Fanfiction by Vivien - Harry Potter | Neil Gaiman Universe | Buffy | Multiverse-Milliways | Recommendations
Neil Gaiman Universe fanfiction by Vivien
Good Omens
The Greatest of These
Rating: PG 13
Pairing: Aziraphale/Crowley
Summary: “And now these three remain: faith, hope and love. But the greatest of these is love.”
The final Apocolypse, a final escape plan, and finally, Crowley and Aziraphale together.
Sandman
Falling with a Star to Guide
PG-13, Written for Yuletide Treasure 2004
The Ties that Bind
PG, Written for Yuletide Treasure 2005
Neverwhere
The Openers of the Underside
A series of drabbles about the House of Arch and the Openers of the Underside, including Arch, Ingress, Portia, Portico, Door, and others. Crossover with the Sandman-verse with appearances by Death and Delirium.
Neverwhere Crossover drabbles
Title: The Ripper
Fandoms: Neverwhere/choose your Jack the Ripper canon
Characters/Pairings: Jack the Ripper
Prompt: #88 He
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: Not my characters. I borrow them with respect.
He could only be truly seen by those he killed, and they would never get the chance to tell. Anyone else - anyone not of the Below - would get a vague impression of a gentleman passing by. Perhaps they would shudder, and think a goose had walked o'er their grave.
Creeping out of the alley in Whitechapel, he would have his way, and then creep back whence he came.
Why wait for the whores to fall through the cracks when he could come to them?
Jack the Ripper, they called him.
The Topsiders would never catch him. Lucky bastards.
Title: Crowley Below
Fandoms: Neverwhere/Good Omens
Characters/Pairings: Just Crowley
Prompt: #57 Lunch
Rating: G
Disclaimer: Not my characters. I borrow them with respect.
Crowley hated the Underside, but as above so below, as they said, and he had work to do here, too.
He hated the lack of fine restaurants and the lack of hygiene amongst the denizens. He hated the fact that he couldn't drive the Bentley. He hated how forgotten bits of the 19th century lurked round every blessed corner, waiting for him to recognize them and flinch. Most of all, he hated being anywhere in the same metaphysical dimension as Islington, that creeptastic fruitbat of an angel who watched over London Below.
But there were souls to ensnare here, although it was so blessedly easy to do so that it was laughable.
He sauntered through the ruins of the Temple of Mithros and wondered whether he could fulfill his quota in time to make lunch at the Ritz.