Tumgik
#peppervl
ineffableclassics · 3 months
Text
Tumblr media
The best—and worst—part of being stationed on Earth is having a body. They make it possible to do things like drive fast cars and eat scrummy food, but they’re also prone to injuries that cause aches and pains. Fortunately for Aziraphale and Crowley, the clever humans have come up with non-miraculous ways to deal with them. Massage is especially useful… when they’re willing to let their guard down and allow the Opposition to lend a hand. It’s a bit closer than Heaven or Hell would like them to be, but as the only two field agents stationed full time on Earth, who else are they going to turn to? They can’t exactly complain to a human about pulling muscles while flying. And if sometimes a massage is more an excuse to be in each other’s company than a real need, well, who’s to know?
-OR-
6,000 years of slow burn told through massage and camaraderie.
Words: 45,201
Status: Complete
Rating: Teen And Up
⭐️
2 notes · View notes
mekachu04 · 4 years
Photo
Tumblr media
Happy GOmaversary y’all
(I’m not late - i didn’t watch the Good Omens mini-series until after the Stanley Cup celebrations where over, so my 1year annie for the TV show isn’t until June 16th XD )
I still need a frame for the middle piece, but until then, here y’all go
This was a group of pieces I did on 32 count with the Good Omens Stitch Along discord during the month of May. All three patterns where created by the very talented @peppervl
233 notes · View notes
wargoddess9 · 4 years
Text
Tumblr media Tumblr media
Here's the art I did for the fic by @peppervl as apart of the Good Omens Mini Bang organized by @do-it-with-style-events !
Her fic is super cute!! It's been a long time since I've drawn a kitten and I had fun looking at pictures of kittens to do it!
Please check it out!
Title: Cat Burglary
Rating: G
Pairing: Aziraphale/Crowley
Summary:
Crowley should’ve left the injured kitten on the pavement where he found it, that would’ve been the demonic thing to do. But it was right outside Aziraphale's shop, and if the angel had found out Crowley had left it, he would’ve been disappointed in Crowley, which was much worse than anything Hell had threatened when Crowley was in their employ.
Of course, getting the kitten into the bookshop and taking care of her injuries is only the first step. Now they have to figure out who hurt her. Unfortunately, the only place they can find that answer is in the Earth Observation Files. They just need to slip into Heaven—where they’re both persona non grata—and find the right information. Should be easy, right?
https://archiveofourown.org/works/25616686/chapters/62179582
78 notes · View notes
boysinperil · 4 years
Audio
A podfic of @peppervl‘s delightful story! A little bedtime story for you all. 
8 notes · View notes
Text
i’ll be the wind beneath your wings (ch. 4)
and here is chapter four of my swap gift for @peppervl​! the fifth and final chapter will be posted tomorrow :D i was thinking of going back and adding links to navigate chapters easier, but i know that screws up tags,, oh well ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ enjoy!
(read it on ao3!)
-
London, 1860
The next time Aziraphale was permitted to touch Crowley’s wings was after several hours of easy drinking and chatting. Bottles crowded their feet and the legs of the coffee table. More surrounded Aziraphale’s armchair in a sloppy semicircle. They’d given up on drinking from their glasses long ago and were now taking swigs straight from the bottle. Aziraphale had his cradled to his chest; Crowley was using his to gesticulate heatedly about Hamlet. 
Everything felt a good deal more complicated now—more complicated to articulate, more complicated to think, more complicated to—to—yes. But it was an equally good deal easier to simply forgo thinking altogether and focus on Crowley. He was nice to concentrate on in a purely aesthetic sense, with all of his sharp angles smoothed out by his slouch, and his drawling voice going on and on about Shakespeare’s most recent sensation, and the way he used his hands to talk as though he were conducting the world's most chaotic orchestra, and how graceful he was as leaned forward to snatch a new bottle of wine off of the table—
Aziraphale blinked. Something was off. As Crowley settled back into the couch, he refused to move his right shoulder from its stiff posture even as he struggled to open the bottle. It remained stubbornly stuck to his side as he brought it to his stained mouth.
The question slipped right through Aziraphale’s wine-soaked lips. “Are you feeling alright?” 
“‘S stupid, could’a just talked to her an’—No!” Crowley exclaimed. Aziraphale closed his eyes against the volume. “No, of course not, Hamlet’s a bloody—bleeding dumb”—Crowley flailed his arm in a nonsensical gesture, though the wine in the bottle obediently stayed put—“idiot! Should’a just talked!”
Aziraphale nodded and hummed, though he didn’t know what Hamlet’s communication issues had to do with Crowley’s arm. It must be something if he was so passionate about it. He should be a good friend and at least sit supportively next to him in these trying times. Crowley did not pause in his rant as he scooted a few inches over to make room. 
“But Horatio—brave boy,” Aziraphale said somberly after he took another sip of wine, “he was all he had. Or so he believed. Would’ve ruined the story, I say. At least he wanted to help.”
Crowley weakly slapped his palm against the couch arm. “‘Cos Hamlet’s a self-destructive little—wha’s the word? Prick. ” He smacked his mouth distastefully. “What’d you say?”
“I said, Horatio—”
“Nnno no, no, before, before.”
Aziraphale stared into the rippling depths of the wine. It was a pretty jewel color in the lamplight, all purple and red and purple-red. “I’m not sure,” he eventually said. “Asked if you were alright.”
“Sure. Why wouldn’t I be?”
In all of his infinite wisdom, Aziraphale poked Crowley’s arm. He blankly stared at Aziraphale’s finger.
“This doesn’t hurt?”
“No? Why would—why would you poke it if it hurt?”
“I’m not sure,” he said again. He put his hand in his lap. “You were holding it funny.”
Crowley blinked a couple of times. “It’s my back,” he said carefully. He shifted over some so that their legs no longer touched. “Must’ve tweaked it.”
Aziraphale furrowed his brow. He wanted to say something. Something about how he’s sworn he’s seen this exact motion—the bizarrely applied posture, the walk, a wince of pain when he forgot and he reached with the wrong arm, but all of those memories were playing through a foggy window. Movements smeared together, details blurred, colors faded in and out of vividity.
He took too long to answer. Crowley was working to sit up, a sign that Aziraphale knew meant he would sobering up, and sobering up meant he would be leaving soon.
“Is that so,” he said.
“Yeah. Been like that for a while.” Crowley made a face. “What time is it?”
Aziraphale asked, “How long?”
“How long what?”
“Your back. How long has it been hurting?”
Crowley looked distinctly uncomfortable as he blandly said, “I dunno.”
Usually, Aziraphale would stop here. He wasn’t the prying type, or at least not the maliciously prying type. Crowley had made every clear sign short of telling Aziraphale to stuff it that he didn’t want to talk about it. But Aziraphale wanted to talk about it, so his drunken mind decided that was enough reason to say, “Oh, don’t lie to me.”
Crowley scowled. “‘S not that big a deal, I dunno why you’re so pressed about it.”
“I’m not depressed.”
“ So pressed. You’re on my back about it. Up my arse.” 
Aziraphale blinked. “But you’ve been in pain.”
“I’ve been worse.” Crowley drummed his fingers on the cushions. The very same cushions of the very same sofa Crowley had slept on when he came to Aziraphale, seeking refuge. A memory of Crowley sitting and rubbing his wing with his bandaged hand pushed through the fog.
Aziraphale attempted to straighten indignantly, but it was more of an aggressive sway. “Is it—is your wings? Are they bothering you?”
Crowley, finally caught out, slumped back into the sofa. “Ugh, dammit, angel. Fine. Yes. They have been since they had their way with me. Happy?” he said dryly. 
“Not really.” Aziraphale leaned towards him. “You’ve been in pain. How could I be happy about that?”
Crowley shrugged one shoulder. “I’m gonna sober up.”
He shut his eyes tightly and exhaled slowly. Aziraphale watched as around half of the bottles littered at their feet began to refill. He decided to follow suit, wincing as the alcoholic fog was whisked from his mind, and every thought hidden beneath returned with sharp clarity. A snap, and any wine that had managed to spill onto his lovely rug untangled itself from the fibers and zipped droplet by droplet into the mouths of the appropriate bottles. 
Aziraphale said softly, “I don’t mind helping you, you know.”
Crowley turned, and suddenly, Aziraphale was back again beneath yellow searchlights, piercing through even the darkest patch of brine. Two breaths went in and out. In, and out.
“No?”
With that single, wary word, a familiar ache flooded Aziraphale’s body. At once, he recognized it as the very same one from all those years ago, and his voice nearly caught as he said, “Not at all.”
You’re my friend; of course I wouldn’t mind.
A series of unidentifiable emotions flickered across Crowley’s face. Then, a shimmery veil of reality lifted, and two great wings were presented to Aziraphale. 
“It’s along here,” Crowley said, reaching back and running his hand along the top of his right wing. It seemed Aziraphale was correct; he was sure this was the same wing Crowley had had issues with but left before Aziraphale could do anything about it. “It’s—It never healed right. It hurts all the time, but I can’t—” Crowley closed his mouth with a snap of his teeth. “Can’t reach it anymore,” he muttered, ducking his head.
“You poor thing,” Aziraphale murmured. Crowley curled in on himself even more and looked to be regretting coming here at all. Aziraphale bit his lip. “I had something similar happen once,” he began earnestly. “I earned a rather nasty break after a spar with Gabriel. It was an accident, of course,” he amended when Crowley jolted. “He apologized and everything.”
Crowley tilted his head. “Why were you even sparring in the first place?” he asked.
Aziraphale pursed his lips. “I think he took an interest in my duties as the Guardian of the Eastern Gate. It wasn’t every day an angel had to go defend anything. That meant there was something to fight. Look here,” he continued. He unfurled his white wings—too big, too cumbersome for this space—and pointed at a completely innocent looking spot towards the end. “He knocked me down, and then tripped on his robes and fell on me and—well, I couldn’t open it up for ages! It wasn’t until I discorporated for the first time and had to sit in the healing pools for a bit that it was restored”
He folded his wings over each other on his back, but didn’t hide them away altogether. Crowley idly watched him with mild curiosity. 
“Do you think I’ll need a healing pool?”
“Goodness, I hope not. There’s no telling what it would do to you.”
“Good point.” Crowley hefted his wing and pushed it into Aziraphale’s lap. Better get on with it, then.
Aziraphale kept talking as he worked. He wasn’t a good story-teller; he frequently split off from his current story, which led to a dozen other related tales or even led to somewhere else entirely. 
“When She created us,” he said as he smoothed over a patch of feathers over the injury and began pushing small circles into the flesh with his thumbs, “do you remember how we all looked more or less like a human child?”
“Not really.”
“Ah. Well, we did, and our wings were meant to be proportionate with our appearance. But mine never were. They were the same size then as they are now. I looked ridiculous, dragging them around everywhere. Oh, how Saraqael laughed when I tripped over them.” Aziraphale chuckled. “Oh, that reminds me…”
At first, Crowley stayed quiet as Aziraphale spoke. Eventually, he began to offer his own commentary without prompting, and then his own experiences too, and just like that, the stories started to flow.
It was remarkable that even after knowing each other for so long, they still did not know every single thing about the other. Aziraphale was endlessly amused by the recounting of the time Crowley spent five years scouring mountainous Japanese forests for a creature named ‘Tsuchinoko,’ only to realize there was a reason for its existence to be touted as legendary.
“Stop laughing,” grumbled Crowley. Aziraphale mimed zipping his mouth shut, but he still earned a light thumping with Crowley’s wing since he smiled the whole time. “How was I supposed to know? I don’t speak Japanese.”
“I do. You should have asked me to come with you. I would have said yes.”
Crowley, in turn, outright cackled when Aziraphale told him about the time he wandering about in a marketplace and accidentally tripped a gentleman into an enclosure of some particularly malevolent goats in his rush to try this new sweet.
“Marzipan,” he said with a gleam in his eye as Crowley laughed himself into a coughing fit. “It was hardly even worth the hurry. I’m sure it’s better now, though, the first batches of anything are rarely any good…”
“Oh, I’d expect nothing less from you, angel.”
Eventually, the words trickled away until they were sitting together in a pool of silence. Neither of them felt the need to go beyond it, so they didn’t. Bathed in the golden glow of his lamps, Aziraphale let his mind drift away from where his hands were rubbing at the tense knots of muscle running all up and down Crowley’s wing. Sharing his adventures with humans never was as fun since he had to revise his story as he told it to redact details that would certainly get more than a few raised eyebrows. It reminded him he had to be ever vigilant, which was plain exhausting. But with Crowley, he could relax.
It was the most natural thing in the world, relaxing, when it was with Crowley.
