#the way they're sitting the cup in aziraphale's hand

[weirdly-specific-but-ok]

star wars but I've never watched it

I'm flirting with death (the star wars fandom) and it's about to succumb. I mean, be seduced. I promise when I flirt the intended result is not succumbing (usually). Here, have this, I know you maggots have missed my summaries they're so comprehensive and well-researched. Two cups of black coffee down. LET'S GO, MAGGOTS.

It is not Star Trek, and if I mix them up, both fandoms will tear me limb from limb, but mainly Star Trek because they're less popular?

No, that was not intended to be inflammatory, it's just what I was warned when I first got kidnapped. Don't blame the student, blame the system.

LUKE, I AM YOUR FATHER.

Except that's actually a misquote, it's No, I am your father. Mad trivia game. Huge star wars fan, me (why do I sound like Crowley).

It's set in outer space.

Are daleks stormtroopers?

Yoda pulls sentences in half like Crowley pulls Aziraphale's legs apart while they're not talking, and then tries interesting positions.

Leia has space-buns and makes out with Luke.

Luke is Leia's brother.

Anakin, whom I thought was some sexy babygirl side character, is apparently Darth Vader.

I am certain some people still find him a sexy babygirl. I just hope if he has a sister, she doesn't.

Is incest hereditary? Besides the obvious, I mean.

Small and green, Yoda is.

Daleks or not, there are storm-troopers, and they wear white plastic but not in a kinky way. Mostly. I remember one video a maggot showed me of a dustbin and--anyway.

They have bad aim.

There is a Death Star, and there is also a Death Star in Star Trek, but this is the more obvious one.

It has machinery specially engineered so if you shoot at that one place, the entire spaceship explodes or shuts down, which is a convenient feature.

A baby Yoda, they made. To make merchandise in time, Disney failed. Money, they lost.

There's something called the Force which everyone irl uses to try and get their remote to fly to them while sitting on the couch watching TV. They squint and reach out their hand while doing this. It rarely works.

There are a lot of unnecessary sequels and prequels. People are not happy.

A lot of Star Wars has inspiration drawn from ancient Indian philosophy and Hindu mythology. Just fun trivia, since I'm such a huge Star Wars fan.

Chewbacca?

R2D2? Robot go beep beep.

Han Solo and Leia get together.

Who is Han Solo? The guy who witnessed Leia making out with her brother. Whatever gets you off, king.

Dead, Yoda might be. Not sure, I am.

Rogue 1?

Return of the... Empire? No, wait, Jedi.

Empire Strikes Back!

Jedi exist. Because uh, it was in the title. They'd better exist.

Luke's daddy cuts off his hand. Not in a sexual way. But you never know with this family.

End (Not. Disney is going to milk this cash cow till they run out of ideas because of underpaid writers, and then they'll do a remake, probably).

Welcome, you are. Comprehensive, all-inclusive, this summary is.

#good omens mascot #asmi #star wars #good omens #<- got to love the brainrot #it even sneaks into my other fandom posts #maggots #empire strikes back #han solo #luke skywalker #yoda #weirdly specific but ok #rogue one #star wars summary #return of the jedi #sw fandom #star wars fandom

[becca-is-not-well]

Aziraphale x Reader x Crowley (platonic)

Summary: you had a rough go of as of late, so you go to your favorite husbands

Warnings: fluff, no use of (Y/N), gender neutral reader (they/them) R has hair but not specifically long or short or whatever

You had had the worst day ever.

Scratch that, you had had the worst week ever.

Between your anxiety and the workload, along with the person you hated most in the world seemingly being around every corner; your nerves were shot. There was only one thing that could make you feel better, but you always hated bothering Zira and Crowley with it.

"Angel, where has the little demon been all week?" Crowley asked his husband, finally realizing what had felt so off the past few days.

"I don't know, dear, they're probably just busy. And they're not a demon," Aziraphale walked into the room, setting the tea down on the coffee table.

"Eh, they're an honorary demon. And it's too bloody quiet without that menace around," the demon declared, sitting up from his previously reclined position on the sofa. Now that he'd finally realized what was wrong, an antsy feeling had settled in his gut.

"If it's really bothering you so much, why don't you go find them?" Zira said as he poured himself a cup of tea, trying to remain unbothered.

"Maybe I will-" Crowley was cut off suddenly by the bell on the shop door ringing.

Both sets of eyes snapped to look at the door, seeing the person in question standing there. You.

"Speak of the devil," Crowley exclaimed happily. The smile on his face quickly left as he took in the appearance of their young friend.

You were soaked, having apparently forgotten an umbrella on your walk over. The expression that graced your features was one of anger to the untrained eye; but the ineffable husband's knew you better than that. Really, the malice was just hiding the anxiety that lies beneath.

"Oh, darling," the angel got to his feet, immediately walking over to you. "What's happened?"

"It would be faster to tell you what didn't happen," you reply, shaking your hair to get any drops of rain out.

Crowley stopped right behind where Aziraphale was now fussing over you. The angel had taken your wet jacket and bag, having them up on the coat stand.

"You look like hell, kid, and I don't say that lightly," yellow eyes giving away the concern he truly felt.

"Gee, thanks buddy," you sassed; though it gave no real bite as you held back tears.

"Oh, you know I don't mean it like that," he bit back as he magically dried your clothes and hair.

"Be nice, Crowley, they've had a rough go of it lately," Zira scolded, gently leading you back to the sofa.

"I am being nice!" Crowley argued, following them to the sofa. The angel sent his husband a pointed look.

The couple was so busy arguing that they hadn’t heard your soft giggles until it turned into full out barking laughter. The way they acted like an old married couple despite only being married for about six months entertained you endlessly.

They both stopped in their tracks when they heard the laughter; joining you in the display a moment later.

