I-don't-even-know-what-I'm-doing-anymore

  • Dean: Sam, tell Cas if he could stop putting himself in danger every two seconds. That that would be just great
  • Cas: Sam, tell Dean that he constantly puts himself in danger and I'm just trying to save him
  • Dean: Sam, tell Cas-
  • Sam: JUST FUCK IT OUT! JESUS CHRIST! I JUST WANNA WATCH LOVE ISLAND IN PEACE!
  • Jesus: Dean, tell Sam not to take my name in vain. Thank you, my son

I’m not even joking when I say I have folders of unfinished line arts and stupid ass sketches of Star wars.

Here is one such specimen. Something I’d like to do on a shirt for myself.

one day.

you know, when the stars are in position for me to get my BUTT IN GEAR AND FINISH STUFF.

You can’t tell me you can’t see Hux in a vintage car.

“Oh Q, I didn’t expect you home so soon.”

“How did you get in here, 007?” Q’s bag dropped to the floor, anger flowing through him. “Is that my laptop?”

“I couldn’t very well bring mine along, could I?” Bond replied, a brow raised. “I was just getting started, care to join?”

Q had imagined being propositioned by Bond before, had constant dreams about it, but never once had he imagined to walk into his bedroom and find Bond in his pants… It was all a step too far, wasn’t it? Why was Q actually considering saying yes? It wasn’t how Q did things. It shouldn’t have been arousing.

“Fuck,” Q muttered, his elegant prose completely out the window.

“That is the idea.”