#yes angst

[coi-koi-pond]

I REALLY hope to get it out on time (Tuesday) but I will say I'm excited for this next section of the comic because their next interaction is... I just love the dynamic. They rage bait each other a lot for fun (especially Tenna) but not everything IS hunky doody. Sometimes...

You just have a bad night.

[therabbitthatpostthings]

Y’all ever think about how Bal was probably as open and carefree as with Nimona as he was with Ambrosius. That they too stayed up late having dance parties and laughing and eating pizza. They goofed off as kids tend to do and played around and that probably carried into thier adult lives and thier relationship.

That’s why he’s so concerned that Bal has a “new friend”, that everything they ever did together was a lie. I mean we see Ballister at the beginning. He can’t show any emotion because he’s an outsider- a commoner. Ambrosius was the only person he could try he himself with. But now he’s running around with this kid?? Ambrosius is hurt by this, he’s bitter- Bal left him, chose to be a villian instead of being with him. Even if didn’t believe Bal killed the queen he certainly is well into this new life.

But Ballister didn’t leave. Bal made every attempt to talk and even told Nimona that Ambrosius would always believe him and Ambrosius still had the audacity to say Ballister is “acting like a villian” and if he would “kill him too”.

They are both so mad at each other for reasons neither of them quite understand. Hence why this is my favorite scene.

[zuzulov3sfors4k3n]

Hehehe here ya go :3 @ask-cryptic-surprise anddd @ninjathechameleon

I somehow made it so I sounded like I was about to cry- oh well :3

[court-jester-of-carcosa]

Chat should I animate a small part of Wet by Dazey and The Scouts with Gabby?

Huh

Yes sir nods

No you evil fuck

My button back off grrr

Voting ended onFeb 3

Sorry to tag @thekings-royaladvisor @thejesteroflostcarcosa @thekingwhohappenstolikeyellow @charlieisntmyr3alname

@thaveryestmayo @avery-themostmayo

I’m sorry for tagging y’all I’m annoying I think

[ask-sales-sans]

*shoves a rubber duck that looks like Sales Sans into his hands*

duckie for you!!! That’ll be 350.99!!!!

*steals his wallet and disappears*

-🦆 Duck anon

[forlornmelody]

Icarus & The Sun

Rating: Mature (Things get hot and heavy but no actual smut)

Fandom: Good Omens

Ship: Crowley/Aziraphale

Summary:  My take on the 1941 kiss, or is it?

Note: Mind the tags, will you? This ain't your mum's 1941 kiss.

-----

“There must be something I can do for you in return?” Surely the angel has realized by now how ridiculous he seems when he looks at Crowley like that. 

“Forget it, will you?” If Crowley were any other demon, he’d walk all over him. “Right.” Crowley clears his throat shifting the conversation and the Bentley to safer places. Aziraphale would be scandalized if he had any idea of what he was offering. “Spot of business to do–”

“Have you ever wondered what it was like?”

The Bentley jerks to a stop. A bomb nearly falls on them but Crowley whisks it out of existence with an automatic wave of his hand. He’s too focused on the white knuckles of his other hand to pay attention to much else. ‘Lot going on. That’s why he’s not hearing the angel right. Right? “What?”

Aziraphale giggles girlishly, only to swallow it with a cough. “I mean. They do it all the time. The humans, I mean.”

Bloody hell, Angel. “Do what?” Crowley dares to glance at the angel, praying-well, not praying exactly –that the shadow of his sunglasses hide where his gaze is pointing. No. Aziraphale’s not blushing. It’s the fiery glow of London’s streets. Yeah. That’s it. 

The angel nudges the Bentley into park. And then his fingers ghost across Crowley’s once free hand. “Touch each other.”

Aziraphale’s fingertips are as soft as the whisper of an owl’s feathers. They light a spark on the back of Crowley’s hand–one that travels up his spine and back down. He forgets to breathe. 

“You alright, Crowley?” Aziraphale starts to pull his hand away, before Crowley grabs onto it for dear life. 

“Don’t stop,” Crowley chokes out, squeezing Aziraphale’s fingers between his own. Dear Satan, if the other demons saw him now. 

