Day: January 17, 2016

What about an au where Dean is a mortician and Cas is a priest?

~ kototyph ~ Leave a comment

(for the five headcanons meme)

  1. the first thing Castiel notices about Dean is his easy laughter and friendly demeanor, which seem out of place at windy gravesites in the dead of winter. It’s only later, when summer lets him linger there, that he sees it’s balanced by what seems like an infinite capacity for empathy, for compassion. It’s incredible.
  2. the first thing Dean notices about Castiel is that the guy is probably the most awkward human being he’s ever met. No wonder the bishop or whatever sent him to bumfuck Kansas, you never greet anybody for the first time by telling them what a godly soul they have. Christ. 
  3. Castiel finds Dean’s lack of faith somewhat disappointing, but it’s his coffee habits that are truly appalling. Whiskey does not belong anywhere near a thermos, and certainly not before eight in the morning, Dean.
  4. It’s only a little, and only when it’s really fucking cold, Cas. 
  5. there’s a gazebo behind the church that skirts the edge of a marsh, cattails bobbing through the slats of the railing. Dean and Castiel like to meet there after services in summer. There’s a wooden statue of St. Francis in robes there, about three feet tall, with a birdbath in his hands. Dean calls him Yoda. Castiel doesn’t get the reference.
~ kototyph ~ Leave a comment

lemonsharks:

gakupokamuii:

prettyarbitrary:

lordicexx:

grandpafucker:

lifeisducky:

yeltumpar:

I ❤ William Shatner on Twitter

I love how they respond to him, as if he is actually a captain, even more.

Nasa confirmed for huge fucking nerds

This is awesome and priceless and people that work on space stuff are the best people of all time.

Honestly this just about brings me to tears.

Roddenberry, Shatner, Nimoy, Nichols and all the rest of the original Star Trek cast and crew had no small role in making the moon landing as important as it was.  A few years before they set that lunar module down, this little TV show came along and fanned the dream into wildfire with an image of what humanity in space could actually look like—not only peaceful on our own world, endlessly curious, and prosperous enough to pursue it, but an active force for good in the greater universe.  Carrying not what’s most toxic about us, but what’s best about us out to the stars.

Everybody who has worked at NASA or any other space agency for the past 50 years is waiting for the day when that unmanned probe doing a flyby on a comet can be controlled from the bridge of a space-faring vessel.  When we’re not just looking at that comet through a color-coded sonar map, but we can look out a porthole and see it tumbling by with our own eyes.  When as a species we can finally outgrow hate and fear and violence, and turn our faces with joy toward all the beauties and wonders that lie waiting to be discovered.

And every time he does this, Shatner is reminding them of what that hope feels like.

This was too great to not repost.

People who have not broken character since 1966: William Shatner.

~ kototyph ~ Leave a comment

ey daragie, I got tagged by @museaway for the 7/7/7 WIP meme! I’ve already done it once so I’m going to go to the 14th page and 14th page because I can

There, tucked into a small clearing ringed in hundred-year oaks, is a crudely-fashioned cross. It’s planted upright in the ground, crooked wood and rusty nails, and the ground in front of it is still bare of plantlife.

With his eyes open, Castiel can’t physically see it anymore, but he feels it all the same: they’re standing at the edge of a void, the biggest he’s seen yet: a hole in the world to somewhere deep and dark and silent. There’s a half-imagined bite to the air, a whistle to the wind as it blows over an opening that doesn’t truly exist. Castiel sways with vertigo, staring down at it. Into it.

Henriksen pauses to eye him, one boot already in the clearing. “Problem?

“Oh. No, please, go ahead,” Castiel says, taking a stumbling step backwards. “I’ll just… I need to get my bag and—“

“Agent Fitzgerald,” Henriksen says, waving at one of the hovering agents. “The man’s bag, please.”

It’s the woman with the assault rifle, and she looks less than thrilled by the order. “Yes, sir,” she intones, sparing a brief glower for Castiel, and sets off back to the road.

“Sorry, it’s— it’s in the van,” Castiel says to her retreating back. She doesn’t acknowledge the words.