will byers stan first human second
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Claire Keane
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cherry valley forever
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dirt enthusiast
@theartofmadeline
sheepfilms
祝日 / Permanent Vacation
he wasn't even looking at me and he found me
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styofa doing anything
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@onlylove1313
Every single one of these acting choices from James Lance was made with the knowledge that Trent is gay. Every look Trent gives Ted is intentional. There's a truth that will be revealed. I'm losing MY MIND.
Interview sources: (1) , (2)
we got royjamie AND tedtrent support from phil and james in the same day!?…… happy pride everyone
James Lance on the relationship between Trent Crimm and Ted Lasso Source: From this lovely interview by Lauren Coates - Article & Video
There’s a popular fan reading online that Trent’s interest in Ted, in addition to the professional and aspirational capacity, might be a little bit of a crush, or a romantic one. Is that in your head at all? Or does it surprise you that people are reading it that way?
go off, king… david jenkins casually killing me with every new interview | OUR FLAG MEANS DEATH
haha izzy i am sleeping with your captain
nick + charlie → the way they hold each other by the neck when they kiss
First time embroidering shoes. Need more thread really. Still cute. 🥰🍂🍃
Are you a “can’t write dialogue” writer or a “can’t describe anything” writer
Depends. Right now I seem to be a “can’t write” writer
Bold of you to assume it’s an either/or scenario.
Defo the ‘can’t write’ writer. 😪
media will make u go Wow i wish i was 15 again and then u will think wow what the hell fuck am i even saying. for gods sake No i dont
OMG yes!!!! Alice Oseman’s books do this to me. Like I ever wanna be 15 again!!! Nooooo!
I knew his grandfather. And his mother. She was an incredible woman. [x]
I was recently reminded of the (adorable) fact that crows enjoy rolling down snowy hills, and since I like to headcanon that Crowley’s wings are crow wings…
Crow instincts: C’mon! :D It’ll be fun! :D :D :D
Snake instincts: What the He— What on EARTH are you thinking!?!
anon prompted a short comic with a jealous crowley, though he’s less jealous here than pissed off
listen, crowley knows aziraphale can easily get out of this situation himself, but the guy was being an asshole (that pick-up line, seriously?) and therefore needed to be dealt with in a show-offy asshole way. and aziraphale gets some really fond memories out of the whole thing, so he’s not bothered.
#regardless, my dear boy, a human has been struck #yes, yes, i’m aware the bentley has been struck also
aziraphale blesses crowley
A little thought. A headcanon. But I do believe that Aziraphale, at a certain point, begins to bless Crowley. Because the demon, despite most of the things the Angel goes through, always stays relatively safe.
He says that his kind don’t send stern letters. We get a sense that “his kind” are more on the corporal end when it comes to punishment. But we only see Aziraphale being beaten, insulted, discorperated. Nothing ever happens to Crowley, who walks relatively unscathed through the Apocalypse. How?
Blessings. Blessings.
An Angel was blessing him.
Aziraphale was blessing him.
He shouldn’t. It’s blasphemous, he knows, to imprint celestial protection onto a demon. A sort of blasphemy that, if the archangels knew, would have landed him with a firm talking to. An angry letter. A slip, tumble, Fall downwards, maybe.
He tries not to think about that.
Because there were times where Crowley returned to the bookshop smelling of sulfur and brimstone, doing his best to hide a limp. Impossible, really. Aziraphale knew him; his smile, his soft eyes, his sharp words; knew well enough when something had tilted from normal.
“Are you alright?” He handed the demon tea and plumes of cinnamon steam crested his chin.
Crowley had waved him off. “Fine. Just a disagreement.”
“What-”
“A few demons began to notice my lack of… demonic energy. Just a reminder, Angel.” And he’d punctuated it with a sip of tea and a soft hum. “That’s all. Nothing to fuss about.”
“It certainly is something to fuss about!”
Crowley took off his glasses long enough to wink. “You fuss about everything.”
And so Aziraphale had begun to lay blessings.
It’s soft and deft and quiet - when he reaches and touches Crowley’s sleeve. The demon would never know, he thought. There’d be no reason to notice the specks of love he’d pressed delicately into the fibers of being. He never made them so strong that they’d burn, and never made them weak enough to linger and fade.
A blessing of protection, he willed on a rainy Sunday, elbowing past to a bookshelf. May you be safe from your own kind, my own kind, from all kind.
On a hot summer June afternoon, he’d adjusted the demons collar with a flick of deft fingers. “Really,” he said, “you could try to be a little more presentable.” A blessing of safety, he thought, pretending to clumsily skate fingertips across the demons neck, feeling the pulse of a swallow. May you be safe now. Safe always. Safe when I’m here and when I’m not. Keep him alive, and well, and whole. He flicked the collar again. “Better.”
Crowley cleared his throat, pushing up his glasses. “Thanks,” he said back, confusion heavy on his tongue. Then; “See? Fussy.”
And then an apocalypse arrives.
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“It was a matter of convenience man!”
“Don’t look at me. I hate when you get that look in your eyes!”
“Don’t! I’m sorry!”
