Untitled

Cover art by @kiratastic. Show them some support on Patreon, Instagram, Reddit, and Bluesky. CW explicit, omegaverse

Summary: The year is 1911. Anthony J. Crowley (Royal Navy surgeon, passionate zoologist, and official photographer of the Northern Party) is preparing to go into heat, all by his lonesome on a remote beach in East Antarctica.

Everything changes when he catches an odd scent in the air.

Fully written. 30k words. 70% smut. Updates every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday.

This story can be enjoyed on its own, but you’ll probably have more fun if you read I have my ways of knowing first ;) Excerpt:

“Aziraphale…”

Crowley’s voice was small, tender, a little hoarse. He didn’t know how long he’d spent crying into Aziraphale’s chest, or how long he’d been listening to his heartbeat afterwards — all he knew right now was that he was hungry.

“Yes, my darling?”

“Could you go fetch the breakfast I didn’t get to have this morning?”

“Of course, sweet thing. Where is it?”

“In my coat pocket…”

The Angel caressed his hair for long moments.

“May I suggest some water as well?”

“Oh, right… there’s a few canteens in a crate on the dining table… um, and a flannel too, please? You saw where I got the ones from earlier…”

“I would be delighted to do that for you, Crowley. Whenever you are ready, simply release me from your grasp and I shall soon return with everything you need. How does that sound?”

“Um, alright…” Crowley mumbled, utterly loath to relinquish the warm embrace, clinging onto Aziraphale even tighter, rubbing his face on soft velvet skin. “Actually… I don’t think I can… I think— I think you should make me do it.”

Read the rest here on ao3

xenanigans passed away on 28/04/26 

This fic is published in his memory by blackjeans93 as his fannish next of kin.

All words were written by xenanigans.

CW reincarnation Summary: Crowley and Aziraphale return to themselves in the bookshop before God and Satan after living a full life as Anthony J Crowley and Asa Fell. Excerpt: Crowley could still feel the lingering imprint of the angel’s power wrapped carefully around him, anchoring him; a counterbalance to the enormity Crowley had become when he’d fallen apart. It was not a lesser power, just a different kind of power.

He smiled faintly to himself.

Trust Aziraphale to become the metaphysical embodiment of stability.

The immovable object to Crowley’s unstoppable force.

Crowley closed his eyes.

Downstairs, he could hear the distant sound of books being moved. Aziraphale was humming under his breath and talking quietly to himself. The soft, domestic familiarity of it grounded Crowley more effectively than anything else possibly could. After everything — after worlds ending and disastrous kisses and the entire reality they knew before being destroyed, just to live seven thousand lifetimes — they had circled all the way back around to this.

Aziraphale fussing over his books.

Crowley dealing with his feelings by dramatically throwing himself into bed.

Cover art by @kiratastic. Show them some support on Patreon, Instagram, Reddit, and Bluesky. CW explicit, omegaverse

Summary: The year is 1911. Anthony J. Crowley (Royal Navy surgeon, passionate zoologist, and official photographer of the Northern Party) is preparing to go into heat, all by his lonesome on a remote beach in East Antarctica.

Everything changes when he catches an odd scent in the air.

Fully written. 30k words. 70% smut. Updates every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday.

This story can be enjoyed on its own, but you’ll probably have more fun if you read I have my ways of knowing first ;) Excerpt: “Look at me, ô méga.”

Crowley opened his eyes and gazed up, then froze when he saw what Aziraphale was doing. The Alpha was holding Crowley’s red hat, the one he always wore directly against his hair. Well, he wasn’t just holding it — he was pressing it to his nose and inhaling deeply. Crowley hadn’t even noticed it was still in his hand until now.

“Has any other álpha appreciated your fragrance the way I do?”

Crowley shook his head.

“Has any other álpha paired with your bouquet half as well as I do?

Crowley shook his head again.

Read the rest here on ao3

***

xenanigans passed away on 28/04/26 

This fic is published in his memory by blackjeans93 as his fannish next of kin.

All words were written by xenanigans.

