#fictional!crowley

[gleafer]

Go read this wonderful fanfic and enjoy this accompanying art by yours truly!

[interstellarsystem]

Nonhumans are here, even if you do not see us. We always will be. We are often hard to spot, but can be found doing all the things a human might.

A cat went to work at an event stall for a mental health service.

A massive sea serpent wanted to go to science class because it enjoyed it more than the rest of those living in its shared form.

The void sat down, huddled up in a blanket, to watch a tv show with its partners. It had to stop watching after a bit, but enjoyed spending time with those close to it anyway.

A wolf went to a psychologist appointment and gratefully drank the hot chocolate they were offered in the waiting room.

A shapeshifting being of pure darkness spoke publicly about trans rights in front of politicians and then went to the pride festival he helped fight to keep alive.

A dragon went to school so the others sharing his human body could have a break.

A manifestation of the fear of madness itself sat in the food court at the mall eating mochi and drinking tea while waiting for its friends to get back from shopping.

A witch drew a picture of his cardinal bird and shared the work he was so proud of with his friends.

A cockatoo borrowed the next book in his favourite series from the school library and almost couldn't wait the whole day to go home and read it.

An alien went camping and watched the birds outside and the way the wind made waves and patterns on the water.

A fallen angel went shopping for sunglasses to shield his eyes from how bright the sun was.

A harpy went shopping for new plants to look after. He named a few because he loved them so much, and sent pictures to all of his friends.

An anthropomorphic hedgehog traded Pokemon cards with his peers at school. He was happy with his collection.

You may not see us, and you may feel alone, but you are not. We are just hidden. We are in more places than you'd think, and in the places you'd least expect. We are complex, we are valued, and we are here.

[sapphic-bats]

Warlock asks Nanny about it once.

She’s cutting apples for him, just the way he likes, and he’s gazing out of the window at the lush, green gardens that his mother so proudly upholds. Among the waxy leaves and spindly saplings, Brother Francis tends to the flora carefully, though Warlock’s quite sure he’s just taking certain leaves between his finger and his thumb, and studying them closely. But what did Warlock know about gardening?

He notices Nanny looking out those windows, too. Though she always gazes and stares with a deep intent, as if she only cares when she does, and it so happens that she never looks upon the garden empty.

What was that funny thing Nanny and Brother Francis had taught him? The thing that Nanny discouraged, to which Brother Francis promoted quite devoutly?

“Nanny, have you ever been married?”

Warlock knows what marriage is. After all, his parents are married, if you can call it that. They married, once, out of love. But it’s since faded. It’s more traditional, now. Out of convenience and a general apathy to trying again.

Nanny’s quick hand stills, blade edge flat against the cutting board. With her back turned to the young boy, he cannot make out her expression. He never can, what with her poised shades she wears pointedly upon her nose. But she speaks soon again.

“No,” she replies, simply.

Warlock considers this. “Do you ever want to be?”

Nanny, who had taken up the cutting again, pauses once more. She sets the knife against the board and tilts her chin towards Warlock. “Wherever have you learned such personal questions, dear?”

She’s not refusing to answer him. She never has. She just asks in true curiosity, and perhaps a slight avoidance. But Warlock’s eight, now, and he knows how to navigate her tricks.

“Where do you think?”

At that, she pauses, lips pursed with their consistent purple tint. The lipstick she wears, that faintly stains Warlock’s forehead when she kisses him goodnight and tucks him in after a bedtime story: often about a garden, or a bird that chirped too loudly, and was cast down to the ground by the other birds. One who became the kind bird of the grounds, and took in other reject birds that had fallen similarly.

She considers his answer a moment more, satisfied with the obvious influence she’s had on him. She turns back to the apple slices.

“Perhaps,” she answers.

There is quiet for a moment. He doesn’t mind, he’s grown up with Nanny at his side, and has become quite fond of the silence. It is where thoughts are made, she said once.

