Every once in a great while, I will tell somebody “You know, nasty little fellows such as yourself always get their comeuppance.”
…And then I’ll be sad, because they have no idea what I’m talking about.
I only gamble with my life, never my money.
The Mummy fandom on Tumblr is hella strong
What up mummy fandom I didn’t know existed! Loved this movie. Need to watch it again.
I quote “You’re on the wrong side of the river” constantly.
I’m going to grad school soon to be a librarian and I can’t wait to get drunk and quote all of Evy’s lines.
I’m an archaeology student and I recently re-watched this and the instant they made it clear that it was set in the 1920s I was completely cool with everything about it because archaeology in the 1920s was mostly drinking and blowing things up.
archaeology in the 1920s was mostly drinking and blowing things up
Well I’m a few days into a new fandom, I’ve been browsing through the tags, and I’ve got something to say.
Not because I enjoy the sound of my own voice, but because I’m seeing a lot of young people, many of whom seem new(ish) to fandom, and who maybe haven’t heard someone say this yet:
You can like whatever character you want. Which character you crush on or identify with doesn’t say anything about you – or rather, it does, but we would have to know you to know what exactly it says about you. No stranger on the internet can infer anything about you based on which characters you like.
You can also ship that character with whomever you like, and that too does not say anything about you, except – see above.
You can read and write about terrible things, and it doesn’t mean you are endorsing those terrible things in real life.
The rules are as follows: go to page 7 of a WIP, skip to the 7th line, share 7 lines(or however much you want) and tag 7 more writers to continue the challenge.
–
Drawing his own gun and switching off the safety, Cain took position next to Castiel and swiftly shot the rest of the glass bottles with him as the air warmed with the sun. When all the bottles were gone, Castiel lowered his gun and scowled over at Cain, who simply put his safety back on and stepped closer.
“Come back inside. Did you sleep at all last night?”
“No.”
With nothing left to shoot, Castiel stubbornly grit his teeth and flexed his hold on his gun before flicking on the safety and following Cain back into the house. The aroma of coffee and biscuits was warm and familiar in the kitchen as Cain toed off his boots and set his gun on the counter. There were dark circles under Castiel’s eyes, his hair rumpled, eyes glassy and redshot.
Cain took his gun from him, set it on the counter. “You can stay home today, if you like. There’s still work to be done in the gardens.”
“I have panic attacks at night, it’s a long story but the only thing that helps me to feel secure is if I am tied to the bed and handcuffed. And I need a warm body, preferably male, next to me. I’ve been like this since my twenties. I can’t, won’t, really be able to tell you why. Its not something I discuss with someone I’m not in a relationship with. There’s no sex or anything even sexual about it, I just can’t sleep without those things and I really need to sleep if I’m going to drive all day again tomorrow.”
Castiel looked at Gadreel calmly.
My very in progress wip is barely more than 7 pages long @angrysouffle, here we go:
“You’ve earned yourself another week, Dean-o. If you decide to open up to me just a little more willingly, you can always make it a full month. Your choice, you know where to find me.” Lister grinned his shallow shark grin and led him to the door.
“Thank you, Sir.” Dean managed to let out, feeling his skin crawl and fighting back another wave of nausea. He rushed out into the hallway, tears stinging in his eyes. His choice, his decision, yeah, right! He slumped down behind the wheel of his crappy Honda, leaned his head on the steering wheel and simply concentrated on the flow of air in and out of his lungs.
Get a fucking grip, Winchester! He scolded himself. You can’t be late for work again, idiot! He straightened his back, turned on the engine and backed out of the parking lot. If that was the way God answered his prayers, He could go and fuck Himself.
Dean nods. “Let’s try and get back to those caves we rested at some time ago.”
That they do. They can’t be sure when Dean will actually go to heat, so there is no time to waste on resting till then. They don’t run into much more monsters, perhaps because they’ve cleared out so many out of their path, but those that they run into they demand information from about possible shelter. Then they kill them anyway so that they won’t squeal to the others. But the intel they get lead them back to the caves, just in time.
Dean collapses right when they get there, and when he wakes up, he’s sweating and leaking and his skin is sensitive and he’s hot and cold at the same time, but most of all he feels empty empty empty and there is the constant sense of need need need.
Ugh, my WIPs are always incomprehensible messes, with barely any complete scenes, but here’s a bit of “break AU” (I really need a better title for this):
“I hate you!” Dean yelled after
Castiel.
“Dean!” Bobby looked scandalized,
and not without a reason – Dean’s anger wasn’t within any boundaries of good
sportsmanship.
Castiel didn’t even bother flipping
him a bird in retaliation, and that only made Dean seethe more in anger.
My WIPs are more of idea dumpsters, but gosh, since I had an honour of being tagged, let’s see. Behold, 7 lines of my godforsaken rockband!au:
“God, no.”
“Isn’t that exactly what musicians in love do?”
“There is
this idea, yes, that writing a song for someone is one of the most romantic
things one can do. It’s bullshit. Even worse, it’s selfish bullshit. When you
write a song about someone, you really write it about yourself. Your feelings, your love, your pain, your struggles, your idea of the person you’re writing about. It’s the same
kind of ego stroking as motivational coaching and self-insertion erotica.”
“What would
you recommend then?”
“If I were
in love with someone, I would write a song in their name.”
“What is that supposed to mean?”
“It means a
song that they’d want to write themselves, if they could.”
“I think he’s trying to keep this quiet by using someone who won’t want to talk about it,” Naomi continues. “For what purpose, I have no idea. Can you do it?”
Castiel looks up and frowns at her. “Can I…?”
“Are you physically capable of calling a shade?” Naomi asks, sitting back against her desk with her arms folded.
“I don’t have any of the supplies,” he starts, but falls silent under her sardonic look. Raising the dead actually has a very short list of requirements, beginning and ending with blood. For the rest of it, what Balthazar refers to as the window dressing, there’s a communal apothecary’s pantry downstairs. That’s not the problem.
“Castiel?” she asks again.
“Yes,” he admits. “I can.” He’d proved that long ago, at a much lower level of skill than he has now as a full member of the magisterium.
“Okay. Do you have a gun?” When Castiel gapes at her, Naomi clarifies, “I only ask because I’ve seen how poor your offensive spells are.”
“I’m not— I don’t—” He grits his teeth. “My skills are perfectly adequate for personal defense, thank you.”
“I certainly hope so, for your sake,” she says tartly. “No one raises a man in secret for anything good.”
kototyph 