I Love External Point Of View Of The Two Ineffable Idiots ^^

Hiya, could you pretty pretty please do a 12. and 33. prompt for the ineffable husbands? I keep thinking of Bentley just locking them in and not letting them out until they talk cupboard trope style 😔

Yessssss :D

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"Now you listen to me Crowley, you are going to tell your car—"

"Our car."

Aziraphale stops. Blinks. Gives up on fighting with the door handle.

"What did you say?" he asks.

"It's our car," Crowley repeats, more of a mumble this time, looking away from Aziraphale. A raindrop runs down the window, and he follows it with his eyes until it pools at the bottom, joining the great conference of former raindrops gathering there. They're in for a night of it, by the looks of the sky. "You said that. You made that true. So you're as much at fault as I am for it locking us in."

"I don't see how this is my fault. You kidnapped—"

"Kidnapped? I rescued you. That's. That's what I do. That's what the almighty made me for, I think," he huffs, still not looking at Aziraphale.

One rescue does not a rift mend. He's owed an apology. And even though everything's gone to heaven, like he predicted, he still hasn't gotten one.

He'd take a lot less. He doesn't need to hear that he was right. He needs to hear that Aziraphale's sticking with him this time.

The Bentley is, at least temporarily, seeing to that. Crowley gives the steering wheel a gentle pat. He genuinely has nothing to do with the doors being locked and apparently immune to miracles or temptation, but he thinks it's trying to help.

If nothing else, the constant itch of not being able to reach out and touch Aziraphale, if he wanted, has vanished for a bit. The ache of missing him has eased back just a fraction. It's a good car. A good, loyal car.

"You're cold," he says, shrugging out of his jacket without even having to look at Aziraphale. It's cold out tonight, in the middle of bloody nowhere, and he gets cold easily. Crowley doesn't want him to be cold.

"You'll be cold," Aziraphale says as Crowley shoves his body-warmed jacket at him.

"Demon," he says. "Don't get cold."

Theoretically, an angel ought not to get cold either. Thing is. Aziraphale's never actually been a very good angel. Not that Crowley would ever tell him that to his face.

Besides, he's his angel. He's allowed to be not very good.

"Thank you," Aziraphale says, taking the jacket and spreading it over himself like a blanket.

Silence, except for the pit-pat of rain against the car, falls. And Aziraphale's breathing. Crowley's missed the way he breathes.

He literally twiddles his thumbs in his lap, trying to think of something to say or do.

"Things are a bit of a mess," Aziraphale says after what might have been several eternities. Crowley's lost count.

He opens his mouth to say something—something comforting, like that it's not all that bad, or that they'll figure it out, they're a team, they always figure it out.

And then Aziraphale continues, "and you tried to warn me."

His voice sounds so small that Crowley, naturally, like he always does, deflates like a sat-on whoopee cushion. Because the thing about Aziraphale is that he always really is trying to do the right thing. Because he still believes there's one true Right Thing to do. Because he's precious and wonderful and optimistic and good. Not a good angel. But a good person.

"Did you ever wonder why I might try to do that?" Crowley asks.

He's not sure he wants an answer. Either one's going to hurt.

Aziraphale falls silent again, which is probably for the best. The way the moonlight's hitting the window now, Crowley can see him reflected in it. Still the same Aziraphale. Heaven hasn't really changed him.

"Do you really think God created you to look out for me?"

Crowley sighs. "I don't know. Plan's, y'know, ineffable."

"Well it would explain why you keep doing it," Aziraphale says. "If it's all in the plan."

"Right," Crowley draws in on himself. Not getting through right now, then. "No other possible explanation for it, really."

"Well. There is one other possible explanation," Aziraphale offers hesitantly.

"Oh?" Crowley asks.

"Well... you might. I suppose. Be fond of me?"

Crowley glances over at him. Sighs. Okay, well. He's come to that conclusion, then. It's only taken a little over six thousand years. Practically no time at all.

He takes his sunglasses off. Stares out of the windscreen. Wonders if he can actually be discorporated by way of stomach knots. Gnaws on his lip.

And then gets very, very brave. "I might be," Crowley says, forcing himself to look Aziraphale in the eye. "I might even be in love with you."

Aziraphale swallows. He looks like he might either be sick or pass out from what Crowley realises at the last second isn't disgust.

It's nerves.

"You might," he says, looking away as he fiddles with Crowley's jacket. "And. And if you were. That would be very convenient for me. Because I... I think I've been in love with you for a very long time."

Crowley means to say something to that, but the nice satisfying thunk of the Bentley unlocking beats him to it.

"Well," Crowley says, running his tongue over his teeth. "That's probably enough to save the world, then. Shall we?"

Aziraphale lights up, bright and beautiful and good as always. "I think we really must."

One of the cuttest AU I ever read with Crowley as a teacher :)

Just one word: FINALLY

Can’t stop thinking about them and this moment. My heart still singing, my hands shaking, my head empty. Soft soft bois, as I am. And Merry Christmas to everyone!

Chapter 7 of It never hurts to keep looking for sunshine.

Aziraphale’s phone rings.  He answers, expecting it to be Crowley.  But to his surprise, it’s a demon he’s never met.

“I’m Crowley’s replacement,” the demon says.  “He’s not done anything impressive lately, and Downstairs doesn’t like how ineffective he is at keeping you in line.  So now he’s shuffling paperwork and scooping up hellhound shit while I do his job for him.”

“Ah… I see,”  Aziraphale says icily.  “Well, I most assuredly do not look forward to working with you.”

The demon laughs.  “Feeling’s mutual.”

Twenty-four hours later, the demon is very surprised to find himself discorporated in his sleep.  He can’t explain what happened, he has absolutely no idea.

“Don’t let it happen again,” Beelzebub says, annoyed, and sends the demon back up.

After a mere three days, the demon ends up discorporated again.

A new replacement is sent up.  This one lasts for a week and a day.

A third replacement is sent up.  This one lasts for exactly four hours.

Three demons are sent up next time.  Two manage to stay alive for at least five months.  In that time, they botch four very important temptations, and the citizens of London inexplicably find their daily lives much improved in thousands of little ways.  Traffic and pollution are nonexistent, injury and illness are miraculously avoided.  Church attendance is up five hundred percent, and every politician and CEO is struck by the urge to donate as much money as possible to charity.  There’s a general feeling of contentedness and goodwill in the air that wasn’t there before.  It feels downright heavenly.

Suddenly, Beelzebub is having a very hard time finding anyone to take Crowley’s post.  Bribes and threats make no difference.  The rumors have spread and only grown more disturbing in the telling.  Not one demon is willing to go up there and face the cold, calculated, merciless wrath of the angel known as Aziraphale.

Crowley absolutely loses it when someone gets around to telling him.  “Y’know, I could’ve warned you,” he says gleefully.  “Been working with him for thousands of years.  I know exactly how much of a bastard he can be.”

After running the numbers and seeing how many souls they’ve lost to Heaven in the past year, Beelzebub gives up and concludes that trying to replace Crowley is a massive waste of resources Hell can’t afford.

After one year, Aziraphale receives another phone call.  He answers, with bated breath, and nearly shouts for joy when he hears a familiar voice.

“Hi, angel.  Lunch on me?”

To celebrate the big news (f***** yeah !!!! Season 2), I finished my most important project

If you are completely down, just watch this.

The Rest of Our Lives - Part 3 In which Aziraphale and Crowley attempts to dance to a rather raspy old tune only for it to end… suprisingly well. This is the last part of our (@eamikkir) collab animations, completed after a very long hiatus skdnv. Thank you so much for supporting us all throughout. Enjoy this little completed piece from the past! Hope you are all keeping healthy!  Part 1 | Part 2 | Xmas  Patreon | Ko-Fi

In honor of the news about season 2 and the fact that I'm finally reading the book I made ineffable husbands bookmarks!!! Feel free to make your own using the image below!

http://player.vimeo.com/video/39921254?loop=1

Check Out This Fan-Made “Good Omens” Title Sequence

With a TV mini-series based on Neil Gaiman and Terry Pratchett’s Good Omens still in development (recently confirmed by Gaiman himself on Twitter), this “book title sequence” made by Ariana T. on Vimeo gives us a tantalizing idea of what we might expect. A motion graphics assignment for school based on her favorite book, Ariana used After Effects and Photoshop to put this visually striking video.

You know, I dreamed about you for 29 years, before I saw you.

Here is the scanned and cleaned version. It was made to be coloured, so go for it, post your art and please tag me ^^

Writers and artists, it’s time to get a wiggle on!

Submissions for the TIC 3 Zine close on 17th September which is somehow - we blame Crowley - NEXT WEEK 😱

Details and submission here: