I Don't See Any Single Difference. Still A Bit Of Bastard And Nice Person.

Don’t know why but I always start drawing the demon except today. It’s cold outside but he looks warm and happy, doesn’t he? 

Crowley is around, don’t worry, I just want to share my joy ^^

Ideal time to change wallpaper on my phone! Thank you again <3  Turning off the alarm never seemed more appealing.

Ineffable Wives Exchange Gift for @freyjawriter24 ! Hope you like it! I kinda smashed all the prompts together <3

prompt: hair, stars, safety/protection

.

.

.

event hosted by @ineffable-wives-central

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)

Hey, look at there, look! My first entry to a zine, and what a ZINE!

I enjoyed to be part of bunch of great people and working on my piece. It's full of amazing pictures and stories, I can tell you. And I still can't believe I got the chance to be there.

Thanks again for having me ♥️

!!CONTRIBUTOR SPOTLIGHT - SISKEY!!

Here’s a preview of the wonderful art @siskey did for our zine, Ineffable Eras: Blitz 1941!

Pre-orders are open!!

We all live for his hair.

I love this scene. I live for Crowleys hair. And aziraphales hat.

Speedpaint on insta: laloom0

I just said, “I’m cold.”

It’s a lovestory ♥️

There’s a way Aziraphale looks sometimes. Crowley has known that look since the very beginning, since the garden. It’s a look he wears when he finds himself a little unmoored, when he finds himself a little directionless. It’s a look he wears when he begins to doubt himself.

He’s wearing it now, sitting across from Crowley, half-drunk on Chateau d’Yquem, paused midway through a ramble on books adapted into films. He blinks at Crowley once, twice; his brow furrows. 

“Angel?” Crowley asks, sitting up. “S’wrong?”

“Do you know,” Aziraphale says, quite wonderingly, “I think I’m an idiot.” 

Crowley can’t help it - he laughs, snorting through his nose. “You’re not,” he says. “You’re the cleverest–the cleverest clever to ever clever.”

“See, that, right there!” Aziraphale says, pointing at Crowley. “That’s it! That’s why I am idiot.”

Crowley laughs harder. “What in the world are you talking about?”

“You!” Aziraphale half-shouts. “You’re in love with me!”

There’s a ringing silence in the bookshop as Crowley’s laugh cuts out. They stare at one another. 

“Fuck’s sake, angel,” Crowley says quietly, rubbing a hand over his face. “Sober up.”

There’s a soft shimmer of a miracle being performed, and then they’re still both looking at each other in the silence. Aziraphale’s hands twist and curl together. 

“I’m sorry,” he offers, cringing at himself. “I don’t know–I didn’t know.” 

Crowley heaves himself up off the sofa, gathering up his jacket. “Nothing for you to be sorry for,” he says amicably. “I’ll just, er, see myself out, I think, call it an early night.”

“Wait–” Aziraphale’s hand catches in his elbow, and Crowley can feel him stepping up close behind him, though he doesn’t turn to look. “Wait,” he repeats. His voice is soft, like unbearably tender. Crowley closes his eyes against it. “I didn’t know.”

“I didn’t tell you,” Crowley says, as calmly as he can. He can feel himself shaking under Aziraphale’s hand, just like one of his plants. “It wasn’t supposed to–it’s not a big deal, angel.”

“It is a big deal,” Aziraphale tells him softly. “Look at me.”

I’m sorry, Aziraphale will say. I didn’t know, he’ll say. It’d be better if you didn’t, he’ll say. Couldn’t you just - miracle it away?

Crowley looks, though. Aziraphale asked him to. Of course he looks. 

There’s a way Aziraphale looks sometimes. It’s a look Crowley’s known since the very beginning, since the garden. It’s a look he wears when he offers a wing to shelter under in a storm. It’s a look he wears when he holds out a hand before the end of the world. It’s a look that looks a lot like love. 

“Leave it,” Crowley says. It’s a demand because he can’t bear for it to be plea. 

“I’m sorry,” Aziraphale says again. “I didn’t know. I thought it was just–I thought it was just me.” There’s a wobbly sort of grin spreading across his face. “I thought it was just me, reflecting back. I’m such an idiot.” 

Crowley stares at him. Doesn’t flinch away when Aziraphale touches his cheek. “You mean to say, you–?”

“Yes,” Aziraphale says. “How could I not?” 

And it’s true. It’s true because Crowley would feel it, if it were a lie. It’s true because Crowley would see it, if it were a lie. 

It’s true because Aziraphale would never lie to him about love.

“Oh my God,” Crowley says, for the first time in six thousand years. “We’re both bloody idiots.”

It doesn’t matter, not right now. Right now, Aziraphale is kissing him, and Crowley has already spent too much time not kissing him back to worry about it any longer.

These guys deserve their picnic.

Did you read Siren’s song?  GO READ. Bookmark, comment, give kudos if you like it (and I assure you will).

I’ve worked on this piece for a week, I started immediately after finishing last chapter of this briliant and beautiful and glorious story by @kedreeva. And I must admit - I never know siren has wings!  

But the biggest kick to my ass are you people. I am still overwhelmed by the amount of likes on my last work (dtiys of marvellous @hayamiyuu) and this is my little celebration for it.  Thank you, very very much.

Ineffable Wives