Zivilzz

I’m an Artist, 18+ NSFW, minors don’t interact, different fandoms but mostly GO♥️ Prints >"My Cardd"

[zivilzz]

I don’t know where we are in the grand scheme of things, but I just wanna be hugging you tonight. 💔

(A painting I made inspired by Romantic Encounter by Mihaly von Zichy)

(Use the Cardd link in my bio to buy and pick up a Print)

[depraveddame]

I’ve been hearing this in my head since 4:30am EST May 13th so now everyone else has to as well lol

[turquoisemagpie]

Betrayal at Balders Gate.

(Some self indulgent art of my Decent Into Avernus dnd party (@madichuu + @zivilzz + Becca + @purplestarlynx + me))

[zivilzz]

Look at THEMM!!! Ugh they all look so good!! ♥️

[depraveddame]

I swear I’m trying my best to write these damn disaster professors in the wake of post-finale writer’s block— their first alternative rendezvous:

Sluts 💖

[depraveddame]

Been editing part one of Vine Slips and got slapped in the face with this

[depraveddame]

COOL I’M REFERRING TO PREVIOUS CHAPTERS AS I WORK ON THE NEXT ONE AND IT GOT WORSE

lol. lmao, even

[badwolfcrow42]

Okay, time for some lighthearted ranting.

Can we talk about the fact that God put the fate of the universe in the hands of two of the most emotionally compromised people on the planet?

Crowley is broken and depressed and Aziraphale has just been brutally roasted to death by God.

Yeah. They are not of sound mind.

These are also the beings who spent thousands of years doing everything possible to avoid doing their jobs because they’d rather get lunch. Aziraphale literally popped over to France during the Revolution because he wanted crêpes, for fuck’s sake.

And then they lost the Antichrist and spent eleven years raising the wrong child.

Trust them to make a decision beyond wine pairing? No thanks.

This isn’t really a bash on them. Quite the opposite.

They were never meant to be heroes. They were two immortals who loved books, music, tea, vintage cars, and getting mildly drunk while arguing about a bird in a spaceship sharpening its beak on a cosmic mountain at the edge of creation. They liked ducks. They liked Jane Austen. They liked Earth.

That’s what made them special.

It’s about Aziraphale hosting an entire ball for Crowley. Come on. That was never for Maggie and Nina, whether he wants to admit it or not.

And let’s not forget that the world was already saved once, not by angels, demons, or divine plans, but by a child.

Adam didn’t save the world because he was powerful. He saved it because he loved it. He loved his friends, his dog, his hometown, and the life he had built for himself. In the end, that mattered more than Heaven’s plans or Hell’s ambitions.

For me, the biggest mistake was pushing Aziraphale and Crowley into the role of heroic martyrs and cosmic sacrificial lambs. That archetype works beautifully in plenty of stories, but Good Omens was never really about noble self-sacrifice.

It was about ordinary love and ordinary choices winning over grand designs. About choosing the world because it’s worth living in.

It’s about two celestial idiots who kept trying to save the world almost by accident because they loved being part of it.

Maybe that’s why I keep thinking about this quote:

“Some believe it is only great power that can hold evil in check, but that is not what I have found. It is the small everyday deeds of ordinary folk that keep the darkness at bay. Small acts of kindness and love.” Gandalf

That has always felt closer to the heart of Good Omens than any grand sacrifice.

The world was saved by Adam because he loved it.

And Crowley and Aziraphale spent six thousand years proving exactly why it was worth loving.

This was meant to be funny, but somehow got away from me. But those are my thoughts of the day.

[depraveddame]

Thinking about how joy is resistance. That happy endings are not boring, less-than, or overly simple, but radical— especially queer happy endings. Queer joy is a radical act of resistance and rebellion and love. We deserve queer happy endings. We need queer happy endings. We shouldn’t have to fight for queer happy endings, but they’re worth fighting for; we are worth fighting for. We deserve stories where we find love and happiness and acceptance and community and hope regardless of the broken world we live in. We’ve always been here, we will continue to be here, and it is not impossible to find joy in this life. We are not broken beyond repair and we are not inherently doomed.

