just-troylerthings:

4thalbum:

"all gays will go to hell"

oh noooo…. what will i do… surrounded with ……. nothing ……. but other homosexuals……….. u win this round……… god

THIS NEEDS MORE NOTES

riluu:

Someone asked for a picture of the tattoo Misha drew on me- so here it is, and here’s the story.
At Dallas Con in 2013, I decided to go out on a limb and ask Misha to draw on me. I have lots of scars on this arm, and I wanted to cover them up with something that would be uplifting.
So at the cocktail party, I brought a Sharpie and asked the girls at my table if it would be okay if I asked Misha to do this; they were awesome in that they not only didn’t mind, but they asked Misha for me before I could even get the words out.
Misha said he’d do it, and I sat beside him and offered my arm, though it was too dark to see the scars. I threw the idea out there of him drawing angel wings and…he started drawing a fish. I was pretty confused till he added the wings and halo and deemed it an “angelfish”. I went and got the tattoo the next day, so it was pretty much exact.
So this year, I wanted so badly to thank him that I decided to go for the meet and greet, and I actually won a spot. When he saw the tattoo, he actually held my arm to get a closer look, and said it was awesome. :D I got to not only say thank you, but also explain why I asked him to do the drawing in the first place- to which he responded with a very tight hug.
So yeah, that’s the whole story. And it worked- every time I glance at my arm, I don’t think of the scars. I think of random acts of kindness, I think of the wonderful insanity of GISHWHES, and it reminds me to be a better person and gives me strength.
Plus, I always laugh when I think about the fact that I have an awful pun tattooed on my arm. :P

riluu:

Someone asked for a picture of the tattoo Misha drew on me- so here it is, and here’s the story.

At Dallas Con in 2013, I decided to go out on a limb and ask Misha to draw on me. I have lots of scars on this arm, and I wanted to cover them up with something that would be uplifting.

So at the cocktail party, I brought a Sharpie and asked the girls at my table if it would be okay if I asked Misha to do this; they were awesome in that they not only didn’t mind, but they asked Misha for me before I could even get the words out.

Misha said he’d do it, and I sat beside him and offered my arm, though it was too dark to see the scars. I threw the idea out there of him drawing angel wings and…he started drawing a fish. I was pretty confused till he added the wings and halo and deemed it an “angelfish”. I went and got the tattoo the next day, so it was pretty much exact.

So this year, I wanted so badly to thank him that I decided to go for the meet and greet, and I actually won a spot. When he saw the tattoo, he actually held my arm to get a closer look, and said it was awesome. :D I got to not only say thank you, but also explain why I asked him to do the drawing in the first place- to which he responded with a very tight hug.

So yeah, that’s the whole story. And it worked- every time I glance at my arm, I don’t think of the scars. I think of random acts of kindness, I think of the wonderful insanity of GISHWHES, and it reminds me to be a better person and gives me strength.

Plus, I always laugh when I think about the fact that I have an awful pun tattooed on my arm. :P


Camaro ‘68  |  zainclaw  |  E  |  17,707 words  |  soundtrack
There’s a guy standing by the pumps when he comes back outside. He’d seen him through the window, seen him edging closer to the car while kicking sand in his worn-out sneakers. Derek tucks his wallet into the back pocket of his jeans and meets the guy’s eyes—brown, beautiful—as he approaches.
"Nice ride," the guy says with a faint smile, pulling one hand out of his pockets to let it wander across the pump, long and distracting fingers drumming on the surface.
Derek arches an eyebrow as he stops barely three feet in front of the guy, amusement tugging at the corners of his mouth. There hadn’t been enough people appreciating his choice of wheels, most not understanding why he’d pick a black ‘68 Camaro rather than one of the newer models. But then most people didn’t know where he got it from.
"You like American muscle?" He asks.
What had been a smile turns into a smirk as the guy gives him an unabashed once-over.
"I do."
Zoom Info

