elder millennial • she/her • sideblog to squirrel away my good omens-related unwellness & occasional scribblings
(pfp by kate beaton of hark! a vagrant)
My Good Omens fan fiction can be found on AO3 (all Aziraphale/Crowley).
Writing Tag: #qq writes
Recent Highlights:
please turn me on (i'm mr. coffee with an automatic drip)
🍾🛏 4.7K words, Rated E | Fic Post
Aziraphale and Crowley's first time in bed together goes about as smoothly as the rest of their relationship.
(They get there eventually.)
Features: bad sex (it gets better), bad puns (those do not improve), and emotional overwhelm.
stripped
🪴📚 9.2K words, Rated E | Fic Post
Aziraphale sneaks away from Heaven to check on his beloved bookshop. (No, he's not checking in on anyone… anything else, don't be ridiculous.)
He and Crowley end up baring their hearts to one another, among other things.
Features: accidental nudity, a load-bearing monstera plant, crying, actual conversations for once, and more crying (during sex).
talk that sexy talk to me
📞🗣️ 5.2K words, Rated E | Fic Post
Aziraphale and Crowley have an intimate phone conversation.
Crowley has a very normal time grape-stomping with Aziraphale.
Features: Ancient Rome, historically inspired phallic decor, scandalous ankles, pining and repression, and ill-conceived volcano metaphors.
and that will never change
🎭 🎀 7.8K words, Rated E | Fic Post
Two strangers (not really) have a chance (or perhaps not-so-chance) encounter at a masquerade ball.
Maybe this time, things will be different.
Features: 18th-century Versailles, plot-significant and thematically relevant accessories, historical romance vibes, fucking while pining, and adventures in unwell mental compartmentalization.
beach bums
🏖️🧴 11.3K words, Rated E | Fic Post
On a beach outing, Crowley has a clever plan to share an intimate moment with Aziraphale. This plan, of course, goes off without a hitch.
Features: a beach episode, sex pollen, disruptive seagulls, turbovirgin4turbovirgin, and a very put-upon limestone pillar.
black/white
👖🤯 1.8K words, Rated E | Fic Post
While lazing on a Sunday afternoon, Aziraphale takes care of Crowley.
Features: domestic fluff, domestic torture vortex (affectionate), Crowley's turtleneck, divine "inspiration," and dubious uses of Russian literature.
crowd me with love
💋🛗 2.5K words, Rated E | Fic Post
A lift is as good a place as any for a reunion.
Features: a classic trapped-in-an-elevator scenario, Crowley's very dramatic mindscape, and making up via making out.
feel the earthquake in the room
🌴✝️ 24.4K words, Rated E | Fic Post
The Second Coming is imminent. Aziraphale and Crowley, naturally, spend four days and three nights at a motel in Palm Springs dealing with their own issues.
Features: ineffective Messiah-minding, forced proximity, wet (as in their eyeballs) & messy (as in their behaviour), and the healing power of awkward-yet-tender boning.
how do you like them apples?
🍎🌳 4.9K words, Rated E | Fic Post
Aziraphale and Crowley adjust to a new arrival at their cottage.
Features: meddlesome buttons, an even more meddlesome apple tree, Crowley getting manhandled (funny), and Crowley getting manhandled (sexy).
it's time to play the music, it's time to light the lights
🤡 🧱 3.2K words, Rated T | Fic Post
Something strange is happening to Anthony J. Crowley. Well, more accurately, something strange is happening to everyone other than Crowley.
Features: cozy winter snuggles, cartoon character physics, fond reminiscence, and Muppets.
it was a graveyard smash
🪦🕯 666 words, Rated M | Fic Post
Aziraphale and Crowley indulge in a little ooky-spooky roleplay. (Well, Aziraphale indulges in the roleplay; Crowley mostly indulges Aziraphale.)
Features: thrills, chills, and... spills.
the new old-fashioned way
🍪🎄4.3K words, Rated E | Fic Post
The clock is ticking. The stakes are high. They've never been more incompetent.
Aziraphale and Crowley have themselves a holiday bake off.