Cover art by @kiratastic. Show them some support on Patreon, Instagram, Reddit, and Bluesky. CW explicit, omegaverse

Summary: The year is 1911. Anthony J. Crowley (Royal Navy surgeon, passionate zoologist, and official photographer of the Northern Party) is preparing to go into heat, all by his lonesome on a remote beach in East Antarctica.

Everything changes when he catches an odd scent in the air.

Fully written. 30k words. 70% smut. Updates every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday.

This story can be enjoyed on its own, but you’ll probably have more fun if you read I have my ways of knowing first ;)

Excerpt: “Good morrow, ô méga,” the surfaced stranger said, resting their arms on that frozen raft like it was the edge of a warm bathing pool back in England. “My name is Aziraphale.”

Crowley just stared, dumbfounded.

What kind of person introduced themself without stating their pronouns as well?

What kind of person pronounced the word ‘omega’ with such an odd inflection?

What kind of person even said ‘good morrow’ in this day and age?

The kind of person who could swim naked in the Antarctic Ocean without so much as a shiver, by the looks of it.

“Hello? Are you there?”

“Huh?” Crowley breathed, snapping out of his startled state. “I mean, um, hello… my name’s Crowley, and I’m a he.”

“Oh,” the person in the water said with a curious eyebrow. “I am a he as well, I suppose.”

The alpha in the water, Crowley corrected himself, having just caught a better whiff of his pheromones thanks to a conveniently timed gust of ocean breeze. His scent was…

Not just salty, but briny.

Not just syrupy, but treacly.

Not just savoury, but gamey.

Well, he should have figured it out from the way the strange man had referred to him as ‘omega’, but he’d been too distracted by everything else to really dwell on that part.

“Pleased to make your acquaintance, Crowley.”

“Um… the pleasure’s all mine— Aziraphale, was it?”

“Indeed,” the alpha smiled politely, revealing teeth that were more than a bit too sharp. Read the rest here on ao3 *** xenanigans passed away on 28/04/26 

This fic is published in his memory by blackjeans93 as his fannish next of kin.

All words were written by xenanigans.

CW Reincarnation

Summary: Crowley and Aziraphale return to themselves in the bookshop before God and Satan after living a full life as Anthony J Crowley and Asa Fell. Excerpt: With newfound determination, Aziraphale cast about for something, anything that might help their situation. He picked through some of the volumes on the floor, and found that every previously blank page was now filled.

He stared.

They were stories.

Fully written stories.

Thousands and thousands of them.

Containing every life they had lived together. Their love, recorded in immaculate detail. 

However…

There was more to it than that.

They weren’t the only ones in the stories.

In between chapters, between years and lifetimes and deaths, the narrative would abruptly return to bookshop. 

To God and Satan.

Aziraphale opened one volume at random. He found a passage describing God calmly watching as Satan paced circles around the bookshop for what had apparently been thirty-seven years, muttering about potential structural weaknesses in the walls.

Cover art by @kiratastic!

Show them some support on Patreon, Instagram, Reddit and Bluesky.

CW explicit, omegaverse

Summary: The year is 1911. Anthony J. Crowley (Royal Navy surgeon, passionate zoologist, and official photographer of the Northern Party) is preparing to go into heat, all by his lonesome on a remote beach in East Antarctica.

Everything changes when he catches an odd scent in the air.

Fully written. 30k words. 70% smut. Updates every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday.

This story can be enjoyed on its own, but you’ll probably have more fun if you read I have my ways of knowing first ;)

Excerpt: Crowley sighed and curled up in his nest for a spot of light reading. He opened up one of his favourite classic novels — Great Expectations by Charles Dickens. It was a bildungsroman with a love story between two alphas: Pip, an orphan of humble beginnings, and Herbert Pocket, a pale gentleman from a middle-class family with wealthy relatives. He made it to the end of chapter six before he got restless again; the wind wasn’t blowing anymore, so he decided to go for another stroll with his camera.

He frowned as soon as he stepped outside.

Why did the ocean suddenly smell saltier than usual?

His heat must have been looming closer than he thought.

