ineffablequeers

[ineffablequeers]

It's a cold night in Versailles. An angel and a demon discuss society and their friendship while walking through the gardens. Written for the prompt: Aziraphale and Crowley sharing a soft smile across a crowded room.

Make a guy happy and check out this tiny one-shot please?

[ineffablequeers]

okay folks, hear me out. crowley misses being an angel.

now, that doesn’t mean he wants to be an angel again, he definitely does not like the way heaven operates (or the way angels do, for that matter). we all know he only likes one (1) angel and that’s that on that, BUT. he misses heaven. not actual heaven, but the idea of heaven he had in his mind. it’s like getting out of a toxic relationship/household: you don’t always miss the people who hurt you, but sometimes you can’t help it - whether it’s because you still had some good memories or because you’re supposed to feel that way. 

he was cast away for asking questions, something that comes naturally to most. he was punished for it, which is part of the reason why he believes heaven to be unfair, but he doesn’t find solace in hell either - he doesn’t fit in with those who expect maximum obedience, no matter what he needs to be a free spirit. 

he doesn’t want to be an angel, but he craves g-d’s love. he wants to feel that warmth heaven should be made of. 

[ineffablequeers]

at least you get thoughts! i am far too gay for those, my head is just nintendogs music and freddie mercury

if i see one (1) more post about crowley being a slytherin and aziraphale being a hufflepuff somebody’s gonna have to catch these hands.

aziraphale is a slytherin, no cap.

crowley is either a ravenclaw or a hufflepuff, and i will not take any criticism.

like, people. open your eyes.

[ineffablequeers]

RAVENPUFF CROWLEY FOR THE MASSES

also you deserve an award for this but ok

if i see one (1) more post about crowley being a slytherin and aziraphale being a hufflepuff somebody’s gonna have to catch these hands.

aziraphale is a slytherin, no cap.

crowley is either a ravenclaw or a hufflepuff, and i will not take any criticism.

like, people. open your eyes.

[ineffablequeers]

y e s  you are absolutely right BUT the reason why i tolerate/like the ravenclaw hc is mainly because of the whole “i fell because i asked questions” thing. like, imagine angel crowley being so fucking annoying with his “why do humans have to suffer? why is the earth round? what is an aardvark?” shit that g-d just has to yeet him out of heaven.

like, that’s peak ravenclaw energy if you ask me.

if i see one (1) more post about crowley being a slytherin and aziraphale being a hufflepuff somebody’s gonna have to catch these hands.

aziraphale is a slytherin, no cap.

crowley is either a ravenclaw or a hufflepuff, and i will not take any criticism.

like, people. open your eyes.

[ineffablequeers]

Gabriel: no fraternising with the other side!

Aziraphale:

Aziraphale:

Aziraphale: he be cute though

[ineffablequeers]

if i see one (1) more post about crowley being a slytherin and aziraphale being a hufflepuff somebody’s gonna have to catch these hands.

aziraphale is a slytherin, no cap.

crowley is either a ravenclaw or a hufflepuff, and i will not take any criticism.

like, people. open your eyes.

[ineffablequeers]

this is really super useful, thank you! they don’t mind bro/dude, but i was definitely looking for something more personal, you know?

i hadn’t thought about rocket ship names, but it’s really genius, thank you so much for helping out!

Non-Binary nicknames?

Hi guys. Long time no see, and this is not good omens related, sorry.

A friend of mine recently came out as non-binary. I support them wholeheartedly, and I’d like to show them with kind of everyday stuff, not just grand declarations in public. Soooo, I was looking for some funny nicknames, maybe space-themed because we both are kind of space obsessed, so there’s that. Not an ounce of straightness in either of us tbh.

If any of you have ideas/recommendations/tips on how to help, they’d be very welcome. I made lots of research and I admit I made progress since I started getting hints from them before they came out, but I’m still just a guy and I realise I still don’t know many things about being non-binary. I’d really appreciate it if someone could give me a hand, because I love my friend and I want them to feel safe with me. I’m so proud of them for telling me, and now I just want to show them I love them.

[ineffablequeers]

alright so. as you know, i have no life outside of these two dumbass gays. 

i was carefully scrolling though my feed, until i decided to look for the script online because, on top of being a raging homosexual, i’m also broke as fuck. found the book, downloaded my pdf, and i started reading.

