#idonthaveacloaca

[captoriium]

gaiin follower2 and two-thiird2 of them are 2triider2. the amount of you iin the multiiver2e ii2 hone2tly 2cary.

[frostlerking]

idonthaveacloaca replied to your post: aggressive shouting ive arrived

woah friend

rips off my shirt and throws the tatters at you hhHHHGGGGGGGGGG

[bloodedgesuptooclosearchive]

[Open]

"Oh come on," he swore, throwing the wrench away from him in a sidearmed angry gesture that would have left him free to grab the gun he kept holstered at his side if the wrench didn't go careening off the raised hood of the Impala and bounded back at him like an avenging pain-in-the-ass 'insert-some-monster-that-Dean-Faced-and-Killed-here'. 

He's the ripped Ratt t-shirt, and the torn jeans with grease handprints on the ass, and those handprints are too fucking large to be from Dean's hands, but whatever, what happens on the Demonreach stays there. He's the carhartt boots that he stole off of a guy that he punched out in a bar. He's the callouses on his hands and the blood under his nails. He's the raw fucking anger that's radiating off of him.

He's the one that's going to stand and piss on your grave if you don't hurry up and tell him exactly what you want with him. 

Listen, Babe. He's seen them all. He's stared them down and felt his heart stutter and stop. He's felt the dirt fall into his face as he pushed the pine box up with his feet and thought that he'd never breath again without worms and beetles falling into his hair. Sometimes he thought that they were inside of him, breeding and eating and tearing at the angelic 'gift' that Cas had given him when he 'raised him from perdition'. Raised him. Raised - right, like raising him and putting him in a fucking box was a huge help . A light, bit of fire - now you have a modern day fucking Prometheus returned from the crag having killed the vultures that fed on him.

Analogies. Metaphors. Pop culture references - if they were weapons, Dean Winchester could have taken on Charlemagne and won. Save, let's not give anyone any ideas because the last time he was pulled back in time, he thought that he was going to meet his own grandfather and knowing his luck - wait. That's exactly what happened.

Shit, Son. Aren't you going to interject while this hunter stares you down like a hawk about to come screaming down and carrying you off to the nest where his sick brother is waiting? Can't you say something before he starts to think that maybe a little blood sacrifice to one god or another  would be what was needed? Abraham nearly gave his God  his only son. Dean would give the world for his brother. 

Understandably, it's not an equal trade. The entire world isn't worth Sam Winchester.

Sam Winchester is worth so much more. 

So, you'd best tell him - right now - what the fuck you want with him as he picks up the wrench and slides the gun from from the holster in a smooth dead-eye gesture that will put a bullet in a penny from seventy yards away - and right now, he thinks that the penny has more worth than these strangers do.

There's no hello. There's no offer for help. It's a quick shot of whiskey straight from the bottle that burns down his fucking throat and sends the worms and beetles that live in his gut a'fuckin'squirmin'. Alcoholic bugs and vermin that make themselves right at home in Dean's sad, paranoid, bitter mind. 

If you're human - he won't save you. But he will kill whatever son of a bitch killed you. 

If you're a demon - he's had enough of you. Take your fuckin' charms and your sharp attitude and march the fuck out of here. He's not tolerating it.

If you're a witch - he has one itchy-bitch-witch, and he doesn't need another.

If you're a kid - find some other pseudo-hero to look up to. He pulled one kid from a fire. He's not pulling out another. The responsibility  you understand, is way too fucking much. 

If you're a friend - and by friend, he means one of the handful - then grab a beer and sit down. He'll put on the game and maybe grill something. But you'd better know that you're one of those few, or it's a bullet between your eyes. He's guarding his brother. He's one step away from starting to ask for the answer to a riddle to see who is smart enough to get through quest one. He's turning into a bunch of mythological cliches and doesn't fucking care.

So.

The gun is drawn, and he stares down those that thought it was a good idea to follow him. 

"What the fuck do you want?" 

[0101010001010100]

fishbit and idonthaveacloaca started following you

It seems that whenever I leave my blog alone for a bit, I always gain more followers.

(I've also apparently lost four but let's not talk about that. It's not me, it's them.)

Anyway, welcome to both of you, and thanks for this specific and undeniably handy piece of information I gained from one of these URLs.