#; Husband. Love of my life. ;

[hansoeii]

we go just right.

[christadeguchi]

"we know how to move our bodies, but i didn't know how to manage my heart, so you need help for this"

hi we need to talk more about judo gold medallist christa deguchi.

[nouverx]

*proceeds to drink the whole bottle*

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

[sharlinefreire]

sometimes what you need to get out of a deep depression is to start shipping a fictional couple that encourages you to read fanfiction until 3 am.

[ventique18]

Posing for photos: 😈😡😠😠

Actual personalities: 🥰😡🥰🥰

Bonus: Attitude towards wakasama: 🥰😍😊🐉

[rainbow-sunshine-unicorn]

Remember when Anthony Bridgerton said:

And then it turns out that this is him with his wife:

[pseudowho]

"Good girl-- good girl, that's it! Listen to your body."

A bag full of snacks, and books, and massage oils, all woefully surplus to requirements, flung to the side of the room. The dappled reflection of under-lit water on the dark ceiling. A stack of warm towels. A tiny woollen hat. A little trolley of equipment; a calm attendant wearing smiles and blue.

Kento, knelt at the edge of the pool, his shirtsleeves soaked to the shoulder. One thick arm looped around your neck and chest as if he meant to throttle you, when really, he just needed to be held. Or, did you need to be held? The paired clinging comfort to be found in the gloom of fear, was not mutually exclusive, it seemed.

"Amazing work...you're doing so well, sweetheart...just going to listen to the baby's heart..."

Your heart and Kento's pounded in tandem, almost as fast as the little pwssh-pwssh-pwssh-pwssh of your baby's heart, tinny on the Doppler, as the midwife's hand swished through the water. Kento whispered to you, his cheek clasped to your temple, sweatslick hair sticking you together.

"Our baby-- that's our baby-- god I love you, I love you so much, I'm so sorry, I wish I could do this for you--"

You gasped, splashing legs clamouring for resistance against the edge of the pool, writhing back against Kento. Kento's face crumpled, his teeth gritting so hard against your agony, they crunched.

You bellowed, another contraction roaring through you like wildfire, and you gripped Kento's arm. Your scream became a roar as you pushed, absurdly, overwhelmingly dragged from your body by a brutal force of nature. You barely heard Kento's hushed rumble, through the haze of blinding pain.

"...can do it, you can do it, you're so strong-- not long now-- nearly here, they're nearly here, our baby--"

You gasped again, seeing stars for a moment, surely being cleaved in half and you panicked, crying out and digging your nails in. Kento didn't care, surely deserving this, certain your nails didn't sting as much as the stretch you felt stung. You babbled at Kento and the midwife, pleading, bargaining.

"I can't do it anymore-- please don't make me, please please--"

"You're doing it, sweetheart. The biggest part of the head is coming with the next push-- with the next one, just listen to me, and breathe. No pushing. Just little breaths."

You looked up at Kento, your eyes feverish with the love that ripped you asunder. Kento nodded, trusting you, trying to hide the fear and miserable male helplessness and uselessness that threatened to fill him with violence, if he did not cling so desperately to being gentle instead.

Kento felt you tense; another pain peaking as you shook your head, sobbing so briefly, only to be replaced by gritted resolution. Kento saw the fire in your eyes as you began to roar, and thought his heart may break with the weight of his adoration.

Kento grasped you close, your fingers plaited together. He whispered to you as you trembled, fighting against nature as your body pushed for you.

"...that's it-- that's it-- just breathe, little breaths, little breaths-- I know it stings, good girl, good girl-- and the head's out!"

Kento's heart stopped, to see the crest of a little head, its soft waves of hair swishing in the birthing pool. Invigorated by thrill, almost weeping with excitement, he whispered to you, heated and trembling.

"--oh god-- right there, they're right there-- nearly got them, we'll know what we've got--"

"Just one more big push, sweetheart-- one big push with the next contraction, and your baby's here--"

Almost ten months of blooming and worry and scans and building and laughing and crying and aching and fearing, all ended in one enormous push, and a whoosh, and a cry...

...and a cry, wet and sweet and crumpled and on your chest, mother and child still bound together by the string of life.

Kento buckled against the side of the pool. Still he held you, looking down at you, looking down at your baby, blue and angry and baleful at having been shoved into the world from their warm dark kingdom.

Arms replaced the womb, and Kento huffed a couple of great sobs to hear you babble love at your scrumply flailing babe.

"--oh my god-- oh you're so beautiful-- oh, mummy loves you-- daddy loves you--"

Daddy. Kento almost buckled again, nuzzling his tears away into your hair, smothering your sweaty cheeks with kisses and relief. His voice was thick with joy, the fever of pain in your eyes replaced with elation, clasping the boon of a champion within your arms.

"Thank you. I can't...I can't thank you-- I-- love you, love you both so much--"

You gazed up at Kento, basking, your eyes glazed. "Kento...Ken...what have we got? Tell me-- tell me what we've got."

Kento sniffled, looking at the midwife as if for permission. She looked on, an enamoured, privileged bystander, and nodded encouragingly to Kento. Kento leaned over you, gently lifting his baby's legs apart, peering under the cord.

He huffed a single wet laugh, and looked at you, honey-brown eyes rimmed red. Kento's voice was gravelly as he stroked your hair back, to your wondrous grin.

"You were right, lover...as always."

[riisitee]

Immortal Decadent After the Ball

If you can't tell, this is based on a painting by Ramon Casas called Decadent young woman. After the dance. (More about it at the end)

Also version with out glasses:

Click to see them good details

The original painting:

"Decadent young woman. After the dance", 1899 by Ramon Casas

I was looking through my folder of paintings, thinking if one of them could be turned into fanart. I found this one and thought it would fit Crowley very well. Well, turns out the name makes it even more fitting! The Incident in Good Omens That Broke All of Our Hearts, happened after a dance/ball (the painting is also known as "After the Ball"), which is just incredibly serendipitous.

Also of course everything about the pose, the dark clothes and the red hair just screamed Crowley to me.

[xenolinn]

He wants to show off his husband real quick.

[mizgnomer]

Interviewer: [Because there's a Doctor Who reference in Good Omens], does that mean David Tennant, the actor, exists in the Good Omens universe?

David Tennant and Michael Sheen discuss Doctor Who in the Good Omens Universe (and good Doctors)

Source [ comicbook.com ]

[buckleydiazmp4]

no but the thing is. they KISSED. on screen. it was a real scene, not deleted, not removed from a script, it HAPPENED in front of the world's eyes. and AND the actors are normal about it and the whole cast and crew is normal about it and it's not vague and it's IMPORTANT. no matter the rest of it and what came after it, it happened!!

[synesthete-sylke]

just let them rest in the third life afterlife

[ineffable-aaaaaaaaaa]

mooooooore ineffable wiiiiiives

[pommegrantaire]

well, heaven knows

that without you is how i disappear

[agentmilayawithshield]

A gift that keeps on giving!!!

[the-ineffable-dance]

Just a little reminder... this is the way Aziraphale looks on the way back into the bookshop at the beginning of the Final Fifteen.

The Metatrash has just told him to "Go and tell your friend the good news," and Aziraphale is headed back to convince Crowley to return to heaven to be an angel again.

That is not the face of a happy angel.

THIS is the face of a happy angel...

Or this one...

Especially this one...

No... what you have as he returns to the bookshop after whatever was said with the Metatron is not happy. That's the look of a man shaped being desperately coming up with a plan. Who knows that danger is staring straight at them, and suddenly he's in a perilous dance that he must do perfectly in order to protect Crowley.

He doesn't want to go back to Heaven. He has to.