#God I love Columbo | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

crownmemes · 2 months ago

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Columbo Sentences, Vol. 3

(Sentences from Columbo (1968-2003). Adjust phrasing where needed)

"There's a lot that we have to learn about each other - but we will, don't worry."

"I won't ever tell anybody anything, don't worry."

"I want to compliment you about your office. It's very impressive!"

"It's hard to believe that I'm now the last surviving member of my family."

"One doesn't lose a brother and remain emotionless."

"I always get nervous when a restaurant has a menu that doesn't include the prices."

"You can't force me into loving you."

"You don't have to love me to marry me. Lots of marriages have been built on much less."

"You've learnt very well."

"Thank you, that's the nicest thing anybody's ever said to me."

"I happen to be in love with him!"

"Murder's always depressing, but you get over it."

"Sometimes you frighten me."

"Well, you know, hired killers are crazy!"

"I'm going to ask you a question now. I'm afraid it's going to be unsettling, but I'm going to ask it anyway."

"It's going to be alright. I'll make it alright."

"You're about as subtle as a train wreck!"

"Flashing your badge to get past a guard is one thing, but this is searching without a warrant!"

"Perfection can be a bore."

"When people do something for the first time, a detective always gets curious."

"I don't want to offend you, but you're not a very good liar."

"Would you have done it if I told you to?"

"I suspected you ten minutes after I met you."

"You can push a man too far. I'm being used, and I don't like it!"

"If that police career of yours ever fizzles out, you could always make it as a cat burglar!"

"If I'd been up to no good, I wouldn't have risked my own neck in the process!"

"Aren't you afraid of being alone up here with a killer?"

"Nobody can be right all the time."

"I said a lot of things, but one thing I forgot to tell you was that I'm a chronic liar."

"You know, stress isn't good for you. Why don't you relax and try to enjoy yourself?"

"Whatever do you do with all that money?"

"Do you know what time it is? It's past noon!"

"You're becoming very annoying. Do you know that?"

"You're like a little, shaggy-haired terrier who's got a grip on my trousers and won't let go!"

"I want you to know that I didn't take your warning lightly, but I have no choice."

"What is this? A clumsy attempt to frame me with false evidence?"

"You know the incredible thing about you? You really believe those clichés."

"What's the matter? You always have an answer for everything!"

"You're so used to playing God that you figure nothing's going to work without you!"

"Beware of an excess of compassion."

"Hey, are you sure that badge is real?"

"Sometimes you're like a spoilt little boy!"

"I always have the feeling that there's somebody listening who shouldn't be."

"You are incredibly evil."

#rp meme #rp memes #roleplay meme #roleplay memes #rp prompts #roleplay prompts #sentence starters #specific;#crime drama;#filmtv;#classics;#columbo;

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farmerbebop · 5 months ago

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The sun was shining too bright for me to be worrying about my deadline so I guess I'll use this rare occasion to make a pinned post.

When I started blorbo posting it was simply because "If even I, who knows next to nothing about British and American TV series, can see that Patrick McGoohan was criminally underrated, then maybe this blog has a reason to exist."

The only thing I ever learned about blorbo posting is from the Columbo fandom. They have fun, and they love their blorbo. As the kids say: Love and peace on planet earth.

But McGoohan is a challenge and will never stop being one. His public image, both in front and behind of the camera, isn't that of someone who would be pleased with blorbo posting. I don't know how other blorbo bloggers feel, but I just wish I can hold a conversation with my blorbo that doesn't bore him to death or anger him to the point of throwing me out of the room.

Judging someone who talked about his nervous breakdown like it was just a cold isn't something I like to do, especially online. So if I have to talk about McGoohan, I always get quite nervous. I can only say that I regret we didn't get to know him as much as we would like to and I really wish he was still here with us.

I know many of the decisions he made, he made it for future generations. It's my privilege to say that my blorbo's gift to the three-year-old running this blog has been her greatest pride as a blorbo blogger. And her hardest and most honourable task is not to mess it up.

I actually didn't create this blog to please McGoohan (the ladies can testify to that, lol). And I think I make fun of him more than I should. But I hope he knows that life as a blorbo blogger isn't easy when your blorbo is Patrick McGoohan and maybe, just maybe, he wouldn't be too hard on me.

And just in case anyone is wondering what the hell I'm doing on here, here's a short guide to my blog.

my stupid vid My McGoohan fancams are what I personally consider the funniest part of my blog. But they can be somewhat serious too, I think.

my lousy photoshopping This can mean just about anything. McGoohan as The Little Prince. McGoohan in Ingmar Bergman's films. Anything that I made with photoshop. So I have some more tags to categorize it.

mcgoohan at the museum What I love to do the most in photoshop is putting McGoohan into paintings. I don't know why. Maybe because it easily hides my lousy photoshopping skills. Or maybe because my blorbo is as beautiful as a painting.

mcgoohan album covers What can I say? “But you don't really care for music, do you?”

mcgoohan fashion Let's be honest, don't you love a beautiful blorbo?

mcgoohan posters I sometimes try not to misinterpret McGoohan's works, I don't know if I succeed though.

no context mcgoohan Mostly just McGoohan sitting or standing somewhere. But I love it nonetheless.

mcgoohan for kids and mcgoohan anime Well, it's exactly what you would expect it to be.

mcgoohan arthouse One day I'll retire from blorbo posting and go back to watching arthouse films.

mcgoohan stickers They are not as cute as cat or bunny stickers, but they stick all right.

the prisoner redux or anything redux means my lousy photoshopping for that particular series/movie. But when there are so many McGoohans in one post I get tired of tagging and I just give up.

I think that's enough of my lousy photoshopping.

wild mcgoohan in his natural habitat McGoohan as God intended him. Trying to not give away too much information in interviews.

mcgoohan lore McGoohan in someone else's words, including his daughter's. Needless to say, my words should not be trusted. You'll know them when you see them.

my gif McGoohan gifs, mostly for losing tumblr polls. Also for making this blog popular with the ladies on here.

village poetry If there's one thing that McGoohan might like about this blog, this is probably it.

village soundcloud Blorbos and song lyrics go hand in hand - Tumblr proverb.

mcgoogoo and me Just me rambling about my McGoohan dreams and my hard life as a blorbo blogger.

my lousy shitposting It has something to do with McGoohan I'm afraid. But it's fun.

I know this blog has become quite predictable and it's filled with half of my life's story. But if McGoohan was really who I think he was, that would be the least of his problems with my blog.

And finally, my hiatus is a running joke that I'm getting worse at, I hope.

#mcgoogoo and me

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beautysurvives · 1 month ago

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destiel, nsfw, moc!dean, part 2 of this post

He commits to the bit twice as hard now, insisting that he can’t take off his “lab coat,” and resisting every method of bribery until he’s managed to get as naked as possible while keeping it on.

Luckily (and he knew this already) Dean is turned on by the trenchcoat for reasons neither of them can really fathom. Cas once asked if it was because it sort of looked like a cape, seeing as Dean has been in love with superheroes since his first copy of Batman.

Dean did not tell him that it probably had more to do with the fact that it was his. That, for all its dorkiness, it had come to represent him. Cas is hot, ergo, so is his coat.

So he just snorted and said, “Columbo meets Constantine meets… Inspector Gadget. Yeah.” References which, at the time, Cas didn’t understand.

But he’s always understood that Dean likes certain things about him. More than just the way he looks. More than the sex.

It’s not that they’re soulmates — Cas doesn’t even entertain the thought. But something else. A quality in Dean that meshes perfectly. If there’s a version of that for humans and angels, it’s something God never bothered to write down. It’s them.

