art by Chris Trevas/// Mhairi McFarlane, You Had Me At Hello/Holding On by Shane/ Lang Leaf, Twin Flames/ first eye drawing by Alice X. Zhang/ second eye close up art by Tony Pro/ The Song of Achilles/ to speak of precious evenings by littlekaracan/ battlefront ll stills/ Hamilton the Musical, who lives, who dies, who tells your story/mark z. danielewski, house of leaves/ 5000 letters/ Bastille, the Anchor/ fyodor dostoyevsky, the brothers karamazov/ Kote Darasuum/ Vode An/ street art/ The Arcadian Wind, envy green/ Margaret Atwood, There are better ways of doing this/ Power Politics Emily Dickinson, In this short life that only lasts an hour/ Maggie Smith, First Fall/ Carl Friedrich Lessing, "The Hermit" (art) + November by Margaret Atwood/ Brandon Sanderson, The Final Empire/ The Bad Batch s2EP03 screenshot of Cody/ Alan Stephan Foster, "The Fall" (art) + poem by @erdarieldraws
a gift for my codywan besties cilly, tea, kasey, aixa and lauren🫶
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Be my second in command
He says to the demon who risked destruction for 6 thousand years to save him
He says to the demon who can stop time
He says to the demon who can control weather
He says to the demon he was looking up to when himself was just a cherub
He says to the demon he can always count on
He says to the demon who stood against Satan
He says to the demon who he counts on figuring it out when he can’t
He says to the demon he calls for help
He says to the demon he loves
Aziraphale, you still have so much to learn
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The aga naga vision was too strong, so here we go! (@coolsoundingusername thank you for putting this vision in my head sjshsk)
He is made to kneel, on the damp grass amdist the smell of fresh sea water. There is a blindfold around his eyes, and his hands are tied to the back, but he doesn't feel helpless, and oddly--calm.
"Untie me", Deva says, to whoever is listening, to whoever was here with him. Sure, there was someone, or so was indicated by rustling of fabric and the the soft clings of bells. Instead of a reply, there is a swift motion, and the sword tucked in his waist is unsheathed.
"Who are you?" , he questions, with an unwavering voice. Who-, and the sword is directed over his shoulders, next to his neck.
"It seems you have failed", the person speaks, and the sound of the voice, Oh, it makes Deva's heart skip a beat in realization. The bells cling together louder against the wind, and the sword now vertically point at the back of neck.
And there is a slight press, only the slightest to make him gasp, an embarressing sound in response to the pain.
Oh Varadha, what are you doing?
"You were given an order, what happened to it?", he is asked, and he tries his best to not smile, to let the facade keep going.
"It is something I will only be answerable to the prince"
The blade is dragged acorss his shoulder, "Is it so?", the voice mocks him.
In a swift motion, the ropes that bound his hands are torn, freeing his hands. Deva scrambles to straighten himself, and now the man, his prince, stands in front of him, with a sword pointing at his throat.
Deva feels the sharpness of the blade against his skin, and he'd be a dead man if it was pressed any further, but there was an inherent gentleness in the way the blade was handled, a familiar gentless reserved for him.
He carefully takes hold of the edge of the blade, grabbing them with bare heads and shifting them over his shoulders.
"Besides, the order has been carried out", Deva declares, rather proudly. How he had beheaded the enemies and ran a river of blood in the name of the second prince.
"Not that one-", he is chided, "There was an order to not keep your life at stake."
To return home safely. And, he did, didn't he?
Deva walks ahead, following the trail of blade held his hands, perhaps it pricks him little, and perhaps it stings against his palm.
"Marching against an army with a few men, what did you think?", He hears, but he is closer now, his hands past the hilt of the sword, now holding on the arm. The kadaiyam on the hand, and the familiar muscles he has held onto for countless nights.
They are closer now, feeling each other's breath, and it makes Deva chuckle, "Varadha, don't you think your pitiful lover atleast deserves to see your face, after coming back home from a war?"
"Devaratha, don't you think you are being very bold?"
Deva smiles, inching closer and hums, "You know what is really being bold?--", he leans closer while one hand clutched onto Varadha's shoulder blade, another hand crept towards the side, over to his jawline. " "It is this", he whispers, gently running his thumb over the edge of Varadha lips, and tilting his head upwards for precision and carefully presses his own on them.
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