She finishes cutting the apples, and plates the sweet snack to serve to the boy. “What troubles you, dear? You seem awfully curious, all of the sudden.”

Not that she minds. Nanny never rejects curiosity.

“Nothing’s wrong, Nanny, it’s just—” he pauses, considers his next words and how to place them. “You look at Brother Francis a lot, and—”

Nanny interrupts him after an audible, suspicious gulp. “Who?”

He frowns, eyes boring into the back of her head. “You know Brother Francis.”

She seems quite comically nervous, like she’s pressed a wax-seal act over her true thoughts. “Oh, yes,” she decides, too much breath coming with her words. “The gardener.”

“You like him, Nanny.”

She turns, abruptly. “I most certainly do not!” Her voice comes out a tad shrill, though perhaps it’s just outrage and scandal.

Warlock narrows his eyes, perplexed. “But you look at him all of the time.”

“When has that ever had anything to do with- with love?” She struggles with the word.

The boy shrugs. “Mum and Dad don’t look at each other,” Warlock observes. “But Brother Francis looks for you, too.”

Nanny’s mouth, ready with a retort, or perhaps a counter-argument, flicks towards a different shape. One that might be, he does? Or perhaps Warlock is mistaken. She pauses, lips pursed again, and sets her teeth.

“I’m sure he does, love.”

The plate is set before him, and Warlock soon forgets his questions. He never asks Nanny again.

But he’s reminded of it when her eyes, barely visible in the light, flick towards the window into the dazzling garden.

Years later, Warlock is nearly sixteen, and has since let the thoughts from half his lifetime ago fade. They never die, just sort of… wait. Wait to be plucked again, notes of memory leaping from their tinny strings. Like a harp.

His mother takes him into town. Soho, where he has no interest in seeing, but his mother so desperately needs a new vinyl, a coffee, and though she never says it: a moment to get away from the house, or more specifically, her husband within it.

She agrees to let him wander. She trusts him, for all she hasn’t before. And perhaps, she says, the fresh, un-televised air could do him some good.

He’s only taken two steps out of the coffee shop, where his mother remains to await her tea, before he almost runs smack into two pedestrians, arm in arm. He takes a surprised jump back, tongue set with an angry scolding, when he gets a good look at them from behind.

“Nanny?”

They both freeze in unison, as if they both know the name, and the voice that has conjured it forth once more for the first time in five years. Warlock notices something else.

“Brother Francis?” He prods, shocked. “Izzat you?”

Both of the two now turn, and everything around the three fades into blurring colors and churning noises.

Warlock would be a rotten liar if he had said he hadn’t missed them dearly. He would also be a lousy boy if he didn’t recognize them by the backs of their heads alone, he thinks. Because he would know them anywhere. They’d always done a much better job at raising him than his own parents.

They both look different now. Brother Francis seems to have had dental work done, and has cleaned up quite nicely. Nanny, though, appears to have changed her style completely. Her- his? Their? Who knows. But she still sports a fine pair of shades upon the bridge of her nose.

The pair seem to stutter, splutter with a little awestruck surprise. It’s as if they’d never expected to see him again.

“Oh- Warlock,” Nanny Ashtoreth begins, feigning a cool-headed surprise. “How good to see you.”

She sounds different too. Less of a high strain on her voice, more natural.

But Warlock seems to finally feel a gear shift, and a puzzle piece clicks into place. He glances down to the space between the two, where their arms are linked.

In his dumbfounded state, he feels a smile split the trance.

They both see it at the same time, chins tilting to follow his gaze. When they catch where his eyes are, their stares mingle together in concern. It’s a look that wonders aloud whether or not they should be worried, or blatant.

Warlock looks back up to their faces. “I see now why you two left,” he adds, grinning wider.

He can’t help it. He was right all along.

Warlock remembers something, then. It takes all of his power not to burst out into a triumphant laugh.

“I’m sure he does,” he says, slyly.

Nanny’s eyes, illuminated from behind with daylight, widen. She remembers, too. Of course she does.