But, as everything was wont to do, it had to end. After all, Crowley must be uncomfortable. If last time’s experience was anything to go by, then Aziraphale had long since overstayed his welcome. The persistent ache confirmed this. Yes, the circumstances were almost violently different, but it still boiled down to the same stuff, didn’t it? 
“This is nice,” he said softly. “My apologies for taking so long, but you’ll be just about finished here in a moment.”
Crowley did not answer immediately. This was not unusual when it came to their conversations, but when he continued not to respond a whole minute later, Aziraphale had to nudge him. “Crowley?”
“Mmyeah.”
“I’m almost fin—”
“I heard you.” Crowley deeply inhaled as though steeling himself for something, and then pushed himself upright. He stretched and yawned unnaturally widely. “That’s better,” he mumbled. He shook out his wings and gingerly spread them wide. “Oh, much better.” He flashed Aziraphale a sharp, genuine smile and tucked his wings away. “Thanks, angel.”
“Of course,” Aziraphale said. With a wave, he zapped their glasses clean and sent the wine bottles marching back to the rack. “Well, I suppose you’ll be on your way then?”
“What? Why? I mean—You can’t be serious.”
“Why ever not?” Crowley made an offended gesture at something behind Aziraphale. He twisted around, confused. “What is it?”
“Your wings!” he exclaimed, waving one hand up and down vigorously. “They’re a disaster! How have you never noticed?”
“Oh,” Aziraphale said mildly. His feathers were admittedly much more unruly than Crowley’s, but that wasn’t his fault. He was a busy being. Grooming his wings was never a priority. “I don’t know. I don’t pay much attention to them.”
“Obviously,” muttered Crowley. “Come here, I’m fixing this mess. Can’t have a demon owing one to an angel, anyway.”
Aziraphale scoffed even as he let Crowley reach for his left wing. “You don’t owe me anything. I couldn’t bear it if I allowed anything, human, angel, or demon to think they had some due to pay back to me when they were in mortal—or immortal—danger. That includes you, Crowley.”
“Well sheesh, angel, ya could’ve just said ‘no,’” said Crowley after a bashful pause. He sounded amused, but Aziraphale could have sworn there was some relief in there too. “Alright, fine then. We’re even.”
“Indeed,” Aziraphale said proudly. “With that out of the way, I can take offense to what you’ve said about my wings.”
“Took you a while,” Crowley teased.
Aziraphale huffed. “You distracted me.”
“Part of the job description, angel.”
“Is grooming an angel’s wings also part of the job description?”
“I mean— No, but—” Crowley sputtered a little more before admitting defeat. Aziraphale hid his smile. “Okay, touché. But for your information, demons take way better care of their wings than you do.” 
“Really?” Aziraphale said with genuine surprise. Crowley rarely offered up tidbits about the culture of Hell, if one could call it that. Granted, Aziraphale offered even less in terms of Heaven, but it was enlightening all the same.
“Yep. More of a thing between the younger ones, though. They still want to hold on to something that sort of connects them with Her”—Aziraphale made a sad noise in his throat—“so they’ll come together and fix each other’s wings up like some troupe of monkeys. It’s terrible. Most of ‘em get bitter enough when they’re older to let it go, thank Satan, but they still menace some lesser demon into doing it for vanity points.”
“What about you?”
“What about me?”
“Why do you do it? You obviously care about it more than I do, and there aren’t any—what did you say, gremlins, up here to do it for you.”
Crowley’s hands slowed to a stop, warm and steady on Aziraphale’s wings. A distant sheen glossed over his eyes. “Same as anyone else,” he said. “It looks good.” A pleasant prickle washed over his skin as Crowley combed and picked away stray bits of fluff and let them drift to the ground. “And… I guess I sort of miss the tradition. Not because I miss Her that much, just—”
He pressed his lips together in a thin line and resumed his work in determined silence. Aziraphale stayed quiet, focusing on the light tugging on his feathers and an odd, light feeling that followed each vane as it was moved back into its proper place. Back in Heaven, before he was commanded to safeguard humanity, grooming was done strictly out of necessity. It didn’t mean something, especially not in the way it meant something to Crowley.
Like a troupe of monkeys. Not because I miss Her. There was something missing. Something vital to the core of Crowley. And in his own backwards and wildly indirect ways, he needed Aziraphale to help him replace it. 
A flood of want took him aback at first, just because of the sheer amount of want there. And then he relaxed because it felt so right, there was no reason to be afraid. The ache, which had been hiding behind his heart this whole time, alleviated a little.
He quietly offered, “We should do this again sometime.”
Crowley’s hands physically stuttered, but his hum of, “Should we?” came out nonchalantly.
“Well, probably not.”
“That’s not a no.”
“This is true.”
“But it isn’t a yes.”
“This is an excellent display of your observational skills, my dear.”
“Shuddup.” There was an audible smile in Crowley’s voice. “When?”
“I don’t know. I haven’t thought quite that far ahead. Whenever we feel like it, I suppose.”
“Pretty hedonistic for an angel.” Before Aziraphale could formulate a response, Crowley finished, “I knew there was a reason I liked you. Oh, that reminds me, there was the horrible little bow-tie I saw at the market the other day. It’s that—what’d you say it was? Tartan? Tartan pattern, I had to get it for you…”
5 notes · View notes
mutalune · 4 years
Link
hey all! here is my fic for the GO holiday exchange for @peppervl - Nessa, i hope you enjoy! Happy holidays~! 
4 notes · View notes
brazenbells · 6 years
Text
peppervl replied to your post: I’m out of control I might have impulse bought a...
What are you doing with your current couch?
@theghostisametaphor is going to measure to see if it fits in his room, but if not, I’m not really sure. Did you have an idea?
1 note · View note
gaywrites · 7 years
Note
Are you aware that the pride shirts are only available through tomorrow? I want to buy one, but I need to wait for payday on Friday. Is there any way to buy them after tomorrow?
Good question! The campaign renews every five days (I think). I chose this option so that folks wouldn’t have to wait a month to get their shirts, but instead be able to receive them shortly after they ordered them. So it says the campaign expires today, but that only means that it will now begin production for those who have already purchased shirts, and reopen a new batch for the next group of buyers to be produced in about five days. Long story short, yes, they will still be available! 
24 notes · View notes
aziraphales-library · 3 years
Note
Hello! Thanks so much for all your work on this blog. I'm wondering if you have any suggestions for fics that explore emotional baggage/healing in relation to Crowley's treatment of his plants? (Also, for anyone else looking for similar themes, one of my own favorites is "Imperfect" by IneffableDoll!)
Hi! We have some Crowley and his plants as a metaphor fics here. And for you now I have a variety of Crowley’s Plants fics...
The Fear of Crowley by The_Bentley (G)
One began to tremble. Its neighbours quickly shushed it. They stood at attention but a recently added flamingo flower broke down in the plant version of anxiety. It had been the target of their owner’s wrath last week because it had yet to produce blooms.
A look at Crowley’s treatment of his houseplants from their point of view.
for all the things my hands have held, the best by far is you by orphan_account (G)
“What do you want from me, Crowley?” His eyes were fathoms-deep pools, wonderful and terrifying all at once, and he was drowning in them. His voice was trembling with a six-thousand-year-old hurt and fury and longing and lust, a horrendous and beautiful, ineffable thunderstorm that would drown them all. “What do you want from me?”
In which Crowley talks to his plants, Aziraphale is not as oblivious as he seems, and the sky is vast and beautiful.
A Meddling of House Plants by wingedspirit (T)
When Aziraphale first opened his bookshop, Crowley gave him a peace lily as a gift.
After the averted Armageddon, it begins to wilt.
Bloom by ticketybye (G)
Crowley's plants won't flower.
didn’t mean to leaf you behind by grimdarkfandango & Ponderosa (T)
“A Dear John letter!” Crowley was telling him, voice slurring. “Can you believe that? The nerve. Six-thoussssand years and that’s how it ends?”
They’d moved to the sofa, Aziraphale’s pot tucked into the crook of Crowley’s arm as he sprawled across it with one leg up over the back cushions. Every so often a bit of good scotch splashed onto Aziraphale’s leaves. Not as enjoyable to drink as a plant, it turned out.
[Another fill for the GO Kink Meme prompt: Aziraphale accidentally turns into a plant and Crowley adopts him.]
The Care and Feeding of Stromanthe sanguinea: A Beginner’s Guide by PepperVL (G)
Nearly one year after the almost-apocalypse, Aziraphale is simply existing, holding on to hope that Crowley will return to him. When he discovers the plant he got for the demon is dying, he takes it on a tour of places he and Crowley frequented to convince it to live. Will it be enough to bring Crowley back to him?
Written for the prompt: A house plant is dying, tell it why it needs to live.
And of course, the fic your recommended...
Imperfect by IneffableDoll (T)
In 1967, Crowley buys a plant.
- Mod D
52 notes · View notes
quillyfied · 4 years
Text
Mega Good Omens Fic Rec Post 5
What up, it’s back!
77 carefully-curated titles for your perusal today! As always, the fics are broken into the following categories: Jaunts through History/Canon, South Downs, Post-Apocalypse, Bus Ride/The Night Before/Heaven and Hell, AU/UA, Just Soft, Touch-Starved/Body Worship/Wings, Bonus, and H/C /Whump/BAMF. I don’t read smut fics but sometimes there are sexual elements to the stories and sometimes you get invested and then suddenly the author drops a smut chapter, so warnings where applicable.
Mega GOmens Fic Rec Post MASTER
LET ME KNOW IF A LINK IS BROKEN OR MISATTRIBUTED AND I WILL FIX IT RIGHT AWAY.
JAUNTS THROUGH HISTORY/CANON
1.     Get Thee To A Nunnery – Owenjones (T, the one where Aziraphale is put in a nunnery and needs a bit of a rescue. More or less Ineffable Wives time, but warnings for Aziraphale being forced into a female corporation against his will, that’s pretty icky (three guesses for who the offending Archangel is). Crowley is posing as a little lady known as Julie D’Aubigny, which, if that rings no bells, you should Google her immediately and then go into this fic cackling like I did. Very sweet, a fun little adventure!)
2.    Bibliophilia – @wingedspirit (G, the one where Aziraphale has a book nemesis and Crowley always seems to have the perfect book as a gift, what a coincidence. This is so funny, you guys, seriously. We stan ONE (1) oblivious angel in this house. And when Aziraphale finally catches on, it’s so cute, I can’t even. I cannot EVEN. Go read it right now immediately.)
3.    The Heart Goes To Heaven, The Head Goes To Hell – Dekkles (T, the one where Crowley has intentions of making an angel Fall and it kinda…backfires. Guys fair warning, this one’s version of Hell is really gross, if you’re squeamish tread very carefully bc WOW it can get a bit graphic. Y’know what’s also gross? The PINING (obviously not gross in the same way but the pining is awfully feelsy and part of it does happen in Hell). Watching this Crawly go from an honestly nauseating portrayal of Hell to watching Aziraphale and kinda awkwardly twitching in his light is so delightful and I hope for more in the future (though maybe less visions of Hell, I will be so glad if and when the fic leaves that place because yikes).)
4.    i like this place (it feels spooky) – @asideofourown (G, the one where Warlock manages to convince Nanny and Brother Francis to take him to a haunted house and it’s so cute. You guys. It’s SO cute. You really get a feel for little Warlock’s personality and how he sees things (and he sees ALL). Just a really cute “family” outing, really, and someone gets spooked at the end and it’s not who you think!)
5.    Doubt the Stars are Fire – LilithReisender (T, the one where Aziraphale bails Crowley out of prison and they spend time together in an Italian villa. This one has cool history bits, really fun banter, and Crowley actively on the job while trying to pretend he isn’t on the job. It’s a delight, and it’s just getting started! Jump on this bandwagon, folks, it’s great!)
6.    The Hellfire Club – @amarguerite (NR, the one where greater measures are taken to make sure Aziraphale isn’t promoted back upstairs. This one is so hilarious, you guys, I can’t even tell you which bit is my favorite. And the cherry on top? Wing grooming! (I can also tell you that something highly unpleasant happens to Sandalphon, if that sweetens the pot for anyone.) If you have a Thing for Crowley and Aziraphale being melodramatic and overacting, then stay put, friends. Also continue reading this list, there’s a few more that’ll catch your eye later on.)
7.     The Immortal Look – MickyRC (G, the one where Crowley puts Aziraphale in some kohl and it’s awesome. A written entry for the Prince of Omens DTIYS, and even independent from Prince of Omens this fic is a winner, in my book. Crowley going dewy-eyed over Aziraphale’s looks in any capacity is always My Jam and this fic really goes for it.)
