thee literal funniest thing in season 2 is the implication that crowley didnt realise he was romantically involved with aziraphale until that conversation with nina. we all thought he'd been playing the long game waiting for aziraphale to catch up we all thought no way is he not aware of what's going on between them that's been our collective understanding of crowley's motivations for years now but no apparently he just walked on hallowed ground and ran into a burning building and tried drinking himself to death and stopped time and fought literal actual satan himself risking total annihilation for aziraphale because that's what best friends do. platonically. apparently

richard siken wrote all those poems and survived a stroke he can post about whatever he wants

When lemony snicket said “i will love you as misfortune loves orphans, as fire loves innocence and as justice loves to sit and watch while everything goes wrong. i will love you until all the codes and hearts have been broken and until every anagram and egg has been unscrambled. i will love you as we grow older, which has just happened, and has happened again, and happened several days ago, continuously, and then several years before that, and will continue to happen as the spinning hands of every clock and the flipping pages of every calendar mark the passage of time. i will love you as we find ourselves farther and farther from one another, where once we were so close that we could slip the curved straw, and the long, slender spoon, between our lips and fingers respectively. i will love you if you don’t marry me. i will love you if you marry someone else, and i will love you if you have a child, and i will love you if you have two children, or three children, or even more, although I personally think three is plenty, and i will love you if you never marry at all, and never have children, and spend your years wishing you had married me after all, and I must say that on late, cold nights i prefer this scenario out of all the scenarios i have mentioned. that, beatrice, is how i will love you even as the world goes on its wicked way”

I love how everyone is arguing about who should play God in Good Omens season 3 when there is no use in that since Phoebe Waller-Bridge exists

It’s rotten work but only if it’s you. When I do it for other people it’s fine, enjoyable even.

Safia Elhillo, from "Summer," Girls That Never Die.

god i love how crowley was like "you only call me for THREE reasons" and then proceeded to list three reasons so broad and all-encompassing that it made me feel like aziraphale probably calls him every day

Cover Story by Richard Siken published in Pithead Chapel

My boyfriend did not die in 1991. I told a lie and it turned into a fact, forever repeated in my official biography. He died on Christmas Day, 1990, when his family disconnected the mechanical breathing machine. He was a composer in the school of music. We were working on a piece for voice and strings. I liked writing the words under the whole notes, hyphenating them to make them last. I liked sitting on the bed in his apartment, writing on the sheet music—bigger paper, thicker, how it sounded when it fell to the floor when we got tired. It was winter break, friends in town, we hopped from party to party, catching up but separately. It was late, the night was clear, the roads were empty. The four of them were sober, the driver in the other car was not. I was a few miles away, in a bar, waiting. When the bar closed, I left him an angry message for standing me up. A few hours later, a friend called and told me. He suggested I break into the apartment and start removing things before the family arrived. For several minutes I didn’t understand, then—evidence. He hadn’t told his family and it didn’t seem right to tell them now, to suggest that they didn’t really know him. I drove in the darkness between the accident and dawn. I climbed through the window. I couldn’t figure which things looked suspicious and which things would be missed. I was sloppy, rushed. I grabbed the wrong sheet music. It was a piece that had already been performed. A few days after Christmas there was a memorial. I sat in the back. As part of his speech, his father mentioned the missing music and made an appeal for its return. I couldn’t give it back. On New Year’s Eve, in a black velvet jacket, at a party in the lobby of a downtown hotel, with a drink in each hand—one for him, one for me—I kept asking where he was, if anyone had seen him. I had his passport in my back pocket. I shouldn’t have taken that either. It was the only picture of him I could find.

"it's God, isn't it?". "yeah"

It’s God, isn’t it?

your actions (bad posture) do have consequences (your body hurts) btw

tj klune books are like. what if there were two men. and they had to stay in a house together. and then. and then. they kissed.

— Richard Siken, from ‘the Language of the Birds’ in War of the Foxes