“Oh, my dear, I’m sorry for our banter,” Aziraphale apologized.

“C’mon, angel, they live for our mindless little spats, don’t you, darling?” Crowley cut in, making you laugh again.

“Yeah, pretty much. You guys never had a honeymoon phase and if nothing else it makes me feel better,” you admitted. The two looked at you and each other with poorly hidden affection as they sat in a comfortable silence for a moment; the only sound being Zira serving tea for the three of them.

“Is there anything else we can do for you?” The blond asked, yet again stepping into the parental role he often took with you.

“Could we read together?” you suggested softly, sipping your tea.

“Ohoho, yes! Let’s read the one about us!” Crowley rubbed his hands together excitedly.

“You already know exactly what happens in that story, Crowley,” Zira reasoned, but there was no reasoning with his husband, really.

“He just likes that you being hopelessly in love with him for thousands of years is documented,” you quipped, laughing as both their faces went a bit red.

“No, I like hearing about how badass I am,” Crowley argued, trying to save face.

“Mhm,” you hummed, obviously not convinced.

“Okay, quiet you two,” Aziraphale interrupted the good natured argument. “I’m going to start reading.”

The angel opened the book Romeo and Juliet, knowing it's one of your favorites.

“‘Two houses, both alike in dignity’-”

“Oh a gloomy story for a gloomy day, really angel?” Crowley huffed.

“Yes, it’s one of their favorites. Now please; do listen. ‘In fair Verona, where we lay our scene…’”

Aziraphale continued to read the play in his soothing voice with Crowley interrupting with a snarky remark every so often. You smiled, the banter still entertaining you and making you feel safe. It was a cozy afternoon with your favorite found family, filled with laughter, tea, comfort, and shakespeare.

Just like that, all your troubles melted away as you sat between an angel and a demon who loved you just as much as you loved them.

#aziraphale #crowley #crowley x y/n #crowley x aziraphale #aziraphale x reader #Aziraphale x Crowley #platonic!reader #ineffable husbands #ineffable parents #found family

[mimisempai]

Smitten

Summary

Muriel hears Maggie and Nina say about Aziraphale and Crowley that they are so smitten, but the only meaning of smitten the angel knows is "to be beaten badly." So with the help of the two women, Muriel learns the other meaning of this word and realizes just how smitten the angel and demon are.

Notes

When Gabriel smites you, you've been... 

- Smiter? Smote?

- Smitten. 

On Ao3

Rating G -  1613 words

"So, yesterday, Crowley and I went to the park, and Crowley - don't say I told you - had brought frozen peas, as he always does, because, as he keeps saying, they love them, and it's good for them. And much to our surprise, there were some adorable ducklings. And what's even more adorable is that when we left, one of the ducklings started following Crowley."

Nina, who had been waiting for Aziraphale to finish his story, inquired, "With the 6 shots of espresso, would you like something else?"

Aziraphale cheerfully replied, "Two cinnamon rolls." 

Maggie asked, "The duckling, how long did it follow?"

Aziraphale, delighted to be able to continue his story, replied, "It took Crowley to carry it and bring it back to his family. Aziraphale leaned over and whispered, "He acted like a real mother hen. A-do-ra-ble!”

"So cute," Maggie exclaimed as Nina made gagging noises.

She handed him his order and Aziraphale paid before leaving the coffeeshop.

Nina sighed, and Maggie said as she watched him leave, "It's really sweet how smitten he is."

Nina replied, "To be honest, I don't know who's more smitten than the other, because even though he shows it in different ways, Mr. 6 shots of espresso is just as smitten."

"Ahem...sorry to bother you, but..."

Both women turned to Muriel, who had approached, and Maggie said gently, "Muriel, you're not bothering us, come on. What can we do for you?"

Muriel, their eternal notebook and pencil in hand, asked, "Well, I couldn't help but overhear your conversation, and I don't quite understand the use of the word 'smitten.' The only meaning I know is to be struck suddenly or violently, especially with the hand or an instrument held in the hand. So..."

The two women looked at each other with amused smiles before Maggie replied, "As far as Aziraphale and Crowley are concerned, it means that they are so in love with each other that they only see each other, that each is the center of the other's world, that they only talk about each other, like Aziraphale just did."

Muriel nodded and replied, "Yesterday Crowley was spying on Aziraphale between books and asked me if I didn't think he had an even more adorable smile than usual, does that mean he's 'smitten' too?"

Maggie nodded vigorously as Nina rubbed her hands and said, "I knew it, he's just as tender-hearted as the other one. Muriel, my darling little bee, I'm going to offer you the best hot chocolate you've ever had and you're going to tell me about all the times you think are good examples of the word 'smitten'.”

If there was one thing Muriel had enjoyed since discovering the taste, it was hot chocolate, so they had no intention of refusing Nina's offer.

They nodded and a few moments later the three of them were sitting around a table, Nina with a coffee, Maggie with herbal tea and Muriel with a large cup of hot chocolate.

Muriel thought for a moment, frowned, and said, "Besides talking about each other like that, what could be considered behavior that would show they are smitten?"

Maggie replied, "For example, two people not being able to be in the same room without being close to each other."

Muriel gasped and asked, "Is it possible to be smitten before they're even, uh... together? Because the first time I met them, in Aziraphale's bookshop..."

"This is ridiculous!"

Muriel jumped back in their chair, still not knowing what to do with the cupperty in their hands. 

The person who had just entered continued, "Why don't you just go by train? You love trains."

He went to put some green plants in a corner and when he turned around, he saw them and asked, " Who's this now?"

The angel replied gently, " This is a human police officer who's just popped in to have a quick look at a cup of tea."

