaurant you looooove (he sings the word), the one with the... The red velvet thing you like.
*Aziraphale winces, suddenly considering. That lasts a few seconds, and he's back to upset.*
A - You don't have to do anything in return. And besides, I will just prove that I am right, indeed. So it is not exactly a challenge.
*Crowley is exhultant. But he keeps his emotions to himself. To Azi, he just shrugs. *
C - Go ahead. (he lifts his chin, waiting for the blow).
*Aziraphale looks around - there's absolutely not one person in the street, strangely, though. He is still holding his ice cream, and he concentrates on it so he doesnt have to look at Crowley at this close range.*
A (licking his lips, focusing, searching for words) - There's something about this ice cream that reminds me of you, actually.
C (instigating) - Oh, really?
A (nods, still looking down) - It's what I like about strawberries, too. They are the exact amount of sweet and sour, which makes them even more scrumptious for me. (he raises his eyes to look into Crowley's shades) You are like a strawberry: sweet and sour in the perfect amount.
*Crowley hesitates for a split second. Azi can't see it, but Crowley's green eyes drop to his mouth and they notice they are still wet with cold ice cream. He feels the urge to... *
A (laughs, starting to stroll again) - See? Nothing special about that. I feel foolish, and I would appreciate that red velvet cake as a compensation for my trouble, thank you very much.
*Crowley takes a while to start to walk again, he's got mixed feelings. Whatever he expected, he didn't expect to feel that way. But he follows Aziraphale after a few seconds.*
C (keeping his hands even closer to himself) - You were right, angel, of course.
A (licking his ice cream a tad more intently) - About the flirting or about the ice cream metaphor? Oh, I'm sorry, see, that is the thing about temptation: you don't stop at the first one! (he giggles, amused) I'm sorry, my friend, it was inevitable, I know what you meant.
C (shaking his head) - Yes, about the flirting. I will compensate for your embarrassment. You deserve it after making such a fool of yourself on my account.
A (smiling) - Well, thank you.
*They keep walking, but Crowley is suddenly very aware of that ice-cream.*
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I was just imagining a situation to make Azi uncomfortable, as always...
*Crowley's apartment. Crowley is standing in front of his wardrobe shirtless. He and Aziraphale have some important things to do in that day, and Crowley wants to look good. He's trying to figure out what he is going to wear. In front of him, a myriad of black pieces of clothing.*
*Knocks on the door. Aziraphale's voice sounds:*
A (through the door) - Are you decent?
C (frowns, still concentrated on the wardrobe) - Have I ever been decent?
A (voice) - I find you quite decent, don't you ever say that.
C (sighs) - Get in already, angel, we're between friends, aren't we? Have a sit.
*A sits on the edge of the bed, very straight, very formal, trying not to get too comfortable on Crowley's bed.*
*Crowley is too concentrated to notice anything, and he turns around to look at Aziraphale*
C - What do you think I should wear?
A - I am sure that whatever you wear will be appropriate, my dear. (He's distracted looking at anywhere but Crowley's way.)
C (mumbling) - Now that's helpful. (turns to the clothes again)
A - Excuse me, I did not catch that...
C - Never mind. I think I've got it, anyway. (he pulls a black Queen t-shirt out and then a black leather jacket, testing the combinations) I should definitely wear this one under this jacket... What do you think?
A (forcing himself to look at Crowley. He deeply swallows, his big eyes going over Crowley's exposed skin.) - I am so sorry, what was it?
C (exhales) - These ones (he shows them again), should I put them on?
A (mumbles) - Actually, you should take them off...
C (getting closer to A) - What?
A (shaking his head, distracted) - You would look quite nice with that shirt off... ON! ON... (Aziraphale corrects himself almost desperately, blushing)
*Crowley looks at him, suspicious. He looks down at himself and a little mischievous smile curves his lips up. He is pleased. He gets even closer to Azi, his stomach is almost touching the other man's arm*
C (teasing) - Maybe I will put them on, indeed. And you, angel (he emphasizes), could help me taking them off, since this jacket is too tight, I must say.
