#likeariddle

[hadani]

"put me in the coffin with both middle fingers up." from ellie.

text posts. accepting!  /  @beforewecrash​​. 

     dina’s nose wrinkles, loosing a quiet huff of laughter, but she doesn’t look up from the small fire set up in front of them. ‘ you’re not dying. ’ she reminds her. it is cold, though, enough to chill their noses, their ears, the scant bits of skin left bared to the winter air. it’s damp, too, and a good portion of their discomfort can be attributed to the on-and-off drizzle that’s been following them for more than a quarter of the day.within moments of her reply, ellie sneezes soundly, as if arguing her point further. the look she levels her– as if saying see? what did i tell you?– prompts a small, lopsided smile when dina glances upward to catch it. yeah, winter isn’t over yet, but, ‘ at least it isn’t spring. ’ and, at that: at least they’re on the last leg of their patrol, mere moments away from a hot, crispy meal. ( two squirrels, which isn’t a lot – but it’s fresh. ) they’re both impatient to dig in. 

     ellie swipes her nose with the back of her hand, sniffing mildly. ( dina knows she doesn’t like the winter. something about the snow, the way she eyes deer tracks in the forest — ellie hasn’t told, and dina hasn’t asked, but she does notice. so, she fills the spaces in between. she talks enough for both of them. ) dina knocks her boot against that of her companion’s, nodding at the pack to their right side. 

     ‘ grab a plate, whiner. ’ 

[prodigil]

👀 from one (1) synth detective. i double dare you.

tension.  /  accepting.  / @likeariddle.

👀   grab  my  muse’s  jaw   &   direct  their  gaze  towards  yours 

    it’s  a  different  sensation.  the  sun  spills  across  the  top  of  sam’s  crown  of  sleek  hair,  creating  delicate  shadows  that  extend  beneath  his  strong  brow  and  encompass  the  upper  lids  of  his  eyes.  judging  by  the  cast  (his  pocketwatch  is  a  spider  web  of  cracks--sam  needs  another,  but  they’re  not  easy  to  come  by),  sam  would  guess  it  was  two  or  three  in  the  afternoon. 

    nick  sometimes  gets  these  looks  --  scrunched  up  as  he  can  muster  (broken  electrical  wires  like  busted  capillaries  limiting  his  movement--sam  hates  that,  only  because  he  thinks  it  has  to  hurt,  or  worse,  is  numb),  vexed  and  openly  concerned  for  sam’s  safety.  after  all,  he  was  only  human,  and  a  good  shiv  to  the  internal  organs  would  permanently  put  him  out  of  commission,  and  then--well,  thats  it,  isn’t  it?  

   you  sound  like  my  dad,  sam  had  said  once,  and  if  a  gen  2  synth  could  blush.  it  wasn’t  true,  not  really,  and  winchester  had  eradicated  the  notion  at  a  later  point,  no,  my  dad  was  --  a  bastard,  actually,  and  you’re  anything  but  that.  sam’s  not  a  raider,  not  a  butcher,  not  a  gunner,  not  a  killer.  but  he  can  still  toss  his  dice  in  with  the  lot  of  them,  and  he  can  still  challenge  a  200  year  old  ghoul  to  a  game  of  poker,  and  win  confidently. 

    the  tips  of  valentine’s  bare-boned  digits  touch  his  face,  and  sam’s  idle  hands  come  to  a  pause  (he  looks  down  through  his  lashes,  and  no  height  difference  will  make  sam  feel  smaller  than  that,  his  lips  parting  unevenly,  reddened  as  if  he’d  been  biting  them),  leafing  through  the  old  papers  stacked  around  nick’s  office.  they  don’t  come  back  here  very  often,  sam  realizes.  he’d  only  stepped  outside  for  the  air,  dissatisfied  with  the  lamp  lights.

