niceprophecies
sidetrek
it’s just a slight temptation :)
ko-fi.com/sidetrek if ur feelin it
twitter.com/sidetrek2
moki-dokie
good-omens-fan-comics
A CONCEPT:
Crowley suits up into Nanny mode when he hears from a little birdy that Warlock’s parents won’t let em attended the pride parade and goes with the not so anti-christ instead :)!
Of course Nanny didn’t tell Aziraphale, because he knew Azira would see it as being nice. Absolutely not. He’s a demon dammit. Besides, it wasn’t being nice. He was kidnapping a child ,for one, and secondly, he convinced said child to disobey their parents. Not really that nice if you think about it😇
Regardless of what Crowley thought, Aziraphale couldn’t help but smile when he saw the duo parade proudly along with all the other colourful folk.
a twist: aziraphale is there with adam!
crackyfanfic
ruby-white-rabbit
hc that aziraphale used to submit vague personal ads in the newspaper to plan rendezvous w crowley. the system worked pretty well, except for that time crowley accidently met up w someone who Was Most Assuredly Not Aziraphale
Crowley, sauntering into somewhere ready to mock Aziraphale for his latest personal ad "soft middle aged man seeks evening companion. serpentine and/or reptilian features a bonus. No questions asked. Women need not apply." Because honestly Aziraphale even for you this one is *weird* and promptly turns and runs when he realized that oh no that was very much not Aziraphale.
Crowley also once responded to
“Angel will be feeding ducks at St James’ Park Monday 10am”
and he’s ready to give Aziraphale shit because that one is a bit too obvious but it turns out it’s a lovely old English woman named Angela who had a typo when she sent it to the newspaper and oh well since he was here anyway would he like to feed the ducks with her, her friend Peggy recently died and she’s just been looking for someone to feed the ducks with it used to be a regular outing for them and now she’s at such a loss- and my isn’t he a skinny one would he like a sandwich, she’s got one packed in her handbag and oh look don’t the ducks seem to like you, dear? Do you come here often?
Crowley takes the sandwich because she's very adamant about it and even though she looks like a strong enough wind would hinder her movement, there's something in her eyes that makes Crowley know better than to fight too hard. It's ham and cheese on homemade bread with a good amount of butter.
She says her name is Angela but he can call her Angie. He says his name is Anthony and he's had people call him Tony and he didn't love it but nicknames are a human thing so he tells her she can call him Tony and she gives him a once over and says he doesn't strike her as a Tony and Anthony will suit just fine, thanks.
And they feed the ducks and Angie natters on about her life and Crowley nods and makes the appropriate encouraging noises because she's actually interesting to listen to and when the bread runs out she dusts off her hands and and smiles at him and thanks him so genuinely and sincerely that Crowley tells her he could meet her here again. If she liked.
And they on and off meet every now and then until one day he and Aziraphale are there and she comes up, calling him Anthony and handing him a sandwich because she's always giving him something because honestly what do you EAT, Anthony? And Aziraphale is shocked to silence but the pair get on so well and Angie tells Aziraphale about the time Anthony tried to fight a swan that stole the bread bag right from her hand and the time he held out his hand to help her over a puddle and how she knitted him a scarf because he's all bone and must get dreadful chill.
And then just when Crowley thinks it can't get worse she reaches over and pats aziraphale's perfectly manicured hand and says "and of course he's told me so much about you, dear." And he promptly decides he needs to be elsewhere.
niceprophecies
doctornerdington
Smite me, Crowley thinks one day, about three or four days into the Beginning of the World. You cast me out, why not just finish it off?
He feels rather daring about it, especially when God doesn’t answer. Puts a bit of a swagger in his slither, or so he tries to tell himself.
If he’s being honest with himself (which he hardly ever is), it’s not the the daring of standing up to someone, but the daring of standing at the edge of a cliff with a backpack that may or may not contain a parachute and opening your mouth to invite a person who may or may not be standing behind you to give you a good hard shove. It is exhilarating. It is terrifying.
It quickly goes downhill from there.
