C-PA-1
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Summary
In which Crowley and Aziraphale's very nice morning is interrupted by an uninvited guest, and an unwanted present.
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and they were all yellow by Phoenix_Soar
Fandoms: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett, Good Omens (TV)
26 Jan 2020
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In which Crowley goes too slow, Aziraphale deciphers his own feelings and decides it is time they had their picnic.
A story about confessions, revelations, and two ineffable beings learning something new about each other and finally Getting Their Shit Together.
UPDATE: The lovely gemennair made a gorgeous artwork inspired by this fic, now included with links!
Series
- Part 1 of We Were in Screaming Colour
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"Terribly sorry, but you're late," said the Metatron, tapping its wrist. "I do regret pointing that out."
Beelzebub bristled, regarding the bench with blank, yet tired eyes of flame. "There wazz much congezztion in the Fifth Circle. It could not be helped." It looked at the Metatron. "Apologiezz."
"We had better get on with this, and I have orders to make it quick," the Metatron sighed, dubiously taking a seat on the bench. The rain-slick wood hissed and smouldered. "Sit down," it said.
Beelzebub shrugged, but stiffly, as if this were a gesture in which it did not often indulge. Between the two of them, they now had the bench smoking profusely. "Parley. What are your termzz?"
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Words We'd Rather Not Say by meganbagels (Meganbagels)
Fandoms: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
30 Aug 2014
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"Aziraphale was flushing red with anger though more likely it was the wine. He looked magnificent. Terribly out of date, plump, well groomed, angry, and magnificent. Crowley groaned and put his head in his hands."
Crowley feels backed into a corner and says some things about having Feelings to Aziraphale. It doesn't go well, and then it goes okay, and then it goes very well indeed.
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Things That Will Never Happen by cuddles
Fandoms: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
24 Oct 2018
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Aziraphale and Crowley can't touch.
I added a second chapter, because ... yeah.
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It's been a year since the world didn't end, and that calls for a celebration. Gifts, picnics, and tender lovemaking are all part of the plan. But Crowley and Aziraphale's plans get thwarted when God shows up to borrow a book, test their faith, and answer some questions for once.
Written for the Good Omens Big Bang with art by katartstrophe.
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Clouds like red sponges by Macdicilla
Fandoms: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
09 Jul 2015
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'I– I don't think they'd try it again.' Aziraphale offered. 'I don't think it's likely.'
Crowley said nothing. Aziraphale pulled away to look at him.
'My dear, what can I possibly say?'
'I don't know. I don't know if there's anything that can be said. I just– I just need some time to distract myself from the dream. It's nothing, really. Wasn't even that disturbing to look at. It's just the idea behind it.'
'I want you to know ,' Aziraphale said, 'that if the final battle ever does break out, I will not leave your side.'
'Don't want to talk about the blessed battle,' said Crowley, because he wasn't quite able to say: if I ever had to see you die, I would never stop screaming.(Crowley has a nightmare about the end of the world, Aziraphale tries to comfort him.)
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Crowley has started calling Aziraphale a silly nickname he heard in a song. Aziraphale is puzzled.
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I Wish It Were Really You by maniacalmole
Fandoms: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
13 Feb 2020
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A letter appears in between the pages of one of Aziraphale’s books. It seems to have been written by Crowley, but Crowley has been gone for weeks, stuck in Hell…but the letters keep coming.
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"Mortals have it easy," Aziraphale lamented, refilling his glass. "They can choose."
Crowley grabbed his wrist, and Aziraphale almost dropped the bottle.
"No, you don't get it. We're no different from them," Crowley pleaded.
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Crowley forgets what Heaven was like. Aziraphale helps him remember.
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There are many ways to celebrate having avoided the apocalypse.
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A Hell of His Own Making by Anti_kate
Fandoms: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
22 Jan 2020
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After the world doesn’t end, Hastur and Gabriel take revenge on Aziraphale and Crowley.
“Just, answer me something, angel. You want things to stay the same. Well. If heaven suddenly called you up and said, hey Aziraphale, all is forgiven, let’s forget that time you ruined armageddon by fraternizing with a demon and possessing a human and talking the antichrist into saving the world, here’s your flaming sword, time to get back to work... what would you do?”
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Over the Aegean Sea by Dragonsquill (dragonsquill)
Fandoms: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
04 Aug 2019
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A night over the Aegean Sea; flying, dancing, and memories.
Crowley stands on the edge of a cliff over the Aegean Sea and opens his wings, blacker than the night sky, blotting out the stars.They were always black. My wings.
He turns, holds out a hand. Aziraphale feels nervous but can’t resist the mischief in that smile; never has, though he played otherwise. He steps forward on bare feet, palm touching reaching fingertips.
A lot of us had black wings, then. You weren’t made yet, not for eons.
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And Find for Herself a Place to Rest by tomato_greens for pasiphile
Fandoms: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
20 Jan 2014
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So long as you avoided the thorns, it was a nice tree.
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They are a new breed of angel.
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After the world failed to end, Crowley got depressed.
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They really have gone native. The both of them. A demon, curled up against a sleeping angel, who in Heaven or Hell could ever have imagined it?
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Chance Encounter by irisbleufic for AfroGeekGoddess, Qtheallpowerful
Fandoms: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
19 Mar 2020
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It's not the first time Aziraphale has grudgingly emerged from the back room in response to a customer's startled shout. He sighs and puts down his crossword. Such flighty creatures, humans. So much needless fuss.
"Where is it?" asks Aziraphale, wearily. He thinks he's heard that voice before.
The poor lad stands with his back to the shelves on the far wall, trembling in his trendy canvas flats.
"There," he says, pointing at the low, sunny window ledge. "Behind the stack of record catalogues."
Aziraphale bends with a huff, shifting the hefty stack (Bloody be-bop, he thinks, thanks to bloody Adam Young). The offending party lies curled in the late afternoon glow, tongue flicking lazily at its reflection in the glass.
"It's an adder," insists the unduly traumatized customer. "Don't get too close!"
"It's no such thing," Aziraphale sighs, sliding his fingers beneath the coils he knows to be most ticklish.