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Again I: thejorie: xilast-zurvifferman: thejorie: jackbecq: thejorie: 19leahjade96: thejorie: madamekagamine: thejorie: gccgrimm: thejorie: gucciballs: thejorie: peble: thejorie: My three girlfriends.And yes, they smoke weed. do they smoke weed? Yes, actually. you mean she isnt just smoking a cigarette? but a weed cigarette? It’s called a bunt…. Not weed cigarette… And yes, it is a weed bunt. They all smoke weed bunts before we kiss. (They are my girlfriends,) They don’t look like they smoke weed. Fuck You.Fuck You.Fuck You.Fuck You.Fuck You.Fuck You.Fuck You.Fuck You.Fuck You.Fuck You.Fuck You.Fuck You.I’m so angry you are so lucky my three weed smorking girlfriends are rubbing my shoulders to calm me down I’m so mad. Your “weed smoking girlfriend” has a Hello Kitty tattoo on her belly. The one in the middle. I printed out a photo of your avatar and taped it to my punching bag that I punch and I mutter your URL with every strong punch I punch you twerp…. Don’t ever Talk about Blaiz or the wicked Tat(tattoo) I drew on her ever again I Don’t wanna see you standing outside my home at 3 am holding your weird dripping brown bags ever again ok leave us alone this is the FINAL FUCKING WARNING  Well that escalated quickly…… What, was that? Hmm? Come again. *Blaiz grabs my shoulder* Come on Jory, they aren’t worth it, please. * I jerk my shoulder shaking her hand off* NO! NOOOOO!!! *starts to just pummel you with my big fucking fists. With each blow I let out a furious yell. The blows come quicker and harder and the yells get louder. I’m yelling so loud and now I’m crying. BREAKING POINT. The week was hard and I can’t take anymore. I’m opening sobbing at this point while you blood gurgle. All three of my girlfriends struggle to pull me off and they finally succeed and lead me away from the goo pile that is now your body* haha oh my god who even is this dude? someone needs some anger management classes. love how he keeps reminding us that “I HAVE THREE GIRLFRIENDS”, “THEY ALL KISS ME”, and “THEY SMOKE WEED HURRP DURR”. and let’s not forget the “Blaiz” and her “wicked tat”, or that he doesn’t “wanna see you standing outside [his] home at 3 am holding your weird dripping brown bags ever again”, and that this is “the FINAL FUCKING WARNING”. “the goo pile that is now your body” i’m dying over here, jesus please, Jory, come challenge me to a bout of internet witticsisms; i promise, it’ll be fun. *shoots you dead* Heh, idiot…*leaves with my three weed smorking girlfriends to go hold hands and kiss.* this dude playin omg  Come again? *The bar falls silent. No one dares to make a sound, as you have just said a very poor choice of words at a very dangerous time. I remain slumped over the bar, not looking back to you. One hand limply holding an almost empty bottle, the other hand cradling my head. I repeat the question, this time louder.* Come again?! *You can hear me slur the words, the sentence sounds like a real struggle for me to get out. I’m clearly intoxicated. A bead of sweat rolls down your face as you realize you might have just fucked up in a very major way. Everyone else in the bar is pretending to not notice what is going on. The bartender idly washes a mug with a cloth. His eyes are closed and he’s muttering something to himself. A handful of people hurriedly leave. One person looks back at you, a look of sorrow on their face. They almost say something, but shake their head and cast their eyes down to the floor, and leave. But not you. You stand, petrified. A quick look at me reveals I’m still  at the bar. You look to the exit, there’s still time. But there’s not, there’s not, there’s not. Your fate was sealed the moment you opened your mouth.* Mother fuck.. what did you say?! *I slowly rise from my stool and being to lumber over to you.  I look a mess. My hair is unkempt, I haven’t shaved in what looks like months, there are dark heavy bags under my eyes, my shirt is stained and has holes in it, and I’m missing a shoe. But the main thing you notice is the gun tucked into my jeans, and my massive muscle arms that look like they were made for punching. You know that song about the boots that were made for walking? Yeah, it’s like that only instead of boots it’s my muscles and instead of walking it’s punching. As I drunkenly sway over to you, you think of your family… Will they mourn you, or will they try and forget this blotch of stupidity, that their child insulted the Jory publicly, ever happened to their family? Your thoughts are cut short as I now stand face to face with you. I grab your face and pull you even closer.* Playin?! There was nothing playing… no playing you fuck. No playing… it was real.. the realest thing I’ve ever know.. felt… Love. I loved them… Blaiz…. Chas-Chas… Funk… I loved all three of em… but they…*My face is wet with tears and I’m blinking constantly in vain to hold them back.* They left me… left… *Almost instantly the sadness leaves my face and is replaced with pure anger.* Playin? Playin?! *My hand leaves your face and starts to head to what you think is the gun. You close your eyes and see God looking at you, shrugging. ‘Pft, you brought this upon yourself dude.’ He says as he waves his hands at you dismissively. But instead of the gun, my hands grab yours. Your eyes jolt open and the anger is gone from my face. There is only sadness.* Left me… * I fall to the floor and sob.*Wow, grow up. *You say before you leave the bar but are hit almost immediately from a car and are killed upon impact.*
Again I: thejorie:

xilast-zurvifferman:

thejorie:

jackbecq:

thejorie:

19leahjade96:

thejorie:

madamekagamine:

thejorie:

gccgrimm:

thejorie:

gucciballs:

thejorie:

peble:

thejorie:

My three girlfriends.And yes, they smoke weed.

do they smoke weed?

Yes, actually.

you mean she isnt just smoking a cigarette? but a weed cigarette? 

It’s called a bunt…. Not weed cigarette… And yes, it is a weed bunt. They all smoke weed bunts before we kiss. (They are my girlfriends,)

They don’t look like they smoke weed.

Fuck You.Fuck You.Fuck You.Fuck You.Fuck You.Fuck You.Fuck You.Fuck You.Fuck You.Fuck You.Fuck You.Fuck You.I’m so angry you are so lucky my three weed smorking girlfriends are rubbing my shoulders to calm me down I’m so mad.

Your “weed smoking girlfriend” has a Hello Kitty tattoo on her belly. The one in the middle.

I printed out a photo of your avatar and taped it to my punching bag that I punch and I mutter your URL with every strong punch I punch you twerp…. Don’t ever Talk about Blaiz or the wicked Tat(tattoo) I drew on her ever again I Don’t wanna see you standing outside my home at 3 am holding your weird dripping brown bags ever again ok leave us alone this is the FINAL FUCKING WARNING 

Well that escalated quickly……

What, was that? Hmm? Come again. *Blaiz grabs my shoulder* Come on Jory, they aren’t worth it, please. * I jerk my shoulder shaking her hand off* NO! NOOOOO!!! *starts to just pummel you with my big fucking fists. With each blow I let out a furious yell. The blows come quicker and harder and the yells get louder. I’m yelling so loud and now I’m crying. BREAKING POINT. The week was hard and I can’t take anymore. I’m opening sobbing at this point while you blood gurgle. All three of my girlfriends struggle to pull me off and they finally succeed and lead me away from the goo pile that is now your body*

haha oh my god

who even is this dude? someone needs some anger management classes.

love how he keeps reminding us that “I HAVE THREE GIRLFRIENDS”, “THEY ALL KISS ME”, and “THEY SMOKE WEED HURRP DURR”.

and let’s not forget the “Blaiz” and her “wicked tat”, or that he doesn’t “wanna see you standing outside [his] home at 3 am holding your weird dripping brown bags ever again”, and that this is “the FINAL FUCKING WARNING”.

“the goo pile that is now your body”

i’m dying over here, jesus

please, Jory, come challenge me to a bout of internet witticsisms; i promise, it’ll be fun.

*shoots you dead* Heh, idiot…*leaves with my three weed smorking girlfriends to go hold hands and kiss.*

this dude playin omg 

Come again? *The bar falls silent. No one dares to make a sound, as you have just said a very poor choice of words at a very dangerous time. I remain slumped over the bar, not looking back to you. One hand limply holding an almost empty bottle, the other hand cradling my head. I repeat the question, this time louder.* Come again?! *You can hear me slur the words, the sentence sounds like a real struggle for me to get out. I’m clearly intoxicated. A bead of sweat rolls down your face as you realize you might have just fucked up in a very major way. Everyone else in the bar is pretending to not notice what is going on. The bartender idly washes a mug with a cloth. His eyes are closed and he’s muttering something to himself. A handful of people hurriedly leave. One person looks back at you, a look of sorrow on their face. They almost say something, but shake their head and cast their eyes down to the floor, and leave. But not you. You stand, petrified. A quick look at me reveals I’m still  at the bar. You look to the exit, there’s still time. But there’s not, there’s not, there’s not. Your fate was sealed the moment you opened your mouth.* Mother fuck.. what did you say?! *I slowly rise from my stool and being to lumber over to you.  I look a mess. My hair is unkempt, I haven’t shaved in what looks like months, there are dark heavy bags under my eyes, my shirt is stained and has holes in it, and I’m missing a shoe. But the main thing you notice is the gun tucked into my jeans, and my massive muscle arms that look like they were made for punching. You know that song about the boots that were made for walking? Yeah, it’s like that only instead of boots it’s my muscles and instead of walking it’s punching. As I drunkenly sway over to you, you think of your family… Will they mourn you, or will they try and forget this blotch of stupidity, that their child insulted the Jory publicly, ever happened to their family? Your thoughts are cut short as I now stand face to face with you. I grab your face and pull you even closer.* Playin?! There was nothing playing… no playing you fuck. No playing… it was real.. the realest thing I’ve ever know.. felt… Love. I loved them… Blaiz…. Chas-Chas… Funk… I loved all three of em… but they…*My face is wet with tears and I’m blinking constantly in vain to hold them back.* They left me… left… *Almost instantly the sadness leaves my face and is replaced with pure anger.* Playin? Playin?! *My hand leaves your face and starts to head to what you think is the gun. You close your eyes and see God looking at you, shrugging. ‘Pft, you brought this upon yourself dude.’ He says as he waves his hands at you dismissively. But instead of the gun, my hands grab yours. Your eyes jolt open and the anger is gone from my face. There is only sadness.* Left me… * I fall to the floor and sob.*Wow, grow up. *You say before you leave the bar but are hit almost immediately from a car and are killed upon impact.*

thejorie: xilast-zurvifferman: thejorie: jackbecq: thejorie: 19leahjade96: thejorie: madamekagamine: thejorie: gccgrimm: thejor...

Again I: BANG BANG WE CAN END GUN VIOLENCE. xphilosoraptorx: unlimited-shitpost-works: siryouarebeingmocked: 8lastrat8: american–support: kasaron: allriot-political-tshirts: American citizens own 40% of all guns in the world. Out of more than one billion firearms in the world, American citizens hold 393 million, for a population of roughly 326 million. That’s a lot of guns! The last time the US federal government managed to pass laws that limit the spread and use of guns was 25 years ago. It was 1994. The Federal Assault Weapons Ban was temporary. It expired in 2004, resulting in a massive increase in mass shootings across the country. Republicans are running out of excuses, blaming the latest incidents in Drayton and El Paso on video games. We can end gun violence. Let’s start with gun control. What sort of gun control legislation would you like to see be put into place? OP, that claim of shootings increased is false. The violence and shootings didn’t change in that decade from the previous decade, and in fact, violence has been on the decline. WHAT HAS CHANGED is how much media is shoved down your throat. Thats it. The nonstop spam from legacy media of a single event for a month, if not months on end is what changed. It used to be a 5, maybe 10 minute story has now turned into a 4 week “constant coverage” of spewing the same info daily, with nothing added. After the early 90s, we saw a sharp decline and its been declining ever since. Meanwhile, ownership is at an alltime high, increasing, as if a plethora of armed citizens reduces the audacity of a potential killer to attempt knowing they’ll get capped. What has also changed is the increase in the absolutely terrible idea of “gun free zones” seeing as approximately 85-95% of these shootings are occuring in these zones. Seems like that’s your problem. Hmm, this graph seems to showcase that despite the US owning vastly more guns… homicide rate is lower than a hefty chunk of even the non gun owners… I’d just like to know how they propose to take our guns. If I got one logical explanation from one of these half wits that didn’t include magic or ridiculous gestapo tactics we could have a conversation but, every F’ing time it devolves into name calling, insults, and slander. They simply can’t explain how to take the guns away. Not a single one of them has ever responded to me without crass vulgarities and irrational screeching. myamberreason said:  Anyway, guys, why you need THAT many guns? I understand owned a few for protection or legal hunting, but why do you have around 40% of firearms in the world?? I’m sorry, are you implying the Yanks should meet international proportional quotas on guns? We do own a few for self-defense and hunting. It’s just that the rest of the world doesn’t own very many guns. The reason we all have so many guns is very simple: logistics. The point of the second amendment is for us, the citizens of the USA, to be “shit your pants, wake up in a cold sweat” terrifying to the people running this country, so much so that they involuntarily have second, third, even fourth thoughts about ever violating our rights. The 2nd amendment is the most important and most powerful of all the amendments. Every single right and amendment could taken away, and we could regain them all with that one. And I’m not the only one who recognizes the importance of the 2nd.And it definitely terrifies Beijing. I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again: I don’t have to justify an amount of guns to you any more than I have to justify how many video games or coffee cups I have.
Again I: BANG
 BANG
 WE CAN END GUN VIOLENCE.
xphilosoraptorx:

unlimited-shitpost-works:
siryouarebeingmocked:


8lastrat8:

american–support:

kasaron:


allriot-political-tshirts:


American citizens own 40% of all guns in the world. 

Out of more than one billion firearms in the world, American citizens hold 393 million, for a population of roughly 326 million. That’s a lot of guns!

The last time the US federal government managed to pass laws that limit the spread and use of guns was 25 years ago. It was 1994. The Federal Assault Weapons Ban was temporary. It expired in 2004, resulting in a massive increase in mass shootings across the country. Republicans are running out of excuses, blaming the latest incidents in Drayton and El Paso on video games.

We can end gun violence. Let’s start with gun control.


What sort of gun control legislation would you like to see be put into place?


OP, that claim of shootings increased is false. The violence and shootings didn’t change in that decade from the previous decade, and in fact, violence has been on the decline. 
WHAT HAS CHANGED is how much media is shoved down your throat. Thats it. The nonstop spam from legacy media of a single event for a month, if not months on end is what changed. It used to be a 5, maybe 10 minute story has now turned into a 4 week “constant coverage” of spewing the same info daily, with nothing added. 
After the early 90s, we saw a sharp decline and its been declining ever since. 
Meanwhile, ownership is at an alltime high, increasing, as if a plethora of armed citizens reduces the audacity of a potential killer to attempt knowing they’ll get capped.
What has also changed is the increase in the absolutely terrible idea of “gun free zones” seeing as approximately 85-95% of these shootings are occuring in these zones. Seems like that’s your problem. 
Hmm, this graph seems to showcase that despite the US owning vastly more guns… homicide rate is lower than a hefty chunk of even the non gun owners…


I’d just like to know how they propose to take our guns. If I got one logical explanation from one of these half wits that didn’t include magic or ridiculous gestapo tactics we could have a conversation but, every F’ing time it devolves into name calling, insults, and slander. They simply can’t explain how to take the guns away. Not a single one of them has ever responded to me without crass vulgarities and irrational screeching. 



myamberreason said: 
Anyway, guys, why you need THAT many guns? I understand owned a few for protection or legal hunting, but why do you have around 40% of firearms in the world??


I’m sorry, are you implying the Yanks should meet international proportional quotas on guns?


We do own a few for self-defense and hunting.  It’s just that the rest of the world doesn’t own very many guns.


The reason we all have so many guns is very simple: logistics. The point of the second amendment is for us, the citizens of the USA, to be “shit your pants, wake up in a cold sweat” terrifying to the people running this country, so much so that they involuntarily have second, third, even fourth thoughts about ever violating our rights. The 2nd amendment is the most important and most powerful of all the amendments. Every single right and amendment could taken away, and we could regain them all with that one. And I’m not the only one who recognizes the importance of the 2nd.And it definitely terrifies Beijing.

I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again: I don’t have to justify an amount of guns to you any more than I have to justify how many video games or coffee cups I have.

xphilosoraptorx: unlimited-shitpost-works: siryouarebeingmocked: 8lastrat8: american–support: kasaron: allriot-political-tshirts:...

