I'm not someone who wants to fuck Wheatley that much BUT the amount of robots I would fuck is staggering so. Hey. If you ever do finish it. I'll take a peak. Someone needs to edge that bloke and I trust you to be the one to do it. I don't have access to the salute emoji but just imagine it there

Christ you guys want that comic REALLY bad huh

my brother keeps reblogging my shitty ass fucking recent canni drawing and i don't know why

Meanwhile in the crystal empire....

Be honest, are you a broccoli tops or stems kinda person? (This is a test and I WILL judge you)

Like y'all

"The Court of the Crimson King is crazy its insane you cant show that to newbies itll fry them its too wild" its fine. its normal even. like idk how to break this to King Crimson fans but it is quirky at best

autism moment

tags is me experiencing

quick little wip im working on!!! im a little obessed w them rn haha

I hate peer editing in class like no I do not want this complete stranger to read my three page self indulgent story

I have but one question for those who voted for Poland tonight: why? seriously, Why?

So I finally found a site to pirate Goncharov and uhhhh this is not nearly as gay as I was led to believe

so whats with seattles obsession w unholy (the song)

infatuation makes your heart race love is quiet. love sets you at ease.

and because most of my pieces are mental screenshots of little scenes in my head, here's the scene:

Crowley was tugged into consciousness bit by bit. The afternoon light slowly filtered in, as well as the hum of music from the other room and the weird angle his neck was at. He was warm and content and wanted to sink back into his nap, but the threads of sleep fluttered away the more he tried. Finally, he took a deeper breath, shifting in the armchair, and cracked an eye open just a sliver. There he was, the angel, sitting at his desk. Had hardly noticed Crowley was awake, engulfed in his task of retouching a damaged page. Looking at his hands, Crowley became aware of the fuzzy warmth covering his own and peeked down to see a blanket tucked around his shoulders.

The feeling hit him so hard he let his head loll to the side, eyes closed. His chest tightened and he just…buckled. Finally came undone under the weight of his love for Aziraphale. Its inexorable, steadfast pull which he had been pushing back against for millennia, it had finally caught him off guard, sleepy and vulnerable and so tired from holding back, from refusing to name it. It was a quiet surrender. Crowley looked back at Aziraphale with the understanding of a man meeting his end and embracing it.

Perhaps he could gently pull the blanket to the side and get up. Perhaps he could cross the few steps to the desk and place a freshly made cup of tea to Aziraphale’s right. Perhaps he would hold his gaze, for longer than needed to answer “Don’t mention it”. Perhaps he would ask him if he would like a scone with that. Perhaps Aziraphale would understand that this was not about the scone at all. And yet, what Crowley was asking of him was also exactly about scones. And tea. And quiet afternoons together. Perhaps the angel would finally put down his sword, too, and the world would let out a breath it had been holding for millennia.

the soulmate to this piece, i guess.

whenever i have that desire to scroll but i need Silence i go back to tumblr but if you wanna know where ive been its the other hellsite (hellapp more like) called the tiktoks.