Okay But My Favorite Part About OPs Claim Is The Fact That Somehow We All Collectively Decided To Just

Okay but my favorite part about OP’s claim is the fact that somehow we all collectively decided to just shorten and bastardize the Esteemed Bard’s name.

It’s only a matter of time before Will-I-Was Snakesgear turns into the sonnet-writing version of Bickerbrine Cummersnitch

Okay hear me out!

What if, what if I say Willy Shakes has established the norm that every disaster bisexual icon would have:

1. A short fun fling with a woman of colour.

2. A longstanding intense romantic love affair with a white boy.

no but wait listen– THIS HAS BEEN GOING ON TILL TODAY. IN MAINSTREAM POP CULTURE.

Exhibit A:

Exhibit B:

...

I hereby rest my case.

Anybody who even dares to oppose, argue with the fvcking wall.

not a single thought behind her eyes

OP ON TWITTER [credit]

"Not everything is gay" babe youre saying this on the wrong platform. Everything is kinda gay on Tumblr.

crowley with chronic pain that gets worse whenever he is forced to return to hell is actually so dear to me and it provides excellent angst material

as someone who had chronic migraines and headaches (not anymore luckily, getting away from my abusive parents solved a lot of issues in that regard) i know exactly how irritated and taut it makes you. the pain never goes away and it never stops hurting, at some point it simply becomes your new normal because it's either that or dying.

so crowley returns from an unplanned trip to hell after doing one good deed too many, and the first and only thing he wants after that experience is aziraphale. his angel is familiar, comfortable, and, most importantly, safe; there's no place he feels and is more protected than in the bookshop with aziraphale by his side.

at first, it's one wave of relief after the other, aziraphale hasn't said anything about his slightly unusual behaviour and silence, just brought him a cup of tea and shooed him towards the sofa. crowley is desperate for a nap, he closes his eyes and blocks out what little light still gets through his shades, every ray of sunshine a piercing knife in his optic nerve, and tries to doze off.

just that aziraphale is chatty today. very chatty. crowley loves listening to him, he really does, but hell is noisy, he is completely overstimulated, in pain, and by god he wants quiet. but he's in aziraphale's home, he's a guest, so he can't ask him to stop talking, can he?

light-headed and with increasing pain, he attempts to ignore it.

it doesn't work.

after about an hour, every muscle in his body is as tense as metaphysically possible, his head is a pulsating drum of pressure and agony, and the next time aziraphale's voice intensifies with excitement, crowley snaps.

"for FUCKS sake angel, can you shut up for one minute? please?"

he regrets it immediately. there's no need to look at him, he knows exactly which expression is spreading across aziraphale's face, and he is not going to cry, he won't, he's a demon.

crowley breathes in the silence, once, twice, three times, each inhale more shallow than the last, and then the frayed thread holding him together snaps, too.

he has miracled himself home before aziraphale can open his mouth or he can make it worse, and his flat is dark and quiet, comfortably cool, and he curls up under his sheets. tears run into his silk pillowcase, the only texture that doesn't exaggerate his migraines, and he spirals down an infinite abyss of guilt and self-hatred until he falls into a fitful sleep.

the pain of loneliness far outweighs that of his migraine, and crowley years and regrets and loves like he always does, like he always has, always will.

(if crowley had waited a moment longer, aziraphale would kneeled next to him, concerned)

(if crowley had tilted his head to look at him, his angel would have gently pressed his palm to his forehead and asked what's wrong?)

(if crowley had stayed, aziraphale would have listened to him talk about hell and the pain it causes him, and he would have understood)

(but they're not like that, are they?)

(but they could be)

season 3 predictions

yes this is just a "moon's haunted" joke what about it

blank versions bc i like the backgrounds

im doing a very quick (aka skimming-a-lot) GO reread and i'd forgotten how much i love discorporated aziraphale. he is 3000% done. he has no fucks left to give. this part of the book is just him and crowley, independently of each other, having hit rock bottom and come through despair and out on the other side into "fuck it we ball" and it's wonderful. they're so in sync and so unhinged.

favourite discorporated az moments:

telling mr shadwell he's the southern pansy

gets so annoyed with the televangelist he tells him that heaven only has a 50% chance of winning and the rest is propaganda, after denying it for the whole book

"you lot [humanity] are all going to be civilian casualties either way"

telling mrs ormerod that he knows he's in england because nobody else could have asked such a fucking stupid question

world's least sincere "wasn't that touching."

'the exorcist' reference *

extremely eager to murder adam young

i cannot emphasise enough how down with child murder he is **

tells madame tracy they need to be doing 70mph and then makes her fucking vespa warp through space at 200mph

"i'm the nice one. you can't expect me to—oh, blast it. you try to do the decent thing, and where does it get you?" aziraphale snapped his fingers.

* im willing to bet money that was crowley's idea and ended with him feeling vaguely queasy while aziraphale sat next to him going "what absolute nonsense, this isn't how it works at all"

** until he actually meets him. but still.