haven't drawn for myself in months 🥹
all the guys i’ve made since i started crocheting in nov 🥹
my goal was to work up to teddy/fluffy yarn but i’m so obsessed with velvet/chenille i kind just wanna make everything with this now 😍
i'm sorry i completely lost track of the schedule and didn't realise posting has come and gone, but this was my submission for the Good Omens Theatre Bang from earlier this year 👉👈
i can't find my writer's work so they might've dropped out? but you can read the full bang collection here!
here's my piece for the halloween @spooky-bang-good-omens, matching @mellohirust's amazingly fun fic!!
And They Were Streamers (final chapter)
i've officially tagged Streamer AU as abandoned, but posted one final chapter that includes my half-written prose and all the drafted notes for the rest of the story.
i hope you enjoy and can feel some sense of resolution from this even though it's not full prose 💛 and everyone is welcome to write your own longer scenes based on the unfinished notes
mrghostrat reblogged
it's giving '90 miles per hour in central london' realness
my gomens arc is complete
thank you @subway-stranger you fuckin MENACE
ineffable human headcanons: crowley creates vs aziraphale collects
i thought about doing a series of my human au headcanons, but i just don't have the drive at the moment. have this sketch for now, and pls join me in picturing crowley as any form of artist, writer, musician, sculptor, architect, engineer, programmer etc, inspired by his canonical creation of the stars 💕
you've had too much of the digital love you want everything live, you want things you can touch you want something bizarre, old conceptual cars you want girls dressed in drag, you want boys with guitars you go ask your questions like, "what makes a man?" oh, it's 2020 so it's time to change that so you go make an album and call it dreamland
(au: spending his 50th birthday alone in lockdown forces semi-retired rockstar crowley to face all the thoughts he normally buries with distractions. when he realises all his life regrets are just confusion around his sexuality, songwriting his feelings is the only thing that seems to help, but he doesn't have the understanding to figure it out on his own. even though they haven't spoken since graduation 30 years ago, crowley knows his old school friend aziraphale is the one person who'll be able to figure him out)
new icon 🥰
haven't felt like randomly doodling in ages 💛
it's a small file but feel free to colour in the lines for yourself if you want to! just credit and link to this post if you share it anywhere 🥰
happy birthday @eviebane!!!!!!!!
i had to draw one of the many delicious moments from their post-canon pwp, Lace & Longing 🙏 a) to give them one of their very own crowleys to stare at whenever they want him, and b) to try and hook more of y'all into reading their exquisite writing!!! 👀 go bookmark and comment what i guarantee will be a new favourite!!
and now some ummmm personal stuff 🫣
mrghostrat reblogged
practising my lineless style on robin, my oc from @questables. plus hands! everybody loves a good hand!
When he delivered the mug into his still outstretched hand (with the teaspoon of sugar Aziraphale was too preoccupied to ask for), his editor had found his reading glasses and was hunched over his laptop, already deep in Work Mode. Crowley had a million questions about what he thought of it all, but knew better than to try and interrupt him while he read. EDITOR'S NOTE (M) (48k)
i told u this would happen
editor's note (47k) - 5/5!
last chapter!! thank you everyone who read along with this wip!!! 🥹
“I didn’t mean anything by it,” Aziraphale eventually added, either a minute or twenty later. “You just write… It was a very lovely kiss scene,” he finished softly. Crowley shrugged as he topped up both their glasses,, laughing dryly when his gaze found itself wandering right back to the damp line of Aziraphale’s lips. “I’ve got a good imagination.”
editor's note - chapter 4/5
[slaps chapter] this baby can fit so much gay panic in it
“It’s not so bad, when you’re not drenched in it,” Crowley thought aloud. Aziraphale gave him a doubtful look over the top of his glass, so he doubled down. “Kind of romantic, really. Like a Richard Curtis film.” Aziraphale followed his gaze to a window streaked with endless drizzle. He watched for a moment, took a delicate sip of Tempranillo, then hummed a complacent sigh. “I suppose so.”