#good omens fanfic

[crowleys-hips]

Ocean

who knew that a whole ocean  could be less than an inch wide? its entire depth  held there in the vastness  of your curious eyes i'm so afraid of drowning -all the time- but you reassure me  i can breathe underwater. now it turns out  i had never known oxygen  until i dove  into those silver blue waves and took my first breath 

there inside  i've found a multiverse  encapsulated  in the finite fragility  of a human-shaped frame

that face is merely a mask and i've seen you without it there, ensconced beneath your kind gaze and gentle smile lives a fierce, ferocious passion  a devotion to your convictions  that bleeds into the world around you in rivulets of truths masked as embellished lies  a driving force that crushes my reality into fantastic fragments  of distorted visions  that finally  make life  make sense 

i see scars that resemble my own i see that deeply rooted solitude that's entrenched into our very souls pervasive and persistent throughout ages of a winless fight  that singles us out  as renegades 

look at Us lucky Us here is our deliverance  in furtive glances late nights and kisses shared from light years away

your fingerprints are indelible  on my broken chest your careful digits weave golden thread  through gaping wounds and fill the cracks anointing them with hallowed words

you sing, and time stops to listen your voice alone  makes whole worlds bloom  the hours and minutes and seconds follow the cadence  of your breath and heartbeat 

i wonder

if i kiss your hands would i be blessed  with infinite lives  across any dimension? should my tongue  worship your fingertips  would i find absolution?

i don't think i existed before you i have suffered a rebirth of sorts not through my despair  but through the undeserved blessing of your voice calming my fears cutting through the deafening noise  that besieges my crumbling mind flaring my terror of safety  and gently guiding me home with your hand in mine 

i'm still so afraid

but i'm not drowning now

i'm learning to swim

(i'm sorry if this was a bit much. things got out of hand.)

taglist under the cut:

@goodomensafterdark @wibbly-wobbly-blog @phantomram-b00 @crowleys-bentley-and-plants @charlotte-zophie @crowleys-curl @quoththemaiden @thewibblylever @genderqueer-hippie @lickthecowhappy @celestialcrowley @im-the-j-in-anthony-j-crowley @sabotage-on-mercury @ineffabildaddy @ineffable-rohese @rainbowcrowley @alwaysbemybae @fearandhatred @roof-of-trees @weasleywrinkles @brokewokebespoke @eybefioro @captainblou @amagnificentobsession

if you wanna be added/removed lemme knoww

[averageanonymous]

Fic Sprint: In which Crowley is angry with Ducks

30 Minute Time Limit

Prompt: Ducks, Messy, Garden

“Get OUT, feathered bastards!” 

Aziraphale started as Crowley’s voice shattered the pleasant silence of a Sunday afternoon in late spring. He looked up from the recipe for an lavender-almond cake he’d been reading and rushed outside to see what the commotion was about. 

He found Crowley in the garden. The demon stood, chest heaving, the air around him crackling with Infernal energy. He was covered in mud, caking his boots, coating the knees of his pants, smeared across one cheek, and somehow clumped into his hair. Aziraphale looked him up and down, then tried and utterly failed to hold back a laugh. 

“What in the world are you getting up to out here?” He asked, covering his mouth with one hand in an attempt to stifle the fit of giggling. 

“The DUCKS,” Crowley snarled, eyes blazing. 

Aziraphale looked around, and sure enough spotted a small group of ducks waddling idly in the grass just beyond the flowering hedge that bordered their yard. They quacked quietly to themselves and generally appeared to be minding their own business. 

“You like ducks,” Aziraphale said.

“Not those ducks,” Crowley retorted sharply, “THOSE are ungrateful avian savages,” 

“I see…” Aziraphale nodded slowly, “And we are angry with the ducks because…?” 

“Because,” Crowley growled, “The damn things keep sneaking in here when I’ve got my back turned, and eating the damn lettuce!” 

