#tia-lew writes

[aziraamane]

For anyone waiting for a writing update from me:

I'm currently on a very busy schedule. I've commenced my nursing degree and am also working three nights a week at my usual job, so the little free time I have left over is mostly spent catching up on sleep.

The final chapter of Black and White Sunshine is in the works and I am adding bits to it when I can, but I can't say when it might be complete and uploaded. Thank you all for your patience! 💜

#tia-lew writes #fanfiction #good omens

[aziraamane]

I've been getting so many kudos and comments on How my Light is Spent over the last few days and I'm wondering who might have shared it - and where - to have suddenly generated so much traffic!

#tia-lew thinks #tia-lew writes #ineffable husbands #good omens

[aziraamane]

Chapters: 1/? Fandom: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett Rating: Explicit Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens) Characters: Aziraphale (Good Omens), Crowley (Good Omens), Anathema Device, Newton Pulsifer, Madame Tracy (Good Omens), The Them (Good Omens), Warlock Dowling Additional Tags: Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), Alternate Universe - Human, Neurodivergent Aziraphale (Good Omens), Trans Male Crowley (Good Omens), Anathema Device Ships Aziraphale/Crowley, Meet-Cute, Warlock Dowling Joins The Them, Fluff, Smut, Fluff and Smut, Just in case you were worried there was no fluff or smut, I got you boo!, Some Plot, Look all I knew I wanted was for there to be books and sex, My brain ran away with everything else, I'm yet to find the other half of my whole idiot, How Do I Tag, Aziraphale Has a Penis (Good Omens), Crowley Has A Vulva (Good Omens), Long-Distance Relationship, Happy Ending, Scottish Crowley (Good Omens), Mutual Pining, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Long Live Feedback Comment Project, Queer Guardian Angel Aziraphale (Good Omens) Summary:

"The cotton capital. The Second Summer of Love, the Haçienda. Irwell, Medlock, Irk and Mersey. Elizabeth Gaskell wrote her novels in a lovely little house. Oh. There’s so much to know…" Aziraphale East is, by his own account, a bit of an odd duck - and he's okay with that. He's always been happy in his own skin, in having been a confirmed bachelor his whole life. Everything changes on a work trip from London to Manchester, where he meets the vivacious and stunningly attractive Anthony Crowley. Like the splitting of the atom, Aziraphale is divided - and begins to wonder if it's not too late for love after all. Age, as they say, is but a number.

#tia-lew writes #fanfiction #ineffable husbands #good omens #aziraphale #crowley

[aziraamane]

Felt like sharing a snippet from the upcoming chapter of "All the Better Part of Me."

Context: Crowley went full femme to head out for lunch with Ezra, and I may or may not be a slut for any form of Aziraphale calling himself a queen.

I regret nothing.

#tia-lew writes #fanfiction #good omens #ineffable husbands #work in progress #wip #writing wip

[aziraamane]

How My Light is Spent (or: did I just start writing a fucking coffeeshop AU? Oh dear, how sad, never mind)

There were three things that Anthony J Crowley strove for in his day-to-day life. The first was a strict absence of clutter in his living and working spaces. How people could get things done with so much stuff around them was beyond him entirely.

The second, a well-planned routine. He needed to know what he was doing, where and how, at all times.

The third, a strong coffee at the end of the day. Some might have said that was the most important thing to him, and half the time, he wouldn’t disagree.

After finishing class, tidying away, and a quick meeting with a nervous student, Crowley went his usual route - onto the tube at Temple and off at Tottenham Court Road. Then it was a quick left turn onto Oxford Street and straight down on the left side of the pavement, past the construction works, and to the Whittards opposite the bus stop. On a good day the whole journey took no more than twenty minutes, but, well...London foot traffic and all that. It was one of the good days today, and Crowley stepped into the cafe at quarter to five on the dot.

It sounded quiet, minimal chatter, very little clinking of cups and silverware, but he suspected that would change soon given the hour. He inhaled deeply and sighed. There wasn’t much better in the world than the rich scent of roasting coffee beans after a hard day’s work. Sheer bloody bliss. 

He tilted his head slightly at the rustle of cloth to his right, where he knew the counter to be. Heavier footfalls, slower gait, so…

“Hiya, Newt.”

A squeak and a muttered curse, then, “Bloody hell, AJ, how do you do that?” Poor Newt sounded startled. Crowley never got tired of scaring the shit out of him; worked like a charm every time. Newt placed something on the counter with a click as he came forward. “Your usual?”

“Yeah, cheers.”

“I’ll bring it over. There’s a seat free at the window.”

“Nice one. Bentley, left. There’s a love.” The young black labrador sat dutifully at Crowley’s feet immediately stood up and made her way through the chairs, stopping where the light became a little brighter through his dark glasses. “Good girl.” Crowley scratched behind Bentley’s ear, soft fur under his fingers, and felt her head turn, the wet rasp of an affectionate tongue against his wrist. 

He sat down, arranged his lanky sprawl of limbs, and leaned back, eyes closing in relaxation. Nothing else mattered now. This was his time, his moment. Destination: double espresso.

Smash. Crowley winced at the sudden noise.

“Ah, fu-u-udge!” Anathema, Newt’s girlfriend, was most definitely in a flap. Her voice became louder as she hurried onto the floor, heels tapping. “Newt, give me a hand, will you? I dropped a load of jars.”

“Oh, dear,” Newt said sympathetically.

“I know, I’m an idiot,” she moaned.

“No, you’re not, and I’ll be with you in just a minute - hang on - Aziraphale, can you take this? Thanks. Just over there. Be back soon.” 

As two pairs of footsteps clattered away, one more made its way over to Crowley’s table. Paused. A throat being cleared - a male voice, for sure. “Ah...excuse me? Where shall I, um…?”

Crowley turned in the speaker’s direction. He’d approached on smart-sounding shoes, Oxfords, probably, a hint of vanilla and old paper preceding him. His voice was soft and shy, but inviting, attached to someone either very well-educated or needlessly posh. Crowley hoped it was the former. He tapped the tabletop. “Anywhere’s fine, mate. I’ve got arms.”

