//REQUESTS ARE OPEN BUT I'LL ONLY DO DETAILED GOOD ONES WITH PROMPTS BECAUSE WRITERS BLOCK// Hey sluts. I suppose you wanna read Ineffable Husbands oneshots with occasional Ineffable -uhh whatever Gabriel and Beelzebub is called. I update when I feel like it and not working on O̶d̶d̶ T̶i̶m̶i̶n̶g̶s̶ (I finished Odd Timings now I'm working on Ballad of the Damned). There's lots of angst. A good bit of fluff. A lil' bit of Gabriel's Kind Of Literature (smut). Enjoy you marvelous readers. Started July 2, 2019

Aziraphale would forgive him, of course. He always did. That had always been the Hell of it. It had been stupid to think things would be any different this time. It was a game they had been playing a long, long time, and he was all kinds of fool and idiot if he was going to suddenly start taking it seriously, even if only a few days ago he had thought Aziraphale was dead. Our side. It would be nice, really nice, if there was an *our side.* To be honest with himself, there was nothing in all the universe he wanted more. "I'll pick you up at eight," he repeated to the closed door, and headed back to the flat to take it out on the plants.

After the near end of the world, Aziraphale and Crowley decide that they are happier when together and make the big decision to move in together, which ultimately leads to a romance that has been building up for centuries.

Good Omens. Crowley and Aziraphale pose as husbands for a house party, because Aziraphale is bad at saying no (to anyone but Crowley and anyone trying to buy books). Crowley thinks this is a good chance to prove himself the perfect potential demon husband to a fussy angel. But things get complicated fast. Really complicated. A lot of pining, a lot of shopping and restaurants and party games, some near misses, but no sex until chapter 24 (and all of 25).

Aziraphale stops by Crowley's apartment to find a rather . . . interesting letter. His findings create a chain reaction of wild events. Things he's only imagined in his most wistful dreams. Absolutely ungodly things. Beautiful things.

"Oh. Yeah." Crowley shuffled his feet, looking surprisingly boyish. "Come to New York with me tomorrow?" Aziraphale blinked. "Why?" "To see how Warlock is doing," Crowley said, as if that was obvious. "Warlock?" He blinked again, and Crowley looked annoyed. Unfortunately what came out of his mouth was, "You were the one who suggested killing the boy." "It wasn't personal." Crowley took off his dark glasses, apparently the better to glare at him. "He's still our kid." "B-but, Crowley, he's not our kid," Aziraphale said helplessly, wondering if Crowley was going insane or if he was. "You're a terrible father for an angel," Crowley said, accusingly. "I'm a demon, and I make a far better mother." --- Aziraphale is almost certain that Crowley is only being perverse. But demons are unaccountable creatures, and Aziraphale finds himself flying to New York with him anyway.

That was no way to think, just because a stupid ex-nun misinterpreted a blamelessly hostile situation. That way lay madness. That way lay an angel with disapprovingly pursed lips and pitying pale eyes and "My dear boy, I'm so *very* sorry, but..." and Armageddon would come as a relief after that, really.