Just Be

Crossover of the century

I sit with my grief. I mother it. I hold its small, hot hand. I don’t say, shhh. I don’t say, it’s okay. I wait until it is done having feelings. Then we stand and we go wash the dishes.

– Callista Buchen, from Taking Care

she’s so insane for this (x)

listen this is the fucking funniest garfield strip. you just can't top this one i'm sorry

ma queue est vide omg c'est la panique

Couldn’t Find A Better Place To Sleep 

(Source)

caesars assassination but with empty cardboard tubes

Et tube Brute?

Ok now THIS is the stuff I wanted when I followed the Julius Caesar tag and I don’t even get it from there?? Am upset by this betrayal of the tumblr system

King James I: *builds secret tunnel connecting his room to the room of a man he calls his husband*

Historians: it’s very hard to tell what kind of relationship they would have had, let’s not look at this through a 21st century lens

Im fucking deceased

The sensation of being American is just hating your country and then hearing a white British liberal call America imperialist swine and briefly astral projecting out of your body because they’re not wrong but it feels like there’s maybe some imperialist swine a little closer to them they could be working on 

I LEARNED BY WATCHING YOU, DAD,

when she says she doesn’t send nudes

when guys objectify women and expect them to send nudes

when someone asks you about your nuclear plans for russia

When Russia sends you nudes

#what the fuck happened here

This is my favorite post in all of tumblr

reminder that this post is now illegal in Russia

reblog it, because Russia can´t

Thanks Obama 

Wtf

When Russia makes this post illegal

I HAVE ONLY SEEN THIS IN SCREENSHOTS

I’m sure this has already been hc’d but if you will Allow Me:

The Fab 5 go to England.  They’re on a mission from God.  They find Aziraphale and Crowley, smitten and pining and fussy and afraid and ridiculous, and they know this is why they’ve been plucked out of the heart of America: to save these pathetic, middle-aged, clearly-besotted gays from themselves.

They burst into the bookshop in a flurry of Gay Drama and mics and cameras.  Aziraphale, who has been determinedly putting off a customer for the past fifteen minutes, looks up and sees JVN.  He freezes.

Crowley slithers out from behind a shelf and boggles.  “White Jesus,” he whispers.

Jonathan tosses his hair.  “In the fa-lesh!”

“I beg your pardon,” Aziraphale stammers, “who are you?”

“We’re here to deliver you from your sad, crusty old lives!” Jonathan says. 

The Fab 5 get down to business.  Crowley and Aziraphale are helpless to stop their onslaught.  But the Fab 5 have never dealt with immortal, supernatural entities before, so they have their work cut out for them. 

Bobby is determined to spruce up the bookshop, but soon realizes its cranky, fussy owner has a will the size of Mount Sinai and refuses to budge.  Every book must be kept in place, not one particle of dust disturbed.  Bobby’s suggestion that Aziraphale start selling eBooks to pep up business is met with glacial silence.  Crowley is no less stubborn, refusing to make his flat more homey with the addition of a sofa one might actually enjoy sitting on.  

“If I want to be comfortable, I’ll go to the bookshop,” Crowley says.  He means to sound disdainful and can’t understand why Bobby looks so touched.

Bobby gets one concession from Aziraphale - that potted plant will bring a little color to the bookshop, yes, I suppose that isn’t such an awful suggestion.  In any case, Crowley offered me one of his.

Antoni has his own struggles.  He’s used to finding food that repulses him, but he’s never had to contend with someone who has no food at all.  He scours Crowley’s flat from top to bottom and can’t find a crumb.  Just looking at the place, you’d think Crowley never ate at all.  Aziraphale is another matter - the little kitchenette above the shop is packed with sweets, cookies and cakes and chocolate-covered strawberries and, bizarrely, a plate of oysters sitting on the counter that never warms to room temperature.  “You should really try to balance out your diet,” he suggests.  

Aziraphale purses his lips.  “I am quite content with my diet, thank you.”

Antoni shrugs off Aziraphale’s chilly attitude.  The next day, disquieted by the oysters still sitting on the counter - really, they might still be cool, but that has to be unsanitary - he bins them.  Aziraphale gives him the kind of murderous, eldritch-horror look that would shatter Antoni’s mind if it weren’t for the amazing ability of the human mind to scab over inexplicable horrors.  Antoni spends a long time staring at the camera, horrified and not quite sure why he’s horrified.

