#i love my divorced husbands

[multistanninglifestyle]

”I could still take you”

[bonniesbluee]

ex-husband!art who...

who... constantly brings you up in any interview, referring to you as 'his girl' but mostly 'my lady'. but he also says 'the mother of my kids'. which is true, but you know better, you know he says that just to make sure everyone knows who you are to him.

who... always visits you and your two little boys. with bug expensive toys for them, and for you? a generous amount of money and a weekly fuck session.

who... fucks you as if you both were still together. might as well be. from breathy 'i love yous' to 'my good girl', regardless of what it is, his touch is as rough and loving as it has always been.

who... almost tried baby trapping you, staying inside of you a little longer than usual before he backed up and pulled out. he knows better than to do that. but he also knows you'll eventually get pregnant with another baby from him. its just a matter of time.

who... takes you and your two little boys to all of his parties. but mostly you. his hand firmly wrapped around your hip as your arms stay wrapped around his neck. and yes he kisses your lips a few times, (more when you both wander to the restroom) but its not like you're both together again!

who... has ordered your boys to always protect you from any man that ever approaches you when he isnt there. it happened once; at the grocery store, a man saw you struggling to get the food on the top shelf, and he generously helped you! but to your sons? they started practically barking at him (incoherent little shouts of you being married). they only stopped when you threatened to take their ipad away.

who... always makes excuses to stay at his—your house whenever he drops the boys off. and when you're done tucking them in, he sneaks into your bed. and you dont even complain, he did buy everything from the house anyway. and you miss him, but you wont tell him that, yet.

who... insisted on enrolling the boys in a school that had tennis as a sport. he isnt too pushy about it, but he definitely wants his sons to learn tennis from a young age.

who... tells you how much he missed you whenever you're both alone in bed. your head on his chest, his hand on the back of your head and the other one rubbing your bare back. "when are you coming back, hm?" or "just get back with me," and while his tone is teasing and annoyingly confident, you know him well enough to recognize the hint of desperation in his voice. know him well enough to know how much he really needs you back in his life.

[musicawizard]

and I wouldn’t have it any other way <3

[duusheen]

It's wedding time!!! 💍

[bookshopbentley]

“ aziraphale chose heaven over cr — “ shut UPPPP shut the fuck up aziraphale chose heaven over his own happiness THATS how selfless he is and if i have to read that one more time i’m throwing a tantrum

[idontmindifuforgetme]

libraries were literally created for lonely little girls who would then go on to become lonely fully grown women btw

[miss-americanbi]

gay people can never say “i love you” it’s always some incoherent shit like “you idiot. we could’ve been… us”.

[lineffability]

"Crowley."

Crowley froze, every atom of his body coming to a complete standstill. Aziraphale had appeared out of nowhere, just like that, and he felt like a fly in a spider's web, like he had just run against a glass door that he could not have seen. Oh, this was cruel. He did not turn around.

"Don't even use doors anymore?" He tried to keep his voice level, cold, unaffected. He failed considerably, but the message got across anyways.

"I'm sorry," Aziraphale said, immediately flinching at the words. The first time they were seeing each other again, after-- after that, and his first words were I'm sorry and he was apologizing for not using a door? Aziraphale felt like swearing, but could not. "I thought you wouldn't open if I-- well. I thought this was easier. Like a bandaid."

"Well, you were right. I wouldn't have." Steel was creeping into Crowley's voice, steel around his heart. With a forcing of limbs, he spun around, his gaze piercing through the armor of his sunglasses. Facing him.

"I need your help" Aziraphale said.

"What," Crowley said. He had possibly never put as much meaning into a single word. The glass door turned into a Great Wall. Aziraphale understood. But he was willing to climb.

The angel (oh, a true angel now, wasn't he--not his angel) fumbled, talking with his hands before his mouth even opened. Talking with his eyes, too, but they got lost in translation. Repelled by a black mirror.

"I know this is untoward. I know it's-- But Crowley, I don't have a lot of time."

"Nothing lasts forever, yeah," Crowley spat, hating himself the second the words left his lips. Unnecessary cruelty. Demonic, huh? Worse yet, Aziraphale accepted the verbal lashing. Don't forgive me, Crowley thought.

Crowley looked at him. He was still wearing his suit, there was tartan in it, but it had become polished, the worn edges returned to pristine, boring perfection. He looked prim. Proper. Perhaps this hurt most of all.

"Why are you here?"

Aziraphale glanced upwards. Then he looked intently at Crowley. I don't have much time. Right. He couldn't speak freely, Crowley realized. Of course he couldn't. This was exactly what he had been afraid of, what he had known would happen. His angel in chains. (Yet here he was. Here he was.)

"They don't know I'm here," Aziraphale mumbled, gesticulating weakly between them and Up. "I guess I can divert their attention now, for a bit. Comes with the new powers"--he shrugged helplessly--"but not for long. Crowley, do you know about-- about the-- what they're--"

"Armageddon 2.0? Sure."

There was an undecipherable look in Aziraphale's eyes. "Why didn't you-- well. It's not just. I mean it kind of is--it's. More than that. Crowley, I need you to do something for me."

"No."

"This is important." (This isn't about us.)

"I don't care." (There is no us anymore.)

"You do! You always have."

"Oh not this again," Crowley hissed. "You were an angel once. You can be forgiven. Shut up."

"That's not what I meant."

With two long, angry strides, Crowley closed the space between them. Menace, anger, hurt-- "Then what did you mean?" He spat the words. Like a weapon. (Then why was it a question?)

Aziraphale's face crumbled. He stood his ground nonetheless, not backing away. The angel's anger was less spiky, but it rose to meet Crowley's. It made his next words hit like bricks. "I mean that you love. I mean that you, Crowley, are the best person I know. I mean that I love you."

The words dropped like a lead balloon.

There was utter silence between them.

Why were they so close?

Why were his sunglasses so dark? Aziraphale saw only his own reflection. He couldn't bear that, and dropped his gaze. Oh, worse. There was his mouth, mere inches away.

Aziraphale looked at Crowley's lips, really really looked, and there was nothing more, now that he knew about the feeling of Crowley's lips and of his heart, there was nothing more he wanted to do than to kiss him. But he couldn't, he couldn't. Not like this. He needed the next time (he had to believe in a next time, in a time with Crowley, again)--the next time they kissed he needed it to be good and happy and an affirmation. He couldn't bear it otherwise. He would break entirely. He was sure of it.

But still, still-- Crowley was so close. He could smell nothing but him. Think of nothing but him. That weakness again, that soft spot inside him he had never known how to hold down. And with it, Want reared its greedy head. Aziraphal leaned in ever so slightly, felt their noses touch-- and then used all his strength to move away, to pull back. It was not the right time. Not yet.

He looked past Crowley, who might have as well turned to a pillar of salt. Crowley, whose face was a mask he couldn't let slip. The air flickered between them.

There were tears in his eyes when he finally forced his gaze towards Crowley's face, a silent plead to not misunderstand. Please, please. But he couldn't expect that of him. He was pulling away again. But not because he wanted to. No, there was nothing he wanted more than to pull closer. There was nothing more he wanted than to talk to him, to truly talk, to explain and apologize and make amends, but he was bound by Duty and Rules and Watching Eyes more than he ever had been.

This was his rebellion: he lifted a hand, the ghost of a touch, fingertips against cheekbone. The memory of holding on. Of never wanting to let go. Crowley flinched without moving, a shiver of his lips. Aziraphale let his hand drop, briefly, to Crowley's chest, holding it over his human heart. It was beating just like his.

This was his successful magic trick, when it counted: he drew away, leaving a crack in Crowley's steel-clad heart, and a note in his chest pocket.

"I'm sorry. I need to go."

"Of course you do."

"Oh, Crowley. I--" But he did not finish the sentence, knew there was no proper way how. So he said, quietly, softly, "Trust me, please."

And he did. Crowley hated it, hated it so much, but he did, he did trust him despite it all. But it did not erase the hurt. The festering wound. Now what was he supposed to do with that?

With one last pointed look, Aziraphale vanished.

Crowley was alone.

His defenses lay shattered at his feet, and he slowly gathered them back up. He did not mend the cracks. (That's where the light had gotten in.) He cleared his throat. Tried to banish from his mind the look in Aziraphale's eyes, the memory of his lips and of his tears.

And failed considerably.

I love you.

(Touched his cheek, and then his chest, and faltered.)

[this fic is now also on ao3 and being continued there]

[linipik]

Good Omens S2 doodles

--Love like yours will surely come my way

[inheroes--wetrust]

iwtv s3 is going to be Peak Romance because its going to be all about the pining. which is. OBJECTIVELY. the best part of any relationship development. its going to be that one scene where lestat reaches for louis but he doesn't notice and leans forward times one billion.

every week i will be screaming at my tv for them to kiss. they will not do it. instead they will exchange loaded glances every fifteen seconds. lestat will slip up and call louis mon cher by accident and my head will quite literally explode. we will get a full episode of nothing but louis staring longingly at lestat on stage and yet every time lestat looks over louis is busy doing something else. one day louis will look at a random guy in exactly the wrong way at exactly the wrong time and lestat will snap and murder every single person louis has spoken to in the past month. louis will not make the connection and instead will ask daniel if he thinks that louis being around makes lestat revert back to a more volatile headspace and if he should leave. daniel will be able to escape to be psychosexually tortured by the most beautiful man on the planet but i will still be here, sitting in front of my screen, tearing my hair out because lestat and louis will say literally anything to each other besides i love you.

[adylote]

I love them. DE cooked so fucking well!

[sentientsky]

omg yeah i’d love to hang out! unfortunately these are my thinking about good omens hours! yeah all of them. mmhm every single hour. no breaks. for the foreseeable future. yeah.

[lezstat]

“i stand w my cancelled wife lestat/armand/etcetc” NO. WRONG. THE ONE TRUE CANCELLED WIFE HERE IS CLAUDIA !! AND MADELEINE IS STOOD THE FUCK UP. put some respect on her name !

[ronithesnail]

"you cant leave this bookshop" "nothing lasts forever" aziraphale already gave away multiple books just to dance with crowley sweetie he would give away the entire shop if it could maybe make you happy

[rumble-bee-art]

this apology dance better be at least two hours long and accompanied by full-sized symphony orchestra

[xxplastic-cubexx]

so like do you think they made the plastic wheelchair ALONGSIDE the plastic prison as a Just In Case situation, only after they realized charles was going to be a frequent visitor, or both as in because they knew charles was going to be the only person visiting him during planning they decided to make him a chair ahead of time