8.    Merry & Bright – @peppervl (G, the one where Aziraphale and Crowley go undercover as a married couple in the Regency. You like fem!Aziraphale but don’t see it often enough? SIT DOWN, FRIENDO. Not only does this have a lovely Miss Fell for us to fawn over, but it’s a Miss Fell in possession of a fortune and surely in want of a husband, according to prim-and-proper London, and who better to help her out than one Mr. Crowley who happens to need some help on a temptation? Fun, romantic, and with a cute little twist at the end I shan’t spoil but you should really stick around for.)
9.    Putting the Endearment in Dear – @joyandotherstories (G, the one where Aziraphale starts calling everyone “dear” just so he can also call Crowley by endearments. This one is sweet and a little sad and has the softest possible ending, y’all don’t even know. Read it, the point in time where Aziraphale doesn’t have to hold back his mountain of endearments anymore is a sight to behold.)
10. Between the Lines – cyankelpie (G, the one where Crowley and Aziraphale’s feelings are known but not spoken, at least not directly. This one is a historical jaunt where they have a lot of double-meaning conversations (and Crowley is very rightly lost through a lot of it, poor dear), and it aches, you guys, it just hurts. Not finished yet as of this review but WHEN IT’S DONE—I’m sure it’ll be worth it. Hot dang.)
11.  No Matter How the Stars Align (They Make Me Think of You) – silentsonata (G, the one that covers stars that Crowley and Aziraphale have met under. Every once in a while there’ll come along a fic that shakes the ground as it walks. I understand the Big Bang events usually churn these out, and there are quite a few on this list, but this fic here? A masterpiece. Pitch-perfect in every way, just a stunner. I want to tell y’all to pay special attention to certain chapters but they all took my breath utterly away and it would be unfair to single any out over the rest, the whole work is a monument. Just beautiful.)
12.  Too Wise to Woo Peaceably – purewanderlust (T, the one that’s five times they see “Much Ado About Nothing” throughout history. I love me some “Much Ado,” personally, and this fic knows what it’s on about. Wonderfully romantic and ends with the single most perfect conversation, I swear 2 someone. Hits right in the feels.)
13.  Just Another Sword Fight – DemonicGeek (NR, the one that’s a 5+1 about Crowley swordfighting. If you’re here because Aziraphale taking on the role of the swooning maiden to Crowley’s dashing hero makes you, in fact, be the one swooning, say hello to your new best friend. If you like to follow all that up with Aziraphale taking charge when needed, I might suggest building a home here, because ABSOLUTELY that’s what you’re getting.)
14.  A Few More Rescues – @poetic----nonsense (T, the one with, predictably, a few more rescues. If the previous fic had you reeling and begging for more, welcome to the buffet, children. These are some really fun rescues by Crowley on behalf of Aziraphale, and they’re unconventional and historical AF (especially the bit with the dragon) (you bet your sweet keister there’s a bit with a dragon). This fic is so much fun and I thoroughly enjoyed reading it.)
15.  Floriography – Frenchmeister (T, the one where Crowley doesn’t get flower language. The premise is, Crowley slept through a large chunk of the Victorian era, so he doesn’t know what Aziraphale keeps trying to say as they work at the Dowlings’ estate raising Warlock. He does know that the philodendron is a menace, no matter what it’s supposed to mean. Funny and nerve-wracking and so, so sweet.)
16.  The Interplay of Illusion and Magic – SoulJelly (T, the one where Aziraphale tries to join a magicians’ society. This one has some delightful history and Aziraphale trying to perform sleight of hand magic to get in a secret magicians club and a surprising twist near the middle, all told; it’s a lot more exciting than I initially thought it was going to be (I was just expecting some fluff and that was not all I got; it’s always a good day when Crowley has to come to the rescue).)
SOUTH DOWNS
17.  There goes the neighborhood – @bestoftheseekwill (G, the one where Crowley’s retirement peace is threatened by construction. If you’re here for Crowley wiles, anti-capitalism, and flashes of protective Aziraphale, get ready to take a load off because this is primo.)
18. Teatime Revelations – Cardinal_Daughter (T, the one where God invites Herself over for tea. This one is strained and it’s emotional and it’s all the softer for it. Aziraphale being quiet and protective while Crowley has a come-apart in the face of God is iconic, tbh; pretty sure this fic inspired a lot of my own portrayals of the GOmens God, looking back on it. A wonderful and light-hearted take.)
POST-APOCALYPSE
19.  Lose a Kraken, Gain an Angel – MistressKat (T, the one where Hastur has an expected friendship. This fic has everything—Hastur being a sympathetic character, the Kraken, Crowley pining after Aziraphale, the Antichrist, and is hilarious from start to finish. A fun and tonally accurate diversion, please read.)
20. Something Old, Something New – shippityshipship (G, the series where Crowley and Aziraphale are involved in weddings. Short and hasn’t updated in a while but still excellent reading, I find; great characterization, some fun OCs, lovely atmosphere, oblivious pining while everyone else thinks they’re dating, it’s amazing.)
21.  The difficulty with disposable demons – @areyougonnabe (T, the one where Eric the disposable demon shows up and it’s a madhouse in Crowley’s apartment. This is a really funny take on what happens to the disposable demons and why they are the way they are, and with the added bonus of driving Crowley up the wall and some mild miscommunications with Aziraphale that are all sorted out in the end.)
22. Care and Keeping – @arcafira (M, T, the series where Crowley is shedding and Aziraphale tries to help. Not rated M for anything violent or sexual, really more of a T than an M but there is a bath scene and a lot of self-loathing. There’s a lot of convincing Crowley to let Aziraphale care for him and a lot of working through Fall-related issues, but it leaves off in a wonderfully hopeful place.)
23. The Clockwork Days – redwinehouse (T, the one where the world’s ending again. There are many fics that have tackled possible sequels to Good Omens and this is one of the more tonally accurate ones, I feel; it’s very tongue-in-cheek and matter-of-fact, and the little twist at the end was a genuine surprise to me. Whack in plenty of mutual pining and a Bentley that has had it up to HERE with these idiots and you’ve got a recipe for a good little story.)
24. don’t leave me here alone – Elvendork (T, the one where Crowley asks for holy water again. This one is a tense argument, right up until it isn’t, and absolutely delectable, really. If you’re a fan of Aziraphale bringing up hellfire to go toe to toe with Crowley on the issue, BUCKLE UP BUTTERCUP, this one is dunking itself into Soft Town with that accelerant to really drive it home.)
25. The Next Time We Wed – seashadows (T, the one where a mix-up leads to marriage. If drunken mistakes and their aftermath is what you’re after, welcome to the party, folks, because this one’s a whopper. Can people pine while being married to each other? The answer is yes. Can it have a soft ending? Also yes. Can it include the mothers of such characters as Anathema and Newt being wonderful characters in their own right? The answer, incredibly, is yes.)
26. You Can’t Un-See A Dog – @holycatsandrabbits (T, the one where Crowley is summoned and there’s shenanigans afoot. I won’t talk too much about the plot of this one bc I don’t want to spoil it but suffice it to say that this one is hilarious and has some especially gratifying Ineffable Husband silent communication at play. If your entire reason for existence, like Crowley’s, is seeing Bastard!Aziraphale at work, then bunk down here, friendos, you’ve arrived.)
BUS RIDE/NIGHT BEFORE/HEAVEN AND HELL
27. Crowley, Big Bad Demon, Can Keep His Cool Around His Crush – @edennovik (T, the one where Crowley…well, see title, and then immediately disregard. Crowley cannot, in fact, keep his cool around his crush. Crowley is doing the opposite of keeping his cool around his crush. Crowley is a ball of anxiety and screaming pining gooey mess and Aziraphale might just like him anyway.)
AU/UA
28. If Not Now, When – @ineffablefool (T, the one where trans café worker Crowley strikes up a conversation with fat pretty Aziraphale. Listen. Y’all know ineffablefool. Y’all know he is a force that cannot be stopped or reckoned with, when it comes to Soft Fat-Postive Asexual Romance. So I do not say this lightly when I say that this is possibly his masterwork. There is a lot of good, good content in his catalogue but the emotional work put into this makes the whole thing stand straight up and resonate. It’s tender and respectful and handles conflicts of gender and sexuality with grace and gentleness and oh no I’m tearing up pls send help I’m DROWNING—).
29. Trip the Light – @summerofspock (M, the one where Aziraphale falls in love first. M for a sex scene near the end of the fic, second half of Chapter 17, so keep an eye out for that if you’re sensitive to it. Oh, y’all. This one goes through canon and a few scenes outside of it and the recontextualizing of those scenes as Aziraphale hopelessly in love and Crowley as oblivious is amazing. Even more amazing: once Crowley finally catches on and then it becomes Aziraphale once again in his role of holding back. Guys. Y’all. My DUDES. I am in the throes of agony. It’s so good.)
30. one love (only for you) – @weatheredlaw (M, the one that’s a vague Snow White AU. It’s truly unfair how poetic and romantic this one is, how lovely. It has fantasy elements and ridiculous vengeful brothers and soft, soft boys in love. A sweet little way to spend an afternoon, tbh.)
31.  in the house we remain – @commodorecliche (M, the one where Crowley’s a ghost in the house Aziraphale has bought. M for masturbation, weird ghost sex, and a harrowing backstory for Crowley; if you’re squeamish about sexual things and not good at gauging how to skip them, or if you can’t stand abuse stories, I would pass this one up. Y’all. Y’ALL. So thoroughly upsetting, this one; the horror elements are real but so is the romance and it’s a beautiful balance of the two. What’s wild is how believable it is; it could easily have been a story about Aziraphale just becoming obsessed with and romanticizing a dead person who used to live in his house but it feels like an actual love story, with Crowley learning how to trust Aziraphale, as well, despite their planar incompatibility. The ending is so unbelievably sweet. And there’s art now! There wasn’t, when I first added it to the list! Huzzah!)
32. pop! goes my heart – @areyougonnabe (E, the one that’s a Music and Lyrics AU. E for a sex scene near the end of Chapter 6 that’s a bit difficult to skip, since there’s a couple of relevant paragraphs after it that set up the next chapter, but if you’re up for the challenge, godspeed. First things first: this fic has ORIGINAL MUSIC RECORDED BY THE AUTHOR AND IT’S AMAZING. Music and Lyrics is one of my personal favorite romcoms, and what’s been done with it is not only accurate to the actual music industry, but accurate to the characters, as well. It’s such a fun story, adapted well, and the writing style is just charming. Fantastic!)
33. For the First Time in Forever – @nicnacsnonsense (T, the one that’s a Frozen AU. I am excited for this one, y’all. The adaptation is already so much fun and it’s only going to get funner. Aziraphale as Elsa and Crowley in an Anna-adjacent role (but not actually bc no incest) is amazing, the Olaf stand-in outshines the original, and the emotional toll is already pretty high. Absolutely worth a read.)
34. Sailor’s Omens – NeverNooitNiet (G, the one where Crowley’s a pirate and Aziraphale is his prisoner. There’s a touch of historical homophobia but that doesn’t matter much out at sea, really. If the boys being clever and bickering and also one-upping beloved series antagonists is something you enjoy, welcome to the party, friends. It’s a good old-fashioned piracy romp that’s sure to satisfy.)
35. Pomegranate Seeds – @nicnacsnonsense (G, the one that’s a Persephone and Hades AU with Aziraphale as Hades and Crowley as Persephone. This one has a unique tone and is also romantic as all get-out; throw in genderfluid Crowley, love at first sight, and Aziraphale being a sweetie, it’s a story well worth its salt, imo.)
36. Laws of Gravity – @brightwanderer (T, the one where Aziraphale invents pining for Raphael. Listen. I think we all know at this point that brightwanderer, or Atalan on ao3, has earned her clout as a GOmens fanfic heavyweight. She didn’t NEED to write an awkward and earnest Raphael trying to go incognito as Crowley into the Garden of Eden. She didn’t NEED to write about how incredibly awkward Aziraphale is while heels over halo in love. She didn’t NEED to have an engaging plot and a wonderful twist on the Temptation of Eve and also the most awkward and obvious besotted angels in the universe. But she did. And we are blessed. So go partake.)
37. Incubus!Crowley – GenericUsername01 (G, T, the series where Crowley is a sex demon and we get to see what that means. This fic threads the very specific needle I personally enjoy where sex is an element of the story and has bearing on it, but the story doesn’t have any actual sex scenes in it. I love this writer’s style and where they take Crowley and Aziraphale’s relationship; I love the view of Hell in the first bit; I love all of it, really. A+++.)
