realistic captions for selfies:
- i took 34 photos and this one looks the least shitty
- i tried really hard to take this at an angle...
the Hannibal fandom is like those wealthy neighbours who just moved in...
“Ah, yes, my psychiatrist, Hax Murderer. He has been helping me profile this ax murderer.”
It takes Castiel days to pinpoint his own location. That first night, the stars are no help, eclipsed by the angels. The remainder of the night—after that one painful moment of brilliance—is a dark spot in his memory. A new experience, and not a welcome one. He awakes in the woods, aching in ways he doesn’t understand, and then he walks.
He sleeps through the second night, too exhausted to wait for the stars to reveal themselves. The green and white road signs are in English—Castiel is relieved, for an instant, that reading has not been taken from him along with everything else—and the climate is temperate. He is most likely in the United States. It’s warm enough that he doesn’t freeze to death while sleeping a cow pasture, but not warm enough that sleeping a cow pasture is comfortable.
Being human is anything but comfortable. He remembers the first time, of course, that long slow descent before the Apocalypse that wasn’t, but this is different. The discomfort has to do with the cold and the heat and the itch of being human, but it also has to do with something deeper, something vulnerable and afraid and violated. Castiel doesn’t want to think about it, so when he wakes up with grass tickling his cheek on the third day, he simply gets up and keeps walking. His legs are sore.
He doesn’t have to wait for the stars that night. He follows the road until he discovers the city of East Lansing, Michigan. He pulls the last crumpled dollar bill out of his coat pocket and spends ninety-cents of it on coffee at Biggerson’s. He sits down at a table by the window and stares down into the cup, trying not to contemplate the rest of his life.
There’s a rest of his life now. A finite rest of his life.
Of all his new limitations, that is the only one that feels like solace.
“Talk about coincidences,” someone says.
There are puns
and then there’s the star trek reboot soundtracks
- Hack To the Future
- The Flask At Hand
- Hangar Management
- Enterprising Young Men
- A Whole In My Hearth
- I’ve Fallen and I Can’t Beam Up!
- Nice To Meld You
- I Gotta Beam Me
- Trekking Down the Narada
- Does It Still McFly?
- Nero Death Experience
- Warp Core Values
god you did not lie. Every finale under RTD hinged on “the Earth/universe/multiverse is in danger (and by extension so are Doctor + Companion)”, every Moffat finale is “the Doctor is in danger and by extension the universe”.
Yeah, I really thought about this, the original meta was a lot longer and more rambling. Basically, the Doctor could have died in The Parting of the Ways and Rose still could’ve saved Earth without him. She’d have died doing it, but seriously, her plan still would have worked even if he’d dropped dead two minutes before she got there. In Last of the Time Lords the Doctor himself is a macguffin, a deus ex machina in his own show. Martha takes the journey, Martha saves the day. Journey’s End is about all the companions, past and present, coming together because they’ve been changed- because now they’re ready to fight for their own world. If Davros shot the Doctor in the face halfway through his final monologuing, the DoctorDonna still would have saved the multiverse. The End of Time does revolve around his history in the war, but then it ends- stunningly- with Ten giving up his life for the most ordinary (and wonderful) of men.
The Doctor’s sacrifice for Wilf was, for me, one of the core moments of Ten, ever. He gives up his life- gracelessly, at first, in a tantrum, and then in one humble gesture that is the epitome of grace- so that one human man, a friend, can live a little longer. Because the Doctor is not the most important thing in the world. He just isn’t. He’s lovely, but he is not the linchpin of the entire fucking universe. The show has shown again and again that what’s truly important is everything else around him: life, love, people, families, on and on. The very moment when Ten forgot his place in the universe, and briefly thought of himself as King Of Time Mountain, Adelaide Brooks paid the ultimate price.
I feel a small Doctor Who rant coming on and I’m so, so sorry. It’s just, this season. And the last season. There’s this one big theme that makes me want to shriek and rave Mugatu-style.
while Supernatural is on hiatus can we just take a minute to slow clap it out for the heroically unsung motel housekeeping staff of that universe? the folks who are going about their day doing laundry, vacuuming, bagging up trash, and then suddenly they open that one room at the end of the hall and
there’s a dead dude or a pile of broken glass or like little smears of liquid ruby fucking everywhere
imagine somebody cleaning up the honeymoon suite from 5x21 and then crying themselves to sleep because they’re afraid somebody got honeymurdered in there
or when they have to drag 500 recycling bins out to the curb because of dean’s Enormous Problems
I salute you housekeeping staff