#and im so beyond happy with this

[hyperfixating-rn-brb]

op I love you.

Wildest dreams wishes for Good Omens Season 3 which will probably not come true but I can still hope hey!

Number 39

This one is dedicated to @hikarry who posted a couple weeks ago about Crowley reacting to finding out the walls in the bookshop’s back room were painted the same colour as his eyes. It made me remember I had this wildest dream idea sitting in my drafts and inspired me to finish writing it.

I therefore present to you yet another scene in the Adventures of Crowley and Muriel. What happens when Crowley finds portraits drawn of himself by Aziraphale, and works out just why Aziraphale thinks the colour yellow is pretty. Starts out as fluff, but ends in heartbreak and angst. Enjoy!

It had been eight months since Crowley last took off his sunglasses. He only did so now in order to press his finger tips into his eyes in frustration. Confused and exhausted at what he was seeing, he pushed the glasses securely back on his face, took a long annoyed breath in, and called out for the angel.

“Muriel! Get out here!”

Muriel popped their head out from the kitchenette.

“Something the matter Mr Crowley?”

“Is something the-? You bloody well know what the matter is, now come over here!”

Muriel bounded over to Crowley, currently with his back turned to them, staring intently as the bookshelves.

“Where are they?!” He gruffly demanded.

“Where are what?” Muriel innocently replied.

“The books! What have you done with the books, where are they?!” Crowley gestured around wildly at the filled bookshelves. Muriel looked confused.

“They’re right there Mr Crowley.”

Crowley advanced on Muriel, in a slightly but not really menacing way, “Yes, I can see that. But you know what I mean.”

“I haven’t been selling them again if that’s what you mean.” The first time Crowley returned to the bookshop after Aziraphale had left he was horrified to see a stream of customers coming and going. He had personally ran down (“Ran after Muriel, ran after! There’s a difference!”) 17 different people before they returned home just to retrieve the precious possessions before they could be dogeared, spines bent, or worst of all, read on the toilet by careless humans. Afterwards he updated the opening hours sign to include an additional layer of confusion, then spent two and a half hours lecturing Muriel on the evils of capitalism and how to take care of the books properly. Muriel wouldn’t be making that mistake twice.

“Obviously. What I mean is, where are they. They’re all out of order. There’s cookbooks next to Tolstoy, and Pratchett next to Sun Tzu! Where is everything?!”

“Oh, I arranged everything by colour!” Muriel replied proudly, a shining smile spreading across their face.

“You…what?!”

“It’s much prettier this way don’t you think?”

Crowley took a step back and viewed the colours splashed across the shelves. The effect was like staring at a magic eye painting when it suddenly comes into focus. Before him was a kaleidoscope of colour, books positioned in such a way that their outward facing spines when pushed together formed a massive rainbow.

“No it’s not, change it back!” He demanded.

Muriel’s smile dropped and suddenly their eyes went as wide as a puppy’s as they implored him to reconsider.

Crowley was a demon. He was not nice. He didn’t have feelings (certainly not now!), and his one hundred percent NOT broken heart was most definitely not going to be guilted into changing his mind by some sappy eyed angel, especially one that sometimes reminded him of a certain other silver haired cream puff who’s gorgeous pouty lips would make even the coldest of glaciers melt on the spot DEFINITELY NOT!

Crowley rolled his hidden eyes, hissed and then growled a deep low sigh before caving into their pleadings. “Fffffine!”

Muriel gleefully clapped their hands in a completely not adorable or endearing way.

“At least tell me where you hid the first editions?” Crowley moaned.

“Oh that’s easy, they’re over in the brown section.”

“Brown section?”

“Yes unfortunately there’s quite a lot of those.” Muriel pointed behind him.

Crowley turned and startled at crammed shelf after shelf of “brown section”. It took up a majority of the bookshop. The different shades of browns were almost a rainbow in itself. Typical he thought to himself. S’what you get when you only collect books from a hundred years ago.

He thought he’d start with some Dickens, but when he found Dostoyevsky next to Marlow he knew he was in trouble.

“Muriel, how exactly are these books sorted?”

“Easy! First by height then by length!”

Crowley fought the urge to once again slip off his glasses and rub his hands across his face. “Naturally.” He instead murmured.

Muriel by this point had produced the yellow feather duster he remembered Ji- Gabri- Jimbriel had managed to get his hands on, and was vigorously dusting the spotless gramophone.

Pulling his gaze away from the swishing of the bright feathers he turned his attention back to the shelves. Something caught his eye. “Huh, so she did write novels” he remarked as he thumbed his fingers over a copy of Persuasion. As he pulled the book from the shelf he noticed it was wedged in particularly tight next to a rather bulky looking tome, which promptly clatter to the floor scattering delicate pages everywhere.

“Bugger!” Crowley exclaimed as he bent down to pick them up. As he collected them, his hand froze over one page as he suddenly recognised the neat and flourished handwriting.

“Muriel,” Crowley half whispered as he began carefully lifting the pages from the floor, “where did this book come from?”

Muriel turned and looked at the front cover, “Oh that was on Mr Aziraphale’s desk. It was the perfect size for that section of the shelf so I thought I’d pack it away.” Muriel was already approaching the mess, bending down to assist when Crowley shot out a hand to stop them. He turned some more pages over and was greeted with careful hand drawn images of himself. Striking and candid portraits, spread across the years of his existence. One detailed a silhouette sitting at what looked like a bar table, a silver circle of leaves upon his head. Another a simple elegant hand grasping a wine glass. Pensive, brooding, and silent profiles adorned many of he pages. But others showed the demon smiling or grinning, and in one vivid rendition with his head thrown back in laughter.

Heat spread across his cheeks as he hungrily dove into more of the scattered pages. Sketches from Scotland, Golgotha, 1941, even one of his Bildad the Shuite persona, an arrow pointing at his beard and a simple scrawled “No” next to it. A laugh escaped his throat.

Then one particular portrait stopped him in his tracks. He stared at himself as the picture seemed to stare back. Aziraphale had drawn this one without sunglasses, his face was naked, his eyes uncovered. His eyes shone back at him from the page. Aziraphale had coloured his eyes a deep golden yellow. Something about the colour struck him, and before he realised he was on his feet striding for the back room.

Hand shaking, he lifted the portrait up to the wall. The eye colour matched the walls exactly. In fact he wouldn’t have been surprised if Aziraphale had used the same paint on the walls as he did to colour the portrait. Something coiled in the pit of his stomach and radiated out up his spine.

“Mr Crowley are you alright” Muriel asked quietly behind him. He turned and stared at them, when the feather duster they still held came into focus. The yellow feather duster. A conjured memory, only a few short months ago struck him like a train. “My car is not yellow, change it back” “but it’s pretty!” echoed across his mind. Other images surfaced, a yellow band wrapped around a fuzzy top hat, the splash of yellow through a tartan bow tie, a bunch of daffodils displayed on a work desk, and image after image of Aziraphale’s radiant smile. A smile morphing into quiet and confused distress as glasses were placed firmly back in place hiding his eyes away when last they spoke.

Everything came crashing down on him like a tonne of bricks. A dawning realisation rolled over his skin making him shiver. The failed confession. The agony of watching his angel get in that elevator. He was sure he’d gotten it wrong, all those months ago. But he hadn’t. He was right! So why did that make him feel all the more worse? He dropped the pages and silently made his way to the door.

“Wait! Mr Crowley, where are going?!” Muriel fretted, as Crowley reached the entrance.

He paused and with one hand on the handle, half turned back towards Muriel. His throat felt constricted, and drew in a shaky breath as he answered thickly, “I just…need some time…I’ll be back in a little while.”

If Muriel made any further protest he didn’t hear them. He found himself in the Bentley, hands gripping the wheel. He glanced at the back seat half expecting to see the yellow tulips he had once prepared to give to an angel. Long discarded in a local garden. A hesitant hand touched his sunglasses, trembled there a moment, then dropped. Swallowing heavily, he resolutely put the Bentley into gear and drove off. He wasn’t sure where to. But for now the open road seemed the best place to be.

[hinamie]

*catboys ur shounen protag*

[doodlefox2]

good girl

[ihavealavalamp]

Deuteronomy 2:10, The Mountain Goats [x]

[h0nkshroom]

SO IVE BEEN THINKING OF THIS ALL DAY 😭😭I RUSHED WITH IT SO MUCH BUT THANK YOU @ghost-goats-circus-ink

I REALLY DID NOT TRY WITH THE BACKGROUNDS IM SORRY 😭

+ ANOTHER BONUS CAUSE DRAWING THIS ALSO IMMEDIATELY REMINDED OF ANOTHER MEME

[kaiiyoshii]

The sillynillies da cutiepatooiesapwjdiensicbw

[gaybd1]

GORGEOUS art from @harbingersecho for my new fic for @zukkabigbang2024!

-

[Image ID: A close-up painting of Sokka and Zuko sitting on a bench in a park at night. Sokka is holding a smoking cigarette and Zuko is holding a beer. They're looking at each other and smiling. /. End ID]

-

how it feels to have a heartbeat

He lit a cigarette with his fingertip and took a drag, leaning hard against the pillar behind him, sliding down into a squat, glad the sidewalk was mostly empty. He sat like that for a while, lost in thought, just appreciating the silence, until he felt a tap on his shoulder. He twisted around and looked up at the man standing there. “Sorry to bother you. You wouldn’t have a lighter by any chance, would you?” the man said. Zuko stood up, turning to face the man fully. He felt suddenly lightheaded from standing too abruptly and reached out to steady himself against the concrete beside him, managing to reach out a flame-tipped finger with his other hand. “Thanks,” the man said, leaning in slightly to light the tip of his cigarette, eyes locked with Zuko’s the whole time.  Zuko stared dumbly. He’d never seen anyone before who looked quite like this guy. He wouldn’t have taken him as a local, yet his accent told Zuko that he likely was. He had the clearest blue eyes Zuko had ever seen. He could hardly look away. “I, uh…”

Modern meets meet cute meets magical realism in a love letter to Taipei told by Zukka.

[catmask]

all good?

if ur referring to the art block/being frustrated w my art donot worry its natural to happen 🫡 doing studies made me feel much better and so did talkng to my friends

[kelocitta]

There is currently a rather large discussion ongoing about the RW fandom behavior, drama, etc. I am not going to talk about the specifics of whats happened for a number of reasons. But what I do want to say is that if at any point you've harassed people over it, whether that be through anon asks or public posts- you did nothing but damage the ability for people to correctly process what is happening. You contributed nothing but harm to an already delicate situation. It does not matter what "side" you were on and I will not tolerate further interaction with me or my work if I found out you did such. If you let your personal hate for anyone boil over into threats, wishes for long term harm and petty comments meant to contribute nothing but slander or mental distress for the individuals involved who were already distressed (or acting irrationally) you did nothing but make it harder for people to process their emotions, thoughts and behaviors constructively. Regardless of who you think was in the right, who fucked up, whatever. It doesn't matter if they deserved it, or earned it, or if its an eye for an eye. Its difficult enough as it is to think clearly when presented with any kind of stressful situation and heckling people does nothing but make it worse and harder for them to explain themself in any capacity. I don't want you anywhere near me if you think that is an acceptable way to act.

[puddii-ng]

shu's new summer casual is so cute to me.. here is a femstars ver i whipped up today :3

[alwyn-at-noon]

The Brutalist was a genuinely spectacular film. For something that lasts almost four hours, it definitely did not feel as though it was unnecessarily dragging on. In fact, it felt shorter than the last film I saw in cinema which was half the length. I remained fully engaged throughout, even opting to stay seated during the 15-minute intermission.

Exceptional performances across the board. Adrien Brody, as László Tóth, did an amazing performance, I genuinely could not imagine anyone else in this role. He showcased a sense of sadness, hope, love, and betrayal that I've never seen an actor portray so well. Felicity Jones was beautifully restraint in her performance, showcasing a woman torn from her life multiple times in multiple ways. Joe Alwyn's acting ability was prevalent specifically in the climatic parts within Part 2: The Hard Core of Truth. He's once again playing an asshole American, a role which he aces at every turn.

For a film set in dark realism, the lighting was never upsettingly dark - which is annoyingly common in film nowadays. The camera shots were reminiscent of brutalist architecture, a wonderful homage to the muse of the film. Honestly, the cinematography was amazing from start to finish in a way that's somewhat difficult to explain.

it feels ridiculously annoying to say but it truly feels like a modern-day cinematic masterpiece.

[hinamie]

binding vow

[sexyapostate]

FRIEREN: BEYOND JOURNEY'S END — episode 1

[genomesoldier]

these guys make me sick /vpos

this is literally All of The Buildermans including my own interpretation of the build a man whos just the biggest dork known to ROBLOXian kind

[fujunfuren]

There’s nothing that prohibits you two from being together anymore.

CALL IT LOVE (2023) - Finale

[ratguy-nico]

BoblinWeek Day 5: Old / Memory

I imagine this as a fold in time. What if they were there for each other on those moments they feel more sad and alone? I like to think they would have always been there for each other if they could be

Another commission from @babsvibes cause aparently the gods love me and decided to sent me the nicest angel they have

I... actually don't love this that much, but for the sake of my peace mind lets say it is what it is (sorry Babs)

I like it, the concept, actually I imagined a lot more... space-y?

My original concept was "The starts aline so I could find you and dry your tears" but I didn't feel quite qualified to correctly capture that, consequently, all the changes 😅

I change my mind I love this cause Babs love it and made me love it ❤️

This is my las post for the wonderful event that's been the @boblinweek , weirdly I didn't thought I would be so involve in this event (not cause I didn't want to) but watch me now

Babs just does the best events