Features: sexy baking (well, they think it's sexy), play acting at being hereditary enemies as enrichment, and a loving gift exchange... of sorts.
to the bone
🌦💦 7.4K words, Rated E | Fic Post
Crowley gets wet. Aziraphale kindly helps him with that.
Features: a rainstorm as a flimsy excuse for intricate rituals, romantic crossword puzzle clues, sexy fun with "effort" roulette, and a generous selection of intimate adult activities.
we shall have the world forever for our own
🏡🦩 63.7K words, Rated M
Fic Tag: #wshtwffoo
Aziraphale and Crowley have finally found their forever home after successfully ensuring there is still a “forever” to share. Surely they will integrate perfectly well amongst their new neighbours. Surely.
Features: South Downs Cottage, spats with senior citizens, silly little outfits, flamingos, hijinks and shenanigans, and lots of love.
truth is like blood underneath your fingernails, @sunkissed-strawberries / 'women kissing', jan sluijters / crowing like an everyday bird, @possibility-left / letter to lord alfred 'bosie' douglas, oscar wilde / something we were withholding made us weak, triedunture / 'since feeling is first', e. e. cummings / sunday afternoon, @chlorine-and-daisies / 'in bed, the kiss', henri de toulouse-lautrec / the parting glass, equistrianstatue + omnishambles / 'the light in the painting', lizzy mcalpine / and, so on / vanillarchive / romeo and juliet, william shakespeare / feel the earthquake in the room, @quitequaintrelle
GO Fan Fiction Friday 15 August 2026 - Love Confessions
After getting a love confession between Beelzebub and Gabriel, most fans anticipated one between our ineffables in the finale. Luckily, the fic writers have come through for us. Here are a few stories featuring love confessions between our favorite angel and demon.
In everything I've had but could not keep (T) by @eggysoupy, Crowley keeps confessing his love for Aziraphale before losing his memory. It's a poignant and sweet story of love against the pressures of heaven and hell.
A Masquerade in Every Sense of the Word (G) by @the-rogue-bard is a short ficlet in which Crowley turns up to a ball wearing the same costume as Aziraphale's friend Oscar Wilde. What will happen when Aziraphale starts talking about his true love to "Oscar?"
From my heart all love (T) by scienceblues, Crowley buys a punny card he knows Aziraphale will find cute. The angel takes it as a love confession, not that Crowley minds.
After Armageddon't, Aziraphale has a beaming confidence that draws the notice of flirty locals in Looking Good, Mr. Fell (M) by @copperplatebeech. Crowley isn't happy about it, and it spurs him to confess his feelings. This story has also been turned into a comic by @anotherwellkeptsecret.
In Madame Tracy Got Stuck in the Veil (E) by @0ldstoneface, Aziraphale gets haunted. Madame Tracy, who sensed his yearning when they shared bodies, refuses to leave the earthly plane until he confesses his feelings for Crowley.
Do you have a favorite love confession fic? Reblog and share it.
Remember, our wonderful writers and artists have been there for us since the beginning. Remember to show your gratitude by leaving kudos and comments.
I'll be back next week with a new, quirky theme. Follow me so you never miss out.
good omens fanfic writers throwback thursday~
in your own time
thank you @curiouspupsicle and @copperplatebeech for getting the ball rolling on throwback thursdays, and to @quitequaintrelle and @carry-the-sky for further inspiring me to participate!
there's so much i could say about this fic. i don't quite know what made me choose this one to talk about this week - maybe the fact that i was listening to the playlist i made for it yesterday.
this fic was written for the good omens song and poetry exchange, and the song i was given as my prompt was ain't no cure for love by leonard cohen. i'm a big fan of cohen's work, so i was excited to be given some material i knew i would be able to engage with. it took me a while to consider and plan out what i wanted to say based on this fic, but i eventually developed the concept as a second chance friends-to-lovers priest au.
this was the first fic i had ever actually planned out before writing! my standard practice until then was just to write what i felt like writing and see where the story went from there. i often had things i wanted to happen later on in my mind, but didn't commit to writing those things into actual outlines until this fic.