*Aziraphale is desperately looking down, embarrassed, but also pleased in a flirty way.*
A - You will have to, eventually. I would... Enjoy to assist you in such a... Demanding task.
*Crowley smiles, devilishly. *
C - Always too kind. I appreciate that (he goes to the big mirror on the wall, trying on the outfit).
*Aziraphale keeps looking down, but when Crowley is far enough, he peeks on him, just slightly, smiling just a little, like a child afraid of being caught doing something terribly good. *
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(Sorry, the title sucks, it’s the best I could come up with!)
Aziraphale sometimes needs help taking care of herself. Crowley does not mind. To say the least.
Set in my Bike Girls AU.
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shhh darling, just let go
Welp it lasted 5 min before getting flagged lol - full image and timelapse on Instagram or twitter (obviously nsfw content at the links)
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Hey! I’d like to recommend By My Side by Demonicputto - this fic and it’s sequels are so well done and make me feel so many emotions. It handles a lot of tough issues really well, and is probably the best coming of age story I’ve ever read.
By My Side by Demonicputto (T)
When Crowley is given the chance at a human life (birth to death, family, Free Will, the whole shebang) he takes it. He does this, in part, to protect Aziraphale from being forced to take the same opportunity against his will.
However, once Crowley is off on this metaphysical adventure, Aziraphale learns that his friend’s new life is not all that was advertised. To protect a small, amnesic Crowley from a childhood of cruelty, Aziraphale must go after him. If he’s going to do so, he must become human himself.
Now in the form of a nine-year-old boy (though with his memories mercifully intact) Aziraphale must navigate adoptive parents, child therapists, and nativity plays to try and provide what protection he can to his dearest companion.
~ Mod G
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Aziraphale pulled her shawl more closely around herself; it was proving to be a cold spring, for all that it was a beautiful sunny day. She didn't really want to go inside just yet, though. In part because of the sun and the clear blue sky and the end of winter.
It hadn't been a bad winter. Quite the opposite, actually. Oh, there had been big snow storms and rain and she'd hurt herself so badly when Aster threw her, and that was all either painful, annoying, or painful and annoying, but also? She had come to this warm, friendly castle full of people who liked her, or at least didn't actively despise her. Mrs Moonstone still hadn't taken back the extra comforters she'd left for Aziraphale to use at the start of winter. And she and Chae regularly went riding, and she'd got to practice hunting with a merlin again. She had a whole library of her very own and a generous budget, and she was turning it into something special. (Well, mostly she was re-filing things and memorizing what was where, her trained memory soon able to find anything that was asked of her. But special would come.)
And then – most amazing of all – she had Crowley. A princess . Who loved her ! Who had known such a thing could happen? Of course, Crowley was not a bit like any princess Aziraphale had known before. She didn't laugh at Aziraphale – well, not in any mean way – and she didn't hit. She was...gentle. Funny. Kind of a dork, actually. Awkward and beautiful and she doted on Aziraphale.
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Ineffable Wives - Just Very Good Friends
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Crowley and Aziraphale in the 80′s:
Crowley vibing to Madonna “Like a Prayer”
Meanwhile Aziraphale in the bookshop is getting down to Pat Benatar “Heartbreaker”
Crowley thinks of Aziraphale when “Like a Prayer” plays because of these lines:
When you call my name it's like a little prayer
I'm down on my knees, I wanna take you there
In the midnight hour I can feel your power
Just like a prayer you know I'll take you thereI hear your voice
It's like an angel sighing
I have no choice, I hear your voice
Feels like flyingI close my eyes
Oh God I think I'm falling
Out of the sky, I close my eyes
Heaven help me
Aziraphale thinks of Crowley when Heatbreaker plays because of these lines:
Your love is like a tidal wave, spinning over my head
Drownin' me in your promises, better left unsaid
You're the right kind of sinner to release my inner fantasy
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Ok but genderbent good omens au where Crowley and Aziraphale are the heads of lesbian cottagecore tiktok
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Fandom: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett, Good Omens (TV)
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
When the gardener starts sending strange flowers to the nanny, she tries to figure out the meaning behind these seemingly secret messages. (It’s really not that complicated.)
