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get rid of it

all of it –

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you can fly away with me tonight 🪽🌌

8 hour yaoi drawing sesh on da plane

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in a random european city, in a random cafè, a demon is stuck with the silly magical trick of his angel.

Forever.For the whole of eternity.

When the whole universe is gone as a fish stew, when the concept of being, of matter itself, is gone, a single, unique piece of material will survive.

A coin.

In the demon ear.

And he wouldn't even know it.

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Michael Sheen at Christmas (I forgot the year sorry) - part 1/2

@goodomensafterdark

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Found this on facebook but reposting to SAVE A LIFE.

Or at least some of y’all’s GPAs.

You’re welcome.

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should have watch it sooner

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Can I convince you to fall for me?

Sequel to Did you just -- kiss me? (Human AU, RatedE)

Inspired by this art by @gahellhimself-blog

“Oh, pshh!” Maggie says as she begins her second mimosa. The fine lines around her mouth have cracked as the face mask dries. “He’s not going to judge your sexual prowess on a little chipped tooth.”

Aziraphale glances around at the stylists. They’re all watching where he and Maggie sit, side by side in the massage chairs with their feet in roiling tubs of hot, soapy water. He just knows he’s being judged.

“It’s not so little anymore,” he complains, quiet enough so only they two can hear. “If you hadn’t talked me into eating that toffee —“

Maggie’s natural falsetto voice gets even higher as she lifts the bottom of Aziraphale’s flute toward his face. “Puh-lease. It’s hardly noticeable. It’s like the dimples on your ass, or the ski-jump nose.”

Aziraphale pushes her hand away and immediately takes offense. “And what is that supposed to mean?”

She laughs. The ladies in the chairs to their right look disapprovingly down long noses. “I only meant that it’s cute!”

Before Aziraphale can protest, Maggie downs the rest of her drink. She leans over, conspiratorially like. “It’s not like he’s going to know you can’t afford the dentist because you have no insurance and can barely make rent without help from your mother. Unless, of course, you tell him.”

Maggie is the nicest, kindest, most generous person Aziraphale knows, which is why she’s his best friend. Still, alcohol does tend to make her brutally honest.

She pats his hand and lifts the glass back to his mouth. If this wasn’t their annual pampering girls' day, he’d have refused. As it is, it’s New Year's Eve morning, and he’s way out of sorts. Maybe she has the right idea.

He finishes the mimosa in two gulps and forces himself to withstand the bittersweet fizzing in his nose and on his tongue. If he’d listened to Muriel and postponed this date until after the holidays, he wouldn’t be so miserable.

Well. He’d be less miserable.

Aziraphale lets Maggie pour him another glass from the chilled carafe in the cooler by her side. By the way things are going, he’s going to need it to make it through her advice for this evening.

“Now. You’ve already hired the Uber, right?” Her pretty, plump cheeks are quite pink.

“Yes,” he sighs. “But I can’t even pay for this spa treatment. I don’t know how I’m going to pay down the credit cards —“

“Think of it this way,” she interrupts, swirling her glass and staring off into the distance. The windows are dripping with condensation, obscuring the view of the street. “If you drive Ruby, you’ll be obligated to go take her home, won’t you? This way your handsome devil will have to drive you to his place.”

Aziraphale hasn’t told her about the text messages. He’s certain that Anthony has it in the stars to bring Aziraphale home. The man just doesn’t know what to expect.

(He thinks of Ruby where she’s parked on the street outside his apartment. Two-hundred-and-forty-thousand miles and the Subaru hasn’t failed him yet.)

“Yeah,” he grumps. “And when we get there and I drop my trousers, and all I have to offer is soft-serve ice cream —“

Maggie laughs again. A good-sized splash of orange juice and champagne spills on her sweater. “At our age, that’s the least of our worries!”

Aziraphale is pretty sure she’s never had to deal with a limp dick her entire life.

“This coming from a fifty-one-year-old lesbian whose pleasure button is on the outside .”

This time, the whole row of massage chair inhabitants turns to look at them, from both sides. Aziraphale quickly hides his face in his drink.

Maggie, however, doesn’t get the hint. Her volume is way past annoying, heading for indecent. “Maybe you fifty-one-and-a-half-year-old gays should try using your fingers. Or, better yet, your mouth .”

Mimosa sprays all over Aziraphale’s lap, soiling his clean pants and dribbling down his chin. At least he hasn’t choked this time.

Felicia, his stylist, brings him a towel. There’s a mischievous glint in her eye. “About ten minutes left on the timer. You two need anything?”

Maggie needs nothing, of course. “But Aziraphale is going to need his chest waxed. I’m paying.”

“Aziraphale most certainly does not need his chest waxed!” he says, horrified. Felicia shares a wink with Maggie, and he groans at their sudden partnership.

“Come on!” Maggie pleads. She swishes her feet in the bath and bats her long eyelashes. “Don’t you think you shouldn’t leave anything to chance? Second time around and all?”

His stylist’s eyebrows rise as she lifts and checks under his mud mask. “Got a date, have we?”

Aziraphale closes his eyes and wishes he were anywhere else.

“It’s so romantic,” Maggie coos, and he knows she’s about to tell the whole tale. He inhales deeply and beats her to it.

