Oh so at the Buffy panel at Awesome Con James Marsters talked about how sometimes Spike would be in a scene and he’d just have no idea why Spike is there and the script didn’t explain it, and so he just made up motivations and he said he basically just made up 90% of the time that he was there to kill Xander and forgot/changed his mind
is it just me or is ‘just dont let it bother you’ possibly the worst advice ever given
It’s the absolute worst fucking advise. Stand up. Talk to them. Tell them to stop. And when that doesn’t work just do what @words-writ-in-starlight does and get the fists a swinging
*bows* thank you very much
things laid down
Hey y’all, for 600 followers here is some weird urban magic.
He blinked at the
tiled ceiling, crossing into wakefulness from something…not. There was a clamor of noise buffeting him,
just outside the half-drawn curtain hiding him—a tiny besieged encampment
against a hurricane in the hall. The
sheets crackled hard against his hands, more like paper than cloth, a sharp
smell making the bone between his eyes ache, and it took a long moment before
he could sort out the overload and look around.
From where he sat, he could see two more beds, one in the room across
the hall, curtain half-closed like his own, and one in his own room—a hospital,
maybe. He didn’t entirely recall what
the word entailed. Didn’t recall much of
anything, now that he thought about it.
He blinked away the concern and propped himself up on one hand to get a
look around at the other residents.
Kids, he noted. Very young. Younger than him? He wasn’t sure.
Across the hall
was a boy, smooth-cheeked and round-eyed.
He had one arm exposed to the shoulder, one sleeve cut away entirely,
and halfway down his upper arm, the flesh turned abruptly into brass. The metal threaded itself into the higher
tissue, and the boy clutched his arm across his chest in numb shock. The girl in the next bed over was sobbing,
the blank sound of someone crying in an effort to soothe themselves, tears
leaving glistening trails down the glossy porcelain of her cheeks. Her eyes, when she blinked, were bright and
lively, her black hair tumbling in thin dreadlocks around her face, but there
was a chink as a bracelet knocked
against porcelain—her hand, rubbing across her eyes.
He raised his
fingers to touch his own face, but there was no metal or porcelain there, only
the warm give of skin. A touch of
stubble on his jaw—older than these soft, scared children, then, but no lines,
so still young enough—and chapped lips, but all living, perfectly human. He looked down at his arms, sweeping fingers
up from the thin skin at his wrists to the curve of his shoulders where they
met the paper of a hospital gown. He
kicked away the sheet and performed a similar check, up the sinew-and-bone line
of his legs, then tugged the hospital gown away from his neck and looked
down. All skin over muscle, blood racing
at the crease of his elbow and the hollow of his throat.
Far from simply
being entirely human, there didn’t seem to be a mark on him. He wondered why he was here. Hospitals were places for the terribly ill or
grievously injured, that much he was sure of, and he didn’t seem to be either
one. If the noise outside was any
indication, they hardly had the staff to spare for him.
keith-koqane-deactivated2017080 asked: for your Consideration: reverse umbrellas. as soon as u open them they start raining all over u but everything around u is dry. thank you for ur time this was my ted ta
why stop there….. you find this umbrella for a weirdly low price at a yard sale being run by a person wearing a shitty wizards hat. the label says FOR “WEATHER”and when you ask what that means they pretend not to hear you
you try to return it the next day but the entire plot of land has become an applebees. there hasnt been a yard there in almost 30 years, the waitress tells you