“Oh, goodness, I didn’t mean - I just, um…” A gentle clatter of crockery on the table interrupted the speaker’s fluster. “I’m new, that’s all. First day, still finding my feet, as it were. Bit nervous. That smashing scared the living daylights out of me.”

“Sit down a minute,” Crowley said. “Nobody needs you right now.”

“How the - how do you-?”

“Haven’t heard the bell over the door ring since I came in and there’s no movement near the counter.” Crowley reached for his espresso, turned the cup so he could hook his middle finger through the handle, curved the remaining fingers around the bowl. “What did Newt call you?”

“Oh, um. Aziraphale.” God, this guy was practically a bundle of nerves on legs. “Old family name,” he carried on, his hand gestures creating tiny puffs of air over Crowley’s cheek. “Silly predisposition to name us all after-”

“Angels?” Crowley ventured, sipping his coffee.

Aziraphale heaved a sigh. “Yes.”

“No judgement from me, mate.” Crowley held out his free hand. “You can call me Crowley, and that’s Bentley there under the table.”

“Crowley? Is that your first name, or your surname?” Aziraphale shook his hand with a wide, soft palm.

“Can’t give all my secrets out at once, angel. Buy me dinner before all that, hm?” teased Crowley.

Aziraphale let out a scandalised gasp that had Crowley nearly spilling his coffee into his lap from laughter. 

Then,

“Perhaps I will.”

He did spill the coffee that time.

#tia-lew writes #fanfiction #au #blind!au #blind!Crowley #blindness #good omens #ineffable husbands #crowley #aziraphale #coffeeshop au

[aziraamane]

Chapters: 13/? Fandom: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett Rating: Explicit Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens), Warlock Dowling & Adam Young, Crowley & Anathema Device Characters: Aziraphale (Good Omens), Crowley (Good Omens), Warlock Dowling, Adam Young (Good Omens) Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate Universe - Celebrity, Alternate Universe - Parents, Parents Aziraphale and Crowley (Good Omens), Adopted Children, Crowley Has PTSD (Good Omens), Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Anathema Device Ships Aziraphale/Crowley, Friends to Lovers, Domestic Fluff, Jewish Aziraphale (Good Omens), Family Fluff, Eventual Smut, Fluff and Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Long Live Feedback Comment Project, Crowley is Bad at Feelings (Good Omens), Crowley is a Mess (Good Omens), Crowley Whump (Good Omens), Protective Aziraphale (Good Omens), Hurt/Comfort, Comforting Aziraphale (Good Omens), Hanukkah, Christmas, holiday fluff, First Dates, First Kiss, Language of Flowers, Dining at the Ritz (Good Omens), Aziraphale's Name is Ezra (Good Omens), POV Crowley (Good Omens), Demisexual Aziraphale (Good Omens), Oral Sex, Hand Jobs Summary:

AJ Crowley goes too fast for himself, let alone the angel at the gates. He has a job he never wanted, a child to take care of, and far too much wine to stay home and drink alone, but his new friend might be willing to speed up for him...just a little. As Crowley's world unravels, entangling with that of his beloved Ezra, he must learn to let others in, to stop fighting his past alone, and to let himself be loved the way he deserves.

Their journey is as much done together as it is a battle within themselves.

Title inspired by William Shakespeare's "Sonnet 39."

#tia-lew writes #fanfiction #good omens #good omens fanfiction #ineffable spouses #ineffable husbands #reposting for the millionth time because i finally wrote the smut bit and who knows someone might be interested lmao

[aziraamane]

Time in Hell's cramped, dank corridors never passed evenly - or even oddly. It just...did its own thing. The infirmary seemed to be the only area in this godforsaken realm that gave one a modicum of space, though Crowley's venomous glares - and occasional spitting of literal venom - at anyone who dared come too close ensured he and his angel were given a wide berth.

There was still no word from Beelzebub, silence from Heaven, nobody any the wiser about what was happening...but finally, Aziraphale opened his eyes a fraction. 

"Angel!" Crowley reached for his hand, squeezing gently. "Oh, thank G - ah, whoever - are you - how are you feeling?"

Aziraphale's eyes dropped closed again, a low moan slipping past his lips. His fingers twitched weakly against Crowley's. 

"Angel?"

"...Hurts…" Aziraphale's voice was sandpaper on granite, the barest ghosting of sound in his lungs. Crowley knew that pain, remembered it well; no stretch of time could ever make him forget the searing agony of his own Fall. His throat had burned so badly that near every breath had him retching and gasping, never able to draw enough sulphurous air into his chest. Somehow it was all the more agonising, that neither angels nor demons needed to breathe, but down here, in their blind panic, it was all they could do to try and survive, even if they didn't need the action.

Seeing Aziraphale go through it too was almost as bad...no, worse. Much worse.

"It'll pass," Crowley soothed. "Takes some time, but you get used to it."

With a gentle flutter of singed lashes, Aziraphale's eyes opened again. They fixed on Crowley, firm in their gaze, albeit lidded with pain and exhaustion. A sickening pool flooded in the pit of Crowley's stomach as he fought the urge to recoil.

"Crowley…did I...did we…?" A shudder of discomfort had Aziraphale pause a moment before he spoke again. "You didn't let go."

Crowley smiled. "'Course not, angel. Wasn't letting you come down here by yourself."

"I…" 

"It's okay. Just rest, alright? I'll be here."

Aziraphale nodded, lips pressed together as if he were holding back a sob. Crowley touched his cheek, Aziraphale leaning into the gesture with a sigh. Clearly exhausted, he was asleep within a few minutes. 

To Crowley, it was a bittersweet relief. Aziraphale was resting now, peaceful and quiet…

…Concealing the horror that was the pitch-dark supernovae in his once-beautiful eyes.

Part 1: [★†★]

Part 2: [★†★]

#fallen aziraphale #fallen angel #aziraphale #crowley #ineffable husbands #otp: ineffable #demon eyes #hell #good omens #tia-lew writes #fanfiction

[aziraamane]

More Human AUs, anyone?

'Cuz I've got a slow-ish burn right here, and I bet it's all already been done before, but fuck it, imma post what I have so far.

