#instead of anthony j crowley hes anthony r crowley

[zero-is-nebulous]

Uuuh here's my art dump for the reverse omens au I made

I can't remember which artist came up with the moth demon Aziraphale but credit goes to them, I just liked it and decided to run with it (I'll see If I can find them to drop a name sometime l8r)

Text ver under the cut

Aziraphale - really a quite terrible demon (original temptor)

Moth broach

Walking stick

Same outfit p much

Hair pattern silly

Majic man style coat

Eyes...

Moth antenna

Raphael - bored Archangel, human expert and healer (Crowley)

Outcast Archangel

Azi's pocket watch

Moth pendant

Devious smirk

How 2 draw skinny jeans?

Shoes...

Snake tattoo

(Text pages at the end, typed out below)

The story goes like this...

Aziraphale, thinking that keeping the diffrent between right/wrong from life is silly. He believes it's the right thing to do to introduce it to the humans. He is past looking to the all-mighty for morality, and really just does what he thinks is right. He disguises himself as an angel to offer the fruit to Adam + eve, and then discorporates the angel of the Eastern gate (unnamed angel, soon to be demoted for being bested so easily) to give the humans their flaming sword. He watches them go from the top of the Eastern gate, now non-disguised

Archangel Raphael is bored, hating how heaven is run but not wanting to ask questions after the fall of their last 'example'. He loves his stars, and wishes the world would be as interesting as them. He often visits the garden, so he sees Aziraphale on the wall and, bored, goes to be nosey

Crowley: the principality for this post taking a break?

Aziraphale: looks it, doesn't it? Whoever they were, they did quite an awful job. The humans are already a mile beyond the wall. Perhaps heaven is doing it all wrong then, hm?

It turns out, demons are quite talkative. And interesting

Crowley: hm, so you're saying you don't know what happened here?

Aziraphale: not a single clue. I suppose that's to be expected though, no?

Crowley: oh? What makes you say that?

Aziraphale: well, it's as she said. I'm not quite meant to ask questions. Her plan is ineffable, after all

Crowley: ineffable?

Aziraphale: quite. Silly, isn't it?

Crowley: I never said a thing, uh,

Aziraphale: Aziraphale

Crowley: Aziraphale

Crowley: how tf did u get captured by the Spanish inquisition?

(Dressed 2 the nines)

Crowley: I'm gonna myrical u outa this bc I have a heavenly duty but let it be known I think you're one of the dumbest motherfuckers I have ever met

Aziraphale: teehee

(No longer a fashion icon)

Crowley: dramatic ass demon

Sorry this is so terribly layed out tumblr kept changing it after I posted

#🌩nebulous' art🌒 #wanted to make it so they were still themselves #just with a lil twist #also dont @ me i couldnt find the spanish inquisition scene to ref their outfits so its off the top of my head #also Crowley changes his name to Crowley later in this story #same change as before just instear of Crawley to Crowley its Raphael to Crowley #oh and its used mostly as an Alias #the other archangels dont use it #instead of anthony j crowley hes anthony r crowley #theres a lot more i wanna explain abt this au but im gonna just make more posts abt it instead of tryna get it all out in one go #alr necessary tag time #good omens #good omens au #reverse omens #swapped omens #swapped au #reverse au #demon aziraphale #angel crowley #good omens season 2 #kind of #good omens minisode #like refrences #eden #good omens fanart #ineffable husbands #Raphael #raphael crowley #first rain scene #ive been doing too much analysis and thats p much why this exists

[smurphyse]

Whumptober Day 1- Shaky Hands

Warnings: Angst, ‘s about it! I’ve also posted this and will have the collection on my AO3

It had been since Eden that Crowley’s hands shook like this.

This was a bad idea. Such a stupid, ridiculous, idiotic idea that could only be dreamed up by an absolute moron of an ex-angel. The kind of stupid idea saved only for demons who can’t even fall right, just saunter vaguely downwards.

He clenched his fists tightly, staring down at them as he did his plants, attempting in pitiful vain to terrify them into submission. No use, they disobey him openly, freely admitting to God and the world round that he, Anthony J. Crowley, original tempter of man, snake of the Garden, was purely and simply afraid.