38. Everyone But You – @summerofspock (M, the one where Crowley is hired to seduce an angel. M for some saucy makeouts and some post-coital afterglow but nothing explicit. If y’all like stories where a conman is hired to do a job and starts to have complicated feelings about it, especially if those feelings are falling in love with his mark, then here you go. It’s amazing as all heck and hilarious to boot; Crowley learning what falling in love is like is always a treat but omg. Poor Aziraphale. And the most DELIGHTFUL resolution, my goodness.)
39. In Mixed Company, or the Corporate Retreat of Heaven and Hell – @theoldaquarian (M, the one where Heaven and Hell have a joint corporate retreat every so often and Crowley and Aziraphale are doomed. M for some adult themes but nothing explicit. Y’all. TheOldAquarian must be stopped. They cannot continue to be so funny and engaging. They cannot continue to have the most corporate and hilariously mundane depiction of Heaven and Hell. They are a MENACE who, in the space of one fic, has packed all the pining of the ages in so tightly that when it finally bursts free, my shoulders physically relaxed and my spine uncoiled. This fic in particular is too much and too wonderful. I really must protest.)
40. Loosely Ballroom – marginalia_device, @mortifyingideal (T, the one where Aziraphale is a professional dancer and Crowley is a contestant on a show with him (for American viewers, think Dancing With the Stars). This fic is so good and so funny and so achingly in-character. I love Crowley as the washed-up old star trying to kick his career back up, I love Aziraphale as the put-upon dancer on his last legs, and I love that they’re both the victim of a studio gimmick and then decide that malicious compliance is their best bet. It’s still early in the fic (…at over 40k words wow it’s gonna be a monster and I’m ready), but it’s going to be so good already, I can just tell. There’s already some art for it floating around by naniiebimworks for the interested.)
JUST SOFT
41.  Repeat the Sounding Joy – @allonsy-gabriel (G, the one where they decorate a Christmas tree. This is a short and sweet look at what the holidays are like for an angel and a demon post-apocalypse and it’s so adorable, you guys. Crowley having FEELINGS and Aziraphale being fussy about his decorating, it’s just a treat.)
42. The Nesting Habits of Angelus Principalum – @obaewankenope (NR, the one where Aziraphale nests and is gently protective. This fic is quiet and understated and so unbelievably romantic without being over the top about it; it’s a quiet coming together that creeps up on you, much like how the realization of Aziraphale’s nesting habits creeps up on Crowley. A lovely little thing.)
43. we’ll get there fast and then we’ll take it slow – @tonyhawksmovingcastle (E, the one where Crowley and Aziraphale wind up faking a relationship on a couple’s cruise. E for Chapter 7, which is completely skippable without ruining any plot. This one gets a double whammy for both engaging plot and wonderful OCs that add to rather than distract from the story. Fake dating is fun enough but when you’re fake dating and also being wingmanned by well-meaning possibly supernatural sapphics, while also having fun in the tropics, it’s a recipe for a good time all around (at least for the audience). So lovely and sweet and that moment when Crowley and Aziraphale finally get together is magic.)
44. Road Trip Games and Love – rgfalso (T, the one where Crowley and Aziraphale go on a road trip together. This one almost takes place in real time, and has the most intense and emotional back-and-forth while these poor saps try to work out the Thing between them without actually talking about it for as long as inhumanly possible. Of course there are lots of road trip games, and of course those road trip games are a vehicle of conveyance for what they’re actually trying to say, and cue all the misunderstandings in the world. It’s frustrating and cathartic and amazing and the end especially is so, so sweet.)
45. The Most Stylish Wedding of AZ Fell and AJ Crowley – @leapoffaith1489 (T, the one where Aziraphale is determined to discard tartan for the wedding. Y’all. Omg. If relatively low-stakes cute wedding shenanigans are your thing, welcome home. If Aziraphale being pleasantly surprised is your thing, welcome home. If Aziraphale working through minor insecurities is your thing, welcome, truly, home. Featuring a lovely cast of side characters and a soft-as-butter plot.)
46. The Newlywed Game (Not What You’d Think) – @heavenslittlehellion (NR, the one where a game of drunken truth-telling goes a little farther than anticipated. Hello, welcome to the emotional gut-punch fic, you’ve arrived. The only thing that saves this from dunking into the last category on this list with the other h/c and whump fics is how low-stakes it is and how soft it is when they get past the unpleasant bit. People who love theories on what the Fall felt like, welcome to the table.)
47. On the Road to Love – Mizmak (G, the one where Crowley enters a motor rally race with the Bentley, with Aziraphale as navigator. While there’s great fun in Crowley and Aziraphale needling each other, there’s greater joy in their friendship and tenderness towards the other (and asexual bed-sharing fans, rejoice). It’s a fun concept all around and definitely worth the read.)
48. Mr. Fell’s Bookshop ficlets – @holycatsandrabbits (G, T, the series where Mr. Fell has regular customers and they love the place as much as they love its weird and eldritch owner. For folks who love seeing the Ineffable Duo through others’ eyes, this is a fun series to scratch that particular itch, and has spawned a number of spin-off fics, unless I’m mistaken. It’s a relatively low-stakes series, for people wanting something like that these days, too.)
49. Quiet Reflection – @shinyopals (T, the one where they have to duck into a church to avoid demons. If the phrase “spicy Jesus crackers” holds any appeal whatsoever, go read this fic immediately. It’s heartfelt and hilarious and really that’s all you can ask for in a good fluff fic. Also Crowley being held. Really, that’s all any of us want from life.)
50. Deck the Halls – forthegreatergood (G, the one where mistletoe should really not be this hard to get a hold of. Y’all you simply MUST stick around for the hijinks in this one. They are manifold and hilarious. Does it end in makeouts? Possibly. You’ll just have to read it, won’t you?)
51.  The Secret Dress – GlitterSkullFairy (G, the one where Crowley has a secret wedding dress. This one is very dramatic and sad…and then Aziraphale pops in. Like with all things concerning these two, it immediately takes a turn from there. If putting Crowley in pretty dresses is a thing you enjoy, have a seat and enjoy the show, it’s a softy.)
52. Well…That’s New – @almaasi (G, the one where Crowley doesn’t realize he’s in love. If oblivious Crowley is more to your taste, this is the one for you. Takes the concept “what if Crowley was in love but didn’t realize it” and runs with it for all it’s worth. Hilarious and sweet and wonderful.)
53. serpent, serpent-bearer – @elsajeni (G, the one that’s about horoscopes. I realize the Soft section of the rec list is for things that are Soft but hhnnngkk you guys. This one is so cute. My heart can’t take it. They’re so gosh darned precious, with their newspaper and their horoscopes and their welcome invasion of each other’s personal space.)
54. If Only You Were Mine – @somethingscarlet13 (G, the one where Crowley gets so drunk he can’t remember who Aziraphale’s husband is, just that he’s married. This is a little sugar shot for your day, folks—short, sweet, silly, and did I mention sweet? It is so worth having a giggle at drunk Crowley’s expense, please do read it.)
55. Cupboard Love – @copperplatebeech (T, the one where Crowley is a cranky snek. I would also highly recommend this for folks who enjoy Madam Tracy, especially Madam Tracy being utterly unaffected by being face-to-face with the supernatural and cooing over things like the wonderful lady she is. Fun and a little silly and a lot adorable.)
56. affirmation, appreciation – pearlwaldorf (G, the one where Aziraphale helps someone in need a little differently than expected. This one has Aziraphale taking on the persona of an interested male party looking to pick up the spirits of a woman on the tail end of a messy divorce and Crowley understanding but still getting a little jealous. It’s so sweet and so lovely, both what Aziraphale and Crowley do for this poor woman and how Aziraphale reassures Crowley afterwards. Top notch.)
57. Forget-Me-Not – @dietraumerei (T, the one where Crowley gets amnesia. Not as dramatic as others, he just loses 200 years and it’s temporary, but it’s ever so sweet, watching Crowley fall back in love with the modern world and be gobsmacked that he and Aziraphale are finally together. There’s a lot of reassurance and tender sweet nothings thrown about and I’m pretty sure I developed a heart condition just from reading this, it’s too good.)
58. They Shake The Mountains When They Dance – @copperbadge (T, the one where Crowley finds Aziraphale’s scar. Operating on the theory that Aziraphale was injured in the War in Heaven and that’s why he clutches his leg and limps when he’s discorporated, this is the sappiest, sweetest rumination on the subject I have ever read. Crowley gets so protective and defensive, and Aziraphale is so gentle in talking him down. On the whole, it’s just wonderful and so, so cute. Omg.)
59. Familiar Care – ginger_mosaic (G, the one where the Ineffable Dads have to take their snabies in for medical help. This comes from the Wiggleverse, which on the whole I cannot strongly recommend enough, but this fic in particular centers around the most delightful OC veterinarian who handles Crowley and Aziraphale’s strange family very well. There’s also a fun twist at the end, so absolutely keep reading to find out what that is. And also, immerse yourself in adorable snake baby shenanigans, because they are the best sort.)
TOUCH-STARVED/BODY WORSHIP/WINGS
60. Rituals (or the Seven Layer Bean Dip Approach to Sex) – SleepySelfLoathing (T, the one where no seriously metaphysical angel/demon sex is super weird. Fans of truly esoteric ethereal/occult mating rituals rejoice, for this is your new home. It’s abstract but no less beautiful for it, I think; the imagery and emotional accompaniment are all lovely, even if they don’t meet conventional human romance standards. You can really tell that it means a lot to Crowley and Aziraphale, the ways they show how much they love each other. A weird and delectable little dish, by all accounts.)
61.  Under Pressure – @copperplatebeech (M, the one where Crowley steals kisses. M for sensuality and body worship but nothing too explicit; also could be construed as dubcon kissing, for those of you sensitive to that. Hhhgkk y’all. Crowley thinks he’s being sly getting away with smooching Aziraphale throughout history while they’re both drunk off their rockers but does not count on Aziraphale actually remembering, and then once the Apocalypse is done with and they’re On Their Own Side and Can Aknowledge These Things…well. They do. Crowley is a mess and Aziraphale is a mess and they love each other so much. The writing is so tender and I’m CRYING.)
62. London Calling – forthegreatergood (G, the one with slow-burn wing grooming. There’s so much crammed into this bad boy and it balances it admirably—Crowley’s relationship with Aziraphale, Crowley’s relationship with Hell, Crowley thinking about retirement, Crowley getting preemptively banned from a certain European country for being a pest outside of its consulate, Crowley losing his cool over getting to touch Aziraphale’s wings. Humor, aching tenderness, the kind of longing that feels like a high, quavering violin note, tension and release. A beautiful piece.)
63. Elmie’s Ineffable Fireplace Fics – @almaasi (G, M, M, the series that is completely unrelated except for the physical and also figurative appearances of warm fireplaces. M for sensuality but nothing explicit. The first two are mainly short fluff; the third is a long Regency-esque AU with some gender and sexuality shenanigans on top of Real Danger and Intrigue. True to the writer’s promise, all three fics are pretty comfortable and warm, even if the third has some action and tension. They’re absolutely lovely, imo.)
64. The Hands Applauded (And This Was No Sin) – @ticketybye (G, the one where Crowley as a preoccupation with Aziraphale’s hands. Deals with both touch-starvation and touch-aversity in the same fic and weirdly enough it works. The fic is heartbreaking but it has a good resolution and that’s important.)
65. Moult – @sameoldsorceress (T, the one where Aziraphale molts and Crowley doesn’t. This is typical wing-grooming fare…right up until it isn’t. I won’t spoil the twist but rest assured that there is absolutely a twist. Other than that, it’s supportive and sweet and lovely and lord knows we all could use some of that right now.)
66. never get to heaven on a night like this – RestlessWanderings (G, the series where the Ineffable Wives are touch-starved and pining. The only reason this fic goes here instead of in Jaunts Through History is because especially in Crowley’s side of the story, the touch starvation is so horrifically visceral I very nearly bought myself a weighted blanket out of sympathy stress. They are both so afraid and so desperate for a bit of connection, the pining is absolutely ridiculous. And it helps that there’s worldbuilding there that’s both thematically appropriate and interesting to read. Engendered by lesbianism and catholic guilt, I believe the author said, and in this case what a delicious combination with an absolutely amazing ending.)
67. Strength in Modesty – flandersmare (T, the one where Aziraphale has a secret wardrobe. Y’all. I have a special love-hate relationship with clothes and my body and this fic somehow felt very soothing on both of those fronts. Corsetry is front and center, and it’s all very well-researched and well-presented. The story is so quiet and understated and is really told through excellent sensory details. The ending about broke my heart for tenderness. It’s a double love letter to Aziraphale and to fashion throughout history and I love it.)
BONUS
68. Tales of the Them – @lyricwritesprose (G, the series where Crowley and Aziraphale are the Them’s godparents, too. This is such a fun series, with a lot of stories that are not just funny in bits, but also meaningful. For fans of the Them and people who like stories about children that aren’t dumbed-down or grimdark.)