In short, it's Aziraphale (Ezra) as a fussy, demisexual university librarian who's had custody of Warlock since he was a baby, and Crowley (AJ) as a high-flying yet rather reluctant socialite who drinks a bit too much and just acquired custody of his godson and nephew, Adam.

~*~

Everyone knew AJ Crowley, if not by name, then certainly by face. With his mane of magnificent auburn ringlets, ever-present sunglasses, and prominence in the tabloids, he wasn't exactly a nobody. Women wanted to be with him, men wanted to be him (some probably wanted to be with him, too) -

And every morning, there he was at the school gates, ushering a curly brown-haired boy through the main entrance, with no security or bodyguards to speak of, just a cup of coffee in one hand and the bleary look of someone who didn't much deal with early wake-ups. 

"Right. You got everything, yeah?"

"Yes…? Um…" Adam looked at his rucksack, hanging on its peg, his jacket behind it. Both shoes, yep, got those on, and his uniform. He nodded, pleased. "Got everything!"

"Great. Okay. I'll be off, then -"

"Good morning, dear fellow!" Mr Fell bustled past, touching Crowley on the arm as he went. 

"Mornin'," Crowley murmured, swigging his coffee. Nothing "good" about being awake before midday, far as he was concerned, but Mr Fell had a smile to brighten up any dreary London morning, and he'd take that whenever it came. 

Adam hopped over to the black-haired boy holding Mr Fell's hand. "Hiya, Warlock."

"Adam!" Warlock trilled.

"Wanna play?"

"But, but we gotta have register first!" Warlock looked scandalised.

Mr Fell laughed lightly and knelt to plant a kiss on Warlock's forehead. "Why don't you and Adam go sit on the carpet together? Playtime will come before you know it."

"Okay!" Warlock dropped Mr Fell's hand, grabbed Adam's, and they ran off.

Crowley scratched his head as he watched the boys go. "Still feels weird."

"Having him with you, you mean?"

"Yeah...guess so."

"You'll get used to it," smiled Mr Fell. "Shall we?"

"Yeah.”

The throng of parents parted before Crowley, as they always did. Mr Fell in tow, they descended the steps and headed for the gates. Crowley stuck his hands in the pockets of his too-tight jeans and cast a look at Mr Fell, who was humming to himself cheerily. "Off to work as usual, then?" he asked.

"Oh, yes. No rest for the wicked, as they say. And you, my dear?"

"Ugh, don't remind me."

"That bad?"

"You don't know the half of it." Crowley chucked his now empty coffee cup into a nearby bin.

Mr Fell made a sympathetic noise. "No rest for the wicked, indeed."

"An' I'm the wickedest," chuckled Crowley. They'd reached his car, a beautiful, vintage Bentley that was his utter pride and joy. "Tempt you to a lift?" he offered as he unlocked it. 

Mr Fell just smiled. "I rather like the walk, but thank you. Perhaps another time."

Crowley shrugged. It had been a little game of theirs since Adam had started at school, since he and Mr Fell had become parental acquaintances. "Suit yourself." 

He slipped into the driver's seat without further conversation, taking note of Mr Fell's cheery wave in the rearview mirror as he drove away.

One of these days, he'd actually find out the man's first name. 

~*~

It was Ezra, by the way; Ezra Fell. His mother would tell you he's a lovely Jewish boy, if she were still alive to say so, and he would blush and flap his hands in a fluster, but what he was, without a doubt, was a thirty-five year old with bright blue eyes, plump pink cheeks, and the mannerisms and dress sense of someone twice his age.

And he had gotten sidetracked in the park by the delightful sight of two swans and their cygnets, and subsequently was an hour late for work. 

Again.

"Ezra!" whined Newt from behind the checking-out desk. "Why are you like this?"

"Terribly sorry, dear boy," Ezra replied as he slid into his seat. "Must have had my head in the clouds."

"I had to use the computer."

"Is the poor thing still alive?"

"The screen went blue. I had to call IT," whispered Newt in a horrified tone. It wasn't that Newt - Newton Pulsifer, to give him his full name - was bad at his job, exactly, but, well...technology wasn't his strong point. He was in his early twenties and a recent graduate at the university in which they worked, but rather liked the place, so he'd stayed on as an apprentice librarian, and tried to do as much on paper as he could.

Ezra patted his hand sympathetically. "How about you pop the kettle on. I'll man the desk for a while."

Newt immediately brightened. "Yeah, that sounds good. Thanks, Ezra."

Technology was rather alien to Ezra, too, but he, at least, could touch fingers to keyboard without potentially blowing the whole thing up. He'd still prefer to do things manually, but, as he often lamented, it wasn't the Nineties anymore. Sighing at the nostalgic twinge, he scooted his chair over to the computer, saw the screen back to normal, and ever so slowly, typed in his login details. 

Newt reappeared, holding two mugs of tea, and set one on the drinks coaster next to Ezra's elbow. "Don't forget," he said as he leaned against the desk, "you've got Introduction to Library Facilities at eleven -" Ezra groaned, for he had forgotten, "-and I've got training at twelve, so I reckon you'll be by yourself for most of the day."

"Wonderful. Marvellous. Simply tickety-boo." 

"Sorry."

"Not your fault, dear boy. Oh, I really must get Gabriel to stop sending all these students my way…"

"I swear, Ezra, if it weren't for the books, you'd never be here at all."

Ezra sipped his tea with a wry smile. "I daresay you'd be right."

(Part 2 here)

#tia-lew writes #fanfiction #good omens #aziraphale #crowley #adam young #warlock dowling #ineffable husbands #human au #slow burn

[aziraamane]

I'm getting massive urges to write about Crowley before he Fell, and I'm absolutely loving the fan theory that he was the Archangel Raphael. In some literature I believe Raphael was tasked with warning Adam of the devil's plans to tempt him into sin, so I thought it would be lovely if Raphael spent some of his free time with Adam and Eve to tell them stories of the world and its creation.

Anyway, have this snippet that I wrote at half 3 in the morning during a thunderstorm.

