Every single one of these acting choices from James Lance was made with the knowledge that Trent is gay. Every look Trent gives Ted is intentional. There's a truth that will be revealed. I'm losing MY MIND.
Thereās a popular fan reading online that Trentās interest in Ted, in addition to the professional and aspirational capacity, might be a little bit of a crush, or a romantic one. Is that in your head at all? Or does it surprise you that people are reading it that way?
I was recently reminded of the (adorable) fact that crows enjoy rolling down snowy hills, and since I like to headcanon that Crowleyās wings are crow wingsā¦
Crow instincts: Cāmon! :DĀ Itāll be fun! :D :D :D
Snake instincts: What the Heā What on EARTH are you thinking!?!
anon prompted a short comic with a jealous crowley, though heās less jealous here than pissed off
listen, crowley knows aziraphale can easily get out of this situation himself, but the guy was being an asshole (thatĀ pick-up line, seriously?) and therefore needed to be dealt with in a show-offy asshole way. and aziraphale gets some really fond memories out of the whole thing, so heās not bothered.
A little thought. A headcanon. But I do believe that Aziraphale, at a certain point, begins to bless Crowley. Because the demon, despite most of the things the Angel goes through, always stays relatively safe.Ā
He saysĀ that his kind donāt send stern letters. We get a sense thatĀ āhis kindā are more on the corporal end when it comes to punishment. But we only see AziraphaleĀ being beaten, insulted, discorperated. Nothing ever happens to Crowley, who walks relatively unscathed through the Apocalypse. How?Ā
Blessings. Blessings.Ā
An Angel was blessing him.Ā
AziraphaleĀ was blessing him.Ā
He shouldnāt. Itās blasphemous, he knows, to imprint celestial protection onto a demon. A sort of blasphemy that, if the archangels knew, would have landed him with a firm talking to. An angry letter. A slip, tumble, Fall downwards, maybe.Ā
He tries not to think about that.Ā
Because there were times where Crowley returned to the bookshop smelling of sulfur and brimstone, doing his best to hide a limp. Impossible, really. Aziraphale knew him; his smile, his soft eyes, his sharp words; knew well enough when something had tilted from normal.Ā
āAre you alright?ā He handed the demon tea and plumes of cinnamon steam crested his chin.Ā
Crowley had waved him off.Ā āFine. Just a disagreement.ā
āWhat-ā
āA few demons began to notice my lack ofā¦ demonicĀ energy. Just a reminder, Angel.ā And heād punctuated it with a sip of tea and a soft hum.Ā āThatās all. Nothing to fuss about.āĀ
āIt certainly is something to fuss about!ā
Crowley took off his glasses long enough to wink.Ā āYou fuss about everything.ā
And so Aziraphale had begun to lay blessings.Ā
Itās soft and deft and quiet - when he reaches and touches Crowleyās sleeve. The demon would never know, he thought. Thereād be no reason to notice the specks of love heād pressed delicately into the fibers of being. He never made them so strong that theyād burn, and never made them weak enough to linger and fade.Ā
A blessing of protection, he willed on a rainy Sunday, elbowing past to a bookshelf. May you be safe from your own kind, my own kind, from all kind.Ā
On a hot summer June afternoon, heād adjusted the demons collar with a flick of deft fingers.Ā āReally,ā he said,Ā āyou could try to be a little more presentable.ā A blessing of safety, he thought, pretending to clumsily skate fingertips across the demons neck, feeling the pulse of a swallow. May you be safe now. Safe always. Safe when Iām here and when Iām not. Keep him alive, and well, and whole. He flicked the collar again.Ā āBetter.ā
Crowley cleared his throat, pushing up his glasses.Ā āThanks,ā he said back, confusion heavy on his tongue. Then; āSee? Fussy.āĀ