THEN IT HIT ME.

in the original script, after the whole “i said, that went down like a lead balloon” bit, our dearest idiots say this:

now you may ask what’s wrong with this? seems a typical ethical discussion. 

but you see, they haven’t officially met yet.

i know, i know, i’m reading too much into it. but still, how could aziraphale know crowley’s name if they hadn’t met each other? divine intervention? human error? whatever it is, now i feel absolutely free to write about your local supernatural bastards just chilling in eden, watching adam and eve go through their fourth day crisis (since teenagers hadn’t been invented yet) and helping them pick up the most fashionable fig leaves in the garden and maybe, why not? trying out every fruit there is since it’s not like they had such a busy schedule.

just. crowley and aziraphale together in eden. they’re both so new to this whole thing, but now they don’t feel quite as lonely because hey, at least we can learn stuff together!

i made myself emotional bye.

[ineffablequeers]

something is coming...

As far as sunny days go, London had been getting an awful amount of those lately. Aziraphale scrutinised the sky from his desk, the window letting the light fall down his papers like soft, golden rain. No clouds in sight, he noted once more, and this November seemed to know no end.

He glanced up, fretfully unfastening a button of his vest in what - for his standards at least - ended up being a state of disarray. Crowley loved sunny days a great deal more than he did, no matter what the old serpent said about his so-called reputation. If given the opportunity to bask in the sun’s warm rays, he would make an act of being bothered by the un-gloomy day before ultimately allowing himself to relish the comfort in peace.

Though as of late he’d been letting go of such antics, merely keeping some fight up to entertain the angel. 

Aziraphale smiled, downing what was left of his tea before going back to his paperwork. 

His mind wandering, he absent-mindedly checked the time, wiggling in his chair as he realised Crowley would soon be there. It was a Friday, after all, and he’d promised they’d spend the weekend out of town. He was usually the one getting surprised, so he had planned the whole trip down to the smallest detail.

Two days in Scotland, far away from any major city. Just them and nature and - if Crowley found the idea to his liking - the whole sky for them to fly in.

It had been just so long since they’d last done that. As the number of humans grew, their chances would become rarer and rarer, and he knew how proud his demon was of his wings. Not many of the Fallen had kept them - most had decided to erase anything that could make them similar to their brothers - but Crowley had always cut quite the figure with his black, flawless feathers.

Aziraphale himself didn’t care much for grooming, only doing it when they started to become uncomfortable, as it took a lot of time he could otherwise spend having lunch.

Speaking of lunch, he realised he was feeling rather peckish, and with a sigh, he got up. There was a nice Indian restaurant a few blocks from the bookshop, and he was positively dying for some pav bhaji. 

He picked up the phone - an ancient thing that ought to have stayed in the 1920s but kept working out of sheer willpower, or divine faith - and dialled Crowley’s number. He answered quite fast, but there was a sharp edge to his voice that he hadn’t heard in a while.

“Angel, it’s really not-” he tried to say before the angel cut him off, alerted by his blatant distress.

“Crowley, are you quite alright?” 

“I think- someone’s following me. From Downstairs, I mean. Have been the whole morning I believe.”

Aziraphale knew fear in Crowley’s voice, though he wished to never hear it, and immediately all thoughts of vegetable curry flew out of the window. He straightened his stance instinctively, bringing both hands to the phone.

“Dear, come to the bookshop. Our wards should keep them out.”

“And lead them to you? Angel-”

“Don’t. Argue. Where are you now?”

Crowley sighed, his tone shaking with badly concealed anxiety. “Peckham. I don’t-”

He was cut off, and the line went dead. Aziraphale let the phone fall from his grasp - it would eventually find its way back, he assumed - and ran out of the door, his jacket abandoned on the back of his chair and his vest still unbuttoned.

He didn’t know what he was going to do. He couldn’t run all the way to Peckham, and without Crowley’s exact position he couldn’t teleport. He stopped on his tracks, in the middle of the sidewalk. A woman glanced at him before moving on, and he put his hand in his hair.

Run, he certainly couldn’t run but… maybe he could fly. A small miracle to keep humans from looking up - even though phones did help with that - and he’d be good to go. Sure, it was crazy to fly in the middle of the day, and how would he spot Crowley from up there?

He focused on the quiet panic coming from Crowley’s voice, and with a swift push upwards, he spread his wings as the pavement disappeared from below him in a fast swirl of feathers.

.

(inspired by @speremint ‘s fanart)

[ineffablequeers]

Good morning! ☀️

[ineffablequeers]

here, take my soul. it’s yours.

Anniversaries

Here’s my take on @n0nb1narydemon‘s “ButterOmens” or “Write this in Your Style” challenge. I deviated a bit, but I hope you all like it! :) (2386 words)

If you would like to continue the challenge, written responses/sequels/re-writes should be capped at 3k words; responses and interpretations in all art media (drawings, comics, etc) are welcome. If you do something directly inspired by my version, please tag me (as well as the originator)! :)

–

It happened, as one might expect, a little more than a year after the apocalypse was averted.

“Which anniversary are we celebrating today?” Crowley asked as the Bentley wound its way along the narrow country road. “I know its not our first kiss, that was three weeks ago.”

“Um,” Aziraphale agreed, turning a fascinating shade of pink at the memory. “Ah, yes, first picnic perhaps?” He patted his hands on his knees.

“No, that’s September 28. Remember? It took us over a month to agree on what we were supposed to eat.” Eventually they’d decided that anything could technically be picnic food, as long as it came out of a basket and was eaten outdoors.

“Er, first time you slept at the bookshop?”

“That’s not for a week and a half. Unless you count passing out on the sofa after too much wine. Then its April fifth.”

“First time I rode in the Bentley?”

“May tenth,” he scoffed. Did Aziraphale assume he’d forget such things, just because he was a demon?

“Well. If you’re so clever, why didn’t you tell me?”

“Because you’re the one who wanted an anniversary picnic,” Crowley reminded him, pulling off the road to park at their third-favorite picnic spot (Aziraphale’s second-favorite, but Crowley’s fourth; he didn’t like the smell of salt air, though the sound of the waves was nice). “Did you honestly ask for one without knowing what you were celebrating?”

“No. I know exactly why we’re here.” With one last smug-bastard grin, he climbed out of the car.

Keep reading

[ineffablequeers]

yeah cool. play with my heart, it’s not like i care.

One day, Aziraphale finds an old, never-officially-published collection of letters in his bookshop (who knows where he acquired it, he has so many books he can’t possibly remember where they all came from). The letters are dated throughout the 1800s, about one or two per year, and as far as he can tell they were never sent. They’re not a conversation; they’re a series of unrequited love letters written by an unnamed man, to an unnamed man, both apparently residing in London. Aziraphale reads the entire collection in one night, and is absolutely smitten. The language is somewhat crude, and it’s clear the writer was no expert, but it’s so painfully honest that Aziraphale finds himself reaching for a handkerchief more than once. The writer goes on for pages at a time about his devotion to the other man (whom he always addresses as “you,” as though he intends to send the letters–but of course, he never did), about his beauty, about his charm; how the writer longs to touch him at all hours of the day; how he wishes he could tell him how he felt. There seems to be a fundamental difference in the two men’s classes or families, or something similar that is stopping the writer from confessing his feelings, something even deeper than fear of rejection. It’s fascinating and beautiful and tragic, and when Aziraphale finally turns over the last page of the last letter he aches in sympathy for this man.

The letters stop about fifty years after they began, which meant the writer had pined for most of his life. Oh, what devotion, what wasted love! Aziraphale thinks. The final letter gives no sign that he ever made the decision to confess, or ever sent his next letter, and Aziraphale can only assume he passed away shortly after writing it.

However, when Aziraphale takes a closer look at the date on the final letter, it rings a bell. He spends the better part of the morning over a cup of tea trying to remember why that date strikes him as being so familiar. Then, like a Bentley smacking into a bicycling pedestrian, it hits him, and Aziraphale’s teacup shatters on the floor:

The date on the final letter was the day before Crowley began his century-long nap.

[ineffablequeers]

can we please just imagine aziraphale going absolutely feral after they told heaven and hell where to shove it, like-

he is feral, but in his victorian-ghost-in-your-childhood-bedroom feral. he’s not the type to take crowley to bed after 6000 years of pining. he will court him, and i’m talking full wooing manoeuvres like god intended. for years he’s been on the receiving end of all these acts of service, now he’s releasing centuries of pent up romance. 

he’ll get crowley flowers every damn time they go out. he’ll find the nicest restaurants with the best wines, and he’ll pay every single meal. he’ll shower the poor demon in gifts and affection, though he’ll avoid most physical contact driving crowley absolutely crazy. he’ll offer him his arm when walking, and his coat when it rains or when it’s a bit too cold. he’ll be straight out of How To Be The Perfect Gentleman 101.

meanwhile, crowley will discorporate once a week out of frustration or embarrassment. though he complains out loud about having to walk with aziraphale’s jacket, he’ll secretly love it, because that’s just how he is.

i need aziraphale going bonkers with courtship rituals y’all.

[ineffablequeers]

Crowley: Make me.

Aziraphale, internally: Holy Lord Who Art In Heaven, give me strength or else

[ineffablequeers]

Hi! New follower here. Also not well versed in using Tumblr so forgive me if .going about this wrong. You asked for prompts but what I'd love is the next scene of the art room fic you posted. What happens next??

hi! nice to meet you ^_^

i actually posted the following scene here, but it's quite far back. it's also on Ao3 if you want to go read it over there, but my @ is politelydeclined.

I'm happy you enjoyed the first part, hope you like the rest too!

[ineffablequeers]