69. Stans in High Places – @doomed-spectacles (G, the one where there’s someone in the Earth Observation department keeping an eye on Crowley and Aziraphale. Another take on the angel(s) in charge of Earth Observation, this time featuring a singular angel called Grigori, and boy is he a cutie. His friendship with fellow angel Pravuil is also blossoming and sweet throughout, and the amount of innocent cuteness throughout is just spectacular. What an adorable story.)
70. Anthony J Crowley, Retired Demon and AirBnB Superhost – @theoldaquarian (G, the one where Crowley turns his flat into an AirBnB. Told as if reading a comment section, it is hilarious and paints a horrid picture of what interacting with Crowley—and Aziraphale!—is like for normal humans. I can’t give you any more details than that, you are just going to have to read it and laugh your head off about it like I did.)
71.  A Guide to Fame for the Enterprising Demon – @asideofourown (T, the one where Crowley writes a book and accidentally becomes a queer icon. This is…so funny. And so sweet. And like most fics where human bystanders try to piece together what’s happening and come away with completely wrong conclusions, it’s utterly charming. You almost start rooting for the internet conspiracy theorists trying to unearth what exactly Crowley is from his (presumably) evasive or strange answers to interview questions.)
72. Hell Of An Angel – WaitingToBeBroken (T, the one where everyone thinks Crowley is a mafia family. This one is funny in a dramatic irony way; the way that every narrator in this is CONVINCED that Crowley is A. a family of redheads that all look eerily similar, and B. extremely dangerous, is entertaining all on its own. It helps that the writing is smooth and the characters are all fairly engaging, too. A fun little diversion for your day.)
H/C /WHUMP/BAMF
73. the only one i want – @qorktrees (T,  the one where Crowley needs some convincing. The hurt in this one is real, folks. But so is the comfort. At last steps are taken to assure Crowley of how much he is wanted, of how much his love is cherished and his touch desired. If you cry while reading this, congrats and welcome to the club, we are all miserable touch-starved fools here.)
74. Always One More Time – boughofawillowtree (T, the one where Aziraphale has remaining psychological scars from Heaven. This one is tough, y’all, real tough. Aziraphale has a couple of abusive flashbacks and intrusive thoughts and his anxiety flaring up is a constant, so people sensitive to that should take heed. That said, this is a very healing fic, with a lot of underlying hurt that floats to the surface. But throughout Crowley does his best to be patient and understanding and even with a disagreement, it remains gentle and loving throughout.)
75. Smote and smitten – @nohaijiachi (G, the one where Aziraphale is a badass and we are ALL here for it. Screaming Hastur, briefly-sentient flaming swords, Aziraphale being amazing, and starry-eyed Crowley are all the ingredients chosen to make a wonderful little fic, and we are all grateful for it. What a guy, that Aziraphale.)
76. Nearly Romeo and Juliet – bisexual_dumbass (T, the one where Crowley’s hiding his panic attacks. This one hurts, friends. This one has miscommunications and fear and boundary communication, all while being so tense even the gentlest touch will snap something. It’s got learning to take care of yourself and value yourself and live FOR yourself. It is very important and I hope a lot of you read it because gosh dang.)
77.  Pigeon Girlfriends With A Long Preamble – SleepySelfLoathing (T, the one that’s exactly what it says on the tin. This fic has it all: humor! Torture! Terrible humans! Wrathful Aziraphale! Pain and suffering! Tenderness and care! Pigeon girlfriends! The Hurt and the Comfort are present in about equal measure, but fair warning that what Crowley is made to do just before his rescue is more than a little disturbing, both to readers and especially to Crowley.)
149 notes · View notes
Text
Within the Circles
Good Omens Spooky/Whump fic.
This fic was written for the @tricketyboo2020 “Trick-or-Treat” prompts; @peppervl requested a scary angel/demon summoning, with the summoners wanting to hurt their captive, a rescue, and Hurt/Comfort (non-graphic and SFW). Well, I have Part 1 ready to go, but rescue and comfort are still being written! I’ll try to get out more later today!
This fic is massive (part 1 is just under 5k), so please consider reading on AO3!
Part 1: Circles of Protection
Crowley snapped awake, fighting off the dream, just as the sun rose. He could still taste the salt and smoke, still see the black candles, the silver sigils laid into the floor, still hear the careful chanting – the words changed over the centuries, but the intent always remained the same.
Someone had started the process of summoning a demon last night, and Crowley was the unlucky target.
“Bad dream?” He shook himself out of the reverie to see Aziraphale smiling down at him, reaching over to gently brush strands of bright red hair from his eyes. “You always get clingy when you have one.”
“Nh.” Crowley was pressed as close to his angel’s side as he could get, arms twined around soft stomach, one leg hooked over Aziraphale’s knees. There was a warmth emanating from him, surrounding them both, a warmth that had nothing at all to do with Hell or Earth, a warmth that could heal everything in Crowley within seconds. “Better already.” He pressed his face into the soft tartan flannel, soaking it all in.
“Do you want to talk about it?”
“No.” A little too quickly, perhaps, but Aziraphale didn’t try to pry, simply pressed a kiss to the top of his head, breathing deeply, as if he enjoyed the burnt-match smell that still clung to Crowley even after all this time out of Hell.
“Alright. Get some more sleep then, darling, it’s only just after seven.”
But Crowley didn’t have time to sleep. He needed to prepare.
Was the New Moon tonight? Most likely. And it was halfway between the Harvest and Hunter moons. The night the humans would have the most power. More than Crowley could resist on his own. Hard to judge how strong they were – felt like at least three, could be more. Already he could feel their hook in his mind, tugging at him. It was just lucky his mental defenses were still intact, or else they’d have him now, bound to a circle, and the questions…
Aziraphale noticed how tense he was, rubbed a hand down his back. “Crowley, dear, it’s alright. Just a dream. It’s over now.”
No, it wasn’t over. It had barely even begun.
“Angel…” he started slowly, not wanting to pull away. “I’ve got…some things to take care of today. Why don’t you head back to the shop?”
“Oh, no, I’d much rather stay with you.” There was no denying the growing concern in his voice.
“Really has to be done alone.”
“Can you tell me about it?” Now Aziraphale’s fingers clutched at the back of Crowley’s shirt.
“Ngh.”
He could. Aziraphale could probably help him. Even with his defenses, Crowley would be in for a fight tonight, and there was no one else he’d rather have at his side.
Except.
Except Crowley would have to tell him. Would have to say the words out loud. Would have to admit to all that fear and pain, and see the horror he could just barely keep buried reflected in Aziraphale’s eyes and then what was he supposed to do?
No. Much better to face this alone, as he always had. He could fight this off, and after the New Moon the humans wouldn’t be able to do more than irritate him, no matter how large their group. They’d lose the trace on him in a day or two, and that would be the end of it.
Besides, Aziraphale would only worry. And fuss. And get anxious and lose his appetite, and a thousand other things Crowley had sworn to keep him safe from.
No, this was the way it had to be.
“S’nothing to worry about.” Crowley lifted Aziraphale’s hand, kissed the back of it. Covering up his nerves as best he could. “Just demon stuff. I’ll call you first thing in the morning when I’m done. We can...mmm…go for a picnic?”
“It’s a bit cold for a picnic,” Aziraphale admonished, wearing his most put-upon frown. “And you know I would much rather spend the day with my husband.”
“Nh, I’m in trouble.” Crowley tried to smile, pushing himself to sit up. He felt a wave of cold the moment he moved away from Aziraphale, his mind filling with that echo of chanting, but he quickly slid beside his angel, head on his shoulder, arm around his middle. Back into the warmth. “I know you only call me husband when you’re angry at me.”
“Or when I’m angry at someone else. Do you remember that rude man in the park?”
“How could I forget?” This time his smile was almost genuine. “You made that old bigot cry. It was beautiful.”
“Well. I obviously didn’t want to use such harsh language, but there were children around. I couldn’t have them thinking his behaviour was socially acceptable.”
“My hero,” Crowley said mockingly, lifting Aziraphale’s hand to kiss it again.
“Stop trying to distract me. Why don’t I stay here and, I don’t know, make you tea? I know how to stay out of the way.”
“I just...it’s easier this way.” Another kiss. “And we do whatever you want tomorrow. Dinner? Trip to Paris? What are you in the mood for?”
Aziraphale pulled away a little, trying to see his face more clearly. “And...you promise it’s safe?”
There was no hiding the way Crowley hesitated, but he pushed through it quickly. “If everything goes right, worst thing that’ll happen is a sleepless night for me. No one else gets hurt, promise.” Not unless something went very, very wrong.
“I still don’t like it,” Aziraphale sighed. “But…I suppose…a nice walk in the woods? See the leaves?”
“Yes! Whatever you want.”
“Scarecrow competition?” Crowley nodded eagerly. “And...a maize maze? Oh, a vegetable grower’s contest! There’s one at that farmer’s market over in Oxfordshire – we can stop by Tadfield and see how everyone is. And then we can fly kits and carve pumpkins and – and have a bonfire with marshmallows—”
“We can’t do all that in a day!” The demon slumped back down with a dramatic groan, head hitting the pillows with a thud.
“You said whatever I like. And if I’m to be deprived of your company for a day, I expect you to make it up to me.”
“Fine,” Crowley growled, rubbing his jaw. “S’Friday tomorrow anyway. We can make a weekend of it.” He’d need to recover, and a weekend out of London sounded more appealing than ever. “Just promise you’ll let me take a nap first. Then we can head over, take the kids wherever you like. I’ll even do jack-o-lanterns. Show them how to make a proper one out of a turnip.”
“Alright. It’s a deal.” Aziraphale leaned across and kissed his lips. “And if you insist on being mysterious and secretive, that just gives me an entire day to think of wonderful autumn activities for you. There will be fuzzy jumpers. Maybe a crown of leaves.”
“Bastard.” Crowley kissed him back, trying to pull in every ounce of that warmth.
He’d need it to get through the night.
--
The back room of Crowley’s flat contained his most important possessions – an eagle lectern rescued from a bombed out church, several artworks by Leonardo da Vinci, a photograph of Aziraphale, the first he’d taken when they no longer needed to keep themselves a secret.
He hadn’t meant for the room to have a theme, but all the important things in his life tended to have something in common.
He tugged open the safe that had once held his flask of Holy Water. The flask itself was long gone - Aziraphale had whisked even that away, a gruesome reminder of his greatest fear. Crowley had never considered asking for a replacement; the first had nearly cost Crowley the most precious thing in his life, and that was too high a price to pay.
Still, he wondered how Aziraphale would react if he knew about the box.
Tucked in a corner of the safe sat the simple chest of dark wood, sigils traced across the lid with little more than a hint of the silver that had once inlaid them. Still, they remained strong enough to keep the box safe, and to keep Crowley safe from it. Even picking it up made the hair prickle down his arms, his fingers tingle. It was almost too heavy to lift.
He carried it to a table in his solarium, settling it between trembling plants. They, at least, would have a relaxing day. No time to shout at them now. The lid rattled when he set it down - it had once locked securely, with a key that he carried everywhere, until an emergency caught him unprepared and Crowley had shattered the latch to get inside. He should get it replaced, probably, but in truth the only one he needed to keep out was himself.
Crowley flipped back the lid.
The inside was lined with deep red velvet, worn and torn in many places, and packed tight with rows of glass vials. Some held salt, others spices, herbs, small stones, one even had a jumble of tiny iron nails; the largest held pure black ink. A side compartment held larger stones – amethyst, agate, selenite, quartz. In another, a bundle of candles, black and white and deep violet. An Evil Eye pendant, the back carved with symbols of protection even more obscure.
Every good luck charm, every token of protection that humanity had ever devised. Everything that had ever been waved at him in fear, in an attempt to ward off the evil spirit - everything except holy symbols. Not because he feared them more (though he did), but because they wouldn’t be any help to him now.
Even without the Holy Water, Crowley could still be a danger to himself. Every object in this chest, if used properly, could harm a demon – some of them almost fatally.
He’d learned long ago that sometimes he needed to take risks to protect himself.
--
Crowley decided to make his stand in the bedroom. No windows, only one door, practically a cave, though a literal cave would have been better. He miracled out all the furniture, leaving a glass-fronted concrete cube, facing west across the solarium to the windows, then set to work scrubbing walls, floor, even ceiling until it was almost astringently clean.
Grabbing a bowl from the kitchen, he mixed salt, black pepper, cayenne and a few other ingredients, muttering words of power few humans would still remember. His fingers began to sting as he stirred them through the mixture, but that just meant it was working. Crowley carefully poured a thin line of black and white powder, moving in a clockwise circle in the center of the bedroom, being careful to leave a gap to move in and out through.
Four black candles, set at the cardinal points; four white halfway between them. Three violet, inside the circle. He wasn’t sure if those last ones did anything, but he’d never been summoned while burning them, and he wasn’t going to risk it now.
Another clockwise pass through the room, putting down incense burners – cedar, cloves, dragon’s blood, sandalwood. Even unlit, the scent of them made his lungs ache. He could feel the power building in the room, like a charge of static electricity, like lightning looking for a place to ground itself.
The vial that should have held garlic was empty. He’d used it all back in the 70s and never replaced it. Stupid. Careless. He could miracle some up, but he’d learned the hard way that anything he manifested would be useless for protection until cleansed by a witch. Book Girl would probably help if he asked, but not without asking questions and making it a whole thing. She wouldn’t be as bad as Aziraphale, but it still wouldn’t be good.
Besides, he didn’t even have time for a trip to the grocery store, never mind Tadfield.
The jar of ink, thankfully, was filled to the top. He snapped his fingers to create a paintbrush – that, at least, he could manifest safely – and set to work dabbing sigils of protection on the floor and across the walls. They were hasty, badly formed – but each one hurt, a burning flash of pain up his arm as he finished it, some of them jabbing at his heart. He couldn’t imagine what a proper sigil would do to him, so he went for quantity over quality.
Sixteen around the outside of the salt-and spices circle, eight more around the inside, and one on each wall. In between he set the stones, piles of herbs, and glass jars filled with dried flowers and less savoury items.
The protection in the air was almost palpable now, dragging across his skin, clinging to him like the heat in a sauna. It made his head spin, and he wasn’t even done.
The box was nearly empty now, just a pile of assorted good luck charms – a horseshoe, a rabbit’s foot, a stone with a hole worn through the center – and the Evil Eye amulet.
They burned when he picked them up.
Fumbling, Crowley set the last items around the innermost circle, barely leaving himself space to sit.
Every time he stepped into the solarium, it was like the shock of a cool breeze on a hot day, or the flare of a campfire on a frozen winter night. Both at the same time. A relief. The bedroom repelled him.
He leaned against the table, eyeing the empty chest, trying to think of anything he’d missed.
Nearly sunset. No time now.
He reached for the box of matches, then hesitated.
Heading to the back room one more time, Crowley made a quick call on his mobile phone.
“Hello,” a cheerful voice called across the line, and a little worry unknotted almost immediately. “I’m sorry, you just missed us. We’ve been closed since August—”
“It’s me.”
“Oh! Crowley! How are you? Did you, er, take care of what you needed to do?”
“Nh. Finishing up now.” He grabbed what he needed and turned back, feet dragging as if he could delay the inevitable. “Few more hours. So. Um. Don’t worry. I’ll see you in the morning.”
“Well, of course I’m worried, you silly thing.”
“Really you don’t—” The sky burned red as the sun sank behind the buildings of Mayfair. The hook in Crowley’s mind stirred to life.
“It’s my job to worry about you, dear,” Aziraphale went on. “Why don’t you let me come down and help. I’m sure whatever it is—”
“Nuh. No chance.” He snatched up the box of matches, hand shaking so badly half of them immediately spilled onto the floor. Get it together, Crowley! “Stay wh – where you are.” 
“Crowley!” Now there was no mistaking the deep concern. “Something is wrong, I can hear it in your voice.”
“S’fine.” Why was his voice so high?
“I don’t believe that for a second.” A pause, while Aziraphale probably paced around the room, lips pressed together. “I...I know you have your secrets, and I’ve never pried. I won’t start tonight. But, please, just tell me...are you sure everything is alright?”
Crowley took a deep breath, pulling off his glasses to rub at his eyes. No, he wasn’t sure. There was nothing sure about summonings. He’d be in for a fight tonight, and the smallest thing to distract him or throw off his wards could bring disaster.
He knew what he was doing, he was good at this, really. Hadn’t lost the fight in centuries. Not since 1386, when a group of seven summoners had overwhelmed all his defenses. Of course, Crowley had barely escaped them, and when he had…
No. He would not – could not – tell Aziraphale that.
But he wouldn’t lie, either.
“Honestly…no. But I don’t think there’s anything you can do.”
“Crowley…”
“S’fine. M’gonna feel…” His throat closed up, and it had very little to do with the lingering scents of incense. “Feel so much better when I see you tomorrow.”
A short pause, and then a voice so soft it nearly broke Crowley on the spot: “I love you, dearest.”
“Yeah.” Crowley wiped at his eyes again. “I, uh…” Swallowed, tried to clear his throat. “I…”
A tug of power at the back of his mind, almost too subtle to feel. So strong already. The sun hadn’t even fully set.
“I gotta go.” Crowley’s voice was rough, even to his own ears. “Call you in the morning.”
He shoved the mobile into his pocket and hurried back into the bedroom, striking a match as he went, trying to keep his fingers from trembling and putting it out.
Moving clockwise around the room one last time, he carefully lit candles and incense, filling the room with thick, cloying scents. The tug on his mind weakened, but the protective charms were almost as bad, flaring across his skin like red-hot razor blades.
When everything was complete, he settled in the center of the room and poured out the last of the salt-and-spices mixture, closing the circle. At least seven layers of protection surrounded him, candles and charms and sigils and everything else humanity’s fantastic imagination could devise.
Crowley tied the amulet around his neck, where it hung like a millstone, and placed the object he’d retrieved from the back room in front of him: the photograph of Aziraphale, smiling at St James’s Park, three days after the world had ended and a better one had taken its place.
The picture wouldn’t provide any protection, but it made Crowley feel stronger anyway.
“Right, Angel,” he managed, crossing his legs and hunching his shoulders. “Here we go.”
Through the windows of the solarium, he watched the sun vanish.
--
The first attack came an hour after sunset, at 7:18 PM, just as the tension was beginning to make Crowley’s back ache.
Candles flickered around the room, and the flames turned violet-black, one by one, growing, towering almost up to the ceiling. Whenever a candle shifted, it tugged at Crowley, absorbing his own power as much as the power invading his space.
A wind stirred around the circle of salt, sending stray grains rattling and tumbling away. Glass vials rattled and clicked, but so far everything held. Crowley tried to recite the mantra he used - Latin, very dignified and appropriate - but he kept messing up the words.
The air of the room sucked at him, like the sea going out before a wave, and Crowley barely had time to brace himself before the wind solidified, slamming against his circle like a physical force, swirling around him, coiling, boiling, trying to find a way in. 
Each impact rattled him, and the hook in his mind pulled, trying to drag him towards the door.
“No, no, no, fuck off!” He braced his feet against the floorboards and crossed his arms in front of his chest. He gave up on the Latin and tried something more his style: Get the fuck out of my home, repeated, over and over, until it was no longer words, just a wave of sound.
The power slammed against his circle again, nearly knocking him over. One foot lashed out, and his toe caught one of the glass vials of protective herbs. It teetered - spun - and fell over, rolling towards the circle of salt. “Oh, shit, no--”
Before he could put the blessed thing back, the power sensed the hole in his defenses and struck. It hit him in the chest, like an arrow, like a harpoon, and the force of it threw him to the ground. Gasping and twisting, Crowley sprawled on the bedroom floor, scrambling for something to hold on to as the line of power started to pull, dragging him towards the door. He scratched at the concrete floor, the ink-drawn sigils, but there was nothing to hold. His toe tapped another vial.
Fuck, why did I put so many of these things in here? He used the pull on his chest to force himself to sit up, despite the pain, and caught the vial before it fell. The first one had come to rest just shy of the circle of powders, leaving them unbroken. Where did this one come from? All the blessed trinkets made circles within circles, and if he didn’t plug the gap—
Something not-quite-solid shot around Crowley’s neck, constricting, squeezing, pulling him to his feet, up, off the ground. It was a hand, he could feel it, fingers digging into his flesh, becoming more real as it tried to pull him to his destination. Crowley twisted in the air, helpless, feet kicking futilely at a captor who stood miles away, scratching at his own neck in his desperation to get free.
One finger shifted, brushed across the amulet he wore, and suddenly it released him, dropping Crowley in a heap in the middle of the circle. He coughed and tugged at the charm, which sliced his finger like broken glass even though it was still intact, and crawled across the sigils to the gap in the circle of stones and jars. Another bolt of pain struck his shoulder, insubstantial fingers plucked at the collar of his shirt, but with a scream of “Leave me the fuck alone,” Crowley slammed the little glass jar back into place—
A flash of black light and a shock of pain through every nerve—
And suddenly everything was still again.
The candles burned, blue flames steady, the circles unbroken.
Crowley curled into a ball at the center of the circle, shielding his wounds. Everything hurt, his ribs, his shoulder, his back, his neck. He felt like he should be a bloody, bruised mess, but apart from the tiny cut on his finger there was no sign of injury. And beyond that, the cold, every part of him down to his core, a bone-deep cold beyond shivering.
With a great effort, he managed to push his sleeve up enough to see his watch.
7:24 PM.
It was going to be a long night.
Already, somewhere in the back of his mind, he could hear the chanting again, calling to him. The candles started shifting from blue to black. Already.
His eyes fell on the picture of Aziraphale, smiling like a bastard by the duck pond after stealing Crowley’s ice cream. Crowley hadn’t been angry. He’d ordered Aziraphale’s favorite for a reason.
“S’gonna be alright, Angel,” Crowley muttered, forcing himself to sit up even though his arms and chest and head felt like lead. “I’ll see you soon.”
No wind this time; the summoners tried a different approach. The quartz crystals began to glow and hum, a high-pitched noise that ground against Crowley’s eardrums.
He braced himself, eyes on the door.
“Alright, you assholes. Do your worst.”
--
Crowley was not winning.
Candles lay scattered across the floor, most with flames snuffed out, and he had long since lost the power to miracle them back into place. The charms, the herbs, the incense - everything had failed, one by one. Even the sigils were smudged beyond recognition.
Every part of his body was bruised, broken, sore.
Now Crowley clung to the ceiling as a powerful wind shifted the circle of salt, grain by grain breaking down his last barrier. His fingers dug into the light fixture, even as more lines of power than he could count buried themselves into his bones, hauling him towards the door. Metal twisted under his fingers.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he groaned as the circle below grew thinner – thinner – and vanished altogether, breaking the protection with a snap he felt in his soul.
The forces pulling on him – harpoons and snares and hands and everything else the bastards had thrown – suddenly became irresistibly strong, ripping him free, dragging Crowley back along the ceiling.
His feet slammed into the glass above the door, bracing him, but only for the moment. 
It was the last line of defense, the last thing keeping him safe – once he passed through the door they would have him. He pawed at his jacket looking for any other tricks – the amulet had burst shortly after midnight, all the powders burned to nothing, even his mobile phone was gone, lost in some struggle he barely remembered.
Nothing remained but his legs bracing against the wall and ceiling, his mind bracing against the pain and the call, and his glasses…
Shit, that might work.
He pulled them off and glared at the lenses. More black holes than mirrors, but they might be reflective enough.
It was dangerous, trying to reflect power back on the attacker. It worked best if you knew who was attacking you and where they were. A desperate stab in the dark could go wrong in too many ways.
Worse, leaning forward to attempt this might tip his balance enough to drop him through the door, ending this fight entirely.
But what else could he do? Try to hide in this corner until dawn released him?
The glass cracked under his feet.
Now or never.
Planting his feet on the ceiling, Crowley swung his head down, glasses in hand and pointed west, through the door, in the direction the power pulled him. Shoved them right where the pull was strongest and snarled, “Get out of here! Find some other bastard to play your games. I’m not fucking going!”
And just like that, the power released him.
Crowley hit the floor – hard – hard enough to crack his ribs, if they weren’t already damaged, hard enough to slam his teeth against each other. He spat out a mouthful of blood – had he bit his tongue? Or some other injury in the night, ignored until now? – and wriggled across the floor, grabbing four candles as quick as he could. North, east, south, west, all around him. One still flickered and he used it to light the rest before the attack could come again.
But…nothing came. Not even the chanting in the back of his mind.
He looked at his watch, cracked but still running. 5:08 AM.
Had it worked? Had he made it through the night?
Crowley shook his head and let his gaze drift around the room, trying to focus on anything.
What a mess. Broken glass, plant matter and powders scattered everywhere, formless smears of ink, burnt-out wax stubs. Even his glasses were destroyed, frames twisted, glass melted.
Would he have to do this again tonight? Most summoners could only manage an attack like this on certain nights when the forces of the universe aligned, but these had been strong and persistent. There was a chance…
At the center of the room, Aziraphale’s picture suddenly burst into flames, turning to ashes in a heartbeat. Too quickly for a stray spark, for a mundane fire.