~*~

"Tell us about the stars, Raphael."

The archangel absently scooped up a few dead leaves from the ground. With a wave of his free hand, the leaves crumbled to mulch, which he scattered over the nearby flowers. "They are beautiful, aren't they?" he murmured. 

"The stars, or the flowers?" Adam laughed.

Raphael smiled. "Perhaps both. But you asked of the stars...ah, one moment." He looked to the dimming sky and swiped a few clouds out of the way with his fingers. "They are to guide the footsteps of Mankind," he said, "even as God's will shall guide their lives. Know the pattern of the skies, and never will you lose your way."

"You made them all, didn't you?" Adam said, eyes bright and rapt. 

"Not all of them, child," chuckled Raphael. "Even angels tire of repetitive tasks, so I had a little help...Eve, sweetling, you recall the Cherub that comes to you sometimes?"

She nodded. "Aziraphale. He is very kind." 

"Has he ever told you of Alpha Centauri?"

"No, Raphael. What is it?"

Raphael smiled wryly as he pointed back into the sky. "See there, children...Alpha Centauri above us. It looks to be a single star, yes? Imagine my surprise when I discovered it so! In fact, it is two - one from Aziraphale, the other from me. They orbit so closely together that from the Earth they resemble one star."

"Why?" Eve asked. 

"Ah...that's because they are very far away from us. At a great distance, objects are not so clear to the eye, even to an angel's vision. It is quite extraordinary."

Adam and Eve looked at each other, smiling, hands reaching out to twine their fingers together. "You're so clever, Raphael," Adam said. "You always tell us such wonderful tales."

"I am but a vessel for God's work in this world," Raphael replied humbly. "It's to Him you owe your praise, as do we all." He touched their foreheads with the tips of his fingers, Adam first, then Eve. "You are God's masterpiece, His ultimate creation. As He created us all, so too must we serve."

#tia-lew writes #fanfiction #good omens #crowley is raphael #pre fall crowley #crowley #aziraphale #ineffable husbands #adam and eve #garden of eden #alpha centauri

[aziraamane]

"Heaven is sealed off, and all methods of communication have failed," Beelzebub announced in a drawl.

So that was how it was, eh? Trust the Powers that Be Above to up and fuck off without so much as a 'see you next Tuesday.' Crowley observed the meeting from the sidelines, absently twirling a chunk of molten rock between his fingers with his bright yellow eyes trained on Beelzebub.

 The prince lounged lazily upon their throne, tapping a fingernail on the arm of the seat. Their voice was calm, but the occasional half-grimace betrayed their true feelings on the matter. "As I can reach neither the Almighty nor the Archangels," they continued, "we must assume a state of emergency Above that is affecting communication."

"What's the plan, then?" Hastur asked, folding his arms.

"I'll continue with attempts at contact," Beelzebub replied, "and in the meantime you're all to carry on working as normal. I don't want to see any slacking in the sin and temptation departments - make sure you feed that back to your cohorts - and will someone pleazzze fix the leak in the ceiling by the end of the next decade - "

Crowley glanced around at the demons present: Dagon taking notes, scowling Hastur and his Antichrist-revived companion Ligur, a few other dukes and princes Crowley could never be bothered to learn the names of. Lucifer wasn't there, he'd buggered off to open a nightclub, last anyone had heard. Finally, a huddle of scorched and battered wings to Crowley's right indicated Aziraphale's presence. 

"That just leaves...our newest arrival…" Beelzebub mused, as they stood from their throne. "You're all dismissed -you too, Dagon - Crowley, you stay."

Like I was going anywhere anyway…?

Once the floor had been (mostly) cleared of demonic footfall, Beelzebub dropped their ass onto it, crossing their legs and glowering up at Crowley. "I'm not happy," they buzzed.

"So I see, kiddo," Crowley replied.

"I'm serious, Crowley. This is worrying." The prince glanced at Aziraphale, still covered from view by his wings and remaining silent. "Heaven sealed off, nothing coming in or out, and the Almighty's favourite Principality ending up here? It's not right…something'zzz not right. It izzzn't like Gabriel to cut himself off from me like this." They sat up straighter and flicked a fly away from its attempt to crawl up their nose. "So I'm sending you back up. Both of you. You're no use to me down here, but you can keep eyes and ears open on the surface."

That caught Aziraphale's attention at last, a wing half-drooping to reveal his bloodless face. Crowley's own features broke into a joyful smile at the sight; it was the most interest Aziraphale had shown anything in the strange concept of days Down Here.

"Back up?" Aziraphale whispered. "You mean...home?"

"No, I mean the pit of lava outside the lavatories," Beelzebub snapped. Aziraphale shivered and bit his lip, but kept his wing away from his face, to Crowley's relief. Beelzebub's tone softened a little now as they leaned forward, "Azzziraphale, you're the first to Fall in over six thousand years. Mountains of paperwork notwithstanding, we need to get to the bottom of this, alright? Keep Crowley close by - the adjustment is hard...trust me, we all went through it."

Aziraphale sniffed, wiping the gathering tears from his bottomless eyes. "What's done is done...I'm one of you now." Crowley squeezed his free hand, feeling as though he could cry himself. "I'm a...a demon. Perhaps just leave it at that, my dear...but I should like to go back to my bookshop and settle down with some cocoa...by your leave."

A rare smile lifted Beelzebub's lips. "Go, then." To Crowley they said, "I'll be in touch."

"Your lot saved his life...I can't thank you enough," Crowley muttered as he lumbered to his feet, "considering you're usually such a pain in my bony ass."

"The feeling izzz mutual, idiot," replied the prince with a slight sneer. "Now take your husband home and stop bothering us all."

Part 1: [★†★]

Part 2: [★†★]

Part 3: [★†★]

#fallen aziraphale #fallen angel #aziraphale #crowley #otp: ineffable #ineffable husbands #hell #beelzebub #dagon #hastur #tia-lew writes #fanfiction

[aziraamane]

Human AU - Part 2

(Previous) - (Next)

"Shit shit shit shit shit, why me?!" Crowley spat as he ripped off his tie, for the millionth time. He left it hanging round his neck while he reached for his glass of wine, sitting on the vanity, and drained it in two long gulps. In the background, Adam was shouting, presumably throwing a tantrum at having to stay behind. That was Anathema's problem now - the nanny - not his.

