EVERYONE SAY THANK YOU

The depth of acting he accomplishes in this moment alone....I cannot stand him at all....

I hate him. What the. Fuck is...

BITCH IM GONNA KILL YOU

Oh, we couldn’t bring the columns down Yeah, we couldn’t destroy a single one And the history books forgot about us And the Bible didn’t mention us, Not even once

good omenssssss

listen blame @messofthejess for this but I can never un-picture Jesus spending the entirety of Good Omens sitting in his Mom’s basement Heaven in cutoff jorts, watching the shit that’s going down on Earth and occasionally being like “hey uhhhhhh not to eff the ineffable but like… my man Crowley legit looks like he might die of stress in the next ten minutes, is it okay if I, like, pop down and let him know it’s gonna work out alright?” and God’s just like

“NO”

and Jesus is just like “mesus christ, I was just asking, damn” and goes back to strumming his six-string and quietly seething about That Fuckshit

mesus christ

when your nanny/godfather is a satanic agent

When in Rome

“Oh, no. No, that’s- that’s your job, isn’t it?”

Crowley tracked his eyes over the angel that had so easily taken a seat beside him, pushing through Crowley’s prickly defenses with a gentle toast. Though he was indeed a demon, Crowley had never felt like fighting things without defenses. Some part of him knew that the angel was far from defenseless, but it was one thing not to have them and another entirely to never raise them. Crowley, who lived with his own up at all times, grudgingly admired the bravery in purposeful vulnerability.

The nature of the angel’s offer didn’t escape him, either. Far from being a slip of the tongue, it was a sideways invitation.

An invitation, curiously enough, to temptation.

A pleased smile curled the corners of his lips despite his best attempts to keep it contained. “Should I be doing my job now, then?” he asked, no weight behind the words.

He did not miss the flick of Aziraphale’s eyes, quickly taking stock of their surroundings, as though someone might be watching. “It seems fair,” he said carefully, refocusing on Crowley, “considering how often you’ve shown up to see me do mine.”

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Absolutely, yes!! ♡

crowley and aziraphale run into each other in berlin, 1929 a collab btwn me and my sister (her drawing, my colors!)  edit: if you want a print of this, i have it available here!

sneaking snacks 

The depth of acting he accomplishes in this moment alone....I cannot stand him at all....

I hate him. What the. Fuck is...

BITCH IM GONNA KILL YOU

more ineffable husbands  ( x )  and  ( x )

aziraphale waking crowley up in the mornings by curling around him and pressing soft kisses to the back of his neck; crowley grumbling in protest even as he presses himself further into aziraphale’s hold. time to wake up, dear boy, aziraphale tells him, between kisses, nuzzling into his hair a little. 

crowley stretches, groans, and collapses back into aziraphale’s arms. don’t wanna. 

yes, you do, aziraphale says, and there’s such fondness in him, such unbearable affection, that crowley has to turn in his hold and bury his face into aziraphale’s chest. you want to get up and come to breakfast with me, i think. i’ll take you somewhere with runny eggs, just like you like. 

s’warm here, crowley answers, but that’s not a no. food is aziraphale’s passion, of course, but crowley can be tempted – oysters in rome, crepes in paris, angel food cake at the ritz – particularly when it’s coming from aziraphale. you’re cosy.

aziraphale smiles against crowley’s temple, pulling him a little closer and rubbing a hand up and down his back. he can’t resist crowley like this, with his defenses down, his limbs loose and heavy with sleep, his face soft and unlined as though a cocoon of blankets and a soft awakening has melted away the last six thousand years, the fear and the hiding, the questions and the fall. 

maybe it did, a little. 

stay here with me, crowley mumbles into aziraphale’s chest, threading his own temptation into it – aziraphale can hear it in his voice, can feel it in the way it tugs, like a hand curling into the dark spaces underneath his ribs. just for a little while. eggs afterwards.

all right, aziraphale agrees, kissing crowley’s forehead, his temple, coaxing crowley’s face upwards – he follows those kisses like a sunflower turning toward the light. a kiss to crowley’s eyelids, terribly gentle against their flutter; a kiss to his cheekbones, his jaw, the bridge of his nose. just for a little while. eggs afterwards. 

when his kisses find crowley’s mouth, crowley sighs, and presses into him, and kisses him back, and it feels like that hand curled under his chest releasing just long enough to find aziraphale’s hand in return, like fingers slotting together, like palms pressed to palms, like the flicker of a pulse in wrists held to wrists. it feels like crowley, giving in; it feels like crowley, taking of. like balance; like finding equilibrium. the eye of the storm. the crest of the sun.

it feels like home.  

A lot of catching up to do.  support me here!

good omenssssss

i did a draw based on @speremint‘s Reversed Omens AU! crowley is a pastel plant boi and azi is Extra