Muriel leaned back in this chair and said in a voice they wanted to be sure of, "'Ello, 'ello, 'ello."

The red-haired man smiled at them, but Muriel saw at once that it wasn't the same smile as the angel's, as he addressed them, "Tell me, Constable..."

Muriel corrected him, "Inspector."

The angel said quietly, "Oh... you know, you are dressed as a constable." 

The red-haired man approached the angel and rested his arm on the back of his chair as Muriel replied, "Inspector Constable! That's my name."

As he sat on the arm of the angel's chair and leaned shamelessly against his shoulder, the red-haired man replied, "Of course it is," before chuckling and adding, "First visit to Earth, is it, by any chance?"

Muriel, disturbed by the proximity of the two people in front of them, spontaneously replied without paying attention, "Yes! It's amazing, isn't it? Just the..."

They stopped just in time.

"Anyway, since I've been here, I've noticed that this is pretty standard behavior with them. When Aziraphale sits down at the table and Crowley sits next to him, he automatically pulls out the chair to sit closer to him. There's plenty of room on the sofa, and yet they're always crowded together when it's just the two of them..."

"Oh, that's just it, Muriel," MAggie replied.

This time it was Nina who intervened, "It's also when one or both people can't keep their hands to themselves."

"Oh!" exclaimed Muriel, "that's Aziraphale! Every time Crowley is near him, he's always touching him, taking his hand, putting his hand on his shoulder..."

Maggie interjected ecstatically, "Aw, that's adorable."

Muriel continued, "He really can't help himself, one day..."

When Aziraphale returned from Maggie's with new records, Muriel motioned for him to be quiet and pointed to Crowley, who had fallen asleep on the sofa.

Aziraphale nodded, entrusted the records to them, and whispered, "Can you put them with the others and check the record box?" 

Muriel obeyed, but from where they stood they could see the sofa and couldn't help but watch with curiosity.

Aziraphale grabbed the blanket and covered the demon before crouching down in front of him.

Muriel saw him reach out to the red head, as if to stroke its hair, but he pulled his hand back just before touching it, made the gesture several times in a row, then suddenly, as if losing or winning a battle with himself, he gently stroked the sleeping demon's head.

Hesitantly at first, then more confidently when he saw that the sleeping demon leaned its head into the angel's hand.

So he continued, and even from where they stood, Muriel could see the sleeping demon's smiling face, and also the adoring expression on the angel's face.

Maggie, beaming after Muriel's story, said with a smile, "That's the perfect example. So adorable. Being smitten, it's full of little things like that, you know, a special smile for each other, sometimes you feel like they're in their own bubbles, or their expression changes when the other one enters the room."

Muriel nodded, finished their mugs of chocolate and asked, looking innocent, "Does that mean you two are smitten, too?" Maggie's eyes lit up as Muriel continued, "Because Nina's expression changes every time you walk into the coffee shop, Maggie."

Maggie raised an eyebrow and turned to Nina, "Really?"

Nina decided to ignore her and replied to Muriel, "I think you know enough about that word now. And your cup is empty."

Muriel laughed softly, because they were getting used to the two women who reminded them of Aziraphale and Crowley, with Nina sometimes being as grumpy as Crowley. 

Maggie got up as Muriel did. 

"Let's go home together, Muriel, maybe you can tell me about the times you think Nina is 'smitten.'"

Nina exclaimed, "Maggie!" 

Maggie laughed as she and Muriel quietly left the coffee shop.

Across the street, in the bookshop, indifferent to the gossip of which they had just been the center, Aziraphale and Crowley sat side by side on the sofa, the demon enjoying his coffee and the angel his cinnamon rolls.

Crowley, amused, looked at him and asked, "Isn't that cannibalism?"

Aziraphale stopped eating and looked at him, confused, "What?"

Crowley's smile widened as he replied, "Well, it's like you are eating yourself..."

Aziraphale's eyes widened as he muttered, "Don't talk nonsense."

Crowley retorted, "Angel, everyone knows you're a real cinnamon roll." 

Aziraphale waved the cinnamon roll in front of him and replied, "You're being silly… again."

"Whatever, angel. Give me a bite, please"

He opened his mouth, waiting until the angel brought the pastry to his mouth. Crowley took a mouthful, munched on it, and said mischievously, "It's really sweet. But I need to check something..."

He leaned forward and pressed his lips to the angel's in a light, tender kiss before pulling away and saying, "...that's what I thought, you're much sweeter."

"Crowley!" Aziraphale exclaimed with a slight blush in his cheeks.  However, the embarrassment did not stop him from finishing his cinnamon roll under the demon's amused gaze.

Not to be outdone, after swallowing the last bite, the angel murmured, "You're lucky I love you."

That made Crowley nearly choke on his last sip of coffee, and now Aziraphale wasn't the only one with slightly rosy cheeks. 

They stared at each other in silence for a few seconds before they began to laugh, mocking themselves.

Then, when the laughter died down, Crowley cupped the angel's face between his hands and captured his lips in a sweet, coffee and cinnamon-flavored kiss. 

Had Muriel entered at that moment and caught the demon's gaze on the angel just before their lips met, the word "smitten" would no longer have been a mystery to them.

_________

Still not beta'd

Still not my native language

Still hoping you'll enjoy this story  🥰

Still thanking you for bearing with me 😝

Ineffable Growing Love series : here (After season 2)

Ineffable Husbands masterlist : here (Before season 2)

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

[straightupsickfics]

A soft fall prompt for ineffable husbands: Rain 🌧️ / Leaves 🍁 / Warm drinks ☕️. Any combination of these would be so cute, ty friend 🤎

some soft, soggy angel for you <3

****

"Angel, you're soaked," Crowley frowns as Aziraphale comes hurrying back into the bookshop, hair and coat dripping with rain. He's carrying two to-go cups with him, courtesy of the cafe across the street, and he's shivering enough that they're trembling somewhat ominously in his grip.

Aziraphale lifts his eyebrows in surprise, as though he hadn't even noticed. Probably hadn't, actually, too excited about whatever new treat he'd clearly just discovered.

"Just a little," Aziraphale tells him. "Look! Peppermint! That's for me. Black coffee for you. I'd have gotten you something more festive but I know—"

Crowley reaches out and takes both cups from the angel just in time for a sneeze to shiver through him, quick and damp and followed by a handful of sniffles.

"hh'Eishh'oo! Oh, excuse me, snf!"

"You were already under the weather, angel, you should've told me you wanted something—" Crowley starts.

"Oh, don't, it's quite alright my dear, it's just a chill. Even humans don't actually get sick from the rain, you know that's just an old myth."

Crowley's frown intensifies for a moment, but then he exhales, relaxing. There's really no point in arguing; Aziraphale's back now and what's done is done.

"Well, at least let me help you out of those wet things," Crowley offers. "M'sure you don't want to drag wet leaves through your shop," he adds, gesturing to his shoes when he can see Aziraphale gearing up to tell him it's not necessary.

Crowley sets the cups down on the small wooden table beside Aziraphale's overstuffed armchair, then turns back to where Aziraphale is rubbing at his nose. He's still shivering, and the desire to miracle him right back to health is almost overwhelming. It doesn't work like that, though. Unfortunately even angels have to recover the old fashioned way.

"Here," Crowley says, reaching gently around and helping Aziraphale out of his wet coat. His shirt is a little damp, too, and he runs his arms down the length of the angel's arms and chest, warming him through with his touch.

"Oh! Well, that is very nice," Aziraphale admits, cheeks turning pink from warmth or affection or both, and something inside Crowley goes warm, too, at being able to help him like this.

Aziraphale sits on his chair and lets Crowley help him take his shoes off, adding another little flourish of warmth through his socks for good measure. He might not be able to make him feel better, but he can make whatever fall cold Aziraphale has more bearable, anyway.

"h'Ushh'iew!"

Crowley drops a kiss to his nose in place of a bless you, which earns him a fond little smile. "You know, I think I am a little cold, now that I think about it." Aziraphale says, smiling pointedly up at Crowley.

"Mm?"

"Perhaps you should..." Aziraphale gives him another little look and Crowley rolls his eyes, but does what he knows Aziraphale wants and curls himself up just so on his lap.

"You know you can use your words, Angel, you certainly know more than enough of them," he teases, nuzzling into Aziraphale's hair. "Warm enough now?"

"Yes, well. This worked out as intended, I think," Aziraphale says with a congested little sigh. "Here, now, at least try this, it's delightful..."

Crowley accepts the coffee cup, taking a small, quick sip. He's not sure if angels and demons can share germs, but he figures they're well past that now, anyway.

"I'll let you enjoy that," Crowley says, making a face. "I'm good for now."

"Mm, me, too," Aziraphale agrees, letting his head rest against Crowley's shoulder, his eyes falling shut for a long minute. He probably won't sleep, Crowley knows, but they're both more than content to spend the rest of the afternoon just like this, curled up together while the rain falls steadily outside.

#softersteve #good//omens #my fic

[aduckwithears]

Sharing this in its own post. See here for context - basically a scene in Job's basement "planning" what to do with the kids... like most of their plans it is lacking in details, but makes up for that with longing glances. (i guess i write fic now??)

---

I'm torn, because this conversation could have happened in the cellar, or it could have been a speed-run on the way back from seeing God talk to Job. Anyway, I ended up writing the first scenario. Feel free to fill in the blanks afterward with any, um, more physical activities you like, you degenerates (affectionate).

Aziraphale's First Magic Trick (or, how Crowley unwittingly starts the career of The Amazing Mister Fell, an act which will have Repercussions)

Aziraphale is very full. He's never been fuller. Although he has no reference point for his own stomach, he is starting to suspect that a human would never consume an entire ox. By oneself. In one sitting. 

He glances over at Crawley who seems to be completely enjoying himself, lounging with head lolling back, his wine cup half raised, and eyes half closed. There is a temptation to linger on this sight, but Aziraphale remembers (after several longish moments) that he, as an angel, cannot be tempted, and rapidly readjusts his gaze. It falls upon a clay bowl and 3 multicolored shape-shifted children.

"Crawley, the children!"

"Hmmm?"

"The children! They can't stay newts!"

Crawley hoists himself up on one elbow and looks over at the bowl. "Nahh, not newts. They're a type of lizard - meant for the desert, them. They're fine."

Aziraphale levels a stern, if slightly greasy stare in the direction of the demon. "That's not what I meant. How are you planning to return them to their parents?"

Crawley looks surprised. He had been trying to think of the exact type of lizard the form of the transformation had taken. He thought it might be a grecian but that didn't seem quite right. Greco? Still not it... He tries to focus through the wine. "Back to their parents? Doesn't seem very demonic." He shakes his head. "I got rid of them - no more kids, poof, gone - seems like it would take a miracle to get them back." He waves a hand dismissively. 

Aziraphale huffs out a breath. "Well, they can't stay that way forever. If we could get them back to Sitis and Job after the bet is over, maybe they could be taken as new children..." He trails off, realizing what he is saying.

Crawley is now sitting all the way up, wine goblet forgotten and dangling from his fingers as he slowly raises both eyebrows and aims a golden gaze at the angel. "Ohhhh, do go on," he drawls. 

Finding it suddenly very important to look anywhere but Crawley, Aziraphale feels his shoulders hunch. The taste in his mouth is too oily and his tongue seems raw. "Ahhhh," he says eloquently, casting his eyes about the cellar and encountering bare oxen ribs in his attempt to not look at the attentive demon. He turns his gaze miserably to the floor. 

Several minutes pass and the uncomfortable silence grows, until a wiggle turns into a rustle turns into a black dressed form elegantly scooting (possible if you were once a snake and your human spine is open to suggestion) a little closer to his despondent companion. 

"What about a magic trick?" 

Aziraphale flicks his eyes over to where Crawley sits nearby, long legs folded, gazing up at him. "A... trick,” he manages over his oily tongue.

"Look," says Crawley, "between you and me, Gabriel couldn't tell these kids from Cain and Abel. I doubt he can even count to three." Aziraphale chokes a little, halfway between a laugh and gasp, but he must hand it to the demon, Gabriel has never seemed to be the brightest angel in the choir. He thinks about his recent conversations in Heaven and Gabriel’s insistence that God will provide seven new children to Job. Via Sitis (oh that poor woman).

The red hair and beard shimmer in the low light as Crawley leans forward and catches Aziraphale's eyes with his own. "So we'll do a magic trick. Sitis's births have to start sometime, why not right away?"

"Because... uh... well, you see..." Aziraphale himself is completely at sea. He reflects that perhaps humans do not eat entire oxen because it seems to diminish the power of thought. Does he have a general working knowledge of human reproduction? Yes. (He'd been on the human planning committee after all). Could he explain it to the wide-eyed being sitting in front of him? No. This is probably due to the taste of oxen stifling his brain. No other reason. Certainly not. 

Crawley sighs, points to decimated ox. "Do ya get it? Ribs!" He grins. 

Aziraphale feels his mouth drift open. He looks at the ox, ribs glinting white in the flickering light. He remembers another day, a flickering morning, and a woman taking her first breaths… and more importantly, a birth process Gabriel would believe… “Eve!”

The demon’s grin, impossibly, widens. “Exactly. Even if there are a few angels hanging around it should be easy to plant a few ribs, sneak in a few lizards” (what WERE they called? Gemini? Arghh…) “…and poof! Kids!” His hands flutter in the air. A distant, anachronistic part of Aziraphale’s brain categorizes these as Jazz Hands.

“Magicians!” Aziraphale allows himself a small smile. His shoulders relax. He crinkles his eyes towards Crawley, misses the small intake of breath from his demonic cellar-mate. “That could work!” He hesitates. “As long as no one asks directly which children these are, we should be fine!”

Crawley scoots back and resumes his comfortable position from earlier, refills the forgotten goblet, raises another toast. “Angel, the archangel Gabriel wouldn't notice if his wings were on backward. You bring the ribs and gecko-kids (that was it!! Geckos! Course it was!), I’ll do the talking. We’ll be fine." He takes a deep drink of wine.

Aziraphale's smile grows and he thinks that maybe a few of those ox bones need a little more work to be truly clean. He wiggles a little at the anticipation of the rich taste. He casts a quick glance at his companion, who seems, true to his word, not particularly lonely. His magician’s assistant. They will be fine. 

#please be kind its the first fic longer than like 3 lines that i've ever written #but it just kind of happened #so happy halloween i guess? #morning reblog #good omens ficlet #the job job #the job minisode #a companion to owls #that night in job's cellar #tumblr fic #good omens fic #good omens fan fiction #ineffable husbands #azriacrow #a duck writes

[rillils]

NO BC THE WAY DEMON!AZI WOULD DOM THE FUCK OUT OF ANGEL!CROWLEY (as if angel!azi doesnt already does) BUT YEAH!

SWEETIE OMG DHSKDJK

i cannot envision a single universe where Crowley wouldn't be 100% completely wrapped around Aziraphale's finger (he's whipped he's whipped he's so whipped holy fuck)

i wanna sink into this AU for like a week and just bask in it, because the potential ghhhhhhh

angel!Crowley who doesn't have to hide his love for humanity, or his kind heart, his protective and nurturing instincts, who's absolutely fucking ready to adopt any kid - ALL OF THEM KIDS - and gently guide them

can you picture that super soft voice of his? while he's wearing equally soft clothes? cable knit sweaters or cardigans no matter the time of year?? with his soft lustruous curls loose over his shoulders??? making heart eyes at demon!Aziraphale at any and all hours???

demon!Aziraphale who was, inevitably, hardened by his Fall, and yet he can't help the tenderness he feels for this world and all the creatures it contains - and especially, one red-haired angel, who always seems to know when Aziraphale will drop by for a visit (wait did I say visit? noooo it's just business ofc, it's all part of ye olde Arrangement, you know how it is!!), this angel who set up a special corner in his greenhouse where they can sit and sip tea or wine, and he'll wordlessly miracle Aziraphale's favourite sweet treats into existence and watch him savour them with THE fondest look in his eyes, knowing that Aziraphale only ever lets himself enjoy these soft little worldly pleasures with him. where he feels safe. where he feels at home

anyway what i meant to say was

i just think they'd share the biggest praise kink??? i feel like Aziraphale's such a naughty little shit, gets off on getting Crowley all flustered, showering him with compliments, telling him how pretty he is, how good he is, how perfect he is, never seen anything more perfect in any of God's realms, until Crowley's a melting pile of goo in his arms

BUT. ohhh how the turntables, as soon as Crowley turns all that tenderness back on him. when he cups Aziraphale's face in his hands and murmurs how beautiful he is, when he tells Aziraphale how strong he is, how sweet he tastes, how warm his hands always feel on Crowley's skin

when he's kneeling between Aziraphale's legs, and kisses the palm of his hand and begs him please, let me make you feel good, as good as he makes Crowley feel

well i think Aziraphale just really loses it then :P

he's gonna give Crowley anything he wants, in any way he can-- and when they're done and Crowley's a happy, sighing, boneless mess of naked limbs on their bed, Aziraphale - greedy, gluttonous, insatiable, helplessly-in-love Aziraphale - is gonna start all over again

#stucky just stucky #personal #AGDJDHDK IM SO SORRY I KNOW THIS WENT IN ITS OWN DIRECTION #I DIDN'T PLAN IT BUT HERE IT IS 😭😭😭 #anyways gentle dom aziraphale ftw 💪💪💪 #fjdhdkfdkdk

[gayforgoodomens]

When you think about it Crowley and Aziraphale must have experienced all of those ancient rituals of kinship and affection throughout History. Like. When people kissed and held one another without a second thought. When it was overall easier to express affection between family, friends, or lovers, regardless of gender, to the point that they must be pretty confused--and disheartened--by modern days' general prudishness

Like. Imagine them in 5th century BCE Persia, where men kissing each other on the mouth was a sign of respect, of being equal to one another ; imagine them wordlessly kissing for the first time like that, instead of their usual colder, disrespectful kiss on the cheek ; because they've accepted that they're not enemies anymore, that they're the same in many ways, but they can't articulate that openly, so they seal the knowledge of their growing respect and affection with a kiss of equals

Imagine them in ancient Rome, where kissing was like shaking hands, only with a million little rules and customs ; imagine them practicing the osculum (close-mouthed platonic kiss between acquaintances and friends) for the longest time, until crowley says something infinitely sweet and impossibly good one night after one too many cups of wine, and in his surprised happiness, aziraphale grabs him by the ears and gives him a basium (open-mouthed kiss of strong affection on the lips, sometimes erotic), making crowley promptly fall over his bench and into the Tiber ; they keep saluting one another with a basium from then on, along with affectionate then-platonic kisses on closed eyelids, brows, necks- up until the practice falls out of fashion along with the empire

Imagine them exchanging kisses of peace when the first Christians start greeting one another with them, as the apostles once did ; Crowley vehemently refusing to call them 'holy kisses' in case his mouth spontaneously melts whenever it meets the angel's, and Aziraphale always indulging him, laughing on his lips while they chastely kiss hello and goodbye

Imagine them during the middle ages, when kisses are not so freely-given anymore, having become so much more important in their symbolism ; crowley kissing aziraphale's hand like a vassal or knight does his lord or lady, reverently, fervently, chastely, with all the wordless loyalty he already feels for him, refusing to admit that all the romance of courtly love has gone to his head but being perfectly aware of it nonetheless ; and it's with a kiss on the lips that contracts are signed at this point of History, and so that's how they seal their Arrangement, finally reaching for each other as one for a long-missed embrace that feels too much like a reunion after the sobering Crusades

Imagine them post-renaissance, during the georgian/regency Era even, in Europe where affection and love between men have become heavily guarded and codified : when they feel their bond and affection the most ardently after millenia of learning to know and love each other, but unable to express any of it ; when suspicions of homosexual love is punishable by death in England, so they have to act distant and stiff and pretend they don't remember what it felt like to sit in each other's laps in Persian courts or taste wine through the other's lips during Bacchus feasts. There are hidden places where they could meet, Molly houses and ungentlemanly balls and back gardens, but somehow it seems like the English ways got to Aziraphale, because it doesn't seem proper anymore to say 'please, I'm begging you, come to a place of ill-repute and risk discorporation with me, because in these desperate times, I'm terrified I'll forget how good it felt to kiss you'. Instead, he doesn't say anything, and hides himself in secret clubs, silently waiting for crowley to stop likewise hiding in his century-long sleep.

Imagine them during a summer of love, catching a glimpse of the other among thousands of bodies dancing and singing, being driven together like orbiting moons until they crash into one another, embracing and laughing and yes, kissing in relief, two mouths who have been parted for far too many centuries, holding each other, rocking into each other's arms while the music plays on, aziraphale laughing against crowley's beatifically smiling lips that he never knew how much he had missed the Adamites before this moment ; the both of them not knowing of the riots coming soon in Stonewall, but wordlessly, desperately hoping, hoping, hoping.

Imagine them now, a lifetime later, finally learning all over again what the other feels like, now free to express the love they've been feeling for ever, with kisses, with touches, with words ; not just because humanity is finally starting to get over itself, but because heaven and hell are as well ; there are no more self-imposed inane rules, no more weight on their shoulders, and they know they can't--won't be judged ; neither on this plane nor the next. And they can learn how to kiss, like it's that first time in Persia, all over again.

#Good omens #good omens headcanon #good omens fanfiction #Aziraphale #anthony j crowley

[lilolilyrae]

Be my Valentine

Read on ao3

Good Omens (Aziraphale/Crowley) - nonbinary Crowley, post-almost apocalypse, domestic fluff, established, very light angst

1.2k words | rated Gen, no warnings

♥ ♥ ♥

Valentine's day is coming up!

While all over London- all over the world, in fact- couples are already discussing the should we or should we not celebrate it, are we giving gifts or just doing something together, Crowley and Aziraphale didn't really talk about celebrating it at all.

Aziraphale knows that the popular modern style of the holiday with many pinks and hearts isn't really Crowley style, so he guesses that it probably isn't their favorite holiday, either. He doesn't want to push the demon into doing something they don't want to do- they've had enough of that for a lifetime.

On the other hand, it is always very nice to do something for Crowley, show them that they deserve it... And not doing anything on the day most everyone else does something for or with their significant other just seems wrong.

In the end, Aziraphale figures that he can just do something nice without telling the demon what it is about.

How about going to a restaurant- the Ritz, it's fancy enough to fit to the special day, and it is somewhere they've been to before, so Crowley won't think something's up. Plus, it's filled with all kinds of dressed up people on dates on a normal day, so it probably won't be too different on valentine's.

Crowley, meanwhile, makes plans of their own.

They don't talk to Aziraphale about them, either- they don't know whether the angel arrived in this century enough to notice the meaning of holiday, he definitely hasn't said anything about it...

Whatever,  a little forced learning by doing never hurt nobody, right?

Crowley themselves likes valentine's day. First because of the consumerism, second because of the way relationships tend to be destroyed on the very day of love, of course. They are a demon after all.

For them and Aziraphale, though, they are willing to do it properly- no crazy capitalistic gifts, no arguments, definitely no public proposals.

Just love. Doing something for their angel.

Deciding to celebrate valentine's day was easy- choosing what exactly to do, not so much. What does the angel like that he doesn't already have? 

Mornings. Aziraphale likes mornings.

Finally, the fourteenth of February comes around. 

The sun is slowly rising. 

Crowley didn't sleep at all the night before- not because they had that much to prepare, but because the other option would have been to get up extra early. And Crowley hates getting up early.

Well, they hate getting u, period, and they especially hate a) alarm clocks and b) getting up without having had a healthy amount of time to wake up naturally. Jumping out of bed the way the angel does even if he did sleep instead of reading all night would leave Crowley all shivery and in a very bad mood.

Thus, no sleep that night. 

They hope Aziraphale didn't notice that something is up- they still sometimes spend the night apart, but it's gotten seldom, in fact the last time Crowley spent a night at Aziraphale's place was weeks ago now. Little time for an immortal, of course, but still- they notice the passing of time, seconds, minutes, days, the same way humans do.

 Meanwhile, Aziraphale is getting antsy.

The reservation at the Ritz is for dinner, so there's plenty of time for Crowley to arrive before he has to go and drag them over, but still- he doesn't want to end up having to do this, and Crowley isn't a stranger to sleeping for days, so...

And Crowley didn't go home with him last night, but to their flat instead. 

They haven't done this in weeks, and not in months without an explanation. 

What if Crowley knows that it is valentine's day, suspects what Aziraphale is planning and is avoiding him on purpose? 

Or worse, much worse, what if Aziraphale got it all wrong and the demon really likes the holiday and is now sulking because they think Aziraphale doesn't want to celebrate it with them?

He hopes not...

Aziraphale is almost ready to storm out the door and go to Crowley's flat. Still, he forces himself to stay calm. It's six am. Crowley isn't awake for hours yet anyway, so they definitely wouldn't have had time to come over. He should just sit back, make a cup of hot chocolate... And stop nervously twisting his hands.

Sitting down, Aziraphale takes a book from the coffee table and opens it at the marked page. 

After a while he realises that he hasn't read a single word.

Right then the doorbell chimes- huh? Who's at the bookstore so early in the morning?

Crowley, apparently! And in his hands-

"Are those- red roses, dearest? For me?"

"Well, I'm not just carrying them around for the postman?! Ngk. Just take them, Angel..."

Aziraphale takes the beautiful flowers with a delighted smile and blushes sweetly when Crowley presses an awkward peck to his cheek before sauntering inside.

"What's this about, my dear? I didn't think you celebrated valentine's day."

"Oh, so you do know what today is? Good, saves me the explanation. Well. Course I only celebrated it with temptations before, making people spend too much money or demand too much from their partners or whatever, but. That was before, right? And now I'm with you, properly, and I've never been with anyone before but I know you gotta do something nice for them on valentine's, so, ugh- angel, say something, I'm done monologuing here!"

Aziraphale laughs and pulls Crowley into a fierce hug before leaning back and pressing a kiss to their lips.

"I love you, Crowley, my dearest, thank you!" he smiles down at the flowers. "I'll get a vase for my present..."

"They're just flowers, not your present." Crowley grumbles.

"Oh, because a demon doesn't give presents?" Aziraphale laughs and turns away to find a vase before halting mid-motion. "Wait. You didn't say not a present, you said not your present- what is my present, then?"

"Well, you like mornings and you like food, so I figured a picnic in the park while there aren't many people yet, which reminds me, we should get going if we-"

Aziraphale interrupts them with a gasp when he realises what time it is.

"Oh, Crowley, you shouldn't have! You got up so early just for me? I'm surprised you even woke at your alarm!" 

"I absolutely should have" Crowley grumbles, shifting awkwardly on the spot. "And I didn't get up early, I just didn't go to sleep."

Aziraphale laughs heartily at that before turning around and searching for a vase.

"Oh, my dear fellow, that is so very you! I must say, a picnic sounds delightful right now- we'll have a very food driven day then, as I got us reservations for the Ritz tonight!"

Crowley blinks owlishly at him.

"What? Why" 

Aziraphale puts the flowers into the water.

"Because it's valentine's day, of course! Did you think I hadn't planned anything?"

Crowley just shakes their head and takes Aziraphale's hand. 

"Whatever. Now come on, angel- I've got a good basket in the car."

"A food basket! Delightful!" 

"You're so easy to please" Crowley snorts, walking outside with the angel in tow.

"Oh, as if you are any better- I bet I could just get you the wine they serve at the Ritz without any restaurant at all and you would be entranced!"

Crowley tilts their head. They can't deny that without lying, and they aren't ever lying to their angel.

"th'Ritz is nice, though" they say before opening the passenger door of the Bentley for Aziraphale.

"Oh thank you! And it is, isn't it? Oh, don't drive so fast, dearest, just because there aren't many people out so early doesn't mean- Crowley! You almost hit that traffic light, and I mean hit it physically not run a red light, you do that all the time anyways!"

"Oh, come on, you know the Bentley would never" Crowley grumbles, but obediently reduces the speed to 70mph. Because it's valentine's day.

