#in denial much

[shmaroace]

don't get me wrong, i love all the positivity around being aro, like "be proud of being aro!! love who you are!!", but we never talk about how hard it is to reach that spot. so here's to the aros who are still trying to understand themselves, who aren't proud of who they are yet, who are still coming to terms with their new identity.

[eyes-of-nine]

minimum wage coded scrunkly and his very good pupper

[jeanmoreauss]

can we all keep it together and promise that we're not going to go back to the "i love these dumpster fire books" mindset with aftg and with tsc when tsc comes out? i'm tired of y'all pretending the writing isn't good and like the character arcs and plot and subplots are bad when they're actually beautifully structured and they deserve our attention and our praise without a "but it's sooooo bad haha" being added to everything. these books are good. and if you can't admit to yourself that you're reading them because you like them and they're good then maybe you aren't ready to pick up the story that we've been waiting for for years.

[koipepo]

That omake of little Kabru not being able to show off his howetown sweets because of Misril gets to me a lot so...

Here's a happier Kabru (and Lairu)

[ruporas]

kiss (ID in alt text)

[reimeichan]

Signs of having DID that I ignored (note that these are not exclusively signs of DID but they were for me):

I don't have amnesia, that's just short term memory loss because I have ADHD!

I actually have a very good memory, I'm great at memorizing things (what do you mean that's not the same thing)

sure it may seem like my mood changes drastically but I've read online that's common in people with ADHD! it's hard for us to regulate our emotions!

so what if I have different preferences from time to time? that's normal right? like when your mood changes you may prefer different foods? what do you mean that's not the same as going from "I hate spicy foods" one day to "omg I LOVE spicy foods!" the next?

yeah okay I tend to space out in the middle of conversations then come back to and need you to remind me what you said for the past 10 seconds or so. that's just my ADHD inattentiveness. what do you mean that I only do this when stressed. what do you mean that's a form of dissociation.

speaking of dissociation, sure sometimes I feel like I'm watching myself say and do things without my own input but that's just because I was tired/stressed out

yeah sometimes I go on autopilot. my autopilot seems to have its own agenda sometimes though. weird.

sure I changed usernames a *few* times but isn't that pretty common? yeah I also wanted to change how I presented online and also my pronouns and stuff but again isn't it common for people to want to start over sometimes?

*making multiple accounts to play the same game because I play the game differently on different accounts and don't want to mess things up on one account*

oh yes, I'm genderfluid! I say that because my gender absolutely changes from moment to moment and sure it seems kinda tied to other aspects of myself like color preferences and energy levels and personality traits but I'm pretty sure that's just par for the course with genderfluidity?

"you're so different when you're around your parents vs when you're at school/work vs when you're hanging out with friends!" yeah that's called being a complex person we all have different masks we wear in different social situations and I'm no different even if it seems more extreme for me

"how was school/work/the hang-out/going to visit your parents?" I don't know I'm tired and have a giant headache and can't remember

"you said this to me the other day and it made me feel <x>" what????? I literally have no memory of this and that's so incredibly out of character for me wtf I would never do that I was probably just really stressed out and tired and had no filter on.

[anotherpjofan]

The funniest part about the lightening thief is the fact that everyone was like "I don't know who Percy’s godly parent could possibly be" like they all really gaslit themselves even after the fact that the dude

a) had a powerful enough scent that chiron took time off to pretend to be his latin teacher

b) fought a minotaur with zero training and no weapons

c) drenched clarisse and her gang in toilet water

d) beat luke in a swordfight after drenching himself in water

e) was literally only good at canoeing

f) kept saying his dad was "lost at sea"

literally 5 minutes into the camp and Percy was all like

Percy: Maybe my dad is Poseidon his cabin feels like home -

Grover: No

Annabeth: No

Chiron: No

The whole camp: No

[comfortless]

Deep Water

nix! König x fem! reader

content/warnings: 18+. minors do not interact. no.. intentional harm done to reader but there are sporadic mentions of murder (drowning), König is kind of a creep here do you guys forgive me (say yes), implied sex; dubcon everything. König is wearing a fishing net rather than the usual hood because. it made sense to me sorry.

notes: yet again, i have found that i can not manage to write anything except for silly fantasy nonsense… bear with me this will pass (it will not). if you’re uncertain of what a nix is, i recommend skimming over this (or tl;dr— a shapeshifting water spirit).

