#letsraisealittlehell

[nevermeanttofall]

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eudximonia

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letsraisealittlehell

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[allroundlostcause]

“It’s last call.”

3 words meme - @letsraisealittlehell

Alaric looked up, surprised. Wasn’t exactly late, and they had a bar full of paying punters, no need to close so soon. And Dean had been practically ebullient all night, high spirits, full of dirty jokes and belly laughs.

Alaric studied his face for any sign that he was in pain, or confused about the time, but no. He looked sharp as a tack, green eyes flashing in the low light of the bar, collecting shot glasses and arranging them in the dishwasher.

He looked up and gave Alaric the sluttiest wink Alaric had ever seen on an old man.

Alaric laughed out loud, and shook his head, and repeated the call. “Last drinks, fellas. Oh, and ladies.” Claire and her new friend scowled at him from their table in the corner, and Alaric shrugged apologetically. This place was usually a sausage fest. Not because of a lack of women in the business, so much as a lack of women willing to drink the swill around here.

It took less than forty minutes to clear everyone out, and Dean had his shirt off before he was halfway up the stairs.

“Come on, old man, or I’m startin’ without you,” he hollered, as Alaric locked the front door.

[theliteralangel]

OR 'I believe that all men are just overgrown boys with deep problems communicating. ‘ for the meme because if that isn't the most Dean/Cas thing then...

American Gods sentence meme

Castiel would be the first to admit that she found Deana’s statements difficult to parse, at times. She agreed, of course, it appeared many of the problems of the world could be sold if men communicated better, and had privately wondered if quietly removing them all from power and replacing them with women might improve things substantially. But.

“You say that as if you feel you communicate with no difficulties,” she said, carefully. “You and Sam both seem to struggle with that.” She leaned closer, and tilted her head.

Oh, wait, personal space. Castiel needed to write that down somewhere.

“Angels don’t communicate well either, I’m afraid,” she said, returning to cleaning the gun Deana had handed her. Even now with something they might technically call a home, they were rarely less than busy, but a quiet afternoon like this felt close enough to rest. “Double talk and politics, which is probably whey I’ve never fit in.”

But was it? Maybe instead it was the way she seemed to feel things so much more powerfully than the other angels, acting on instinct rather than following orders. Hierarchy seemed forced and artificial.

Deana still looked thoughtful. She needed better rest than this.

“I would like to communicate that I think this would be a good night for rest. With Netflix and microwave popcorn.” There, that sounded effective. Castiel smiled brightly, and disappeared. They’d need beer. And burgers.

[holyunclean]

IT’S HARDER THAN YOU THINK. NO USING GOOGLE. EVERY ANSWER MUST START WITH THE FIRST LETTER OF YOUR MUSE’S NAME.

• NAME. Sam • ANIMAL. Saber toothed tiger • BOYS NAME.  Steve • GIRLS NAME. Sally • COLOR.  Sage (go with it) • MOVIE. Superbad • SOMETHING YOU WEAR. Sunglasses • DRINK.  Sangria • FOOD.  Sopapilla • SOMETHING FOUND IN A BATHROOM. Sanitizer (god I hope) • PLACE. Surrey • REASON FOR BEING LATE. Stuck in traffic / Sexy times

I WAS TAGGED BY: @sam-wayward-winchester  because you da best

TAGGING: if you’d like to, @letsraisealittlehell @eudximonia @godforsakenthing @heavanswarrior @ofreedsandoaks @gankingmonsters @ironandsteel @seesgood

[stillgoodpeoplearchive]

continued from [ x ] @letsraisealittlehell

She wasn’t sure how she’d gotten cut. One minute, she was fighting off a few walkers, and the next, she felt the pain slice through her arm. She’d ignored it the best that she could but when Dean grabbed her arm and wrapped a cloth around it, she wasn’t sure she could ignore it anymore.

Was it a cut? Or was it a bite?

No, no, she would’ve felt a bite. 

Beth closed her eyes as he spoke, his hand holding hers and his soothing voice helped work her through the panic that she could feel rising. She hadn’t gotten to see how bad it was. “What happened?”

[allroundlostcause]

gently does it

@letsraisealittlehell

The final hour before the bar opened was almost meditative, despite the hard work; hauling kegs and cases of beer, refilling the refrigerators. Overstocking the bourbon, especially the cheapest one, which was the fastest selling. Considering the clientele, there was nothing too surprising about that. If he and Dean had adequate space in the basement to ferment their own shit, at half the price, they would have bought that instead.

Not that Alaric begrudged the cheapness, but some of them really needed to master a credit card scam or two, or at least quit gambling away whatever ill-gotten gains they managed.

Led Zeppelin chimed quietly from the jukebox. Sign of a good day. Dean looked alert and cheerful (well, for a grumpy bastard, cheerful was always relative; but Alaric was no different. Cheerfully grumpy. It was kind of their thing, on good days). Impossible not to have one eye open on him, all the time, watching for any sign he was disoriented, but all seemed well. And from the smells beginning to waft from the kitchen, the food specials today would be good as well.

“Hope we’re busy today,” Alaric said. “I’ve got a stack of leads to pass off. I don’t even know who’s around at the moment, but considering the stockpile of specialized ammo building up downstairs, I’m guessing we’re expecting to see a few people at least this week.”

Did he miss it?