writing iyot showed me how beneficial planning can be when it comes to writing a longer story. now, i plan in much more detail for certain works, while i still make it up as i go along with others. it totally depends on the requirements and the vibe!
something that felt important for me to express in this fic was that aziraphale's discontent with his life as a catholic priest lay with the papal institution, and not with his personal relationship to god. i wanted him to know he didn't have to give up all sense of spirituality to leave the church (spoiler alert, but the 'happy ending' tag probably gives it away anyway!).
the response this fic received was totally unexpected and incredibly touching. this part of the last chapter, which @portraitofalonelydyke kindly made into this beautiful image, along with the cover you can see above, particularly resonated with readers:
i didn't expect this fic to have such an impact on people, and i'm really happy it did. looking back, my writing's come on since then, and there are definitely things i would do differently when it comes to style, but this is the story of mine that i probably enjoy rereading the most. i frequently look back on how much fun i had writing it, and that's partly why i chose to suggest a new second chance human au prompt to one of my fth bidders this year.
i've officially made 'in your own time' the start of a series on ao3 so i can put fics i've written with a similar philosophy all together. the fth human au i'm currently working on will be part of it when it's posted. here's the description of the series:
stories about human aziraphale and crowley finding their way, often unconventionally, into each other's arms and into better lives; deciding to be honest and take more active roles in their own presents and futures; letting themselves be loved for the first time.
Introducing my latest fic on Ao3! A post-canon, angsty, fluffy, funny sickfic in which Crowley gets the Black Plague. (1/5), E.
Summary:
It started, as many such cases often did, as a tickle.
Crowley woke up feeling it in the back of his throat the next morning and immediately knew he was fucked.
Not actually, yet; sure, the frog that had leapt and lodged itself between his tonsils and larynx was annoying and scratchy, but he could still ignore it.
He told himself he would find a way to burn it out before it could set up shop.
Yes, he was aware that particular statement went directly against his cold-bloodied reality, yes, that included keeping Aziraphale in the dark about the whole thing and no, Crowley wasn’t prepared to talk about it.
Aziraphale and Crowley moved to their cottage in the South Downs a little over a year ago, and think themselves out of trouble. They’re wrong. Six thousand years is a long time for everything not to happen at least once; and it’s all Crowley’s fault.
Thank you, @sakascal, for tagging me to share the last line I wrote in one of my WIPs!
I have been working on a gift exchange fic that's due at the end of August. I am glad I worked on this today, as my last, last line was deeply silly and would have given away a joke 😆. Instead, you get the relatively normal:
His fingers itched for the pommel of his sword.
No-pressure tags: @carry-the-sky, @possibility-left, @fifthstiel, @firelikestars, @ineffabildaddy @sunkissed-strawberries and anyone who wants to play, you know the drill ♡.
@quitequaintrelle, here is your first Emoji Prompt Ficlet!! 😍 It can be read here on AO3 but I’m also including it below the read more!! 🥰 Thank you so much for your prompt, friendo, this was a fun one!! I hope you like it!! Much love!! 🐍❤️
If you would like to prompt a ficlet of your own, choose a color emoji here or see the masterlist here for different categories of emojis… more are incoming!! ✨
With a put-upon sigh, Aziraphale eases back from where he’s been hunched at his antique desk in the bookshop, pouring over his meticulously kept account books. He leans gingerly back in his plush armchair, removing his tiny spectacles and folding the arms so they can sit flat on the little dish he keeps on his desktop for just that purpose. Hastily, he miracles away the twinge in neck from bending over and writing for hours on end, not wanting to give Crowley the excuse to tease him later over keeping redundant records of all the books he refuses to sell.
Unfortunately, he has a point. They are retired, after all.
(However, Aziraphale wouldn’t say no to the lovely massage that usually follows such fond ribbing.)
Looking around the empty bookshop for the first time in apparently quite a while, Aziraphale is surprised to see it’s getting on in the day, the last dregs of late afternoon sunlight filtering in through the large windows, onto the wide sill…
And directly onto the large black snake coiled there.