"Fucking memorial dinner," he hissed at his reflection, "as if the bastard needs remembering, I swear to - " The door to his room swung open, and he snapped his head around, snarled, "What?!"

It was Anathema, regarding him coolly from behind her huge, round glasses. She was a wiry-looking girl, long-faced and freckled, and always dressed like she was due at a medieval reenactment event in need of a spare witch. In her arms she held a struggling, red-faced Adam. "Your limo's here."

"'S'not my limo." He turned back to the mirror, fingers tangled up in his tie. "Tell ‘em I'll be down in a minute." 

"I told them ten minutes," replied Anathema. "So that - Adam, please can we stop with the temper tantrum?"

"It's not fair, I wanna go, too!" Adam shouted. 

"You know your uncle will be out late, and you, young man, need your sleep, otherwise how will you ever be big and strong enough to rule the world?" That made Adam stop fretting, and he looked up at Anathema with wide eyes. "Tell you what," she carried on, "if we have no more shouting, and you tidy up your toys, I'll read you those stories about the Kraken at bedtime. How does that sound?"

"Awesome!" Adam laughed and shot off back towards the sitting room like a rocket. 

Crowley exhaled a deep breath. "You're a lifesaver, Ana."

"I'm not paid nearly enough for putting up with your crap is what I am." Anathema's tone was deceptively good-natured as she stepped over the various discarded tuxedos and shoes littering the bedroom floor. She gently slapped Crowley's hands away from his throat, took the tie, and began knotting it herself. "Adam's lonely," she said. "I'm sure he'd love to spend more time with you."

"I know," he muttered, guilty. Her dark eyes bore into his, bare as they were without his sunglasses; he looked away on instinct. "It's just…"

"I know," she echoed. "This dinner, it's for his dad, isn't it? I understand, it's best he isn't there. Still...too recent, I suppose. There, how's that?" She smoothed her fingers down the finished tie and tucked it into place.

Crowley glanced in the mirror, nodded. "Thanks."

"Are you okay?" Anathema knelt to pick up the stray clothes from the carpet, folding them before setting them on the bed. 

"I'm fine. 100%. Fucking smashing. Why wouldn't I be?"

Anathema raised one slender eyebrow. "Because you hate practically everyone in your family and turn into a seething mess every time you have to attend an event with them?"

"Ah yeah, that does sound like me, doesn't it." Crowley pulled back his hair into a half-updo and twisted a few strands to hang in front of his ears. 

"And your brother, well. You never got on."

"Can't imagine why," muttered Crowley. 

"Anthony." Anathema picked up the sunglasses lying on the bedside table, handed them to him, and nodded as he slipped them into place. "You don't have to be at their beck and call every time they snap their fingers."

He just shrugged. "'S'all I know how to do." Outside, the limo honked its horn. "Ahh, for fucks' sake. Right, I'm off. You know the drill, I'll call you when I'm on my way back."

Anathema bobbed her head. "See you tonight."

Crowley had just enough time for a quick fist bump with Adam, before clattering off, drunk as he was, down the stairs of the apartment complex. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he hoped the limo would drive off without him, but it never did.

~*~

Morning rolled around, and as Warlock, still in his pyjamas, eagerly tucked into his breakfast, Ezra reclined in his chair and read the newspaper. Introvert though he was, he did like to keep up with current world events.

"...held in honour of Lucifer Crowley, who died aged 43 last year in a-"

"That's Adam's uncle's name, isn't it?" Warlock asked, mouth full of cornflakes. 

Ezra blinked over the top of his glasses, then huffed out an irritated breath at having been reading aloud. "Yes, that's right," he said, reaching for his mug of English Breakfast tea. "Well, it's the family name, like ours is Fell." 

Warlock's surname had been Dowling before his adoption, but he was too young to remember any of that, and Ezra hadn't quite plucked up the nerve to talk to him about it yet. When he was older, maybe. "I like Adam," the boy remarked, "and he says funny things, like about a city in the sea, and angels and demons-"

"It sounds as though he has a very active imagination."

"It's all real, he says!"

Ezra chuckled softly. Children had such innocent, yet powerful minds. "Eat up, darling, and then let's get you into your uniform." 

"Okay, dad."

Dad. Ezra would never tire of hearing that. He gave Warlock a fond pat on the head and went back to reading his paper. 

At the school gates, there was no sign of Crowley, or his Bentley, but a young woman in an asymmetric, tie-dye dress was kneeling to chat with Adam as she straightened the collar of his shirt. Warlock ran up to them, open-mouthed. 

"Hey, who are you?" he demanded.

Ezra was by his side in a flash, mortified. "Warlock!" he chastised. "Kindly apologise to the lady!"

To his surprise, she smiled. "It's okay, really. Oh, I'm Adam's nanny - Anathema Device, you can call me Ana if that's easier."

"What's a nanny?" Warlock frowned.

"I look after Adam when his uncle has a lot to do," she explained. "He's not feeling well at the minute, so I've brought Adam to school today."

The boys ran ahead, leaving Ezra and Anathema. He gestured, and they followed, albeit at a slower pace. "I did wonder if he had, ahem, outside help," Ezra admitted. "Still, he's always here, and usually on time, too."

"Yeah, he's always made sure he can get Adam to and from school, but last night was hectic, and I told him to rest." 

"You've worked for him since he adopted Adam?"

"Um, a few months after, I think." 

"And you say he isn't well? Poor boy."

Anathema peered quizzically at Ezra. "You're Mr Fell, aren't you. Anthony's mentioned you before."

"Oh, my." Ezra had the grace to blush. Anthony. It was always “AJ” in the papers. He’d had no idea it was short for anything. "Dare I ask how you knew it was me?"

"Single guy, blonde; walks, talks, and dresses like an old gay man, calls everyone "dear?""

Defeated, he chuckled. "Yes, that does rather sound like me." He held out his hand, which Anathema shook politely. "Call me Ezra."