Or perhaps the morning wind had stirred something in the water?

He shrugged, put his hands in his pockets, and began walking north.

The sea was calm; the ice floes were barely drifting, even far from shore, where the current was typically quite strong. The air was calm as well; not a modicum of breeze, not a cloud in the blue sky, nothing but the unending Antarctic summer sun.

If everything was so very calm, then why couldn’t he shake the feeling that he was being watched — or perhaps even followed? Which was a ridiculous notion, of course; there was no one around Ridley Beach except for him, a million Adélie penguins, and a few hundred skua gulls.

He still found himself taking surreptitious looks behind his back. Read the rest here on ao3

xenanigans passed away on 28/04/26 

This fic is published in his memory by blackjeans93 as his fannish next of kin.

All words were written by xenanigans.

Cover art by @kiratastic Check out their work on patreon, instagram, bluesky and reddit CW explicit, omegaverse

Summary: The year is 1911. Anthony J. Crowley (Royal Navy surgeon, passionate zoologist, and official photographer of the Northern Party) is preparing to go into heat, all by his lonesome on a remote beach in East Antarctica.

Everything changes when he catches an odd scent in the air.

Fully written. 30k words. 70% smut. Updates every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday.

This story can be enjoyed on its own, but you’ll probably have more fun if you read I have my ways of knowing first ;)

Excerpt: The sun didn’t even set that time of year, but all six members of the Northern Party rose bright and early in the morning of November 7th, 1911. 

Anthony J. Crowley took care of breakfast that day, although that wasn’t typically his job — he was a Royal Navy surgeon, after all. But everyone else was busy as they finished preparing for the last sledging trip of the season: Commander Shadwell was supervising; his three petty officers (Warlock Dowling, Eve Young, Newton Pulsifer) were finishing loading up their sleds; and Anathema Device, civilian geologist and meteorologist, was outside the hut jotting down a few last measurements before they left for the week.

Their meal consisted of porridge, bacon, and crab-eater seal steak. Crowley could have served penguin steak instead, but he’d been growing more and more uneasy with the idea of eating penguin meat as of late. In addition to being a surgeon, he was also a passionate zoologist, and it just so happened that the Northern Party had been living on the south end of an Adélie penguin rookery for most of that year.

Ridley Beach, Cape Adare, Antarctica had been teeming with flightless birds when Captain Scott’s ship, the Terra Nova, had dropped them off with all the necessary supplies and provisions at the end of February. The Adélies had all left by late March, only to return in mid October for their new breeding season. Crowley had spent the last few weeks observing them closely, and was considering writing a book about them once he returned to Britain.

“Are you sure you don’t want to come along?” Device asked as she blew on her porridge.

“Like I said, I think it’s better for the science if I stay here. Wouldn’t want to miss anything important now that the penguins have begun laying their eggs.”

Science was only one of the reasons why Crowley wanted to spend some time by himself.

Heat was the other, much more urgent one. Read the rest here on ao3 *** xenanigans passed away on 28/04/26 

This fic is published in his memory by blackjeans93 as his fannish next of kin.

All words were written by xenanigans.

Summary: Crowley and Aziraphale return to themselves in the bookshop before God and Satan after living a full life as Anthony J Crowley and Asa Fell. CW Reincarnation, body horror

Excerpt: Crowley collapsed to his knees the moment his consciousness resurfaced.

He just couldn’t do it anymore. 

His mind and body could only take so much, no matter how hard he tried to weather the discomfort.

Aziraphale was beside him instantly.

“My dear—”

Crowley made a strangled sound, holding his head.

It was too much.

Far too much.

It was more than just memories — it was entire existences layered one over another endlessly. Every version of himself with its own unique personality and point of view, every version speaking its truth simultaneously inside his mind.

Every death.

Every loss.

Every love.

All at once.

A violent surge rolled through his body, rippling his spine, pushing him to the floor. His human skin momentarily split across his hand, revealing glimpses of something ancient and enormous underneath, fighting for space. 

Multiple yellow eyes.

Feathers.