    nick  is  stern,  but  curiously  gentle  --  sam  is  free  to  pull  his  face  away,  he  can  feel,  though  he  never  does,  allowing  the  detective  to  maneuver  his  countenance  freely.  he  swabs  his  thumb  over  sam’s  hard  cheek  bone,  touching  a  welt-like  scar  edging  toward  his  ear.  with  his  free  hand,  he  taps  at  the  area  below  his  own  left  eye,  touching  an  abrasion.  it’s  like  we’re  twins,  he  murmurs,  and  sam  catches  the  pleasant  sarcasm  in  his  inflection.  

     though  a  dimple  appears  beside  sam’s  hollowed  cheek,  a  healthy  pink  buds  above  the  touched  bone,  spreading  blatantly  toward  the  broadest  part  of  his  nose.  ‘  christ,  ‘  sam  mumbles,  setting  the  papers  stiffly  held  between  his  hands  aside.   ‘  uh  ..  yeah.  dog.  ‘

[shewrit]

          @likeariddle! 

          dina sidles up next to ellie, a slow, all-at-once movement, bumping her shoulder against hers. ‘ i heard from someone, who heard from someone, ’ she leans in, voice taking on the sort of tone only thieves and vagabonds can muster. it’s ruined, verily, by the grin that curls at her mouth. ‘ -- that you can play guitar. and you didn’t tell me, ellie. ’ 

[peacefulapostle--a]

likeariddle replied to your post: Shave.

Ellie vc: there’s a face under there???????

mind yer own business, kiddo. 

[dreamwho]

@likeariddle + @centuriesuntold

The Dream lord appears at the top of the main TARDIS staircase, hanging by a bannister with all the theatrics of Gene Kelly in his Singing in the Rain number.

          “What a glorious feeling!”

They hop next to the handrail and slide down to the main console area--no hands!

          “I’m back again!”

Oh.

          “Oh.”

The Doctor and Ellie. They're together. Still. The Dream Lord’s face falls into some uncharted place between scowl and disappointment.

          “Look at you two. Thick as thieves. And you should know, Doctor: you are one. A thief, that is. Not thick. Though, no, sorry, you are that, too. Yoouu,”

The Dream Lord wags a finger at Ellie. They have a point they’re keen on getting to, but (and it’s very a tempting but) they know that Ellie doesn’t know that they know she’s quite the thief herself (dreams: they’re almost all rehashes of the past (except with more talking dogs)). They can’t resist. The wagging turns into a twirl of their wrist as they hurriedly get through the gloat-and-menace:

          “Magazines, cassettes, yes, I know it all, but you,”  their speech slows back to normal (and back to the point!),  “you haven’t learned your lesson yet.”

[centuriesuntold]

         @likeariddle, @likethegun, cont from here! 

   the doctor’s voice sounds out through the door, sounding both far away and as though he was getting closer with every word: ❛ give me more than five seconds, for pity’s sake. i’m an alien, not a speedster! ❜

   it isn’t a surprise to him when he opens the doors that both of them are covered in blood. emergency phone calls, right? the doctor had expected something to be wrong. the doctor’s eyes glance off of deanna’s distressed expression to the woman lingering back behind her. it’s dark, but he sees it: the arrow through her side. straight through, and wedged tight from the look of it. immediately his brain starts running calculations: how close is it to any vital organs? has it pierced any? not her lungs, it’s too low for that- at least he thinks it is. the doctor clicks his tongue and hisses in a breath, stepping to the side and heading out towards ellie as he gestures deanna inside.

   ❛ go up the ramp, down the stairs t’ the right. two doors on your left down the hall there’s a washroom. go scrub your hands and arms, best as y’ can. and use soap! ❜

[multahomines]

try jd from scrubs!

It isn’t every day you get the chance to meet one of your childhood heroes. Admittedly, the childhood hero in question is a wax figurine and isn’t exactly alive and able to respond to my endless poking and prodding--maybe that’s a good thing. Red Foxx would’ve called me a Dummy and ... hey, actually, that sounds pretty cool. I dunno where Turk is, because he would love this. Time to try my patented ‘I Lost Turk and Now I’m Afraid, I Need To Find Him’ call. 

“Pirates can beat robots any day of the week!” I yell, much to the discomfort of everyone else trying to enjoy a nice time in the Wax Museum Of Forgotten Sitcom TV Stars. “And for that matter, ninjas too!”

