goodnight



reivixx:

do you ever feel like you love a character more than their own writers do



polople:

*complains about being tired* * doesn’t sleep until 3am*



pocketsext:

cinderella by day

sinderella by night 





arminsarmy:

marielovesgroban:

Don’t forget we have to wake up Green Day tomorrow.

Ok just a reminder to everyone: If you’re planning on tweeting billie joe armstrong “wake up” or something tomorrow, DON’T. The song is about his father’s death and so it’s really personal and treating it like a joke isn’t the right thing to do. Plus he’s asked so many times for people to stop and no one listens so yeah. Please don’t do that.



[ successfully has pasta twice in a day ] 





jealoussam:

Warning for major character death. Sorry.
ao3

When Castiel thought about hunting with Sam and Dean he thought about questioning witnesses. He thought about research and travelling and all the motels that all blended together after a while. He didn’t think about the cuts and bruises that piled up on one another because he’d never really had to worry about it before. Cas was starting to learn that hunting was more than fake badges and nice suits and Dean fixing his tie for him.

Hunting was spikes of adrenaline when the witness they were questioning suddenly grew fangs and claws and jumped on Sam with a flash of teeth. Hunting was having a sore back for a week because of the wall a witch threw him into. He was still getting used to those things.

But more often than not, hunting was long hours listening to the brothers bickering over where they would stop for dinner and then both of them expectantly looking back at Cas to be the deciding vote. It was the way Dean booked them two separate rooms but stayed up late watching tv with Cas. And the way he sometimes passed out next to Castiel and they both pretended nothing happened the next morning when Dean woke up wrapped around Cas and tangled in the blankets he had initially fallen asleep on top of.

And sometimes, not often, but too often for Castiel’s comfort, hunting was screaming. Shouting Dean’s name. It was the feeling of warm sticky blood seeping through clasped fingers. It was feeling Dean’s hands on his face. The constant insistence of, “It’s ok, it’s fine, you’re gonna be fine, Cas, Cas, look at me”.

Sometimes hunting meant letting go. Even before Cas really understood that, for him, hunting had been about Dean. Hunting was about being with Dean and trying to watch over him and enjoying the sleepy way Dean would breathe out his name at night. It was about holding on to Dean for as long as he could until he didn’t have a choice but to finally let go.



everyone is bouncing off the wall that it’s the last day of september but i’m just sitting here like, fuck, it’s one week until spn comes back



ICF