#whump aziraphale

[aziraphales-library]

Hi, lovely mods! I am looking for a fic that I was certain I had bookmarked but can't find anywhere. I don't remember the title or author but what I do remember is this:

Aziraphale is punished by Heaven and turned human. Crowley takes him to a cottage where Heaven and Hell won't be able to find them and takes care of him as he ages and eventually suffers from Alzheimer's/dementia. There's something in there about lilies that Aziraphale plants in their garden. And at one point he destroys all his journals and Crowley is devastated about it.

I remember it being fairly long and multi chapters. It was one of my absolute favorites that made me laugh and ugly cry and I'm so sad I can't find it 😭 any help is greatly appreciated ❤️

@cjm-timelord11

Hi, this is one of my favourites too! It's:

A Memory of Eden by ImprobableDreams900 [M]

When Crowley gets captured by angels and dragged up to Heaven, Aziraphale knows he has to rescue him—no matter the consequences.

Please mind the tags.

~Mod N

[byleranalysis]

based on the headcanon that Crowley can’t see the stars anymore due to his snake vision <3

first “comic” ever :)))

(yes— aziraphale has blue eye syndrome… yes I am too lazy to fix it)

[aceofwhump]

Good Omens 2x06

[tanpopomugishu]

Infernal healing hurts a lot, but it is much better than the alternative, discorporation.

------

Hi, I'm tanpopomugishu and I am a sadist.

I really enjoy torturing my favourite characters 🤣.

I might have spent a little bit too much time reading some Aziraphale whump stories, better go back to reading some fluff...

[metalmiez]

//

Aziraphale was twisting on the floor, mouth open in a soundless wailing. Crowley dropped to his knees next to him, ignoring the stinging pain because in the middle of all the holiness spilling from the angel, there was pure terror.

“Aziraphale!” he cried out, managing to scoop up the angel despite the writhing, limbs jerking wildly. “Hey, hey!” Aziraphale’s body was a shivering weight against his chest. A golden line of blood was trickling from his nostril, matching the color of his iris. (…) Golden tears were spilling from Aziraphale’s unseeing eyes; a sign of damage that went beyond his corporation.

//

Chapter 44 of „Are we meant to read the Footnotes“ by @riathedreamer was … DIFFICULT 😭🥺

It inspired me to draw this scene. If you hadn’t read the fic, please do it ❤️

[ineffableclassics]

The Second Coming has been called off, and Aziraphale is back in London. Unfortunately, the price he paid during a decade in Heaven has left him traumatised, depressed, and almost non-responsive.

Crowley is ready to do whatever it takes to heal his friend, but some damage can’t be cured with a miraculous snap.

Words: 7,017

Status: Complete

Rating: Mature

Art Credit: Rhododendron, Lesser Cuckoo by Imao Keinen, 1892

[collin-the-fallen]

Some Good Omens Whump ideas that I think need to be written :

- The Metatron being the Whumper, whether it’s Az or Crowley being hurt. It tickles my brain

- ‘I- I can’t be hurt! I’m an Angel!”

- Either Az or Crow collapsing into the others arms, ‘If you wanted a hug, you could’ve just asked, Angel.’ and ‘Well, I suppose you were lying to me.’

- AZIRAPHALES BLOODSTAINED WAISTCOAT. Bonus points if Crowley only noticed it when he went to miracle it clean for Aziraphale. Bonus bonus points if as soon as he’s going to ask about it, Az collapses.

- Angels having golden blood and Demons having black blood

- “Oh- Christ, angel- You could’ve at least said something!”

- Them hiding wounds from each other

[notfeelingthyaster]

we've gone through raphael, lucifer, and now baraquiel for names to pre-fall/angel crowley, BUT WHAT IF, what if the J in his "middle name" that "doesn't stand for anything" actually stands for his angel name as an indication of Something™

[shatteredwriters]

I can’t believe I found Good Omens one year ago today! What a year it’s been…I absolutely love these two stories I wrote and am proud of the way they turned out. While I’ve been on a writing hiatus for some time, I’m far from being done with the fandom. So cheers to one year of ineffable husbands, Aziracrow, and Good Omens brainrot!

[aziraphales-library]

Hello, hello! I'm looking for a fic from long ago. I remember Aziraphale lived in some kind of mental hospital. He was really afraid to go outside (had some type of phobia), but Anathema convinced him to try. There, he meets Crowley, who is either one of the workers as the hospital or the Gardner. It was a really good fic and I really hope it can be found. Thank you for all that you do, eternally grateful. 🙏🏽

Hello my dear! I know exactly what you are looking for!

Smitten at First Fright by Oopsynini [Rated M, 67K words]

Aziraphale has problems. No one needs to tell him so, he's well aware that his issues are many and in-between. He's an agoraphobic shut-in with a bad back and a sad past. It's a rule that, to most, he isn't much worth the effort of getting to know. Crowley doesn't seem to abide by any of that. He's an enigmatic gardener with a green thumb and a smile a thousand miles wide. It's something like love at first sight; if that included a panic attack and a minor foray into bird watching.

Aziraphale is smitten, now if only he could get past his fears and admit it.

-Mod AB

[thescholarlystrumpet]

Inspired by the Angst Battle on @goodomensafterdark and specifically by @vavoom-sorted-art (this gorgeous story)

A little bittersweet aftercare between Demon and Angel:

Wounds Unseen

Rated T

They were home. Hell was far behind them.

Well, beneath them. Far, far beneath.

But it wouldn’t leave his skin.

Crowley had showered and bathed multiple times since leaving. Aziraphale had run the very first bath, in fact. Water slightly tepid and scented with soothing oils. The Angel had murmured soft, gentle nonsense as he slowly rinsed the soot away. He had changed out the water for fresh, keeping the room itself humid as a greenhouse, and washed Crowley’s hair by hand.

When the demon rose from the bath, he’d been enfolded in a towel that may as well have been made of clouds. Aziraphale taking pains to dry him with the same careful but thorough efficiency.

They’d lay down together afterward on the rarely used bed above the bookshop. Two well worn bodies made of human flesh and star stuff in equal measure. Skin to skin beneath a quilt the Angel must have had for decades. Perhaps a century or more.

Crowley could barely speak, his hands curled into fists, into claws he could not yet unfurl. He knew he was clean and pink and shining from his Angel’s attentions. He knew the body beside his was radiating love. But the taste in his mouth was still ash and brimstone.

CONTINUE ON AO3

[aceofwhump]

Crowley, come back, to Heaven! Work with me!

We can be together! Angels... doing good!

I... I need you!

Good Omens 2x06

[iceeericeee]

Title: The Sun is a Deadly Laser (and It Hates Crowley)

Summary: It’s summertime in SoHo, and Crowley is still wearing his usual all black outfit. This definitely won’t bite him in the ass later today.

Notes: hellooooo good omens fandom. It’s been a hot second since I’ve been here. How are we doing today? Good? Good. Here’s some Crowley whump that no one asked for.

Human!Omens au

Whumperless Whump event, day 6: Summer is a curse

—————

It was a beautiful day in Soho. The sky was clear, children ran around playing, couples walked in silence.

One couple stuck out. Two men strolled on a path, side by side, at the St. James park.

The first one was Aziraphale. He was wearing his usual outfit, but chose to ditch the jacket he normally wore, and rolled up the sleeves of the sky blue button-up. Of course, he kept his vest on. Couldn’t leave home without it.

Crowley, however…

Crowley was only slightly regretting wearing his usual black attire. Although he would argue that his choice of clothes weren’t completely black. For instance, his thin neck tie was silver, not black. And his jacket wasn’t totally black. He’d definitely seen blacker. His was just… very very dark grey.

Although even Crowley couldn’t deny the darkness of his sunglasses. It had been purposeful, so he could hide his rare eye condition when he went out in public. Currently, not only were they protecting his eyes from being stared at by others, they were finally being used for what they had been made for: blocking the sun from Crowley’s eyes.

However, this task was a struggle, the sweat beading on Crowley’s nose made a slick surface. The sunglasses would periodically slide down, and Crowley would push them back up. But his face wasn’t the only thing slowly becoming sticky with sweat.

It was as though Crowley’s clothes had become glued to his body. It was very apparent how uncomfortable he was becoming.

“And you’re positive you’re alright? You seem a bit pale, dear…” Aziraphale fretted over Crowley.

“‘M fine, Angel. Don’t worry about me.” Crowley gently grabbed Aziraphale’s hand in his own slightly shaky ones.

Aziraphale pursed his lips. “Alright, if you say so.”

They continued to walk. Crowley could feel his feet begin to drag behind him. His breaths were slowing down and getter deeper.

It was when Crowley stumbled on a crack in the sidewalk did they both notice something was very wrong with him.

“Crowley!” Aziraphale quickly reached out to catch the other man. Thankfully, he was successful, keeping Crowley from taking an unwanted tumble onto the concrete.

Crowley tried to make a witty remark — something along the lines of ‘falling for Aziraphale’ — but found his tongue was dry and slightly swollen. All he could manage was a small groan.

“Come along, dear. Let’s… Les find some shade, and we’ll have a little sit-down, alright?”

Crowley nodded. “M’kay, Angel.”

Aziraphale gently lead Crowley to a nearby tree. None to gracefully, he practically fell down on his arse next to the trunk. He watched as Aziraphale grabbed the handkerchief from his vest pocket and leaned forward to dab at the sweat beading on Crowley’s brow.

“I saw a water fountain just a bit ahead of us. I’m going to go and wet this, just sit right here. I’ll be back in a bit.”

Aziraphale sprung up before Crowley could get a word in. So he sat there, and waited.

It was indeed a bit cooler underneath the shade of the tree. A lazy breeze blew by, brushing slightly at his hair. It was relieving. He could feel his internal temperature oh so slowly coming back down.

