Lace Tumblr Themes

purple-shirt-of-sex:

nepetaquest:

beesmygod:

my aunt and my sister are watching supernatural and my aunt just went “why dont they put salt in a hula hoop and just hula past all the demons”

WELL

WHY DONT THEY???

the road so far:

I’M CRY

(via ifoundsammysshoe)



#Jared Padalecki  #Jensen Ackles  #supernatural  #Sam Winchester  #dean winchester  


→ i'm all out of bubblegum: thecapn: You’re six months old. Your brother carries you out of a fire...

You’re six months old. Your brother carries you out of a fire and later you’ll think that he never really put you down again. 

You’re twelve years old. Your brother is haloed in gold and every time you look at him your heart skips a beat. 

You’re fifteen years old. You realize that when your father says, “Jump,” your brother says, “How high?” It feels like your Christ has been crucified. Now you run on faith and fumes. 

You’re eighteen years old. You want with a fever; you want to be something shiny and new, you want to be something independent and away from Him and him. 

You’re twenty-two years old. Your brother looks at you like he thinks you’re eighteen and he wants you to be twelve. He doesn’t see all the growing you’ve done. 

You’re twenty-three years old. You’re a monster. 

You’re twenty-four years old. For the first time it’s your job to save your brother and you’re terrified and excited. He doesn’t think you can do it. 

You’re twenty-five years old. You couldn’t do it. 

You’re twenty-six years old. You’re everything you never wanted to be for all of the right reasons. You still want with a fever, but now you want blood. You think they’re going to have to burn your bones twice when you die just to give you peace. 

You’re twenty-seven years old. Your brother catches you with blood on your lips and he looks at you like he’s seeing you for the first time. You’re not twelve. You’re not eighteen. You’re Christ and you’ve been crucified. He doesn’t have any faith so he’s just running on fumes. 

You’re twenty-eight years old. You’re sorry all the way to martyrdom. 

You’re twenty-nine years old. Your head hurts like you’ve got more than one person up there. 

You’re thirty years old. You can’t remember what it felt like to be eighteen through the haze of pain and insanity. 

You’re thirty-one years old. You’re alone. You’re done. There’s peace.

(Source: theoldcapn, via jakowskied)



#Sam Winchester  #fuck these feels  #i hate you  #fuck you whoever made this  #i dodn not sign up for this