Yess To All Of The Comments

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.

a little nightly cuddling inspired by fanfiction and I would know him in death, at the end of the world

These yellow eyes will hunt me for a days.

I haven't read it yet, but I can say it would be the great manifest of two amazing creators. I am on my way babe.

Chapter two of @naromoreau and stevie's Noir au is up!

I've done 4 pieces for this one, the other three are embedded in the fic. Mind the tags.

#joined in staring at it

Croweeely

Yeah, Christmas is over, but I worked on this DTIYS for weeeeeks, and, I hope, I gave it a bit warm and cozy feeling here like the original by @fulmomary (it’s on instagram, but I haven’t art account there, so). 

I love these two idiots every day more, God help me.

I Have PMDD/PME

It is PMDD Awareness Month. I’ve pledged to do what I can to spread awareness because I, myself, suffer from it and wish I had known sooner.

My symptoms drastically worsened a year after I had my daughter, Luna.

It was my husband, Tim, who brought this disorder to my attention. He believed me, did not dismiss me, and took the time to research on my behalf during a time that I felt hopeless and incapable of doing normal daily activities. And, yes, during a time where words like “I want to die” would come tumbling out of my mouth.

Please read on, and save someone’s life just by bringing this disorder to their attention.

Knowing about PMDD has changed my life for the better. I’m still struggling, but with therapy and medication, I finally feel like I have a piece of my old self back.

PMDD stands for Premenstrual Dysphoric Disorder. And those with underlying mental health issues, may suffer from PME (Pre-menstrual Exacerbation).

All through my menstruating years, I was told that my PMS symptoms were normal. This meant that my symptoms were swept under the rug and dismissed by others and myself.

PMDD is NOT PMS.

PMDD is NOT a hormone imbalance.

PMDD IS “a cyclical, hormone-based mood disorder with symptoms arising during the premenstrual, or luteal phase of the menstrual cycle... It affects an estimated 5.5% of women and AFAB individuals of reproductive age.

PMDD IS a severe negative reaction in the brain to the natural rise and fall of estrogen and progesterone. It is a suspected cellular disorder in the brain. Symptoms can worsen over time and or around reproductive events such as menarche (the first menstrual cycle), pregnancy, birth, miscarriage, and perimenopause.

Those with PMDD are at increased risk for suicide and suicidal behavior.” - IamPMD.org

I implore everyone to go to the website above and take a self screening test, even if it’s on behalf of a loved one.

I can’t stress enough how important it is. Someone you love right now could be in such a state of hopelessness and ready to do whatever it takes to end it.

The next time you think your daughter or your wife or your sister or a friend is being “over emotional, overdramatic, ‘just’ PMSing,” please think twice and check in with them. Really check in with them, because what you see on the surface is nothing compared to what that person is suffering within.

Go to https://iapmd.org to learn more.

sunday afternoon plans, at the usual spot

prints available here, an addition to my growing GO print roster haha.. i’ll be at rose city comic con in portland with this and a few other pieces on 9/13!

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.

I accept no criticism

You remember how I told everyone the plot of Season 2 before it aired?

(Everyone tries to remember and then shakes their heads.)

That's right. I didn't. I spent several years going "wait and see". And you waited and you saw.

I'm not going to reveal any of the plot of Season 3, either. So there's really no point in asking me to make things happen, or to tell me what you do or you don't want to happen. I'm not going to.