“WHA--” there he is. like I predicted, he comes stomping around the corner, carrying with him a small wax figurine of -- 

“Is that the monkey from Ace Ventura?” 

“Yes, yes it is.” he says, proudly, and rather indignantly. Too indignantly for my tastes. 

“That’s so cool ...” I reach out to touch it and he promptly swats my hand away. I wonder what would happen if he was carrying the real monkey . . . 

“No!” his snapping ... snaps me out of my thoughts. “This isn’t the time for one of your space-out-fantasy whatsits. I heard you talking trash about robots and ninja.”

“Ninjas.”

“Actually the proper term is ninja.” 

“Whatever, look, Choco Bear; it’s Fred!”

“Yeah, I know, I saw him already.” 

“Wh--ah--whatdoyoumeanyousawitalready? And you didn’t tell me?”

“Dude--” he points to the monkey. “I saw a souvenir. You know I can’t resist trinkets and such.” 

“That’s fair. Anyway, you ready to go? These wax figures are cool and all, but it’s almost time for the 6pm showing of Attack of the 50 Foot Cheerleader.”

Turk makes a face which I’ve seen him make plenty of times before. That face when he smells something bad and it’s usually a fart, but he’s looking to cover it up. We have a lot of stuff in common--our love for robots, for chocolate chip sundaes, for random street games we make up like How Many Stolen Pairs Of Jeans Are People Wearing?, but one thing we tend to disagree on is shlockfests. B-movies of the highest orders. He hates ‘em, but I love ‘em. 

“Aw, c’mon man. I thought you were kidding about that! If I wanted to see a cheerleader stomp around and ruin things, I’d just give Carla a cheerleader costume from the Halloween store, knowhatIamsayin’?”

“Yeah I do!” we fist noogie. It’s like a regular noogie, but with our fists. “Fine. Take your ... pet .. wax monkey and get outta here! I’ll watch it by myself.”

“Promise?” he says, sheepishly. Boy, I hate it when he does that face. 

“Yeah ... go on! Carla’s waiting for you anyway, I’m sure. Besides, either way, I was gonna get the X-Tra large popcorn. This just means it’s more for me. Extra butter please!” 

“You’re a doctor, dude. You should know that stuff is terrible for you.”

“You’re a surgeon--you should know doing what you do late at night is bad for your hands.”

“HEY.” he shouts, drawing attention to us. ‘Nothing to see here! His blood sugar’s running low and he gets cranky!’ i say. “What I do then is between me and the X-Box.”

“Xbox.”

“What?”

“You always say it with the hyphen, it’s weird.”

“You can’t say a hyphen, JD.”

“Yet, you do it every time.”

“Alright, look. I gotta go. I got just enough time to buy this and haul ass back home. See you at 9?”

“Yepperoni! Unless they’re showing The Brain That Wouldn’t Die afterward, then I’ll be home at midnight.”

“Isn’t that movie like ... only an hour long?”

“It is! But then I have to scrub my eyes for two hours after watching it, Ka-ching!” 

“Ka-ching!” he echoes. I love him for that. 

“9 it is. Alright, love ya Vanilla bear.” 

“Love you too, Choco. Don’t melt out there!” 

“Dude!” 

“I was talking to the monkey, god.” 

“Shut up.” he says, laughing. He stomps back around the corner after another fist-noogie and I’m left alone with Wax Foxx. 

“Well, Fred. Looks like the Big One’s gonna get both of us.” I pause, look around, to my left, my right, behind me. Then, softly: “Dun-dun-dun dun. Dun-dun dun dun--” The Sanford and Son theme song. 

In the background, at the register, Turk chimes in with the last half. I smile and take a picture with Red ... I wanna save this moment forever. 

“Dummy.” 

[prophesyr]

john's new single: can i dunk my cross in you girl

check it out on his soundcloud: he’ll baptize you w/ these sick beats

[hadani]

"enough condoms here to choke a goat." from ellie.

mr right. accepting!  /  @likeariddle​.

          the peel of laughter that bursts outward catches, sticking somewhere midway out of her chest, sending her into a fit of wheezing coughs. ‘ ohhh, jesus. ’ dina presses one of her palms flat against her thigh, bent at her waist, waving the other at ellie like a white flag. when she’s acquired a solid enough intake of air, she peers up at her, shaking her head. 