Again I: People always told me "everything should come easy to you!" "you are such a gifted child" So I worked extra hard to not disappoint anyone. I didn't want people to think they were wrong about me. I wanted to live up to their experctations. You could do so well if you tried a little harder It felt like I worked much harder than the other kids ADHD-ALIEN.com Suddenly, I felt so conceited for thinking I was working hard. I had forgotten to write my name on the paper. My words were missing random letters ADHD-ALIEN.com So I tried again But no matter what I did those careless mistakes kept sneaking in and again I always had issues understanding instructions Everyone else seemed to understand them I have a hard time under- standing half knowledge. IM NOT GOING TO SCHOOL!! Hey, it's time to Just from trying to not have to repeat a year. Looking back, I think I had my first burnout at 16. ADHD-ALIEN. com It was easier at University. I could choose subjects I LOVED But even then, I would just randomly forget things I knew I can't even rely myself. on So no one took me serious ADHD-ALIEN.com stop being lazy S It was as if being good at one that I was just lazy with the others. thing was proof why dont you take ithis seriously 'Everyone else can do this So I tried harder. And worked hard enough to render my Hand useless for 8 Months I had spent so many years trying to figure out what people want me to do That I completely forgot how to know what I want ADHD-ALIEN.com Since I couldn't figure myself out, I just worked more. Taking a break and not meeting those expectations... After all, my entire life was based on expectations fulfilling ....felt worse than death Dear Alien It's not that you can achieve things despite having ADHĎ It's that you can achieve things despite no one believing that you try. faulty We are not stupid, lazy or We are just not seen. ADHD-ALIEN.com adhd-alien: This is what happens to kids with ADHD who, instead of getting help and treatment, get told to try harder.
Again I: People always told me
 "everything should
 come easy to you!"
 "you
 are such a gifted child"
 So I worked extra hard to
 not disappoint anyone.
 I didn't want people to
 think they were wrong
 about me.
 I wanted to live up to
 their experctations.
 You could do so
 well if you tried
 a little harder
 It felt like I worked
 much harder than
 the other kids
 ADHD-ALIEN.com
 Suddenly, I felt so
 conceited for thinking I
 was working hard.
 I had forgotten to write my
 name on the paper.
 My words were missing
 random letters
 ADHD-ALIEN.com

 So I tried again
 But no matter what I did
 those careless mistakes
 kept sneaking in
 and again
 I always had issues
 understanding instructions
 Everyone else seemed
 to understand them
 I have a hard time under-
 standing half knowledge.
 IM NOT GOING
 TO SCHOOL!!
 Hey, it's time to
 Just from trying to not
 have to repeat a year.
 Looking back, I think I had my first burnout at 16.
 ADHD-ALIEN. com
 It was easier at University.
 I could choose subjects I LOVED
 But even then, I would just
 randomly forget things I knew
 I can't even
 rely
 myself.
 on
 So no one took me serious
 ADHD-ALIEN.com

 stop being
 lazy
 S
 It was as if being good
 at one
 that I was just lazy
 with the others.
 thing
 was proof
 why dont you take
 ithis seriously
 'Everyone else
 can do this
 So I tried harder.
 And worked hard enough to render
 my Hand useless for 8 Months
 I had spent so many years
 trying to figure out what
 people want me to do
 That I completely forgot
 how to know what I want
 ADHD-ALIEN.com
 Since I couldn't figure myself
 out, I just worked more.
 Taking a break and
 not meeting those
 expectations...
 After all, my entire life
 was based on
 expectations
 fulfilling
 ....felt worse than death
 Dear Alien
 It's not that you can
 achieve things despite
 having ADHĎ
 It's that you can achieve
 things despite no one
 believing that you try.
 faulty
 We are not stupid, lazy
 or
 We are just not seen.
 ADHD-ALIEN.com
adhd-alien:



This is what happens to kids with ADHD who, instead of getting help and treatment, get told to try harder.

adhd-alien: This is what happens to kids with ADHD who, instead of getting help and treatment, get told to try harder.