"Ezra." She appeared to be sampling the name in her mouth, rolling it around on her tongue. "Well, it's nice to meet you -" The bell rang inside and she jumped. "Oh, I should go check where Adam's run off to - um, nice to meet you - again - see you!" She gathered up her skirts and hurried away after Adam. 

What a nice girl.

Warlock came running back down the steps. "Dad! Catch up!"

"O-Oh, yes. Jolly good, darling! Yes, I'm on my way."

#tia-lew writes #fanfiction #good omens #ineffable husbands #work in progress #writing #fanfic excerpt

[aziraamane]

Human AU - Part 6

This fic now has a name! I’ll be calling it “All the Better Part of Me” when it finally goes up onto AO3 - because I spent far too much time reading Shakespeare’s sonnets to call it anything else.

(Previous) - (First) 

"Is Warlock coming today?" Adam asked, again.

"Yup," Crowley said, popping the 'p.' He tightened his knees around Adam, holding him in place as he dragged a brush through the squirming boy's hair. "Hold still, you little devil."

"'Nath'ma does it nicer!"

"Do you?" Crowley glowered up at Anathema, comfortable on the sofa; she winked at him from behind her coffee mug.

"Maybe."

"You do it, then," Crowley muttered, Adam still wriggling on the carpet.

"Sorry, can't. I'm off the clock for another, oh, two minutes seventeen seconds."

"I hate you."

"Aww, if I weren't being paid extra tonight, I'd hate you, too, Mr Grumpy." 

The doorbell rang at that point, and Adam shot up from Crowley's grip to answer it. With the sudden loss of nephew, Crowley looked at the brush in his hand, shrugged, and began to neaten his own hair. 

No dirt smudged his cheeks today. He’d prepared for guests this time, scrubbed clean and sporting his casual ensemble of tight-fitting, black v-neck tee and even tighter-fitting black jeans. His sunglasses were off, but Anathema was already handing them to him as he contemplated slipping them back on, and he went with the safer option of wearing them.

Warlock came running into the room, all smiles, Adam trailing behind. "Hello!" he announced. 

"Hey, kiddo," Crowley grinned, chucking the hairbrush over his shoulder.

"I gots, uh, cookies in my bag. They got chocolate in them."

"Oh, dear. The womens' mags get mad at me if I don't watch my waistline." Crowley patted his belly with a wink, sticking out his tongue at Warlock, who laughed.

"Come off it, my dear. If anything you could afford to put on a few pounds." Ezra appeared in the doorway, holding Warlock's jacket. 

A flood of warmth suffused Crowley's face at his arrival, along with a starburst of a smile. "Hey, angel."

"Hello, Anthony. Thank you so much for agreeing to take Warlock for the night."

"What are friends for, eh?" He slithered to his feet, joints cracking. "Got time for a drink?"

Ezra shook his head. "I'm afraid not, I must dash off again - do keep in touch, though, won't you? I haven't actually left Warlock with anybody before…"

"Don't worry, he's in good hands with Ana."

For seemingly the first time since he walked in, Ezra noticed Anathema. "Ah! Miss Device! I didn't see you down there. How are you?"

"Good, thanks, Ezra." She flashed a look at Crowley that could only speak of triumph before addressing Ezra again, "I promise I'll contact you if anything comes up, okay? Relax a little."

"Thank you." A little weight seemed to leave Ezra's shoulders. "Well...must go, then." He gestured to Warlock, roughhousing with Adam, and the boy wobbled over, beaming. They came together in a long embrace, Ezra pressing kisses over Warlock's rosy cheeks. "Be on your best behaviour, darling," Crowley heard him whisper, "but if you feel lonely or - or sad - or just need to talk, then-"

"Ezra~" Crowley sing-songed, tapping his watch.

"U-Um. Yes. Quite." Ezra's eyes were overly shiny when he pulled back, though Warlock just giggled and skipped off to play with Adam again. Ezra got to his feet, brushed down his already perfectly smooth trousers. "Well, then. I...I'll be going."

It was clear the man was utterly miserable. He didn't at all want to go to dinner with his siblings. He didn't want to leave his son behind. He didn't like being out of his comfort zone. 

Dammit, he was so cute. 

"Come on, angel." Crowley threw an arm round Ezra's shoulders and steered him firmly, but not unkindly, towards the front door. "S’only a few hours, it'll fly by before you know it." He'd been at enough parties to know that that was a complete lie, but at that moment he'd do anything to wipe the despair off of Ezra's rapidly paling face. "Won't be long before the kids are asleep, anyway, and they won't be getting up to much mischief when they're out for the count. So relax. I reckon you've earned some time off from being dad."

Ezra blinked his big, watery eyes up at Crowley, and his bottom lip finally stopped trembling. "Oh, thank you," he whispered. "I've just been fretting so much about all this. It's terrifying, Anthony."

"Only as terrifying as you make it, angel. Now go, go on, put on a few pounds in my place, you deserve it!" With a final comforting pat on the back, Crowley urged Ezra through the front door and closed it with a snap. 

A long, low huff of breath whooshed from his lungs as he turned, leaning his back against the cool wood. Eyes trained on the ceiling, he sighed. Poor guy's got a lot on his shoulders.

Anathema was staring at him from the living room doorway when he looked back, her expression a picture of utter glee. "What?" snapped Crowley.

She giggled. "You called him angel! Oh, Anthony! How didn't I twig beforehand? You fancy him!" 

Crowley folded his arms. "I'm not having this conversation with you, Ana."

"You're blushing."

"I'm walking away now."

"You're a soppy git!"

"I will fire your ass, I swear to fucking-"

From somewhere in the living room, Warlock gasped, "Your uncle said a swear!"

~*~

The meal was a sumptuous affair. If anything good could be said about the collective Fells, it was that they were marvellous cooks, and Michaela in particular had an excellent eye for wine pairings. Ezra sat on Uriel's left, Sandy to his right, and together they laughed and joked as they feasted. Wine flowed like water, and his stomach was full, his head pleasantly buzzing, and he wondered whatever had he been so worried about?

Until Gabriel cleared his throat, suddenly business-like.