No one can convince me that the Crowley and Aziraphale we all know— the real ones, not the strangers of the finale— would ever choose our destruction (or their own, for the matter). They would understand on a personal, molecular level how vital it is to keep going and how important it is to be yourself in spite of the oppressive systems that do their damndest to shape us. They wouldn’t give up— not ever.

So fuck this finale, fuck the idea that it’s too late and fuck anyone who says otherwise, frankly.

[depraveddame]

Thinking about how if Crowley and Aziraphale had actually gone to America like they were supposed to, they would be charmed by the classic American diner

I can see them so clearly: Crowley stumbling in all groggy and sleep-ruffled still, Aziraphale looking serenely refreshed and dressed to the nines no matter the ungodly hour.

The two of them would sink into cracking, brightly colored vinyl booths that would squeak with their every move, or they'd perch on padded chrome stools at the sprawling countertop. Ancient but spotless formica tables splattered with funny, retro mid century designs like pink and grey boomerangs or atomic and celestial motifs in gold and teal and silver and black lining the walls, the smell of fried potatoes and endless quantities of toast mingling with the buzz of scattered conversation between regulars and newcomers alike.

Aziraphale would be intrigued by the excessively large menus, studying them day after day with a wrinkled brow and utmost concentration as a grumpy demon languishes across the table, half awake and suffering from a severe lack of caffeine. He'd delight in things such as a Western omelette ("what makes it Western, I wonder? It certainly doesn't put me in mind of our little stint in the Old West" "Angel, 's too early for waxing philosophical over why Americans do things the way they do) and incomprehensibly placed sprigs of curly parsley adorning a piping hot plate no matter the dish; even pancakes, he’d note with a bemused smile, could not escape their savory herbal adornment.

He'd be tickled by the casual warmth of "what’ll it be, hon?"offered by a waitress who looked as if she'd been running the place for ages, her eyes only slightly curious as she glances at the two of them. ("what's "hon" mean? She keeps callin' everyone that" "I can't pretend to know, but I think it must be something nice, anyway; I quite like it") At first Aziraphale would be concerned that they might draw too much attention to themselves here, what with his arguably outdated if classic fashion sense and Crowley's sunglasses coupled with his complete inability to sit upright for longer than 30 seconds, but they wouldn’t be spared a second look after their first visit; they must be used to all sorts, here.

Even Crowley would fall victim to the seduction that is a bottomless cup of scorching, perfectly brewed hot diner coffee, hotter than Hellfire yet somehow devoid of the bitterness of burnt beans.

"How d'you think they do it, angel," he'd ask one morning, staring down into his chipped, thick-walled ceramic mug. "Usually y'need a miracle to make coffee this good." Before the thought of a top-off could even fully form in his mind, the waitress would be there, pouring from a glass and plastic coffee pot with the precision of a heart surgeon without a word.

"...d'you reckon she can read minds," he'd whisper so seriously that Aziraphale wouldn't be able to hold back a giggle.

The two of them walking through the door with the jingly, cheery bell that reminds them both of the bookshop early in the morning or all hours of the night. Celestial Nighthawks illuminated by the lemony-toned light of an old century as they plot to stop the imminent Second Coming over coffee and apple pie à la mode Crowley would sneak bites of while Aziraphale would pretend not to look. An angel and demon determined to secure all the time in the world, their world, our world.

[depraveddame]

The finale Aziraphale was not our Aziraphale.

I keep thinking about how Aziraphale, when Crowley did not immediately leap to his feet to help him, just turned around and walked away.

He didn’t try to help him up. He didn’t crouch down to his level. He didn’t even look remotely pressed, and he left Crowley lying there, depressed and dirty and drunk and barely conscious, like he was a piece of trash. Like he meant nothing. (I also haaaaate what they did with Crowley here, but that’s another post entirely)

To think they made Aziraphale into the villain so many people thought he was post s2, and for what? To what end? For what reason? It feels so unnecessarily cruel. So callous. So very much not Aziraphale.

“But Crowley told him to go away! Aziraphale was just respecting his boundaries!”

Nah. No. I mean maybe if Crowley was just chilling having a drink somewhere all upright and not covered in shit and mired in despair, then fine. But he’s lying on the fucking street in the alley muttering that nothing matters anymore. I would argue that when someone you care about is THAT depressed and THAT deep in a dark, dark place, that is precisely the time to ignore their attempt to shove you away. At the very least you reach out to them, anyway.

