This Is Such A Sweet Idea! And The Art!! Love Love Love ♥️

As of today 14028 Aziraphale/Crowley fanfics have been posted on ao3 since the release of season two

Which means that on average 77.5 fanfics are being published per day

That’s 3.23 fanfics per hour

0.05 fanfics per minute

So in conclusion:

Every twenty minutes a new Aziraphale/Crowley fanfic is being written

Aziraphale very nearly twinkled over his pasta as he licked the final remnants of its rich sauce from the tines of his fork. Enraptured by the flick of his pink tongue, Crowley watched helplessly and feigned boredom.

Across the restaurant, a chair scraped against the tiled floor. Crowley reluctantly looked away from Aziraphale's pleased expression as they both turned toward the clatter. The man at the table slipped from his seat to kneel at his date’s feet, ring in hand. His fingers trembled. The gem sparkled. The woman’s hand flew to her mouth. She nodded frantically and shoved her hand in his direction. Yes! Yes. Of course, yes.

The couple laughed, flustered, as the patrons at other tables and a few pedestrians on the street clapped. Aziraphale joined in. Crowley didn’t.

“How lovely!” Aziraphale smiled, radiating a pure joy Crowley had to squint at even behind his sunglasses.

“He spent all his wages on that little bauble, I’d bet. Bit of a waste.”

“Love is never a waste, my dear.”

Of course Crowley privately agreed. Of course he did. He'd already sacrificed more in the name of love. He was never sure how much Aziraphale understood, but with the secretive, knowing glance he was receiving from across the table, Crowley suspected it was a great deal indeed.

Heart pounding, Crowley flagged a waiter for the dessert menu and sent a bottle of bubbles to the newly engaged couple's table. Aziraphale, now with dessert in sight, grinned impossibly wider, warm as sunshine. Crowley basked, snake that he was.

Old but gold and I read side effect first time and I’m cackling 😀

#getting into mood ✨

It seems like I can try to do gotober this year! Almost. Didn't make day 2, but hope never dies.

I really enjoyed drawing with gotober promlist by tinwelint and sugarsky except of Crowley, who always managed to sneak around angel. I don't know what to do with this wily serpent. He can't be without his angel, obviously.

Bless her! She's my hero 🙏

Met an old teacher today and we got talking about ‘the good old times’ and ten minutes into the conversation I jokingly said the one regret I have from middle school is that I never won anything at her magnificent tombolas? Because, like, she used to hold this game about once a month so we’d learn the numbers in French and it was never big prizes, but as a 12-yo I desperately craved them - a cactus-shaped eraser, a bright blue notebook with slightly larger-than-usual squares, a set of coloured pens - and never ever got a single one of them. 

(Actually spent a good few months thinking I was genetically unlucky and researching ancient family curses with my grandma.) 

So today I don’t know what I was hoping for - nothing, really?

(I mean, that part of me that’s still twelve was probably expecting this sweet old woman to have a set of glitter stickers in her purse and just go ‘You know what, you’re right - I’ve been saving this one for you all these years, here you go’ but I’m a solidly rational person and I know that’s stupid.)

No, I thought we’d just laugh and it would be a good shared memory and that would be it. Instead, my teacher got flustered and a bit embarrassed and explained the game was rigged. It was never about learning French at all. She’d just noticed some kids couldn’t afford even basic stationery, so she’d buy a few half-fancy items every month with her own money just for them. She didn’t want them to feel different or left out. And obviously the way she used to walk around in the classroom, looking over our shoulders - it wasn’t to prevent cheating. It was because she was cheating herself, wanting to see which number a particular child needed to get a Minnie Mouse pencil case.

Guys - the world is fucked up, but so many people out there are just good and kind and humbly heroic it honestly gives me hope. 

It’ll be alright, you’ll see.

Yess to all of the comments

Mind the tags

Good Omens 2 + Text Posts

“You go too fast for me, Crowley.”

Hi guys, I just realized I got up in four hours, so, time to sleep now, no more drawing (but it’s really hard if you dowload new incredible brushes, by Kyle, yeah, 300 NEW BRUSHES!!)

I am not satisfied of shading etc, and I don’t speak about anatomy & physics of shape and light.. but I really like this nose cuddling (sorry, but English is not my first language)

If They Only Knew

If they only knew

How to keep you safe like I kept you

How to speak the words they never used

I wish they only knew

There were three truths that Aziraphale had been taught about demons. Of course, there were far more than three, but seeing as Heaven strived to be concise while maintaining its penchant for symbolism, the list had been broken down into three main concerns.

1.     Demons will do all that they can to spread evil. Demons will destroy all that is good.

2.     Demons do not trust one another. Therefore, you cannot trust a demon.

3.     Demons cannot love.

There was not a pamphlet that had been distributed to the Heavenly Host. These were truths that had been conveyed through countless conversations, side-eyes, implications, subtle jabs, and consistent proclamations of specially selected scripture.

There were truths about angels too. There were truths about angels, but there were also truths about Aziraphale.

There seemed to be an ever-present divide between Aziraphale and the rest of the angels. Where the rest of the Heavenly Host had the ability to carry out their duties based upon adherence to logic and reasoning, Aziraphale was aware that he often allowed his emotions to overtake his better judgement. The angels had made that clear to him. On occasions in which Aziraphale would hazard questions and concerns in Heaven, soaked to the bone with frigid flood waters, ears ringing with cries from The Crucifixion, the angels had been able to carry on, driven by purpose and written resolve. They had assured him. They had known what was best.

In mending his mind, he would use a scrap of his heart, trying not to focus on the ache it left behind.

Aziraphale learned to rely on logic, to fall back on these truths when he felt his heart rush forward. When he felt questions, griefs, desires well up inside of himself, all he could do was step back and address them objectively, lest he do something rash.

For there were truths about angels, and truths about Aziraphale. And if Aziraphale no longer fit these gospels, then what made him any more different than a demon?

There was one problem. Aziraphale had used these pillars of logic to try and hold himself together, using the knowledge of his superiors to remind himself of his place. Of Crowley’s place.

But these angels had never felt hope at seeing a demon in a jail cell. They had never sat close enough to his raucous laughter to notice that he had crow’s feet by golden eyes. They had never heard a broken voice, shaking with something other than the cold, asking over and over for the safety of children.

And as often as Aziraphale reminded himself that Crowley was a demon, there was the growing feeling that he was also a friend. But friendship was a dangerous thing. So Aziraphale did what he could – he reasoned. He built his companionship with Crowley upon the pillars of these truths, and when he felt the all too familiar desire to grow ever closer, he would rip stitching from his heart to sew his mind together again. The fractured pillars were sealed with cement.

But tonight. Tonight, there had been a bombshell. Metaphorically, there had been two.

“These are just a bunch of half-witted Nazis.”

Number 1.

“It’d take a real miracle for my friend and I to survive it.”

Number 2.

“Little demonic miracle of my own.”

Number 3.

“Lift home?”

The pillars collapsed. The last threads of Aziraphale’s heart were torn away. But rather than bleeding out, it was as if a barrier had been removed. These threads had not been sutures, but rather tethers and bindings. After so many years, this fragile thing was finally released.

And love crept forward tentatively.

Keep reading

MYGOD I can feel it in my bones

Ineffable

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