You’ve always been told to beware of the river, especially on nights like this. When the singing starts up you were to run, as far and as fast as your feet could carry you. It would be the most beautiful sound you had ever heard, as well as the last. Whatever beast lies in wait along the silt of the riverbed luring people in with its haunting song isn’t kind. The drowned bodies resurfacing bloated and paled are enough for the townsfolk to assume that assuredly, a monster lies in wait someplace within the glassy water.

For all of the fear, town myths were just that— myths.

As always, there’s no singing when you seat yourself on smooth, mossy stones by the river’s bank. The moon hangs low, casting its brilliant reflection on calm, dark water. The air is alive with the buzzing of cicadas clinging to the trees at your back and night birds calling out to the wind. Nothing is amiss; it’s only peaceful, and that’s why despite the warnings, you often find yourself here when the temperature is favorable.

There are nights when the river isn’t calm, and currents are the most reliable reasoning for the deaths from past summers. The water is full of large rocks with sharp corners, teeming with plants that could so easily snare an ankle, and when the water is frothing and cruel it’s no surprise that one could be thrashed to unconsciousness if they weren’t careful.

You didn’t come here to take your chances on swimming, anyhow.

If anything, it’s a mere reprieve from the bustle of the town. No one wanders here any more since the myths gained traction, passed from mouth to listening ears time and time again, leaving this place entirely untouched. Occasionally the obnoxious teenager would cross your path on the walk here, declaring loudly to their friends about how they supposedly saw some slimy beast, eyes like moonbeams and scales like razors lying on the bank.

During your little adventures here, you often carry a snack with you, but not for yourself. Tonight, it’s just a small package of vanilla flavored cookies. In truth, they were awful— dry and near flavorless, but you suspect your friend here wouldn’t mind too terribly much, and if it got them out of your pantry without wasting it was a win for the both of you.

When the large dorsal fin crests over the water mere meters from the bank, you gratuitously crush the treats in a closed fist and toss the crumbs into the water. Time and time again, you’ve fed the large animal, watching as it thrashes about just below the surface before disappearing back into its depths. You’ve never gotten a good look at it, either, but you imagine it must stretch out past your height or further; some sort of gar or sturgeon.

Just as many times before, it glides further in, fin entirely out of sight now. The only evidence of it ever appearing at all were the small waves rippling in its wake. All is quieted once more as you embrace the placid bliss, readying your small flashlight and losing yourself into the book perched in your lap.

The next night, you’re greeted by a large snake basking over the rock you typically sat upon. It lies still, coiled into itself as it regards you, forked tongue flicking out for several moments before it simply slithers off, hiding itself away beneath the moss and stone.

“Best to leave you alone, huh?,” you ask to it’s retreating tail, feeling a bit silly for speaking to the reptile at all. It doesn’t respond, of course, nor does it bother to come out of hiding either.

You opt to seat yourself on the hill overlooking the water instead.

You find that after a day occupied by tedious tasks, there truly was no greater place to abandon your woes than here. Everything was peaceful; wild yet simplistic. Even with all of the death that seemed to haunt this place, you never feared the thought of ghosts. You’ve even entertained your imagination a time or two, that if you ever did meet one, you would only ask it not to disturb the wildlife you have grown so fond.

There’s a freedom and a mystery to places like this, places without the foot traffic of other people. It brings with it a sense of whimsy, especially when you glance towards the water and see the surface reflecting every twinkling star above.

The fish doesn’t appear, even as you listen to the water in wait, your head tilted as you lie back on soft grass to watch for ripples, for the swell of a large fin moving beneath. Nothing. You read your book as the night progresses, nearly completing it entirely before you make your way back home.

Weeks pass by like this— work, river, home and repeat. Occasionally it’s the same large snake that greets you when you wander there, more often it’s the large fish circling about waiting for crumbs of whatever treat you choose to bring. The bank and the small hill overlooking it have become a separate home to you, one where you can be away with the fairies, talking to your animal friends that never seem to stick around for long.