Was that angel the same as this one? This soft but fiercely tenderhearted sweetheart?

Are we supposed to believe this was that same angel we watched walk away from the same demon he guided through that Edinburgh cemetery with firm but careful hands before he was snatched down to Hell?

Out of all the possible things that could’ve happened in the finale— of all the possible endings and scenarios I thought about for months and months— one thing I never even considered to be remotely possible about this angel who always looked at Crowley like he was everything?

I never thought that Aziraphale wouldn’t help Crowley up off the ground.

And apparently, neither did Peter Anderson Studio.

Why that scene didn’t happen this way in the actual film, I’ll never understand. I’ll never understand pretty much any of the finale because it is so fucking nonsensical in every way, but they butchered the characterization so badly it’s almost impressive. It’s sickening. I have been trying to write a version of this scene that fits with the characters but the words won’t come. I’ll keep trying though.

[venusssunsets]

yeah no cause fuck that ending

[youryurigoddess]

Politically bleak omens

Since Wednesday, I’ve been approached by more people than I can count with a variation of the same question, “How are you feeling now?”. Some of you have noticed that I’ve been keeping myself busy offline over the last few days. Experiencing and processing Good Omens 3 as a part of in-person, physical community was a conscious decision which I don’t regret — on the contrary, I’m deeply grateful to each person who’s been a part of that journey so far and happy to meet even more of you tomorrow. But I think that the rest deserves some kind of answer as well.

There’s a plethora of elements that I enjoy and genuinely love about the Finale, to the point where I’m called overtly optimistic or deep in the denial. I don’t mind either of those labels, and I’m sure that I will continue writing about those specific topics and other things that spark joy for a good while. But there are also some aspects of the production as well as the discourse around it that aren’t a matter of preference and need to be addressed in a broader context — not as a witch hunt or a morality contest, but a sign of the challenges we face on personal and societal level at the very moment and have to be more conscious about. And I’m sure that we can do it in a mature, nonviolent way, with kindness and compassion to everyone involved, no matter their circumstances and interpretations. But first, we have to establish some common ground for this discussion, which is why I will start by quoting Rachel Talalay’s TV Insider interview that has fuelled the initial fandom response into the blazing inferno it seems to be at the moment:

I mean, there was conversations throughout, quite specific in the script about that, there wasn’t another huge kiss. And the main conversation with Michael and David was, what could we do that means more than what was in Season 2? And the answer is the plot line is greater than what happened in Season 2, but another kiss would be — and I know that I say this with great love for the fandom because I know they desperately want, and they can write their whole sex scenes in fanfic, but definitely the whole group together felt like another kiss would be the same or less, and therefore really heading toward the emotion of it.

This is not meant to be criticism on a personal or professional level. I am deeply aware that Rachel — who joined the Good Omens 3 production team when the original six episodes were already scripted and in development, and yet tried to bargain for the best possible outcome with the fans in mind throughout her time as a director on this challenging in more than one way show — is slightly older than my own mother and possesses a set of life experiences that I, as a young demisexual lesbian, am unable to fully relate to. And vice versa, which is a completely normal and expected occurrence in itself. Unfortunately, even the most well-meant and delicately selected phrases sometimes fall flat, or, as it’s the case here, tone deaf, and I firmly believe that addressing those instances directly and deliberately is the only way to achieve some level of understanding and to move forward as better individuals and communities. I also believe that we should start the conversation by calling this kind of phenomenon by its name, unconscious bias.

Unconscious bias or implicit associations are a set of associations we hold outside our conscious awareness and control as a result of background, personal experiences, societal stereotypes and cultural context. It is not just about gender, ethnicity or other visible diversity characteristics — height, body weight, names, and many other things can also trigger unconscious bias. They affect absolutely everyone to some degree as a quick workaround enabling our overwhelmed brains quick judgement and assessment, but once identified and acknowledged, they can be absolutely managed. Unconscious bias are also the reason why the current discussion is so heated on the fandom’s part. After years and years of on-hands experience with all shades of queerphobia in the film and TV industry as much as in their personal lives, people quickly jump to conclusions that the director must be homophobic, the ending changed, and the characters’ identities maliciously erased. Which would be straightforward prejudice.

Let me reiterate with all of my gentleness and love: Good Omens, including its divisive Finale, is not about sex. Never has been, and seeing the wonderful kaleidoscope of fandom only through this particular lens seems not even disrespectful, as some have phrased it, but boringly predictable. After all, sexualising and even fetishising same-sex presenting couples has been an ongoing struggle both in the media and in the real world for far longer than either of us has been alive. Leaning in some way on those objectively toxic cultural norms when struggling for intellectual and emotional stability while raw from exposure to the press is not the worst thing a 67-year-old grieving widow can do, nor something she can feel particularly proud of when she’s more conscious of her actions. A woman that is openly a fan of the Good Omens novel herself and who publicly supported the fans on multiple occasions, including this interview:

I want them to feel that they’re in the hands of somebody who cared — and cares.

Attacking Rachel on a personal level is not the way to move forward, just a temporary solution for understandably vulnerable individuals wanting to redirect their disappointment and anger at someone even more vulnerable and at the same time more approachable than the unclear Forces That Be. Because the problem we’re all dealing with seems more political and in major part systemic, and needs to be addressed as such. Luckily Good Omens is a story about systems of oppression as well.

Humans are social animals. In academic terms, face-to-face interactions are often described by the famous 55/38/7 rule: 55% body language (facial expressions, gestures, and posture), 38% tone of voice (pitch, volume, and the rhythm of speech), and 7% spoken words (the literal vocabulary used). Now think about losing a person important to you — not necessarily a romantic or sexual partner, but a parent, a child, a dear friend. When saying goodbye to someone you love and consider your entire world, you automatically engage social and personal intimacy scripts as a way to reassure them about you still being there for them, especially when it’s impossible to tell whether they can fully hear or see you at that point anymore. Depending on your circumstances and cultural background, it can be achieved in many ways — through holding or kissing their hands, face, hair, even a full-body hug — but what matters is that on a visceral level, you simply want to be close to them and not let go until it’s really truly over.

For Aziraphale and Crowley, the entirety of their time together spent in the shadow of the Second Coming has been a painfully prolonged goodbye — yet tragically, neither of them allowed himself or his counterpart this small mercy of universally recognised and socially accepted intimacy above friendship. It’s obviously not like they didn’t share any physical contact through the ninety minutes they were given. There were multiple instances of handholding, steering each other in the right direction or grounding in their place when needed. All full of affection, but also all with a comfortable level of deniability that in the wider context can be seen as genuinely problematic. None of those gestures follow any recognisable cultural norms or media tropes expected of this type of relationship as theirs, and neither does the dialogue, which is why the film feels like a blow to so many disappointed fans, not because of the lack of fan service in the sense of more or less explicitly sexual content. Although let’s be honest, automatically equating kisses with sex is more than a bit baffling and would have never happened in a context of a cisheteronormative couple.

Queer people are primed to look for clues and signals around them all their lives because for them it’s a matter of survival. A lifetime of denied open communication and representation leaves all kinds of marks on a person and a community, especially when reinforced by the conservative-leaning media exposure. It makes the option of a fantasy world where queer love isn’t worse or different and truly conquers it all, in bold, all capital letters and Disney-like gestures, ever so appealing. This is why finding a fandom like Good Omens, which seemed not only unapologetically, beautifully open to all kinds of outsiders, but actively subverting their typical role of background comic relief and making them main romantic leads in the story — their story — has been so life-altering for multiple people I’ve talked to over the years. It was a transformative safe space and a centre of excellence for all kinds of creative activities, a source of joy, inspiration, and human connection that was unfairly unattainable for so many of fans throughout their lives so far. And I hope that amongst the current chaos, it will remain as such, even if irrevocably changed in so many ways now. Unfortunately as it often happens, removing that openness as the one particular element that felt so significant in this community building exercise had started a domino effect of truly Biblical proportions.

On a painfully personal level, I used to have a Crowley in my life as well, someone who was by my side through my formative years, inspired me in thousands of little ways and, for better or worse, helped me grow into who I am today. Ironically, someone I met shortly after reading Good Omens for the first time, even though the parallel became apparent to me only years afterwards, when it was already too late for us to laugh about it together. It took us not six millennia, but six years to get properly together, and waiting this long had never seemed like a big issue. When she requested the same thing as Crowley did, I still said categorically and unequivocally no, with the full knowledge of the price I would pay for it. And I never regretted it. Because I believe that living in a world actively denying your very existence is the act of ultimate rebellion and ultimate sacrifice at the same time. Being queer is the real adventure of a million lifetimes — the incessant weight of expectations, the nagging what-ifs of family members or authority figures, the responsibility of being seen and acknowledged not only as a person, but an entire community you might feel more or less connected to.

There’s a saying that each openly queer person is an ambassador of their entire minority group for the majority and a role model for those in-groups who need one. It’s a never-ending performance for the sake of others, even if you choose to just live as yourself, because just by embracing your queerness and otherness you become a walking source of hope and will to live in times and places painfully deprived of it. When you’re young, you’re the promise of a better future your elders fought for. When you’re older, you’re a living, breathing proof that life doesn’t have to end with each badly accepted coming out, unrequited love, or even personal loss — a statement that so many children and teenagers still need and deserve to believe in. It’s a lot of responsibility when you’re just a regular person. When you’re a main character of a beloved story, you become more than a symbol — a living legend. And legends have the power to shape the world on levels completely unattainable to even very powerful individuals. Which is why all of this seemingly irrelevant fandom discourse is actually incredibly important in a broader context.

Don’t get me wrong here, Good Omens has always been a love letter to humanity first and foremost and the idea of Aziraphale and Crowley choosing what amounts to double suicide for the good of mankind is still in line with that sentiment, especially when leading to a much better outcome than intended. The fact that we didn’t learn the path to this decision through Terry Pratchett’s own lines is something that steals a lot of value from it, but cannot be helped — it’s enough that we know that this is the ending that he wanted and his estate fought for. This particular approach would have worked well as an adaptation of that planned sequel over thirty years ago, with the limitations of both their roles as side characters in the story and the real world’s political and social treatment of queer people and couples at that exact point in time. The thing is, it’s 2026 now, Aziraphale and Crowley’s romance grew to become the focal point of the Good Omens universe, and the current combination of recent world events and a series of creative choices transformed the original ending into an unnecessarily bleak political statement that takes away the attention from its intended moral of love transcending God’s ineffable plans as well as how the real miracles can be found in the perfect chaos of an entirely godless, mundane universe. In the context of queer people and their media representation, similar sacrifice storylines will always be seen in a vastly different light. And that surplus layer of meaning has tremendous negative consequences on the active part of fandom as well as the general queer community outside of its circles.

It’s not about the sex, not even the stolen and baited by Amazon Prime in the worst way possible kisses. There are so many ways to physically express romantic love and affection — incredibly important also in the asexual context — and we’ve seen some of them already occur between Aziraphale and Crowley. Erasing an entire level of verbal and nonverbal communication in the Finale is a conscious decision that not only feels like a discourtesy towards the characters’ journey so far, but also sends a chilling in its clarity signal that same-sex presenting love is something uncomfortable and better dealt at a safe distance. Even when that was clearly not the intention of the cast and crew who fought for this title to end on the highest note possible and deserve respect and recognition for their achievements on that front.

It wouldn’t be an issue — or at least an issue of this magnitude — if we were talking only about Aziraphale and Crowley. But unfortunately all of the unconventional storylines from S2 have met some sort of tragic conclusion. Nina and Maggie’s businesses were ruined, their own fates beyond Whickber Street left completely uncertain. Mutt’s seemingly plot-irrelevant and unnecessarily mentioned off-screen death with its weight on their still unnamed spouse shocked to the point that the sudden revelation of Mrs Sandwich’s sex work dividing a family that needs her can be overlooked. Even in the abridged romcom of an alternative human lifetime, Asa and Anthony relied in a big part on easily overlooked or censored context clues like the wedding rings and vague references instead of non-negotiable declarations and actions. And I’m certain that some translators and viewers have already used this window of opportunity to minimise the intended impact of this scene.