“Ah,” Aziraphale said, making a show of glaring sternly at the ducks, “Feathered fiends, the lot of them,” 

“That’s right!” Crowley snapped, heedless of Aziraphale’s teasing. He started stomping around, carefully covering the young greens that could be salvaged with churned soil, plucking out the ones that could not. 

“Crowley,” Aziraphale chided gently, “The ducks don’t have a vendetta against you personally, I’m sure,” 

“The hell they don't,” Crowley muttered, glaring at the ducks as he passed the hedge to grab his tools, “They wait out there, minding their business, until the second I walk away.” 

“Of course, that is generally what wild animals do,” Aziraphale said, “And it doesn’t help that we haven’t put in the garden fence yet.” 

“Ah! Oh, I see! Put the blame on the victim, will you,” Crowley accused as he brandished a trowel in Aziraphale’s direction, “Some angel you are!” 

Aziraphale smiled warmly and shook his head, then he stepped into the torn up garden beds and took Crowley by the hand, leading him back to the cottage. Crowley grumbled but didn’t argue, dropping his tools in a bucket. 

“Shoes,” Aziraphale said as they got to the door, and Crowley stepped out of his mud-coated boots. Then they went inside and to the bathroom attached to their bedroom. 

Crowley’s expression was set in a frown, brow ridged with deep furrows. Aziraphale paid it no mind and undid the buttons of Crowley’s shirt, peeling the muddy fabric away from his skin. That done, he took a cloth, wetted it with warm water, and began wiping away the muck where it had dried on his hands and arms, working his way up to his neck. As Aziraphale worked, Crowley closed his eyes, and gradually the severity left his features, the harsh lines of his face softening. Aziraphale took a comb and gently pulled the mud from Crowley’s hair, brushing it smooth. He took up the cloth again and dabbed away flecks of dirt that had crusted on his eyebrows, finally working at the large clump of mud that was thoroughly smeared across his cheek. When Aziraphale pressed the cloth to the demon’s cheek, though, Crowley’s eyes opened and he caught his arm, holding him still. Without a word, Crowley took the cloth, placed it on the counter beside him, and then took Aziraphale’s chin and kissed him. Aziraphale leaned into the kiss, letting his hands wander down Crowley’s neck and over his bare shoulders, wrapping around him to trace the notches in his spine, down to the waistband of his jeans. 

“These,” he said against Crowley’s lips, drawing his fingers around the demon’s hips, “are absolutely filthy. It won’t do.” 

“Guess you’ll have to take them off, as well, then,” Crowley murmured back, running his hands into Aziraphale’s hair.

And Aziraphale did.    

☆~☆~☆~☆~☆

This is a fun thing we do on Thursdays over at the @goodomensafterdark writers guild subsubreddit. I owe them for making me write when I'm not in the mood to write 😘😅

[harlotofupdog]

Another sneaky snakky pub jizz chappy chap!

Summary: Aziraphale is a Met officer who transfers to a small village police station. Crowley is the local publican. They don't see eye to eye.

There is also a plot (seriously, I promise)

Rating: E (for eventually lol)

All the thankyous and eternal gratitude to wonderful sun-ox @paperclipninja for beta and cheering and general emotional support! And all the thanks to @goodomensafterdark for putting up with me week after tedious week.

Excerpt:

For the first half of the week, Whickbern is teeming with crime—or, more correctly, incidents that could loosely be described as slightly inconvenient to a small number of people—and Aziraphale is overjoyed. He embraces each and every opportunity to leave the station with abject enthusiasm: a report of a stolen fence railing (actually dislodged and trampled into the mud by the same cow who continues her vendetta against confinement); a call for assistance when the local school teacher locks his keys in his car (and discovers them moments later in his back pocket); even local busybody R.P. Tyler’s report of an overgrown hedge earns itself a thorough investigation.

