we're having sex and you pull out at the end to discover your cock is entirely gone, dissolved (ive digested it like a pitcher plant). bye!
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i have so much respect for quick-witted people who can just improvise a joke on the spot. when i tell a joke i have to do background research and rehearse it like i'm defending a thesis.
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Imagine if you locked Light and Patrick Bateman in a room together. They would be having the most generic conversation but you wouldn’t be able to hear it over the sound of their overlapping internal monologues. There would be a few seconds where their monologues both play in sync to say something misogynistic.
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Yes, Greece still exists, we didn't all die 2000 years ago. Yes, people speak Greek. You people are so fucking stupid for real. So many of you claim to love ancient shit but can't even acknowledge the actual living culture of the people whose mythology and classics you romanticize. You keep leaving annoying comments about how you just forget Greek people still exist, thinking you're being quirky because you love ancient stuff soooo much that you forgot about the people it came from. You think about it so little you don't even realize that an actual Greek person has to read this shit, making it clear how little you actually care about the culture beyond the romanticized (and westernized) mythology. Don't claim you love Greece, don't use our mythology anymore if you can't acknowledge that we're still around without making it about how little you think about us. It's mind boggling that you'd think a Greek person would read this and think you're anything but obnoxious. Explode.
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sometimes responding to media you like is articulate and sometimes it is microwave noises and static fizz
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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.
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I love the idea of the Wayne kids dropping extremely vague and disturbing comments during galas. Especially when in uncomfortable situations or if they're just bored. They pull out things from their nightlife too. Other times they just make shit up.
Socialite: Oh, dear, your cheeks look so sullen! Who sucked the life out of you?
Tim, dead serious: An old man with a goatee.
Socialite: Uh... what?
Dick: Once I broke my knee so badly that I swear I could see part of the bone sticking out.
Socialite: Good lord. How on earth did that happen?
Dick: Just clumsy gymnast things ^^
Socialite: The white streak is certainly a bold fashion choice.
Jason: I saw someone get decapitated once, so I could be doing worse in terms of what's on my head, yknow? At least I have one.
Socialite: What's your favourite colour, sweetie?
Damian: Red.
Socialite: Oh that's lovely!
Damian: Like the blood of my enemies.
Socialite: Oh.
Socialite: You must be new to these kind of events.
Duke: Uh, yeah, they're kind of scary. But I've had worse.
Socialite: Worse.
Duke: Well I've been left on top of a skyscraper before with no way down just to 'get over my fear of heights' so, yes.
Socialite: You don't talk very loud, do you? I can barely hear you.
Cass, with a straight face: If I spoke any louder every glass in the room would shatter.
Tim, behind her: I can vouch.
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lost in the beautiful world conjured up by this tweet
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absolute weapon of a woman
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