noneorother

[noneorother]

Good Omens 🥹

Clip Studio Paint

commissions open https://vgen.co/valentinaban

[noneorother]

PSA: Don’t confuse phony corporate pride campaigns with true allyship.

[noneorother]

Everyday, it’s a-gettin’ gayer~🎶

[noneorother]

Episode 3 - Fire That Burns Again

A: "Do you want to come to my place?"

These are the words that come out of Aziraphale shortly after laughing.

He says them without thinking.

All at once.

Crowley hesitates to answer, then mumbles something like a yes.

Exactly 6 minutes later, a family car screeches its tires on the street.

Aziraphale's heart is beating fast.

When he sees him, he smiles softly.

Crowley doesn't smile back, but he doesn't look down.

They remain silent.

Then they sit down.

Facing each other.

No theatrical distance.

Just enough space to be honest.

A(quietly):"I'm glad you came."

C(biting, but the voice is hoarse):"I'm not here to pretend that nothing happened."

A(sincere):"Me neither. I just want to tell you everything. Without defending myself anymore."

Crowley nods.

Then he speaks.

Slowly.

C: "You left me. With the excuse of saving something that didn't want us alive, or together. You made a choice. And I... wasn't included in that choice."

A pause.

Aziraphale looks at him, shaken.

His voice is shaking but clear.

A: "You're right. You're damn right, Crowley. But I swear I thought about you every day. And every day I realized how much pain I caused you. How much I made you suffer, and you didn't deserve it in the slightest. I thought I was protecting you. Instead I only hurt you. And I don't know if I can fix it. But I want to try. Not to go back. But to move forward, if you want me to."

Crowley looks at him.

His eyes are shining. But his voice is firm.

C: "I..."

He stands up and sighs.

He puts his hands on his hips.

He watches the fire crackle in the fireplace.

The fire reflects in his lenses.

C: "I don't know what I want. But I know I don't want to lie anymore. To you. To myself. Because the truth is that I missed you, so much. But it's not enough that I miss you. I want to understand if we can still be... something."

Aziraphale nods.

He takes a mental step toward him, but doesn't touch him.

A: "Then let's start with this. With two truths that meet. And with a cup of tea, maybe."

A hint of a smile forms on Crowley.

Tiny.

Real.

C: "But this time I'll make the infusion. That way you'll stop poisoning yourself with sugar."

They laugh softly.

A little, but they laugh.

And they stay there, sitting.

Not like before.

Not yet.

But maybe, better.

A little later...

Crowley sits with the cup in his hands. Aziraphale pours more tea, slowly, as if he wants to prolong the moment.

C(sniffing the cup): "At least it doesn't smell like sacred vanilla."

A: "A compromise: black tea, honey, and a hint of whiskey. An old recipe of yours, if I recall correctly."

Crowley just smiles.

Silence falls. Only the crackling of the fire can be heard. Aziraphale looks at him. He really looks at him, perhaps for the first time in months.

The tired lines. The hands that no longer shake. The distance that separates them, only a cushion on the sofa.

A(whispering):"You took on so much, and I...I never thanked you."

C(looking at the fire):"You didn't need a thank you. You needed to stay."

Silence.

The fire crackles. A spark dances between them. No one puts it out. Crowley puts down the cup. He looks at him. Aziraphale looks back at him.

A suspended moment. The air is getting warmer. Not for the fireplace. For something else.

Aziraphale tries to make initial contact, reaches out. His fingers brush against Crowley's. Crowley doesn't pull away. They look at each other. The barriers give way.

Just for a moment.

The kiss starts slowly. As if it were the most natural thing in the world. Lips that search for each other, uncertainly. Then they find each other. And everything becomes more urgent. Time is running out.

The wound burns and desires at the same time. Hands that clasp. Breath that becomes confused.

And then...

Crowley pulls away, slowly but firmly, pushes Aziraphale away, putting his hands on his shoulders.

C: "No. No..."

Crowley shakes his head, his eyes are shining.

C: "Not like this. Not yet."

A(confused, hurt):"Sorry. I thought that..."

Crowley looks at him, but it's not a reproachful look, it's... sweet.

C:"I wanted it too. But we can't jump to a happy ending just because we kissed in front of a romantic fireplace."

