is this what responsibilities look like
can i just
so bill nighy was wearing a motion capture suit and screaming at johnny depp
and johnny depp had to scream back
without either of them laughing
just imagine that. two grown men, one in pyjamas with balls on his face, and the other in a pirate costume, screaming at the top of their lungs at each other
(Source: sothoros, via i-stole-a-time-lord)
I was watching Marvel’s Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D the other night when my Dad pointed at Clark Gregg and said, “I knew him, I went to college with him.”
So after perusing my Dad’s old yearbook, we discovered this:
DEM PANTS THO.
Enjoy this little beauty tumblr friends.
Let’s all just take a moment here
<3 Ah - Theatre students.
Written as a response to a Star Trek Online fiction challenge in the STO forums.
It was just an innocuous little piece of metal.
She drew her fingers over the fragment with care. It was small, gnarled and heavy; smooth and refined on some of its curves – buff and muted on others, intermingled with tiny, rough points and counterbalanced with razor-sharp lines. Yet it sparkled – its pits of polished surface reflected the lights with such ferocity it seemed more a jewel than wreckage.
She thought it was rather amazing that an end to ones existence would result in remnants of such disturbing beauty.
But still, it was just a hunk of twisted metal.
Keep saying that to yourself Beth. It’s “just a hunk of metal.” You know damn well it means more than that. Worse, you’re becoming quite the collector of “hunks of metal” and that’s what’s got you so angry now. How many do you have? Ten? Twelve? Fifteen? Pretty morbid paperweights don’t you think?
Beth swallowed back her pain and opened the small drawer in the bureau in her quarters, letting her eyes rest upon a line of small, metal blobs.
Anyone who would see them would think of them as a strange collection of clutter – silvery metal shards of junk – but she could tell every single one of them apart. To her, each one was spectacularly different from another.
The one with the jagged little hook – that was Futs-Lung. The one with the sweeping, curving blade was Chan’iel. The one with the spikes that ran down the length of its pressed-globular form was Norel. The one that somehow her mind always saw as being in the shape of a Celtic harp? That was Brian. And the one in her hand? The one that sparkled with pits and dents of brushed tritanium? That was Carrie.
Every single little lump of fuselage in that drawer was her personal mausoleum – the only tangible evidence that her friends had ever taken up space in this universe; her reminders that she was still here and still had a job to do just like everyone else who was still here and still fighting.
She set the sparkling trinket back into the drawer but she did not shut it. She stood there and let herself remember each person and their crews. She promised them all she would never forget…
“Captain, long range sensors have picked up an Orion squadron on an intercept course,” the voice of her Executive Officer broke the silence in her quarters.
She closed her eyes in resignation, closed the drawer to her bureau and turned away – phantoms of the slight metal shards still burned into her retinas.
Once again it was time for her to try to keep herself and her crew from ending up being represented by a small metal blob in the drawer of a friend’s bureau.
“On my way.”