To whom it may concern: Thank you. I was having a really bad day; of course you had strictly no mean of knowing that and it’s just a happy coincidence, but you made it whole lot better. As usual, wishing you only the best. xo

(Source: torrilla, via 7ns)

9091:

Sometimes it hits Dean hard, how much he loves Sam.

Harder than too much tequila, harder than Led Zeppelin IV, harder than a salt round.  It reminds him of that Stephen King flick where Christopher Walken puts his hand on someone and finds out everything about them, only for him it would be this paralyzing crush of —

Shh, go to bed, Sammy.

The look on Sam’s face when he was just drifting off to sleep while Dean read Goodnight, Moon and how the story wasn’t done until Dean said “Goodnight, Sam.”

This stupid squeaky red thing he played with in the tub, and how he would squeak it at Dean until Dean cracked up.

Making that stupid sunbeam costume for the school play.

Standing up at the school play and whistling like Sam had scored the winning touchdown.

Cereal for dinner and warmed-up Chinese takeout for breakfast.  Pop-Tarts and Snickers bars and peanut butter and jelly sandwiches.  

Did you have a bad dream?  It’s okay, Sammy.

Keeping all the lies straight.  Dad’s a salesman, a superhero, a figment of our imagination and he’s coming home soon, you’ll see.

Staying up all night together watching late-night monster movie marathons while Sam hid his face under Dean’s arm.

Pretending to be asleep in the car when Sam checked to see if he was asleep before he laid on him instead of on his pillows, when Dad said they were too old for that sorta thing.

Walking him to school, every day.  Rain, snow, black ice on the road, storm warnings or even stupidly-happy sunshine, it didn’t matter.  

Narrow sidewalk, wide path… didn’t matter.  Like two jungle cats let out of captivity for the first time, all the time, pacing the same motel-sized space around each other for the rest of eternity and not knowing that it was different for most people.

Making Sammy his first gun and almost crying.  Why?  Why did Sammy have to hunt?  Dean could hunt for both of them.

But, man, that gun was fucking perfect.  The best gun Dean ever made.  With “SW” carved into the grip.  

Dean remembered the initials because another hunter tried to make off with it once, and when Dean caught up with him, it took Dad and three other hunters to pull him off.

God if he could carve it into himself.

Don’t say that, that’s stupid.

It’s already carved in, has been for a long time.

When Sam had his first real hunt, his first real hit, Dad said to get him a beer, the way Dean had gotten a beer after his.  Dean took him out for a milkshake.

How he didn’t know what “homesick” meant until Sam was gone.  Couldn’t’ve told anybody how that felt.  How he heard Sam’s voice sometimes when Sam wasn’t there, how he could’ve sworn Sam was squished up against when he was watching a movie by himself.  How even when it had been months, it felt like that first night.  

That one Springsteen song that talks about someone taking a dull knife and cutting “a six-inch valley through the middle of my soul” and it was about some chick..

But Dean thought, “Sam.” 

A six-inch valley doesn’t seem so much these days.

Looking at his profile as he falls asleep, then… now… hell, yesterday and thinking

I’d stay awake to stand guard.

I’d shiver to keep you warm.

I’d starve to keep you fed.

I’d bleed to keep you safe.

I’d kill anyone to spare your life.

Anyone.

Yeah, anyone.

I’d die to get you back.

Man, if Dean ever meets someone who can lay psychic hands on him?

He’s gonna gank that son of a bitch.

(via winchesterlicious)

(Source: zhivchik, via -lazarus)

martinfreemans:

nc-17 fic without explicit sex is the reason i have trust issues.

(via shatbonah)

not-quite-normal:

So Katy and Carororo let me in on their animated Sherlock handcuff shenanigans!

Poor John did not think this through.

(via -wondersmith)

Pollyanna- INFP 

So, you want to make the world a better place? Too bad it’s never gonna happen.

Of all the types, you have to be one of the hardest to find fault in. You have a selfless and caring nature. You’re a good listener and someone who wants to avoid conflict. You genuinely desire to do good.

Of course, these all add up to an incredibly overpowered conscience which makes you feel guilty and responsible when anything goes wrong. Of course, it MUST be your fault EVERYTIME.

Though you’re constantly on a mission to find the truth, you have no use for hard facts and logic, which is a source of great confusion for those of us with brains. Despite this, in a losing argument, you’re not above spouting off inaccurate fact after fact in an effort to protect your precious values.

You’re most probably a perfectionist, which in this case, is a bad thing. Any group work is destined to fail because of your incredibly high standards.

Disregard what I said before. You’re just easy to find fault in as everyone else!

Luckily, you’re generally very hard on yourself, meaning I don’t need to waste my precious time insulting you. Instead, just find all your own faults and insult yourself.

(Source: mardidono, via princehamlette)

redscharlach:

Sher-Chocs! Something to nibble on while we all wait for New Year’s Day to arrive…

(Source: valiantchild, via fuckyeahtorchwood)

The Doors - Roadhouse Blues

(Source: geotheindiegirl)

stfuhypocrisy:

The shit hit the fan in the trans blogosphere last night, when it came to light that there is a disturbing new section in the Identity Screening Regulations used in airports throughout Canada. Simply put, Transgender People are Completely Banned From Boarding Airplanes in Canada.

The offending section of the regulations reads:

5.2 (1) An air carrier shall not transport a passenger if …
(c) the passenger does not appear to be of the gender indicated on the identification he or she presents;

Although this obviously discriminatory smear of regulation did not come to significant public attention until very recently, it apparently came into effect on July 27th, 2011.

It is important to note that these regulations are not actually a piece of legislation, which would have had to pass through readings and votes in the House and Senate (which is probably why it went unnoticed until now). Rather, the Identity Screening Regulations are a set of rules implemented unilaterally by the Ministry of Transportation, as part of Canada’s so-called Passenger Protect, which is essentially the Canadian Federal Government’s equivalent to the U.S.’s “no-fly” list.

Minister of Transportation Denis Lebel is, of course, a federal Conservative MP appointed to the cabinet position by Stephen Harper.

So what does this mean? Well, in order to change the ‘sex’ designation on a Canadian Passport, the federal government requires proof that surgery has taken place, or will take place within one year. So for non-operative transgender persons, for gender nonconforming (genderqueer) persons, and for the vast majority of pre-operative transsexual persons, it is literally impossible to obtain proper travel documentation marked with the sex designation which “matches” the gender identity in which they live.

In the eyes of the honourable Minister of Transportation, that makes trans people unfit to fly in Canada.

It is interesting to note that this regulatory adjustment occurred immediately following the federal election in 2011. In the previous parliament, Bill C-389, a bill to amend the Human Rights Code to explicitly enshrine protections against discrimination for transgender people, had successfully passed in the House of Commons, only to die on the Senate floor when Harper declared a Federal Election (thereby dissolving parliament).

Is the timing of this disturbing and blatantly discriminatory regulatory adjustment merely a coincidence? That is up to you to decide. However, the negative impact on trans people is crystal clear, and we need to take action now.

(via teddykaplan)

(Source: bzabini, via hiphiphoyay)

7lordoftheworld:

Have a good day! :) 

(via mishlocked)

garama:

Gradient tool has been my best friend today.

(via winchesterlicious)

Cause he get’s up in the morning,

And he goes to work at nine,

And he comes back home at five-thirty,

Gets the same train every time.

Cause his world is built round punctuality,

It never fails.

(Source: iatesomesulphurforlunch, via subite-vene-in-misha)