Ft the ineffable wives and secret messages using the language of flowers
Written for the @nannyzine‘s Valentine’s Day special edition
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Ineffable husbands guyss
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New chapter up!
(and the end is in sight -- just two more chapters after this one :) )
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Aziraphale comforting Crowley in his magic (?) prison in Heaven just before falling🖤
(Did you really think I forgot my beloveds? Never! This is another snippet of a comic I'm drawing even if I'm too lazy to work on it right now)
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When life gives you lemons...
Just a tiny 500-word wives AU written for the Guess the Author prompt 'grow better'
...plant a lemon tree
Life has a funny way. It had been a downright bitch to Antonia.
She'd had it all, lost it all, and here she was age 40, scraping by on a part-time job at somewhere as kitsch as Thistle & Thyme Farm Shop and Nurseries outside Milton Keynes.
She hated the sand in her hair, the grime. The dark bits of soil that stuck under her fingernails.
After three months, she found a strong enough varnish to cover them.
After six months, she found she didn't care about perfect nails anymore.
After nine months, she didn't even miss the sharp black suits of her City closet. Or Lucy's red ones next to them.
Two years in, she was fine with the solitude, fine. She liked the job, the peace out here.
If only the customers would leave her to it.
People like that frumpy blonde who kept bringing half-dead plants to her for advice, barely more than sticks in mud, held together by those plastic containers they got for pennies and sold to rich middle-aged idiots for £1.99.
Antonia's balcony was full of her rescues by now, and still she kept bringing more.
Two years and two months in, Antonia caught on.
Three months later, here she came again, hips swaying through the maze of great big trees and tiny seedlings, perfect curls bobbing with every step in her impractical heels, making her way to the farthest fruit-tree corner of the nursery.
That had to be a real fur too, open to the gentle April air, white dress not exactly unkind to her curves (white, though, at a garden centre...).
Antonia sneered. Sneered. It wasn't a grin.
She carried a pot of bog-standard rye grass, the kind you'd find three feet tall at any roadside round these parts.
She blushed before she even started speaking, poor dove.
"Excuse me, Ms. Crowley, sorry to bother you again, but you are always so kind and I am such a klutz-"
"'S'just Crowley, if you must. Or Antonia. Haven't been a 'miss' for ages."
"No?" She looked at Antonia with those big, round eyes of hers. "I do go by Ms., but the Ms., you understand? M-S." A flutter of mascaraed eyelashes. Go on, girl. "To denote no detachment."
Wasn't a grin. "...Right."
"…I'm far too old for 'miss', as I'm sure you can see..."
Antonia set aside her shears, cocked a hip on the nearest raised bed of plants. "Hadn't noticed."
She smiled very sweetly, the minx.
Okay fine, it WAS a grin. "In fact I think you're gorgeous."
She was as well, blush and all.
Go oooon, lass.
One big, heavy breath (nice and tight around the bosom) and finally. "Might I offer you a cup of tea, do you think? At the café?"
"Th'tea here's overpriced piss."
"Wine. In your garden. Might as well get to the source of the problem, I reckon."
"Very well." She had a laugh like a windchime. "I've dug up half of it by now."
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🍊 WIP Wednesday: Dream River 😴
Happy Wednesday, y'all! Today's snippet is from the the last chapter of Dream River, which goes up next Wednesday, 4/14.
Enjoy this peek at what happens That Night At Crowley's Flat. The read more here is for length, not content... but be advised, the chapter will definitely be NS//FW.