Again I: theladyzephyr: Folks let me talk about Crowley and sunglasses, because I have a lot of emotions about when he wears them and when he doesn’t, and Hiding versus Being Seen. We’re introduced to the concept of Crowley wearing glasses even before we’re introduced to Crowley, by Hastur: “If you ask me he’s been up here too long. Gone native. Enjoying himself too much. Wearing sunglasses even when he doesn’t need them.” Honestly Crowley’s whole introduction is a fantastic; we learn so much about his character in a tiny amount of time. The fact that he’s late, the Queen playing as the Bentley approaches, the “Hi, guys” in response to Hastur and Ligur’s “Hail Satan”. I like this intro much better than the one originally scripted with the rats at the phone company, but I digress. Crowley wears sunglasses when he doesn’t need them. Specifically, he still wears them around the demons, and when he’s in hell. You know where Crowley doesn’t wear glasses? At home. We never once see him wearing glasses in his flat, except for when he knows Hastur and Ligur are coming. That’s an emotional kick to the gut for me. Here’s one of the only places Crowley’s comfortable enough to be sans glasses, and when he knows it’s going to be invaded he prepares not just physically with the holy water, but by putting up that emotional barrier in a place where he wasn’t supposed to need it. An argument could be made that Crowley actually never needs glasses. We’re shown that it’s well within the angels’ and demons’ powers to pass unnoticed by humans. Crowley and Aziraphale waltz out of the manor in the middle of a police raid, and going unnoticed by the police takes so little effort that they can keep up a conversation while they stroll through. Even an unimaginative demon like Hastur apparently doesn’t have trouble with the humans losing it over his demonic eyes. The humans in the scene at Megiddo are acting like “this guy is a little weird” and not “holy shit his entire eyeballs are black jelly” That means that Crowley’s glasses are a choice, just like Aziraphale’s softness. Sure, he could arrange matters so that nobody ever noticed his eyes, but he doesn’t want to. Crowley wants acceptance, and he wants to belong, and he’s never, ever had that. He didn’t fit in before the Fall in Heaven, he doesn’t fit in with the demons in Hell. With the glasses, and with the Bentley and his plants and with the barely-bad-enough-to-be-evil nuisance temptations, he’s choosing Earth. This is where he wants to fit in, perhaps not with the humans, but amongst them. Even after Crowley is at his absolute lowest, when he thinks Aziraphale’s dead and he’s on his way to drink until the world ends, he takes the time to put a new pair on when the old ones are damaged. He needs that emotional crutch right now, even with everything about to turn into a pile of puddling goo he’s not ready for the world to see his eyes. Which is why I swore out loud when Hastur forcibly takes them off. It’s about the worst thing that Hastur could have done. Rather than leading with a physical threat, his first act is to strip away Crowley’s emotional defences. It’s a great writing choice because god it made me hate Hastur, even more than all the physical violence we see him do. It’s also the moment that Crowley really truly gets his shit together, and focuses all of his considerable imagination on getting to Tadfield and Aziraphale to help save the world. He’s wielding the terrifyingly unimaginable power of someone who’s hit rock bottom and realised it literally could not get any worse than this. He doesn’t put another pair of glasses on after discorporating Hastur, and he spends the majority of the airbase sequence without them. He puts them back on again, I think, at the moment that he really lets himself hope. When he thinks ‘shit, there may be a real chance that we get through this to a future that I don’t want to lose’. The vulnerability is back, and he needs Adam to trust him. In Crowley’s mind being accepted by a human means he needs to have his eyes hidden. Someone give the demon a hug, please. Interestingly, there’s only one time in the whole series that we see Crowley willingly choose to take his glasses off around another person. Only one person he’ll take down that barrier for, and even then he’s drunk before he does it. Dear God/Satan/Someone that makes my heart ache. Crowley’s chosen Earth, but he’s also chosen Aziraphale. He’s been looking for somewhere to belong his entire existence, and it’s with the angel that he finally feels it. When the dust settles and the world is saved and they finally have space to be themselves unguarded, I like to imagine Crowley takes off the glasses when it’s just the two of them; the idea of being known doesn’t scare him quite so much anymore.  
Again I: theladyzephyr:

Folks let me talk about Crowley and sunglasses, because I have a lot of emotions about when he wears them and when he doesn’t, and Hiding versus Being Seen.
We’re introduced to the concept of Crowley wearing glasses even before we’re introduced to Crowley, by Hastur: “If you ask me he’s been up here too long. Gone native. Enjoying himself too much. Wearing sunglasses even when he doesn’t need them.”
Honestly Crowley’s whole introduction is a fantastic; we learn so much about his character in a tiny amount of time. The fact that he’s late, the Queen playing as the Bentley approaches, the “Hi, guys” in response to Hastur and Ligur’s “Hail Satan”. I like this intro much better than the one originally scripted with the rats at the phone company, but I digress.
Crowley wears sunglasses when he doesn’t need them. Specifically, he still wears them around the demons, and when he’s in hell.
You know where Crowley doesn’t wear glasses? At home.
We never once see him wearing glasses in his flat, except for when he knows Hastur and Ligur are coming. That’s an emotional kick to the gut for me. Here’s one of the only places Crowley’s comfortable enough to be sans glasses, and when he knows it’s going to be invaded he prepares not just physically with the holy water, but by putting up that emotional barrier in a place where he wasn’t supposed to need it.
An argument could be made that Crowley actually never needs glasses. We’re shown that it’s well within the angels’ and demons’ powers to pass unnoticed by humans. Crowley and Aziraphale waltz out of the manor in the middle of a police raid, and going unnoticed by the police takes so little effort that they can keep up a conversation while they stroll through. Even an unimaginative demon like Hastur apparently doesn’t have trouble with the humans losing it over his demonic eyes. The humans in the scene at Megiddo are acting like “this guy is a little weird” and not “holy shit his entire eyeballs are black jelly”
That means that Crowley’s glasses are a choice, just like Aziraphale’s softness. Sure, he could arrange matters so that nobody ever noticed his eyes, but he doesn’t want to. Crowley wants acceptance, and he wants to belong, and he’s never, ever had that. He didn’t fit in before the Fall in Heaven, he doesn’t fit in with the demons in Hell. With the glasses, and with the Bentley and his plants and with the barely-bad-enough-to-be-evil nuisance temptations, he’s choosing Earth. This is where he wants to fit in, perhaps not with the humans, but amongst them.
Even after Crowley is at his absolute lowest, when he thinks Aziraphale’s dead and he’s on his way to drink until the world ends, he takes the time to put a new pair on when the old ones are damaged. He needs that emotional crutch right now, even with everything about to turn into a pile of puddling goo he’s not ready for the world to see his eyes.
Which is why I swore out loud when Hastur forcibly takes them off.
It’s about the worst thing that Hastur could have done. Rather than leading with a physical threat, his first act is to strip away Crowley’s emotional defences. It’s a great writing choice because god it made me hate Hastur, even more than all the physical violence we see him do.
It’s also the moment that Crowley really truly gets his shit together, and focuses all of his considerable imagination on getting to Tadfield and Aziraphale to help save the world. He’s wielding the terrifyingly unimaginable power of someone who’s hit rock bottom and realised it literally could not get any worse than this. He doesn’t put another pair of glasses on after discorporating Hastur, and he spends the majority of the airbase sequence without them.
He puts them back on again, I think, at the moment that he really lets himself hope. When he thinks ‘shit, there may be a real chance that we get through this to a future that I don’t want to lose’.
The vulnerability is back, and he needs Adam to trust him. In Crowley’s mind being accepted by a human means he needs to have his eyes hidden. Someone give the demon a hug, please.
Interestingly, there’s only one time in the whole series that we see Crowley willingly choose to take his glasses off around another person. Only one person he’ll take down that barrier for, and even then he’s drunk before he does it.
Dear God/Satan/Someone that makes my heart ache. Crowley’s chosen Earth, but he’s also chosen Aziraphale. He’s been looking for somewhere to belong his entire existence, and it’s with the angel that he finally feels it.
When the dust settles and the world is saved and they finally have space to be themselves unguarded, I like to imagine Crowley takes off the glasses when it’s just the two of them; the idea of being known doesn’t scare him quite so much anymore.  

theladyzephyr: Folks let me talk about Crowley and sunglasses, because I have a lot of emotions about when he wears them and when he doe...

Again I: Armani 2018 aymmidumps:the Lynch bros back again! I wanted to do some sort of redraw of this old one bc it wasn’t sorta accurate since now the brothers are okay and happier :’) 
Again I: Armani
 2018
aymmidumps:the Lynch bros back again! I wanted to do some sort of redraw of this old one bc it wasn’t sorta accurate since now the brothers are okay and happier :’) 

aymmidumps:the Lynch bros back again! I wanted to do some sort of redraw of this old one bc it wasn’t sorta accurate since now the brothe...

