[roachleakage]

[eponymous-rose]

One of my favorite “never thought of that, but makes sense” facts is that the moon looks upside-down if you see it from the other hemisphere. 

When my friend from Brazil landed in the US for the first time, she stepped off the plane and saw an upside-down moon, which is more than a little alarming when you’re jetlagged and nervous about moving to a new country.

[thelittlemerms]

for those of you confused like I was, I created a diagram 

[shipperqueen93]

@thestraggletag Why did you never inform us about the upside down moon?!

[thestraggletag]

I never realised! I’m having a crisis, cause the moon I’ve seen in pictures is always the Northern moon but it’s true that in real life I see the Southern moon. HOW HAVE I MISSED THIS ALL ALONG?

[roachleakage]

[mandatorysewer]

plagued by nightmares of showing up in important public places naked, or worse, in your pajamas? try this one neat trick today: remember your sleepwear is comfy as shit and all social objections to your wearing it are someone else’s problem

[geezmarty]

I watched the demon n angel show and wow can’t believe they were married the whole time

[darkstrangerx]

[cannibalchicken]

[davidfoley]

writes i’m stupid on my future tombstone

[darkstrangerx]

[thenib]

From Kasia Babis.

[jeanjauthor]

This is important to grasp.

[crownmalone]

My fellow American followers, read this! This is what created the economic prosperity for our parents’ generation!

[fuckyeahgoodomens]

Anonymous asked:

In the german version of the book he is called Erziraphael, the german word for archangel is Erzengel and he shortly complains about that he is technically not a angel but a archangel "but people make fun of that these days". So to me it seems like he is archangel raphael but shortened his name.

Ohhh, interesting :).

[darkstrangerx]

[heimurinn]

Aziraphale - I think I may be in love with Crowley, but he is a demon, the Enemy. He’s bound to Hell and not capable of loving me back. 

Crowley - I feel something for that angel, but it doesn’t matter. He’s an angel, he’d never choose me over Heaven. He can’t feel the same. 

God herself, trying to set them up for the last 6,000 years -

[roachleakage]

[ellienchanted]

Here’s a partial little Aziraphale x Crowley thing, based on this post and inspired by the slack. Because the thought of Crowley calling his cat a scrumptious darling was too good and too funny not to explore

* * *

It was a lovely day, and Anthony J. Crowley was not in the mood to enjoy it.

To be fair, lovely days were rather the norm in Tadfield, so he didn’t feel especially bad about his lack of appreciation for this particular one. What he mainly felt was annoyance at the fact that he was ruining his favorite dark-wash jeans by kneeling in the dirt and calling for his cat, Eve. She was a sweet thing, typically, not at all the trouble-making type (quite unlike her mate, Adam, the naughty bugger); but today she had decided to make a run for it into the yard, and so here Crowley was – in the dirt, about to fall on his bum, peering into the bushes and making hopeful, cat-pleasing noises.

And lo and behold, there she was – not in the bushes at all, but at the foot of Crowley’s favorite apple tree, clearly about to attempt to scale it.

Well, that would be the logical way to escape from the garden, Crowley thought to himself dryly; he had had a feeling that she was harboring a grudge against him ever since he had made the mistake of giving her wet food the previous morning. She had not been pleased that it was a one-time thing – the pet store had given him a free sample, and he wasn’t about to pay extra for the fancy stuff on a regular basis. But it seemed that Crowley’s idea of a special treat had opened her eyes, and now here they were. Attempting escape via apple tree seemed like a sensible course of action, all things considered.

Well, nothing to it now but to try to get her to come back inside. Putting on his very best cat voice, he turned towards the tree and cooed, “My scrumptious darling, what ever are you doing over there?”

There was silence, which was to be expected. What was slightly more surprising was the tentative reply that came from beyond the garden wall a moment later.

“Watering my roses,” said the disembodied voice that Crowley recognized as his bookish, cherubic next-door neighbor. Then: “You?”

[forineffablereasons]

Crowley’s asleep on the sofa again.

Aziraphale can’t help but to close the shop up early, to sit across from him and watch as the late afternoon sun tracks across his face. He’s a little graceless in sleep; his arms and legs tend to get away from him, folding up in strange ways. His forehead smooths out and his mouth tugs down a little at the corners, and he looks warm and soft and peaceful.

That’s how it feels, these days, to love him. Warm, and soft, and peaceful. That’s how it feels to be loved by him. 

“You’re staring,” Crowley says, without moving. The edges of his mouth start to curl up.

“The view is nice,” Aziraphale says primly, which is mostly for show. He’s not really embarrassed to be caught looking, but they have their little routines. The comfort of it betrays him, though–Crowley can hear the repressed smile in his voice. 

He stretches over the sofa, long and lean: the routine progresses. “S’probably nicer over here.” 

Aziraphale doesn’t bother hiding his smile as he goes to investigate this supposedly nicer view. He sits on the sofa by Crowley’s hip, looking down at him. Crowley still hasn’t moved at all, except for the grin curving across his mouth.

“Hm,” Aziraphale says, pretending at thoughtfulness. “Not bad, I suppose.” He reaches up to brush Crowley’s hair back from his forehead. His fingers trail down, over Crowley’s cheek, over his jaw. Crowley is relaxed under his touch, entirely without tension. It’s an addictive sensation: Crowley, warm, and soft, and peaceful. 

“S’probably better a little closer,” Crowley says. His hand finds Aziraphale’s wrist, his thumb rubbing smoothly over Aziraphale’s pulse. Not pulling him in, but holding on, keeping him close. 

Aziraphale leans in a little, hovering above Crowley. “This close?”

“A little closer.”

Their noses brush. Crowley sighs; his lips part in anticipation. “This close?” Aziraphale asks, hushed and teasing. He withdraws an inch just as Crowley’s chin raises, seeking. “This close?” Aziraphale repeats.  

“Very nearly,” Crowley huffs, playing at irritated, and Aziraphale takes the opportunity to close the distance.

Crowley makes a small, surprised but pleased noise; Aziraphale kisses it out of his mouth, cupping his face. It’s a slow, familiar sort of kiss, the sort of kiss that feels like saying, hello, good morning, the sort of kiss that feels like saying, I’ve missed you, even though you’ve been right here. 

It’s the sort of kiss that feels like saying, I love you, all of you; I love you, with all of me.

“What do you think?” Crowley asks, when Aziraphale finally draws back. His eyes have finally opened, and he’s smug and smirking and so obviously happy that it ricochets back into Aziraphale’s own chest and grows there. “About the view, I mean.” 

Aziraphale leans in and kisses him again. “Best view in the world,” he says, stroking a thumb over Crowley’s cheek. Crowley doesn’t blush, because he never blushes, but he leans into Aziraphale’s hold. “My most favourite view of all.”