          ‘ goats? what did they ever do to you? ’

[shieldeus-moved]

                 sc.         /         @likeariddle

   “   THIS  IS  NOT  ALL  OF  ME  .   ”     castiel  ,  at  least  this  light-brimming  ,  chimera-faced  version  of  him  ,     has  a  cryptic  way  around  speech  that  turns  it  into  a  double  slyness  ,  an  acronym  growing  in  and  out  of  his  silence  .  in  the  hollow  spaces  within  expression  .  ellie  must  be  afraid  of  what  she  doesn’t  see  ,  of  what  he  could  reveal  himself  to  be  ,  and  with  reason :  under  the  burning  feathers  ,  the  angel  extends  far  beyond  this  plane  .  he’ll  hide  himself  in  brightness  ,  two  sets  of  wings  covering  all  the  horns  and  convex  runes  and  impossible  niches  god  has  wrought  into  the  fire  of  his  body  at  birth  .  that  explosive  ,  wonderful  birth  .  

mostly  ,  he  doesn’t  want  to  scare  her  .  mostly  ,  he  wants  her  to  be  safe  .    “   YOU  SEE  ONE  SPECKLE  OF  MY  EXISTENCE  ,  ELLIE  .  I’M  NOT  SURE  YOU  COULD  HANDLE  THE  REMAINING  1,9  MILLIONS  .   ”   he  has  no  trench  coat  now  to  give  him  that  aura  of  unkempt  goodness  ,  and  no  human  body  either  .  but  still  with  his  thunderclap  of  a  voice  and  two  wings  alight  with  a  white  and  blue  fire  reaching  out  for  the  girl  ,  he’s  still  cas  .  who  cares  for  her  ,  truly  .

[abouttiimeadjacent]

      ❝ Hey. Hey! Hi! Remember me? I was-- I was naked? I'd fallen in the pool? Um-- have you seen ah-- see, there was a kid-- red hair, about ten years old maybe-- or um, maybe you've seen an abandoned pile of clothes. Because that happens. ...we have met, right? ❞

@likeariddle

[prudentiae]

how i know it'll be a good birthday: a snow angel suddenly appears on my dash 🌨❄

out. impeccable timing; and the perfect occasion. between us, however, you and your presence are the tried and true gifts ( not a sentiment to be shared lightly. ) i’ve had the fortune of being involved with you and your writing throughout numerous fandoms, and you’re undoubtedly part of what makes my dash —  anywhere, at any time —  feel like home. but enough of the sentimentality, i could write pages of that with incredible ease. happy birthday, bishop. i hope your special day has been one to remember, and may all the days following treat you well. my coffee cup is raised to you— cheers, my friend. 

[ownweapon]

                                       ‘  where  and  how  in  this  mossy  hellscape  did  you  find  a  way  to  do  that  -  thing  on  your  arm?  shit.  i  forget  the  word.  that  a  tattoo?  ’  —  @likeariddle / sc.

[dreamwho]

MOODBOARD:  ///  ellie + the dream lord  ( @likeariddle + @dreamwho )

we’ll meet again! don’t know where, don’t know when, but i know we’ll meet again some sunny day!

[romanaofheartshaven]

(outofchar.  coolcoolcool, found out my bae committed temporal genocide without batting an eyelid.  coolcoolcoolcoolcool.  not shook at all.  )

[asteeledheart]

@likeariddle

“i heard all about you when i was a girl, back during the blight.” she thinks she should be embarrassed to admit that sort of thing, but it seems easy, almost natural, to explain. alistair seems to have a way of setting most people around him at ease. sidri wonders if she too possesses that rare gift. “i heard all sorts of exciting stores about you and the hero of ferelden. it sounds so thrilling back then, the sort of thing i wished for, but now that i’m supposed to be some sort of hero, it all feels mostly exhausting.”