Aziraphale smiles to himself.
Since they averted the apocalypse and effectively moved in together, Crowley has taken to reverting to his snake form on Aziraphale’s self-imposed inventory days, taking advantage of the warm sun that pours into the main part of the shop and doesn’t make its way to his preferred human-shaped napping spot on the back room couch. He’s never been quite so comfortable around Aziraphale as to be in his other form before and the angel delights in the unspoken trust now being shown to him.
Gazing across the room at his serpentine lover, Aziraphale tilts his head, peering at the way the sunlight glints off Crowley’s smooth, black scales, and detecting just a hint of another color he hasn’t noticed before. Frowning to himself, Aziraphale stands, stretches, tugs down his cardigan, and wanders over to the window. Crowley lifts his diamond-shaped head imperceptibly from where it was resting his coils and slits his pretty yellow eyes at Aziraphale in sleepy acknowledgement.
“You have green in your scales,” Aziraphale declares, apropos of nothing, finally breaking the content silence of the last few hours.
Crowley blinks at him as if to say: …yeah, and?
And it’s true. The closer Aziraphale looks, the more distinctly he can make out the most subtle hints of emerald green undertones, more prominent where the scales overlap each other, not unlike the iridescent green of a beetle’s shell or the underside of a hummingbird’s wings.
(Aziraphale suspects Crowley would like one of those comparisons more than the other.)
The elusive green winks and twinkles in the sunlight as Crowley begins to move, slowly uncoiling himself, finally appearing to fully wake. He lifts his head more and swings it around to look curiously up at Aziraphale and, as the angel watches the snake’s sinuously smooth movements with admiring eyes, Aziraphale spies a little flick of Crowley’s snake tongue, appearing and disappearing in the same second.
“And your tongue is pink!” Aziraphale cries happily, delighted by this discovery.
At that, Crowley hisses in a decidedly irritated fashion. It most certainly is not! he seems to say with his eyes, now wider and all the more golden for it.
“Yes, it is,” Aziraphale insists, unable to smother his grin. “Bubblegum pink, as a matter of fact…”
Crowley’s tongue flashes out again, this time more likely in annoyance at Aziraphale’s choice of description, but the better view only serves to support Aziraphale’s statement.
Best not to share that particular observation.
“Well, a very intimidating pink, I should say,” Aziraphale hastens to assure him, trying not to laugh. “Yes, very demonic, I assure you.”
Crowley manages to roll his eyes where they reside on either side of his head, before apparently forgiving him in one, easing forward instead to flick his still pink tongue teasingly against Aziraphale’s hands where they’re clasped in front of his belly.
“Snakes smell with their tongues, don’t they?” Aziraphale muses, outstretching his fingers toward Crowley questioningly.
Crowley gives him a look that clearly conveys: duh, angel.
“I wonder what I smell like to you…” Aziraphale ponders out loud, and Crowley’s only answer is to bump his head against Aziraphale’s hand, apparently in search of a pet.
Stroking the top of his head with a fingertip, feeling cool, smooth scales against his skin, Aziraphale finds he rather adores the thought of Crowley - dozing happily in the window - with his tongue flicking out to scent the air every time Aziraphale bustles by doing one of his mundane tasks. He imagines he must smell rather like paper and dust, or some other non-appealing combination, but maybe he’ll ask Crowley once he’s changed back.
(Later tonight perhaps, when he’s inevitably snuggled up behind the warm curve of Aziraphale’s back with his human-shaped nose tucked in his favorite place behind the angel’s ear. Hm. Perhaps he smells good to him in his human form, as well.)
Tucking the pleasant thought away for later in the evening with a private smile, Aziraphale turns his attention back to the swaying snake in front of him, and strokes his hand down the back of Crowley’s head once more and then further down his body, tracing his glossy, green-black scales with a reverent and gentle touch.
“You really are quite lovely, my dear,” he murmurs warmly.