When the weather grows warmer, you even dare to take a swim.

You’re stood on the slick stones of the bank, wearing nothing but a t-shirt and a pair of underwear. It’s not proper swimming attire, but you reason that you’re not at the beach, not a soul is around, and it doesn’t really matter at all that you might look a bit silly. The prospect of swimming along that behemoth below is a tad terrifying, but you wouldn’t dare to wander too far in. Maybe the fish would even be intelligent enough to not attempt to eat you after you’ve been so kind to it.

It’s hot, and with a sticky layer of sweat glossing your skin, your worries seem minuscule in light of an easy way of cooling off. You toe at the calm water for a moment, testing its temperature before willing yourself to take a step forward, then another before you seat yourself in the vibrant expanse of darkened blue. Here, you realize, is the best place to stargaze, too; they shimmer all around you, within reach as you tap at the surface of water, watching it undulate beneath the pressure of your fingertips.

You could reach the moon, too, if you swam further out. A few meters from the bank and you would be directly beneath its reflection, bathed in that ethereal glow.

You watch for your friend for a time, trying to prioritize your wariness over your whimsy. When the fish doesn’t tread by you, the water remaining calm, you rise to your feet and take slow, metered steps as the water parts and flows against your shins.

Though the river is disturbed no matter how gently you stride forward, nothing slides out from its depths in pursuit of you. Nothing happens at all when you reach out to splay your hand out against the reflection, the water now gently lapping against your stomach rather than your legs.

You hadn’t expected any sort of shift in your reality, that would be ridiculous, but perhaps some sort of clarity; a further calm for a weary mind. It doesn’t come, and with a disheartened splash you wade your way back towards the shore.

This has been your sanctuary for some time. Excusing the snake, there’s not been any sort of threat to you, not here. A safe water world all your own. Though, that peace is shattered the moment that you make it to the bank and hear the water shift some small distance behind you. Turning your head, you’re met with the sight of a man, the bulky muscular silhouette towering in the patch of moonlight you had just stood in. Bright blue eyes catch the light, reflecting like an animal’s as you scramble back to where you’ve left your shorts.

He stands there, silent and unmoving like an obelisk even as you hastily dress yourself with a thundering heart and breaths that sound more or less like gasps, senses heightened by your panic as you turn tail to run.

No one had been there. You were sure of it when you sunk into the water. There was no sound when this person had swam over to take your place. He was just there, as if he had been the entire time and you somehow failed to notice.

You make your way into the woods framing this place, hurried steps and untied shoelaces. You don’t even bother with your flashlight.

Finding your way back home with aches in every muscle, the desperate rampage you had taken to get away finally coming to a close when the door slams shut behind you, you quickly shower and mull over what’s just happened. A ghost, perhaps. It had to of been. Any other person would have made noise in their approach, especially being that big. The mind could play its tricks; what you had seen was likely not even there at all— a terrifying figment of your imagination. That sets you at ease, somewhat, but not enough.

You don’t sleep well that night, tucked beneath your blanket and staring at the filtered moonlight through your curtains. Work isn’t on your mind at all come morning until your phone chimes with a notification from your manager, questioning your tardiness. A languid crawl out of bed follows, another shower, an unsatisfying breakfast, all before you opt to send a text back to let him know you won’t be in today.

It could be excused, you’re reliable and decent enough at the job; not one to boast, but far more eager to please than the rest of your coworkers. You would be entirely useless if you went in on no sleep, you reason.

You don’t want to go back there, not under the veil of night, but you find yourself horribly curious the longer that you bide your time indoors. You had to know if the thing that you saw was really there, had to calm your nerves. What if he had always been watching each time, and you simply hadn’t noticed? The forest bordering the river is terribly dark at night, anyone could crouch behind the shield of a tree and remain undetected until they willed the courage to drag you in, cup a palm over your mouth to silence your cries.

Maybe it was the monster the people in town rumored about.

The thought of some strange, silent thing living beneath the water waiting for an opportune moment to take you by the neck and drag you down to the silty floor to watch you drown horrified you. Yet, that’s the one conclusion that sticks. Those eyes… so lurid and haunting, no human being had eyes like that.