“Shit, no, no,” Crowley’s eyes darted around the wreckage for his mobile. Had he dropped it in the corner? Blown out of the room in a stray wind? He snapped his fingers, trying to summon it, but he couldn’t find a whiff of power.
It could be a mistake. It could be a trap. One step out from his makeshift candle circle, and they’d have him, and Crowley didn’t have the strength left to endure what came next.
But if something had happened to Aziraphale, that didn’t fucking matter, did it?
One cautious step past the candles, half in and half out. Nothing.
Three steps to the door, leaning through into the incongruously still-clean flat. Nothing. The plants didn’t even stir.
He crossed the solarium, gazing out through the windows at the night sky. The miracle that allowed him to see the stars despite the lights of the city was rapidly fading, as he hadn’t even the strength to sustain it, but he could still see Venus, clear as lamplight, and Regulus, and Leo…
It wasn’t even near dawn.
And still, nothing tugged at him, nothing beckoned.
Which could only mean…
Crowley ran from the room, all pain forgotten.
--
“No, no, no, shit, shit, shit, no, no, shit, fuck, no,” he muttered the entire drive to Aziraphale’s shop, an excruciating three and a half minutes at speeds the Bentley had never previously reached.
The east window lights were on, the rest of the shop dimmed, the way Aziraphale liked it when he was reading all night in his favorite chair.
The door was blown wide open.
Crowley slammed the Bentley into park right in the middle of the road and staggered out. “No, no, no, Azira—”
There, lying in the doorway: a suit, a waistcoat, a tartan bow tie.
Aziraphale was gone.
Crowley had told the summoners to find some other bastard, and they had. They’d found his bastard.
He collapsed in the street, and for the first time that night, screamed in pain.
--
Thank you for reading, and I’m so sorry! More coming soon!! Special thanks to @angel-and-serpent who gave me so many ideas for protection magic, I’m probably going to have to write MORE fics with witchcraft in them! In particular, thanks for the idea that the protections would hurt Crowley as much as help him, which really allowed me to go off.
29 notes · View notes
peppervl · 3 years
Photo
Tumblr media
Proportionate to the Offense Chapter 1/?
Authors: PepperVL and NaroMoreau Pairing: Aziraphale/Crowley Rating: Mature Warning: Graphic Depictions of Violence Characters: Aziraphale, Crowley, Adam Young, Gabriel, Michael, Beelzebub, Hastur Tags: Post-Almost Apocalypse (Good Omens), Torture, Aftermath of Torture, Violence, Aftermath of Violence, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, There Will Be A Happy Ending, But It's Gonna Take A Bit, Hang In There, Aziraphale Loves Crowley (Good Omens), Crowley Loves Aziraphale (Good Omens), Heaven is Terrible (Good Omens)    
It's been almost a year since the almost-apocalypse, and Aziraphale and Crowley have been proceeding with business as usual, albeit without the fear of getting caught together by their former superiors. They enjoy lunches and dinners out, strolls through the park... and absolutely never saying a word to the other about how they really feel. An invitation to Adam's Yay We Stopped the Apocalypse party tempts them both to say something, but before either of them can gather the courage, Heaven and Hell make a second attempt at punishment. Can they survive and get away to find their happily ever after?
27 notes · View notes
freyjawriter24 · 3 years
Text
First Line Tag Game
Rules: List the first lines of your last 20 stories (if you have less than 20, just list them all). See if there are any patterns. Choose your favourite opening line, then tag 10 of your favourite authors!
Thank you for the tag, @ivory-line! 💜
These are, predictably, all Good Omens pieces (since that’s all my brain has let me write for the past... nearly two years), in order of most recent update according to AO3. I’ll link them all in case any first lines spark interest!
(long post, so I’ve put in a cut)
They were everywhere. (from Who We Are, a collab project with @inexplicable-void for the DIWS Reverse Bang)
Aziraphale Engel looked out at the heavy grey clouds and the already-thick layer of snow covering everything in sight. (from The Wedding Journey, written for the GO-Events Book Fest)
A significant amount of time had passed before Aziraphale realised he hadn't seen Crowley in a while. (from The Boat Is Stuck, a slightly silly fic inspired by the Ever Given's blockage of the Suez Canal)
It wasn’t until the champagne and several bottles of red had been emptied that he gave up all pretence at subtlety. (from Finally Hitting the Mark, a ficlet written for Round 11 of the GO-Events Name That Author game)
It started by accident, really. (from Keep Me Warm, written for @peppervl as part of the Good Snowmens Winter Gift Exchange)
Aziraphale was reorganising a shelf when it happened. (from Moving the Markers, written for the Unleash the Chaos Zine)
It took every ounce of restraint Crowley had to act casual when he walked through the doors of the bookshop that evening. (from I'd Like To Propose (A Toast To Us), written for @jay-the-day-away for the GO Love Day 2021 exchange)
Aziraphale had been quite enjoying his stroll alone through the woods. (from The Sapling, a collab project with @tweedfeather for the DIWS Reverse Bang)
First there was idle wondering. (from Where I'm Meant To Be, written for the Ineffable Wives Femslash February 2021 event)
“It’s on the 22nd this year, angel,” Crowley said gently. (from On Primrose Hill, written for @cupidsbower as part of the Good Snowmens Winter Gift Exchange)
Crowley thought he was being subtle. (from Advent Omens, a series of winter ficlets based on drawlight’s December 2019 prompt calendar)
Seasons, Crowley was convinced, were one of God's oldest jokes. (from Winter of Our (Dis?)Content, written for @ineffable-snowman as part of the Good Snowmens Winter Gift Exchange)
Crowley stared, open-mouthed, at the angel before him. (from to us, to the future, to the world, written using six different New Year prompts)
Crowley hovered awkwardly, hoping desperately that their sunglasses covered up the fact that they were staring directly at the bed. (from the only one (is you), a ficlet based on the prompt ‘Only One Bed’)
Crowley rang the doorbell and shivered, wishing – not for the first time that morning – that he’d had the foresight to bring something slightly warmer than his cropped leather jacket. (from The Mystery of the Missing Sword, written for the GO-Events Mystery AU)
The air was warm and heavy, the dry heat of the past few days building into an electric tension somewhere overhead. (from Where It's Always Safe and Warm, written for @princessdianaartemis for the Ineffable Wives Exchange)
Beautiful, Aziraphale thought, as he stood in the doorway to Warlock’s playroom, watching Nanny Ashtoreth try to wrangle a child’s painting easel into submission. (from How Much Your Nanny Loves You, written for the GO-Events OTP Prompts event)
The storm clouds east of Eden dissipated somewhat after a time, but the sky there remained grey and heavy-looking for a while. (from Cumulonimbus, a ficlet written for Round 10 of the GO-Events Name That Author game)
Things definitely looked brighter here. (from The Ethics of an Earldom, written with @hexqueen for the GO-Events POV Pairs event)
“This is a completely ridiculous idea,” Pepper said firmly. (from May Luck Be Yours on Halloween, written for @eveningstarcatcher for the Trickety-Boo Halloween Exchange)
Patterns: There’s actually a decent amount of variety here, I’m quite pleased with that! Several of these start with a name, which is a pattern, and there’s quite a few that set the scene with weather (more than I expected!), but there’s a lot of difference in length and perspective too. I’m sure there’s other patterns, but I don’t know how good I am at analysing my own writing, so if anyone notices any cool ones, feel free to comment!
Favourite: Ooh, I don’t know! I quite like 4, 7, and 14, but I think 17 might just edge them out. It’s really hard to pick, though!
Tags: Tagging some excellent authors to join in with this (as always, no pressure to play the game, and sorry if you’ve been tagged in one of these before!) @inexplicable-void, @peppervl, @cupidsbower, @ineffable-snowman, @princessdianaartemis, @hexqueen, @eveningstarcatcher, @waywarder, @charlottemadison42, and for anyone else who wants to join in with this game, consider this your tag!
3 notes · View notes
Text
i’ll be the wind beneath your wings (ch. 5)
and here we are, the final chapter of my swap gift to @peppervl! i hope you liked your gift!  (read it on ao3!)
-
The Day After Armageddon
Centuries passed. Humanity grew. The world morphed into something new and unrecognizable. The end of everything thundered on their doorstep and was sent away again. They lost—
I don’t need you.
— they found—
Lift home?
And somehow, the same angel and the same demon from six thousand years ago found each other in the storm.
You can stay at my place if you like.
They huddled together for refuge inside of Crowley’s flat, tired—so, so tired—but they could not rest yet. The War was over, but the battle was not.
“They aren’t going to be happy with us,” murmured Aziraphale. He still had enough energy to anxiously pace before Crowley, who was sprawled in his… throne? It certainly looked like a throne. “I mean—you saw Gabriel. He looked ready to smite me. And Beelzebub. Oh, we shouldn’t have antagonized them—”
Crowley listlessly stared at the ceiling as Aziraphale spoke, lazily swinging his sunglasses. “It was worth it, though,” he replied after a moment.
“I mean, of course, Gabriel’s face was priceless, but what are we going to do? They’ll send their armies after us as retribution for stopping their War!”
“Maybe.” 
“Twenty million angels and demons. All after me and you.”
“That’s a big number, alright.”
“We might be put to death, even. I doubt we’ll get a trial, not after everything we’ve done.”
“Probably.”
“Crowley, this is serious! Why—?”
“Angel,” said Crowley. He sounded so weary, yet a small, crooked smile pushed its way across his face. “C’mere.”
Aziraphale came. Step by step, until he stood before Crowley and his smile. He held out his hand. Aziraphale took it and sighed shakily as Crowley squeezed it.
“I’m sorry,” Aziraphale mumbled. “I’m just—I’m scared. For us.”
“We’re going to be fine,” Crowley said, in such a soft but knowing way that Aziraphale could almost believe him right away.
Almost.
“I—appreciate the vote of confidence, but how?”
Crowley rubbed his thumb along Aziraphale’s knuckles. “We’ll come up with a plan, and it’ll work. We’re smarter than all of Heaven and Hell combined. Gabriel thinks he has something going on up there, but we all know that’s a load of tosh.” Aziraphale chuckled weakly. “And Beelzebub—they’re crafty, I’ll give ‘em that much, but they learned it all from me.”
“We can’t rely on wits—or lack thereof—alone!”
“And we won’t,” Crowley assured. “We’ve got something else, too.”
“And what may that be?”
“Time.” Crowley snapped his fingers. His throne morphed into a very cushy looking couch. He lightly tugged Aziraphale down. The red velvet cushions were precisely as plush as they appeared to be. “Beelzebub’s got to get all of their little minions in line again, and so does Gabriel. Dunno about angels, but demons are a rowdy bunch on a good day, and horrid little buggers on a bad one, and I would say this is a very bad day for Hell.”
“What are you implying?”
“I,” said Crowley, “am implying that they aren’t going to break down my front door in the next thirty seconds, and that we can relax.”
Aziraphale let out a long breath and slumped against Crowley’s side. “You’re right. I suppose I got myself rather worked up.”
“I’ll say. I thought you were supposed to be the rational one.”
“Goodness, no, have you met me? Weren’t you the one to stop time just earlier today?”
“...I panicked.”
“Oh, dear.” With the initial rush panic mostly washed away, Aziraphale felt empty. Like the tide had come in and taken everything with it when it went back out. “Well, it was impressive, nonetheless.”
Crowley barked a laugh. “Don’t ask me to do it again anytime soon. I think I’ll discorporate.”
“I wouldn’t dream of it. You must be exhausted.”
“Could sleep for another hundred years,” Crowley said, and it was then that Aziraphale truly heard the exhaustion lacing his words. 
“Well, maybe not that long,” said Aziraphale. “I’d be lonely with you, my friend.”
Crowley glanced at him, a knowing glimmer sparkling in the corners of his tired eyes. “Fine,” he said. “Until morning, then. But if you wake me up before eleven, you’ll have bigger problems than Heaven and Hell to worry about.”
Aziraphale huffed a laugh and bumped his head against Crowley’s shoulder. “Go on then. We can discuss our strategy over tea in the morning. I’ll keep myself entertained. I’m sure you have a book or two somewhere around here.”
Crowley nodded slowly. After a few seconds, he stood up and strode over to a wall. He put one palm on it, then turned back to Aziraphale. Crowley was never one to look his age, but now the lines around the corners of his eyes betrayed a sort of ancient weariness that only came with seeing the beginning and the end of the world in your lifespan. “I’ll see you in the morning, angel.”
It certainly sounded like goodnight. But there was an individual note of reluctance playing in Crowley’s voice that Aziraphale hesitated at. 