Crowley visibly preens at the praise, slithering happily in the window before - to Aziraphale’s surprise and delight - he begins to wind himself around the angel’s wrist, slowly but surely working his not inconsiderable length up his arm to drape himself over Aziraphale’s neck. Once settled, he stills there with the snake equivalent of a heavy sigh, before tucking his snout just under Aziraphale’s ear, right where he usually does in his human shape, and Aziraphale feels his heart swell in his chest. It’s not unlike wearing a particularly heavy and affectionate scarf and Aziraphale immediately adores the feeling.
“Well now, isn’t this simply -”
The tinkling of the bell above the shop door interrupts him, signaling the arrival of a very unwelcome, late afternoon customer.
Heaving a resigned sigh much different than Crowley’s, Aziraphale turns to greet the customer reluctantly, not giving a thought to his snake scarf.
“Good afternoon, madam! How may I -”
But he doesn’t even get to finish his question before the woman gets one look at the massive black snake draped over his shoulders, lets out a piercing scream, and runs right back out the door.
The bell jingles merrily behind her.
“Well,” Aziraphale says, pleased. “Not only are you an incredibly fashionable scarf…you provide excellent customer service, as well!”
Crowley’s pink tongue darts out to tickle his ear as his answering hiss sounds suspiciously like laughter.
thanks so much to everyone who’s ordered a zine so far
here’s a comic about crowley tempting st patrick and a depiction of the weather i experienced when i went to ireland for 3 months in college
Click HERE and HERE for parts 1 and 2. Let me tell you, there are some real bangers here in part 3. We're all gonna have a great time.
Under the cut: Twelve Terrific Tales To Tickle Your Funny Bone and maybe also your regular bone too oh my GOD who would say something like that
Too Hot for Heavenly Handling by @hollybennett123
“Those were tasteful nudes,” Aziraphale says sharply. Really, now. The rest he can just about tolerate, but this is getting quite silly. When he glances at Crowley, he finds him looking over at him in the besotted sort of way he tends to whenever Aziraphale is getting feisty. “Surely the Almighty would allow,” Aziraphale goes on, “or indeed encourage us to celebrate the glory of the design — ”
“You have been using the Heavenly-issued telephones to send lewd photographs to one another?” Uriel interrupts. “The phones you were issued aren’t equipped with an image-taking function.”
“Ah,” Aziraphale says.
(Crowley says yes to Heaven. He and Aziraphale enjoy three fornication-filled weeks there before they’re banished for good.)
The Angel Line by FancyTrinkets
The one in which Aziraphale purchases and listens to a pornographic audiobook that just so happens to be narrated by Crowley.
Aziraphale cringed and covered his face. This was going to be awful, and also thrilling, and he wasn't sure what he ought to be feeling about it, but there was a definite sense of vicarious shame.
Booty Call by emmagrant01
“It’s called a ‘butt dial,’ Angel. A ‘booty call’ is something else.”
Heaven on Wheels by @copperplatebeech
“You bought a Scoopy.”
“I did – it’s small and maneuverable, but plenty of room for you behind me – you’d just have to hang on tight, the way the Sergeant hung on to me and Mrs. Potts.”
The Scoopy was detestably cute, and had a sparkling clearcoat finish in a limpid sea-blue, with beige upholstery and white accents, because of course it did.
“I’ve named her Veronica, after the little blue flower. It took just the tiniest miracle to upgrade her engine capacity so that she’ll be legal on the motorway. Hello, dear. This is my friend Crowley. He’s ever so eager to hop on.”
Full Load by NaroMoreau, summerofspock
Crowley gets stuck in a washing machine. Aziraphale helps him get free.
Coitus Interruptus with Paperwork by mountagrue
The one where Azira Fell (directly onto Crowley's dick, did not pass go, did not fill out the appropriate forms).
Just Your Garden Variety Kink by Mrs_Cake_Is_Here, polychrome
Crowley knows to treat his garden with a good firm hand, but when it comes to his angel, he’s as soft as pussywillow. And it’s driving Aziraphale barmy.
If only there was some way to channel some of that discipline *his* way!