Yeah, he did, but life these days was different. Keep Dean calm and happy and getting enough sleep. Keep the other hunters going with supplies and credentials. Not like they weren’t contributing. Still, sometimes he looked through the piles of reports and the urge to hit the road was strong. Out of the question, though.

And don’t get him wrong; it wasn’t a sacrifice Alaric resented. Everyone’s days are numbered; Dean’s number was probably smaller than most, and Alaric wasn’t willing to miss anything. There was a sense of privilege to it. He loved those nights when Dean regaled a table full of young guns with heroic tales of badassery, the way they sat silent and wide-eyed, listening to a legend. Probably the main reason he didn’t shut the place down and find them somewhere quieter to live and rest. Maybe give Dean a few more years. Of course, they wouldn’t be years he’d enjoy all that much.

“You feelin’ okay today?”  

[theliteralangel]

all busted up || dean + cas

@letsraisealittlehell​

Castiel lay as still as he could manage on the gurney, horribly aware of things like broken bones and blood loss, wondering if his bicycle was salvageable, wondering if his insurance was enough to cover it of they needed to cut him open and put all of his organs back where they belonged. Because honestly, it felt like they had been thoroughly rearranged.

He had a lot of questions, but he remained silent, staring at the roof of the ambulance. Partly, he suspected, he didn’t ask questions because he didn’t really want any answers. Partly, it was the fact that his lips were split and swollen and sore and bleeding and he thought if he tried to speak, it might hurt.

It probably wouldn’t have mattered. Everything hurt already.

The ambulance stopped, after what felt like forever, and they pulled the gurney out of the back. The roof of the ambulance gave way to the hospital roof, stained ceiling tiles and shouted demands. He heard a voice. Car versus bicycle. Internal injuries, broken leg, broken arm, facial lacerations, mild head injury, he was wearing a helmet.

Oh, they were talking about Castiel. He tried to turn his head, and remembered they had a collar on him. Still, he would have preferred someone to speak directly to him. He flinched as a light was shone directly into his eyes, and even that gesture hurt. He raised his good hand in protest.

“Cross type and match,” someone called, and Castiel tried to remember what his blood type was. He wanted someone to talk to him. Maybe someone to call Anna or Gabriel to come and sit with him; wasn’t family supposed to rally at a time like this? “And take him to radiology.”

Castiel felt anxiety prickle over his whole body; or, he reasoned, it could have been blood loss. He closed his eyes, and when he opened them, he was looking into a pair of bright green eyes, and a dusting of freckles.

“Am I going to be okay?” he asked.

[holyunclean]

KNOWING YOUR PARTNER CAN POTENTIALLY MAKE WRITING TOGETHER A LOT EASIER. REPOST. DON’T REBLOG.

– BASICS.

•  NAME: Grey •  PRONOUNS: he / him manly femme •  SEXUALITY: gaaaaay •  TAKEN OR SINGLE: the singlest single pringle at the bottom of the pringle can

– THREE FACTS.

1. I wrote and published a book and am currently working on its sequel! 2. I used to play basketball in middle school; I hang my hat on that as the straightest thing I’ve ever done 3. I do theatre from time to time and love it.

– EXPERIENCE.

•   HOW LONG (MONTHS / YEARS?): 4 years on forums, 5 years on tumblr! •   PLATFORMS YOU’VE USED:  message boards, aim chat, tumblr, twitter (once briefly) •   BEST EXPERIENCE: I started out in the Grey’s Anatomy fandom but my best experience has been with the Glee fandom. It was really unintentional how I got into it, but I found my tribe through there, and met some amazing people. Learned a lot, grew a lot.

– MUSE PREFERENCES.

•   FEMALE OR MALE: Males. I always worry that my portrayal of a female character is inauthentic or not true to who they are. I played Alice Pieszecki of the L Word though, and I loved her to friggin death. I’d love to play Alex Udinov from Nikita sometime, but I don’t think the fandom is alive. •   FLUFF, ANGST OR SMUT: Angst and smut, tbh. Fluff is the salve to the angst I inflict on myself. I want alllll the things. •   PLOTS OR MEMES:  Memes are great because they can go anywhere, but threads are more sustainable to me if I’ve plotted them out. That doesn’t mean there’s no room for surprises, but, I like to have a general idea of what each of us expects out of a thread. Memes that turn into plots are also grand. •   LONG OR SHORT REPLIES: I write lengthy novely replies. It can mean really slower drafts, but when I’m feeling my muse at that particular point, there’s no stopping it. I have to write it all out the way it’s being felt and perceived through my character. Though, to be honest, I wish I had more short replies because I see rpers going back and forth together and I think it helps keep muse for the stuff you have going on. My threads take ages. I think I’ve only ever completed a handful in my time on Sam. •   BEST TIME TO WRITE: Night! •   ARE YOU LIKE YOUR MUSE(S):  Absolutely. I take on other people’s pain sometimes. I used to be a lot worse at this where I’d sacrifice a lot of things to the detriment of myself because it helped the other person with what they were going through. I learned to set boundaries to that and stop it because otherwise I was going to run myself emotionally and spiritually ragged and raw. But yeah. Sam is my on screen spirit animal. He has a special place in my heart; and I connect with him for a reason.

tagged by : @godforsakenthing tagging : @letsraisealittlehell @eucalyptos  @eudximonia  @classicrockcassettes  @poiscnblood  @gankingmonsters  @ofreedsandoaks @kingoffallengrace