“Yes,” he said instead of pressing it. “Have a good sleep.”
“...Yeah. G’night.”
He pushed on the wall. Part of it swung open like a revolving door, and Crowley went through it. Before it shut, Aziraphale swore he saw Crowley turning to look back.
And then the door shut and he was alone.
Aziraphale blew out a long breath and drummed his fingers on his knees. Some tea sounded nice right about now. Or hot chocolate. Crowley didn’t seem like the type of person that would keep a kettle around, or even a pot. Or tea bags. Or anything to make any drink. Did he even have a kitchen? He did say Aziraphale was free to explore… 
Twenty minutes of poking about Crowley’s flat found him back in the living room with a couple of dusty books and a cup of coffee. As it turned out, Crowley did have a kitchen, but it looked so new and unused that it could have been photographed for an advertisement for a remodeling agency. Aziraphale almost felt bad for using it to make coffee, which was the only thing Crowley had in the cupboards. He wasn’t particularly fond of coffee, but he was desperate enough for something hot to drink to take it.
He sipped his coffee, grimacing at the taste. The flat was large, but there wasn’t much in it apart from some furniture and a few oddly specific art pieces. The sketch of Mona Lisa was particularly impressive. He’d only met the artist once, and that was when he went to get his portrait sketched with Crowley. Judging from the stories Crowley had told of him, da Vinci was quite the character. Aziraphale still wasn’t entirely sure what to make of the vases. They were beautifully made, but they looked to be more like a last-ditch effort to make the place a bit more lived-in than actual decorations. The same was true for the books; the front covers were still glossy and stiff once he wiped the dust from them, and the spines crackled when he opened them up to read.
It took him almost an hour to get through the first chapter. It wasn’t that the content was dense. Even if it were, he’d become adept at processing even the most complex texts extraordinarily quickly. No, the issue was the anxiety shaking away in his mind. He pushed it aside for the first few pages, but as he went on, he couldn't but help pay more and more attention to it. It settled over him like an itchy robe and, as time went on, began to permeate his skin and gnaw on his bones. 
Aziraphale frowned. It was the strangest sensation, but he could swear that this feeling didn’t belong to him. When he stressed, there was a discernible reason for it that he would hunt down and fix. This time, he couldn’t begin to make sense of what precisely the problem was. 
If it wasn’t him, then…
Aziraphale gently shut his book. The half-full mug was left beside the couch as he got to his feet and took a few experimental steps towards the wall Crowley had gone through; the feeling immediately sharpened. He went to try and push open the same wall Crowley walked through. It opened startlingly easily, and Aziraphale was nearly hit in the behind by the door as he fell through it. He steadied himself and surveyed the… greenhouse?
Dozens of gorgeous tropical plants filled the room with colorful lush leaves and vibrant flowers. Some were enormous and nearly brushed the glass ceiling with their stalks, while others were much smaller and remained in plastic pots on small tables. For some reason, all of them appeared to be shivering slightly. Crowley clearly took excellent care of them. Aziraphale would have to tell him so later. 
After a few more seconds of gawking, he happened to glance upon a corridor. At the end was another statue. This one appeared to be two winged figures on top of each other and… wrestling. Definitely wrestling.
Uncomfortable, Aziraphale swiftly decided to move on. The prickliness morphed into thorniness, and he was extraordinarily gentle as he knocked on a closed door in a hallway off to the left of the statue. 
“Crowley?” he called softly. “Are you in here?”
For a moment, there was no reply. Then came a faint, “Yeah.”
“May I come in?”
“Yeah.”
He pushed open the door and entered. He could immediately tell that this was where Crowley spent most of his free-time. More tastefully positioned art decorated the walls, and there was a desk off to the right covered with random objects: more plants, quills, a doll, a few stones, a pocket watch, and even a glittering sapphire. Souvenirs from throughout the ages, he realized. He knew because he had an extraordinarily similar setup at the bookshop. Or rather, he used to have one.
Across from the desk, an enormous four-poster bed dominated the room. A mountain of red covers was piled on top of the bed. Barely visible from one end of it was Crowley.
“I was thinking,” started Crowley without prompting. “I was thinking, what if it all goes tits up? I know I’m a hypocrite, angel, but I can’t stop it.”
Aziraphale began to toe off his shoes. 
“I mean—They’ve got usss cornered. We know they’re coming. They know we know they’re coming.”
Aziraphale hung his coat on a newly formed coat hook on the back of the door.
“We could run away. They’ll probably find us. And then I guessss we could run again? And then that’s it. Zilch. No miracle’s getting usss out of this.”
Aziraphale came over to the bed and neatly slid himself beneath the covers. Crowley did not pause even pause once during his rant.
“I mean—twenty million! Twenty million angels and demonsssss—ugh, demons, can do a bloody lot of damage to Earth without an apocalypse! And—oh shit, what about Adam and hisss lot? Satan’s not gone, you know, but since Adam’s renounced Him as his father, He can—ngk, shsp—I dunno, kill him? Can He do that?”
“I doubt the Almighty would allow something so dreadful to happen to an innocent child,” Aziraphale soothed.
Oh, ‘cos She’s got such a spotless track record with children.” Finally, Crowley turned his head to look at Aziraphale. “I thought you were supposed to be reading?”
“You think awfully loudly when you’re stressed, my dear.”
“Oh. I didn’t mean to.”
“I know, my dear.” Obviously, Aziraphale was not pleased about Crowley’s distress, but secretly, it did bring him some relief to know he wasn’t overreacting. “What’s bothering you?”
“What’s—What’s bothering me? Nothing. I’m unbotherable.”
“Mm. Then what’s all this about the Lord of the Underworld and young Adam?” 
“Some worm in my brain,” Crowley muttered. He crossed his arms and frowned down at the bed covers. 
“Well, tell it to stuff it,” Aziraphale said. Crowley snorted. “I’m serious. You should listen to your own advice some time. Everything you told me not half an hour ago is still as true now as it was then. We have wits, we have time, and”— he pulled the scrap of Agnes’ prophecy he’d caught from his pocket—“we have Agnes.”
“What’s she got to do with this?”
Aziraphale handed the scrap over for Crowley to read.
“Playing with fire…” Crowley said after a few minutes. His eyebrows were making a brave attempt at escaping into this hairline. “Probably means literal Hellfire. I don’t have a clue what the rest is supposed to mean.”
“Neither do I,” Aziraphale admitted. “But I believe interpretations of four-hundred-year-old prophecies should wait until morning. We already agreed stressing over any plans now will do neither of us any favors.”
“Right.” Crowley flipped the paper over, then gave it back to Aziraphale. “Erm. Are you staying here then, or…?”
“Oh—I can go, if you’d like, I just thought you’d like some company—”
“No, it’s fine. Um. If you’re staying, then…” he trailed off into an unintelligible mumble.
Aziraphale slightly furrowed his brow. “What was that?”
“Wiyouhepwimywings?
“What about your wings?”
Crowley turned a shade of red that matched spectacularly with his covers. “Blast it all, will you help me with my wings? Just until I fall asleep?”
Aziraphale smiled and beckoned Crowley to come closer. He scooted over, turned his back on him, and in the next instant, Aziraphale found himself spitting out a mouthful of Crowley’s feathers.
“You could have warned me,” he groused, picking down off of his tongue. 
Crowley made an apologetic noise that somehow did not sound at all apologetic. Aziraphale rolled his eyes and began working his fingers through the feathers. They were in excellent condition as always, so Aziraphale was mostly undoing Crowley’s work so that he could do it again. Judging by how he leaned back more and more into Aziraphale’s hands with each stroke, he didn’t mind. 
The scars had healed up wonderfully, Aziraphale noticed. The bumps were nearly undetectable by his touch. The old, damaged set of feathers were replaced entirely, having been through a few molts at this point. Aside from a few telling ridges from healed broken bones and slightly thinner patches of feathers, he could believe nothing terrible had happened that day.
“It seems you’re doing well,” Aziraphale commented.
“Mmhmm. Thanks to you, mostly.”
He smiled. “Is your right wing still bothering you?”
“A bit. Could you…? Mm, thanks.”
Aziraphale gently rubbed slow circles into Crowley’s wing with his thumbs. If one listened hard enough, they would be able to hear the footsteps of the building’s other residents. Occasionally, a burst of laughter or a shout would make it through the concrete walls. They quickly faded out, and they’d be left alone with the quiet sounds of their breathing and the rustling of feathers.
An hour went by in companionable silence, until Aziraphale uttered, “Crowley?”
A few seconds passed. Then, in a voice roughened by sleep, “Yeah?”
“Could I ask you something?”
“Sure.”
“The night you were injured, and you came to the bookshop… why did you come to me if you were so adamant about leaving?”
Crowley’s brow twitched. “I thought—Wait, you don’t remember?”
“I don’t believe I’ve ever asked before.”
“Huh. Oh, shit, that’s what I forg—I mean. Of course. Must be thinking of something else.” Crowley coughed. “Uh. Okay, so I escaped, got a little fucked up by Hastur’s cronies, and well… I was paranoid. Can you blame me?” Aziraphale resumed stroking Crowley’s wing while he waited for him to go on. “And… I figured you were the best choice. I didn’t want to die. I’d be stuck Down there with Hastur for Satan knows how long. But once I got there, I didn’t—I wasn’t sure if you’d pick your duties as an angel or—or something else.” Or me. Aziraphale’s heart dropped.
“I—I won’t lie to you,” he admitted. “You were correct. I wasn’t sure. I almost didn’t want to use any miracles on you. I still feel guilty about that.”
Crowley nodded slowly as the words rolled over him. He didn’t look hurt, but he didn’t seem surprised either. “But you wound up helping me anyway, and I figured it was just because, well, y’know, he’s an angel, angels help people. And demons. Couldn’t believe it. So when I woke up and I just—I was convinced that wasn’t what you actually wanted. I still thought it was an obligation. And well, you had made your points about our natures enough that I figured getting caught out was the last thing you wanted. I wanted to get out so they wouldn’t find us both.”
Aziraphale bit the inside of his cheek. “I was worried I’d done something wrong.”
“No, no. I just—you said you wanted to help, but I wasn’t sure if that was out of obligation or not, but I didn’t want you to get in trouble either way and—yeah. It was weird.”
“Again, you were right.” Aziraphale stroked his hair apologetically. “I’m an angel, and there was likely a divine instinct to take you in. I was hurt, you know, when you told me as much. Not because it’s true, but because I wanted to help you. You are, more than anything, more than either of our natures, more than Hell was to you or what Heaven meant to me, you are my dearest friend.” Aziraphale leaned over to make sure Crowley was meeting his eyes. “I knew the risks, and they were worth taking if it meant I could save you.”
“Oh.”
“Crowley, I am”—his breath caught—“I am so sorry I made you feel that way. You’re my best friend. I would never let anything happen to you.”
“I—That’s—The sentiment’s mutual, angel.” And then Crowley did something that surprised them both; he turned and tightly hugged Aziraphale around the middle. He squeezed tightly, burrowing his head into Aziraphale’s chest. “Thank you,” he mumbled. His breath puffed warmly through Aziraphale’s shirt.
Aziraphale wiggled his hands free from Crowley’s wings and placed one on the back of his head, and the other just under his wings. Then, he brought out his wings and and curled them around the two of them. They stayed like that for a moment, sharing closeness and warmth and something else that was indescribable, but it was warm, and it was safe. 
“I’d do it again in a heartbeat,” he murmured, pressing his lips to Crowley’s head. “Now let’s get some rest, my dear. We have our biggest day yet ahead of us.”
3 notes · View notes
brazenbells · 3 years
Text
So, because of some of the health stuff, I haven't had the same level of energy for crafting. Tatting, however, requires relatively little physical energy or brain energy for me so I've been doing a fair amount of that. I've been playing a lot with laces and trims, especially metallics.
Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media
I really love how the metallics look. I played a lot with the gold and bronze @peppervl gave me for my birthday, then went hog wild and ordered like seven more colors of metallics from their website.
Also, some pumpkins:
Tumblr media Tumblr media
39 notes · View notes
amadness2method · 4 years
Photo
Tumblr media
Lucky Demon’s Foot (1941)
Art for Healing Hands by @peppervl Co-Artist @gottagobuycheese (The Art!)
I’ve really enjoyed working with PepperJack (HAHA! @peppervl and @gottagobuycheese) on this particular Bang project as an artist. The 1941 scene from Good Omens is one of my favorites, and I was thrilled to be able to bring a scene from that period in to life. But more than that, we had fun, in spite of, or because of, the fact that we were Scattered Messes ™ .
Thanks for a ridiculous delight.
50 notes · View notes