#Yes it is a good omens fic

[retro-memo]

When you're working on a wip and you're down to the last three lines but they the words aren't being words

[mrghostrat]

you've had too much of the digital love you want everything live, you want things you can touch you want something bizarre, old conceptual cars you want girls dressed in drag, you want boys with guitars you go ask your questions like, "what makes a man?" oh, it's 2020 so it's time to change that so you go make an album and call it dreamland

(au: spending his 50th birthday alone in lockdown forces semi-retired rockstar crowley to face all the thoughts he normally buries with distractions. when he realises all his life regrets are just confusion around his sexuality, songwriting his feelings is the only thing that seems to help, but he doesn't have the understanding to figure it out on his own. even though they haven't spoken since graduation 30 years ago, crowley knows his old school friend aziraphale is the one person who'll be able to figure him out)

[screamingfrenchfries]

my mom, ranting about politics: ...and that's why the woke left is destroying our society.

me, with a fanfic tab open in front of me, trying to read gay porn: uh huh, yeah sure mom.

[maines]

“Afraid you’ll fall in love with me?” Aziraphale finally relinquished his grip on the basin to playfully rap a knuckle against the white marble. “Yes, something like that.”

» GOOD OMENS FANFICTION SERIES (1/?) ↳ big name feelings by @mrghostrat (read here)

@pscentral event 24: team tools art credit: [1] [2] emotes ios template discord template by @danesdehaan supercorp fanfic series

[fearandhatred]

it's going to be so hot when aziraphale finally lets go of all the anxiety he has about being with crowley and we can see him just. fully confident in their relationship and also in general. SO hot

[p4nishers]

there's something i need to say and yall can boo me for it but deep in my heart i'll always know i'm correct: crowley already forgave aziraphale. like already would take him back at one flutter of his eyelashes. that's all.

[lineffability]

"I set up a suggestion box."

"You what?"

"I, I set up a suggestion box. In Heaven. For me, I mean, not for God, that would be-- uh. Well."

"That would be what?" Say it, angel.

"That... that would fall on deaf ears, I think." I still can't; it's sacrilege.

"Why did you do that?"

"The, the box?"

"Yeah."

"Do you not remember..? Well, I suppose you might not..."

"I do. I think I do."

"Then why do you ask?"

"Because... well, angel, I don't think you need one. Do you?"

"I'm just... trying, Crowley."

"And how's that working out for you? Any suggestions so far?"

"Yeah. Yeah, uh, one."

"What's it say?"

"It said: Resign, Archiraphale."

"Archiraphale, huh?"

"Yeah."

"I have a suggestion."

"You do?"

"Get rid of the suggestion box."

"..."

"You're the best suggestion they have, just by being up there. If they can't see that, see you, which of course they don't, then no suggestion they make will be worth a damn."

"Crowley..."

"Just. Be careful up there, Aziraphale. Pl-- Okay?"

"Yes. I am. Of course. Crowley, I... I miss you."

"Yeah." I miss you too. Angel, you have no idea...

"Is it okay-- Would it be too much to-- Can I contact you? Somehow?"

"...maybe. Yeah. I guess I could-- you could leave a note. I could set up a suggestion box."

"I don't want to make any suggestions. I just want to-- talk. And uh. Apologize. I want to apologize."

"Don't need a suggestion box for that. Just need an... er, an apology box."

"I'm sorry, Crowley. Look at me, please. I am so sorry. Let me explain?"

"I'm sorry, too. Okay. Okay, okay, okay. Don't make me regret this. You can leave a letter. Mailbox."

"Thank you. I will. I... need to go back, now."

"Sure. Archiraphale... wow, I can't believe they developed a sense of humor. Wait, take this."

"A note?"

"Mhm. For the suggestion box."

Insultors will be smitten. -- AZIraphale

"Thank you, Crowley. I don't think 'insultor'... thank you." Protecting me makes him so happy. Still?

"Sure." Always.

[seven-stars-in-his-palm]

loving you brings only heartaches (T)

(art previews! full art is here at this post by @doodleswithangie on tumblr. i also used her alt text!)

It's been 62 years since Aziraphale and Crowley’s disagreement in St James’ Park, and the world has entered a new era of flapper girls and arbitrary Prohibitions. After attempting to finally get in contact with the angel again, Crowley finds out Aziraphale has been accused of murdering Mr Howard, Soho staple and owner of the Harmony Emporium a few doors down...in his very own bookshop. It’s up to Aziraphale and Crowley to solve this mystery, or else they might be next.

the @go-minisode-minibang's reverse bang fic is finally here!! i claimed this piece of BRILLIANT art by @doodleswithangie of fem aziraphale and crowley in the 1920s, and i turned it into a silly yet serious murder mystery. i will say, i loved working with this piece and agonizing over getting it right! i hope y’all enjoy it, and PLEASE go over and look at the full art both on ao3 and her tumblr post! i love it SM!!!! <3

also: @deerpines i promise i'd tag so i will :)

[knifeforkspooncup]

@voluptatiscausa so you kinda maybe gassed me up so hard earlier that I kinda maybe went home and wrote another poem for u (well mostly for me but, also for u!).

But first, context:

----- Spicy poem under the cut! Beware! -----

[itsscottiesstark]

Getting interrupted when reading the first frisky scene 100k words into a 400k words slow-burn is the worst kind of c*ckblocking there is, change my mind.

[crowleys-hips]

every goddamn year, i'm forced to accompany my family to church on xmas eve. because tradition or whatever. and if i don't i'd probably be disowned or something so i don't risk it. but this year, i slipped out with the excuse of a headache, and i went to sit on one of the benches in the garden outside the entrance. so, i just spent an entire hour writing extremely detailed angel/demon smut. right outside a church. i hope you're proud of me GO fandom.

[fizzingrubies]

WIP I've been working on for a while but don't think I'm ever going to quite finish:

GI(G)GS phasmo, but none of them are quite as normal as they seem (and they all think they're the only weird guy).

Impulse and Skizz are a demon/angel duo who help each other out when one of them can't human correctly (both of them like humanity a little too much to do their real jobs correctly).

Grian watches. He also Watches. He doesn't have control issues, really.

Scar is a Vex/Fae who could've gone into law like Cub, but instead uses his talent for wiggling out of contracts preventing the ghouls and demons from following them home.

Gem is a time traveller and the real reason none of them have died yet (Yes she's absolutely fine, witnessing her friends die again and again has not impacted her mental stability at all what are you talking about SHUT UP)

[onceuponapuffin]

Fanatic Intervention Part 7!!!

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It will not surprise you at all, dear Reader, to learn that Aziraphale keeps very little in his kitchen cupboards. There is no stove or oven, and the only thing in the fridge is milk (for his tea no doubt). When you start opening cupboards, you find one pack of custard creams, and a second one of chocolate digestives. Well, it will have to do. You find yourself a small plate and fill it half and half before heading back into the shop just in time to say goodbye to Anathema and Newt.

As they leave, you turn to the supernatural entities in the room.

“So,” You say, “If we’re going to the States, then we have a few problems. First, I don’t have my passport or any ID at all, so airport security is going to be fun. Second, I have no money. Third, I’m gonna need a Walmart or something because I don’t even have a toothbrush, my dudes. Fourth, these,” You indicate the cookies, “are fine for a snack, but overall they’re not gonna cut it.”

“You just leave the airport security to us,” Aziraphale replies. You make a note that he glided right past ‘my dudes,’ they’re getting used to you already. Dammit. “As for the rest of it,” Aziraphale continues, “I suppose a trip to Tesco’s is in order.”

Crowley produces a shiny black credit card from nowhere and hands it to you. “We’ll take the Bentley,” he says. He starts to stand, but you shake your head.

“Nuh-uh, you both stay here,” You say. Crowley raises his eyebrow.

“You realize we can take care of ourselves,” he says, “We’ve been doing it for a few millennia.”

“I’m not talking about that,” You say, “Look, what we’re going into is really dangerous. And I know that your pattern is to just wait to talk about things until you’re in the clear, but that’s not a good idea anymore. I mean, I get that I’m not exactly an expert, but I read just as much as you do and I’ve heard a million stories by this point in my life, and in NONE of them do people ever say ‘I’m so glad I never told them how I feel’ - you know? It’s always ‘I wish I would have’ or ‘I should have told them every day.’ So Muriel and I will go ask Maggie to take us to Tesco, and you two need to talk. Please. While it’s safe, while you have the chance, before things get dangerous and possibly deadly.”

Crowley and Aziraphale are silent. You notice that they aren’t looking at each other. Well, you’ve done your best. Now you need to trust them.

At this point, dear Reader, you are probably thinking to yourself ‘well I would snoop and spy on them while they talk! I want to watch them make out!’ But here is the thing – in this world they are real people, not characters. It’s one thing to say that you would creep on them from the other side of this fiction, but when they’re very real and looking at you in person, things are a little different. For one thing, you realize that real people deserve things like boundaries and privacy, especially for sensitive conversations.

And so, you take Muriel over to Maggie’s shop, where you explain that Mr. Fell has sent the two of you on an errand and you need to stop for dinner somewhere and have no idea where anything is. You flash her the credit card and say ‘It’s all on me,’ and she conveniently agrees with a look on her face that says something like ‘least they could do after all that shit they put us through.’

So the three of you go for dinner at the nearest Weatherspoons, where you and Maggie eat while Muriel watches in morbid fascination. Then you all take the bus to Tesco where you buy yourself a small wardrobe, and manage to coax Muriel into some light blue jeans and an argyle jumper so they look a little less like the Beacon of Gondor. You quickly find out that Muriel has an adorable fascination with fuzzy socks, novelty mugs, and coloured pencils. Of course, you enable their fascinations with a happy heart, and as an afterthought, you grab them a small pot of orange daisies from the flower section. It will give them something alive to tend to while you’re gone. Muriel appreciates the thought. All in all, it’s a long but good time.

You don’t know about the talk, and you’re worried about asking when you get back.

THAT BEING SAID

You and I, dear Reader, not actually being in that world, are allowed certain privileges.

The bookshop is silent for a long time. Both of them are thinking, digesting, processing. Feelings are hard to feel, and harder to put into words. Especially when it has been made clear, twice now in the span of a number of hours, that you absolutely need to put them into words.

It isn’t until after Crowley notices you, Muriel, and Maggie heading down the street that he stands up and begins to pace. A few more minutes pass before he speaks.

“So...uhm...are you going to go first or should I?”

“Are we...are we actually going to do this? Have this talk I mean?” Aziraphale has been shelving books to try and take the edge off. Now he puts down the book in his hands and absent-mindedly fidgets with his ring.

“Well, I mean we don’t have to,” Crowley says, aiming for non-chalance and missing ever-so-slightly, “No one can actually make us.”

“Yes, except it feels very much like everyone is trying to.”

“Trying is the key word there.”

“That’s true enough I suppose.”

The silence returns and stretches. It is anything but comfortable. The air is full of words that they have been told they should say, words that perhaps they want to say, but words that have been dammed up with fear and uncertainty for so long now that they’ve become very hard to un-stick. After a while, Aziraphale clears his throat and speaks.

“I, erm, I suppose you had better go first.”

“Me, right, okay.” Crowley clears his throat now and stops his pacing near the desk. He looks down at the scattered papers and books, the pens and photos and newspaper clippings. The assorted clutter of Aziraphale’s life. Looking away makes it easier to start. He takes a breath. “Um..right...well...we’ve known each other a long time. We’ve been on this planet a long time – you and me, I mean. I’ve always been able to rely on you, and you’ve always relied on me,” another breath, “We’re a team, yeah? A group of the two of us. And...erm...we pretend that we aren’t. Always have. Safer that way I guess.” He looks up at Aziraphale. The angel isn’t looking at him, but he nods anyway to show that he’s listening. Crowley continues. “And I mean...I’ve tried not to think about it much before but...but it would be nice, I mean, UGH” He takes off his sunglasses and rubs a hand over his eyes as though he can massage the words and make them easier to say. “I mean, I would like to spend...mmm….I would like to spend the rest not pretending anymore. Be an us. I mean,” suddenly the dam breaks, and Crowley finds the words come tumbling out, “If Gabriel and Beelzebub can do it, we can. We don’t need Heaven or Hell, they’re both toxic. We can be an us, on our side. You and me. What do you say?” He looks at Aziraphale without reservation now. His angel looks back at him, eyes wide. When he does speak, it’s with a smile and a small nod of acknowledgment rather than agreement.

“That was very well done Crowley,” he says. This isn’t an answer.

“Nnyeah, thanks. Your turn though.”

“Right, I suppose it is.” Aziraphale takes a moment to gather himself. After hearing Crowley be so open about this, he feels more resolved himself to do this properly. He faces Crowley and folds his hands to keep himself grounded. “Crowley,” he begins, “I...I wish that this conversation were happening under better circumstances. Although it’s been pointed out that ideal circumstances aren’t a promise that we can wait around for. Well, the thing is that I would like the same thing. Very much in fact. My biggest concern by far is for your safety because, well, frankly I don’t see the point in saving the world again if you’re not around to enjoy it with me. An us, as you said. You and me.” He smiles. Crowley smiles.

“Guess we’d better save the world together then. And try not to die.”

“Yes, quite.”

“Aziraphale?”

“Yes, Crowley?”

“You’re my angel. No one else.”

“And you, my wiley serpent. No one else.”

The shop bell dings.

“We’re baaaaaack!” You sing as you waltz through the door, shopping bags in hand. Muriel follows after you, carefully carrying their daisies. “Did you miss us?”

When you eventually get the courage to ask them about their talk later, you get a “ngk” from Crowley, and a “We’ve said all that needs to be said, for now.” from Aziraphale. And that, you suppose, will have to do.

❤️ ❤️ ❤️ ❤️ 🖤

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[scrambledslut]

WHAT IS WITH THESE HOMOSEXUALS REFUSING TO RUN AWAY WITH THE LOVE OF THEIR LIVES

[leupagus]

Still working on the "No Seriously, If Crowley and Aziraphale Ever Did Have Sex, They'd Have So Many Weird Conversations About It First" fic

"You already have a penis?" Aziraphale demanded, his hands on his hips. "Since when?"

Crowley tried to recall. "Turn of the nineteenth, I think?" he ventured. There'd been a fountain, and a lot of wine, and Jane challenging him to see which of them could hit the fish statue in the middle.* Afterwards he'd kept it — it was fun, being able to take a piss if you felt like it. Not to mention you could stir up a lot of trouble in public toilets if you were in a mood.**

"Really?" Aziraphale looked halfway between surprised and intrigued. "Don't you find it a bit — floppy?"

"Eh, a bit," Crowley admitted. "But they do amazing things with underpants these days."

Aziraphale laughed, the startled hiccough he gave sometimes when he wasn't quite ready to be out of his sulk. It was one of Crowley's favorite noises. "Very well," he said, adjusting his waistcoat. "Let's have a look."

"What? No," said Crowley. He'd been looking forward to showing off his cock at some point, but Aziraphale was eyeing him like the Queen about to inspect the troops.

"Why not?" Aziraphale whinged, his lower lip puckering dangerously near a pout. "We're going to have to take our clothes off when we have sex. Unless — actually, I think that's on the list of kinks, you know, sex with your clothes on, but it seems terribly awkward, not to mention you'd have to get everything cleaned afterward. Although I do have a rather good 'dry cleaner,'" he made the inverted commas with his fingers and everything, "Who's an absolute miracle worker." He paused. "Well, not a real one. At any rate, come along." And he gestured at Crowley's crotch.

Crowley, who'd had millennia of practice with Aziraphale's careening monologues, was still halfway through unbuckling his belt before his brain caught up. "I'm not pulling my cock out in the middle of your bookshop," he said — with absolutely perfect timing, since Muriel chose that moment to come bustling in.

They stood frozen for a moment, blinking at both of them as they clutched at the doorframe. "I think I, erm, heard a… noise?" They smiled, and backed out slowly. "I should go. And check, on the noise, because noises are sometimes indicators of—" Whatever else they were saying was lost with the slamming of the door.

"Small mercies," Aziraphale huffed, and wriggled his fingers; the sign on the door flipped to "CLOSED" and the door locked with a pointed flourish. "Now then!"

*Neither of them had, and it had nearly gotten them arrested, all the moreso since they'd been in Spain at the time.

**With or without an anus.

[foolishlovers]

good game, good girl by foolishlovers (E, 5.1k, complete)

After Crowley's amateur football team secures a victory, she finds herself distracted by thoughts of her gorgeous coach, Aziraphale. Back in her hostel room, Crowley indulges in her daydreams, though a sharp knock interrupts her reverie just as her fantasies start to escalate. Aziraphale is there to discuss tactics, but could a different kind of game be on the table?