[phoen1xr0se]

Good RAINBOW Omens

Taking a moment to recommend a beautiful Pride-themed GO fic (rated G) by one of my absolute favourite authors, @princip1914 😘

🌈🥰

“Oi, angel,” Crowley says one afternoon as they are returning to the bookshop after a particularly decadent brunch that stretched into a midday stroll. “You do know that the rainbow flag you’ve hung in the front window isn’t referring to Noah right?”

Happy Pride Month one and all!

❤️🧡💛💚🩵💙💜🩷❤️🧡💛💚🩵💙💜🩷

[reblog to gift your moots a Pride themed GO fic, and feel free to add your own!]

[theriverspath]

Ineffable May 2024, Day 30: Us

Rated General Audience

“Would you care to join us for dinner tonight? Crowley’s grilling steaks, and I’ve convinced him to make his famous bread pudding. The whiskey sauce is simply divine!” There was a look of sudden contrition on Aziraphale’s face. He glanced up at Crowley and laid a hand on his arm. “Sorry, dear. I only meant…”

“It’s fine, angel.” Crowley smiled into grey-blue eyes, his heart still fluttering at the casual use of that little word, us. Would he ever get used to it? He laid his hand over Aziraphale’s, intertwining their fingers as he lowered it to the space between them. Behind dark glasses, he shifted his attention back to the woman unloading bags of soil and mulch from her shopping trolly onto the checkout counter.

“Well, who could say no to famous bread pudding?” Crowley chuckled at the amused twinkle in her eye as she replied to the invitation. Carol was one of his favourite village residents. Her wit was as sharp as his, and her devotion to whatever she loved showed both in her gardening and her marriage. “Eileen has Morgan this weekend. That ok?”

“Of course! I’ve got the next Hardy Boys ready for them.” Aziraphale had been delighted to discover that Carol and Eileen’s child was a voracious devourer of children’s detective stories. The two had instantly bonded over it, and the angel had surprised Crowley by lending the kid copies of some of his own.

“Great. I think they’ve read the one they have now three times. I’m sure they’re ready to talk your ear off about it.” Aziraphale beamed at the prospect.

“Well, I’m looking forward to it.” Conversation dissolved into general chit-chat as first Carol, then Crowley, paid for their purchases. They parted ways in the garden centre’s car park, promising to see each other again that evening.

Once everything was piled into the back of the Bentley, Crowley held the passenger door for Aziraphale before settling himself into the driver’s seat. About half way back to the cottage, Crowley reached over and brought Aziraphale’s hand to his lips. He brushed a kiss across the knuckles before returning it to the angel’s lap.

“Thank you, but what was that for?” There was a soft smile in Aziraphale’s question.

“No reason. Just enjoying being us.”

-------

prompt list

[lovelox]

Hello my wonderful good omens family!

I am after some of your personal favorite good omen fanfics, I would like your recommendations. all I ask is that there's a good plot/storyline ☺️

I personally don't like gender swapping, got nothing against it just what I prefer and I don't mind E either as long as it's just not based on the smut

Here are some of my must read fanfics;

Demonology

Old vines

The false and the fair

Don't fall away from me

Telling tall tales

I have got "how do we turn on the light?" On my must read tab but I'm just waiting for more chapters to be released before I start because I can't handle the anticipation 😅

Thank you for reading and recommending fics if you decide to 🥰

Happy pride everyone!! 🏳️‍🌈

[goodomensao3tagoftheday]

[midnights-dragon]

I'm afraid, my friends, that we have reached the ending of the longest story I have ever had the pleasure of writing. The epilogue has just been posted after days of me procrastinating doing so, with my reluctance for this journey to end; but I hope that anyone who enjoys my work, loves this ending as much as I loved writing it, and that it can offer some much-needed comfort and catharsis.

Special thank you as always to @moriarty4life for the original idea to this story, you are WONDERFUL, and to my biggest cheerleader, @brokendoor16; and to all of my readers, much, much love! I hope to see you with my next story.

