nevergonnawalkpastafez:

ceirdwenfc:

herunicorn:

theniftythings:

Do you think Chuck ever sits up there and is just like, “Fucking really, guys?” And then he sighs and takes a sip of his whiskey and shouts down from the fluffy clouds above:
“Was the ‘raising him from perdition, leaving your grace imprinted on his fucking skin’ not a clear enough sign that maybe, just maybe, I think this is the one for you?
No? When you rebelled against Heaven and you did it all for him and I didn’t immediately smite your feathery ass, that not a sign?
How about all the times you died,  Cas? OR, OR you know, killed yourself, and I brought you back! Back to him! He’s the first person you come to and the first person you see as you regain sense of your angel-ness, and THAT’S not a clue, REALLY?
And Dean! Dean! You’re charging through Purgatory, screaming for your angel, and you find him on the banks of ‘the river’, cleansing himself, purifying himself in my waters, you find him like that and it never occurs to you that I’m doing my best to get you guys together?
Not even as you see him in your dreams, in the night, on the road, in the bathroom? Really?”
And then, because he can’t fucking take it anymore, Chuck starts going for the real obvious…
“Oh dear me! The Impala’s got a flat tire! And it’s just the two of you, cause Sam ‘lost’ his computer charger back at the motel! And, oh boy, it seems to be getting hotter out here doesn’t it? Oh look, Cas! It’s so hot that Dean has to take his shirt off, because changing a tire is hard, hard work, and it makes him sweaty…”
Or..
“Oh, oh no, there’s seems to be a HUGE thunderstorm on the horizon! Thank goodness you two found that deserted log cabin…Oh, opps! No power! Guess you’ll have to start a roaring fire… Hey… lookie there, whiskey! And two glasses! And, man, that bear skin rug you didn’t notice before is startin’ to look real inviting, isn’t it?”
And then, Dean and Cas just sit awkwardly on the couch together, close, but not close enough to touch, stealing glances at one another in the fire light, but not moving…
And Chuck is just like, “Ugh. Fine. Don’t fall in love, get laid, get married, be happy together forever ‘cause you’re totally soul mates. I DON’T CARE! I DON’T CARE AT ALL! … I’m going to find a puppy for Sam.”

Every word is freakin’ gold!

And hearing it in Chuck’s voice - just…..

I don’t ship it at all, but I laughed so hard reading this I couldn’t not reblog it

nevergonnawalkpastafez:

ceirdwenfc:

herunicorn:

theniftythings:

Do you think Chuck ever sits up there and is just like, “Fucking really, guys?” And then he sighs and takes a sip of his whiskey and shouts down from the fluffy clouds above:

“Was the ‘raising him from perdition, leaving your grace imprinted on his fucking skin’ not a clear enough sign that maybe, just maybe, I think this is the one for you?

No? When you rebelled against Heaven and you did it all for him and I didn’t immediately smite your feathery ass, that not a sign?

How about all the times you died,  Cas? OR, OR you know, killed yourself, and I brought you back! Back to him! He’s the first person you come to and the first person you see as you regain sense of your angel-ness, and THAT’S not a clue, REALLY?

And Dean! Dean! You’re charging through Purgatory, screaming for your angel, and you find him on the banks of ‘the river’, cleansing himself, purifying himself in my waters, you find him like that and it never occurs to you that I’m doing my best to get you guys together?

Not even as you see him in your dreams, in the night, on the road, in the bathroom? Really?”

And then, because he can’t fucking take it anymore, Chuck starts going for the real obvious…

“Oh dear me! The Impala’s got a flat tire! And it’s just the two of you, cause Sam ‘lost’ his computer charger back at the motel! And, oh boy, it seems to be getting hotter out here doesn’t it? Oh look, Cas! It’s so hot that Dean has to take his shirt off, because changing a tire is hard, hard work, and it makes him sweaty…”

Or..

“Oh, oh no, there’s seems to be a HUGE thunderstorm on the horizon! Thank goodness you two found that deserted log cabin…Oh, opps! No power! Guess you’ll have to start a roaring fire… Hey… lookie there, whiskey! And two glasses! And, man, that bear skin rug you didn’t notice before is startin’ to look real inviting, isn’t it?”

And then, Dean and Cas just sit awkwardly on the couch together, close, but not close enough to touch, stealing glances at one another in the fire light, but not moving…

And Chuck is just like, “Ugh. Fine. Don’t fall in love, get laid, get married, be happy together forever ‘cause you’re totally soul mates. I DON’T CARE! I DON’T CARE AT ALL! … I’m going to find a puppy for Sam.”

Every word is freakin’ gold!

And hearing it in Chuck’s voice - just…..

I don’t ship it at all, but I laughed so hard reading this I couldn’t not reblog it

rainbowcranes:

Growing up, my dad had a rule. “You can’t get a tattoo. If you do, I will make you get it removed. Unless, that is, you join the army and can shoot a seagull in the eye from a mile away, or you have a near-death experience.”
On July 12, 2011, I rode my bicycle to the camp I worked at. On my way home, I rode down a hill, and stopped at the bottom. I looked both ways, and there was no car coming. I started to turn left when I got hit by a car going ~55 miles per hour. I completely shattered the windshield, and when the driver stopped, I was ejected back onto the road. The doctors in the emergency room were absolutely perplexed when I arrived, because they all agreed that I should have died, and they were amazed to release me 4 and a half hours later with only 16 stitches, a concussion, and a chipped tooth. During my recovery, I was angry and confused. A couple if days after my accident, I received cards from my eight year old campers. One of them drew a giant paper crane, and said, “if you fold a thousand paper cranes, you’ll get better”. 
Not being able to read, ride a bicycle, or put stress on my body, I cut up an old sudoku puzzle, went on YouTube, and learned how to make a paper crane. By the end of the day, I had a laundry basket full of black and white paper cranes. I kept making paper cranes, even after I made a thousand, and I ran into a dilemma. What do you do with paper cranes once you’ve made them? A girl in my class had committed suicide the same day I had my accident, and I brought a purple crane to her wake. Her family could not have been happier the moment I presented them with this crane. Something clicked in my head right there. I started giving them to people and hiding them in random places for people to find. I started making art with them, and they became a major part of who I was. 
This tattoo is symbolic of my accident, and could not represent me any better.

rainbowcranes:

Growing up, my dad had a rule. “You can’t get a tattoo. If you do, I will make you get it removed. Unless, that is, you join the army and can shoot a seagull in the eye from a mile away, or you have a near-death experience.”

On July 12, 2011, I rode my bicycle to the camp I worked at. On my way home, I rode down a hill, and stopped at the bottom. I looked both ways, and there was no car coming. I started to turn left when I got hit by a car going ~55 miles per hour. I completely shattered the windshield, and when the driver stopped, I was ejected back onto the road. The doctors in the emergency room were absolutely perplexed when I arrived, because they all agreed that I should have died, and they were amazed to release me 4 and a half hours later with only 16 stitches, a concussion, and a chipped tooth. During my recovery, I was angry and confused. A couple if days after my accident, I received cards from my eight year old campers. One of them drew a giant paper crane, and said, “if you fold a thousand paper cranes, you’ll get better”. 

Not being able to read, ride a bicycle, or put stress on my body, I cut up an old sudoku puzzle, went on YouTube, and learned how to make a paper crane. By the end of the day, I had a laundry basket full of black and white paper cranes. 
I kept making paper cranes, even after I made a thousand, and I ran into a dilemma. What do you do with paper cranes once you’ve made them? A girl in my class had committed suicide the same day I had my accident, and I brought a purple crane to her wake. Her family could not have been happier the moment I presented them with this crane. Something clicked in my head right there. I started giving them to people and hiding them in random places for people to find. I started making art with them, and they became a major part of who I was. 

This tattoo is symbolic of my accident, and could not represent me any better.

Reblogged from feellng  740 notes

The most important things are the hardest to say. They are the things you get ashamed of, because words diminish them — words shrink things that seemed limitless when they were in your head to no more than living size when they’re brought out. But it’s more than that, isn’t it? The most important things lie too close to wherever your secret heart is buried, like landmarks to a treasure your enemies would love to steal away. And you may make revelations that cost you dearly only to have people look at you in a funny way, not understanding what you’ve said at all, or why you thought it was so important that you almost cried while you were saying it. That’s the worst, I think. When the secret stays locked within not for want of a tellar but for want of an understanding ear. By Stephen KingDifferent Seasons (via feellng)