You inhale sharply, steeling your nerves as reach for a pocket knife for defense, toss it into the bag slung over your shoulder, and storm out the door.

The trek there is nothing short of dull.

No matter where you look, what shadows rise up beneath the dim glow of a falling sun, there’s nothing out in the woods. The river is equally tame. The water babbles over rock, cicadas buzz off in the distance, and not a thing seems amiss. Your search for footprints that don’t belong to the soles of your shoes turns up empty. The only thing that suggests just maybe it wasn’t all in your head is the book you had neglected to retrieve in your fear the night before.

The cover, every page within, now warped as though it had been pulled into the water and spit out to dry. You pick it up, peeling through damp pages, running your fingertips over the smeared ink. It’s possible that a particularly aggressive splash could have sullied it, but something tells you that that isn’t the case. Either way, it’s unreadable now. You sulk a bit as you slip the ruined thing into your bag and step towards the smooth stones to watch the water instead.

Night creeps in slowly with you there, and you’re on high alert for a time before you begin to relax as usual. Even giggle to yourself at how silly it was you believed you saw a ghost at all as you entertain yourself by skipping small stones across the water.

No large snake, no massive fish, no titan of a man appears before you, only a calming crescent moon and a few wandering wood ducks, gliding down from the bank to splash about. A thought comes to mind as the calm emboldens you: what would happen if you got in just one more time?

There’s nothing to suggest that you’re playing with fire as you leave your shoes neatly in the dry sand. If the ducks could swim unbothered by fish or men, then surely you could, too. You watch the little creatures a distance away as they dip their heads beneath the surface and chitter away amongst themselves while you take your first step in.

You don’t dare to go as far this time, stopping when the water brushes over your knees. You wait there while time seems to slow to a crawl, expecting the absolute worst, glancing further down the river, dipping your hand below the glassy surface until your fingertips brush the sand beneath.

It’s horribly hot and you’re still exhausted from the sleepless night before. The water feels nice, and you feel as though you have some sort of claim to it as you’ve been here more often than anyone else would dare to. Ghosts and monsters be damned, you seat yourself and let the water lap over your shoulders, tilting your head back to watch the stars.

When the singing begins it takes a moment to register just what it is that you’re hearing. It’s not beautiful, not like the myths have said. It’s hissed, a low whisper, a mockery of what a human song would sound like. The voice is rasped, lilted yet cold. The realization that it sings words from your book of poetry is what terrifies you the most, the warped pages all making sense now.

Your eyes dart to either side of you, forward, before realizing the voice is coming from behind you. Cold spreads through your veins as you try to force yourself to stand, but in your fear you find yourself petrified, rooted in water that would surely become your grave.

You can’t bring yourself to turn around, to inevitably find your eyes locked onto the shadowy frame of a man far too large, his eyes glistening and pale like the moon hanging above.

The voice pauses when it finds you unmoving, and you can hear the rustle of the creature shifting its weight where it’s stood on the rocks lining the bank. You’ve no clue how deep the river gets, where the opposite side leads, but your only chance of escape seems to be swimming through in the hopes that this thing doesn’t choose to chase after you. A part of you knows that he would, that that is exactly what he expects you to do, goading you to flee deeper with his eerie song so that he can drown you just as he did the others.

You do the opposite as you squeeze your eyes shut and crawl back towards the bank, making sure to keep some distance despite your willful blindness. You wouldn’t look at it, wouldn’t talk to it, you would just go home and never come back.

“Best to leave you alone, hm?”

You still as your fingers brush against wet moss, the voice no longer a whisper but loud, loud as it echoes your words from days past just above you. Beating back your own curiosity proves futile, because you look up at the damned thing then, expecting to see an impossible terror before you, sharp fangs wet with blood and appendages too spindly reaching out for you. Instead, you see only a man.

He’s crouched, only a meter or so away, and you immediately recognize his broad figure. The same as the night before. From this distance you can make out the finer details, the length of net covering his face and neck, the webbing between each finger. Still a scary sight, but only in the way it’s unfamiliar and imposing rather than instilling any sort of primordial fear.