"I told Ezra about the lecturer's position opening," he told Sandy. 

"Ah." The youngest Fell brother, Sandalphon - Sandy for short - was chaplain at King’s; a short, balding man with garish gold fillings in his teeth and a tendency to speak with a slight sneer. He turned now to Ezra, looking expectant. "And?"

Ezra coughed, reaching for his wine. "I have no plans to alter my career at present, Sandy. I'm quite content where I am." 

The looks of pity they all gave him was enough to make his food sit heavy in his stomach, and no longer pleasantly at that.

"What a shame," Sandy sighed. "And you were doing so well for yourself."

"It was my choice, and my choice alone, to leave the teaching profession."

"And we were all very sad for you when you left," Uriel chipped in. She was dark-skinned and dark-eyed, deceptively sweet-looking, and at twenty-four years old, the youngest of them all. Beside her, Michaela, with her rigid pose and coif of short brown curls, steepled her fingers under her chin and leaned in slightly, listening but remaining silent. 

The ever-present familial frustration that simmered in Ezra's blood began heating. "I appreciate everybody's concern," he said, stiff and mechanical, "but I wish you would trust me a little more to make my life decisions by myself."

"Ezra, you graduated from school and started out as a gardener, for Heaven's sake," Sandy retorted. 

"And that profession led to my eventually being allowed to adopt Warlock, may his birth parents rest in peace. You of all people, Sandalphon, ought to have more respect." 

“Oy vey…” Sandy pressed a hand to his brow.

Uriel patted Ezra’s hand. "We just can't help but worry about you," she said, sickly sweet.

"Why?" he snapped. "Because I am not intent on following our parents into their overworked graves, the way you are all doing?" Angrily, he swiped his mouth with a napkin, dropped it to his plate, and pushed himself to standing. "Every time we come together I hope that something will have changed. Every time, I am disappointed. So pray excuse my rudeness, but I will take my leave now - I have family more deserving of my time waiting for me." 

He made for the door, stopped, strode back to the table and grabbed an unopened bottle of wine. "I'm taking this,” he told Gabriel. “I can happily suggest where to shove it if you object." 

He thought he saw Michaela smirk behind her hands, the rest seemingly stunned into silence. 

"Thank you for the meal, but as for the rest, thanks for nothing. Toodle-pip!"

#tia-lew writes #fanfiction #good omens #ineffable husbands #slow burn #aziraphale #crowley #anathema device #adam young #warlock dowling #archangel gabriel #archangel uriel #archangel michael #archangel sandalphon #archangel fucking gabriel #work in progress #fanfic excerpt

[aziraamane]

"Crowley! What izzz the meaning of this?" Beelzebub demanded.

"I was hoping someone could tell me!" Crowley shot back. He must have presented quite the sight, clothes ripped, eyes wild, scales erupting all over his skin, and with a writhing, whimpering figure draped over his shoulders that could be none other than…

Beelzebub frowned. They were always frowning, but a touch deeper now, clear confusion in their gaze. "Is that…?"

"Yes, yes, it's him, now please, I - "

As if on cue, the semiconscious Aziraphale gave a particularly loud wail of agony and shuddered in Crowley's weakening grip. His knees buckled as he tried to keep from toppling over. 

Beelzebub shook their head, perplexed. "I don't understand…" They strolled away and grabbed an ancient, cracked telephone; with stabbing fingers they punched in a code, but threw the handset down a moment later. "Something's wrong. I can't reach Gabriel...something'zzz wrong…" 

"Yeah, yeah, we figured that one out already, but hello, half-discorporated husband, could do with a hand here!" Crowley barked. 

Beelzebub sighed and snapped their fingers. A few demons came running. "Infirmary," they ordered, and turned away. "Crowley, we'll discuss this later. Stay with him for now."

"Thank you, m'lord!" Crowley shouted mockingly over his shoulder.

"Ugh." The Prince of Hell picked up the phone again with eyes betraying concern. "Come on, Gabriel...what's happening up there?"

Part 2: [★†★]

Part 3: [★†★]

#fallen aziraphale #fallen angel #aziraphale #crowley #beelzebub #good omens #ineffable husbands #otp: ineffable #hell #tia-lew writes #fanfiction

[aziraamane]

Holidays with the Husbands! (an extract from “All the Better Part of Me”)

Christmas in Crowley's flat had been nonexistent the whole time he'd lived there. Before Adam came to live with him, he didn't exactly live there. He came back to sleep, and occasionally eat; otherwise he was wherever his mother told him to be, and prior to that, whiling away the hours in his office, marking exam papers, glugging coffee, and chucking tennis balls at walls - proper professor stuff, naturally.

But now there were decorations up, and the scent of cinnamon in the air, and a fucking tree. Crowley glared at it, arms folded, but couldn't quite bring himself to hate it. 

God, Ezra, you're a pain in my ass.

It was all Ezra's idea, of course. Adam had been over the moon, almost falling over himself in his excitement about decorating its sweet-smelling branches. He and Warlock "prettied up" one third of the tree, which Ezra later discreetly turned to face the wall, winking at Crowley as he did so. Together they decorated the rest. And that wasn't even the end of it, nope; there were fairy lights strung up around doorways, and glittery snowflakes on the windows, and Adam and Warlock stuck cotton wool on a long strip of paper and put it atop the fireplace like a snow scene, then made snowmen out of salt dough and baked them in Ezra's oven before painting them in atrocious splotches of colour.

Oh, he tried so hard to sneer at it all, but...

The flat had never looked brighter, more lived-in.

More like a home.

And when the first evening of Hanukkah came around, the air was filled with childrens' laughter, the sizzle of frying potato and the scent of oil as Ezra showed Crowley how to make traditional latkes. Warlock introduced Adam to the dreidel game, and in its aftermath the lounge was littered with crumpled bits of gold foil from their gorging on gelt, and then, if that wasn’t enough sugar-fuelled giddiness to be dealing with, of course they had advent calendars too, and it was only by some divine miracle that neither of them were sick.