The streets of SoHo were busy, people flitting and weaving past him, completely unaware that an occult being was practically radiating anxiety in waves. Those who pass him feel a sudden burst of panic, blood pressure rising, hair sticking up on the back of their necks, then calm again as they continue their way. A sense of confusion on their parts will be normal, but for those regular humans who encounter an ethereal (occult) being, the worry soon leaves their minds the further they get from the demon.

His hips do not hold the same sinful waltz they usually do. Crowley hunches over, his body wound tight as he focuses all his willpower on steadying his goddamned hands. The trembling seems to reverberate throughout his scrawny frame, echoing violent ribbons of panicked spasming up his arms and down his spine, the rest of his body clenching frantically for an ounce of stability.

Crowley could not remember in all his six thousand years being as scared as this. He faced down the fucking devil and he was not nearly as terrified then as he was now. His breath ghosts out in front of him, a fog of petrification mocking him as he makes his way to the bookshop; to Aziraphale.

As he comes upon the bookshop the shaking intensifies, his jaw begins to tremble as the panic rears it’s ugly head for the final attack before he collapses in a pile of limbs and wheezing terror. As he comes face to face with it, the demon’s very own personal demon, Crowley looks into the eyes of his fear.

They match his own, staring back at him from the bookshop window, golden pools of burning, unsatiated dread daring him to blink first. He feels himself begin to concede defeat, to back down and turn tail, fleeing back to his flat with the fright of a man with the devil on his heels, when the eyes staring back at him turn blue.

Cerulean blues, eyes so bright they make you feel like the sun itself is shining only for you, crinkle up in a smile. Crowley fixes his gaze, and gladly sees a grinning Aziraphale wave at him through the window, beckoning him inside.

“My dear, I was just thinking about you,” the angel chuckles as Crowley steps through the door, breathing in the familiar scent of aging paper and cologne, of Aziraphale. “I found a rather delightful bottle of wine I acquired in Italy. Oh, when was it? I believe sometime around 1890.” Aziraphale wiggled the bottle at Crowley, then set it down on his desk as he looked around for a few glasses for the pair.

Normally, Crowley would have allowed the angel to chatter on until his face turned blue, not that either of them needed to breathe, but he had other plans. Tonight was the night, the night it changed for better or for worse. The night a demon tells an angel he loves him.

“Angel, I-,” The words barely escape Crowley’s throat, strangled by the shaking racking through his body. The angel continued anyway, moving piles of books around as he spoke, hands flitting about for emphasis as he spoke.

“You would have been asleep, of course, you slept for quite a long time after our… disagreement. I did some traveling then, and that’s when I befriended a delightful young woman who showed me some wonderful vineyards around Tuscany. Of course, I had been there a few times, but she was just so excited I couldn’t help obliging.”

Crowley tried to pinch the bridge of his nose, his blood beginning to boil in frustration as he scratched himself instead. Stupid hands.

“My dear, are you cold?” Aziraphale stopped his search to look at him. He must have looked pathetic, standing in the foyer of the bookshop, body pinched and trembling. “You’re shaking like a leaf. Let me get you a blanket.”

“No, angel, ’m fine,” he groaned, feeling stupid for making the angel fuss. Aziraphale flicked his hands, smiling smugly as a fleece white blanket fluttered into his grasp. “Really, don’t go putting that on me, ‘s not a big de- “

“Crowley, you are a snake. I know you loathe the cold.” Disregarding Crowley’s protests and wrapping him snugly in the fuzzy monstrosity he dared to call a blanket. He smiled at the demon, giving one last tug to ensure Crowley was tightly swathed.

Aziraphale probably hadn’t noticed, but Crowley was painfully aware of how close Aziraphale was. Their noses almost touched, Aziraphale’s flushed from the heat of the shop, Crowley’s from the cold of the unforgiving London winter. The angel’s eyes flickered to Crowley’s lips for a moment, just one, but long enough for the shaking to leave the demon’s body entirely.

His hands snaked up from his sides, catching Aziraphale’s warm face in a soft embrace. Crowley watched carefully as the angel’s breath hitched, a small gasp leaving him as Crowley gazed longingly into those eyes whose brightness contrasted his own.

The angel didn’t pull away, didn’t tear himself free of Crowley’s grasp as he’d expected him to. They stared at one another for a long moment, breathing heavily in the otherwise stilled quiet of the bookshop, antique volumes the only crowd observing their silent standoff. Crowley’s hands began to shake again, his resolve retreating as quickly as it had come.

Maybe if he pulled away, laughed it off as some silly joke, Aziraphale would elect to forget it. They could move on, pretend it hadn’t happened, much like they had the accidental brush of their hands back in 1942. It had electrified Crowley, given his broken heart a much-needed boost, but they hadn’t spoke of it again.

Instead of pulling away, Aziraphale’s hands reached up to cup Crowley’s own, squeezing them gently as he watched back him. He seemed to give Crowley the shock he needed, because the trembling stilled instantly. His whole body laxed as it usually did, his regular confidence flooded back as he took a deep breath, visualizing it filling him with the sureness of a demon ready to tempt a more than willing partner.

Crowley leaned down and kissed him, lips light as air, just brushing before he pulled back. Eyes frantic, he searched Aziraphale’s face for revulsion, disgust, anger, but he found none. Instead, he looked back at the demon tearfully, face twisted in heartache.

Crowley released him immediately, his whole body quaking with regret. “Shit, angel, I’m sorry,” he begged, “please just forget it. I’ll never do it again, I promise.”

Aziraphale shook his head, tears spilling down his rosy cheeks as Crowley backed away, fighting the urge to cower like a frightened child. The angel began to shake as well, his hands covering his eyes as he wept.

“I’m so sorry, angel, I shouldn’t have. I won’t do it again, please angel, let’s forget it,” he reached out to touch the quivering angel, hovering just short of him, afraid of causing more damage. Six thousand years of careful hands grazing and calculated contact all gone in an instant as Crowley fought back the unrelenting panic that swelled inside his gut, threatening to devour him with wrenching guilt.

“I’ll leave, then. You won’t see me unless you want. I’ll leave you be, angel. I’m sorry.”

He began to back away, hands reaching behind him to grab the doorknob when Aziraphale stretched out and drew Crowley back to him by the blanket still clung around his shoulders, pulling the demon into a deep kiss, their teeth clacking together, Crowley’s hands instinctively wrapping around the angel’s waist.

Aziraphale’s hand laced into the hair at the nape of his neck, holding him close as Crowley’s shock overcame him. He gawked at Aziraphale; eyes wide. Tentatively, he reached up and wiped away the tears from Aziraphale’s face, his resolve returning as he kissed him back fervently.

When the angel finally pulled away, the tears welled back up in his eyes as he looked at the terrified demon before him. Crowley wiped those tears away too, his eyes still pleading for forgiveness though none was required.

“I don’t want you to leave,” Aziraphale sobbed, his face blotched and wet, his hands still gripping the blanket for dear life, “I don’t ever want you to leave again.”

“Oh,” Crowley whispered, nodding dumbly, “good then. ‘S good, then? That’s good.”

Then Aziraphale began to laugh, a deep belly busting laugh. His hands flew to his stomach as his tear stained face spattered with happy blush. Crowley stood shell-shocked; hands still held out where the angel’s waist had been.

“I don’t, I don’t understand,” Crowley gulped, his brain still not up for cohesive thought as Aziraphale giggled before him like a child told his first dirty joke.

“My boy,” Aziraphale gasped, heaving and out of breath, laughing harder each time his teary eyes met Crowley’s confused ones, “you came in here all ready to go and you just lost all nerve!”

“Did you really think that after six thousand years of us maintaining a relationship that I wouldn’t want you to kiss me the minute you got the chance to?”

“R-relationship?!” Crowley retorted; shock replaced by outrage.

“Of course, we kept it on the down low, but I always thought we had a rather forbidden romance of sorts over the years, the sort of pining resolved for Jane Austen novels and the like. With the Apocalypse and our respective sides out of the way, I figured we would move on sooner than later. I’ve really enjoyed it, but there’s only so long I’m willing pine before we move on to the fun stuff.”

Crowley’s bottom jaw must’ve hit the floor by now, because he had lost all sense of self from pure outrage, “You said I go to fast!”