“Excuse me?” You pull yourself fully out of the water, rising to your feet and taking a tentative step back. You’re prepared to run, a coil pulled too tight on the verge of snapping.

The man, creature, whatever he may be just tilts his head, lets the silence hang in the air for a moment before he has the audacity to laugh whether to himself or at the strange, bewildered expression on your face.

His stare is assessing as he sucks in a breath, follows suit in rising to his full height. From the size of him alone, you know you’re not getting away. A mere stride for him would be two or more for you, a deliberate tug of your wrist from him could snap it in an instant.

Yet, he doesn’t reach for you, only gestures toward your bag lying on the ground with a subtle flick of a finger. You give him a quizzical glance in turn, not bothering to retrieve it. You could come back during the day with a friend, gather it and never return. Only, your knife sits somewhere inside, the only protection that you’ve got. The realization spurs you to bend over and toss the strap over your shoulder.

“I’ll… I’ll be going now.”

The stare remains fixed upon you as you take another step back, blinking slowly every now and then as you both remain in some strange stasis.

It takes you a moment to put the pieces together. The reciting of words from the book, the mimicking of the words spoken to the snake, the hint at your bag… he’s expecting something and it’s not to steal away your life, only to be fed and have your company. It’s not charming, it’s awfully strange and eerie, but you find yourself giggling at the prospect of taming some murderous, shapeshifting monster with subpar treats and poetry.

You pull open the bag, searching for anything you may have brought along that he could eat, eventually prying out a small package and offering it out to him.

“Is this what you want?,” you ask, voice hushed and trembling.

He shakes his head, rustling the net cloaking him in the process. So, he understands, he’s just been willfully ignoring every other thing you’ve said prior. You store the package away with a perturbed expression crossing over your face.

“Then what?”

Any relief you had felt seems to dwindle when the giant takes a half-step closer. His skin is cool and wet as the river as he brushes his hand over your forearm, curling a set of fingers around it. The touch is gentle, but there’s a promise of violence lurking somewhere in the depths of his eyes.

“Come with me,” he urges in that harsh whisper from before, delicately squeezing as he pulls you towards him, leading you back to the river with a tight grip and a step back over the stones. Though his touch is passive, there’s a frightening strength lurking someplace beneath his flesh, tacked to bone, and as your gaze trails lower to rest to rest at your feet, the space between you two, the evidence of a life prone to violence and strength is laid bare before you.

You don’t fight the hold as he leads you to water so deep it caresses the base of your neck, right below the milky glow of a waning moon. Deeper still, as you’re pulled below, pressed down to the very bottom with his body lain over you. You can only hold your breath so long before an involuntary gasp leaves you, and a wave is funneled straight into your lungs.

Panic is fleeting, but the adrenaline stays ever-present. You claw, push, kick, to no avail. Pinned down by a hand weighing like an anchor you feel your vision flooding and hazy as his head knocks against your jaw, mouth sealing tightly over yours. It’s not a gentle kiss, the net fashioned into a hood digs into your skin, teeth scrape over your lip until you feel the sting of blood drawn.

All at once, your vision darkens and it’s over.

You find yourself lying back on the shore as the morning sun warms your face, causes your dampened shirt to cling to your skin. Disoriented, but alive, brushing your thumb over your lower lip as you sit up to stare at the subtle waves lapping over moss and rock.

Just a dream, you tell yourself, knowing full well you hadn’t fallen asleep.

Just a dream, even though you avoid the river entirely now. Your route home from work changes too, avoiding even a glimpse of the path that leads down to that place. You don’t even replace the book, you toss what remains of it after fishing through your bag, murmuring something about it surely being cursed and entertain yourself with film at night instead.

Sleep remains tentative, you wake with every sound, and your dreaming is filled with visions of a figure pushing you down into deep water, his weight bearing down upon you so heavily that you can not move until you wake with a start, eyes searching your bedroom.

Several weeks, and the fear does eventually fade.

The morning that the rain begins to fall, you realize you haven’t even thought about the river in days. There’s no monster prowling your nightmares anymore. You lived through what may or may not have occurred, and that was the end of it, simple as it may have been.

A late shift at work has you wandering out into the rain, umbrella in hand. You’re grateful that you live close, that you’re not entirely soaked to the bone when you step inside of the mundane building. Your coworkers notice your change in demeanor immediately, chirping about how glad they are that you’re finally feeling better, looking more yourself as the hours pass you by. It brings a smile to your face, a real one that you haven’t had in place since that last night.

Even in the summer, there’s a chill to the air in the late afternoon as you hurry home from work and make your way inside, stripping out of your wet clothes and setting your umbrella aside. It’s darker outside than it should be, even more so indoors. Reaching for the switch to turn on the lights proves useless— the power’s out.

You light your way with your phone, ignoring the way your pulse quickens and your heart flutters with the fear that something just doesn’t feel right. Your skin prickles with the thought of some unseen pair of eyes watching you, blue and cold. You only relax when you slam your bedroom door shut, locking it and pressing your forehead to the wood as you sigh. The puff of breath that escapes your lips is not the only in the room, you find out when the light of your phone illuminated your bed. Crouched beside it, a towering figure with a face veiled by fishing net. Words don’t come when you open your mouth to speak, and your heart stutters in your chest as you stand shaking but otherwise petrified.

“You didn’t come back.”

Of course you hadn’t.

Most people wouldn’t have.

“No. I’ve been… busy,” you choke out the excuse, hoping to pacify whatever emotion you imagine lurked beneath his tone, undetectable through the hiss of his voice. “I’ll visit soon, promise,” you lie, back pressed against the door as your fingers curl over the knob.

Your fear seems almost unwarranted. He doesn’t move toward you, only stands to wander back to the window where he must have broken in.

“Tonight?,” he asks in a voice so soft, the voice he must use as a lure because tugs at your heartstrings immediately, makes you want to follow despite the threat this thing poses merely by existing, despite everything.

“It’s cold— I’ll get sick,” you murmur. “How did you even find me..?”

“I will keep you warm.” The question goes unanswered.

You find yourself stifled again as he lumbers towards you, brushing cold fingers across the side of your face. It’s not a mockery of a kiss you receive next but a firm bite where your neck meets shoulder, not yet hard enough to draw blood, but enough to make you shiver, to grip at the wall of muscle that makes up his chest.

There’s a desperation to his movements as he herds you towards the window, pushes you toward the path leading back to the river. You’re soaked to the bone in seconds, hardly able to keep your eyes open past the weight of dampened eyelashes. The rain is so heavy it feels as though every step is like the first you took into cursed water, your feet sinking into the mud along the path with each tentative stride. The realization that you’re there doesn’t even hit you until you’re chest-deep in the chill, violent waves pushing against you, each carrying the threat of toppling you over entirely.

The palm splayed out against your bare back keeps you upright, leading you to a smooth rock jutting out in the midst of what seems a sea of frothing white and blue. The sea above is just as dark, angry clouds roaring as you’re pressed down onto your back, shivering terribly.

He keeps his promise though, a tight grip on each thigh as he pries your legs apart, sinks in between them and blankets you from the rain. Even with the cold pressed to your back, you feel the warmth of a summer sun above you, scorching from inside, just as blazing as the look in his wild eyes. The last of any resolve slips when you’re pulled beneath the violent waves, a tangle of limbs and desperate kisses coaxing oxygen into your lungs. Each roll and pull no less tumultuous than the waves overhead. A placid end when the rain comes to an impromptu halt, just as he stills over you. Hands rush to cup your face with one final, desperate and biting kiss.

When the morning sun pulls you from sleep, cool moss against your back and the weight of his head resting over your middle, the shallow water lapping lazily at your figure, you find that you no longer fear drowning.

[turtleblogatlast]

Mikey and Leo episode centered around Mikey wanting to push Leo and Draxum together since Leo’s the most reluctant to give Draxum any grace (for good reason!) But, thinking on the spot, Leo says he’s gotta go do something for Hueso and “just can’t hang out right now 😔” (yes, he says the emoji out loud.)

Mikey calls his bluff and now the three of them (Mikey having grabbed a weary Draxum along) go to Hueso’s to find that yes, he actually does have a job for him. Said job asks for Leo to go with Hueso to deliver multiple pizzas to this giant yokai quite a distance away, and Hueso figured it would probably go better with Leo’s help (emphasis on probably.)

Well, Mikey decides that this would be a great bonding opportunity for them and basically invites he and Draxum along. Unfortunately for Leo, Hueso doesn’t care enough to wave away more help, though he does side-eye the wanted criminal Baron Draxum coming with them. But who is he to judge? (This choice has consequences.)

The journey goes about as terribly as you’d expect, but at least the pizzas get delivered on time.

[sophiamarieispinkbunny-chan]

Loid "Cannot be separated to his wife without missing her for even just a couple of minutes/hours" Forger

This man didn't even touched his cake since he's waiting for his wife to come back so they can eat the cake together while Anya is already devouring her piece 😂😂 It's sweet for him to have this habit that he eats when Yor eats as well. What a husband attitude. And did you see how he defended Yor's innocence in this chapter?

He always gets so defensive when it comes to Yor, since Camilla's party, he defended her in front of her coworkers, in the Eden interview when Swan badmouthed her ability as a mother, he defended her and he was genuinely upset with the way Swan embarrassed his wife, when Nightfall said that Yor's being uncooperative and she should be replaced as his wife, his tone and glare changes into a defensive demeanor. Loid always comes to her defense without missing a beat, and he wasn't calculating those reactions, he did these without the mission on his mind.

This man is already slowly falling in love with her from the very beginning and I think by the time Yor's secret would be revealed to him, not even her real identity as a killer would stop him from being with her for he's already and irrevocably down bad for her

[cl0udkiszzzz]

so this is how its gonna be in 2025?

[weirdmageddon]

i know he’s the king of it but this really was evil

[aromantic-diaries]

Idk if I've said this before but I feel like the bi to aro/ace pipeline wouldn't be half as common as it is if asexuality and aromanticism weren't forgotten all the time when it comes to discussing sexuality. I think it's funny to joke about it and seeing how it's something that so many people experience has definetly been helpful in making me feel less alone but sometimes I think about how I would have known I was aro and ace much sooner if I knew more about these identities like I did about bisexuality

[thavron]

So I think I've cracked this moment.

So this moment has bothered me. I've seen several people say this is Crowley breaking up with Aziraphale, but I think it has a different meaning. I think he's saying, "I understand."

Hear me out.

It was actually listening to the song Good Old Fashioned Lover Boy that caused me to have a little epiphany. I love how it's juxtaposed over Crowley rushing back to Aziraphale, indicating that he is the Good Old Fashioned Lover Boy, but there is more to it.

That song was released in 1976, which is a time when being gay or being queer of any kind was deeply frowned upon. Though laws in the UK banning same sex relationships had been lifted by this time, for consenting adults over the age of 21. Freddie explicitly coming out at this time was something that could have ended his career. Freddie danced with the media on this one, hinted but was never forthright and kept his romantic life largely under wraps. This is something that queer people did in general and had to do well into the 90s. They flirted in code, they romanced behind closed doors. They kept their love out of sight.

Much like our Ineffable Husbands.

Editing to add- that the reason this triggered something for me, is that despite the secrecy, Freddie Mercury got up on stage and sang a song about a man taking another man out on a date at the Ritz. Everyone knew. Just no one knew knew. And it wasn't enough to end his career. Much like our Ineffable Husbands. Everyone knows, including them. Just no one says a thing about it.

Which brings me back to A Nightingale Sang in Berkeley Square.

This song is about one magical night. A couple meet, fall in love, feel the magic of their romance, and then as the sun comes up they go home. It is something like a dream that has to be let go with the harsh light of day. But there is hope, because sometimes they can hear the echo of the nightingale. A promise perhaps to meet again.

So I think it is widely assumed that there is more to the 1941 flashback. I tend to concur. I think we will see the origin of why this song is important to them. I suspect the song is about them. They have one magical night, where they are both brave and express their love for each other. But then the sun comes up and they realise that they have to go back to their lives. I think they will acknowledge that the incident with the zombies was a close call, and they need to cool off and stay away from each other. Slow down.