Crowley let everything wash over him, resplendent, floating on a cloud of familial bliss. Had Mother had her way, he’d be skulking in a corner at the office, glowering at his siblings while drinking as much expensive wine as he could get away with without finding himself a mess in tomorrow’s headlines. Still, he might have scoffed at the idea of a domestic shut-in, all cosy Christmas jumpers and tranquility. 

Till now. Till he knew how fucking happy such a scene could make him. 

He and Ezra were in the kitchen, plating up latkes and sufganiyot, when...

"Sundown," Ezra murmured, looking at his watch. "It's time, my dear. Ready to hear my atrocious attempts at Hebrew?" 

Crowley grinned as he wiped his hands. "I promise not to make too much fun of you for it afterwards."

Ezra swatted his arm. "You're a menace."

"A menace who bought you an obscenely expensive hanukkiah!” Crowley breezed past Ezra with a wink and a shit-eating grin. "Like it or lump it, angel." 

The four of them - Crowley had given Ana time off over the holidays to spend with her family - gathered in the lounge, forming a loose semi-circle around the windowsill, where a silver menorah sat, ready to be lit. Crowley had found it in an antiques dealership that specialised in religious trinkets and iconography, and of course Ezra had always been welcome to bring his own menorah ("the proper term is "hanukkiah," but at this point it's semantics, my dear, so call it what you wish so long as it's respectful!") over to the flat, but the magnificent, slightly tarnished lamp at the dealership had been so perfect that Crowley simply had to buy it. 

Ezra had, of course, shed a tear or two upon first seeing it.

And now, he was lighting one of the candles - the shamash, Ezra said - and using that to light another candle, singing a blessing in gentle, lilting, fucking beautiful Hebrew as he did so. That was it, Crowley was captivated, well and truly; let it be known that his headstone shall be inscribed with “Death by Glorious Tenor.” 

He understood none of the words, but as he held Adam's hand and listened, he figured he didn’t need to, not really. This was a special moment for Ezra, and by extension, everybody around him. To simply share in that moment spoke of more than a translation ever could. Crowley’s heart swelled for the sweetness of Ezra's voice, for the joy of spending this time with a whole new family of his own building, for the wilful breaking down of the barriers that had protected him for so long, and he relished it, revelled in it as he had never done before. 

Above all, for the first time in what might have been forever, he felt safe. 

Ezra’s song died away as he returned the shamash to its holder, a sudden ripple running up his back and shoulders. He turned to face his crowd, eyes averted and cheeks glowing pink in obvious and adorable embarrassment.

"Did I...did I do okay?" 

Crowley smiled wide - how could he not? - and gathered Ezra in his arms with a blissful sigh as Warlock hugged Ezra's leg. "You did great, angel. Very nice. Hebrew sounded top-notch."

"Oh, I am glad. I worry, you know - Yiddish comes to me much easier, and, well, Hebrew is quite sacred and I’d hate to mess it up-”

“Ezra.” Crowley stroked his hand absently through Ezra's curls. “You did fine. Trust me.” Barely registering his own actions, Crowley quickly became very much aware that Ezra was leaning closer into him, arms moving to loosely drape around his waist - shit, what was a normal heartbeat again?

"I believe I need some wine and latkes.” Ezra’s voice quavered with a tremble of laughter. “For the nerves, of course.”

"Latkes!" Warlock shouted. He ran off to the kitchen, Adam close behind. 

Ezra and Crowley separated, with much reluctance on Crowley’s part, loathe to be torn from the warm, sweet softness of his angel. Their eyes met as their bodies moved away, and such blissful joy shone out of Ezra’s eyes, that gorgeous, twinkling blue, that Crowley would willingly have drowned in them, lost himself for just a moment more in the man’s embrace. 

Oh, he was in deep. Too deep to climb out of, and too far gone to ever want to.

"C'mon, angel." Their arms linked, sides pressed together, and Ezra gave a happy wiggle at the contact. "Reckon my waistline'll never be the same again, but fuck, it'll be worth it."

#tia-lew writes #fanfiction #ineffable husbands #good omens #ineffable dads #christmas #hanukkah #christmukkah #holiday season #crowley #aziraphale #jewish aziraphale

[aziraamane]

Chapters: 1/? Fandom: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett Rating: Explicit Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens), Warlock Dowling & Adam Young, Crowley & Anathema Device, Aziraphale & Madame Tracy (Good Omens) Characters: Aziraphale (Good Omens), Crowley (Good Omens), Warlock Dowling, Adam Young (Good Omens) Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate Universe - Celebrity, Alternate Universe - Parents, Parents Aziraphale and Crowley (Good Omens), Adopted Children, Crowley Has PTSD (Good Omens), Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Anathema Device Ships Aziraphale/Crowley, and she is so done with Crowley's shit, Friends to Lovers, Domestic Fluff, Jewish Aziraphale (Good Omens), Family Fluff, Eventual Smut, Fluff and Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Additional Warnings In Author's Note, Long Live Feedback Comment Project Summary:

AJ Crowley goes too fast for himself, let alone the angel at the gates. He has a job he never wanted, a child to take care of, and far too much wine to stay home and drink alone. His new friend might be willing to speed up for him - just a little - but as Crowley's world unravels, entangling with that of his beloved Ezra, he must come to learn that one doesn't have to visibly fall apart at the seams to not be okay. This journey is as much done together as it is a battle within themselves, but they'll be okay. They'll be okay.

Title inspired by William Shakespeare's "Sonnet 39."

#tia-lew writes #fanfiction #human au #ineffable husbands #good omens #all the better part of me

[aziraamane]

Six thousand years of pining for each other came to a head the night after their body switch and subsequent celestial trials, when the angel whispered, "I think I've caught up with you at last, my dear," and kissed Crowley on the doorstep of the bookshop.

Crowley liked to maintain he played it cool in that moment, but in reality both of them had burst into tears, snogged each others' faces off, and tumbled across the threshold to make the sort of love no respectable demon had any business making.

Apt, then, that Crowley was not a respectable demon.

#tia-lew writes #fanfiction #good omens #excerpts from my writing #otp: ineffable #ineffable husbands #fallen aziraphale #crowley #aziraphale