Is There a Version? (M, 42k, 25/25): This is a full post-s2 fic with a tone closer to s1 and a reality-bending plot that builds on the discontinuities in s2. Can humans, demons, and angels work together to save the world and take control of their own fates when reality seems to be fracturing around them? Now available as a podfic by the wonderful @literarion!
The Album of My Memory (E, 7k, 4/4): In this post-s2 fic, Aziraphale has regained the memories heaven stole from him over the millennia. But that doesn't mean the story of his own existence makes sense. Can he and Crowley help each other understand the past and move into the future?
She Speaks Poniards (T, 2.5k, 1/1): This post-s2 Crowley POV one-shot focuses on the complicated relationship the ineffables have with words and explores hurtful language between them as a two-way street.
Read more on my AO3 page
My Good Omens fic rec lists
Post-S2/S3 GO Speculation Fics
Good Omens Human AUs, Fluff Edition
Good Omens Human AUs, Angst Edition
Monthly fic lists: August 2025, September 2025, October 2025, November 2025, December 2025
NG is the worst
If you're new to the very credible allegations against Neil Gaiman, the most complete coverage is Lila Shapiro's January 2025 Vulture/New York Magazine article (tw/cw for sexual assault, sexual abuse, sexual coercion and child abuse). Proceed with caution! To make this fandom a force for good, consider – if you can! – supporting the Survivors Trust, the Good Omens fan fundraiser On Our Own Side, or Friends of Calliope.
Other fandoms
Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Slings & Arrows, Our Flag Means Death, The Good Place, Interview With the Vampire (TV), The West Wing, All Creatures Great & Small (2020 TV), Kevin Can Fuck Himself, Jeeves & Wooster, Fleabag, Anne of Green Gables, Slow Horses, Severance, Hacks, Crazy Ex-Girlfriend.
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Ultimately, the Good Omens show never committed to anything.
It didn't commit to a tragic ending or a happy ending. And it didn't really commit to a true bittersweet ending because, imo, that requires character continuity. The characters have to know what they've lost (and gained) to make it poignant.
It didn't commit in any way philosophically, which has been explained very well by many eloquent people, so I won't add more.
It didn't commit to A&C's relationship. We never learn whether they enjoyed the human love rituals they tried and wanted more, or not. We don't get a clear answer about when they each fell in love or learn what the nightingale meant to them.
It didn't commit to a clear explanation for the discontinuities that were teased.
It didn't commit to a characterization for Aziraphale. He became whatever would generate maximum drama in a given moment.
It didn't commit to a characterization for Crowley either, but at least he got to be the only "real boy" in the old universe, the one person who actually mattered.
The show didn't need to commit to all of this, but it did need to commit to something.
Well, I've broken up with Discord again, mostly. I'm still in two very small, focused groups, but I've left the larger, more active servers. I just couldn't handle the idea of chatting with folks in one channel, when I could see the same people implying that finale dislikers lack intelligence in another channel.*
More broadly, I realized I was feeling anxious. Which is no one's fault, just how my brain reacts to seeing all those little unread message dots in the more active groups.
I still appreciate those of you who invited me to your servers when I was looking for more GO community! It just turned out to not be a good fit for me.
Now I've broken up with Bluesky, too. What do you mean people can get a notification when another user blocks them?! No, thank you, fuck right off with that feature.
This hellsite really is the best socials on the internet.
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
Dedicated to my dear friend @contritecactite, for Yell “Fudge” at the Cobras in North America Day — something that does not happen in this fic, but which one must imagine does happen occasionally while on holiday.
“Fast-Breaking”
Words: 1,300
Rating: General Audiences
Pairing: Aziraphale/Crowley
Setting: South Downs Cottage; NOT Good Omens Season 3 Compliant
The world is safe. The universe is safe. There is no next “big one” to be preparing for.
Eventually, however, one has to stop just recovering and resume living.
In other words: Crowley and Aziraphale go on a dessert date.
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piggybacking off this post by @aduckwithears: what if the bookshop was noah's ark 2.0, but for everything?
what if they end up in the shop after everything has been erased, only this time crowley thinks: was the place always this big? it’s more of a maze than he remembers, now that he’s properly looking. rows and rows of shelves twisting and turning in a dozen labyrinthine directions. staircases spiraling up to nowhere. hallways branching off the foyer like tree roots, that’s new.
aziraphale emerges from the bowels of the shop, successful in his quest for cocoa. a warm drink at the end of all things, how painfully british. as far as crowley can tell, nothing has survived; not the earth, or alpha centauri, or any distant stars and nebulas clinging to the skin of the universe. not even light, the fastest, most fundamental thing in all of creation. but somehow, fortnum & mason has. somehow, aziraphale’s chintzy mug embossed with the words HOT STUFF in blazing cherry red above a little cartoon devil has.