Camaro ‘68  |  zainclaw  |  E  |  17,707 words  |  soundtrack
There’s a guy standing by the pumps when he comes back outside. He’d seen him through the window, seen him edging closer to the car while kicking sand in his worn-out sneakers. Derek tucks his wallet into the back pocket of his jeans and meets the guy’s eyes—brown, beautiful—as he approaches.
"Nice ride," the guy says with a faint smile, pulling one hand out of his pockets to let it wander across the pump, long and distracting fingers drumming on the surface.
Derek arches an eyebrow as he stops barely three feet in front of the guy, amusement tugging at the corners of his mouth. There hadn’t been enough people appreciating his choice of wheels, most not understanding why he’d pick a black ‘68 Camaro rather than one of the newer models. But then most people didn’t know where he got it from.
"You like American muscle?" He asks.
What had been a smile turns into a smirk as the guy gives him an unabashed once-over.
"I do."
Zoom Info

Camaro ‘68  |  zainclaw  |  E  |  17,707 words  |  soundtrack
There’s a guy standing by the pumps when he comes back outside. He’d seen him through the window, seen him edging closer to the car while kicking sand in his worn-out sneakers. Derek tucks his wallet into the back pocket of his jeans and meets the guy’s eyes—brown, beautiful—as he approaches.
"Nice ride," the guy says with a faint smile, pulling one hand out of his pockets to let it wander across the pump, long and distracting fingers drumming on the surface.
Derek arches an eyebrow as he stops barely three feet in front of the guy, amusement tugging at the corners of his mouth. There hadn’t been enough people appreciating his choice of wheels, most not understanding why he’d pick a black ‘68 Camaro rather than one of the newer models. But then most people didn’t know where he got it from.
"You like American muscle?" He asks.
What had been a smile turns into a smirk as the guy gives him an unabashed once-over.
"I do."
Zoom Info

Camaro ‘68  |  zainclaw  |  E  |  17,707 words  |  soundtrack
There’s a guy standing by the pumps when he comes back outside. He’d seen him through the window, seen him edging closer to the car while kicking sand in his worn-out sneakers. Derek tucks his wallet into the back pocket of his jeans and meets the guy’s eyes—brown, beautiful—as he approaches.
"Nice ride," the guy says with a faint smile, pulling one hand out of his pockets to let it wander across the pump, long and distracting fingers drumming on the surface.
Derek arches an eyebrow as he stops barely three feet in front of the guy, amusement tugging at the corners of his mouth. There hadn’t been enough people appreciating his choice of wheels, most not understanding why he’d pick a black ‘68 Camaro rather than one of the newer models. But then most people didn’t know where he got it from.
"You like American muscle?" He asks.
What had been a smile turns into a smirk as the guy gives him an unabashed once-over.
"I do."
Zoom Info

Camaro ‘68  |  zainclaw  |  E  |  17,707 words  |  soundtrack
There’s a guy standing by the pumps when he comes back outside. He’d seen him through the window, seen him edging closer to the car while kicking sand in his worn-out sneakers. Derek tucks his wallet into the back pocket of his jeans and meets the guy’s eyes—brown, beautiful—as he approaches.
"Nice ride," the guy says with a faint smile, pulling one hand out of his pockets to let it wander across the pump, long and distracting fingers drumming on the surface.
Derek arches an eyebrow as he stops barely three feet in front of the guy, amusement tugging at the corners of his mouth. There hadn’t been enough people appreciating his choice of wheels, most not understanding why he’d pick a black ‘68 Camaro rather than one of the newer models. But then most people didn’t know where he got it from.
"You like American muscle?" He asks.
What had been a smile turns into a smirk as the guy gives him an unabashed once-over.
"I do."
Zoom Info

