#Crowley whump

[gallifreyshawkeye]

Writer's Guild Presents: Take Me Home

Take Me Home

(M), TW: Graphic Violence (for real), gunshot injuries

Tags: Crowley whump, BAMF Aziraphale, hurt/comfort, Ineffable Husbands

Artwork by Bluhtack

Summary: When a crossroads demon tries to cheat a teenager out of his soul, Crowley ruins the deal. But a ruined contract means no more contracts, and to Arax and his other crossroads buddies, Crowley is to blame. Which is how Crowley finds himself deep in the middle of the Appalachian Mountains facing a type of violence he is utterly unprepared for. A good thing Aziraphale is more than willing to brazenly walk into Dagon's office in Hell and demand to deal, in order to rescue HIS very precious demon.

Excerpt: For a brief moment, Crowley heard the sounds of insects and night animals as they scurried through the undergrowth. A flock of bats burst up from somewhere.

He just wanted to be back in his and Aziraphale's small, unassuming house they’d rented for two months, sprawled on the couch like he’d planned, doing nothing on purpose besides slowing his body down with all the windows open, and Aziraphale to specifically lounge on for his pillow.

But no. Instead, he was captured by crossroads demons and was being tortured in a difficult-to-track location, beyond discorporation, by means he had never experienced before. Read more on AO3

@goodomensafterdark

[gingiekittycat]

New Good Omens fic...

Crying's Not For Me

Rating: Explicit (Please read the tags!)

Chapter: 1/2

Excerpt:

Gabriel grabs both of Crowley's wrists. It takes him a few tries—at least Crowley can say that much for his own self-defense skills—before he forces them back onto the bed. He holds them on either side of Crowley’s head, breathing on Crowley’s face, his deep violet eyes raking over Crowley's own. He licks his lips, the upper, the lower. 

And then suddenly, he lets go.

“That’s right,” Gabriel says, the words softly thunderous. “Hit me again.”

Read on AO3

***

Who ordered Crowley/Gabriel whump? No one? Oh well, here's some anyway! Read the tags and enjoy (or, you know, come cry at me).

There will be two chapters total, the second featuring Aziraphale. Chapter 2 will be posted in a couple of days (gotta do that last read-through so I can edit things that I've already changed 5 times...).

[ineffableclassics]

Imponere: latin, meaning to place, or to fix. The root word for imping.

Imping: the process of replacing missing feathers with that of a donor.

Aziraphale finally is the one to come to Crowley's aid. When he sees the damage done to the demon's wings, he begins to help without a passing thought, much to Crowley's disbelief. The demon's terror at the thought of Aziraphale coming to harm from the selfless act nearly stops him from accepting his help, but as soon as he feels the angel's touch on his wings, there was no possibility of stopping him.

Their relationship morphs and blossoms into so much more.

Words: 20,069

Status: Incomplete

Rating: Explicit

@depraveddame

Art Credit: Peacock and Hunting Trophies by Jan Baptist Weenix

[highspeeddemon]

THANK YOU(!!) to the incredibly talented Zoey @vavoom-sorted-art for these stunning comic panels, which are based on Act 1 of my #goodomens fic Contrition on AO3. Come get your Crowley!Whump as well as nearly 300K words of rebellion, tyranny, espionage, perseverance, and an irrefutable unconquerable love.

[notfeelingthyaster]

we've gone through raphael, lucifer, and now baraquiel for names to pre-fall/angel crowley, BUT WHAT IF, what if the J in his "middle name" that "doesn't stand for anything" actually stands for his angel name as an indication of Something™

[aceofwhump]

Do you have any Crowley whump? (in fanfics too)

Heck yeah I do!! Season 2 has got me all abuzz about Crowley whump so I've got a whole bunch of new fics to rec.

As for canon whump there's not a lot but there are angsty moments. I've got several reblogs you can look at in the good omens tag here: https://aceofwhump.tumblr.com/tagged/good%20omens

Here are some of my favorite fanfictions I've read:

Five Times Aziraphale Saves Crowley (And One Time He Fails) by Captain_Kieren

Crowley's Armageddon and Recovery by Wolfgirl4vr

Somebody to Love by McRaider

my first Good Omens fic please be gentle by taylor_tut

Suspendin' Gravity by ahyperactivehero (ahyperactiverhero)

Black Lines by Eladriel

Holy Mistakes by winterspirit13

A Burning Thing by spinninginfinityboy

I Stretch Out My Hands by sherlocktheholmes

My Life With You Means Everything, So I Won't Give Up That Easily by PositivePumpkin

Palliative Practices by VerdantVulpus 

Crowleys a snake, and snakes dont sweat/are cold blooded. No way to internally regulate temperature. So maybe something about that? Overheating in the gardens or something?

Can you do a piece where Crowley is accidentally burned by the holy water Aziraphale gave him, and while it isn't enough to kill him he's hurt real bad and Aziraphale feels super guilty? I love your blog!

Hell Freezes Over by lilac341

[thescholarlystrumpet]

Inspired by the Angst Battle on @goodomensafterdark and specifically by @vavoom-sorted-art (this gorgeous story)

A little bittersweet aftercare between Demon and Angel:

Wounds Unseen

Rated T

They were home. Hell was far behind them.

Well, beneath them. Far, far beneath.

But it wouldn’t leave his skin.

Crowley had showered and bathed multiple times since leaving. Aziraphale had run the very first bath, in fact. Water slightly tepid and scented with soothing oils. The Angel had murmured soft, gentle nonsense as he slowly rinsed the soot away. He had changed out the water for fresh, keeping the room itself humid as a greenhouse, and washed Crowley’s hair by hand.

When the demon rose from the bath, he’d been enfolded in a towel that may as well have been made of clouds. Aziraphale taking pains to dry him with the same careful but thorough efficiency.

They’d lay down together afterward on the rarely used bed above the bookshop. Two well worn bodies made of human flesh and star stuff in equal measure. Skin to skin beneath a quilt the Angel must have had for decades. Perhaps a century or more.

Crowley could barely speak, his hands curled into fists, into claws he could not yet unfurl. He knew he was clean and pink and shining from his Angel’s attentions. He knew the body beside his was radiating love. But the taste in his mouth was still ash and brimstone.

CONTINUE ON AO3

[spicypotstickerbliss]

Finally posted my @fandomtrumpshate contribution for the lovely @sparkkeyper !

Summary:

The whole shop reeked of occult blood. For a moment, Aziraphale worried that hell or heaven had sent an ancient being to collect him.

Then, he registered the long, scaly tail flicking in distress and the anguished rasping coming from the creature.

This was no foreigner, this was the demon Aziraphale would know even in death.

But what had happened to him?

“Crowley?” Aziraphale inched forward, one hand outstretched. “Are you hurt?”

Claws scraped at the hardwood floors in distress and Crowley let out a low whimper.

When Aziraphale got too close, sharp teeth snapped and eyes flashed. He backed away, “Shhh, it’s going to be alright, I’ll—” From his new vantage point, Aziraphale could see the way dark liquid pooled beneath Crowley’s curled underbelly, “Oh my.”

Or: Crowley reverts to his true form after a battle with a few wayward demons. Aziraphale must find a way to care for him in the aftermath.

[depraveddame]

After what felt like an eternity, Crowley finally got the door open and fell into the driver's seat; he slammed the door shut as he buried his face in quaking hands.

[We can start with an easy one.]

"FUCK, SHUT UP!" the gardener roared as he slammed his palms onto the steering wheel with such violent force that splintering pain shot up through his wrists; his strangled yelp broke into a fractured, wavering gasp as he struggled to breathe through the stinging agony.

[...slut.]

"Fuck," Crowley whimpered as he fought back tears, but he was fucking crying again, and his hands ached, and he wanted to just run back into the church and tell that perfect priest that he needed to cancel because he didn't deserve it; he didn't deserve to be around Aziraphale. He was dirty, he was broken, he was tainted, and the last thing he should be doing was getting near anyone as good as Father Fell.

- Excerpt from chapter 2 of Vine Slips of a Strange God, illustration by @zivilzz ✨

[goodomens-girlie]

1920s Crowley is not a want it’s a need

[qbten-blog]

Hiii everyone, I am looking for a good omens fic I read some time ago, but I cant seem to find it anymore.

What I can remember is that Crowley has a new neighbour, a seemingly nice girl, but turns out she is a demon hunter and has it out for Crowley. She burns incense or sage in her appartment, and I believe Aziraphale at one point visits her to ask if she could maybe burn a little less because Crowley is "allergic". Things go south from there.

Anyone happen to know this fic? :) thanks!

[aziraphales-library]

Hello lovely mods, just wanted to start by saying a big thank you to you all 💖 Do you happen to have any new fics for Crowley being summoned? The whumpier the better! Have a great day 💖

Hi! We have #summoning and #demon summoning tags. Here are some more whumpy fics to add...

Valley of Darkness by EdosianOrchids901 (M)

A summoning interrupts plans to see the newly-popular Hamlet. Can Aziraphale rescue Crowley and deal with his injuries?

A Flat Circle by cassieoh, EdosianOrchids901 (M)

Hell is full of rumors about demons vanishing and coming back haunted by whatever happened to them. Crowley isn’t convinced, but his opinion quickly changes when he’s summoned for the first time. Will Aziraphale rescue him?

Ensnared by Bazzpop, EdosianOrchids901 (M)

Something heavy and blunt slammed into the side of Crowley’s head, hard enough that it made his ears ring and pain erupt through his temple. He staggered for a moment, blinking rapidly, clearly fighting the urge to pass out with a disoriented groan, before ultimately crumpling onto the stone floor in a heap. Well, so much for trying to talk his way out of this one. — A rather nasty summoning leaves Crowley injured, weak, and in dire need of help. His only hope for escape relies heavily on Aziraphale’s involvement in busting him out, but will help arrive before it’s too late?

may love thrive in hiding by Melime (M)

Only a few years after being given the Holy Water by Aziraphale, Crowley is faced with a threat he hadn't expected. He's summoned by a human wishing to gain eternal life, and that man won't take no for an answer. Meanwhile, Aziraphale overhears a conversation at an occult bookshop that makes him worry for Crowley. By the time Aziraphale finds him, Crowley is severely injured and may beyond hope for healing, but his love won't allow Aziraphale to stop trying. Can Aziraphale find a way to save him, or is he too late?

Six/six/six by Nyariewen (T)

It's 2006. A new films is coming out on a peculiar date due Crowley's involvement. Aziraphale has a bad omen about it. And he's right.

A Very Unfortunate Whumptober by theRavenMuse (E)

Crowley gets summoned by a nasty human and his whumptober only goes downhill from there. This is one cohesive fic with each chapter filling the prompt while building on all of the previous ones. This is NOT a series of one shots.

- Mod D

[theprophetizaiah]

Achilles Come Down | Chapter 1: Pain As a Motive

Summary: Crowley believes Aziraphale died in the bookshop fire. Now, he's sending the armies of hell to avenge him. Based loosely on the story of Achilles and Patroclus.

Warning: None for this chapter! (Aside from some foul language)

Word count: 1.5k (this chapter)

All chapters should be available here! (I haven't written on Tumblr in many moons please forgive me)

To read on AO3, check out my work here!

Crowley burned in the hell he imagined he’d always belonged in. Ashes rained from the heavens. Burning paper engulfed his senses. Black smoke burned in his eyes. He breathed in his dead lover. Misery. Misery for the rest of eternity.

“Somebody killed my best friend!” he was somewhere between a yell and a sob. “Bastards!” Between fury and agony.