“don’t ask,” he says, pushing it into crowley’s hands.
crowley opens his mouth, several questions and a taunt or two already lined up in the wings— and that's when he sees it.
oh.
that’s definitely new.
“angel.”
“it was a gift, if you must know, white elephant gone horribly, horribly wrong, and then i couldn’t bring myself to donate it, one can never have too much drinkware—”
“aziraphale, shut up a moment, would you, and look.”
to the angel’s credit, he shuts up and looks.
memory is a funny thing, unreliable, easily eroded. crowley would have sworn, cross his char-blackened heart, that the tree was taller. in his mind, the branches extend like reverent hands towards the heavens, heavy with fruit, wide and green and swallowing up the whole sky. he is very small, beneath it.
aziraphale’s hand finds his shoulder. “oh.”
“yeah.”
“well, that’s…certainly a design choice. did we…?”
“who else? we’re all that’s left.” but no, that’s not quite right. the dickens. crowley scoops it up, flips it open, then keeps flipping, eyes dancing over pages that are no longer empty.
next to him, aziraphale frowns into his mug. “but how? if this is some sort of, of…cosmic leg-pull, i confess i’m failing to see the—” his face goes blank, then lights up like a christmas tree, a study in giddy. “oh! oh, of course. even the dickens.”
“it was you.” crowley takes his time with the words, feeling each one rush through him. an equal yet opposite kind of flood. “you named him, and it brought him back.”
they gaze at each other, stunned.
“we need more books,” says crowley, at the same time that aziraphale declares, “we need more cocoa.”
and so it goes. they start with the classics, squabbling over semantics (“for the last time, crowley, twilight does not count. i don’t care how many copies were sold worldwide.”) they brave the jeffrey archers. they pore over encyclopedias, scraping their teeth on words like lithospheric mantle, reveling in the euphony of sonoluminescence. and something peculiar starts to happen, a sort of field of dreams situation.
people start happening.
they’re the only thing that could, really. if a tree falls in a forest and no one is around to hear, does it matter? the tree was there; the knowledge was there. it was real. it existed, in spite of. because of. what use does humanity have for a book that tells them, yes, you can be, i will allow it, i will permit it. we create our own mythos, simply by living, by looking at the rorschach blob and finding joy in the mess, beauty in the mundane. you’ve seen the post: forty-thousand years ago, humans stenciled their handprints on the wall of a cave, and this morning, my niece learned to fingerpaint.
so yes, people start happening. friends curl up in the shop’s back room, trashing oprah’s book club pick of the month. lovers spin in a slow circle beneath the oculus as fred astaire croons from the gramophone. someone brings up the duct-taped banana (“how fucking pretentious. anyone could do that shit.” “yeah, but they didn’t. this dude did. in this essay, i will—”), and someone else says, have some art nouveau, maybe you’ll calm down, and the far atrium is suddenly a tribute to klimt, bursting with geometric golds and ornamental greens. in the foyer, a young man teaches amateur card tricks from a folding table that aziraphale will swear up and down isn’t his; the tag on his jumper reads, hi, my name is josh. here, a neolithic wheel. there, a 7th-century chaturanga board. paul blart: mall cop, wedged between the self-helps and memoirs. people begetting creation begetting people, an ouroboros of abracadabra, creating as they speak, until the bookshop is overflowing with it. bursting at the seams with humanity. the world is remade here, in the gaps between stanzas of that shitty poem you wrote when you were twelve, in the canned laughter on your best friend’s favorite sitcom. i am trying to get the seas back on the maps, where they belong. i am trying to love the world back to normal. we survive through storytelling, that ineffable collision of necessity and ingenuity, anchoring the world like the roots of a great tree. we tell stories to remind ourselves that we are alive. we are here.
slowly but surely, the void beyond the bookshop’s windows begins to brighten. human hands stitch the universe back together. and a small eternity later, crowley and aziraphale pull the stream of time around themselves like a cocoon, and rest.
