I Desperately Need This Demon To Smile More

oh🥺don't say were

Historians will say they were roommates.

It's an original work!!!

I forgive you

I HEARD THAT

JOHN:

Listen, don’t ever treat Sherlock like a cat. Seriously.

Mrs. Hudson:

What? What on earth are you talking about?

JOHN:

He’s always prancing around, knocking things over, and generally acting like a nuisance—just like a cat——Messed up the house and me.But he’s Sherlock, notCatlock. Don’t cut him the same slack you’d give a feline. I’ve sworn to myself never to forget that.

Mrs. Hudson:

Oh, John! You always do this.

JOHN:

I’m dead serious! He once interrupted my appointment to drag me to some random shop to buy a hat for his…skeleton?

Mrs. Hudson:

You must have forgiven him by now.

JOHN:

Exactly! That’s why I’m warning you—NEVER treat Sherlock like a cat.

Mrs. Hudson:

Nobody treats him like a cat except you, John. A Catlock? Really?

I want Aziraphale to say out loud in S3: "And that's why I had to do it all, to protect you." And hug Crowley.

Happy 35th anniversary to our beloved story, Good Omens! To celebrate, I designed my own logo for the series if it had an animated adaptation.🤍🖤

😇❤️😈

Some transition images accompanying the story Sand Between Fingers 22/22

Can i just resurface this from God knows when?

OLD TWEET

I repeat

OLD TWEET

Can anyone tell me if Good Omens 3 has finished filming? I really hope it will be aired tomorrow

I almost dare not watch it a second time, the pictures and lines are so beautiful that they are like smoke that will dissipate at any time🥺😫

infatuation makes your heart race love is quiet. love sets you at ease.

and because most of my pieces are mental screenshots of little scenes in my head, here's the scene:

Crowley was tugged into consciousness bit by bit. The afternoon light slowly filtered in, as well as the hum of music from the other room and the weird angle his neck was at. He was warm and content and wanted to sink back into his nap, but the threads of sleep fluttered away the more he tried. Finally, he took a deeper breath, shifting in the armchair, and cracked an eye open just a sliver. There he was, the angel, sitting at his desk. Had hardly noticed Crowley was awake, engulfed in his task of retouching a damaged page. Looking at his hands, Crowley became aware of the fuzzy warmth covering his own and peeked down to see a blanket tucked around his shoulders.

The feeling hit him so hard he let his head loll to the side, eyes closed. His chest tightened and he just…buckled. Finally came undone under the weight of his love for Aziraphale. Its inexorable, steadfast pull which he had been pushing back against for millennia, it had finally caught him off guard, sleepy and vulnerable and so tired from holding back, from refusing to name it. It was a quiet surrender. Crowley looked back at Aziraphale with the understanding of a man meeting his end and embracing it.

Perhaps he could gently pull the blanket to the side and get up. Perhaps he could cross the few steps to the desk and place a freshly made cup of tea to Aziraphale’s right. Perhaps he would hold his gaze, for longer than needed to answer “Don’t mention it”. Perhaps he would ask him if he would like a scone with that. Perhaps Aziraphale would understand that this was not about the scone at all. And yet, what Crowley was asking of him was also exactly about scones. And tea. And quiet afternoons together. Perhaps the angel would finally put down his sword, too, and the world would let out a breath it had been holding for millennia.

the soulmate to this piece, i guess.