Cas could feel it so intensely when he first touched Dean’s soul in Hell, when there was neither vessel nor flesh to keep them separate. He’d assumed then that it was the fulfillment of his purpose — the perfect performance of God’s will — that made it feel so right. After, he pushed away the memories, which Dean clearly didn’t share, of all the time they had spent together in embrace, fleeing toward the hole in the gate that Michael himself had opened for them. Healing Dean from the ground up. Being him, for a moment.

Purgatory brought it all back, but it was dulled by Cas’s guilt. Guilt which was only compounded by the judgmental gaze of Dean’s vampire guide — his replacement.

In Hell, there was no one left alive to witness them. No one to see Cas’s fatal mistake — the errant claim he’d laid on his charge. That’s all it was to him then. All he could allow it to be. A mistake, leveraged. Zachariah’s words:

He thinks it means something.

Let’s use that.

And then, when he was human — oh — suddenly it was all so vivid. So physical. Dean’s body against his. The car closed over them like a coffin. Lights passing by the windows every so often. Cars passing, strangers, families, shaking the earth underneath them. One of Dean’s mixtapes. Finding a rhythm.

The whole world was so harsh and cold and sharp. But Dean was soft and giving and kinder than anyone Castiel had ever met — even when he was, as he likes to say, being a dick.

There’s not a single corner of Heaven that’s ever felt so safe to Cas as laying in the backseat of that car.

He wishes all the time that he could go back to that — humanity.

Not feel so… numb is not the word.

Still, this is nice. Cas doesn’t need memory foam (How does it remember?), but it’s nice. And it’s nice to make Dean feel good. To connect to his mind and feel what he feels. To remember the backseat, remember what it’s like to be hungry, what it’s like to be full. How these feelings change the nature of the body.

They’re still just grinding, with the very inadequate saliva-as-lube, because neither one of them is willing to stop long enough to reach for anything better. It’s not as much the contact of their half-hard dicks that Cas enjoys — though it is good — as it is the contact in general. Dean’s hands on his bare skin. Dean’s desire. Dean’s everything.

Cas says, “I could probably stay for more than just tonight.”

“Awesome.”

“Maybe for the week.”

Dean moans, pulling him back into the kiss.

“Dean,” he says after a while, moving his hips while he talks. “Maybe we could try something.”

“If you’re gonna say rope stuff, don’t bother. I am sick of getting tied up.” It’s a smooth transition to Cas on his back. Dean all over him, spreading him open. Coat, suit jacket, dress shirt splayed along with his broken wings. Dean goes for his throat.

“No,” Cas says. “I was thinking…” Dean bites down. “Well, it’s gonna sound strange but. My grace…”

Dean stops. “What about it?” And then, when Cas doesn’t answer, he raises himself up. “Sam told me that burning through that stolen grace nearly killed you — fuck. Cas!” His voice rises to a panicked pitch. He starts to scramble off. “We’ve been using it all night.”

Cas locks him in place. “No, it’s fine, Dean. It’s fine.” He’s not trying to bolt anymore, but fine doesn’t seem to cut it.

“I’m not anywhere close to as burnt out as I was then. I think…” He stops talking, because the face of that angel still haunts him sometimes. “I think this one is maybe stronger than the last one,” is the best he can manage.

“Oh,” Dean breathes and starts to settle down. He melts back into Cas like a sigh. Then, coming back to himself, he slaps Cas’s arm. “Why’d you get me all worried then?”

“Well, that wasn’t my intention.”

“So, what then?”

Suddenly, Cas’s angel blade is in his hand. Dean’s eyes track the up and down of his throat as he swallows, and Cas knows he understands. “I just need a vessel— a- a container. To keep it in.”

He feels Dean stiffen, muscles hardening, taut, holding his breath. The mood returning to what it was before Cas spooked him. “You want me to… take your grace.”

Cas nods. It’s too obscene for words.

“So you’ll be powerless?” Dean feels heavier suddenly. Weighing down on his lower half with intent. Breath warm on Cas’s nose. He wants this — really wants it — but he’s scared.

“Not completely. We’ll just remove a little bit, just to— I’ll heal the wound… I… It will make me feel more—”

“Human,” Dean says, low and hoarse.

“Close to it.”

Dean hasn’t been fully human for quite a while.

Dean says okay on Cas’s lips.

He gets up and turns off the light. Settles himself back down, balancing on Cas’s thighs, letting their dicks cross and slide against each other.

He takes the blade from him, gentle. It glints in the near darkness. He takes his empty hand, guiding it to his hip.

Cas pulls just a little, pressing his fingers hard into Dean’s flesh, urging but not forcing. Dean could ask him if he’s sure, but he doesn’t. Dean’s an expert with any kind of knife.

“How deep?”

“Not very. Just enough to draw some blood. Not much.”

Cas holds him tighter just before he does it. A short breath comes out of him that sounds almost like a laugh. This is a very stupid idea.

There’s a thin red streak, and then the cloudy blue-white glow of angel grace, frothing out, smoke billowing around it.

“Open your mouth,” he tells Dean.

So he leans down, opens his mouth above the wound. Cas can feel it, warm and wet and stinging. Dean’s soft lips, his thrumming heart. His tongue swipes down around the edges.

Distantly, Cas thinks he hears his angel blade hitting the floor. The hand that was holding it is suddenly in his, fingers interlocking.

Dean catches a tendril of it. Blood on his tongue. Grace swirls in his mouth. He doesn’t know what to do with it.

Before he can panic, Cas frees his hand to heal himself. Then it’s under Dean’s chin, cupped.

He says, “Spit.”

So Dean spits. The room’s only source of light glows softly in Cas’s palm.

Dean stares into it for a moment, but then he’s using it to look at Cas, studying him in the dimness. To check in, he thinks at first.

It doesn’t flicker, but like candle light it seems alive, painting Cas’s face in roiling brushstrokes. Bright, deep eyes dancing. At full power, Cas could see himself the way Dean sees him. But like this, he can only guess.

He doesn’t break his gaze as he reaches down between them. He wants him to stay here, be with him in this.

It’s a strange feeling — and he can really feel it. Wet and dry, there and not. Spit, blood, precum, grace, stored inside the space between them. Kept intact by their proximity — Just like the pb&j. Cas closes his eyes, a moan tearing out of him as he takes both of them in his hand.

“Yeah,” he pants. “That’s much better.”

Dean makes a strangled sound, eyes wide. His hands go to Cas’s shoulders, the back of his neck, groping their way into his hair. He gasps. Forces out a trembling, “Oh God.”

The lengths of their shafts pressed together. Cas’s hand cradles their wet, responsive heads — and even the lines of his own palm stimulate him. He does to them both what always works on Dean.

It feels the way it sometimes feels to be healed. Skin made of something thinner, softer, more ephemeral. More vulnerable. Touching something powerful.

“Oh God,” he repeats, and, “Cas,” he insists.

“Fuck me. I’m gonna…”

He stops Cas’s hand, tosses it away. It falls to the depths below, with the angel blade. He grabs hold of Cas’s dick — that makes him buck wildly, almost kick Dean off — lowers himself down onto it. Let’s his head, slick with their creation, lubricate him til he’s wet enough to start taking him without resistance. Slowly, up and down, inch by inch until he’s good.

Cas is a mess. He holds him close and fucks him as hard as he can — which isn’t very, because every small movement makes him twist with ecstasy.

“You good, buddy?” Dean asks once, holding back giddy laughter.

Cas can’t even form words.

Dean kisses him, and the moment his tongue reenters the scene, Cas is gone with a spark and a sound like a muffled explosion. One last hard thrust and Dean is seeing stars.

#destiel fic #spn fic #destiel smut #moc!dean #angel grace

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