They spent the last 6,000 years toeing the line between best friends and lovers. Dining at the Ritz, feeding ducks, saving each other from mortal peril, you know, as friends do. Crowley would know him in any lifetime. From the weight of his step, the smell of his hair, the sound of his breath (it would skip and stutter when he had thought of something clever). The air around Aziraphale was always heavy, but not in the manner of suffocation. Rather, his aura was a heavy wool blanket. Warm, grounded, homey. The closest thing Crowley ever really had to a home.

Before the apocalypse, Crowley recalled their drunken ramblings. Amidst the whiffs of red wine, he remembered how he smelled. Like earl grey, oak, and bourbon: something his barber suggested. He also always smelled a bit like paper. It made the burning around Crowley all the more unbearable. Anthony J. Crowley, fallen angel and Duke of Hell, reeling over the doing of a foreigner’s god. Certainly not the one he knew, or maybe exactly the one he knew.

He laid in the flames, thinking through his new reality. This was a rare moment of clarity for the distraught demon. Who killed him: heaven or hell? Either reality had some sense to it. Heaven could, and would, excommunicate him for working with a demon. Permanent discorporation, or banishment to hell. Hell would kill him just for the sake of it. Just to say they did. Racking his brain, he realized Hell was unfortunately, his best chance of finding Aziraphale, or at least what became of him. Crowley slowly creeped up from the ashen ground. He was unsure how much time had passed, but it seemed that the flames had slowed. In mere moments, he stared between the two escalators. He chose downward. As the escalator carried him into the dank, dark corridors, his anguish gnawed at him, clawing its war from the inside out. He allows a single tear, and immediately wipes it away. Only the damned cry in hell.

Crowley had stopped fighting for hell decades ago. In the presence of his angel, he saw no reason for it. He saw no reason to fill the world with more violence. The humans were better at that anyway. After his bout in Edinborough, he was promptly tortured for the next several decades. Crowley never saw the face of Satan, but he would give it an ethereal, firm uppercut the second he had the chance. He lost faith in his leadership, in the art of mass scale temptation. He preferred the gentle temptation of his beloved. Of asking him out to breakfast, bringing him wine, planting seeds of heavenly doubt in his mind. He thought often about the Greek myth of the origin of love. They were alone together at the edge of the universe, a body of eight limbs, four eyes, and a flutter of feathers. Whoever Crowley was, it was a product of the angel. Whoever Aziraphale was, it was Crowley’s collateral. And beautifully so, their symbiosis carried on through the centuries. The demon had the fight pulled out of him the way the angel unshelved his books. Carefully and with gentle hands. 

But now that he was gone, this was war. If he had nothing, he would still have Aziraphale, but if he didn’t have his angel, he had nothing. His fury craved battle, to make them hurt the same way he did. His wrath could summon the very same fire that had surrounded him in the hours prior. If his beloved really was gone, then he would destroy the heaven that took him.

Crowley barely managed his way through the crowds of demons slowly but surely trudging their way through the crowded corridors of hell. After passing the rest of the high offices he comes to the door of the one and only Beelzebub. For a moment, he questions if he should even knock, let alone open the door. He wonders if any of this is worth it in the first place. What if his Angel didn't care whatsoever about him? What if he didn’t need saving, or worse, he was already long gone? But in reality, he knew that wasn't the case. He’d be damned, more than he is already, if he let Aziraphale die knowing that he could have prevented it. Crowley gulps and burst open the door of Beelzebub's office. Demons were typically not known for their politeness. Inside, he sees Beelzebub sitting upon their throne, legs crossed fancifully, almost as if they were expecting him. Crowley's stomach turns at this realization. 

“How's it going up there?” Beelzebub asks. Crowley puts on his best front and looks Beelzebub dead in the eyes and lies:

 “Fantastic,” he says. “The Antichrist is mere moments from inciting the Apocalypse.” 

Beelzebub smirks. “Wonderful. Great job.” 

Crowley shudders ever so slightly. Not enough for anyone else to notice, but enough for him to feel a profound discomfort. He again looks to Beelzebub, “did you capture the angel? Is he here?”

