#husband in my head

[saydesole]

Happy Birthday Charles Michael Davis A.K.A

My Husband in my head 😂🖤🫶🏽

[daiwild]

Where did Muriel even find that book

[galaxyspeaking]

He’s filled his house with chintz. To keep it real I fuck him on the floor.

[thatskindarough]

Running to catch the train (Dec. 2023)

[hansoeii]

stuck in the rain.

[dantesmelancholicshitpost]

Imagine how hurtful it must have been for Crowley to see Gabriel, the person who literally took an active part in the process of traumatising the man he loves into the mindset that he cannot be happy and free, get a happy ending. To see the man, who was one of the reasons Aziraphale haven't even acknowledged their relationship for such a long time, because they were on "opposite sides". The man who was one of the reasons they couldn't be together, even as friends, for 6000 years. The man who wanted to execute Aziraphale with a smile on his face and "shut your stupid mouth and die already" as his "goodbye". Seeing this man getting what Crowley has always dreamt of: being able to run away with the person he loves, leave Heaven and Hell behind and just be together with his beloved - in Soho or on Alpha Centauri, literally wherever, because "Heaven is wherever Beelzebub is". Crowley seeing Gabriel get it so... so effortlessly, while he has worked for it so long, nearly died because of it and still haven't been able to get that, to get the happy ending and sever all the connections with Heaven and Hell. It must have hurt like hell (most literally).

[lotus-pear]

top 10 moments before disaster (dazai is about to step on his toes)

[izacore]

You remember Jane Austen? Yeah. I'm not gonna forget her in a hurry, am I? The brains behind the 1810 Clerkenwell Diamond Robbery. Brandy smuggler. Master spy. What a piece of work. She wrote books. Novels. Jane? Austen? Yes! Whoa, bit of a dark horse. Novels, eh? Yes. They were very good. Good Omens (2019-) || Pride and Prejudice (2005)

[yubriamakesart]

so i was discussing Aerith last night

[nariism]

neuvillette is aware that he shouldn’t have let you get so close. but he did, and now he’s lamenting the fact that your hands are grasping at his soft horns — his fucking horns, of all places — and he might like it.

uptight and strait-laced, you’ve never known the chief justice to be someone so easily flustered. yet here he is with heat crawling up his neck, so warm that you can feel it against your palms as they ghost over his skin.

you can’t help but laugh at his current situation.

he was vehemently against you coming anywhere near his hair at first, grumbling about how his horns were on the sensitive side and he would rather not have to go into work feeling uncomfortably aware of their presence on his head.

however, you were hard to deny with that little smile on your face and such soft hands grabbing at his arms, tugging him closer. a sweet voice chanting, "please, honey? pretty please?"

neuvillette has never been good at denying you what you want.

it’s how he ends up sitting at your shared vanity. you comb through his long hair, watching him with amusement in the mirror as he huffs and jolts with every brush of your fingers against his horns.

the fact that he was letting you get anywhere near them was surely a testament to his trust in you. he was completely vulnerable here, at your mercy.

“sorry,” you mumble disingenuously, clearly enjoying seeing your usually serious husband falling apart with a simple action. you quickly tie off the end of his hair with a bow and he sighs in relief, thinking that the torment is over.

it's far from over.

he draws a sharp breath when you lean forward and press two gentle kisses on him; one on either side of his head just beside his horns.

neuvillette glowers at you in the reflection, disapproval written all over his face. "stop that," he scolds.

you do, but only because you're worried he might melt into a puddle before your very eyes if you continue.

it becomes a daily routine after that, with him sitting patiently in front of the mirror while you brush and tie off his hair. and you always end it the same way: two kisses, a soft "have a good day at work," murmured against him, and a mischievous little smile that makes him sigh.

he responds everyday with the same two words. "stop that," with a narrow-eyed glare.

the day you do stop, he's confused and irritated.

not only because you have the audacity to throw a wrench into routine again, which you know he hates, but also because he can't figure out why he misses your lips so much.

"what are you doing? i am going to be late."

"hm?" you peer up lazily from your spot on the bed, still half asleep.

"you have to do my hair."

"i thought you didn't want me to, so i slept in today."

your husband is eerily silent for a moment as he mulls over your words. then, he carefully perches himself on the edge of the bed, back turned to you expectantly and still wordless.

no, he would never admit he likes it just a little bit — the vulnerability, the trust, the feeling of your hands threading through his hair, the intimacy of it. hell no.

but neuvillette doesn't have to say a lot of things for you to understand; not when the way his skin heats up says it all; not when you're the first person to touch his horns in centuries; not when he’s saying stop that with such an affectionate glimmer in his eyes.

you give him four kisses that morning, two on either side.

© ALABOADOA 2023 — please do not translate or post my works to other platforms.

[mrghostrat]

dust and light

i swear to somebody, the actual good omens parallels were a complete accident when i wrote this scene in BNF, where crowley is a writer in the agnes nutter fandom and aziraphale is his big bang partner. i've been on fire ever since i realised.

"The way you talked about the lighting in that last scene was just so striking— I really want to capture it somehow; find a way to paint the different layers of sunbeams and dust motes, just as you’ve written them.” Aziraphale’s grin caught himself quite off guard. “What are you planning?” Crowley shifted with an exaggerated, bashful shrug, but his grin remained steady on his face. “Not sure, just some kind of metaphor about the light and the warmth, probably. Maybe note some stark differences between the bookshop and a dusty room with no light, or a bright place with no dust. Each feeling equally inadequate compared to the shop, and that being… Er, I dunno, a reflection of their lives without one another in it, or something.”

[captainlion04]

somewhere in the world its still vi day

[owly-lumi]

I wanted to do this meme since I saw the S2 of Earthspark, but I had the inspiration after complaining about It with @sketchy-mf . so:

(ok time to going back to Ao3 reading Fanfiction pretending they're canon in my mind 🙂)

[an-established-butt-dent]

"What have they done to you,

Old friend."

Trapped in the fade, Solas comes face to face with the remnant of his spirit.

The Dread Wolf was his wisdom, mirror to his pride. In the wake of the wrathful Evanuris, it too, has succumbed to their taint.

Or, where I'm making wild plot speculations surrounding Solas trapped in the fade. while turning my brainrot into art pieces and gifs. I'M PACING MY ENCLOSURE. Looking for crumbs and scrabs of Veilguard. Please Bioware I'm begging, feed me. 😭

[fadedkat]

i feel so deranged

[j4y-k4y]

a quick pit stop