partybarackisinthehousetonight:
maybe the sun doesn’t want to be called “hot”. maybe it wants to be called “beautiful”. think before you speak
partybarackisinthehousetonight:
maybe the sun doesn’t want to be called “hot”. maybe it wants to be called “beautiful”. think before you speak
Do you think Chuck ever sits up there and is just like, “Fucking really, guys?” And then he sighs and takes a sip of his whiskey and shouts down from the fluffy clouds above:
“Was the ‘raising him from perdition, leaving your grace imprinted on his fucking skin’ not a clear enough sign that maybe, just maybe, I think this is the one for you?
No? When you rebelled against Heaven and you did it all for him and I didn’t immediately smite your feathery ass, that not a sign?
How about all the times you died, Cas? OR, OR you know, killed yourself, and I brought you back! Back to him! He’s the first person you come to and the first person you see as you regain sense of your angel-ness, and THAT’S not a clue, REALLY?
And Dean! Dean! You’re charging through Purgatory, screaming for your angel, and you find him on the banks of ‘the river’, cleansing himself, purifying himself in my waters, you find him like that and it never occurs to you that I’m doing my best to get you guys together?
Not even as you see him in your dreams, in the night, on the road, in the bathroom? Really?”
And then, because he can’t fucking take it anymore, Chuck starts going for the real obvious…
“Oh dear me! The Impala’s got a flat tire! And it’s just the two of you, cause Sam ‘lost’ his computer charger back at the motel! And, oh boy, it seems to be getting hotter out here doesn’t it? Oh look, Cas! It’s so hot that Dean has to take his shirt off, because changing a tire is hard, hard work, and it makes him sweaty…”
Or..
“Oh, oh no, there’s seems to be a HUGE thunderstorm on the horizon! Thank goodness you two found that deserted log cabin…Oh, opps! No power! Guess you’ll have to start a roaring fire… Hey… lookie there, whiskey! And two glasses! And, man, that bear skin rug you didn’t notice before is startin’ to look real inviting, isn’t it?”
And then, Dean and Cas just sit awkwardly on the couch together, close, but not close enough to touch, stealing glances at one another in the fire light, but not moving…
And Chuck is just like, “Ugh. Fine. Don’t fall in love, get laid, get married, be happy together forever ‘cause you’re totally soul mates. I DON’T CARE! I DON’T CARE AT ALL! … I’m going to find a puppy for Sam.”
I’m going to find a puppy for Sam
It does make sense if you think about it. God ships Destiel.
Maybe your website says more about your priorities than you think.
Maybe your videos are showing not openness and love but ignorance and naivete.
I’m much harder on my advocates than my enemies - my advocates should know better.
Today, Amazon announced the imminent launch of its newest endeavor, Kindle Worlds, a publishing platform for fanfiction. When I read the announcement, I was horrified, then angry, then sad. I want to take a moment to explain why this is such a tragedy.
You know how it is, right, ladies? You know a guy for a while. You hang out with him. You do fun things with him—play video games, watch movies, go hiking, go to concerts. You invite him to your parties. You listen to his problems. You do all this because you think he wants to be your friend.
But then, then comes the fateful moment where you find out that all this time, he’s only seen you as a potential girlfriend. And then if you turn him down, he may never speak to you again. This has happened to me time after time: I hit it off with a guy, and, for all that I’ve been burned in the past, I start to think that this one might actually care about me as a person. And then he asks me on a date.
I tell him how much I enjoy his company, how much I value his friendship. I tell him that I really want to be his friend and to continue hanging out with him and talking about our favorite books or exploring new restaurants or making fun of avant-garde theatre productions. But he rejects me. He doesn’t answer my calls or e-mails; if we’d been making plans to do something before this fateful incident, these plans mysteriously fail to materialize. (This is why I never did get around to seeing the Hunger Games movie. Not to name any names, but thanks a lot, Tom.) Later, when I run into him at social events, our conversations are awkward and lukewarm. This is because the moment we met, he put me in the girlfriend-zone, and now he can’t see me as friend material.
I must say that I find this really unfair. I mean, I’m a nice girl. I have a lot to offer as a friend, like not being a douchebag and stuff. But males just don’t want to be friends with nice girls like me. They can’t help it, I guess; it’s just how they’re wired, biologically. Evolution conditioned our male hominid ancestors to seek nice girls as mates and form friendship bonds only with the other dudes that they hunted mammoths with. It’s true—I know this because I studied hominids in my fifth-grade science class.
So what’s the answer? Should I take up mammoth-hunting in an attempt to appeal to the friendship centers of men’s primal lizardbrains? Should I keep making guy “friends” and then prevent them from making a move on me by subtly undermining their self-confidence? Should I just give up on those manipulative, game-playing, two-faced bastards once and for all? I don’t know. I mean, I’d really like to have a true friendship with a guy someday, but it’s so hard to trust and respect them when they never say what they mean—and you never know when you might be relegated to the girlfriend-zone.