Camaro ‘68  |  zainclaw  |  E  |  17,707 words  |  soundtrack
There’s a guy standing by the pumps when he comes back outside. He’d seen him through the window, seen him edging closer to the car while kicking sand in his worn-out sneakers. Derek tucks his wallet into the back pocket of his jeans and meets the guy’s eyes—brown, beautiful—as he approaches.
"Nice ride," the guy says with a faint smile, pulling one hand out of his pockets to let it wander across the pump, long and distracting fingers drumming on the surface.
Derek arches an eyebrow as he stops barely three feet in front of the guy, amusement tugging at the corners of his mouth. There hadn’t been enough people appreciating his choice of wheels, most not understanding why he’d pick a black ‘68 Camaro rather than one of the newer models. But then most people didn’t know where he got it from.
"You like American muscle?" He asks.
What had been a smile turns into a smirk as the guy gives him an unabashed once-over.
"I do."
Zoom Info

Camaro ‘68  |  zainclaw  |  E  |  17,707 words  |  soundtrack
There’s a guy standing by the pumps when he comes back outside. He’d seen him through the window, seen him edging closer to the car while kicking sand in his worn-out sneakers. Derek tucks his wallet into the back pocket of his jeans and meets the guy’s eyes—brown, beautiful—as he approaches.
"Nice ride," the guy says with a faint smile, pulling one hand out of his pockets to let it wander across the pump, long and distracting fingers drumming on the surface.
Derek arches an eyebrow as he stops barely three feet in front of the guy, amusement tugging at the corners of his mouth. There hadn’t been enough people appreciating his choice of wheels, most not understanding why he’d pick a black ‘68 Camaro rather than one of the newer models. But then most people didn’t know where he got it from.
"You like American muscle?" He asks.
What had been a smile turns into a smirk as the guy gives him an unabashed once-over.
"I do."
Zoom Info

Camaro ‘68  |  zainclaw  |  E  |  17,707 words  |  soundtrack
There’s a guy standing by the pumps when he comes back outside. He’d seen him through the window, seen him edging closer to the car while kicking sand in his worn-out sneakers. Derek tucks his wallet into the back pocket of his jeans and meets the guy’s eyes—brown, beautiful—as he approaches.
"Nice ride," the guy says with a faint smile, pulling one hand out of his pockets to let it wander across the pump, long and distracting fingers drumming on the surface.
Derek arches an eyebrow as he stops barely three feet in front of the guy, amusement tugging at the corners of his mouth. There hadn’t been enough people appreciating his choice of wheels, most not understanding why he’d pick a black ‘68 Camaro rather than one of the newer models. But then most people didn’t know where he got it from.
"You like American muscle?" He asks.
What had been a smile turns into a smirk as the guy gives him an unabashed once-over.
"I do."
Zoom Info

Camaro ‘68  |  zainclaw  |  E  |  17,707 words  |  soundtrack

There’s a guy standing by the pumps when he comes back outside. He’d seen him through the window, seen him edging closer to the car while kicking sand in his worn-out sneakers. Derek tucks his wallet into the back pocket of his jeans and meets the guy’s eyes—brown, beautiful—as he approaches.

"Nice ride," the guy says with a faint smile, pulling one hand out of his pockets to let it wander across the pump, long and distracting fingers drumming on the surface.

Derek arches an eyebrow as he stops barely three feet in front of the guy, amusement tugging at the corners of his mouth. There hadn’t been enough people appreciating his choice of wheels, most not understanding why he’d pick a black ‘68 Camaro rather than one of the newer models. But then most people didn’t know where he got it from.

"You like American muscle?" He asks.

What had been a smile turns into a smirk as the guy gives him an unabashed once-over.

"I do."

coyotewolves:

teapotsahoy:

bemusedlybespectacled:

collettestiel:

Oh, so John Winchester did the best he could? I think Jean Valjean, another paranoid trauma survivor raising a child whose mother is dead would beg to differ.

you realize now we need a fic where jean valjean swoops in and raises dean and sam to be french roman catholic singing hunters

So many amazing crossovers are suddenly clamoring to be written

is this how the Argents came to be