♥ ♥ ♥

Written for @ineffablehusbandsweek 's Ineffable Husbands Week Challenge, previously posted on ao3!

Feel free to reblog!!!

#gomens #lilo writes #lilo writes fanfic #fanfic #ineffable spouses #ineffable husbands #good omens #ineffable husbands fic #the 666 words ineffable husbands series #valentine's day #ineffable husbands week #instant popular #popular #20 notes on #14.02.20

[lywinis]

21 for Ineffable Husbands

Prompt Me | AO3

It hadn’t started off as a staring contest. Not really, anyway. Crowley had always been accustomed to watching Aziraphale putter about being Aziraphale, and the angel had always seemed to write it off as something that was just what Crowley Did. It was true that his attention lingered on the angel as he indulged in whatever happened to catch his fancy at the time. Usually it was food, but sometimes, Crowley found himself watching over Aziraphale as he became engrossed in a book, turning the pages as he read avidly, chewing his lip in anticipation.

Either way, he had no idea that the angel had minded.

Because now, he found himself staring at the angel, and the angel staring back, his book on his lap not forgotten — never that — but marked so that Aziraphale could find his way back later.

“Wot.” Not a question, almost a challenge. Crowley had been perfecting the tone for decades, and it was sharp now.

“Do you know,” Aziraphale said, setting his book on the table. “I rather hate those sunglasses?”

Crowley felt himself bristle. It wasn’t often that Aziraphale picked a fight deliberately like this, but it wasn’t as though he hadn’t ever done so. There had been plenty of yelling done in six millenia of co-existing, even as Crowley would likely admit that it was far often less petty than this.

“They're—”

“—terrible, really,” Aziraphale said, tutting almost to himself as he crossed to where Crowley was lounging. Crowley had forgotten what it felt like to have Aziraphale really invade his space, because what was his was the angel’s as well, had been for centuries now, but even still…

He flinched when Aziraphale gently tugged his sunglasses off, folding the stems and tucking them on the rickety side table that stood beside the worn patterned sofa that had been Crowley’s sort of home away from home since it had been installed in the back room sometime in 1803. Crowley felt the sensation of being watched sizzle up his spine, and really, he hated it.

Hated being seen, hated being bared to the naked gaze, no barriers to hide what he truly was. And yes, Aziraphale knew perfectly well what and who he was, but it had never seemed to stop the angel before now.

Foiling the Apocalypse seemed to have shined up Aziraphale’s spine, because it was the boldest thing Crowley had seen him do in a long time. Not brazen, like ordering several desserts right before the Ritz closed its kitchens — he’s seen that more times than he can count. Not batting his eyelashes to ask for a favor, wheedling it out of a being with no restrictions on his miracles save that he mustn’t use them for the greater good. No, it was boldness, almost as though Aziraphale was taking something like it was a right to him.

He cupped Crowley’s face in his hands, the soft palms gentle but insistent as he tipped Crowley’s face up to his. Crowley couldn’t breathe. His lungs had forgotten, and while he didn’t need to do it to remain corporeal, it felt as though he were stuffed with cotton batting and peanut butter, slow and sluggish, sticking in his movements.

“Open your eyes, dear,” Aziraphale said. His palms were radiant against Crowley’s cooler cheeks, and Crowley couldn’t help but follow the command, something about it an almost imperative.

Aziraphale was beaming at him.

“Lovely,” he said, almost breathing it out. A blessing.

Crowley recoiled, but the pressure of those soft hands kept him grounded, captive, his knees refusing to work as Aziraphale stared into his eyes, the fathomless blues darkening to wine in the low light.

“I mean what I say, Crowley,” Aziraphale said. “I like your eyes.”

“Shut up,” Crowley said, but it lacked venom, lacked any bite it might have had in the beginning. His glance skipped away, a magnet held at the wrong pole, unable to keep his gaze where it was directed.

“Crowley,” Aziraphale said. “You need only be yourself for me.”

“I am,” he hissed, feeling his shoulders pop and his spine crackle, aching to shed this form and go to his other standby, where he needn’t talk, just be.

But before he could—

“Oh, I do adore you,” Aziraphale breathed it out again, leaning in and pressing a chaste kiss against the corner of Crowley’s mouth. Crowley whined, his hands snapping up and digging into the fabric of Aziraphale’s shirtsleeves.

“Don't—”

“Whyever not?”

“Not if you don't—” Crowley choked on the words, sitting like stones on his tongue, weighing him down. “Don’t say it if you don’t mean it.”

“Crowley,” Aziraphale said. It was so soft, and so sad, that Crowley looked up. “My dear boy. I’ve been so cruel to you, haven’t I?”

Thumbs stroked his sharp cheekbones, and Crowley gave a shaky inhale, still feeling stuffed with cotton.

“I love you,” Aziraphale said.

“Of course you do, you’re an angel,” Crowley said.

“Not like that,” Aziraphale replied, settling on the couch beside Crowley. When he tugged, Crowley couldn’t help but go, gathered into the angel’s side and soaking in the warmth. He buried his face in Aziraphale’s neck. “Like I should have, long ago.”

“Don’t worry about it, angel.” Crowley mumbled, breathing in the soft and comforting scent of paper and ink, tinged with ozone and caramelized sugar.

“Well, I’m afraid I’m a little bit selfish,” Aziraphale said. His fingers stroked through Crowley’s hair, and the demon uncurled a little more. “You see, you get to look all you like, and I should like to do the same.”

Crowley paused, looking up at Aziraphale, only to find the angel smiling at him.

“…all right,” he said.

He could work with that. Little steps.

#bearfeathers #Good Omens #Ineffable Husbands #Crowley #Aziraphale #lywinis writes