Beelzebub looks confused. “What do you mean capture the angel?”

“Aziraphale,” Crowley starts. “The other angel that has worked in my same jurisdiction for six thousand years. Did you capture him?”

Beelzebub purses their lips, seemingly scanning their memory. Alas, still confused. “No… Why would you assume that? Why would we let him in here?” They began to look vaguely suspicious of their colleague.

 Crowley pulled something out of his ass. “I saw that the Bookshop was on fire,” he blurted out. “I could have only imagined that it was demonic intervention.” Beelzebub chuckled. 

“It's not always hellfire,” Crowley stifles a laugh, just enough for Beelzebub to think it's genuine. Beelzebub speaks up once more. “Yeah, I don't know about the angel. We don't have ‘im here.” Crowley takes a moment and a step back. He decides to tell the best lie that he's ever told, aside from the fact that he was not madly, disgustingly in love with a forbidden fruit. 

“I want that slimy bastard gone forever,” Crowley spits. “I want that fussy dumbarse to not be anywhere near God's green Earth.”

“Well, I know that much… What are you suggesting?” 

Crowley laughs disingenuously, but trying desperately to seem genuine. “I think we need to raid heaven.”

Beelzebub looks puzzled. “But why do we need to raid the heavens if we have already conquered the Earth, Crowley?” they said. “Why would we postpone destroying Earth to fight this war first?”

“That’s exactly it… they’ll never see it coming,” Crowley says. “We can start with the archangels: Gabriel, Michael, Uriel… There will be no one left to lead their army in such short order. Then we let the Earth burn, and winning their holy war will be easier than dropping the antichrist at the convent.”

His voice grows raspy. Crowley takes a deep breath. “It'll let them know once and for all that their God means nothing.” Crowley sits down in front of Beelzebub. They seem a bit more intrigued. Crowley describes a plot more ambitious than any of his plans to date: to invade the heavens. To crusade his lover’s workplace by summoning a demonic army, comprised of hundreds of damned souls. He plans to force them through the Gates of Heaven to slaughter any angels in their sight. Beelzebub loved this concept, and was almost surprised Crowley came up with it. But, he did dream up the Spanish Inquisition, after all (or so they thought).

“Honestly, why not?” Beelzebub smirks. “If we're all going to be separated for the rest of time anyway, this would be a fun way to go out. If they want us to fight this war, we ought to do it our way. Hell fights dirty.” As the flies buzzed among their crown, they grinned the way a child would when they had come up with the perfect prank. Except this wasn’t a prank. It was the end of the world. Of Crowley’s, at least.

Beelzebub grimaced. Crowley laughed. “Well, I'll go talk about it with head office, and we'll get it sorted. I want it done by the end of the day today. That sound alright?” Beelzebub nodded in excitement. Crowley seems giddy with anticipation but not in the way that you would imagine. The anxiety pulsed through his veins. He was setting into motion the divine war days earlier than was planned, all for a fussy angel he drank wine with one too many times. But at the same time, he knew this was his reality. Crowley couldn’t pretend he didn’t love him anymore. Not when he could be dead. If heaven wanted a war, they were going to get it, god dammit.

[ineffableclassics]

A.K.A. five times Crowley took a poison (for fun) and one time he really thought he would end his life forever

Words: 18,956

Status: Complete

Rating: Mature

@greediladyfoxie

Art credit : Car-Balick-Acid sheet music, 1905 edition ( Artist Unknown)

[the-amethyst-artist]

“We don’t talk about it, we don’t have the time. We thought love was something we weren’t meant to find. But now you’re a stranger, and I’m still July. But don’t you remember? August, honey, you were mine.” -August by Flipturn

I was overcome by the desire to draw Crowley’s eye today, not sure why! Should I draw Aziraphale’s next?

[rainbowroute]

How long will they keep you? How long can they?

‘I could always rely on you, but where are you now?’