There’s only one option for it, really: Aziraphale will just have to prove to Crowley that he’s the naughtiest, dirtiest flower of all…
For a Good Time, Call by seashadows
Three rings. Four. Seven, and then “Hello?”
“Hello, sssssweetheart,” Crowley said. “How would you like my long, slithery tongue up your tight little –“
Then it hit him: he knew that voice.
Dear. Fucking. Satan.
(Sometime in the depths of the 1990s, Hell tasks Crowley with spreading lust. As usual, he makes as little effort as he can, but gets a heaven of a lot more than he bargained for.)
all roads by @quitequaintrelle
All the muscles in Crowley’s good-for-nothing, backstabbing corporation are straining with effort— No, not effort, he can't think about efforts, certainly can't think about Aziraphale's—
“You know, I think this colour suits me. I really don’t see why the use of Tyrian purple is so restricted,” Aziraphale sulks, balancing on his right foot and wiggling the toes of his left in the air. He does brace himself on Crowley this time, his fingers clamping down on Crowley's shoulder.
Leave it to Aziraphale to complain about sumptuary laws when Crowley is having a crisis.
Crowley has a very normal time grape-stomping with Aziraphale.
Honest Angel by @twilightcitysky
“That’s why you decided to drive a scooter to the Downs? You wanted to break laws?”
“I planned to trespass, too,” Aziraphale said conspiratorially. “Mr. Haverford’s estate has a lovely view of the ocean.”
Crowley burst out laughing. He couldn’t help it. But Aziraphale blushed and looked twitchy. “I suppose it would seem funny to you,” he muttered.
“It’s just… angel, you like being the good one.” He ought to, he’d lorded it over Crowley often enough.
“I can do unexpected things.” Aziraphale turned to face him. His expression was a strange mix of contemplation and terror: a first-time parachute jumper looking out the open door of the plane.
“I know that, but you don’t–”
“And I can go fast,” Aziraphale said. His eyes dropped to Crowley’s lips.
Crowley’s stomach swooped. “Angel–”
“I can break rules,” Aziraphale whispered. “Especially the ones that don’t make sense anymore.”
The Talk by @sakascal
It has become increasingly clear that Crowley needs to have a serious talk with the Bentley. Crowley is taking Aziraphale to the Ritz, so it has to happen now.
Not My Fault Chapter Two: Awesome Sauce by MrsNoggin
I'm sorry. So sorry. More crackfic prompt stuff.
Special mention goes out to Englandwouldfall for a conversation we had many a moon ago about demon ejaculate and sauce.
Tagging @mouthfulofplanets and @comicgeekery per their request- hope you enjoy!!
There is a scene in Notting Hill where uber-Brit Hugh Grant is trying to climb a fence. He keeps falling down and every time responds with, "whoopsie-daisy." Julia Roberts makes fun of him, like what kind of grown man says, "whoopsie-daisy??"
I feel it in my bones that Aziraphale is a "whoopsie-daisy" kind of fella.
I also recently saw The Great Gatsby musical. Mostly bad (didn't understand the themes, shouty, not gay enough), but it did remind me that we as a culture should make Aziraphale call Crowley "old sport "
Professor Anthony, astrophysicist and author extraordinaire, got everything he ever wanted in life.
What about the demon Crowley?
Just this once, Crowley promised himself, reaching out with one hand and pushing it through the cool, thin film of reality. Just one little teensy time, and then he would be done. He’d promised he wouldn’t, but just once. Once couldn’t hurt.
Read on AO3
Special thanks to @quitequaintrelle for the beta!
(a/n below the cut)
This is a post-season 3 fic, not a fix-it or rewrite. This is the way I cope with upsetting endings: by riffing on what's already there.
At first I thought this was going to be a one-shot. And then I wrote another chapter. I have another 5-6 chapters planned out. I don't know where it goes after that, or how it ends... not yet, anyway.
But there will be more, and I’m grateful for anyone who wants to join me on this journey <3
Heaven and Hell can wait, there are more important things to do on Earth
(I can’t draw only one of them, it has to be both or the world will feel out of balance)
