#praying for your husband

[valiantstarlights]

[fellshish]

Do you think Crowley or Aziraphale have ever drunk dialed each other and said something a little too flirty or honest or stupid?

What if he hasn’t yet, but in the new season crowley leaves the most pathetic, wet cat, blubbering mess, heartfelt message on aziraphale’s heavenly answering machine and the metatron gets to it first and erases it

[bird-inacage]

Only Friends Episode 5 | 'Friendship': According to Ray (The Denial Sequel)

Spoiler: It's complete bullshit.

[webginz]

it took 4 days for biden to win, but trumps win this time was such a landslide victory that we knew the next morning. what a fucking joke. this country hate women, black women especially.

[bitteralmondbutter]

that kanthony teaser trailer got everyone acting unwise

[haztory]

sorry for being absent literally always, but i had to get this out of my drafts.

goddess!reader x mortal!bakugou; warnings: blood, mentions of sex, murder, unhappy relationships, unhinged reader and bakugou (tiny bit), not beta’d

(w.c. 2.1k)

Rapacious, your father would call you were he to see you now. Salacious, acting in behavior once thought deterred; The kind that he meant to have stamped out of you in an effort to cultivate you into the pious cog in of his senseless grandeur. His promise of destiny. 

Your father’s lips would be turned in that virtuous frown, eyes narrowed as he sat from his throne in the great pantheon of Gods. Validated by their fealty. The model figure that is woefully negligent as he speaks of the sanctity of commandments that have seen his betrayal one too many times before. Sanctimonious in his rectitude, righteous in his hypocrisy, your father is.

He meant to cage you, raging at your freedom and its significance—angry that you were wild, changing the tides of human wars with the gentlest of smiles and lulling whispers; Rampaging that fellow Gods, his own brothers, were victim to the whims of your games with the mortals; Furious that the power you wielded began to rival that of his own; Murderous that you were too much like him: untamed, greedy, victorious and still, adored. 

You have never known his anger to be long-lasting, especially not in a manner of great meaning when you could falsely promise your way out of it. Batting eyelashes in truce—but, this is beyond punishment for the defiance of a rule. He means to break you. 

A husband. 

One bound to you without your consultation, much less knowledge. Promised in hand and divinity to be half of a whole to this pitiful excuse of God. 

There was hardly an expectation of satisfaction within the marriage on a good day, much less pleasure in the ways that physically mattered; Could such a thing ever truly be expected from a man who only knew how to hammer metal? Up, down, up, down until the glowing steel was forged.

Your husband is a man of great fortitude, who knows and will only know that of the fire he works with. The flames reflected in the dullness of his irises being the only exciting thing about him. He is monotonous within his construction. Routined and boring. 

How could there ever be the expectation of fidelity from you, the Goddess of Love? 

How could you be shackled to the bedside of a man who has never known the strength of the sea from which you are born? How can you love a man who does not know the impact of the tide and draws no desire from its power? How can you be with a man who does not know and adore you as you are? For a millenia, nonetheless! 

You've come to know of this arrangement as a curse; A woeful attempt to tame you from the wild and lustful by forcing you to make acquaintance with the bland and boring. Binding you to the shore, never to make acquaintance with the push and pull of the forceful nature. 

Credit must be paid your way. You had tried. In the depths of shame and sorrow, you tried to do as your brothers and sisters and settle. Gave in and let yourself  believe that love and happiness could be found within routine, eventually. It is your novelty, after all. And yet, it still finds you. This yearning for more, the urge to love and be loved. Your nature still rises from the swaying tide and dares to edge the coast. 

Your father would not approve were he to see you now, watching from your high plane in the heavens to the happenings of the mortal world. Surely, your husband would violently disapprove too, convinced that he has you loyal. 

You shouldn’t fixate; Had promised in low lights and empty words in your husband’s grimy embrace that you have seen the errors of your ways; That you have and will change. For his sake. But he does not know what happens when he is away in his cave of brimstone. 

Your attention is caught. And the object of your fascination is a marvel.