So 1967 is the first time they have seen each other since. They both know how they feel, they're just waiting for the right time. They shouldn't have met at all, except Aziraphale wants to give Crowley the holy water. I think that explains the awkwardness but also their softness toward each other. It's a meeting of lovers, but the time isn't right just yet. No nightingales are singing. That's what Aziraphale means by "You go too fast for me." Not yet, it's too soon. We're still under suspicion.

So the end of season one, the world is not over and our ineffable husbands are free. What do they do? They go for date at the Ritz. You can not tell me this is not a date. Sorry, don't believe you. "The Ritz is the most romantic hotel in the world." It's like their whole selling point. It's why it pops up in the lyrics of Berkley Square, and also in the lyrics of Good Old Fashioned Lover Boy. It's the place where magic happens. And for me, the playing of the song, and the reference from God herself, it's saying the time is right. They can finally be together again. This is their moment.

So Season Two. I've read reviews of season two where people liken it to fanfiction. Neil calls it is a bridge season. I think it's the dream. Not actually a dream, I don't think Neil is that unoriginal. But in the song they liken that one magical night to a dream. It's a fantasy that they get to live until the sun comes up. They get to live their dream for four years. They are together and they are in love but they are still living in secret. They still don't acknowledge it. They're still holding back. One of the themes in this series is timing is everything. Maggie and Nina's relationship doesn't work because timing. The magic trick worked the time it mattered. Timing is important, and the ineffable husbands are bad at it. They should have thrown themselves into this but they were too cautious and they missed their chance.

I think this conversation is when Crowley realises. Not that he is love with Aziraphale, that was established in 1941. But that everyone knows anyway. There is no reason to hide. No one cares that they're an item. Aziraphale has a similar epiphany after his chat with Shax. So they both decide to move the relationship along, but damn do they have bad timing.

Now I am as confused and heart broken as anyone about the final fifteen. And I am certain that there is something that we are not seeing, a trick that we've missed. There are six minutes unaccounted for. Neil says its a continuity error, but he's demon, he lies.

So here is what I think, and why this line "that's the point, no nightingales" is important. At some point during that conversation Crowley catches on. Whether they have a moment of stopped time, or the fact that Aziraphale is acting so utterly unhinged, there is something that happens that we don't see and it clues him in. He is hurt and angry yes, but he understands. What he is understanding is that the dawn came stealing up, and that the interlude is over. The nightingales stopped singing, and they have to go back to work. He gets it and that's how he lets Aziraphale know.

"You're an idiot, we could have been us." He doesn't like the plan, whatever it is. He thinks running would have been preferable, but he is resigned to it.

Then that kiss. One last goodbye just in case the world ends? Desperate longing and years of pent up frustration? I don't think the trick is here. I think this is misdirection. We're all looking at the kiss, we missed the coded message that came right before. I think "No nightingales" may also suggest that this isn't the kiss. The romantic kiss will come later, when the nightingales sing again. And they will, of that I'm certain now.

The song playing in the car, a message from Aziraphale or from the Bentley reminding him to have hope. Two things we know about Crowley. He is an optimist. He loves to rescue his angel. We also know that he is the trusted stooge with the steady hand. Aziraphale will perform the theatrics, he will do the rest. The fact that he waited and didn't just storm off like he did when he was rejected in series 1 tells Aziraphale that he is still here. He's still in this.

That's my interpretation anyway.

[frenchublog]

Are you prepared to lose her ?

[butchdykeorpheus]

shauna sadecki née shipman is The Woman Ever mrs unhinged housewife why-should-MY-actions-have-consequences??? MILF extraordinare kills rabbits without flinching and serves them to her husband and daughter stabs her lover in a PTSD-induced panic who made her feel sort-of Alive™️ for the first time in years then dismembers his corpse and only gets upset that it might send her to jail fucked her best friend's boyfriend because it was the closest thing she could get to fucking her best friend and only really regretted getting caught left her best friend to perish in the elements and misses her every day accused jackie of peaking in high school then did Exactly That. i'm obsessed with her. she should have been born in a wilderness somewhere hunting animals for food and killing trespassers instead she's gnawing at the bars on her kitchen windows