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#good omens art
vavoom-sorted-art · 2 days
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Good Omens x Hades - Aziraphale!
I've been playing Hades II and it's been itching my fingers to do something in the artstyle of the game! so here is my design of Aziraphale as an NPC in HADES!
(and of course, I will be drawing Crowley, too!)
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knifeforkspooncup · 2 days
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Rating: Teen and Up
Words: 3,376
Summary:
After 6000 years in the spinning hubbub of earth, Heaven had been overwhelmingly sparse. So bright it stung, so empty it echoed, so utterly quiet the silence howled in your ears and never seemed to stop.
Heaven was like if radio static had teeth, a total body itch you couldn’t scratch, an endless drip drip drip of gentle water slowly driving you mad.
And Aziraphale had spent an entire year there.
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A while ago I saw this post by @chernozemm and @dingledraw about how Aziraphale would feel after being in Heaven as an autistic coded character. It stuck in my brain as a concept and here we are! Complete with art by me (full image is in the fic! Its very soft!)
Thanks to my lovely beta reader @aspiring-pansy for looking this over!
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gleafer · 1 day
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On my Patreon, I illustrate prompts with quick descriptions for writers and artists to run with!
Here’s The Duel! After the huge success of the bullet catch, Aziraphale gets the stage bug and takes his show on the road, leaving behind a very perturbed, lonely demon.
So he hatches a plot to squash this bug!
You can find what the brilliant writers have come up with here (did I mention I am over the moon that this exists???)
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mooseglue · 2 days
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Ineffable May Day 13 and 14!! I wanted to make a lineup of more gomens characters in the 80s hehe
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feiandart · 3 days
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"You are a work of art," whispers Aziraphale on the bare skin of his shoulder. For the first time, Anthony agrees and does not object. The truth is that, although he always felt a certain fascination, part of him always thought the ropes were rough, oppressive, painful; suffocating ties and too tight, capable of besieging the body and marking it painfully, cages that without outside help are indestructible. Not that he has never been tied up in his life, his sexual adventures have included many things: but never before have ropes been for him not a poorly executed constraint, but a decoration made for the sole desire of enhancing his beauty. Because Anthony now feels beautiful. Not because he is objectively so, because his hair creates voluptuous cascades on the right side of his half-naked body or because his skin is slightly pinker in some places than in others, no. He feels gorgeous because the weave of ropes that wraps around his body is the equivalent of an obscene corset that decorates the top of his chest and the base of his neck, slipping under his armpits to fit over his back in a way Anthony cannot see through the mirror. There are four thinner ropes, in groups of two, which from the weave at the front stretch downwards, joining at navel level in a bow-like knot, and then descend again, wrapping around the hip joint and, sliding back towards his loins, gently embrace his buttocks. No movement is compromised. This is not a work made to hold him still, so much as to embrace him. For he felt each of those black, soft, solid ropes run over his skin along with Aziraphale's fingers, as if they were an extension of his hands and his whole body, and that is why he kept his eyes closed as he let him weave the ropes. He could imagine, in this way, that they were the Lord's gentle coils, capable of holding him as tightly as ever, wrapped in a warm and comfortable grip that, in the end, results in an artistic marvel that Anthony observes in its intricate weaving and feels is his own. Exactly the way he feels he belongs to Aziraphale, when in his fingertips he touches the knot on his navel and traces the trajectory of the strings along his sternum. Anthony has a shiver down his spine, but it is nothing lascivious. There is something, in all this, so intimate that it leaves him bewildered. Even though he is wearing underwear, even though there is no contact between him and the Lord behind him except through the very edges of the ropes, he feels as if he is inside him, as if Aziraphale is all around him, an octopus, a golden cage made of angel feathers and harp strings. He feels beautiful, because it was Aziraphale who made him so.
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blairtrabbit · 9 hours
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Iconography
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milky-rot · 21 hours
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Dtiys for the lovely @rattbones 💜 I had a lot of fun drawing this :3
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thunderrrat · 3 days
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Crowley drawings!!
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circusmantis · 7 hours
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Save me ineffable bureaucracy
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Father Fell x Crowley in WW2 - Chap 15
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stunning cover art by @quona!!
Father Fell has been living a quiet life in a small parish. Despite the looming fear of war, he thought he was content with his small pleasures. Until a mysterious stranger comes to town, turning that life on its head and awakening desires the Father thought he buried long, long ago...
Chapter Fifteen, in which Crowley tells his story and Fell helps him to reclaim it, then Fell begins to reclaim his own, as well.
**
Crowley was in his bed. Nude as Adam on the first day in Eden and smiling with the infinite tenderness of a Madonna painted in the Renaissance. 
They had changed the sheets quickly and efficiently, shivering in the chill winter air, before slipping quickly back under layers of blankets and entwining around one another. Skin to skin, muscles flexing and relaxing as lazy hands wandered. Gooseflesh rose and fell in the wake of trailed fingers and softly parted lips. 
Fell was undulating like a wave on low tide, letting Crowley’s current pull him to and from the shore of reality. At some point they ate. A small pile of fruit, bread, and cold meat that Crowley sprinted to the kitchen wrapped in a quilt to retrieve. 
Stomachs comfortably settled, they curled up together and drowsed for a time, in and out of consciousness. When they both woke, Crowley kissed him. And kissed him again and again, and again, until he was drunk and dizzy, breathless and aching between his legs. 
Rolling Fell onto his back, Crowley straddled his thighs. “Can I… I want to taste you, Angel.” 
Read on AO3
or
Read from the Beginning
@goodomensafterdark
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ratzforaster · 2 days
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That's my frame for Every Frame Against The Wall!!!
We're allowed to post the whole frames now so here we go
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knifeforkspooncup · 17 hours
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I've been so overwhelmed with the reception to my latest fic, I promise I'll reply to all the comments when I stop zooming around the house squawking like a bird!
In the meantime, here's the full art for those who haven't seen it (and in case the link breaks lol)
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Fic here
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Unfortunately for you, Crowley's still living rent free in my mind
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feiandart · 10 hours
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Aziraphale then raised the white flag and collapsed under the weight of temptation, pushing the artist long into the seats of the limousine, towering over him and engaging him in a kiss so full of passion that Anthony, at first, struggled to keep up. The next ten minutes were a complicated succession of sighs, hands in their hair, under their respective jackets - which now lay abandoned all over the place, without any care - and under their shirts pulled out of their trousers, in direct contact with the skin of their bellies, hips and, in Anthony's case, the Lord's back. Nothing happens below the belt except the constant pressure of their groins on each other, but neither of them moves. As if they want to enjoy the feeling of having such a wonderful effect on each other, but without taking it to the next level. On the other hand, Anthony does not want a quickie in the limousine: this is just the appetiser for what will happen in the bedroom, in which he has every intention of taking his time, exploring every inch of the Lord's skin as he has done dozens of times before, and which, however, is never enough. But. There is always a bloody but, even when things are going well and seem like they can only get better; the threat is lurking, and by now Anthony is used to catastrophes. Not for nothing, for the long years of his life he has kept a knowledge in the corner of his mind, gently borrowed from Arthur Bloch and his terribly truthful, if ironic, Murphy's Law. If something can go wrong, it will go worse.
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phabianart · 24 hours
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Beautiful demons in love 🐦‍⬛🫶🦌
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sangitakoos · 1 day
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Good Omens Dance WIP
Nanny Ashtoreth and Brother Francis
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