Sculpted from clay himself, you have half a mind to believe that one of your siblings has had a part in his creation. Broad and muscular, sharp and angular in all the places that deem him a man. This mortal has caught your eye since his ascension from boy to man. He is a village soldier. Fiercely protective and eager for a fight, and yet always looking to the heavens. As though there was something there waiting for him, beckoning him closer. You suppose he isn’t wrong, as you peer down to him just as he looks up. 

There have been whispers of his fate amongst the crowds since he was a boy, certainty issued in his great destiny.  No one is more sure of it than he. 

Which may be what finds him in your temple. 

Sanctuaries have never known themselves to be exclusive, but you must admit that it is certainly strange to have a man of his designation pray to the Goddess of Love. Surely he must have found some alignment more towards that of your stoic sister, emboldened by the desire for courage and brawn. And yet he is here, treading the halls in the stillness of night and giving small offerings to each of your priestesses and holding one large offering basket for your statue.

He stands beneath the colonnade, staring pensively at the intricate designs of your image on marble. He speaks only when the room has been cleared, the priestesses giving him the space to pray in solace.

“I hear you.” His timbre is gruff yet smooth. Commanding as it echoes. “You are calling to me.”

You remain still, almost taken aback at his forwardness. The waves of temptation creep at your feet. 

“I intend to find you, whether you show yourself or not.” He speaks again. He looks up, and although you know it improbable, you swear eyes of vermillion have pinpointed your location in the sky. And so, it comes crashing.

It has been so long since you have last appeared before a mortal, and appearing before him transcends all relatability. To see the fixation, your desire, and to have him see you. If he is surprised by your arrival, he doesn’t show it. Eyes strong in their stoic gaze, lips almost curled in a sneer. One would think you were his enemy, but you know such a charge to be false. It’s a charge of electricity, the cooling nighttime air suddenly warming at the meeting of your gaze. 

He is no enemy to you, and you are certainly no stranger to him.

“No one has ever commanded me so directly. How did you know?” You ask. of genuine curiosity.

“I dream of you.” He says the answer so plainly, as though it were a common occurrence. You can’t help but raise a brow. 

“Oh?” 

“I have for years. It was only a matter of time before you showed yourself.”

The chains forged by your husband suddenly feel the lightest that they have ever felt. Metal rattling against each other, pushing and pulling as something brews within you. You wonder what this mortal thinks of you. If he finds you as beautiful as you find him; If the power within him is as strong as you think it is. 

If he is strong enough to cut through steel.

“And what did you dream of?” You ask, taking a step forward. Feeling elation fill you like the swirling breeze as his eyes quickly watch you step forward.

“Tch. Like you don’t know.” His jaw flexes and with it comes the bloom of a subtle blush on his cheeks. “Didn’t you plant the damn things?” 

No, you didn’t. You could certainly look to see what it is he dreamed of, but this is more fun. Finally, finally, you feel the remnants of yourself pulse alive. 

“Have you come to give me a greater purpose?” He asks quickly, in diversion. You let him, too satisfied with the newfound freedom to care much about his attempt at modesty. 

You step closer to him, watching as his eyes cascade down the sheer chiton adorning your body. “Is that what I did in your dreams? Fill you with purpose?”

You find yourself almost chest to chest with him, his eyes never leaving yours, “Or did you fill me?”

You laugh when his eyes widen, turning to take a chocolate from the offering basket held still in his hands and plopping it into your mouth. Marveling at its taste, deciding that it must be homemade.  “Is that what you are in search for? A greater purpose? How about a culinary artist? Your skills are impeccable.”

He doesn’t laugh. “I am destined for more.” 

He knows he is. You know he is. Have not eyed him for so long to have not known. He stands firm before you, a soldier waiting for instruction. In any other instance you would rebuke such a stand, revolt at the rigid and serious, and yet with him—

Well, in devotion to you, who can fault you for testing its limits? Especially when there is something that has sat within you, waiting for the opportune moment. 

You meet his gaze, deciding to no longer tease. “How much more?”

“Anything you will give me.” He quickly responds. 

“And this destiny you seek, do you do it for pride or service?”