The swish of grass interrupted his thoughts. He looked up and saw Aziraphale walking up to him, soaked handkerchief in hand.

“Alright, I’m back. Here-” leaning down, he carefully dabbed the cool fabric onto Crowley’s forehead. Crowley subconsciously leaned in, letting his skin drink in the cold emanating from the handkerchief.

This went on for at least 30 minutes, Aziraphale rushing back and forth between Crowley and the water fountain, until Crowley felt well enough to walk back to the Bentley.

[actual-changeling]

202X, London, Soho, Aziraphale's bookshop

"I never noticed that one."

Crowley gives a non-committal hum, too caught up in the soft rhythm of Aziraphale's fingers carding through his hair, and pushes his face further into his soft stomach. His shirt has ridden up while he has been teetering on the edge between dreams and wakefulness, and Aziraphale has never been able to resist a patch of bare skin.

While he technically does not need to sleep, let alone nap, slow afternoons like these are a simple pleasure in themselves. Two cups of hot cocoa, his head in Aziraphale's lap while he reads one book or another, the comfort of knowing that they're safe and free in the bubble they have created. He fully intends to drift back off, his eyes fluttering shut once more, when an odd pressure on the side of his ribs catches his attention.

Twisting his head as far as it will go, he watches as Aziraphale traces a long, jagged scar running almost parallel to his spin, although several inches to the left of it. Crowley cannot feel the touch itself, there are no nerves left in the scar tissue, but he senses the gentle brush of his fingertips right next to it.

"What happened?"

He blinks up at his angel and sighs, adjusting himself; it is not a pretty story, yet he knows he won't regain his peace until Aziraphale gets his answer.

"Remember Edinburgh?"

"Of course, but I don't—oh."

The second Aziraphale realises what he is getting at, all air leaves his body, his hand stilling, and Crowley can practically taste the pity rolling off of him in waves.

"My lot don't send rude notes, angel, and doing that much good all at once, well, let's just say Beelzebub wasn't pleased."

In the silence that follows, he absently considers simply falling asleep and leaving Aziraphale with his more than shortened summary of the events that followed their night at the graveyard, but a sudden rustle of paper and fabric tells him said angel has other plans.

Now pressing both his palms against Crowley's back, Aziraphale quickly bends down to kiss his hair before asking, "Does it still hurt?"

"Aches in bad weather, but no, doesn't hurt. Stop fretting, angel, it's-"

"If you say 'fine', Crowley, I swear I will- "Yeah, yeah, I won't."

It is fine, but he swallows the end of his sentence, and allows him to send low pulses of ethereal energy into his cells, smoothing over as much of the old injury as he can. Admittedly, it does feel nice after all these decades of distant pain, although it is entirely unnecessary. Once Aziraphale is satisfied, he kisses the back of his head again and tugs down his shirt, wrapping his arms around him and ignoring his book to hold him instead.

"Do I want to know what caused it?"

Crowley hisses contently and buries his face in the warmth of his stomach.

"No, but I guess you wanna know anyway."

"If you don't mind."

Letting out his second defeated sigh of the day, he tilts his head just enough to speak.

"They do this thing where they break your wings and send you down a chute to, eh, fall, for however long they want. I refused to show 'em my wings at first, Beelzebub threatened to rip out my spine, left the scar."

It's an incredibly condensed version of events. In reality, there has been a lot of blood, screams, and torn skin, but Aziraphale is already clinging to him like the earth will swallow him whole, so he decides not to elaborate. There is nothing one can say in response to that kind of confession, and Aziraphale doesn't try. Instead, he finally continues the drag of nails along his scalp. Crowley hums and closes his eyes.

"Can I please nap now?"

"Of course, whatever you want." Aziraphale pauses, and then, because he simply always has to, continues.

"I love you, dearest."

"Love you too, angel."

[ineffableclassics]

A collection of complete separate Aziraphale whump stories.

Please heed the tags, things might get a bit dark in here.

Words: 52,140

Status: Complete and In Progress

Rating: Teen And Up ( mind the tags)

By @hotcrosspigeon

[spicypotstickerbliss]

Finally posted my @fandomtrumpshate contribution for the lovely @sparkkeyper !

Summary:

The whole shop reeked of occult blood. For a moment, Aziraphale worried that hell or heaven had sent an ancient being to collect him.

Then, he registered the long, scaly tail flicking in distress and the anguished rasping coming from the creature.

This was no foreigner, this was the demon Aziraphale would know even in death.

But what had happened to him?

“Crowley?” Aziraphale inched forward, one hand outstretched. “Are you hurt?”

Claws scraped at the hardwood floors in distress and Crowley let out a low whimper.

When Aziraphale got too close, sharp teeth snapped and eyes flashed. He backed away, “Shhh, it’s going to be alright, I’ll—” From his new vantage point, Aziraphale could see the way dark liquid pooled beneath Crowley’s curled underbelly, “Oh my.”

Or: Crowley reverts to his true form after a battle with a few wayward demons. Aziraphale must find a way to care for him in the aftermath.