Again I: writing-prompt-s You're in charge of assigning every child on Earth the monster under their bed One child in particular has caused every monster assigned to him/her to quit. You decide to assign yourself. kittenwiskers Case: #273402 Status: Disastrous I stare at the file and realize I have no options, over the last 2 years every monster assigned to Charlotte Dower has quit, every last one. Her first monster; a giant goldfish-faced humanoid named Bubba, had been with her for four years and then she wasn't scared of him anymore. After that it was a string of different common, uncommon, and rare monsters... I even assigned a sentient sock monster to her. He came back crying I look on my tablet, only one assignable monster left; myself. Field work has never been my cup of tea, but desperate times call for desperate measures. So at 8:03 pm, after Mrs. Gideon tucks in Charlotte and her little brother Daniel; I slither into the space beneath Charlotte's bed Across the room underneath Daniel's crib is a rookie, Chico, a standard Creep kind of monster. I turn my attention to the bed above me, Charlotte is still awake but barely, reach up over the bed and run an ice cold finger over her cheek, silence, so I do it again "I'm not afraid of you monster!" She whispers, but her voice is shaking. I can see a small clock on the wall 8:14, a door somewhere in the house slams and there is an audible hitch of breath from above me. A few minutes go by I can hear Francis Gideon yelling at his wife. There are heavy footsteps on the stairs, and loud panting breaths, Charlotte scrambles off the bed and.. She. CRAWLS. Under. The. Bed. With Me. "Move. Over!" Charlotte hisses at me. I The door to the bedroom slams open and I smell the stench of human intoxicants before the man even steps inside. I know why Charlotte isn't afraid of any of my monsters; she's afraid of her own. Francis reaches a hand under the bed and I thrust my wrist into it, he starts to pull, I slither out. "What the... I cut Francis's next words off by unfolding to my full 12 foot height. Looming over the drunken man I caress my cold fingers down his face. "If you ever touch, scare, or harm my child again, I will find you, and I will do the same to you, for all eternity." I promise to him As Francis runs from the room he soils himself. I pull Charlotte from under the bed, tuck her back under her covers and kiss her forehead goodnight. "l'll be back tomorrow night, sleep well darling." Charlotte Dower is my child, I am the monster under her bed funny.C awesomacious: A greatly written story
Again I: writing-prompt-s
 You're in charge of assigning every child
 on Earth the monster under their bed
 One child in particular has caused every
 monster assigned to him/her to quit. You
 decide to assign yourself.
 kittenwiskers
 Case: #273402
 Status: Disastrous
 I stare at the file and realize I have no
 options, over the last 2 years every
 monster assigned to Charlotte Dower has
 quit, every last one. Her first monster; a
 giant goldfish-faced humanoid named
 Bubba, had been with her for four years
 and then she wasn't scared of him
 anymore. After that it was a string of
 different common, uncommon, and rare
 monsters... I even assigned a sentient
 sock monster to her. He came back
 crying
 I look on my tablet, only one assignable
 monster left; myself. Field work has never
 been my cup of tea, but desperate times
 call for desperate measures. So at 8:03
 pm, after Mrs. Gideon tucks in Charlotte
 and her little brother Daniel; I slither into
 the space beneath Charlotte's bed
 Across the room underneath Daniel's crib
 is a rookie, Chico, a standard Creep kind
 of monster.
 I turn my attention to the bed above me,
 Charlotte is still awake but barely, reach
 up over the bed and run an ice cold
 finger over her cheek, silence, so I do it
 again
 "I'm not afraid of you monster!" She
 whispers, but her voice is shaking. I can
 see a small clock on the wall 8:14, a door
 somewhere in the house slams and there
 is an audible hitch of breath from above
 me. A few minutes go by I can hear
 Francis Gideon yelling at his wife. There
 are heavy footsteps on the stairs, and
 loud panting breaths, Charlotte
 scrambles off the bed and..
 She. CRAWLS. Under. The. Bed. With
 Me.
 "Move. Over!" Charlotte hisses at me. I
 The door to the bedroom slams open and
 I smell the stench of human intoxicants
 before the man even steps inside.
 I know why Charlotte isn't afraid of any of
 my monsters; she's afraid of her own.
 Francis reaches a hand under the bed
 and I thrust my wrist into it, he starts to
 pull, I slither out.
 "What the... I cut Francis's next words
 off by unfolding to my full 12 foot height.
 Looming over the drunken man I caress
 my cold fingers down his face.
 "If you ever touch, scare, or harm my
 child again, I will find you, and I will do
 the same to you, for all eternity." I
 promise to him
 As Francis runs from the room he soils
 himself.
 I pull Charlotte from under the bed, tuck
 her back under her covers and kiss her
 forehead goodnight. "l'll be back
 tomorrow night, sleep well darling."
 Charlotte Dower is my child, I am the
 monster under her bed
 funny.C
awesomacious:

A greatly written story

awesomacious: A greatly written story