His angel smiles as bright as the sun. He clears his throat, glancing down at the hand still clutched between Crowley’s and the demon lets go as if he had been holding onto a hot iron. “Thank you,” Aziraphale says with the softest chuckle. With a boldness that always catches Crowley by surprise, he grazes those finger tips across his hand again, but he goes farther this time, letting them fly up inside Crowley’s jacket, stilling as his palm finds his beating heart. The angel lets out a soft gasp, his finger tip matching the rhythm that hammers inside Crowley's chest. His lips stay parted, and Crowley’s tongue darts out of his mouth ever so slightly, as if he could taste the angel from here. “You’re so warm.”

“Sorry to disappoint you.” Crowley means it as a joke, but it comes out in a desperate rasp. Clearly no one who has touched a demon has ever actually said they were cold hearted. Has…has any other demon been touched like this? 

Aziraphale’s fingers brush the satin of Crowley’s shirt, and one finger grazes the space between two buttons, just barely touching his skin. Something inside Crowley snaps. He scoops up the angel’s hand, drawing it up to his lips to kiss. His eyes watch Aziraphale for a reaction, any reaction. The angel says nothing, though that blush– definitely a blush –spreads across his round cheeks. 

“Angel…” Crowley whispers, half-begging, half-warning.

“Crowley?” Aziraphale’s bright eyes search his own, his smile growing wider and wider…

The demon feels as if his body is being pulled through the center of the universe. With a trembling hand, Crowley dares to brush his fingers along the angel’s jaw. “Aziraphale,” he whispers.

Crowley isn’t sure who kisses who first—only that he would dare to never breathe again if that meant he could keep kissing him. Aziraphale presses deeper, drinking the demon in the same way he did his first goblet of wine—all haste and hunger, and Crowley can’t bear to tell him to slow down. That angel can’t decide on where to keep his hands, and so they wander from winding underneath Crowley's hat to grasp at his hair–to his shoulders, his back, his arms…Grinning against Crowley’s mouth, Aziraphale runs his fingers innocently…or perhaps not, to Crowley’s belt. 

Finally, Aziraphale pulls away from kissing Crowley, biting his swollen lip. Crowley didn’t even think about biting. Oh how he wants to now….”Is this alright?” The angel tugs on Crowley’s belt ever so slightly. Funny how Crowley hadn’t noticed how tight his pants had become. 

“Yes . ”  

Aziraphale’s fingers fumble as he works on the buckle, and Crowley is half-tempted to wrench his hands out of the way to speed things up but his knuckles feel oh so wonderful against his crotch–the belt gets tossed into the backseat. The angels fingers wander into Crowley’s pants–

Crowley’s eyes fly open. He sits up, shivering in his own sweat. Even the heat of his flat can’t match that of an angel’s touch. Bumping into his desk, Crowley remembers the day he watched the new archangel leave. How he waited for what felt like an eternity for Aziraphale to change his mind-to step out of that elevator with a laugh “Oh, Crowley, I didn’t mean it!” But that moment didn’t come. 

Does Aziraphale dream of him? Does he sleep? Does Aziraphale ever get the chance to sleep? 

Wandering into the atrium, Crowley gazes up at the sky. 

[taruth3mighty]

Imagine the tragedy that Charles faces in the previous iteration, knowing that in his grief, he ultimately doomed the entire island and the people he worked hard to try and help, by unknowingly helping a monster obtain a mystical being with unfathomable power. And that in his final moments, he sees the consequences and echoes of his actions in his son. Another version of his precious boy that only tried to make him proud but wounded and gone through the same betrayal as he has. Now his son is left trying to help in the way he can by attempting to fix his father's mistakes yet doomed to fail every time and to leave the timeline in perpetual cycle of pain and misery. He realizes what he's done far too late, as the monster he's helped ultimately destroys and takes away everything he's ever built and anything he had left. All in attempt to bring back someone long gone. He cannot stop it. For no matter how much he pleads, it's ultimately pointless. The monster that's been feeding him lies cares not for him, for in its eyes, he was merely a tool that now has served its purpose and now useless. And useless tools are disposed of.

[can-of-pringles]

You don't understand I need a edit of Copia and Sister Imperator with the Class of 2013 Audiotree version song by Mitski but especially over the scene of him crying over her body