“there’s nothing to forgive, you know,” crowley says. “i know i was flippant about it before, but the truth is— we were both a little bit right, in the end. weren’t we?”
“and a little bit wrong,” aziraphale agrees.
there is sunlight, their time-adjacent bubble. it catches in aziraphale’s cloud of curls, limning him in gold. not a halo, but a frame. the contour of a face and form freely chosen. every day for the rest of our lives, we’ll get to choose, crowley will think, the realization settling just behind his ribs. how about that.
he sees it, the moment aziraphale realizes it too.
“actually i take it back.” crowley grins, and the space between them contracts, then shrinks, a star collapsing. “yeah, i’d like an apology for the pointy teeth. my culture’s not your costume, angel.”
aziraphale’s smile is luminous. “crowley. beloved.”
“hm?”
“shut up a moment, would you, and kiss me. properly, this time.”
“such hard work,” says crowley, and he does. there might be supernovas. maybe another big bang. nobody is around to see it, celestial, infernal, or otherwise, but that’s alright. it exists, it has always existed. here, in the kitchen, loving the world. steadfastly loving.
Thanks to the rather limited duration of their new mortal lives, Aziraphale and Crowley wasted no time deciding they wanted to spend their time together. Within twenty-four hours they had accomplished a surprising amount of kissing, one decent orgasm each, and a rapid introduction to hunger, thirst, fatigue, and other baffling features of the human condition. (See previous fic in the series!)
Over the next few months, everything starts to fall neatly into place. With the notable exception of their ability to actually say how they feel. Naturally, they get there in the end; there would be little point in telling the story otherwise. Unfortunately, getting there requires a number of failed attempts, several near-confessions, a handful of arguments, a few reconciliations, and rather a lot of sex. They do, at least, learn something about themselves and their relationship in the process.
@goodomensafterdark
Wordcount: 4400/80k
Rating: E for sex reasons, mind the tags, specific triggers to be noted at the top of individual chapters.
A/N: This will be an out-of-order series of snapshots from their first three months of living mortal, human lives. It follows on from ‘In the Interests of Time’ but you don’t necessarily need to read that first. You also don’t really need to read this in order (with the exception of a few pairs of chapters which are single events split across two chapters because those events got out of hand wordcount wise). I think this works best read front to back and not in temporal order but who knows?! I’ll post the chronology at the end for anyone who wants to try!
Thank you enormously to Unicornbeck who has left me dozens and dozens of lovely comments over the years and who left this very wonderful and reasonable note just before the epilogue got posted for ‘In the Interests of Time’:
I have but one request, but it’s rude to expect an author to obey the whims of one reader among many. I’m going to spill it because like Eric before me, I CANNOT keep my mouth shut, but please understand I’m expressing a yearning that A) you put there (I’m pointing at you) and B) you are under no obligation to fulfill. I will not be hurt or offended if you ignore me for what your story needs.
My begged ask is just this, because let’s face it: you’ve edged us all, here: Words of love
Which is a totally awesome comment to receive and I responded very reasonably with something along the lines of:
Nah. I’ve already written the epilogue and Crowley’s shit at feelings and I cannot figure out how to make him say it.
Although I was probably nicer about it. I then thought about it for a little bit — especially in the aftermath of season three (which has absolutely no connection to this fic thank you very much) — and became quite unreasonably obsessed and now, here we are. Twelve chapters and close to 70k words, all squarely focussed on ‘words of love’.
But I will argue that at least I am not ‘edging’ anyone because you get an ‘I love you’ right out the gate. No tricks or gimmicks here (okay lots of tricks and gimmicks). This has been an absolute blast to write and I hope it hangs together how it does in my head. Telling the story out of order is always a bit terrifying so I hope it makes sense.
Thanks to Narumila and u/ModernDayKlutz for jumping on board as betas! They’ve managed to dive right into a messy 70k and hardly even blink at the absurdity, not to mention wading through some very verbose sex scenes (as usual). Their notes and corrections have been big improvements!!
And thanks to all of you for reading! Enjoy chapter one which just so happens to sit about halfway through our three month journey!
Excerpt:
“I love you.” Aziraphale states it casually across the little dining table in the back room of the bookshop while Crowley makes a mess of a warm pain au chocolat.
Crowley doesn’t stop chewing but he grins around a mouthful, white teeth shining and his lips flecked with crumbs. His nose scrunches in pleasure as he rolls his eyes and chocolate smears from between the pastry layers to drip down the back of his hand.
