the version of excel i'm using came preloaded with a bunch of icon/emoji thingies so i spend my free time making fucking cave art
this is called "guy who gets abducted by aliens but he's super into it"
part 2 of ??: alien abductee gets arrested for arson
part 3: "it was aliens" is deemed an unacceptable defense for leaving your campfire untended; the jailbird has a visitor
part 4: a touching serenade
Travis at the beginning of campaign 3 ready to live out all his dreams
Seven little egos
Sitting in the sofa
All of them happy
Bless their little hearts
One of the egos
The one with the mask
A hero to others
Yet dead on the ground
A mission gone wrong
Or so they said
Six little egos
Sitting in the sofa
All of them smiling
Bless their little hearts
One of the egos
The one with the wand
A trickster with magic
Yet dead on the ground
A knife through the heart
Or so they said
Five little egos
Sitting in the sofa
All of them content
Bless their little hearts
One of the egos
The one with the scalpel
A doctor with experience
Yet dead on the ground
A cord around his neck
Or so they said
Four little egos
Sitting in the sofa
All of them sad
Bless their little hearts
One of the egos
The one with the heart
A leader to many
Yet dead on the ground
A deep cut on his throat
Or so they said
Three little egos
Sitting in the sofa
All of them worried
Bless their little hearts
One of the egos
The one with the hat
A father of two
Yet dead on the ground
A bullet through the head
Or so they said
Two little egos
Sitting in the sofa
Both of the scared
Bless their little hearts
One little ego
The one with no voice
A precious little mind
Yet dead on the ground
An infected wound
Or so they said
The last little ego
Sitting in the sofa
But this one is laughing
Blessed be his heart
The last little ego
The one with the glitch
A murderer and a liar
Yet alive in the end
A wicked grin on his face
Or so they said
Seems I will have to update this poem soon now that Jack is working on the egos story again
A walk to remember indeed + bonus
I havent seen anyone talk about this yet so im making a post.
So lets say you’re researching something for a paper (or just for fun) and the research paper you want to read is behind a paywall, or the site makes you create an account first, or makes you pay to download, or limits you to only 5 free articles, or otherwise makes it difficult for you to read what you want.
do not fear! copy the link to the article
go to sci-hub.se (the url is always changing so its best to check out whereisscihub.now.sh to find what the current url is)
slap the article link in there
Rated Mature Graphic Depictions Of (Psychological) Violence Drug use/abuse/addiction Some eventual sex
(Please heed other story tags. Aside from the first chapter, this fic is just about the polar opposite of my last one in tone.)
Summary:
In 1941, Crowley saves Aziraphale’s books, along with his corporeal form. That night, Aziraphale realizes he’s done pretending he’s not in love. But love between an angel and a demon flies in the face of the Status Quo, and neither Heaven nor Hell will stand for such a threat to their authority. To make an example of them, Gabriel and Beelzebub collaborate on a punishment much harsher than mere execution.
What happens when Crowley and Aziraphale are allowed to keep their lives, but not their memories?
Based on the meme/concept, “What if their punishment was forgetting each other?”
Since I didn't see anyone posting pictures from TV companion (is it even legal???) I guess I have to do it *wink*
Let's take a moment to appreciate good photos of our favourite characters:
Crowley's perfect. Have you noticed the poster on the wall? Here are some more.
Hell's demotivating posts, designed and pinned by Neil himself, as I understood 😇
Here goes Aziraphale and his bookshop, just look!
His bookshop is a piece of art! And it has burned down to ashes. Literally.
Such a pity tumble doesn't allow me to add more photos. See the next post 😘
“here comes the f-bomb!”
⥇ requested by @coffee-cats-sarcasm
if you’re still accepting prompts could you do something where a kid comes to the bookshop for hours every day and eventually the ineffable husbands realise the kid’s parents are abusive and the kid’s been going to the bookshop to get away from them as much as possible so they’re like “screw it we’re your parents now”
She goes to the bookshop because it’s raining and the snow that’s only been there since very early morning has been turned to slush underfoot making every surface dangerous. She’s trying not to cry because the cold already hurts and adding salt water trails on her cheeks to the mix doesn’t seem like it’d help any. So she hugs her arms around her chest, trying to make up for the lack of a coat. Or scarf. Or hat or gloves. It’s with little trepidation and a lot of exhaustion that she opens the door, the bell ringing loudly.
It’s warm inside. Not sweltering like the owner has the radiators on full whack to overpower the outside. But comfortingly warm. Her face hurts at the sudden change, stinging. And her glasses fog up. She stands stock still until they clear slowly. It’s empty. The only other occupant of the room being a blond man smiling down at his phone behind the desk, his back to her. He doesn’t turn to greet her. A small blessing, she thinks.
She stays in the shop for half an hour. Browsing the shelves without touching. She catches the man looking at her only once. There’s pity in the slant of his frown. She turns away and he doesn’t so much as call out a goodbye as the door closes behind her.
***
The next time she visits, a week later, she stays for an hour. The man watches her this time. She watches back. She’s fourteen and looks younger. It makes sense for him not to trust her. She admires the hanging plants in front of his one unblocked window for a while. He smiles at her then.
***
She visits the very next day and finds the doors locked. Not wanting to go home, she sits down on the front step to think through her options. Anywhere else she goes there’s the expectation of her buying something in exchange for spending time there. Here, the owner, who she assumes to be Mr Fell, seems more than happy for her to not spend her meagre savings on books she probably can not even scrap 1% of the cost for. The other option is the park. Where it’s cold. And windy. And exposed to all sorts of people even though it’s only nine in the morning.
She’s still sitting there when a very old looking car roars up to the pavement and stops in speeds that she’s not sure should be possible and definitely aren’t safe. A lanky man gets out. Red hair. Dark clothes. He steps onto the pavement and stops dead when he sees her.
“Uh. Hi.”
She waves, awkwardly forcing a smile. He smiles back, a little sarcastic in nature.
“You looking for someone?”
She shakes her head.
“If you’re waiting for him,” he nods at the shop doors behind her, “to open up, I can pretty much guarantee he isn’t going to.”
She sighs and stands, brushing off her jeans. He steps out of her way as she crosses the street in the direction of the park.
***
She’s been in the shop for an hour, just like yesterday, already as the clock chimes 5pm. Mr Fell knows she’s here. He’d given her a cup of earl grey tea without asking her anything or saying much beyond “please don’t spill it”. She’s still sipping at the last dregs of it, wanting to make it last as if it would be a good enough excuse for Mr Fell to not kick her out. She just doesn’t want to go home. It’s getting worse there and another night spent under that roof seems like hell to her. So she lingers long enough to see the red haired man stalk into the shop.
“Angel! You fucking stood me up! We had plans! You better be discorporated or something, Zira.” The man is clearly covering his distress with the anger, it’s a painfully familiar tone.
i obviously dont know the meaning of sleep
Good Omens | Posters
This is my favorite post of the day. 😂
Michael Sheen knows exactly what he is doing
Just play it and wait for Michael Sheen to start singing. My god, he is an angel ❤