[nimbusalba]

Sometimes I fear (a good omens ficlet)

There’s a sensation here, between my sternum and my shoulder blades. I won’t say its name. And sometimes that sensation grows bigger and presses inside of me. And sometimes that pressure overwhelms me. And it crushes my lungs and my heart. And I can’t breathe. And I can’t move. And I can’t hide it. And it pushes against my ribs, shining, and its blistering heat scorches the inside of my chest. It must stay there, inside, for now. But sometimes I fear it spills out of me. Sometimes I fear you can feel it flowing out of me. Just a few strands of light and heat. Just the ones I can’t grab hold of in time. Sometimes I fear that if those few strands reach you, you won’t be able to hold your own load. 

Because I know there’s a sensation there, between your sternum and your shoulder blades. I won’t say its name. And I know that sometimes that sensation grows bigger and presses against your ribs. And I know you can’t breathe. And I know you can’t move. And I know you can’t hide it. And I know that because sometimes I can feel it seeping out of you. Just a few strands of light and heat. Just the ones you can’t grab hold of in time. And I fear that if those few strands touch me I won’t be able to hold my own load.

So I press down that sensation here, between my sternum and my shoulder blades. And I push it down. And I squeeze it. And I compress it until it’s just a small little ball I can handle. So I can breathe again. So I can move again. So I can hide it again. So it can’t grab hold of you. But it holds so much pressure, it’s so condensed, so dense, that sometimes I fear it’ll turn into a black hole here, between my sternum and my shoulder blades. Sometimes I fear it’ll suck everything I am until there is only a void inside of me. Until I can no longer feel anything ever again. 

And that might be a blessing. 

And that might be damnation.

Sometimes I fear there will come a day I won’t care if they know, either in Heaven or Hell. I hope there will come a day when we won’t need to pretend before Heaven or Hell. We are biding our time until then. I wonder which day will come first.

Sometimes I fear that day. 

Sometimes I dream of that day. 

The day when I won’t be able to hold it down, to press it, to condense it. And I will let it out. And it will blind me. And it will smother me. And it will burn me. And it will get hold of you not just with a few strands of light and heat, but with a flaming fire blasting out of my chest. And I will grab hold of you with my nails, and my mouth, and my body. And you won't be able to hold it down. And you will let it out. And it will blind you. And it will choke you. And it will scorch you. And it will get hold of me with a searing blaze bursting out of your chest. And you will grab hold of me with your hands, and your teeth, and your body. 

And we won’t be able to stop ourselves. 

And we won’t want to stop each other.

[plumbum-art]

@hibyefics and @plumbum-art proudly present

🚀🚀🚀

Launch Sequence

a M-rated prelude to the Relationship for Beginners series by @hibyefics

"It wasn't too much, though? Really?"

"Agh," said Crowley, butterflies still a riot in his belly. "I mean - yeah. Just takes some getting used to. The - spit.

[gleafer]

HAVE AT THEE!

I’m working on a new comic for my Patreon/Gleafer (several, actually, so jump on in, the water is fiiiiine) and I’m STOKED about this era!

“A King and His Castle”

Alternate universe that initially starts canon and then swerved sharply off course into a chased-by-demons-in-a-cemetery hellscape and a laudanum fueled demon babbling confessions and curses the whole time.

Weekly updates starting end of the month!

[crowleys-hips]

things i headcanon Crowley invented:

only one sock disappearing in the washer/dryer. you know the one

youtube ads

gum on shoes

that one wobbly wheel on every shopping cart

you know when you're in traffic and one lane is going faster than the one you're in, so you switch to that one, but now this one's going slower than the other? that. it's one he often regrets.

back when wired earbuds were a thing - only one of them going bad

Nessie - an accident. he went swimming in his snake form once and someone took a blurry picture

unsynced audio or subtitles on media

pineapple on pizza - he did it to piss of Aziraphale

instagram poetry

pens/markers than run out of ink by the 3rd day (i'm looking at you Sharpies)

airplane food

the very common phenomenon when you forget your old password, go to reset it, and then get told your "new password can't be the same as your old password"

long red light/short green light

shower knobs that can't ever get the right temperature, it's either 3rd degree burns or hypothermia

crocs

feel free to add your ownnn

[thatskindarough]

Crowley sprawled out on a couch bathing under a heat lamp…an essential component of proper snake care.