Aziraphale smiles back at him before taking a sip of his tea. He watches Crowley cram more of his breakfast into his mouth and then lick his fingers, all without pausing to swallow. Crowley grunts some sort of unintelligible response that definitely isn’t an attempt to say it back, nor is it resistance to hearing it, before finally washing the pasty down with large gulps of his morning coffee.
I can't believe in all the excitement, I forgot to post my GO3 bingo card.
I mean, my heart is a weeping crater of devastation and loss but hey, at least I won something! BINGO!
For real though I wish only one of the spots was tick-able. My card would be unbingoable but it would be a tiny unbingoable blemish in a much brighter world.
At the end of the day, it is simply Extremely Difficult to pull off a Tragic/Bittersweet ending as inevitable or The Only Way It Could've Ended or the only choice the characters have, when you already put them in a room with a Reality Rewriting Book AND Literal God who seemed very willing to fulfil whatever request they gave Them. To the point that the characters literally tell God to kill Themself and They're like "yeah, sure why not lol".
After that, it's hard to imagine that there was no other solution.
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A Good Omens 3 Fix-It/Scene Rewrite: The Alley, or: Aziraphale helps Crowley up off of the ground instead of walking away from him.
Aziraphale doesn't know what to expect when he returns to Earth after three years, and he's shaken to his core when he finds Crowley lying in a filthy alleyway, shattered and alone. There is much he wants to say and even more he wants to fix, but the first step is helping a stubborn demon up off of the ground.
| tags |
season 3 fix-it, scene rewrite, protective, caring, anxious Aziraphale, depressed Crowley, references to alcohol use, emotional, light angst, holding hands, hopeful ending
| excerpt |
The inside of Aziraphale’s nose tingles as it recognises the faint but unmistakable— familiar, second nature— scent of the last electrically-charged moment before a sudden rainstorm splits the sky—
I know what you smell like.
— but that sharp, crackling shower of sparks is deadened by something far more overpowering, something heavy and oppressive and bleak that chokes the atmospheric fragrance: despair.
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
y’know as much as self-sacrifice gets made out to be super noble and shit in a lot of fiction, i am. very much more in favor of the message “you can live. you can want to live. it is a good thing to want to live, and it is a good thing that you are alive. you don’t have to feel guilty for being alive.”
idk it’s what i really needed to hear when shit got bad and honestly it’s what i still need to hear sometimes and it’s what i want the people i care about to believe about themselves.
Do not let the noble actions of characters in fiction fool you - they are all resurrected the moment you turn back the page to begin the story anew. This is the blessing and curse of the narrative, they are bound within it, yet eternal.
Their sacrifice is only a single beat in their story which can be retold a thousand times, while you, dear reader, are a single temporary point and a thousand times more precious for it.
Well, I've broken up with Discord again, mostly. I'm still in two very small, focused groups, but I've left the larger, more active servers. I just couldn't handle the idea of chatting with folks in one channel, when I could see the same people implying that finale dislikers lack intelligence in another channel.*
More broadly, I realized I was feeling anxious. Which is no one's fault, just how my brain reacts to seeing all those little unread message dots in the more active groups.
I still appreciate those of you who invited me to your servers when I was looking for more GO community! It just turned out to not be a good fit for me.
spill my heart into the valley of the lights - Part 1 COMPLETE
Welcome to my Uber Driver AU! This one surprised me at every turn. I hope it does the same for you. This fic is complete and will update on Tuesdays.
This week, it’s Part 1, Chapter 7. Part 1 is now COMPLETE. Part 2 will pick up three years later.
Fic summary:
Anthony Crowley is an artist who works the night shift as a rideshare driver. One night, he picks up a mysterious passenger who seems to be in distress. As their lives become more and more entwined, Anthony goes on a journey he never expected.
In this chapter, we finally get to hear from Aziraphale himself.
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the
Organization for Transformative Works
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality
Anya is LIVE right now
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An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
Rating: E
Chapters: 3/?
Word Count: 13k+ (in progress)
CHAPTER 3 IS FINALLY HERE (clothing optional)! Ask and you shall receive. Just some good pure smut with a small side of fluff.
Stay tuned for Chapter 4! Excited to see where this story takes us!
@armageddidnt promised i’d tag you!
thank you @chicasociable for being my loyal beta. to the world- and constructive feedback. you can all thank my wife for her contributions to this chapter.
