How Does Reading About The Same Two fuckers Falling In Love Over And Over Again Make A Person So Goddamn

Could someome make me tea, please?

It’s midnight.

They’re on the steps of the Ritz, and the moon is full, and a nightingale had sung in Berkeley Square. The air is fresh, crisp, soft, right after a quick rain, and they’re both looking at the Bentley, which is parked across the street without a droplet

They realize that there isn’t a car puttering across otherwise, that it’s quiet, that they are the last to leave the establishment after getting totally and utterly sloshed in the name of the world not ending.

Then they’re looking at each other. The golden light coming from the windows is spraying across Aziraphale’s pink face, and he’s smiling, and Crowley is smiling right back. They are a couple of drunk morons standing outside in the twilight, basking in each other’s company.

Is this not love?

“Need a lift?” Crowley asks this partly as an inside joke, partly as a literal inquiry; there’s something very slightly pained in his voice - an expectation. An expectation that this night would end as any other would between them: with Crowley sprawled across his own bed, in the dark, lamenting what he did and did not say, and Aziraphale awake all night, curled up with a book he pretends he is reading.

It’s fear, not pain. That nothing would change. Or rather - that they wouldn’t know that nothing had changed.

Now, Aziraphale is drunk, yes. But he is not drunk enough to note the slight panic Crowley is masking, and his smile is even pretty as it fades to something still warm, but serious.

“My dear…”

Crowley feels a lump in his throat, and tries to remember if he thoroughly chewed what little food he had had this evening.

They’re staring at each other. They’re looking at each other and seeing each other, even past Crowley’s glasses. Because the golden glow from behind just barely renders them useless, and matches his eyes just so.

“Where are you?” Aziraphale whispers.

“-What?” Something high-pitched, surprised.

“Where are you, dear? Are you with me? Here? Now?”

“What kind of a- yes- yes of course, where else would I be?”

“Because- dear- I… I would like to hold your hand.”

The request catches Crowley off-guard; he’s halfway thinking through a clever comeback to whatever Aziraphale would have said next when suddenly, his heart aches, and he’s forced to acknowledge what he hopes is the outcome of the evening. And he’s not talking about sharing a bed - no.

Suddenly, he’s flustered about their hands, touching, and he knows he wouldn’t be able to make that leap even if he wanted to, not yet. No, he’s suddenly shivering, vibrating, with eyes darting to his angel’s outstretched hand.

Stupid, stupid, you’re fucking up, oh fuck-

So he jerks his body into motion, looking like he was just struck by lightning, and breathes out into the crackling air to carefully - carefully - press his left hand to Aziraphale’s, fingertips to wrist, palm to palm. His own is smooth, bony, cold, but it feels like he had just rested it on warmed silk. Soft, broad, welcoming.

They’re standing there. They’re staring at each other. They’re staring at their hands, at their ring fingers pressed side by side, imagining what it would be like to have matching bands clink together every time they did this hereafter. To be known this intimately, to know the lines of each other’s palms without practicing, is a gift both of them can give.

Crowley is the first to move; he caressed his thumb across Aziraphale’s, finds a pliant joint that folds around his fingers, welcomes him against his skin, against his body.

“We’re holding hands…” he murmurs, is greeted by the return of that angelic smile.

“That we are, darling.”

Now, it feels as if his heart has stopped completely. A heat creeps up from his chest to the tips of his ears, and gathers in his cheeks.

Suddenly, he is home. And he knows that everything - and nothing, thankfully - has changed.

“Walk me home now, dear. I’ll make us some tea.”

Cutie as hell

You’re never too old for an airplane! 💛

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™)

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

I think my obsession get started...  ...and I don’t know how much time I spend on this drawing, because my watches has stopped at 5pm, but it’s irrelevant information, you know, I always lose track of the time I look into David’s eyes. (little messed up mouth, tomorrow I have to go to work. oh satan give me a strength)

Hello everyone!

First, I would like to thank all people, who liked my shitty paintings - I really appreciate it and you make me happy ♥️

Anyway, I picked up this package today and you can guess what is it. New inspiration arrived and I am prepare to read whole night, yaaay!

And one last think, GO is not going to die. Nope, never, 's not happening.

I want to put this cute thing on my walls. or package Christmas presents into it. Wholesome.

I never finish drawing (especially DTIYS), like I said, but there is little miracle of my own. I worked on beautiful and very touching pict by @hayamiyuu (look on Intstagram please!) because I like, everybody like, rainy romantic and I fell in love with these amazing colors and lighting! They are an image of love in its purest form for me.

I think I did a hell of work this year! I was pretty surprised that I really drew at least one piece every month :D and also how much my style has changed and how many different technics I tried. It feels good and there is still a lot of to learn!

Thanks to everyone who inspired me, encouraged me and helped me to draw these silly bois again and again. I never thought I could do this and I hope next year will be as productive as previous. 

a scene out of chapter 9 from @moonyinpisces 'how do we turn on the light'

Crowley picks up Aziraphale from the hospital