Even a simple goodbye hug or a forehead kiss would be a statement that queer characters deserve more than on-screen physicality born out of raw desperation or animal desire. That they can utilise the same nonverbal language as their non-queer counterparts without being judged. That their intimacy isn’t different than that of cisheteronormative couples we’ve seen in multiple beds — even while actively engaging in sexual acts — in the first season of Good Omens. It would be also a sign of what seems forgotten somewhere in the meanders of the production hell and personal struggles: that Good Omens, while intended as a fun summer adventure, grew out of its genre confines into a love story, and deserved to be treated as such. Not just a love story between an angel and a demon, but a story of love transcending the highest power structures and shaping entire universes. Destroying the system together with its institutions specifically built as tools of oppression is the only way towards radical change and freedom of expression, something that Terry has been personally aware of when plotting Good Omens in the middle of the political upheaval of the late 1980s and early 1990s, but the modern TV show had failed to highlight enough. Instead of inspiring and encouraging, the ending can be easily misunderstood as a story about giving up and running away, especially to younger and queerer audiences already dealing with this type of reasoning in terms of representation and their personal lives.

In times of intensified fascist activity targeting queer media and individuals alike, witnessing a spectacular collapse of a community centered around the title that even 36 years ago was seen as a beacon of hope for people like me seems like a tremendous red flag in terms much bigger than storytelling. And it’s clearly not due to the lack of attention to detail or love towards the characters on the cast and crew part, but genuine top-down pressure limiting the creative processes and decisions in this particular context. Who’s more at fault here, Neil Gaiman, Amazon Prime, a secret third option? We can debate this among ourselves and out in the open through available media outlets, but please don’t take the easy way out. Don’t attack those closest to you. This type of reaction is precisely what helps this world become an even worse and less accepting place.

I will just repeat the last message I wrote before the Good Omens 3 release:

The world as we know it might come to an end in a moment, but the one that comes after it is vast and brimming with opportunities. Reach out to one another and take them together, little miracle makers.

[hg-aneh]

get rid of it

all of it –

[hg-aneh]

monkey paw curling Deep inside my butt holy fucking DOOKIE

[zivilzz]

I don’t know where we are in the grand scheme of things, but I just wanna be hugging you tonight. 💔

(A painting I made inspired by Romantic Encounter by Mihaly von Zichy)

(Use the Cardd link in my bio to buy and pick up a Print)

[ineffablyannoyed]

Egg 🥚 (@sammyantha209.bsky.social)

Nothing is more disgustingly infuriating than opening up a nice lil tag for a comfy read over coffee to see that disgusting people are just

Friendly reminder that it hasn’t even been a full year since moonyinpisces and her little gang of acephobic, transphobic, anti kink Mean Girls (gn) caused major MAJOR waves in the Good Omens fandom to the point where people left spaces that had previously been a safe haven for them, and some people left the fandom entirely.

The fact that she couldn’t even be bothered to post her fics under a new username is so so telling of the fact that she doesn’t think she did anything wrong, she doesn’t give a fuck about the people she hurt, and worst of all, her little “find me nowhere!” author’s note makes it abundantly clear that she thinks the whole fucking thing is funny.

Can’t wait to see all the art that vavoomsorted/ Zoey will be posting to accompany her “good friend moony’s” fics, despite her performative little apology back in April about how she “doesn’t associate with that person anymore.”

Disgusting, deplorable people who don’t deserve a space in the Good Omens fandom

[rbarrysncream]

Just Kneel (pt. 2)

Good Omens x Fleabag

Part One

Once again inspired by @depraveddame's Vine Slips of a Strange God. :D

[rbarrysncream]

Just Kneel.

Good Omens x Fleabag

Heavily inspired by @depraveddame's Vine Slips of a Strange God.

As usual :3

[depraveddame]

Free Will by depraveddame

| 666 | explicit | human au, professor au, enemies to lovers, enemies with benefits, rivals, D/s vibes, face fucking, denial, tenderness, oblivious pining |

Sequel to Akrasia: Aziraphale and Crowley meet exactly one week later in his office, as always. It goes as it always does.

Until it doesn't.

| excerpt |

Aziraphale has developed a Pavlovian response to the turning of his office doorknob.

Its whirring susurration is now a call to arms, a bugle blaring through veins. Assuming command over his blood and its priorities, demanding it pool between his legs.

shhhh-clickkk—

He watches Crowley lower to his knees after what hardly constitutes a greeting: surnames testily exchanged, eyes mingling for seconds made weighty with unspoken scorn.

Aziraphale is already hard, straining in his trousers.

Thoroughly conditioned.

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works