Tan is simply confused.  Aziraphale and Crowley both dress well, even if the former wears clothes about 50-100 years out of date.  But he can’t pin down Crowley’s style.  The non-binary leanings are great, of course, but Tan has looked and looked and he can’t identify the clothing brands.  Crowley’s clothes don’t have tags.  Tan has never seen them advertised anywhere.  Convinced Crowley must have some obscure designer on retainer, he asks who makes them.  The demon just shrugs.  “I do.”

“Really!” Tan is intrigued.  “I didn’t know you designed clothes.  Even the shoes?”

“My what?” Crowley asks, distractedly.  Then he blinks. “Oh, yeah, the… the shoes.  The shoes I wear.  Ssssnakeskin.”

Tan doesn’t see much to be improved in Aziraphale’s classic - if antiquated - style.  But he loves a good French tuck, so he suggests that.  

“French?” Aziraphale says, looking absolutely revolted.  That puts Tan off right away.

Karamo hones in on the pining like a bloodhound on the scent.  In the back room of the bookshop, he sits on the sofa beside Aziraphale and gets down to business.  “So, I sense you have feelings for Crowley.  Tell me about that.”

Aziraphale flushes a delicate shade of pink.  “I– I don’t, of course.  We’re friends.  Well, actually, we used to be enemies, but…”  And he proceeds to occupy Karamo for the next four hours with the story.  Karamo is entranced and a little heartbroken by the whole thing.  It’s almost as if the two have been in love since the dawn of time, and they can’t quite figure it out.  

Of all the Fab 5, Jonathan is the only one who isn’t remotely fazed by Aziraphale and Crowley.  He flounces around the shop, flipping through books and charming customers in a manner that is wholly antithetical to Aziraphale’s shop policy, which is to drive customers away.  Aziraphale and Crowley keep their distance, because - white or not - Jonathan does bear a striking resemblance to Someone they both knew, a long time ago.  When Jonathan beckons them to the chair, they are powerless to refuse.

“Let’s give this a little zhuzh, honey,” he says, running his fingers through Aziraphale’s curls.  The angel sits as still as stone, feeling coddled and vaguely threatened at once.  Jonathan considers his hair, chewing on his lip.  “Though honestly, your hair is already gorg.”

“Thank you,” Aziraphale preens.  “I have it, ah, styled by a barber once every two months.”  He hasn’t grown out his hair in fifty years, but the point still stands.  

“I can tell,” JVN coos.  “And ohmygosh, your skin is so soft.  Practically divine!”

“A-ah, yes,” Aziraphale stammers, a little afraid again.  “But it’s not.  Totally normal… human skin.”

Crowley fares no better.  “I love your hair!” Jonathan gasps, running his fingers through it.  “So fiery!”

“Ngk,” says Crowley. 

“Now, I know this sounds a little risky,” Jonathan says, “but have you ever thought about growing it out?  Like, long long?”

Crowley perks up.  “Did that a few times, actually.  One of my best looks.”

“I’ll bet!  I’m sure Aziraphale was literally all over you with that look!”

Crowley goes beet-red and chokes out, “Ngkngkngk.”

Later, to the cameras, Jonathan squeals, “Ilovethembothsomuch!  Oh my god!”

When the Fab 5 are about to leave, Aziraphale asks, with a little trepidation, “Who, ah, who nominated us?  If I may ask?”

“Some scary lady,” Antoni says, shivering.  “Though now that I think about it, we never got her name…”

“Scary but somehow super nice?  If that makes sense?” Jonathan puts in.  “Like, Mama Bear literally about to rip off your head, but also who loves you more than anything?”

They leave.  Standing outside the bookshop, watching the camera crew disperse, Crowley murmurs to Aziraphale, “You think that was really Him?  Seriously?”

Aziraphale shrugs.  “Could be.  That would be Her sense of humor.”

“Hmm.”  Crowley scuffs a toe on the pavement.  “Could I tempt you to a spot of lunch?”

Aziraphale wiggles on the spot.  “Yass, queen!”

so these sketches of ballet waterbending frickin EXPLODED and a lot of people seemed to want it animated SO. i give you extremely sketchy animations of katara, prima ballerina

Amputees continue to be the funniest people on the planet why are the rest of us even trying