to forget the dead would be akin to killing them a second time
Doesn’t look like a limerick to you? Try this:
A dozen, a gross, and a score
Plus three times the square root of four
Divided by seven
Plus five times eleven
Is nine squared and not a bit more.
THE FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCCCKKKKKKK
You follow me on tumblr but will you follow me into war
shut the fuck up steve
becoming a demon seems like a good career option
#oh my god i’m actually crying rn because i JUST got this part #these broken daleks all see themselves as humans #as oswin saw herself as human #so when amy was tripping out she saw the daleks for how they saw each other #as humans #and i really fucking can’t because the asylum is just full of daleks who feel apart of humanity #because they feel human and that is why the daleks have hidden them away #because they weren’t void of emotion #like i fucking can’t with this i’m fucking done goodbye #doctor who #fEELS (via deadpond)
YOU DID NOT JUST GIVE ME DALEK FEELS
So that’s a dancing child Dalek. Look at the eyestalk! ;___;
the commercials on BBC America were driving me crazy because the guy doing the voice overs sounded so familiar
I looked it up and it’s Mark Sheppard
The King of Hell is the voice of BBC America
Oh look. Things. That I’m drawing.
& long live the look on your face.
“Why did you name me that?”
But the people closest to him knew. Sam, his wife, old friends from their hunting days who’d similarly gathered and adopted a quiet life throughout the years. None of them wanted it, of course; no one ever did, but age takes its toll on everyone. They’d all privately agreed that trying to relive the past did nothing anymore.
Which is why moments like these were so difficult. Dean had nothing left of him. Not a picture or a letter or a souvenir of any kind. Nothing to say that he ever existed, other than the faded, crumbled memories left in his tired, old mind. He has nothing for his son but words, and none of them would make sense. Because both Dean and Sam had agreed to hold back details of their supernatural exploits from their children. The hunting days were over, and their children had no need of a life like that.
A picture would’ve helped. Dean could say, ‘see this man here? I named you after him.’ But there was only ever one picture, burned to ash not even two days after it was taken. The only proof there ever was of an angel who saved his life, and his brother’s, over and over again. An angel who - and Dean could admit this now, finally, after so many years - gave up everything for him, risked everything to be a part of his life and change it in a way no one ever had before.
He exhales slowly and gently looks to his son.
“I just thought it was a really great name, Cas.”