#1920s good omens

[pinkravat-art]

ok so i was saving 1920s gomens for a comic in mind but i have so much schoolwork rn that i'm not sure when/if i'll get that done SO. HERE SHE IS.

BURLESQUE DANCER CROWLEY.

she's taken permanent residence in all of my sketchbooks, this isn't even half of the drawings i have of her I LOVE HER SM

[marika-misc]

Ref

The bath scene from season 1 but make it HER.

Me : *absolutely unable to draw women without some thick in their legs*

Also me : Yes, but listen. This is Aziraphale cosplaying as Crowley. So. Of course some things are gonna bleed through you know.

[aziraphales-library]

do you have any fic recs for aziracrow in the 1920s/30s? I watched Bright Young Things recently and now all I need in life is Aziraphale attending Gatsby-esque parties or anything similar along those lines. I love your blog btw! Very helpful <3

We have a #1920s tag, so check that out. Here are some 1930s/Gatsby/Bright Young Things fics...

wanna witness your eyes looking by izzyhandsgf (E)

"How could someone so unbearably holy commit such sins in the most beautiful way?" ----------------------------- Or, Aziraphale and Crowley meet in the 1930s, fem-presenting, and both are slightly overcome by their feelings for one another...

I’ll be Seeing You by gothwillgraham (G)

In the early 1930s, both Crowley and Aziraphale are active in London’s high society, without the other realizing it. When their respective orders cause them to cross paths for the first time since 1867, dealing with the tasks at hand is one thing. But dealing with the emotions built up in the last 70 years is quite another.

Lavender Coffin by The_Infamous_Jack (T)

“If Aziraphale had been in any way inclined, he would have been worried about the damnation of his soul if Heaven ever saw what he was up to. He never worried, though, because they couldn't see a damn thing. Aziraphale was not doing anything that involved Heaven at the moment, he was simply spending time with the humans, and as result, his lifestyle was completely invisible to them. They never bothered him, and he was free to act as sordid as the rest of the era if he so chose to.” ~~~ Aziraphale loves the 1920s, and he only wishes that he could share it with Crowley. Unfortunately, the more time that Aziraphale spends with the humans, and the more drunken letters he writes to his absent “husband”, the more he discovers the darker undertones to the era he thought he fitted right into. Eventually, he begins to spiral into questioning his own loyalties, and he desperately needs somebody to save him. It’s rather ironic that the only person who can is a demon, and one which Aziraphale hasn’t seen for over 70 years. Alternatively, the author watched Michael Sheen in Bright Young Things and you know what that means… (Aziraphale in makeup? Yes please).

Maybe This Time by orphan_account (T)

There was a cabaret in a city called Berlin, in a country called Germany, in a Europe that just narrowly escaped the end of the world and was rapidly heading towards another attempt. And in that cabaret, an Angel and a Demon were dancing together. The trumpets signaling end times could have been playing, and they wouldn’t have even heard it over the music.

Such Sweet Sorrow by Eldyra (M)

This work is loosely inspired by the wonderful comic "Jazz Baby" by WhiteleyFoster and "The Great Gatsby" by F. Scott Fitzgerald. Crowley and Aziraphale meet in 1923 at a party, which they both attend due to an assignment from their respective head offices. Crowley is having a bad night, Aziraphale still feels bad about the Holy Water argument, neither is in a party mood. So they take off together to make a memory that will remain precious to them both for the rest of their lives.

Celestial Bodies by Justkeeptrekkin (M)

The year is 1923. Aziraphale's friends at the gentlemen's club invite him for a weekend away in Devon. He asks Crowley to join. It gets very silly and very messy very quickly. That's just how things were in the roaring twenties.

- Mod D

[idliketobeatree]

for someone with a fashion sense variating between "i have to be the most peculiar and strange creature in the grocery store" to "anything more than a cotton shirt and pants today will make me crumble" i have to say. aziraphale looking like a crisp, bunched up laundry that you got out of the washer a moment ago, pulling a literal valentino model, makes me feel like there's hope in the world

[mischivarien]

I fell in love with the fire long ago ❤️

[foresttoffee]

I needed Crowley in a flapper dress. Now I feel like I need to do the whole outfit…

A continuation of the ineffable wives through the centuries shoes editions. This time, the 1920s! I feel like Crowley would be able to convince Aziraphale to dance. 💃

[cineresis]

Angels in America

It's amazing how fast an evening at your favorite club can be ruined by someone keeling over and frothing at the mouth. The band never quite gets back into the swing of things afterwards.

"Angel," sighed one of the men, or nearest approximants, at the table next to mine, "why is it that I can never go anywhere with you without stumbling across a body?"

"Oh, come now," said his partner, a soft, fluffy confection in caramel and cream, rising hastily to make his way toward the source of the commotion. The first gentleman, dark, lanky, and excruciatingly chic, got up to follow him. "It's hardly every time."

I stayed where I was for now, casting my gaze around the room as I went over my memory of the past twenty or thirty minutes. Too many people passing close enough to slip something into the victim's drink, too many others to watch at the same time, too many more opportunities to poison him outside my field of view. I was a detective, not God.

"Stumbling upon, once. Literally. Do you know what it's like to have to clean up after that sort of thing? It takes a personal toll."

"Hush, Crowley," chided "Angel". "People can hear you, and you know how queer they get about these things. Ooh, yes, that's strychnine, all right," he added cheerfully, pulling a small vial from his vest pocket and tipping it into his handkerchief. "Nasty stuff."

I got up. As I approached, I caught the faint, unmistakable chemical sweetness of ether fumes and gave them a wide berth, choosing instead to inspect the victim's plate and glass before turning to scan the room from this perspective.

"Now, just what might you be doing?" drawled Crowley.

I looked him over, too, while I was at it. In Crowley's case, this involved a lot of looking and not much over; he was easily more than six feet tall, even while slouching rakishly. The snake tattoo on his right temple suggested certain things about him. The dark glasses that he hadn't removed since he'd entered just suggested questions, since I highly doubted he was blind. "I'm a detective," I said, leaving the obviously at the end of that sentence to implication. "What are you doing?"

This response seemed to delight him. "So are we," Crowley answered, and grinned. "But if you want to get specific about it, I'm keeping you distracted while my friend saves this man's life. Let's see your license, then."

As I took it out, keeping at least one eye on him and his partner, Angel called out to the rubbernecking crowd around us, "I need someone here to run and call the nearest hospital, and a couple of strong men to help get this poor fellow someplace dark and quiet to rest. Best use one of the tablecloths for a stretcher," he added to the first volunteer who stepped forward.

Crowley leaned in closer to study my license. "Drake Silas Donovan," he read off. "'Silas', really?"

"What about it?"

"I've just always wondered what kind of parent would name their kid Silas."

"The kind who had a grandfather named Silas," I replied coolly, snagging my license back. "Your turn."

He obliged. Anthony J. Crowley, it read, licensed in London since 1905, the year before mine. I wondered how long he'd been at this; he looked too young for his apparent age, but then I looked too old for mine. "A. J. Crowley," I read his signature aloud. "Get asked if you're any relation every time, or just most?"

There's a certain motion a person's head makes when they roll their eyes. Crowley's was making it. "The man's an embarrassment to the side," he griped. "I made my name legitimately."

"And your friend?" It wasn't as if I couldn't put two and two together. There's a certain type of person who's got both a nose for trouble and the brains to prepare for it; if it walks, talks, and thinks like a dick, it probably is one. It was just that I wasn't in the habit of trusting people, and I'd be a real schmuck to neglect basic due diligence on the guy purportedly surrounded by bodies. 

Detectives are no better or worse than any other person. They just think it's usually more interesting to solve crimes than commit them.

"Oh, he's as legitimate as it gets." Crowley turned to his companion, who was getting to his feet, brushing his clothes off fussily. Beside him, the two volunteers hoisted the unconscious victim onto a tablecloth spread across the floor, momentarily dislodging the ether-soaked cloth before Angel caught it and laid it carefully back in place over the victim's nose and mouth. "Aren't you, Aziraphale?"

Angel — "Aziraphale"? — looked up, startled. "Pardon?"

"Mr. Donovan here wants to see your detective's license," Crowley explained, enunciating his words with malice aforethought.

"Oh! Yes. Of course I always have that with me. Now just where did I..." He started patting down his pockets, stopped suddenly, and took a lovely calfskin card holder out of his coat. "Ah. Here it is."

Beaming, he passed it to Crowley, who passed it to me with the comment, "You'll find everything in order, I'm sure."

I glanced down at the card, then back up at Angel. "Am I supposed to call you A. Z. Fell or Aziraphale?" I asked, pronouncing the Z correctly as zed.

"A. Z. Fell is how 'Aziraphale' is pronounced in the King's English," said Crowley blandly, affecting a cut-glass Oxford accent on the last phrase. His partner seemed pleased by this comment, rather than annoyed.

"I'm afraid my progenitor bestowed me with a rather unwieldy given name," Fell admitted, raising fascinating questions about just how many syllables the British peerage could fit on a birth certificate when they really tried. "Aziraphale just sounds so much more euphonious, don't you think?" Crowley was right; I couldn't tell whether Fell had meant to say A. Z. Fell or the de-accented gloss. He'd lengthened the half-syllable between zed and Fell to a full vowel, but some people said zetta.

"I wouldn't know," I replied, handing the license back to Crowley, who was nearest. When Fell didn't take my bait, I added, "Lucky that you happened to have ether handy. I wouldn't like to imagine what might've happened if you'd decided to stay in tonight." I also lied when I said sorry, and when I swore to tell the whole truth and nothing but. Little white lies are the oil in the gears of civilization.

"Oh, I always carry that, too," Fell explained earnestly. "One gets into the habit after one's first run-in with strychnine, and of course ether has so many useful applica—"

"I wouldn't, angel," Crowley interrupted, sounding very amused. "Mr. Donovan thinks you're the one behind this."

"Oh," said Fell, nonplussed. "Gosh. Well, I — I suppose I can't blame him. He doesn't know me from Adam, after all, and has no reason to trust me — I did warn you about giving people funny ideas, Crowley, honestly. Of course," Fell turned to me, laying an elegant hand across his chest, "if you were to search me, you would find only a small collection of antidotes — oh, but a habitual poisoner would probably carry those, too, especially if he were the sort of voyeur with a penchant for playing the hero. I certainly wouldn't be convinced of my innocence. Yes, I can certainly understand whatever suspicion you might feel towards me, however misplaced it may be."

Crowley watched this thought process with an expression somewhere between fascination and agony. "Well, at least now he probably thinks that if you'd done it, you'd have been caught by now," he remarked, presumably because he was thinking the same thing. "You'll have to excuse my friend," Crowley added to me. "He still believes that the innocent have nothing to fear. Somehow."

"First time visiting?" I guessed.

Fell's bemusement answered my question before he did. "Pardon?"

"Never mind."

[quona]

Work in progress

Fem Aziraphale with 🌟actual line art🌟

[beeh0rnz]

Ineffable queens doing ineffable queen shit <3

Little doodle versions

[aziraphaledrawings]

new here n saw your art req post,

perhaps some 1920s ineffable wives? (if you havent already)

[ineffableclassics]

Crowley and Aziraphale meet in 1923 at a party, which they both attend due to an assignment from their respective head offices. Crowley is having a bad night, Aziraphale still feels bad about the Holy Water argument, neither is in a party mood. So they take off together to make a memory that will remain precious to them both for the rest of their lives.

Words: 14,318

Status: Complete

Rating: Mature

By @eldyra

[painterofstars]

trick-or-treating in south downs

[goth-maudra]

Bit late to the party, but here's my contribution to Trans Day of Visibility. This was my attempt on Whiteley Foster's "draw this in your style" challenge some time ago. My style being: painted on an 8x10 canvas. Fun fact: flappers would paint flowers on their knees, I tried with Crowley. But that $@#$^%$ing HAND...I had to consult our art major college kiddo more than once. Then xe said "it's a parallelogram" and oh! *headsmack*

Much love to the Trans community. And much disgust to the people who are assholes in SO MANY ways TO said community. Grow up, get a hobby, shut the fuck up, and mind your own damn business. The Trans community has done NOTHING to you, nor do they seek to.

😠🖕

[r0sie-shipper]

Fem Aziraphale being a 1920’s jazz singer, going by the name “Azure Fell”

(Original poster was of the queer actress Nazimova who is called “the founding mother of Sapphic Hollywood”) (she is an icon)

[dromiooo]

what better way to celebrate azirafeast than with a decadent portrait of the rebellious angel herself? :D

this drawing was inspired by the 1920s GO au, Antoinette, by @andromeda4004. 10/10 spooky Rebecca-inspired fic, it haunts my days as I wait for updates c:

[mischivarien]

What a wonderful world✨