#husbandS with an S

[iluvchick3nz]

just anything fluffy and domestic pls I just wanna see our boys happy 🥹🥹

Every time I write "husbandS" my computer wants to correct it to "husbanD", which is SEVERLY homophobic, my goodness. Like, Finn has two husbands, okay, Microsoft? So do Leo and Logan. They're a package deal. Golly gee.

All credits to @lumosinlove !!

Finn turned his face into Logan's bicep and brushed his lips gently against the warm skin. Logan hummed into his hair and stroked his arm from where it was wrapped around him. The beach was peaceful in the late summer evening, only a few other people dotting the quiet Mediterranean seaside. They had spent all morning in Logan's maman's family home, Leo cooking an incredible lunch with some fresh vegetables and chicken from the market. The white wine had been sweet on Finn's tongue, then Logan's as they'd kissed while watching Leo bustle around the stove. A satiating morning had turned into a scorching afternoon, which Leo had happily declared called for a beach day. He had been so gorgeous and giddy as they'd set down their stuff on the sand, immediately running into the waves as soon as Finn had finished rubbing sunscreen on his back. Finn and Logan had followed, and Finn had taken every opportunity to toss his boys around in the ocean, for nothing else but to see their smiles and hear their beautiful, tinkly laughs.

Now, though, Finn was sleepy, snuggled against Logan on their beach blanket. It was warm with both of their body heat, but neither of them minded. Finn, in fact,  never wanted to be any further from Logan than this.

He opened a tired eye and lifted his head to glance at the ocean. The sunset was golden and orange, a sharp contrast to the bright blue water. If he squinted hard enough, though, he could distinguish a wheat-colored head bobbing out in the sea. He smiled and pinched Logan’s hip. Logan’s chest shifted under his head.

“Quoi?” Logan's voice was gravelly from disuse.

 

“Look. Out in the ocean.”

Finn felt Logan’s neck strain for a moment and then his chest shook with a laugh. “We are never getting him out of there, are we?”

“I know,” Finn said, shaking his head fondly. “He's like our own little water bug.”

“A very handsome water bug.”

“Oh, for sure, baby.” Finn sighed and snuggled further into Logan's chest. “I like it here.”

Logan smiled down at him. “Ouais?”

“Uh huh.” Another sigh. “It's very peaceful.”

“Mm.” Logan kissed his forehead. “You're so beautiful here. Le, too.”

Finn smiled into Logan's skin. “Yeah?”

“Ouais.” Logan made a content noise. “Si beaux.”

Finn closed his eyes once more, weighed down by the hot air and Logan's warm body. He felt calm, breathing even and measured. Logan would every now and then place a kiss on Finn's head or scratch his hand through Finn's hair. It was soothing, relaxing, a nice break from the constant chaos of the hockey season. It was easier, now that Logan was back in Gryffindor, but Finn still sometimes felt that they barely saw each other during the week. He felt so grateful for the almost three months of rest he could sing.

Finn didn't know how long he and Logan had been laying there, but after a time he felt the ground rumble slightly underneath him, and opened his eyes to find Leo staring down adoringly at them both. He smiled. “Hi, butter baby. Having fun?”

“Mm hm,” Leo said. He reached for a towel to dry himself off. “Good nap?”

“Ouais,” Logan replied. He patted the blanket on his other side. “Ici, soleil.”

“I'm gonna get you all wet, honey.”

“Non, lay your towel down on top of the blanket.” He looked up at Leo through his lashes, and Finn grinned into his skin. Logan's eyelashes were long and thick, and he got anything he wanted when he looked at them like that. “I want to snuggle.”

Leo sighed. “Only you want to snuggle when it's boiling outside.”

Finn shrugged. “You'll cool us down, sweetheart.”

“Allez,” Logan said insistently. “Leo.”

Leo shook his head fondly but walked around to the other side of them, laying his towel down carefully on top of the blanket. Finn felt the vibrations in Logan's body when Leo laid his head on his chest and reached across to gently rub Leo’s torso. He was tan, both of his husbands were, a bit softer now that they weren't in the playoffs. Finn liked to imagine a day when they were all a bit softer; they'd always be athletic and always be strong, but he dreamed of kissing their soft bellies as much as he currently loved to dig his teeth into their defined abs. He breathed heavily into Logan's chest and burrowed himself in closer. 

“Rouge?” Logan asked softly. “You okay?”

Finn nodded. “I just really love you.” He kissed Logan's warm skin. “I want to stay here forever.”

“That sounds good to me,” Leo agreed gently. He bumped his forehead against Finn's where they were both laying on Logan. “Hey, wanna get married again? Right here, right now?”

That made Logan and Finn laugh. “That sounds like something I would say, baby,” Finn said.

Leo shrugged, blue eyes bright and playful. “What can I say? You rubbed off on me.” He shifted to prop himself up on an elbow and turned slightly sideways, chin against Logan’s chest. “So, what do you think? Marry me again?”

Finn couldn't help the shameless grin that spread over his face. “Anytime you want, baby.”

“Oui,” Logan whispered. He wrapped an arm around Leo's shoulders to bring him into a kiss. He didn't let them separate, pressing their temples together with their eyes closed. “I'll marry you a thousand times, mon coeur. I'll marry you forever.”

They looked so beautiful in the sunset, all tucked together and close, that it stole Finn's breath. “I love forever,” he said. He leaned over to kiss each of them, now sprawled across Logan's chest. “I'll take all the forevers with you.”

Leo scrunched his nose around his grin. “That doesn't sound so bad.”

Finn snorted. “‘Not so bad’, he says.” He shifted to look at Leo directly, nose to nose. “I'll have you know that they call me Heartthrob O'Hara for a reason. I could have a line of suitors and I'd still choose you forever.”

“Non, no suitors,” Logan said grumpily, squeezing Finn around his waist. “Just us.”

Leo laughed and stroked Finn's hair back from his face. “You act as though you belong with anyone else but us.” He kissed Finn's nose. “You, Heartthrob O'Hara, are ours in every lifetime. No take-backs.” 

Finn knew he was smiling dopily, but he didn't really care. “All yours, lovers.”

“Maris.”

“Huh?”

“Husbands,” Leo translated. 

Finn's heart gave a brief jolt. “Yeah,” he said softly. “Husbands.” A giddy feeling spread up through his chest, and he pushed himself up on a forearm to kiss each of them hard, smiling the whole time. “You're my husbands.” He laughed. “Oh my God, you're my husbands.”

Logan and Leo laughed along with him, each with a hand on his back. Their laughter grew and grew until they were shaking with it, the French sunset disappearing on the horizon. Finn stood up in the dimming light and held both his hands out to them.

“C'mon,” he said. “I've got a date with two hot men and a bottle of wine.”

Logan and Leo placed a hand in each of his and stood, too, gathering their towels and blanket into the bags they brought. Finn looped his arm through Leo's and laced the fingers of his other hand with Logan's. Leo rolled his eyes playfully, claiming he was “pulling a Logan” by not carrying anything. Finn just kissed his cheek with a wink and told him he'd make it up to him later.

Together, Finn and his husbands walked up the road back to the Tremblay's house, shivering slightly in the cooling evening air. When they got to the front steps, Finn kissed them both lightly then held open the door. As they walked through, each pressing a hand to his waist in thanks, he had the same feeling he had on the dazzling French beach: calm, peaceful, and irrevocably in love. He smiled and closed the door behind them.

[thali-lemmonpie]

"There is a whole galaxy out there. Full of people who will reach for you. You have to let them. Find that person who seems farthest from you, and reach for them. Reach for them. Let them guide you."

[starberry-cupcake]

they just did all these little things to each other throughout decades and new versions need to get on this level of being weird with each other (affectionately)

[joycrispy]

One thing I love about Crowley --never stated, but consistently shown-- is that he is, at heart, an engineer.

I have a few different things to say about that. Let's unpack them.

As the Unnamed Angel, we see his designs for the Pillars of Creation are millions of pages long, comprised of cramped text, footnotes, diagrams, schematics, etc. It's very...Renaissance polymath, in the way it implies a particular intersection of artist and inventor.

Also: in the naked romanticism with which he views his stars.

We already knew he made stars, but in s2 we learn that he did NOT sculpt each of them by hand. He designed a nebula ("a star factory," he says) that will form several thousand young stars and proto-planets, and all --aside from getting the 'factory' running-- without him lifting a finger. We also learn that these young stars and proto-planets stand in contrast to those made by other angels, which are going to come 'pre-aged.'

...I'm reminded of Hastur and Ligur's approach to temptations. Damning one human soul at a time, devoting singular attention to it over the course of years or decades, and how that stands in contrast to Crowley's reliance on, quote, 'knock-on effects.'

Ligur: It's not exactly...craftsmanship. Crowley: Head office don't seem to mind. They love me down there.

Hm.

I'm also reminded of the M25.

The M25 may not be as grand as a nebula (sentences you only say in GOmens fandom...), but LIKE his nebula it's an intricate, self-sustaining engine that does Crowley's work for him, many times over. Again.

That's some pretty neat characterization --and so is the indication towards Crowley's disinterest in victimizing anyone tempting individual people. It takes a considerable amount of planning and effort (and creeping about in wellies), but in accordance with his design the M25 generates a constant stream of low-grade evil on a gigantic scale.

Cumulatively gigantic, that is. Individually? Negligible.

But no other demon understands human nature well enough to parse that one million ticked-off motorists are not, in any meaningful way, actually equivalent to one dictator, or one mass-murderer, or even one little influential regressive. That's the trick of it. Crowley gets Hell's approval (which he NEEDS to survive, and to maintain the degree of freedom he's eked out for himself), and at the same time ensures that any actual ~Evil Influence~ is spread nice and thin.

It's some clever machinery. And he knows it, too:

The Unnamed Angel and Crowley are both proud of their ideas.

(musings on professional pride, Leonardo da Vinci, the crank handle, and 'the point to which Crowley loves Aziraphale' under the cut)

In the 1970's Crowley gives a presentation on the M25, projector and all, to a room full of increasingly impatient demons. Maybe the presentation was work-ordered; the 'can I hear a WAHOO?' definitely wasn't.

Before the Beginning, the Unnamed Angel can barely contain his excitement about his nebula. Aziraphale manages a baffled-but-polite, "....That's nice... :)"

11 years ago, Hastur and Ligur want to 'tell the deeds of the day,' and Crowley smiles to himself because (according to the script-book) he knows he has 'the best one.'

(Naturally, his 'deed' has nothing to do with tempting anybody, and everything to do with setting up a human-powered Rube-Goldberg machine of petty annoyance. Oodles of 'Evil' generated; very little harm done.)

Hastur and Ligur don't get it, of course. That's also consistent.

Nobody ever knows what the hell he's talking about.

It didn't make it on-screen, but, in both the novel AND the script-book, Crowley was friends with Leonardo da Vinci. The quintessential Renaissance polymath. That's where he got his drawing of the Mona Lisa --they're getting very drunk together, and Crowley picks up the 'most beautiful' of the preliminary sketches. He wants to buy it. Leonardo agrees almost off-the-cuff, very casual, because they're friends, and because he has bigger fish to fry than haggling over a doodle:

He goes, "Now, explain this helicopter thingie again, will you?" Because he's an engineer, too.

(It is 1519 at the latest, in this scene. Why the FUCK would Crowley know about helicopters, and be able to explain them, comprehensively, to Leonardo da Vinci?

...Well. I choose to believe he got bored one day and worked it out. Look, if you know how to build a nebula, you can probably handle aerodynamics. And anyway, I think it's telling that this is his idea of shooting the shit. 'A drunken mind speaks a sober heart,' and all. He probably babbled about Aziraphale long enough to make poor Leo sick)

Apart from Aziraphale, Leonardo da Vinci is the only person Crowley has any keepsakes or mementos of.

Think about that, though. Aziraphale's bookshop is bursting with letters, paintings, busts, and personalized signatures memorializing all the humans he's known and befriended over 6000 years (indeed: Aziraphale has living human friends up and down Whickber Street. He's part of a community).

Crowley doesn't have any of that. It's just the stone albatross from the Church (for pining), the infamous gay sex statue (for spicy pining), the houseplants (for roleplaying his deepest trauma over and over, as one does), and this one piece of artwork, inscribed, "To my friend Anthony from your friend Leo da V."

To me, at least, that suggests a level of attachment that seems to be rare for Crowley.

...Maybe he liked having someone to talk shop with? Someone who was interested? Someone engaged enough to ask questions when they didn't immediately understand?

...Anyway.

There's also the matter of the crank handle.

This thing:

This is one of the subtler changes from the book. In the book, Crowley knows Satan is coming and, desperate, arms himself with a tire iron. It's the best he can do. He's not Aziraphale; he wasn't made to wield a flaming sword.

The show, IMO, improves on this considerably. Now he, like Aziraphale, gets to face annihilation with what he was made for in his hand. And it's not a weapon, not even an improvised one like the tire iron.

He made stars with it.

[both gifs by @fuckyeahgoodomens]

If you Google 'crank handle,' you'll get variations on this:

Crank handles have been around for centuries. Consisting of a mechanical arm that's connected to a perpendicular rotating shaft, they are designed to convert circular motion into rotary or reciprocating motion.

Which is to say they're one of the 'simple machines,' like a lever or a pulley; the bread and butter of engineering. You'll also get a list of uses for a crank handle, archaic and modern. Among them: cranking up the engine of an old-fashioned car... say, a 1933 Bentley. That's what Crowley has been using his for, lately. But he's had it since he was an angel and he's still, it seems, very capable of it's angelic applications.

Stopping time. For instance.

(This is conjecture on my part, but, I like to imagine that Crowley has the ability to stop time for the same reason I can --and should-- unplug my computer before I perform maintenance on it. Time and Space are a matched set, after all, and in his designs in particular, one feeds into the other.)

I know everyone has already said this, but: I REALLY LIKE that when he needs to channel the heights of his power, he does so not with a weapon but with a tool. Practically with a little handheld metaphor for ingenuity. One from long-lost days when he made beautiful things.

(And he loved it. Still loves it --he incorporated that metaphor into the Bentley, didn't he?)

Let Aziraphale rock up to the apocalypse with a weapon: he has his own compelling thematic reasons to do exactly that. Crowley's story is different, and fighting isn't the only way to express defiance. And if you've been condemned as a demon and assumed to be destructive by your very nature, what better way than this?

He made stars. They didn't manage to take that from him.

Neither Crowley nor Aziraphale are fighters, really --they have no intention of fighting in any war. They'll annoy everyone until there's no war to fight in, for a start. But between the two, if one must be, then that one is Aziraphale. Principality of the Earth, Guardian of the Eastern Gate, Wielder of the Flaming Sword... all that stuff. Even if he'd prefer not to, it's very clear that Aziraphale can rise to the occasion, if he must.

Crowley was never that kind of angel. He wasn't a Principality. He doesn't have a sword.

...And yet.

It's Crowley who protects. He's the one who paces, who stands guard, who circles Aziraphale and glares out at the world, just daring anyone else to come near.

In light of everything else I've said here, I think that's interesting.

Obviously part of it is that Aziraphale enjoys it and, you know, good for him. He's living his best life, no doubt no doubt no doubt. But what about Crowley? What's driving that behavior, really?

Have you heard the phrase, 'loved to the point of invention'? Well, what if 'the point of invention' was where you started? What if where you end up involves glaring out at the world, just daring anyone else to come near? What is that, in relation to the bright-eyed thing you used to be?

What do we name the point to which Crowley loves Aziraphale?

...Thinking about how an excitable angel with three million pages of star design he wants to tell you all about...becomes a guard dog. Is all.

[the-phantom-peach]

what if… what if you drew malon x link…

eats art (positive)

Hell yeah!! I love 🔥💥Malink!!!! 🔥🔥💥

[foolondahill17]

[eldar-of-zemlya]

Vulcans take everything seriously. Especially looking good for a date with their Captain.

[onedamnminuteadmiral]

If Jim and Spock ever got together and tried to hide their relationship, one of two things would happen:

1. The secret would get out almost immediately (someone catches them staring at each other with heart eyes and that's it. Over. Donezo.)

Or

2. Because they are ALWAYS staring at each other with heart eyes, no one would be able to detect a change in their relationship, and the secret would be safe forever. ("They're just like that," someone will say.)

[bloomeng]

playing a little dress up (or at least Crowley is bc let’s be realistic Aziraphale probably wore the exact same thing for a century)

[avid-mreower]

rewatched search for spock recently

[thali-lemmonpie]

❤ HAPPY SPIRK DAY ❤

Jim can take him... not in a fight tho

[lonicera-caprifolium]

getting ready for a night out 💫

(with an alternate version for #IneffableFamFeb)

[lifebloodblue]

When Spock says “I have been and always shall be yours” it immediately cuts to the next scene so that totally means he and Jim kissed right after he said it. When the cameras weren’t rolling if you will.

[tchabretz]

closer…

[themostimportantnight]

New year, new me(dia that I’ve come to enjoy) 🏳️‍🌈🏳️‍🌈🏳️‍🌈 (+ some doodles under the cut)

[stellasdrafts]

DI!Leon, who walks into the groom suite on your wedding day, intending to get ready for the ceremony when he spots an elegant photo album, trimmed with white lace placed neatly at the end of the bed. He comes closer and notices a small card with your loving handwriting: For my loving husband-to-be <3

DI!Leon, whose breath catches in his throat when he opens it, the pages littered with sultry photos of you, wearing not nearly enough clothing. You, his graceful younger bride, whom he still feels guilty for marrying. You deserve so much better.

DI!Leon, who feels his pants tighten as he continues to flip through the album. He touches the carefully glued trims and cute fake flowers and gems. Even with his growing erection lusty haze, he notices how the decorations on the pages ooze with your touch.

DI!Leon, who feels his chest constrict and his face grow hot as his eyes trail guilty over your form, taking in the myriad of different poses and sets of lingerie. One of you draped over a motorcycle, which makes him chuckle fondly as you were evidently toying with his newfound affinity for bikes. Another of you in his favourite set – a lacy dark blue one that you had picked out together early enough in your relationship but still had that magic touch to make him tick. It didn’t take much for you and Leon.

DI!Leon, whose mind can’t help but wander to your previous escapades. To how he’s sure his heart will give out every time you do the honour of bedding him. He isn’t as young as he used to be, after all. Despite that, he always gives you his all, his adoration—nothing less for his pretty girl.

DI!Leon, who lets himself get sappy on your wedding day. Who finds himself thinking he’d go through the hell that is his professional life all over again if it meant meeting you at the same time, in the same place that he did… Who doesn’t think twice about what could have been because he has you now. You saved him—his angel.

DI!Leon, whose hand trembles as he flips to the last page, containing a loving note and a sample of delicate white lace… The lingerie you’d be wearing tonight, he realizes with a groan.

DI!Leon, who can’t help but lie on the plush bed and unzip his pants, boudoir album in hand. After all, he can’t walk up in front of your friends and family with a hard-on, can he? Poor baby.

DI!Leon, who bites down on his ring finger as he finally cums, thinking about the wedding band that will soon take its rightful place there, binding you to him for the rest of his life. <3

DI!Leon who stares, awestruck, at the ink making up his soon-to-be-wife, always so beautiful…

Author’s note: can you tell i’m a whore for death island leon? bring back male yearning