Good Omens - Fanart

...but Aziraphale was trying to be a bitch. He was trying to be the bitchiest bitch that ever bitched about bitches. (quote by @millerizo)

Sorry for bitches.

When you can’t finish any of your drawing, join to new challenge six characters instead!! Nobody gave me requests (because I didn’t asked for), and very intelligent and useful automatic picker picked me them.  Yeah, I’m so dumb. 

Somebody help me please. And I hate hair from now.

Can two friends sleep together and still love each other in the morning? Two long-time acquaintances Crowley and Aziraphale grapple with this question over a 12 years and 3 months. When Harry met Sally/Good Omens crossover soon in AO3! Another poster, this time collab with @scullyphile / @brenna for the @do-it-with-style-events Silver Screen Bang!

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

Although I don't have so many drawings to choose, I decided to redraw one of them. In the fact, it’s my first work posted on tumblr (except the profile pict). So, here we go! I screwed up anatomy, I have no idea where the ribs and belly belong. Just imagine one soft cloud and melted snek, yeah?

a little nightly cuddling inspired by fanfiction and I would know him in death, at the end of the world

All I can see are two dorks dancing at the bandstand in Loosely Ballroom, don’t you think @mortifyingideal ?

Oh my God, you're so gooood and talented artist! I don't even know which one of your drawings I like the most.

Hellfire

(I started to hate this half way through so I left it super sketchy and played around with the colors a lot lol)

The whole world is filled with love of these two. I love them, I love this fanart, I love this fandom and love Neil, Terry, Michael, David and GO crew. I think I am quite sappy, but happy.

Thank you.

This summer will be the same as the last one: me under a train for those dumbasses

(soon the Aziraphale going to visit Crowley version because we have never enough versions of the first kiss™)

HOLY CRAP, this is fucking masterpiece! This animatic must have taken you such a long time. I can't imagine how much work is involved in. Such a beautiful colors, illustrations, motion, lyrics, my God, whole amazing artstyle, everything.

Never see something like that before.

so i started this in august and at this point im not sure i’ll ever finish it, even though i’ve storyboarded the whole thing already ¯\_(ツ)_/¯