Still kid of determining how I want them to look. I decided that Aziraphale has this naturally wind swept, sort of sticky-upit hair that drives him crazy. He’s constantly wetting his fingers to try and slick it down, but even when he gives up and miracles it straight, Crowley makes sure it gets messed up again when Aziraphale’s not paying attention, because 1.It makes Aziraphale extremely frustrated, 2. It really does look good on him (plus when it’s straight he looks like a an even bigger nerd than he already is), and 3. now, not only do people assume Aziraphale’s flamboyantly gay, they also assume he’s a flamboyantly gay hair dresser with artfully tasseled hair.
Also, I like the theory that Aziraphale looks like he’s in his mid-to-late forties and Crowley in his early thirties.
Here’s the thing.
Stiles loves Allison with all of his heart. He does. The girl’s his other half and he’s pretty sure he’s never going to get married because no one will ever understand the way his mind works like Allison does. And she knows it -
“Alli, you realize that you’ve ruined all my hopes and dreams of ever finding love outside of this house, right?”
“Do you always try to make that sound as incestuous as possible or is it just an accident?”
But she also knows that there are things Stiles does not do. Does not participate in. Does not even look at for fear of being involved.
Stiles loves Allison with all of his heart. But the girl’s unfuckingfair.
“Please?” she asks from where she’s standing behind his computer chair, hands resting on his shoulders as he races to save Princess Peach for the billionth time - or, well, as Mario races to save her. Stiles prefers the sedentary lifestyle. “Stiles, come on, I never ask you to do this kind of stuff, but I really like him, okay? I want it to go well and I’m really nervous and oh my god, Stiles, jump.”
Stiles tosses his game controller in the air as Mario dies, scrubbing his hands through his hair and tossing his glasses to the desk. “Okay, well, I can’t jump when you’re behind me whining and making that pouty face! And I know you’re doing it, that’s why I’m not turning around.”
Allison spins the chair around and Stiles digs his heels into the carpet, glaring up at her. “That was rude.”
“Stiles, please,” Allison begs, hands circled around the arms of the chair. “I haven’t been on a date since Matt and…”
“Yeah, I warned you about him.”
“…this is the first time I’ve actually wanted to go on one. And I’m anxious about it and I think he maybe is, too, since he suggested that we make it a double date, so - please? I’ll make the face.”
Stiles sits up in his seat, head shaking as he orders, “Do not make the face. I swear to Christ, Allison.”
Allison does. Her bottom lip juts out and her brown eyes get as wide as they possibly can and Stiles is moving out.
“I,” he stammers, breathing out a sigh and tilting his head back against the chair. He admires his gaming setup upside down, staring wistfully at the monitors and drawings and posters and - oh, hey, that’s where he hid the box of condoms he’s never had to use.
Allison pokes his neck and Stiles sits up again, wincing in pain and then rolling his eyes because her expression hasn’t changed. “Oh my fuck, fine. You owe me a new game.”
my first TW fanart… aaaggrrr..
I don’t even know what to do with this picture.
The obvious answer is to say “The Angels have the phone box.”
THE ANGELS HAVE THE PHONE BOX.