“A friend of mine and I reconnected after fifteen years. I’m attending as his guest at a New Year’s Eve party tonight.”

Felicia knows Aziraphale almost as well as Maggie, seeing as he subscribes to therapy via hair and skin care. She eyes him head to foot and runs her tongue along the inside of her mouth. “Keep the hairy chest,” she nods. “Run some of that conditioner I gave you last time through it. You’ll thank me. So will he.”

Aziraphale takes her advice as he stands in the shower under what can only be called a ‘stream.’ It’s more like a slow drizzle; he’s called the landlord three times about the clogged shower head. And the busted lightbulb inside the fridge. And the window that’s stuck open in the kitchen. It’s getting to the point where he’s just going to fix things himself. That is, if he knew how.

He waits as long as he can, until goosebumps form on his arms and he’s procrastinated enough. He’s about as clean as he can be, and he’s done everything possible to make himself presentable. Nothing he can do about the tooth, of course.

Aziraphale shaves and dresses and paces in the kitchen as he waits for his ride. The new cufflinks from Muriel look out of place with his not-so-new shirt and suit coat. But at least he’s not wearing something rented; he could never live with himself if he did that.

He smooths out his tie and glances at the phone lying on the kitchen counter. There have been no text messages all day from him. Aziraphale knows it’s because he’s busy. Today was the day Anthony was scheduled to finish up on that very personal business he mentioned last week. And that was none of Aziraphale’s business.

The phone lights up, vibrating as a call comes through. It’s Muriel, and he considers not answering it. They’re probably ringing with more advice. As if he’s not already horribly embarrassed about the whole thing.

“Hey, Dad,” they say, bright and cheery as usual. “Just calling to wish you good luck.”

Aziraphale tries to smile so that it will show up in his voice. “Thanks, Dear. It’s really going to be f –”

“If it’s like, really bad, remember you can call me and I’ll pick you up. Just like you always offered for me.”

It’s going to be a long, long night, he thinks.

The Uber driver sends him a text from the street, and Aziraphale says goodbye to his offspring. He collects his long wool coat, hat, and mittens, and almost forgets the scarf as he pulls the door shut. It gets stuck in the door as he climbs inside, but Aziraphale doesn’t realize it. He’s too busy trying to make his hands stop shaking long enough to send a text.

To Anthony J. Crowley.

On my way! 

It’s a short drive through the busy part of downtown. Traffic is horrendous, and Aziraphale watches the time as his ride is forced to slow down to allow revelers to cross the streets. At this rate, he’ll be fifteen to twenty minutes late. Not the first impression he wishes to make, especially if Anthony relates punctuality to sex.

Sex is all Aziraphale can think about. In a matter of days, he’s become obsessed. He worries about how he smells, how he’ll taste, whether he should eat or be eaten. It ramps him up so high that he can’t focus on everyday things, like remembering to turn the dryer on after throwing wet clothes in. Or bringing the garbage and the recycling out to the cans.

So when the car pulls up to a swanky hotel, all lit up like a Christmas tree, he’s adjusting his dick inside the new underwear he bought himself as a gift. He makes the mistake of feeling the tip for wetness, which, of course, is right there. And, god, he hopes it isn’t leaking through to make a dark spot on the front of his trousers.

He pays and thanks the driver, opening the door to find the end of his scarf coated with brown, sandy slush. It’s dripping like mad as he lifts it off the ground, as he tries to close the car door and not step in the salty, puddled mess next to the curb.

The night has already begun with a failure, as he slips on the sidewalk and loses his balance. He closes his eyes as he sees very clearly what is about to happen. He’s going to land on his ass and ruin his night.

But the fall doesn’t happen. Instead, he is rescued. He is rescued by a tall, dark, devastatingly handsome man dressed in a familiar Santa cap. Gold-brown eyes twinkle down at him, and Aziraphale feels his breath catch in his throat. 

“Oh!” he manages, shocked and thrilled and a hundred other emotions all at once. Anthony has both hands firmly under Aziraphale’s elbows. And he’s smiling.

He’s smiling.

“See,” he begins, voice six shades of seductive as he steadies Aziraphale on his feet. “I thought maybe I could eventually convince you to fall for me, but this is ridiculous.”

Read on AO3

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rb to have a super gay 2023

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absolutely screaming at this fic where aziraphale gets kidnapped for a mysterious and dangerous ritual and the kidnappers feed him some sort of poison and he’s like hmm… kinda tasty tbh??? he’s so me fr

but on a very serious note guys i need to tell you this is one of my new favourite fics: no second eden

10/10 one of the best fics i’ve ever read and it deserves so much more love plssss i beg you to go read it it’ll change your life

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Someone tried to get one of my posts to breach containment almost a week ago now and it's still only got like 50 notes.

This fact has filled me with hubris.

My containment is unbreachable. I have four blogs and never gotten more than 100 notes on a post. The majority of this site Cannot Percive me. I can post whatever I want and nobody except for some of my beloved mutuals and followers will see it.

I am invisible. I am free.

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THE baby

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angels that yearn

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saw this image (refer to third image) and INSTANTLY thought of them.

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Enjoy this lovely Our Flag Means Death advent calendar!

Here’s my contribution on Day 23: