#might continue !!

[hopelessromantic5]

King Arthur happens to be traveling through Ealdor the exact day the citizens decide they’ve had enough of Merlin.

Labeling him too dangerous, they tied him up on the pyre in the center of town.

As long as Merlin had been alive, he’d never seen this pyre lit.

He would’ve just gotten himself out of this situation with his ‘gifts’ if it weren’t for his poor mother.

The villagers would never let her live in peace if he magically disappeared.

No, this was the only way she could go on living, even with a broken heart.

He didn’t fight. He didn’t really hear much of what they spit at him. But he could hear his mother wailing at him, to save himself, to do whatever he must do.

He’d resigned himself to an early death.

Tom, the town representative, started spewing some righteous words at him. New Religion words that didn’t quite make sense to him, but that’s to be expected. He is, himself, a creature of the old religion, if prophecy is to be trusted.

“Do you have anything to say for yourself, serpent?”

Merlin opened his mouth to tell his mother that he loved her, but he stopped short.

In the distance, he could hear a sound.

The beating of hooves on hard, cold dirt.

Visitors were approaching.

It must be fate, he thinks.

As the horses drew closer, the villagers slowly turned their attentions away from him.

Merlin simply hung his head, letting the Earth he loved so dearly decide which way his life would swing.

“What is the meaning of this?”

A calm, steady voice came from behind him. Deep and concerned. Merlin wished he could see the man.

“My lord,” Tom bowed, as well as he could, which was strange.

Upon realization, Merlin’s eyes nearly bugged out of his head, were these visitors noble? They never had nobility stay long enough to make comments on anything, only ever just passing through.

“I asked you a question.” The voice said again, with all the authority of someone who’s used to using it.

“This man is a sorcerer, sire. We were just-“

“What has he done?”

“Sire?”

“What has this man done to call for these extreme measures?” When no one answered him immediately, he rephrased.

“Surely there must’ve been a crime committed?” As if it’s a question.

Merlin’s mother pulled herself out of shock and brought herself forth.

“He did nothing, sire.” She spoke firm and unmoving. She must’ve seen hope in this man that Merlin had yet to lay eyes on. “He’s only ever used it for healing wounds and helping our gardens in the winter. Please have mercy on him, my lord. He is my only son.” Tears started falling as her voice broke. She finally met Merlin’s eyes again and he smiled at her, weakly.

“So this man-“

“Sorcerer.” Corrected Tom. What a dick.

“This man, did nothing but heal you and help you survive and this is how you repay him?”

Again no answer.

The man seemed to gesture at Tom, walking towards the town elder, and bringing him finally into Merlin’s line of sight.

The doomed boy nearly gasped.

Silver and red bled together in the sun, armor and finery melded like roses in white sand.

The man-the lord…the knight? He had golden blonde hair, that shone like it’s own light.

Blue eyes made even more obvious and striking surrounded by unblemished, sun-kissed skin.

“You seem to be leading the horde. Tell me why?” No, answer. “Cut him down.” A command. The stranger’s face was a hard, blank line.

Funny how, even then, he didn’t feel like a stranger. But Merlin was in no state to remember it.

“My lord, I do not think that would be wise. Your father was the one to wage war on magic-“

“I am not my father. Cut him down.”

Merlin swallowed. Uther Pendragon was the only person in his mind that waged the war on magic, that began the purge. Which means this man could only be his son, Prince Arthur.

What a prince he was.

Well, King, now.

No wonder every person in the vicinity practically dropped to their knees upon his arrival. They’d all heard stories of ‘The Just King’ that now reigned over Camelot. Giving whatever he could to his citizens that needed it most, never turning anyone away who seeks shelter. Merlin had heard the same as everyone else. Seeing the King in person now, he was in awe.

“I will not endanger the lives of all who live here.” Tom turns back to Merlin with the lit torch.

Merlin held his breath, but the second Tom turned away from him, the King pulled his sword. It made the loveliest sound as it left the sheath.

The sound of salvation.

Tom had the tip of a majestic blade directed right at his throat, as the King spoke again.

“I said, cut him down.”

The look on the King’s face was one that could kill.

Merlin wondered momentarily why he cared so much.

Finally someone from the crowd stepped forward with a knife and began to cut away Merlin’s ties.

Hunith leapt forward and engulfed her son in a hug, while also somewhat holding his body upright.

He did not want to let go, considering he thought he would never get to hug his mother again. But the entire village was watching them.

As was-

“What is your name?”

It was phrased as a question but spoken like a command. Merlin knew it was directed at him without opening his eyes.

He did, reluctantly, release his mother and turn to the golden King, facing deep blue eyes head on. Never cowering.

“Merlin.”

The King must’ve seen something in him. Something every other person was blind to or chose to ignore, simply because he was a peasant. He took a step closer and Merlin could hear the tiny tink of metal pieces on his shining armor, as he did so.

“Well, Merlin.” He said, as if trying it out for himself. “Seeing as I’ve just given you your life, I’d like to ask a favor.”

Merlin’s curiosity was peaked, to say the least. King’s didn’t ask favors, they took whatever they wanted.

King Arthur did not wait for a reply to continue.

“I’m in need of assistance. And I could use someone with a gift like yours, specifically.”

Merlin narrowed his eyes in minuscule doubt. Doubt of intentions, doubt of his safety.

The King somehow knowing his exact thoughts said

“Of course you would be permitted to come back when you are needed. And when I have accomplished my goal, if you wish, you can leave. I will not keep anyone against their will. I am simply offering.” A small smile played on his mouth. Flush pink lips. He also held up his hands as if to say ‘I will not harm you’.

Merlin’s gut told him to follow this man.

Terrifyingly, his intuition told him to follow this man, practically a stranger, anywhere. Everywhere.

Merlin felt a pull he’s never felt before. In the moment, he assumed it was immense gratitude for saving his life.

Merlin turned to meet his mothers eyes, he already knew what she was going to tell him.

“I think it will be good for you. To get out for a while.” She smiles softly.

“Will you be alright?” He whispered, glancing at the crowd still gathered around an unlit pyre.

“I’ll be fine.” She grabbed him in a bear hug, like she always did. “And if they boot me out, I’ll come find you.”

Merlin sighed into her shoulder.

“Alright.”

When Merlin turned back, the King had turned his eyes to the ground, giving mother and son a moment of privacy.

Merlin was starting to warm to him already.

“Can I pack first?”

King Arthur met his gaze then, doing that half smile thing, again.

“I suppose.” He nodded. “But don’t dawdle we need to move if we want to make it back before sundown.”

“Yes, sire.” The title which usually held reverence and respect, was laced with sarcasm. He didn’t seem to think twice, as he strode away towards their hut to gather his things.

If Merlin had looked back, he would’ve found a fully beaming King looking after him and about six knights with faces of complete shock.

And perhaps, one knowing mother.

[rosescrimson]

"You won't last ten seconds Satoru."

"bet."

tags: sub gojo x amab reader, sensitive gojo, nipple play, making-out, grinding, we glaze gojo sm

In a fleeting moment, you straddle him, and you lean in to kiss him; his and your saliva mixing, your tongues fighting for dominance, your hands run through his hair, slightly tugging it forward. Satoru pulls away first, absolutely breathless as he looks at you with glistening eyes, eyes that is filled with lust and desire.

You lean in again, this time you make a move on his neck, gently nibbling and sucking on his porcelain skin, "a–ah–!" and oh fuck. He's sensitive, really sensitive — makes sense since he has Infinity active all the time, you grin. You continue your assault on his neck, he's a whimpering mess, he sounds lewd like from an actual porn, he sounds heavenly.

Your free hands settle on his chest, eventually trailing up to gently pinch on his hardened buds, "hngh–!" Satoru moaned, he has the body of a slut. When you've made about three hickeys on his neck, you pull away to look at him, he looks like a mess, so fucked out from just a few kisses — and hickeys at that.

You lean in to pull him into another kiss, open and languid while your free hands ride his shirt up, up, you pull away from his lips, you move down to pop his left nipple in your mouth, you gently bite on it, "f-fuck! h-holy s-shit!" He squirms — and you hiss at his reaction, his voice is turning you on so bad you might just cum from listening to him moan and whimper, your cock angry red and twitching in your pants, you won't be able to last another minute. You buck your hips, yours and his crotch grind against each other, both of you needed that delicious friction, "o-oh g-god!" He throws his head back, tears start to pool in his eyes — he looks and sounds so fucking sexy, it's so unfair, you're gonna—

"S-Satoru, you can be a little q-quieter!" You look down to see your cum seeping through the cloth of your pants, you came from hearing him moan. "h-huh?" too dazed out to register anything, he exhales and he looks down, and he almost laughs he scoffs, "y-you came? how? already?!" you scowl at his smug expression, suddenly feeling the urge to strangle him, not really, "Have you heard of yourself!? You sound like a damn pornstar.. I.." He giggles, finding it quiet amusing. "Looks like you're the one who didn't last ten seconds." You scowl, feeling your cock go flaccid, that's a lie, "I'm going to get rid of that smirk on your face."

fin ★

[chocolate-crab]

Smiling. He was smiling. Covered in someone elses blood. Bodies all around him. Death all around him.

It was a strange sight, unfamiliar and eerie. Placing a shaking hand over her mouth to keep her from screaming, she felt the fear creep up on her, and she started to slowly and quietly back away from the horrific scene.

"Don't bother, sweetheart. I already know you're there~"

His voice.. It wasn't his. It was wrong. Everything was wrong. As he turned to face her; eyes feral, smirk distorted - hands still dripping with fresh blood, his usually white robe stained, fear took over, and she ran.

A loud, violent, hysterical, disgusting, laugh filled the otherwise silent night around her, and she couldn't stop the tears from flowing. That man.. that thing, it wasn't him. It couldn't have been him.. He would never..

A flash of white in front of her, then blurry darkness as she fell to the ground from the hard hit.

"Consider yourself lucky. He likes you, and I don't know what he'd do if I hurt you too bad.."

She groaned, struggling to get up, panic increasing as she groggily noticed him squat down to her level; wet, cold and sticky hand grabbing her face, oddly soft. His thumb stroked her cheek, and when they reached her lips, she could hear him growl. Or was it a purr?

"Still, I don't get this chance very often."

The pain in her head throbbed, adrenaline the only thing keeping her awake.

"Please... don't..."

His words making her blood freeze, that tongue ring klicking against his teeth as he licked his lips hungrily.

"Might as well make the most of it.."

Her body finally gave out, slipping into unconciousness.

His laugh was an animalistic screech.

Inside, Shinji was frantically begging him to stop. He wouldn't.

[yourbuerokrat2]

Guinans nightmare

She was alone in Ten Forward. Not because no one board had need of her guidance or want for her drinks but because she had closed it.

An all too human sigh, a testament to how used she had become to the company and the habits of one of her favorite species, escaped her lips as she passed by the empty chairs and tables.

Standing before the glass that separated her from the universe she realized that she did not feel alone.

She felt lonely. A rare sensation for her since she started her job as the bartender that was usually reserved for the times she remembered her former spouses or when she contemplated the fate of her own kind.

Today or perhaps better to say tonight her feeling of emptiness was caused by the absence of someone she considered very dear.

Of course, there were rumors going around as to what was the cause of the Captains disappearance. The hopeful ones were speaking of stories of some kind of secret solo mission, others spoke of the captain being lost in time and space but surely on his way to find a way back and some scared voice even brought up the Borg.

Rarely anyone however had spoken of the most obvious reason: Q.

Well, that was not entirely true.

Q was actually brought up first, when the Captain was at first no longer found anywhere on the ship. Probably forced to participate in some game of Qs or maybe the captain would appear in less than an hour and tell them about the latest Trial he had been forced to go through.

The longer the Captains absence went on the lesser Qs name was uttered and the more other explanations were sought out.

It has now been two months and Riker was now officially appointed Captain until Picard would be back as everyone on the senior crew insisted.

"Bring him back." she tried project her thoughts, her anger and to bait and satisfy the entity enough to pay attention to her demands even her fear out into the vastness of space.

"He is not yours. No matter what you try to convince yourself of.

So bring him back."

She allowed a hint of desperation in her message.

And after a short while as she hoped, demanded and cursed, she recieved an answer.

"No."

[helpbutton95]

Falling.

The plummet of your stomach as you fall.

The feeling when you're brain is still awake but you're body is asleep.

That was what it felt like.

The shimmering of the portal as she passed through was practically imperceptible as she watched with acceptance. The tears welled in her eyes, threatening to fall. To show her true emotions behind a carefully sculpted mask Ava had chipped away at for nearly two years. She didn't need to hear the words back, she knew. Ava liked to think she had always known, deep down. Although six months travelling across Europe together, sleeping in the same bed. It was something else.

She was still falling.

Falling so hard it made her heart stutter.

The weightlessness.

The thought of her heart slipping into her throat in a pounding, blinding realisation.

It's like she's drowning in it. Water filling her lungs as she struggled to breath.

Then she's gasping. Her eyes blinking open.

She's dead.

Ava Silva finally died.

She was in heaven.

No.

The other realm.

The one they thought was heaven but wasn't.

Reya's realm.

There was a faint whooshing above her. Familiar yet distant.

Ava squeezed her eyes, she wasn't ready to not see Beatrice stood on the other side of that portal. To not see her again.

There was movement and Ava felt her heart pulse in her chest. She was going to have to face the reality of her situation sooner rather than later.

She opened her eyes and was met with white. No, a white ceiling. A turning fan. Her stomach plummeted. Orphanage. She tried to feel her toes and felt relief wash over her as cotton sheets rubbed her calves.

Bed.

She was in a bed and she could feel her feet and legs. Not the orphanage.

"Are you planning to sleep all day again?"

An familiar yet oddly distant voice came through. Sharp and piercing. An amused tone of an English accent, that she doesn't know exactly where from. Related to the queen, she had joked on their first and last drunken night together.

Beatrice.

As quickly as she sits up, the nausea swells in her stomach.

Ava swallowed away. Beatrice was here. Ava had survived, she was back, Bea had saved her. Just as she had saved her so many times before.

But as Ava's vision clears, something's not right.

Beatrice is still Beatrice. Soft long brown hair, in a loose braid down her back. Thought filled brown eyes, occupied on removing her jacket, a hoodie, Ava distantly recognises.

No, what isn't right is Beatrice's face. Not that anything is ever wrong with Bea's face, absolutely not, it's- well- it's perfect but it's different. Older. Her jaw is more angular, her posture far more relaxed than Ava has ever seen it. In fact, she was certain, Bea couldn't relax that much. Her hips are slightly more filled out, and she's just different.

Was the cat's cradle doubling as a time machine? No, don't be ridiculous. Beatrice's voice echoes in her mind. Think logically.

She was in a dream? Surely, it must be a hallucination. Or maybe that's what death was like? Stuck in her ideal dream.

But this felt real. The way her hands ran over the soft sheets beneath her, the smell of Beatrice's perfume that she had become so accustomed to smelling when they were in the Alps. Ava looked down, she's not naked, but she's not exactly well clothed. In a bra and boxer briefs she pulled the sheets closer to her chest as the other hand ran through her chopped locks. Still just below her ear, ok that was the same.

But in her underwear in front of Bea? She's surprised the nun hadn't had a scowl on her face.

Maybe they were back in hiding? incognito had no place for habits after all. Ava spared a glance up at Bae who was now untying the braid, a soft hum spilling from her that made Ava far more relaxed than she would have liked.

God, what was happening?

"Are you alright?" Beatrice asked, her eyes finding Ava's in the mirror. Ava felt pinned. God, she was still way too good at being an interrogator.

Play it cool.

"Uh, yup, just you know, waking up and getting ready to will myself for the day," Ava grinned as she stood from the bed. She needed to test Bea's reaction.

Beatrice narrowed her eyes at her response. The same eyes unashamedly looked over Ava's body for a second, a split one, but Ava caught it before darting back to her face.

"Are you sure?"

"Yup, just peachy, you know me, just like lying in bed, lounging some may say," Ava laughed, finding flannel pyjama bottoms on the floor. She tugged them up her legs and paused as her eyes caught her hip. Scars. She didn't have scars. The halo made sure of it.

Ava ran her thumb over the ridged skin, soft and uncomfortable to touch. She gasped at the feeling.

"Are your scars bothering you? I can get the salve from Dr Salvius," Beatrice was quick to stand, ready for action and it made Ava take a step back.

"No," she protested. Beatrice seemed to reel from her haste. "No, I'm- uh fine, just fine. I'll be fine, I just need to get ready."

Ava trailed off, her mind couldn't keep up and she felt like she might puke. She had scars. Beatrice was older.

Time machine was beginning to look more and more plausible.

"So, you're fine?" Ava's eyes snapped back to Beatrice's. Her tone was teasing but her eyes were far more analytical than Ava remembered them being on her.

"Yeah, totally," Ava dismissed with a grin.

Where the hell was she?

               ------------------------------------------------------------------------

In a darkened room.

A small window lets the setting sun filter in.

On a bench lies a woman.

A woman that is all too familiar to the observer.

Her hands battered and bruised. Her body still bloody.

Footsteps pull the watcher's eyes from the young woman.

The arrival waits. Silent and awaiting instruction.

"Send an urgent message."

"What shall I say?"

There's a silence. A pondering.

"Tell her the Warrior Nun has returned."

[s1lver-bullet]

Not Quite Home. (Drabble, Planeswalker Jowi)

Jowi arrived home, finally returning to… his house in America? Weird. He hadn’t been trying to come here, so why did he end up here, and not in Japan, where he’d been trying to land? Even for the Infinite Refraction surrounding Gaia, this was unusual. He’d always been able to land where he had chosen on his planeswalks before. Did he maybe get sent off course by overlapping timelines? Only a problem going to his home plane, he figured. But now that he was here, he could just walk again, and go to Japan, right?

He walked around the house as he thought, looking at pictures on the walls, noting that they were still of his family, so he hadn’t ended up in someone else’s house. But, oddly… there seemed to be only pictures of him as a child. And a lot of pictures of his parents with a girl he’d never seen before.

“Well, I’ve definitely never seen her before…” he mumbled, picking up one of the picture frames, flipping it over, trying to check the date on it, if any, only to be interrupted by the lights flicking on, and a familiar voice speaking up behind him.

“Who are you… and what’re you doing in my house?”

Jowi turned to face the source of the voice, raising an eyebrow. It was clear to him now, that he’d accidentally planeswalked to the wrong Earth. His eyes settled on the figure of his mother, older, certainly, but still very clearly his mother.

“…Mom?” He asked, too stunned to think of a proper excuse, before processing that she had asked who he was, getting cut off before he could say anything else,

“You’re not my son, he’s dead. Just because you might look a little bit like him doesn’t mean you’re gonna trick me! It’s in bad fuckin’ taste to pretend to be a dead kid.”

“Dead…?” He asked, putting the picture down, “How did I…”

Dumb question. If she was here, and he wasn’t… there was an obvious answer to what happened.

“The fire… I died instead of you…” he whispered, only barely having enough time to raise his arms in defense, as the girl from the photos came from upstairs, and threw a mighty kick

Even if he did block it, the impact was heavy, sending him tumbling out of the room, and through the front of the house, rolling to a stop in the street, quickly rising to his feet, and preparing for another attack. The girl continued her assault, and came running out, wearing simple pajama pants and a top, continuing to attack the perceived intruder.

“Athena, wait!” Alayara called, as Jowi fended off her blows. The girl was good. As good as he was at her age, and probably as strong. But she was still just a teenager, battling against a hardened Planeswalker. And she was using all of Jowi’s own moves. The Tycho Style he knew all-too well.

“I won’t let you just break in, and torment my mom! I don’t know or care how you got in, or why you’d pretend to be Jowi, but-“

The elder Tycho cut her off, stepping past one of her punches, and finally counterattacking, his fist meeting her gut, and sending her tumbling down the street. She tried to get up, but winced in pain, having never been hit by someone her own strength, she’d never actually taken much damage.