This piece was a commission from the wonderful @alphacentaurinebula for their friend @fellshish ‘s amazing and hilarious fic, Empirical study on the principles of snake care for Fells’ birthday! It was a lot of fun to work on, happy birthday my friend!

[foolishlovers]

Where a Canvas Blooms by foolishlovers

It’s an Arrangement. Aziraphale knows this. He knows a lot of things, and others he doesn’t, but the most important things, he knows. He knows that the cheeky redhead in his arms smiles and purrs when he runs his fingers through his hair, knows that Crowley’s hands are rough from working outside, knows the softness of his heart. Aziraphale doesn’t know he’s in love with Crowley until he does. But it’s just an Arrangement. Is it? Part 1 of The Cuddle Arrangement

word count: 3.8k rating: T relevant tags: Human AU, Trans Aziraphale, Trans Crowley, Touch-Starved Aziraphale, Touch-Starved Crowley, Non-Sexual Intimacy, Cuddling & Snuggling, Comfort, Pining art by the wonderful @omens-for-ophelia

[scottishmushroom]

[goodomensafterdark]

Writers Guild Presents - Tethered - Ch 7 - Memories

Big thank you to @gleafer for accepting to let me use this piece as illustration to this chapter! Go support her on Patreon -we promise that your loins will catch on FIRE ;)

Written by NegotiationReal6508 on our subreddit!

Chapter 7 of work in progress

TW/CW: Angst, Discussion of attempted suicide, implied character death, panic attack, some light smut.

Summary:

Crowley wakes up in a mental hospital with no memory of how he got there. Without his demonic powers, neither the doctors, nor the people who claim to be his family will believe he is who he says he is. With the evidence against him mounting, his only lifeline to the real world is a cryptic note left by an unseen messenger. The longer he stays in this hospital, the harder it becomes to recall for sure, is Crowley really a demon of Hell? Or has his entire existence been nothing more than a delusion conjured by a grieving mind?

Excerpt:

Crowley stood in a noisy airport at the arrivals gate holding a bouquet of red roses, fidgeting nervously. All of his usual laidback swagger was buried under a blanket of anxiety, his spine was a solid metal rod. He was always a little bouncy when Aziraphale came to visit, but this time was different. Crowley hopped his feet up and down like the floor was burning hot sand. He juggled the little box in his jacket pocket as he stared at the sliding glass doors, willing the familiar head of blond hair to appear through them. Were the roses too cliché? Maybe he should have gotten the peonies instead. Too late now.

“There, I see him.” Crowley turned to the young man beside him. “Are you recording?”

“Yeah, it's on,” said Adam.

“Right, here he comes.” Crowley shook out his shoulders and trilled his lips. He knew he looked ridiculous, but it was an airport; no one ever looked their best at an airport. He moved towards the beacon that was Aziraphale’s gleaming smile. His heart thudded like hoofbeats in his chest. Breathe, he reminded himself. Breathing and walking, those were the two main requirements at the moment. He had no idea what his facial expression was, he just hoped he was smiling too. God, Aziraphale was so gorgeous, even after eight hours on a plane. How was that even possible?

“Hello, my darling!” Aziraphale greeted him.

“Hi,” said Crowley, because that was about as eloquent as he could manage. He unceremoniously handed the bouquet to Aziraphale.

“Oh my!” Aziraphale chuckled. “Flowers? What's the occasion?”

And there was Crowley’s opening. Aziraphale was reaching out his arms for an embrace but Crowley needed to do what he came to do first. He bent down on one knee, and pulled the little box from his pocket.

Continue reading on AO3

Or start from chapter 1 - Dies Lunae

Special thanks to my beautiful betas: u/KotiasCamorra, u/Paperclip_Ninja