Aziraphale tutted at him, “That was in 1967, over fifty years ago. That was a lifetime ago.”

“We don’t have lifetimes, we’re ether-occult beings! For all I knew you wanted to keep this up for another six millennia.”

“Well, I don’t. I don’t want things to be the same as they were before. I, I think I’m ready for change, for something new. I’m ready to go faster. Not too fast, mind you, but a few miles more at a time sounds like quite a lovely journey.”

Just like that, the shaking was gone, long forgotten in the heat of the shop and the warmth emanating from the two beings whose love for one another could heat the whole of London for a few thousand years. Crowley felt his hips lax, the familiar fluidity breathing back into his muscles. The anxiety was still there, as it would always be, but it wasn’t quite as terrifying to look down that hole if Aziraphale was there to hold his hand while he did.

“Fancy a drink?” he asked, miracling two wine glasses in his hand and motioning toward the back room of the shop.

“Oh, you’ve read my mind,” Aziraphale chuckled, holding out his arm for Crowley to take. He took it with a smile and no hesitation.

They walked to the back, both feeling quite at home and warm on this chilly London evening, and content that the first few steps on their new path weren’t as scary so long as they were together.

#good omens #good omens prime #good omens tv #whumptober #day 1 #shaky hands #angst #crowley #aziraphale #aziracrow #ineffablehusbands #ineffable idiots

[iris-writes-things]

Two Guys and a Baby: Day 1 part 1

Read on AO3, FF.net or under the cut, or read up to 2 chapters ahead as a $1 Patreon patron!

“I thought you had a babysitter!” “I thought so too! But now she’s off to Cambodia for half a year to rediscover herself after a particularly bad break up… I’m sorry, but you’re really my only hope.”

Or, Crowley enlists an old friend to help him look after his boss' baby while she's away for two weeks, and learns a thing or two about himself and the other along the way.

Chapter 1 of 20 Ongoing 1989 words Romance/Humor

Dramatis Personae:

Anthony “Anton”/”uncle Tony” Crowley (An artist turned marketing assistant)

Lucy Ferguson (Crowley’s boss, too perfect for this world)

Adam Ferguson-Zabielski (Son of Lucy, shatterer of eardrums, soiler of diapers. Like his mother, too perfect for this world)

Anathema Device (Crowley’s niece, sassy teen)

Ezra “Aziraphale” Fell (Local bookshopkeeper, historical non-fiction author and former employee at a local daycare) 

It was a nice, warm morning in the middle of March and life was good. Winter had come to an end, and spring was finally starting to set in. Young leaves and blooms were starting to grow in the trees and shrubs in the park across from Crowley’s Mayfair apartment. It was so warm, in fact, that Anthony J "usually-so-cold-he-should-probably-get-himself-checked-out" Crowley ventured to work without his coat and with a pair of sunglasses perched on his nose, ever the optimist.

On his way to work, the marketing department at the global headquarters of a European multinational, he stopped by a coffee shop, greeted the barista, and ordered a latte for himself and for his boss before continuing on his way.

His boss, Lucy, had been a classmate of his in primary school. He had some fond memories of her. But after primary school, their friendship faded. Where Crowley failed classes left and right and was set back several years, Lucy flourished in school and exceeded every expectation. Where Crowley decided to go into the arts, Lucy studied marketing and management. And where Crowley lived alone with barely a social life to speak of, Lucy had a fiancé, a son and a seemingly endless stream of friends on top of her job.

How she did it, he had no idea. But he somehow ended up being her assistant.

“Mr. Crowley, so glad you decided to join us.” Lucy flashed a devilish smile as she snatched one of the paper cups out of the carton the very second he came out of the elevator. Her caramel brown hair was done up in a neat bun, as per usual, and her black pantsuit looked stunning on her, as always.

“Good morning to you too, Lucy.”

“Ms. Ferguson,” Lucy corrected. “I know you mean well, but someone’s gotta show these sharks who’s boss. Besides, I don’t go around calling you Anton, do I?”

“Yes ma’am,” Crowley said. He mocked a salute as he followed her into her office.

'Anton' was what Lucy had called him upon their first meeting one fateful day in the schoolyard, and it stuck to him ever since. He couldn’t blame another six year old for refusing to even try and pronounce ‘Anthony’. Especially when the man himself spoke with a lisp back then.

“Anything I can do for you?” He asked before finally taking a sip of his coffee.

“Well, there is one thing…” Lucy— ms. Ferguson said. “It’s not exactly work-related, but I’m not sure there’s anyone else in the world I would trust with the task.”

This piqued Crowley’s attention. A single brow raised over the rims of the sunglasses he had ‘forgotten’ to take off.

“You know how… particular I can be with Adam’s care, right?”

Oh, Crowley knew. The last year and nine months had been an Experience, so to speak. Every day, Lucy had regaled to Crowley the many things she read in books and on websites about parenting. Once the boy was finally there, she had laid down the law for everyone. Fiancés, grandparents, friends and babysitters alike. She was strict about it, but Adam seemed to be happy and healthy. But that was Lucy: strict, diligent, and always yielding the best results.

“Yes,” Crowley tried simply, motioning for her to continue.

“I’m about to offer you two weeks out of the office. All expenses covered. On the condition that you look after Adam while Belle and I are on our vacation.”

As if they had become sentient with a sense for comedic timing, Crowley’s sunglasses slid down his nose.

“What?”

“Anton, please.”

“I thought you had a babysitter!”

“I thought so too! But now she’s off to Cambodia for half a year to rediscover herself after a particularly bad break up…” Lucy let herself fall into her office chair with an exasperated sigh. “I’m sorry, but you’re really my only hope. Belle is so looking forward to this trip to Croatia, I don’t want to have to tell her that we have to cancel.”

Crowley thought it over for a second. Deep down, he knew he had already decided, but caring for his obscene amount of houseplants proved to be a challenge on its own. Was taking care of a human baby really a good idea?

Then again, this was Lucy. Surely she would provide clearer instructions to take care of Adam than the regular garden center would provide for a ficus. He pouted and bit the inside of his cheeks some more before finally speaking up.

“Okay, I’ll do it,” he mumbled.

“You’re a lifesaver!” Lucy said as she clasped her hands together. “I’ll pack a bag with everything he needs and print you some instructions. Our plane leaves at three, so if you could come pick up Adam at my place at around nine in the morning, that would be ideal.”

“Yeah. Yeah, sure. I can do that,” Crowley said as he tried not to imagine an instruction book the size of a George R. R. Martin novel, peppered with fine print, brightly coloured post-its and a footnote here and there. “Tomorrow at nine. Absolutely.” He whipped out his phone to set his alarms accordingly with a quick note to ‘PICK UP LUCY’S BABY’. Crowley was not used to having to be places at nine on a Saturday, but he liked to think he could do it with the right precautions.

“Again, I can’t thank you enough for this.

“Hey, no, really, it’s fine. You work really hard. You deserve a nice vacation.”

Lucy smiled. “That’s really sweet of you. So, the deeds of the day?”

“Oh! Right, deeds. There’s some calls that came in after you left yesterday, I put a list of those on your desk and…”

*

It was Saturday, ten in the morning, and Crowley was sitting on a bench in the park across the street from his apartment. The sound of the children playing football behind him, using water bottles as improvised goalposts filled his ears. The pram containing Adam, who was covered in a reasonable amount of sunblock for the time of year, was parked securely next to him. He tried to relax and soak up some much needed sunshine, but instead he ground his teeth as he pondered for a while whether or not to also put his sunglasses on the toddler to shield his eyes.

Crowley noticed Lucy had packed the kid red and white striped pyjamas. He had briefly toyed with the idea of asking her whether or not he looked like the Goblin King to her, but quickly decided against it. He knew what Lucy was like when she was stressed, and joking about 80s movies in that situation would not have been the best idea.

He fidgeted with his fingers and ground his teeth some more. He didn't know the first thing about caring for a baby. He didn't know what the right temperature for a jar of mashed vegetables felt like. He didn't know how fast his patience might run out without a smoke every once in a while. He leaned his head backwards and let out an exasperated groan. Two weeks of not smoking. How had he ever agreed to this?

He gave Adam a quick glance to make sure he was entertained with his rattling teddy bear before getting out his phone, scroll through the letter A in his contacts and dial the expert.

"Hey Anathema, how are you doing?" Crowley asked, putting on his best customer service voice. He practically heard the teen's mood drop.

"Need me to help you hide another body, uncle Tony?" Anathema asked, all business. "Proverbially, of course."

"Not quite..." He said, slowly phasing the artificial sweetener out of his tone. Anathema had the best bullshit radar in the family and it must have been blaring at full power. "You still babysit, right?"

"What do you need a babysitter for?" Anathema pushed.

"Yesterday I promised my boss I would watch her baby while she's away for two weeks. And today I'm realizing I haven't the slightest idea what I'm doing."

"And now you want me to look after your boss' baby so you can take all the credit when she comes home?"

"If that's within the realm of possibility, yes."

"Uncle Tony, I have classes to go to and finals to study for. Why don't you ask that friend of yours you had a crush on? The one with the bookshop. Whatshisface. It's on the tip of my tongue."

Crowley winced when he came to the conclusion, "Ezra? I haven't talked to him in months."

"Well, you best start talking to him again. He said that before he had his bookshop, he had a job at a daycare."

"When did he tell you that?"

"When I was seven and you took me to the park by his shop every weekend so you could admire him from afar. This one time you finally built up the courage to take me into his shop with the promise of a new book, which you never got me by the way, you two got talking and he just casually dropped it into the conversation. But then again, you might have been so nervous it went right over your head."

"Yeah, that might have been it," Crowley admitted more to himself than to his niece. "I'll give him a call. You're my hero, Anathema."

"I know," the girl said. Crowley could hear the smug smirk on her face on the other end of the line. "You can call me for some quick advice, but please know that I'm going to be busy."

"Gotcha. I'll talk to you later then. Tell your mum I said hi."

"Will do. See ya."

"Right. See ya," and he ended the call. He went back into his contacts and scrolled down to the letter E. However, he was so preoccupied with his phone that he didn’t notice something, or rather someone, leaning over the backrest of the bench.

“You called?” Ezra Fell, local bookshop keeper and historical non-fiction* author ‘Aziraphale’, asked with a satisfied smirk on his face.

(*This was a point of contention between Ezra and his literary agent. Where Ezra didn’t feel comfortable calling his books historical “non-fiction”. His novels were, after all, primarily based on vague records and nearly non-existent witness accounts. However, his agent insisted on the label, since, according to them, the very label itself would sell more copies.)

Crowley flinched, but didn’t shriek. Not even a little bit. Not if you asked him, at least. “What are you doing here?!”

“Just feeding the ducks some old oats when I heard a familiar voice say my name, so I decided to investigate,” the man said as he walked around the bench to sit down next to Crowley. “Did you know bread is actually really bad for ducks?”

“No,” Crowley said simply, shifting uncomfortably in his seat.

“So, what about the baby? Did I miss something big?” Ezra asked as he tossed some oats to the ground. Ducks came rushing from the pond and Adam giggled at the sight of the waddling birds. "I mean, I'd assume you'd let me know if you had a baby, somehow."

“My boss took her fiancé on a vacation to Croatia, she’s probably going to propose, so I’m looking after their son until they come home.”

“Since when do you know anything about taking care of a baby?”

“I don’t. I’m just generally very good at following her very particular instructions,” Crowley said as he produced a stack of instructions from a bright blue diaper bag, roughly the size of The Fellowship Of The Ring. “That and she trusts me, I guess. I was actually hoping you could help me with these.”

A small ‘my goodness’ escaped Ezra as he eyed the stack of loose pages. “That’s all for him?” He asked, pointing at Adam.

“Look out, mister!” A young voice called from behind them, but Crowley paid it no mind.

“It is, trust me. It’s—” Crowley bit his tongue as a football hit him in the back of the head, knocking his shades off his face and the pages out of his hand. As luck would have it, a breeze picked up, carrying the pages away from them and into the duck pond.

Adam giggled and clapped his tiny hands.

“Oh dear…”

“Fuck me…”

#fanfic #Good Omens #Ineffable Husbands #human AU