Wow, OFMD Fandom Going Hard :)! ❤👏🏴‍☠️ 

just performing a some light reblog necromancy to remind everyone of

Aziraphale's Softcore Porn Notebook

if i am to ever know just One (1) single thing about the Mysterious Unwritten Sequel, i simply want to know This: Why Was Aziraphale Watching That Softcore Porn Movie. Neil Gaiman Dear Gawd Why

You will have to wait until I tell that story. If I ever do.

Although I’m not sure that I’d put that bit in, because cheap hotels no longer have boxes on their televisions that give you exactly two minutes of pay per view tv before they make you pay. Which would mean that I’d write an entire book, or make an entire TV series, and you wouldn’t have Aziraphale’s porn notebook in it. Which would be sad.

A Lover’s Dance 🐍🪽

Shamelessly reblogging my flapper fem aziracrow because I was looking at this painting last night and thinking how adorable Aziraphale is. This is one of the paintings I'm most proud of.

i have brought her laughing (to my quietly dreaming garden) ------------------------------ The scene: A smoky, velvet-lined speakeasy smudged carelessly somewhere in the pocket of a roaring, glittered New York City, 1924, nighttime. Prohibition is on, but the law books never really dissuade anyone from getting a drink, not if they know where to go. It sure as Hell doesn't stop Crowley from taking her Angel out for a drink, because Aziraphale wanted one. And hey, it's the jazz age, Crowley knows where to get weed again.

This painting is one half of a collaboration I did with my dear friend @thescholarlystrumpet, who wrote a fantastic companion piece on AO3 (Rated M, mind the drug use tag).

“I got something else to liven up your final night in town. If you’re feeling a little… daring.” Crowley looked sidelong at Aziraphale and arched one penciled-on brow. Aziraphale wiggled happily and slid off the stool to sidle closer, until her head was practically on the Demon’s bare shoulder. “Do tell.”  Crowley tried not to shiver as she could feel the Angel’s breath against her heated skin, smell the heady potpourri of perfume, wine, and a pinch of ethereal sweat, taste it on her (currently unforked) tongue. She held up the expertly rolled joint between two fingers accented by red painted talons. “It’s been a very long time, I think, since we really… indulged.” Turning her head just so, nearly nose to nose with her friend. “Don’t you think we’ve earned it?” “Why, you wicked temptress,” Aziraphale murmured, her voice low and slightly breathless, sly smile belying any hint of admonishment. 

full size and detail shots after the jump

OP these are so soft and pretty and lovely I could spontaneously combust. 🔥🔥🔥

THIS ART NEEDS MORE EYEBALLS TO PERCEIVE IT. @goodomensafterdark look, look with your special eyes!

“To be fond of dancing was a certain step towards falling in love”

(I love drawing them gay ^_^)

hey look i'm finally posting my own art again and SHOCK OF SHOCKS, it's got ✨DIFFICULT LIGHTING✨! wip

The shuhite sunday macbethian kilt staged reenactment bafta hosting angel on the shoulder murder attempt on our lives

Ineffable Invaders ✨

a silly goofy crossover that no one knew they wanted

pspspsps gatinho gatinho pspsps

Oh someone got our poem reference, @thescholarlystrumpet !

For anyone interested, the title of my flappers painting comes from a beautiful poem, "For the Goddess Too Well Known", by Elsa Gidlow, a British-born Canadian-American poet who published the first openly lesbian book of poetry in North America in 1923 (!), titled On A Grey Thread.

For the Goddess Too Well Known

I have robbed the garrulous streets,

Thieved a fair girl from their blight,

I have stolen her for a sacrifice

That I shall make to this night.

I have brought her, laughing,

To my quietly dreaming garden.

For what will be done there

I ask no man pardon.

I brush the rouge from her cheeks,

Clean the black kohl from the rims

Of her eyes; loose her hair;

Uncover the glimmering, shy limbs.

I break wild roses, scatter them over her.

The thorns between us sting like love's pain.

Her flesh, bitter and salt to my tongue,

I taste with endless kisses and taste again.

At dawn I leave her

Asleep in my wakening garden.

(For what was done there

I ask no man pardon.)

i have brought her laughing (to my quietly dreaming garden) ------------------------------ The scene: A smoky, velvet-lined speakeasy smudged carelessly somewhere in the pocket of a roaring, glittered New York City, 1924, nighttime. Prohibition is on, but the law books never really dissuade anyone from getting a drink, not if they know where to go. It sure as Hell doesn't stop Crowley from taking her Angel out for a drink, because Aziraphale wanted one. And hey, it's the jazz age, Crowley knows where to get weed again.

This painting is one half of a collaboration I did with my dear friend @thescholarlystrumpet, who wrote a fantastic companion piece on AO3 (Rated M, mind the drug use tag).

“I got something else to liven up your final night in town. If you’re feeling a little… daring.” Crowley looked sidelong at Aziraphale and arched one penciled-on brow. Aziraphale wiggled happily and slid off the stool to sidle closer, until her head was practically on the Demon’s bare shoulder. “Do tell.”  Crowley tried not to shiver as she could feel the Angel’s breath against her heated skin, smell the heady potpourri of perfume, wine, and a pinch of ethereal sweat, taste it on her (currently unforked) tongue. She held up the expertly rolled joint between two fingers accented by red painted talons. “It’s been a very long time, I think, since we really… indulged.” Turning her head just so, nearly nose to nose with her friend. “Don’t you think we’ve earned it?” “Why, you wicked temptress,” Aziraphale murmured, her voice low and slightly breathless, sly smile belying any hint of admonishment. 

full size and detail shots after the jump

happy Valentine’s Day!!