It becomes a silent litany over the next few days. He tries to provoke Her, mostly by thinking a lot of annoying questions as loudly as he can, because that worked the first time. It doesn’t work now. He might as well be alone with his thoughts. He tries new things – he dunks ducks underwater, he convinces one particularly nimble mosquito to buzz right around Adam’s left ear for four hours straight, he uproots plants here and there. Smite me, he thinks. I’m meddling. I’m putting my sticky fingers all over this lovely thing you made. Smite me.
Smite me. I’ll make them touch that thing you said not to touch. I’ll do it. Don’t think I won’t, because I will. And he does, to boot. Adam and Eve eat the apple, and he turns his back for two seconds and they get kicked out. He’s furious – God is apparently paying attention, just not to him. He’s going to have to escalate things, and he looks around for something that might be more precious to Her than a bloody tree.
Smite me, he taunts. Smite me down. Look how evil I am, oooooh, I’m talking to this angel on the wall, I might tempt him if you’re not careful, God. COME ON, YOU COWARD, DO IT.
He doesn’t hear Her reply. He hasn’t heard any of Her replies, and in any case he’s very busy talking to the angel about that flaming sword, but nevertheless She answers: Smiting, is it? Well, if you insist.
The angel mumbles, almost too quiet to hear, “I gave it away,” and Crowley is… poleaxed. Utterly poleaxed, and more than a little impressed, and so delighted that he entirely forgets his other, silent conversation.
“You what?”
“I gave it away!” cries the angel.
There, God says, infinitely satisfied with Herself: There. You’re smitten.
(edit: ok i put it on AO3)
a-zira-fell
brightwanderer
I am RAPIDLY REMEMBERING why we always called these things plotbunnies back in the day. It’s because they fucking breed.
So here’s a Really Stupid Good Omens thing that popped into my head: it’s the Millennial Heaven/Hell Corporate Party (occurs once every thousand years) and it’s in some not-exactly-shitty but not-exactly-the-Savoy hotel (because that’s where Business Parties Happen, as Gabriel understands it) and everything’s going the way it usually does, i.e. the demons are skulking on one side of the room and the angels are Definitely Not Skulking on the other side, and no-one’s drunk enough yet to get over the mutual distrust, and the first fight is at least five hours away, and everyone’s watching with interest as Beelzebub gets into a heated argument with the DJ over Gabriel’s chosen playlist (it features basically every song ever written that includes the word “devil” or “angel”, on shuffle, with no regard for genre, volume, or good taste).
But this time there’s a bit more movement a bit earlier than usual: various demons are shuffling over to try and strike up conversations with very wary angels (it is hard to say who is more awkward about the whole thing). And Aziraphale’s hanging out as far back and in the corner as he can possibly get (with an eye on the buffet), but then Crowley pops up next to him like, “Well, fancy meeting you here, angel,” and Aziraphale almost chokes on his drink and hisses, “What are you doing, we can’t be seen talking to each other!” and Crowley smirks and says, “We can tonight.” And Crowley explains that this millennium someone decided to make things interesting, and there’s a bit of a wager going on in Hell, with a not inconsiderable prize pool for any demon who manages to get an angel into bed (or whatever convenient flat surface presents itself) over the course of the evening. “So we can talk all we like. They’ll just think I’m seducing you.”
Crowley’s angling for a reaction from Aziraphale, of course, maybe a blush or a shocked gasp or a disapproving glare. What he’s not expecting is for Aziraphale to stare at him for all of half a second and then just lose it, laughing so hard he has to cover his mouth and turn his face away so no-one can see the tears of hilarity streaming from his eyes.
“What’s so funny, angel?”
“I don’t think anyone’s going to believe that, my dear.”
fishyfishyfishtimes
mallsharks
coworker told me he “hates all mollusks” today. and to each their own obviously but like… theres 100k species of mollusk… you really hate all of them bro? nautiluses and oysters and snails and nudibranches and chitons and thousands of animals youve never even heard of???? what did ammonites even fucking do to you
he hates sea bunny?
AND leaf sheep??
lady-gorthaur
ladyyatexel