“Nobody ever just listens… I am Jowi… but not the one mom would know… I’m just in the wrong world…”

Alyara raced out from the house, carrying with her, a pistol, and pointed it at Jowi, “Stay away from my daughter. I don’t know what you want, but you picked the wrong house to-“

“I wanted to direct movies!” Jowi shouted, cutting her off, “Horror movies! Because me and Karla always watched them when you weren’t home even though you told us not to! Mom… it’s me, Jowi… just not your Jowi. I’m… from another Earth. In the fire, on my birthday… you died to save me. I guess, here… I died instead.”

Athena, finally managing to shake off the blow from earlier, began to stand up, “What a load of bull! Like anyone’s gonna believe…”

She trailed off, as her attention turned to her mother, tears beginning to stream down her cheeks, as she dropped her gun,

“Do you… what did I get you for your birthday?”

Jowi sighed, reaching into his jacket, and pulling out a small locket, partially melted, “A picture of you and dad inside it… doesn’t open anymore… melted shut in the fire. It’s… all I have left of you in my world.”

Alyara took a few steps closer to Jowi, reaching out, and gently touching the side of his face,

“Your eyes… show me. And I’ll believe you. You can’t fake those eyes.”

Jowi nodded, closing his eyes, and opening them again after a few seconds, glowing a sim crimson red in the night, before his mother finally embraced him,

“My baby boy… all grown up… and I wasn’t there?”

Jowi, finally relaxing, for what felt like the first time in years, hugged his mother back,

“Just… just me, dad and Karla. I didn’t… I didn’t mean to come here… to dig up those memories of your son… I was just trying to go home. Being here… was an accident.”

Alyara just hugged her son tighter, continuing to cry into his chest, not wanting to let go of her son a second time, as Athena stumbled over,

“So… you’re my big brother, huh…? Emphasis on big, you’re almost as tall as dad.”

“I guess? I don’t… I don’t really know you, uh… Athena. But you’ve got good form. You keep your feet a little too close together though.”

She scoffed, punching him in the arm, and heading back to the house, “Come on. I’m tired, let’s just… get back in the house, and worry about all of this tomorrow. I don’t know how you got here, but if you leave and make mom cry again… I’ll kick your ass. Don’t care how I have to find you.”

“I guess… I guess I can stay for a day…”

((End Part One))

[everchased]

hahahahaaaa get safe and cared for, idiot

[concise-cyan]

hmm me realizing how beautiful kyle maclachlan is - maybe I should watch more episodes of twin peaks

[puppyeared]

renaissance dogys

characters belong to @canisalbus

[novaneondream]

it’s our turn to make you smile

[egophiliac]

Welp, after 4 long years, Dorm Riddle is no longer the card with the highest ATK stat in the game.

for legal reasons, we must remind you that this is only a simulation for the sake of practical experience, and also, you all signed the waivers

[chloesimaginationthings]

FNAF movie Mike learns more about Michael’s childhood..

[wordsinhaled]

i’m so totally normal about the fact that aziraphale’s last (known) deliberate foray into the queer community was when he learned the gavotte at the fictionalized hundred guineas club (!!!) in the 1800s and now in the 2020s he’s like “grindr? what’s that?”

many are talking about his repression which is very valid… and yet the thing to me that stands out about aziraphale is that he’s actually… incredibly stable in his identity and that identity IS incredibly queer. queer by the standards of heaven AND by human standards as well

metatron describes his “de facto partnership” with crowley as “irregular.” and in fact aziraphale in his entirety is irregular. he likes and makes it his business not only to understand but to be a connoisseur of all manner of things angels aren’t supposed to even remotely care about. food. music. books. theatre. sleight of hand. and more.

it’s the sort of behavior that would’ve gotten him othered, treated as a bit odd, in heaven even if he hadn’t chosen to consort all across the earth with a literal demon. and it IS treated that way - the fact is aziraphale even as an angel has got proclivities that set him apart from the rest of the host (even after offering him the highest position in heaven, metatron still acts deeply dismissive of him… like aziraphale’s bookshop is merely a quaint little hobby of his that can be easily transferred to another custodian, and not a literal extension of who aziraphale has become, full of his tartan and unique bibles and special vintages of wine and the books arranged in a very specific way)

so. aziraphale is a queer angel but of course he’s also queer to other humans. but in such a way that… he had his realization a LONG time ago, and put the matter very much to rest after that. aziraphale is perpetually something like several centuries behind schedule. he owns an ancient computer that probably continues to run windows 98 simply because aziraphale’s decided it should. he wears the same waistcoat and coat for generations because he simply likes them precisely the way they are and sees no reason to change them. but the idea that he doesn’t know how he comes across to others - of course he does. he knows he looks like your prim and proper grandfather and he prefers it that way

aziraphale looked around at humans in the 1880s and said: ah yes. this is where i fit. and promptly ensconced himself in that queer subculture. learned the gavotte. read his austen. loved crowley from afar. aziraphale is fiercely and vibrantly queer. just with the sort of assurance of someone who lives with his lover in a commonlaw marriage for decades and then shows up at city hall for the certificate once society decides it’s ‘allowed.’ like… he hasn’t had any need to know what grindr is because aziraphale’s ‘scene’ was a century and a half ago and it defined romance for him too.

but my favorite thing about aziraphale is how much of him is about appearances versus the truth. he can lie straight to angels’ faces and sleep at night. he knows he comes off soft but he once wielded a flaming sword. he dissembles helplessness but he’s far from it and he knows precisely how it makes others treat him. and at the core of aziraphale is rigidity, inflexibility of ideas… his sense of self is stable where crowley’s is malleable, and so on, and so on

and the fact that he’s continuously fixated on trying to misguidedly do the right thing, the fact that he seeks heavenly approval and wants to fit the world into his schema of good vs evil… in no way do i think that means he isn’t one hundred percent aware of how he feels about crowley or what it means about him by angelic or human standards. i’ve seen some folks saying that aziraphale doesn’t want to like kissing crowley and like… as much as i love me some brideshead revisited/atonement flavored angst; i put forth that it’s not internalized homophobia or queer panic but simply: “i’m trying to do the right thing for both of us and you won’t let me.” and “i wanted our first kiss to be different.” he was envisioning an entirely different flavor of romance than what he got but he emma woodhoused too close to the sun

like, y’all. aziraphale in all likelihood has a glorious collection of historical queer erotica. he just has a feathery diva coat hanging in his closet, and for what. “oh, good lord” he says at crowley’s revolutionary outfit in the bastille, while eyeing him up like an entire meal. he’s so good at affected propriety, at carefully constructed stuffiness, but between the two of them aziraphale’s got to be the one who has experience

aziraphale had been physically throwing himself at crowley the entire season. he orchestrated an entire regency ball so they could touch hand to hand. he spends the entire season (well, and season 1) looking at crowley like he’s particularly coveted. he looked at crowley before the fall like he was glorious and beautiful. aziraphale’s queer and he knows it and i think that isn’t his problem, it’s the fact that he wants to build a different sort of future for the two of them but crowley’s gone and thrown a wrench in it by reminding him of everything he can finally have. like. that’s the heartbreak. it’s how dare you make this ugly? i forgive you for our first kiss being all pain and salt. it’s my dearest, i wanted to make heaven as beautiful as you deserve. as sacred and safe for us as our bookshop. and i can do that for us, because once i held a flaming sword and i still remember how the hilt felt in my hands. and now the taste of you is in my mouth.

[stardynamite]

Previously, and finally…

part 7

LAST PART YIPPEEEE

That’s why it’s so long lmao

Just fyi, I read all of your comments and reblogs while blushing and kicking my feet lmao, so thank you all!!! This was a lot of fun lmao

Previous / the end.

First

[spielzeugkaiser]

I come back for a hot second (and go into hiding pretty much right again) with some redrawn screencaps of what I'm watching currently!! 👀 All I have in me are the sillies-

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

The penisest of tunes.

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