And she bites back a twinning smile.

[scottishmushroom]

[fellshish]

I love long haired femme presenting and genderfluid crowley to death but also i like to headcanon that the reason crowley is going for a more masc look and a short hairstyle in these modern times is because his feelings for aziraphale have risen more and more to the surface and his male presentation is a reflection of him seeing this as an inherently queer love that he wants to present as queer to the world

[riverthebooknerd]

okay but in aziraphale's defense, i would also 100% fall in love with crowley, agent of hell or not

LOOK AT HIM

[dont-tell-my-mom-im-here]

I keep seeing GO fics in which they use miracles for sex, which is nice y'know, love the creativity, but like, Heaven and Hell can see what they use miracles for right? So I just keep picturing like Michael or someone getting a notification and it's just like:

[AZIRAPHALE] removed Crowley's clothes

[AZIRAPHALE] miracled (1) penis

I mean no wonder they wanted to break them up.

[vroomvroomwee]

Do you want to comfort your fav fictional character because you love them and don't want them to be alone or do you want to do it because you see yourself in them and you project onto them and comforting them is the only way you can comfort yourself since you've always had to manage and take care of your own feelings and had to suffer alone and be the only one there for yourself? Hmm?

[milomilesmib]

Anyone else have that one character that they love seeing in outfits. You see them drawn in an outfit and you're like "wow! They're wearing an outfit!" And it just brings you so much joy because the outfit is so them

[yokohamama]

Borrowed Words

@sunrisesinthesuburbs created this wonderful fic, and I love it so much, I commissioned this fan art from the wonderful @allysketches.

[jennywebbyart]

I was inspired by @enabuns, all love be sent their way.

(Gender-bent)

[gleafer]

It is time for another part of our series “Metatron gets his comeuppance!”

Discorporation #7: Aziraphale’s turn

[wraithee]

Imagine if Aziraphale runs heaven like the bookshop and he’s just hanging out doing absolutely nothing but shuffling papers around to look busy while keeping inconsistent office hours and tracking Crowley back on earth all day long and stress snacking, and that’s what ends up ruining heavens plans for the second coming.

[beerok23]

Mandatory things you find in a proper Good Omens AU Fan Fic

Crowley being mesmerized by Aziraphale at first sight.

Absence or lack of communication that leads to crisis before a sappy resolution.

They are in love with each other and they both think the other can't be in love with them.

Shifting POVs to remind us that they both are idiots.

Aziraphale having problems with his appearance (for lack of self-confidence or induced by others) and Crowley managing to reassure Aziraphale for said insecurities.

Crowley inner thoughts being the funniest thing you'll ever read in your life.

The origin of the "Angel" nickname.

Wine, lots of wine.

Ngk. Ngk is always there - Neil and Terry's fault, because it's from the book, obviously.

Azi's manicured hands. Again, if you haven't read the book, I think you should.

Crowley's limbs or hips not being attached to his body when he walks.

Whatever their AU job is, you always have Crowley in love with plants and Aziraphale living for his books. The bookshop is a constant. The plants are always yelled at.

Stars ⭐️ 🌟 Crowley always loves Stars.

Aziraphale moaning while eating. That is a must have. Also, Crowley is never a great eater, but he loves coffee.

Crowley being or acting like a slut (that's not mandatory, sometimes he's just gorgeous).

A supportive friend on both side (Anathema, Muriel, Maggie, Nina, Tracy...).

Anathema and Newt always being a couple - which is great, because it shows how NOT tossic this fandom is, we all want the canon couples to be happy canon couples.

Gabriel being a dick (former lover, actual lover, older brother, villain...).

Very talkative sex :)

A happy ending - because we can't imagine a world where these two idiots don't end up together.

[scottishmushroom]

[majortomyourcurcuitsdead]

my dad in 2019 one day: have you seen the new TV show Good Omens? one character there reminds me of you 🙂

literally how i look: