you want to know how the naomi thing ends?
8x18 will tell you all you need to know
JUST
I CANNOT
I C A N N O T
No Parks and Rec tonight (damn you Biden/Ryan!), so instead check out the amazing statistical analysis being done by Tumblr’s Parks and Plaid. It’s the sabermetric breakdown of plaid shirts worn by TV characters you never knew you needed.
Oh. Now I’ve figured out why Parks and Recreation and Supernatural are my two favorite shows. Secretly I’m a plaid fetishist.
HOLD THE FUCK UP
IS THAT A FRAMED MAP OF SKYRIM
ON OSRIC CHAU’S WALL
THIS CHANGES EVERYTHING
(via waywardism)
I feel like this thing I wrote might be relevant here.
Dean trusts Cas so completely — and why shouldn’t he? I mean, Cas rebelled against God himself for Dean’s sake; he left behind all his brothers and sisters and the only home he ever knew; hell, Dean even watched 2014!Cas agree to a suicide mission just because some monster wearing Dean’s skin asked him to go — that the idea his best friend might not trust him back breaks his heart in half.
(via waywardism)
MOTHERFUCKING
OGIR
YENSA
SANDSEA
November 2012
This is the single most awkward dinner Sam’s ever had, and he grew up with Bobby so that’s sort of saying something. The discomfort isn’t even because they’re all crammed into Ash’s stupid attic apartment, which is freezing despite the bodies clustered together around the room. Hell, Sam doesn’t even think it’s because of the rapidly cooling pizza that no one but his idiot brother is eating or the random computer parts and video game controllers strewn about like landmines. No, Sam’s damned positive that all the strangling tension in the loft is entirely due to the twins sitting uncomfortably on the upturned milk crates at the center of this weird gathering of everyone in the Winchester inner circle.
DEAN NO. BAD DEAN. BAD. GO SIT IN THE NAUGHTY CORNER.
Anyone looking to write a deliciously real Dean should study the shit out of dean1911’s drabbles.
favourite pilot episodes | castle; flowers for your grave.
I never quite forgave the producers for abandoning Kate’s no-nonsense bob. I mean, really? A cop poking around crime scenes and chasing down murderers with her long, lustrous tresses left loose? SURE WHATEVER HOLLYWOOD. When my hair was long, I couldn’t even not tie it back to go to the bathroom.
(via elbyx)
‘Describe the sexy, tortured look?’ Hawke asked. ‘Well—I just did, didn’t I? It’s the sexy, tortured look.’
‘Helpful as always, Hawke,’ Varric replied.
*
‘It is sexy, I suppose,’ Isabela said. ‘Also a bit… A bit as though he’s been eating stale old biscuits for a week and nothing’s leaving the stern, if you know what I mean.’
‘Why is it always shit with you people?’ Varric asked.
*
‘Varric,’ Aveline began.
‘Point taken, and I’ll just be on my way, never to ask you for assistance with the faces any of our friends make while flirting ever again,’ Varric said, knowing full well that a promise to Aveline was binding, even more so than one given to a pride demon.
*
‘All such looks are, at their essence, tortured,’ Sebastian said.
‘Well that’s a little bleak even for me,’ Varric replied.
*
‘Are you daft?’ Carver asked.
‘All the best of us are,’ Varric admitted.
*
‘An abomination,’ Fenris said, and Varric really should have expected that.
*
‘Woof,’ the dog suggested.
‘Boom,’ Sandal confirmed.
‘You know, that might just be the most sensible suggestion I’ve heard all day,’ Varric replied.
*
‘Oh, it’s a specific type of face, to be sure.’ Merrill tapped her lower lip with her forefinger. ‘A bit of the Dread Wolf in him at times, I think. All twisted up and shadowed and lonely, wandering those dark places alone, as afraid as he is frightening. Oh, the best tricksters are, and that’s likely how they make off with your heart.’
‘Well damn, Daisy,’ Varric said.
‘Anyone who reads a great deal knows how to tell a story,’ Merrill replied.
*
The first time, Varric wrote, that Hawke ever saw it, he’d called it the sexy, tortured look. Out loud. In public.
But that was who Hawke was, for better or worse. Telling the truth the way he saw it—an enviable talent for an incorrigible liar to be faced with every day.
But that truth was, Blondie was like a trickster of old, two sides of the same sovereign, the fear he felt and the fear he fought. What he’d lost; what he’d give, or what he’d take away. It was all uneven, that face, because it never knew what it was, only what it wanted to be.
And Hawke thought woof and also boom, as would any proper Fereldan.
THAT LAST LINE THOUGH
4x16 - 7x17
Holy crap. How did I never notice this parallel before? AUGH.
And remember how Cas answers Dean in 4x16? “For what it’s worth, I would give anything not to have you do this”?
Dean doesn’t say the same in 7x17, but I wonder if we’re supposed to extend the narrative symmetry and assume that, as much as Dean wants his, uh, friend back, at the same time he would give anything not to have Cas go a-smitin’ again.
Which puts a whole new spin on Dean’s motivations in the episode, especially how hard it must have been to give that trenchcoat back, because, god, no matter how much he misses Cas, Dean handing over the coat is essentially the same as Cas handing over the knife, pointing him toward Alastair, and saying, “Go get ‘em, tiger.”
Touche, Sera Gamble. Goddamn.
(via pandasintheimpala)
Tonight I’m having dinner at my aunt’s place, with some other family. My 19 year old cousin comes in, fresh from her second day of class (she’s taking summer courses at a nearby community college for her RN).
She claps her hands, obviously delighted. “Good news, Mom! I had a chem test today. 97%!”
“Wow!” replies my aunt, without turning around. “I knew you were switched at birth.”
I side-eye my aunt’s turned back. “Congrats, kid. That’s pretty great. Was it hard?”
“Not really. It was all just density problems and stuff, though I tripped up a little on significant figures—”
Then my aunt interrupts what is obviously a painfully boring discussion with, “So — how’d you do today?”
I don’t get it, but whatever it is makes my cousin beam.
“Awesome!” she says with a smile. She gets up and starts walking into the kitchen with her mother. “I ate only some salad and some apples.”
Aunt stops and frowns. “How many apples?”
Cousin’s face falls. “Two? Three?”
As they continue into the kitchen and out of earshot, the last thing I hear is: “Well. Which was it, two or three? That seems like an important detail.”