Crowley had fallen asleep in her own kitchen, her head lolling against her arm where it was sprawled across the surface of the table. Aziraphale supposed her exhaustion must have finally outweighed the adrenaline of victory and the terror of what was to come next. She wanted to give the demon the chance to rest—she’d need it for tomorrow, God knew they both would—but it couldn’t be comfortable sleeping folded over cold marble like that.
Carefully, trying her best not to wake her, Aziraphale carried Crowley into an adjoining room. It wasn’t exactly a living room, she supposed, as there was little evidence to suggest that Crowley or anyone else actually lived here in this concrete box of a flat, but there was at least a room with a sofa. Angular, leather, expensive... a plush blanket was draped across it by the time Aziraphale reached it, both to protect the sofa from the layer of soot clinging to Crowley’s clothing and hair, and also to provide a bit of softness for the demon to lie upon. She left Crowley’s glasses on, because while it might be uncomfortable to sleep in them, as she was unwilling to take them off without permission. Aziraphale did take Crowley’s boots and jacket off, though. By miracle, as she was hesitant to jostle her further. Whatever happened tomorrow, she supposed that a reprimand for frivolous miracles would be the least of her concerns.
Aziraphale settled onto the floor beside her, back resting against the side of the sofa. Her job, she decided, would be to watch the door. They thought it was likely that they would be safe until morning, but it couldn’t hurt to be vigilant. As appealing as rest sounded for her own exhaustion, as strongly as she craved the now-familiar balm of dreams, Aziraphale knew she needed to stay awake.
Her body had other plans. It had been given six years to practice the art of sleep, and by now, it was an artist that could rival any of the old masters. Like a sigh pulled from weary lips, like heat pulled out through a crack beneath a drafty door, so too was Aziraphale pulled out of herself and settled gently into dreaming.
The sky above her was the color of forget-me-nots, a cruel joke made by her own sleeping mind that Aziraphale couldn’t even muster the energy to be angry about. Puffy white clouds drifted above her like so many boats in a harbor. She turned her head to the right and saw that she was lying in a meadow full of wildflowers in a hundred hues that stretched further than even her angelic eyes could comprehend.
She turned her head to the left, and there was Crowley.
The imaginary demon was clean, her clothing unburned, her sunglasses nowhere in sight, but she had one thing in common with her real-life counterpart: there was a certain heaviness to her eyelids that suggested she was tired right down to her very bones.
“Hello, Crowley,” she said, and held out a hand toward her.
“‘Lo.” Crowley yawned and rolled her shoulders. Took Aziraphale’s hand. “We’ve been here before, haven’t we?”
“I’m sorry,” Aziraphale said, trying to muster a genuine smile instead of the sad one that wanted to try to form. “I don’t remember much from other dreams.”
“No, no. I meant...” Crowley raised a hand and gestured vaguely. “In real life. This is that place in Wales we went to with Warlock, isn’t it?”
Aziraphale nodded, catching on. “Yes, I think you’re right. Two summers ago, when Warlock was nine. Caeau Tan y Bwlch, I think.”
“I whispered all the names of the flowers to you so you could teach them to him. Some gardener you are.” Crowley huffed out a quiet laugh and extended an arm out beside her to pick a flower. “Ten seconds on the clock. What kind of flower is this?”
Crowley passed the flower over to her, and Aziraphale stared at the pale yellow-green petals, trying to force her own tired brain to recall. The shape of it was spread open like a pair of wings, like a...
“Butterfly! A butterfly... orchid?”
Aziraphale watched the lazy, contented smile spread across her demon's face. "Good. Now try that one."
She looked back at her hand and saw that the flower had shifted into another specimen, this one smaller with a cluster of soft purple-blue petals arranged like pins in a cushion.
“Devil’s-bit.” The name for this new flower came more readily to mind than had the last, and Aziraphale supposed that made sense. After all, she’d never been fascinated with butterflies in quite the same way she was with devils. Or, rather, with one devil in particular.
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