“I am your loyal follower and patron, Goddess Divine. What I do is for you.”

“A man like you, patron to me. How lucky am I?” You smile, but it is quickly assumed by the sneaking tendrils of your dark desire. Your voice stills, “The task I have for you is very arduous. Unyielding, difficult, and not aimed for the weak. Destiny setting, to be sure.”

The man seems to preen at those words, a smile finally finding its way to his face. It curls, dangerously, hungrily. “Name it.”

“Once it is spoken, it cannot be undone.” You warn.

“The task is mine alone.” He insists.

You find yourself before him again, and he leans in to listen closely. You can sense the fight in him, smell his musk. The promised freedom teeters on the edge of your words. 

“...kill Hephaestus. Free me from the shackles of my constricting punishment.”

He doesn’t blink, doesn’t balk, doesn’t shy away from the treasonous words. He does as you have seen him do and stands firm, almost vibrates with his desire to act. 

You can almost feel the brush of the sea on your skin again. 

“And my reward?” He asks, confidently.

“Is my eternal patronage and favor not enough?” You laugh, eased in his presence rather than tight at the admittance of your evil. Circling around him, you drag your finger across the broadness of his bare and unmarred shoulders. You wonder if the purity of his skin is a reflection of his valiance. Wonder if your desires are steered correctly, that he is the one to have the strength to carry him to victory. 

He glances to you over his shoulder, “Surely, the Goddess has more in plan for the man set to kill her husband than bragging rights?”

Curiosity clouded with the tendrils of lust at the man who holds your fate in his hands, you place your chin on his shoulder, meeting his vermillion gaze as your nose scarcely brushes the smooth expanse of his sculptured chin. Intimacy with a man who isn’t your husband, intimacy that is natural and wanted rather than forced.

“Cheeky.” You murmur, and his grin widens. A veil of clouded air blurs his vision before you reappear in front of him, your weight placed onto him as you wrap your arms around his neck. 

“Bring me the head of my oppressor,” You begin, said so airily it could be mistaken as a light conversation rather than a plot for murder, “And I will make you a God in his place. Meant to enact your own destiny, made to rule beside me.”

You lean your forehead closer, meeting him as your noses brush in meeting. Tracing one another, you whisper, “Can you do it?”

Without hesitation, he breathes into you. “I am yours, Goddess Divine.”

“And your name, O Great Warrior?”

“Bakugou.” A storm brews mightily in his irises and you can taste the salt of the spray, feel the ocean beckoning you home. 

Your release from the cage is so close to the touch, the hilt of the sword dealing the victory blow to your freedom held by him. 

You smile, wide, and true, and lustful for blood. “A fitting name for a God.” 

It comes as no great surprise when the mortal appears at your temple a few weeks later. He is limping through marbled halls and dripping with blood, the key to your cage held in his hands. Your husband's severed head held by his bloodied and mangled fingers, a wicked smile on his face as he beckons you down from the heavens. You find yourself once again, marveling.

And finally, in love.

[thecheshirerat]

My worst anxiety regarding season three of Good Omens is that the ending will be lovely, but that it will pass too quickly.

I trust that it will be a happy ending; we know it will be. And I want to see that. But almost more than I want to see that, I want to see them breathe. I don't want "they kissed and made up and went off to their cottage and clinked glasses whilst watching the sunset and saying witty sappy things, and everyone sighed, satisfied." That's not too different from what we got at the end of season one, and it's lovely, but these two have been waiting so long.

so. long.

And I want the ending to be long enough that there's space for that "finally." I want there to be room for their emotions. I want them to giggle like teenagers, I want them to find stupid excuses to kiss each other, I want them to hold each other and cry, I want them to talk about the things they always stopped themselves from talking about, I want them to address the complexity of their feelings. I want there to be some recognition of the relief, and of the wounds that still ache. I want to see them slowly, slowly relax into security. I want them to tentatively reach for each other, each time fearing that they won't be there, and each time collapsing under the weight of their relief to find that they are.

I want to see them make plans for their future and let themselves be hopeful about it. I want to watch the reality of their happy ending sink in. I want to watch them heal.

[steppenwolfofslytherinhouse]

……oh good graCIOUS LORD THANK YOU 😮‍💨

I was about to fcking declare war but

Luckily my husband came home.the devs are safe for now

It did take 4! goddamn 10 card pulls.the diamonds are👋🏻💸💸💸

[thegeorgiatennantblog]

Them when they find out the shit that NGO et al are getting up to!

@dtmsrpfcringe

[syaolaurant]

Watching Harry Potter again WITH my husband who is NOT a Potterhead is kinda like childhood ruined for me LOL

We spent 4 nights in Taiwan watching the first 2 movies and I swear I've watched Harry Potter like more than 5 times each already. I don't have any problem with the Wizarding World, but my dear husband, who has proven himself 100% Ravenclaw with his wonderful logical and always-try-to-find-answer-for-everything mind kept asking me questions & pointing out the "plot hole" scenes (that's what he said).

He kept yapping things like:

"What's exactly is the magic system of this world?? "

"Why the wizarding world still looks like medieval even in 1990s??"

"Why all the teachers just sit there and watch Harry being attacked by the bludger? They didn't even react"

"Lol Quidditch doesnt have substitution"

"Wood got knocked out like 2 times in both movies'

"If petrificus totalus is a thing irl so many bad things could happen"

"Let's do body count"

"Did Hagrid know that Aragog would kill Harry and Ron?"

"Why the jinxed car appear so conveniently??"

"That dude Tom been standing there and talk for 30mins already..."

Why don't he act like this? Why don't she act like that?

.... And so on and so on.....

And I was like...ok...he got a point 🤔. I've never carefully invested in the mechanics of magic in HP, I didn't even care how it works. I'm a typical INFP I don't think logically my mind is like a green meadow full of butterflies. I tried to explain about the wands the spells the system to him but the more I talked the more confused I am..And I realized I myself also don't really understand the mechanic... 😅😅

[saltyfilmmajor]

[skeletap]

[metatronhateblog]

So I've been working on this video for a friend, and this should not be making me squeal like a little girl but it is??? So I just wanna share this clip with you I put together that's making me absolutely feral.

[theshinazugawaslut]

They say there are two ways to be fooled

One is to believe what isn't true

The other is to refuse to believe what is

For people who don't know what this is referencing, this scene.

STOP BECAUSE WHY WAS VIGGO DROPPING THE HARDEST QUOTES IN THE ENTIRE SHOW??? THE FACT THAT THAT WAS HIS ENTRY SCENE??? I've genuinely had such a big crush on him ever since that season dropped.

He is genuinely one of the best villains in all of fictional history! He's simply brilliant! Also, the scene where he's first talking to Heather and the scene where he's encaged her in her own axe, like HELLOOOOO???? I HAVE SO MANY FF'S TO WRITE FOR HIM!!

[truthfultales]

I often see posts of people which go along the lines of "if Gale were real..."

If Gale were real, I wouldn´t even look at him twice, because I´m happily married to a man that looks quite similar to him and has a very similar personality.

The only reason I geek over Gale Dekarios, is because he is my real-life husband in fictional format and I get to excitedly share my love for my husband with other women.

There is literally no man - fictional or otherwise - I´d rather have at my side than my husband. I married the love of my life and couldn´t possibly love it more. I don´t deserve him, despite him claiming otherwise, and thank God daily.

Every day with him is a blessing, so excuse me if this blog refers to him often. This is not a "thirst for Gale Dekarios" blog.

This is a "My husband is basically Gale Dekarios, so I fangirl about my husband in fictional form with others" & other geek stuff"-Blog.

I´ve seen people accuse me of lusting and being a hypocrite - I did not use Tim Downie´s voice to "get myself off" - never. I used it to make him read poems which were lovely and could´ve been read by Gale himself.

I will continue fangirling over my husband in fictional format, when not busy engaging with real life husband, and will pray for all the haters.

To quote my husband: "I love your devotion, my love. May the haters get well soon."

Get well soon!

(Not meaning that in a passive aggressive way either. I mean it. I hope you all end up growing; finding the truth and fulfilment in Christ. I´m just a sinner who tries to be better, but I have to point out derangement where I see it.)

Jesus, lead all souls to heaven especially those in most need of thy mercy.

Let people see love when man and woman become one flesh,

let them see the beauty in true intimacy between life-creating committed lovers without distorting it.

Lead them to you and away from destructive lies of the secular world, which leads to nothing but suffering.

May they know where to run, when they fall;

seeing where they went astray.

Amen.

[mrskillingjoke]

I'm Back on Tumblr, after a month 👍

My reasons we're literally: I know I can't watch good omens season 2 when it's released so until I can watch it I won't Go on Tumblr, 'cause I don't want to get spoilered.

And holy Shit it was the right decision!

First of all this season was so good and gay and fan-servicing, I mean: WTF!!! THANK YOU NEIL GAIMAN FOR THIS!

The Idea of Aziraphale and Crowley to playing Wingmans for a couple of cute lesbians is beautiful 🤌

Aziraphale and Crowley Love each other so much, I mean the Looks, the married couple vibes, the flirting, the careness, the touches, the Dancing how can it be that even Gabriel/Beelzebub have a Happy end and Crowley and Aziraphale DON'T!!

I mean it's kinda comprehensible why Aziraphale decided to Go Back to heaven. After all we all knew it.

He Loved Crowley but at the same time He Loved heaven and would Like to Go Back there.

Aziraphale and Crowley are Just two Boys, abused in their menage.

But Crowley Had been left behind so He Saw the abusement and refuses it. But Aziraphale is dependent to heaven. He Always got enough excuses to want to Go Back and make everything right.

Like a Kid who gotten Hit by His mother and then she bought them an ice for excuse and is very prudence with them all the way 'till the next Hit. The Kid know it's Bad but they want their mother and stay and make excuses and say it's Not that Bad and when they are an adult they have their own Family and don't want to do it the Same way.

As i Said we already knew that Aziraphale Had this. We saw His struggles in the First season. So we were prepared for Aziraphale to forgive heaven all the time.

Also I Believe that Aziraphale May know in His occiput, that metatron was the only Thing standing between him and being vanished of the book of Life. I mean when a mighty Person Standing between me and my end of existence I would say yes to everything they ask me, Just to be Sure that I will live.

I mean metatron don't need to officially speak Out a threat. We have Seen it with the demons and Angels before. And Aziraphale was uncomfortable to be alone with metatron in the First place.

He is Like a old Mafia Boss, smiling peacefully at you while Holding a gun right to your ribs. You wouldn't do anything that could kill, disembodies you or vanish your existence. It's Just a sane reaction.

Also we have Seen how He regrets His decision. I mean we saw the way He looked at metatron when He telled Aziraphale about "the second". He looked frightend, anxious, regretful...

And yes I know all of this and Think it's comprehensible but I still wanna Grab Aziraphale by His shoulders and shaking him 10 minutes to Sense and then get them all therapy!!!

Oh and I have a new tag: #prayforahappyendingforgays🙏🏳️‍🌈

Yes it's Long but I need to have people using this tag, Just for a Happy ending for our Gays 😭

And also... I Heared that Neil Gaiman needs the Fans Support for a third season.

And I know what you are doing Mr Gaiman. Manipulating Fans by having this much of fanservice in one season and then let it end with a Bad and sad ending were the Most Loved couple Breaks apart and than asking for Support to have a new season to make a (hopefully) Happy ever After for them!

And it works!!! I mean No one who have a Bit empathy for Crowley or who is at heart, just a little bit of a good person would let this be the end of our ineffable husbands!

I mean I sat in Front of my (unfortunalety faltering) Television and screamed and cried about this ending, begging for a miracle (one more miracle, Sherlock...) For Not lettin' my ship sinking in a storm, pulled down by the Kraken himself 😭

🙏🏳️‍🌈 I beg you make a third very gay-happy-ending season with our all favourite ineffable husbands finally gettin' really married by god themself, 'cause even they can't See all of this without forcing them to finally come around together!!!