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death-the-pale-horseman:

jaackles:

tardis-mind-palace:

chainedtoacomet:

When Dean Winchester finally dies (for good, this time), Death takes a holiday. 

He spends a week going to every fair and carnival in the continental US.

He eats every deep fried concoction possible.

When his holiday comes to an end, he goes to Heaven and knocks on the pearly gates with the head of his cane. He asks to speak with Dean Winchester.

Dean is surprised to find Death there when the angels bring him forward. Death swore that their last meeting, when Death personally escorted Dean’s soul to Heaven, would be the final time they ever saw one another.

“I found it,” Death tells him. “The perfect pie. It was in Muncie, Indiana. Apple, with a flaky, golden crust. The ratio of cinnamon to sugar and its balance with the tart Granny Smith…. it was just perfect. Divine, even.”

Dean stares at Death, unsure of why he is telling him this, but then he looks down. In Death’s hand is a wrinkled, white paper bag. Inside the bag is a slice of the perfect pie.

Dean takes the bag, mystified.

“Thanks for the pickle chips that time,” Death says, then disappears into the void.

did you just give me Death/Dean bromance feels

   (x)

image

(Source: jenarcherwood)

"Everything in my head went quiet. 

All the ticks, all the constantly refreshing images just disappeared. 

When you have Obsessive Compulsive Disorder, you don’t really get quiet moments. 

Even in bed, I’m thinking: 
Did I lock the doors? Yes. 
Did I wash my hands? Yes. 
Did I lock the doors? Yes. 
Did I wash my hands? Yes. 
But when I saw her, the only thing I could think about was the hairpin curve of her lips.. 
Or the eyelash on her cheek- 
the eyelash on her cheek- 
the eyelash on her cheek. 
I knew I had to talk to her. 
I asked her out six times in thirty seconds. 
She said yes after the third one, but none of them felt right, so I had to keep going. 
On our first date, I spent more time organizing my meal by color than I did eating it, or talking to her.. 
But she loved it. 
She loved that I had to kiss her goodbye sixteen times or twenty-four times at different times of the day. 
She loved that it took me forever to walk home because there are lots of cracks on our sidewalk. 
When we moved in together, she said she felt safe, like no one would ever rob us because I definitely lock the door eighteen times. 
I’d always watch her mouth when she talked- 
when she talked- 
when she talked- 
when she talked; 
when she said she loved me, her mouth would curl up at the edges. 
At night, she’d lay in bed and watch me turn all the lights off.. And on, and off, and on, and off, and on, and off, and on, and off, and on, and off. 
She’d close her eyes and imagine that the days and nights were passing in front of her. 
But then.. She said I was taking up too much of her time. 
That I couldn’t kiss her goodbye so much because I was making her late for work.. 
When she said she loved me, her mouth was a straight line.. 
When I stopped in front of a crack in the sidewalk, she just kept walking.. 
And last week she started sleeping at her mother’s place. 
She told me that she shouldn’t have let me get so attached to her; that this whole thing was a mistake, but.. 
How can it be a mistake that I don’t have to wash my hands after I touch her? 
Love is not a mistake, and it’s killing me that she can run away from this and I just can’t. 
I can’t go out and find someone new because I always think of her. 
Usually, when I obsess over things, I see germs sneaking into my skin. 
I see myself crushed my an endless succession of cars.. 
And she was the first beautiful thing I ever got stuck on. 
I want to wake up every morning thinking about the way she holds her steering wheel.. 
How she turns shower knobs like she opening a safe. 
How she blows out candles- 
blows out candles- 
blows out candles- 
blows out candles- 
blows out-…. 
Now, I just think about who else is kissing her. 
I can’t breathe because he only kisses her once-he doesn’t care if it’s perfect! 
I want her back so bad.. 
I leave the door unlocked. 
I leave the lights on. ”

(Source: edgarwrights)

"Everything in my head went quiet. 

All the ticks, all the constantly refreshing images just disappeared. 

When you have Obsessive Compulsive Disorder, you don’t really get quiet moments. 

Even in bed, I’m thinking: 
Did I lock the doors? Yes. 
Did I wash my hands? Yes. 
Did I lock the doors? Yes. 
Did I wash my hands? Yes. 
But when I saw her, the only thing I could think about was the hairpin curve of her lips.. 
Or the eyelash on her cheek- 
the eyelash on her cheek- 
the eyelash on her cheek. 
I knew I had to talk to her. 
I asked her out six times in thirty seconds. 
She said yes after the third one, but none of them felt right, so I had to keep going. 
On our first date, I spent more time organizing my meal by color than I did eating it, or talking to her.. 
But she loved it. 
She loved that I had to kiss her goodbye sixteen times or twenty-four times at different times of the day. 
She loved that it took me forever to walk home because there are lots of cracks on our sidewalk. 
When we moved in together, she said she felt safe, like no one would ever rob us because I definitely lock the door eighteen times. 
I’d always watch her mouth when she talked- 
when she talked- 
when she talked- 
when she talked; 
when she said she loved me, her mouth would curl up at the edges. 
At night, she’d lay in bed and watch me turn all the lights off.. And on, and off, and on, and off, and on, and off, and on, and off, and on, and off. 
She’d close her eyes and imagine that the days and nights were passing in front of her. 
But then.. She said I was taking up too much of her time. 
That I couldn’t kiss her goodbye so much because I was making her late for work.. 
When she said she loved me, her mouth was a straight line.. 
When I stopped in front of a crack in the sidewalk, she just kept walking.. 
And last week she started sleeping at her mother’s place. 
She told me that she shouldn’t have let me get so attached to her; that this whole thing was a mistake, but.. 
How can it be a mistake that I don’t have to wash my hands after I touch her? 
Love is not a mistake, and it’s killing me that she can run away from this and I just can’t. 
I can’t go out and find someone new because I always think of her. 
Usually, when I obsess over things, I see germs sneaking into my skin. 
I see myself crushed my an endless succession of cars.. 
And she was the first beautiful thing I ever got stuck on. 
I want to wake up every morning thinking about the way she holds her steering wheel.. 
How she turns shower knobs like she opening a safe. 
How she blows out candles- 
blows out candles- 
blows out candles- 
blows out candles- 
blows out-…. 
Now, I just think about who else is kissing her. 
I can’t breathe because he only kisses her once-he doesn’t care if it’s perfect! 
I want her back so bad.. 
I leave the door unlocked. 
I leave the lights on. ”

(Source: edgarwrights)

the-superior-lamp:

jackiecello23:

queensarahjean:

icaruses:

This man is just like traumatized for life like-

He has to go into counseling for this

His family and friends and even coworkers feel alienated

“Henry we talked about this-“

“HE TOOK THE ICE CREAM WITH HIS HANDS”

“Henry that’s what he’s supposed to do-“

“I DON’T UNDERSTAND WHY HE ORDERED A CONE IF HE WAS JUST GONNA TAKE THE ICE CREAM-“

“If he gave you the money that’s what he’s supposed to d-“

“A CUP IS 50 CENTS CHEAPER”

He never has healthy relationships with anyone ever again.

His life has been defined by this moment.

This poor guy 

reblogging for the flawless commentary

ITS ON MY DASH AGAIN YES.

omg reblogging this every time i see it
just omg

(Source: remain-still)

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