#MY HUSBAND AND HIS HUSBAND

[brightlotusmoon]

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

Penelope's final gambit, you will always be famous, no matter the subtext.

[phantom-of-the-501st]

Remember that this is not the proof that they love each other

That was a last-ditch attempt from Crowley to get Aziraphale to stay

This is the proof that they love each other

Their love wasn't just made real because they kissed

It always existed

[anbaisai]

so over on JP twitter they've come up with the hc that papa leech is hangyodon

[henryscapon]

how to ask the demon you've been smitten over for 6000 years to dance: an angel's guide

bonus:

[hansoeii]

we go just right.

[hidingwhere]

John Price didn’t realise how much of a fidgety and fussy sleeper you were until you moved in with him. Most nights, he would awaken with very little room for himself, your limbs outstretched in all directions. Luckily, he was strong enough to manhandle you back into a normal sleeping position so he had half the bed again. However, he’d be woken again a few hours later at your own fidgeting, turning to see you sat up in bed, rubbing your eyes.

He’d outstretch an arm, rubbing your back as he ushered you to lay down again. “Sleep, baby.”

“I’m hot,” you whine.

He’d pull back the covers and then force you to lay back down again, letting your hands roam up and down his chest for a few seconds before wrapping around him and settling back to sleep.

He wanted to help you, but your little sleep habits were so random. You mentioned not feeling comfortable in bed before and joked about wanting to sleep in a nest instead. He had laughed at the joke, but took it more seriously than you would have thought.

So one day, you come home from work, wondering where John had gone until you heard heavy footsteps from upstairs. You followed them to the bedroom and saw your bed as a… nest.

John noticed you, kissing you gently and resting a hand on your waist. “You like it?”

There were blankets built up along the edge, creating a wall-like structure and cushions and pillows for extra enforcement around the edges. You lean against John, smiling softly as you take it all in. “I love it; It’s like a nest.”

“Mhm.”

Later that night, he watches as you climb into bed, shimmering under the covers and snuggling up close to him, and for the first time in years, you slept soundly without any disturbances.

[tamarackshack]

Took a year to complete this quilt! Pattern is by NASA Astronaut Karen Nyberg called Cupola View. Fabrics used were also designed by Karen, the collection is called Earth Views.

[loveapologist]

He changed his mind.

[snail-day]

Satoru doesn't do well with the idea of leaving you. Never has. Probably never will.

Even the short missions are enough to make him sulky, but the long ones? The ones where he’ll be away for days, maybe weeks? He turns into a whining mess. You wonder if he's always been like this, just never voiced it aloud to anyone before.

Packing takes three times longer than it should. Every time he tries to fold a shirt or zip his carry on, he ends up abandoning the task halfway through just to wrap his arms around you from behind, pressing his face into the crook of your neck with a pitiful little whine.

"I don't wanna go," he mumbles, voice muffled against your skin, maybe saying it enough times might make the whole thing mission disappear. "You’re my little Pokémon, y'know? I should be able to just catch you in a ball and bring you with me."

You laugh, warm and breathless, reaching up behind you to card your fingers through his snowy hair. "You could try," you tease, and he groans dramatically, squeezing you tighter.

It’s not just joking, though. When you offer to come with him, he always gets a little quiet. A little stuck in his mind. Turning you around and pulling back just enough to look at you, and the way his bright blue eyes shimmer... God, it breaks your heart a little. He wants to say yes. You can see it in the way his hand trembles against your side. The way his pretty eyes scan your face. It's on the tip of his tongue.

But instead, he just shakes his head slowly, a wobbly little smile on his lips.

Because the thought of something happening to you, curse or no curse, makes his heart ache. Makes his mind wander a little too far for his liking.

What if he’s in the middle of a fight and someone targets you?

What if he’s too far away to reach you in time?

What if...?

"Can’t risk it," he finally says softly, thumb brushing back and forth against your hip, memorizing the feel of your soft skin. Maybe your scent will eventually be engrained in his mind. "You're... you’re everything, baby."

Already pulling you against his lean chest again, holding you so tightly you can barely breathe, mumbling "I love you" over and over against the crown of your head. His palm rubbing up and down your back in loose patterns. You almost think he's tearing up.

"I love you. I love you so much. Don’t forget, okay?" he murmurs between kisses to the top of your head. "Be safe. Call me if you even think something’s weird, kay? I’ll come running, promise."

You have to physically pry him off you just to get him to finish packing. And even then, he keeps glancing back at you every five seconds. Begging for one more hug. One more kiss. One more chance to touch you before he has to drag himself to the door.

By the time he actually gets to the door, he’s somehow hugging you again, despite your giggling protests, rocking you gently side to side in his arms, mumbling about how he’s going to miss you so bad he might just quit being a sorcerer and become your full-time house husband. (He’s only half joking.)

Finally, after a hundred kisses and whispered I love yous, he leans down one last time, nose brushing against yours, voice soft and almost trembling: "Be here when I get back, 'kay? I don’t wanna come home to a world without you."

But then, quieter, so quiet you nearly miss it he adds: "...And don’t... don’t forget about me either, yeah? Don’t find someone normal while I'm gone. Someone who doesn't leave. Someone who can give you the kind of life you deserve."

It’s said with a half-laugh, light and teasing, like he’s trying to play it off, but you can feel it in the way his arms tighten around you, the way his voice wavers. That tiny, hidden crack in the foundation of Satoru Gojo: The fear that being the strongest might mean ending up the loneliest too.

And even as he finally forces himself to step away, flashing you that big, blinding smile. You catch the flicker of sadness he tries so desperately to hide. Because no matter how strong he is, when it comes to you, Satoru’s always afraid that someday you’ll realize you deserve more than a man who keeps having to leave.

[mizgnomer]

Crowley’s hairstyles/looks - down through the ages ...now including Good Omens Season Two

The original Season One post [ x ]

[bingothedingo666]

Some snakey fluff for your Sunday.

Inspired by this tweet.

[technically-human]

This happened, it just wasn't relevant to the plot

[nouverx]

*proceeds to drink the whole bottle*

Yeah Alastor you're gonna be loved and appreciated wether you want it or not :)

[thatskindarough]

It’s ma birthday so instead of doing my many assignments and other obligations I decided to draw a present for myself

And the present is Crowley

[mushgloomz]

joel miller with glasses

joel miller, who gives you a crooked half-smirk whenever you speak to him, looking over the rim of his glasses and muttering “ain’t i old enough to be your daddy, darlin’?”

joel miller, who absolutely pushes his glasses back up the bridge of his nose with a single index finger when they slip down - real old man style

joel miller, who chuckles to himself as you try his glasses on for the first time, squinting at you to get a better look before declaring “lookin’ real nice, sweetheart”

joel miller, who is constantly misplacing his glasses when he needs them most - you can tell when it happens even if you aren’t in the same room; the sound of him patting his jeans and the subsequent goddamnit giving you all the information you need as the sound echoes from his workshop

joel miller, who goes to remove his glasses when he kisses you for the first time before you ask him to keep them on

joel miller, who gets the faintest flush to his cheeks when he realises said kiss has caused his glasses to fog up around the bottom of the lenses. the same flush that deepens as you tenderly pluck them from his face and clean the glass with the hem of your tshirt

joel miller, who near goes into cardiac arrest when his glasses give him a crystal clear rendition of you settling between his legs under his work bench as your hands trail up his denim-clad thighs

joel miller, who is eternally grateful to the patrol group that found the abandoned opticians lab as he drinks in the sight of your soft lips wrapped around his cock - so grateful, that he keeps one hand on the back of your head to guide you, and the other on the hinge of his frames for fear of losing them (and the glorious sight before him)

joel miller, who insists on you riding him that very evening. who, for the first time, is a lot less ashamed of the maroon plastic framing his eyes as he keeps his glasses on during the act - “Christ, you’re a fuckin’ vision, baby” is all he can muster between groans, barely blinking behind the glass as he palms at the soft swell of your tits

joel miller, who’s glasses creak a little as he buries his face in the crook of your neck when he cums deep inside you; shuddered breaths making the lenses steam up yet again

joel miller, who wakes up in the morning, swats at his bedside table and soon realises that instead of being on the nightstand, his glasses are in your grasps, being meticulously cleaned with a scrap of material - the same man who falls a little more in love with you when you admit that you’ve been doing it every morning for him before he wakes up

that’s all