Crowley sighs.

C:"I still have a wound here."

Crowley touches his chest with his hand and does the same thing on Aziraphale's chest.

C:"And you too. We're still hurt. Until we fill it ourselves... we risk hurting ourselves again."

Aziraphale lowers his gaze. Then he nods. Silence.

A(weak):"Then we stay here. In front of the fire. And nothing else."

Crowley takes a breath.

Then he nods too.

He sits back down.

He picks up the cup again.

Hands touch again, this time without kisses, just touch.

And the fire continues to burn.

Calm.

Waiting.

Later, the time to go home is imminent. Aziraphale rubs his hands against his trousers and Crowley has his hands in his pockets. He opens the door but before he leaves completely he stops on the steps.

C: "Wait."

It seems like a suspended moment. Crowley bites his lip, as if he's about to say something he can't take back once he's said it. Aziraphale stares at him in the doorway, his hand still on the doorknob.

C: "Tomorrow, will you come to dinner at my house? Just us. No angels. No demons. Just... us. No expectations."

Aziraphale looks at him.

He really looks at him.

Then, slowly, he nods.

A: "I'd like to."

C: "Perfect."

Aziraphale watches him walk away, he's not sure but he thinks Crowley is watching him too, for a moment, from behind the dark glasses.

[noneorother]

"Art can save your life, but entertainment will never be your salvation. Entertainment, by and large, is escapism. And no one has ever escaped their chains by forgetting they were there.

...I think that whatever you take away from the performance, if it's art that touched you, that made you feel something, that's good! That's all you can hope for. But if you want a revolution, if you want change, you're prolly gonna have to go outside and get some, or make some."

- Josh Johnson, February 2025 (X)

[noneorother]

Mmmm... I just went to a museum and came across this painting from Ernest Ange Duez (Ange meaning Angel in french, as if the whole painting wasn't enough). On top of everything obvious, are those wings on Azir- hum, the blonde lady's hat?

[noneorother]

😈😇are enjoying the view of the strawberry moon, aren't they?

A slightly modified version of Caspar David Friedrich’s 𝑇𝑤𝑜 𝑀𝑒𝑛 𝐶𝑜𝑛𝑡𝑒𝑚𝑝𝑙𝑎𝑡𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑀𝑜𝑜𝑛.

[noneorother]

[noneorother]

Bad Omens?

[noneorother]

Oo-oh

I am the sand in bottom half of the hourglass...

[noneorother]

Writer's Guild Presents: Is There a Version? COMPLETE

A post-s2 fic with plot and pining and mystery and the power of community to change reality and zero “I was wrong” dances.

Summary: Aziraphale has been giving the performance of his life for the past five months, averting the Second Coming while searching for a chink in the armour of heaven. It's hard when his heart is walking (sauntering) around below and his brain is betraying him with visions of a different life. Crowley is playing his own dangerous game while navigating unsettling emotions. Enter several old and new friends, two important texts, the art of prestidigitation, revelations about the way Her universe operates, and the inescapable tyranny of Christmas music. Can humans, demons, and angels work together to save the world and take control of their own fates when reality seems to be fracturing around them?

This is a full post-s2 fic packed with plot and feelings. The vibes are closer to s1 while the plot features a mystery that builds on the discontinuities in s2. Heavy on dialogue, light on angst, with a ton of media references. Certified Aziraphale defender fic (and Crowley defender fic!). Rated Mature for one chapter with non-explicit sex; other chapters are written Teen and Up.

Read it on AO3. Thanks to @goodomensafterdark and my wonderful beta reader, @kimberleyjean!

[noneorother]

They say it anyway

[noneorother]

Edinburgh minisode my beloved

had to draw their complicated outfits but it’s ok I still love them

[noneorother]

One of my absolute favorite drawings from one of my absolute favorite TV shows <3

[noneorother]

Everyone say it with me: Not unlike tuberculosis.

I vote for John Green to buy tumblr. Whatever he does with it would be deserved.

[noneorother]

Georg Janny - Summer Night, 1926 After a certain point I had quite the fun with this, but rip to all the details you can't see because they don't show up on my shitty phone camera- maybe I can get my hands on a scanner soon. I'm still open for prompts for this series :)