unsmokable:

matchingisoverrated:

demonhiccups:

I decided to bleep out the lines on “I’m a Boss Ass Bitch” so I can listen to it properly in church. 

IM LAUGHING SO HARD RIGHT NOW

I had high expectations and I was not let down

(via orlesianbeauty)


sorry:

shopping for clothes would be a lot more fun if i had a thinner body and a fatter wallet

(via sexpeixes)


(via zimbolt)


(via cindyboo11)


mishasminions:

IS IT HOT IN HERE OR CAN I JUST FRY AN EGG ON SEBASTIAN STAN’S BODY

(via sexpeixes)


fuckyeahzeldahumor:

neetboss:

image

Why’m i lAuGhin So HArd

(via orlesianbeauty)



eatingcroutons:

kaciart:

Stop. Following. Me.

Imagine it though:
It’s a testament to just how exhausted Steve is, how much the search has taken out of him, that Bucky manages to catch him in his sleep. A blade at his jugular, a hand that Steve knows could tear his throat out fisted in his shirt.
Could. But won’t.
"Bu—"
“Stop." The flat of the blade presses against Steve’s jaw, forcing his head back. "Stop calling me that. And stop. Following. Me." Bucky’s face is inches away, eyes wild but still so familiar it aches.
"Can’t do that, Buck." Steve swallows, feels the serrated edge of the knife against his skin. "I’m with you —"
"Stop, just STOP!" The knife clatters to the floor and Bucky clenches his left hand around Steve’s throat and squeezes. It takes everything Steve has not to give in to the urge to fight back. He fists his hands in the sheets, forces down the instinctive panic. He will not hurt Bucky again. And Bucky will not hurt him.
Bucky’s face twists with rage. “Fight back, damn it! You think — you think I won’t —”
Steve doesn’t have the air to reply even if he wanted to. His vision’s getting fuzzy, blood pounding in his ears, but he clings to one thought: Bucky will not hurt him.
And then everything goes dark.
—-
When he comes to, there’s a knife buried to the hilt in the pillow beside his head.

eatingcroutons:

kaciart:

Stop. Following. Me.

Imagine it though:

It’s a testament to just how exhausted Steve is, how much the search has taken out of him, that Bucky manages to catch him in his sleep. A blade at his jugular, a hand that Steve knows could tear his throat out fisted in his shirt.

Could. But won’t.

"Bu—"

Stop." The flat of the blade presses against Steve’s jaw, forcing his head back. "Stop calling me that. And stop. Following. Me." Bucky’s face is inches away, eyes wild but still so familiar it aches.

"Can’t do that, Buck." Steve swallows, feels the serrated edge of the knife against his skin. "I’m with you —"

"Stop, just STOP!" The knife clatters to the floor and Bucky clenches his left hand around Steve’s throat and squeezes. It takes everything Steve has not to give in to the urge to fight back. He fists his hands in the sheets, forces down the instinctive panic. He will not hurt Bucky again. And Bucky will not hurt him.

Bucky’s face twists with rage. “Fight back, damn it! You think — you think I won’t —”

Steve doesn’t have the air to reply even if he wanted to. His vision’s getting fuzzy, blood pounding in his ears, but he clings to one thought: Bucky will not hurt him.

And then everything goes dark.

—-

When he comes to, there’s a knife buried to the hilt in the pillow beside his head.

(via sexpeixes)


That’s why he doesn’t kill him. That’s why he saves him. That end scene to me was always like: ‘I don’t know what this is, I just know I’m supposed to do this right now. Whatever this is, I’m supposed to protect this for some reason.

Sebastian Stan on Bucky’s mindset when he decides not to let Steve die

(via briecheesie)

(via sexpeixes)


castiels-wing-s:

j2mslittlebitch:

bluelippedlifelesskiss:

cuddle-me-crowley:

bluelippedlifelesskiss:

salttheclowns:

givemishafreemanmynumber:

flockofangels:

garama:

“Hey, wait… Where did you get that?!”

 #this is before they get together #castiel started tutoring Dean and one day he sees castiel all beat up #who did this to you Cas?#your so called friends #dean then goes straight to the locker room and beats the shit out of them #later he returns to cas’s side and says #they’re not my friends anymore #dean then grabs cas’s hands and takes him to library to study and other things…. 

all i want from the world is a full fic of this

I’m sorry but I need this I need this more than I’ve ever needed anything please

IF I HAVE TO WRITE ANOTHER FICLET MYSELF I SWEAR TO CHUCK I WILL BE SO PISSED. SOMEONE WRITE IT. PLEASE. PLEASE. 

(I hope this suits your liking!)It is 3:06 and Cas was late. Dean didn’t have a problem when it came to his being late, but Cas, who was always so punctual and polite and even grammatically correct, was late. By a walloping six minutes too. A record.Dean sighed and leaned against the wall next to the library, keeping an eye out for his tutor. He could ditch out now, blame it on Cas’s lateness, but Sam would never accept it and would nag and bitch about his grades and what graduation could bring and all sorts of shit. Dean watched the parade of people before him when he saw him- the dark-haired rumpled teen, the one who walked as though he had a rod glued to his spine, the one who stared more intently at people than anyone Dean had even seen before. Besides, if anything, Cas would be disappointed in him. And Cas was… he wasn’t anything like anyone Dean had ever met. He was patient, tough, and sincere. The combination was weird, but in a good way.“Hello, Dean,” Cas said as he stood before him. Dean gulped, could only think blue, and then smiled, beginning to reply with some shit answer, but then looking to Cas’s left.
Was… was that a bruise? “Who did this to you?” He growled.
Cas tried to pull away, to hide, but it was too late- Dean held his chin, cupped it, really, so he could examine the damage. It was dark and puffy, and looked like the exact shape of someone’s fist. 
“Who did this to you?” It was almost a growl, and Dean flinched a little when Cas looked up at him, eyes wide. Open. Vulnerable. “Your..” he hesitates, clears his throat, looks at the floor. “Your friends, Dean. Your teammates- they… they think…”Dean did not want to hear Cas say what they thought. Because he already knew, had even joined in, sometimes, talking about Cas’s straight-laced attitude, his staring, the way he knew everything about everywhere and everyone. About how he stared mostly at guys. Cas hearing about it, Cas knowing, Cas being hurt by this, burned. Like nothing else Dean had felt before. 
Dean shrugged off his backpack and handed it to Cas. “Hold this, I’ll be right back.”-Cas was torn. He wanted to run, run from the beautiful boy who mocked him, made fun of him, made references he clearly didn’t understand, but the way Dean had looked at Cas… he needed to stay.
If nothing else, he would stick to the plan. He would help Dean Winchester pass History, even if it killed him.Dean reappeared fifteen minutes later, looked considerably more ruffled than he ever had. Cas rose from his seat, worried, as Dean tried to smooth down his hair. There was some blood at the corner of his mouth. Cas tried not to stare. “Dean…” he whispered, almost shaking. “Cas, it’s fine,” started Dean gruffly, and sat down, wincing. Cas couldn’t make himself sit down, to rush to get a Kleenex, something. “I.. those guys? They’re jerks. And I’m sorry they…” He paused. “I’m… they’re not my friends anymore.” He looked up at him, in one of the most honest expressions Cas’d ever seen from him. It startled him. “I’m…”“It’s okay, Dean.”“They’re never gonna mess with you again, okay?” He grumbles further, eyes narrowed. “They touch you, they come anywhere near you, I’ll rip their lungs out, alright?”“That hardly seems necessary,” Cas replied, but smiled. “Thank you, Dean.” He sat down, shrugging his coat off of his shoulders, and hands Dean’s bag across the table. “I thought we would start on Mary, Queen of Scots.”

YES GOOD.

I had to scroll through 10 pages of dash even in phone forced closed tumblr. It was worth it.

castiels-wing-s:

j2mslittlebitch:

bluelippedlifelesskiss:

cuddle-me-crowley:

bluelippedlifelesskiss:

salttheclowns:

givemishafreemanmynumber:

flockofangels:

garama:

“Hey, wait… Where did you get that?!”

 #this is before they get together #castiel started tutoring Dean and one day he sees castiel all beat up #who did this to you Cas?#your so called friends #dean then goes straight to the locker room and beats the shit out of them #later he returns to cas’s side and says #they’re not my friends anymore #dean then grabs cas’s hands and takes him to library to study and other things…. 

all i want from the world is a full fic of this

I’m sorry but I need this I need this more than I’ve ever needed anything please

IF I HAVE TO WRITE ANOTHER FICLET MYSELF I SWEAR TO CHUCK I WILL BE SO PISSED. SOMEONE WRITE IT. PLEASE. PLEASE. 

(I hope this suits your liking!)

It is 3:06 and Cas was late. Dean didn’t have a problem when it came to his being late, but Cas, who was always so punctual and polite and even grammatically correct, was late. By a walloping six minutes too. A record.

Dean sighed and leaned against the wall next to the library, keeping an eye out for his tutor. He could ditch out now, blame it on Cas’s lateness, but Sam would never accept it and would nag and bitch about his grades and what graduation could bring and all sorts of shit. Dean watched the parade of people before him when he saw him- the dark-haired rumpled teen, the one who walked as though he had a rod glued to his spine, the one who stared more intently at people than anyone Dean had even seen before. Besides, if anything, Cas would be disappointed in him. And Cas was… he wasn’t anything like anyone Dean had ever met. He was patient, tough, and sincere. The combination was weird, but in a good way.

“Hello, Dean,” Cas said as he stood before him. Dean gulped, could only think blue, and then smiled, beginning to reply with some shit answer, but then looking to Cas’s left.

Was… was that a bruise? “Who did this to you?” He growled.

Cas tried to pull away, to hide, but it was too late- Dean held his chin, cupped it, really, so he could examine the damage. It was dark and puffy, and looked like the exact shape of someone’s fist. 

“Who did this to you?” It was almost a growl, and Dean flinched a little when Cas looked up at him, eyes wide. Open. Vulnerable. 

“Your..” he hesitates, clears his throat, looks at the floor. “Your friends, Dean. Your teammates- they… they think…”

Dean did not want to hear Cas say what they thought. Because he already knew, had even joined in, sometimes, talking about Cas’s straight-laced attitude, his staring, the way he knew everything about everywhere and everyone. About how he stared mostly at guys. Cas hearing about it, Cas knowing, Cas being hurt by this, burned. Like nothing else Dean had felt before. 

Dean shrugged off his backpack and handed it to Cas. “Hold this, I’ll be right back.”

-

Cas was torn. He wanted to run, run from the beautiful boy who mocked him, made fun of him, made references he clearly didn’t understand, but the way Dean had looked at Cas… he needed to stay.

If nothing else, he would stick to the plan. He would help Dean Winchester pass History, even if it killed him.

Dean reappeared fifteen minutes later, looked considerably more ruffled than he ever had. Cas rose from his seat, worried, as Dean tried to smooth down his hair. There was some blood at the corner of his mouth. Cas tried not to stare. “Dean…” he whispered, almost shaking. 

“Cas, it’s fine,” started Dean gruffly, and sat down, wincing. Cas couldn’t make himself sit down, to rush to get a Kleenex, something. “I.. those guys? They’re jerks. And I’m sorry they…” He paused. “I’m… they’re not my friends anymore.” He looked up at him, in one of the most honest expressions Cas’d ever seen from him. It startled him. “I’m…”

“It’s okay, Dean.”

“They’re never gonna mess with you again, okay?” He grumbles further, eyes narrowed. “They touch you, they come anywhere near you, I’ll rip their lungs out, alright?”

“That hardly seems necessary,” Cas replied, but smiled. “Thank you, Dean.” He sat down, shrugging his coat off of his shoulders, and hands Dean’s bag across the table. “I thought we would start on Mary, Queen of Scots.”

YES GOOD.

I had to scroll through 10 pages of dash even in phone forced closed tumblr.
It was worth it.

(via sexpeixes)


thatsmoderatelyraven:

wakaflackalypse:

my house

i would have this house and then the inside would be freakin colorful and awesome on the inside and no one would ever know

thatsmoderatelyraven:

wakaflackalypse:

my house

i would have this house and then the inside would be freakin colorful and awesome on the inside and no one would ever know

(via sexpeixes)


deadlysick:

R.I.P to all the friendships where we acted like lovers at some point, and now we barely talk.

(via cindyboo11)


scienceyoucanlove:

The phenomenon shown in this shot is called guttation, the exudation of tiny drops of xylem sap that accumulate on the tips or edges of leaves some vascular plants, such as grasses. It is different to dew, which condenses from the atmosphere onto the plant surface.via ScienceAlert 
 

scienceyoucanlove:

The phenomenon shown in this shot is called guttation, the exudation of tiny drops of xylem sap that accumulate on the tips or edges of leaves some vascular plants, such as grasses. It is different to dew, which condenses from the atmosphere onto the plant surface.

via ScienceAlert
 

 

(via crockerkarkat)


belowtheprecipice:

cosmographia:

thepap64experience:

Mulan: The only Disney Princess with a body count… in the thousands

I yell this to anybody who misses in anything. 

a body count… in the thousands

(via tech953)


vercxce:

follow for similar

vercxce:

follow for similar

(via gglamourouss)