Andulka
Show & Tell
Cosmic Funnies
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ojovivo
Game of Thrones Daily
Misplaced Lens Cap
JVL
Stranger Things
styofa doing anything
occasionally subtle
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Origami Around
titsay
sheepfilms
⁂
almost home
Sweet Seals For You, Always
YOU ARE THE REASON
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@thelastofthecrazypeople
This is Money Snake. She only appears every 312 years.
If you reblog her picture within the next twenty-five seconds you will have good luck and fortune for the rest of your life.
I reblogged her late last year and my 2024 has been very satisfying work-wise and (secure enough to not stress out) money-wise so far. Money Snake is wise and good.
always reblog money snake
a comic about meeting your younger self :)
Thank you for reading :)
If you see this on your dashboard, reblog this, NO MATTER WHAT and all your dreams and wishes will come true.
Oh hey! Haven’t seen this in forever! Didn’t reblog it when it came across me before, not gonna skip it this time, I need some good vibes.
i miss when subscriptions didnt really exist and you could just pay one time to buy an app or some software, and then just.. have it. without ads. without recurring costs. without more paywalls. it was just yours forever.
Morning workin' from home
late night smoke 🚬🌃
Behold! A child!
Happiness Will Come To You.
when tho
When You Least Expect It. Probably Late March
reblog for happiness to come for you in late march!
My dash is flooded with Supernatural (or more specifically Dean). And I honestly thought I was over this show and over Destiel but all of the lovely posts have me crying in bed rn.
[on growing old.]
Dean wakes up the morning of his 46th birthday and doesn't feel much different.
His left knee aches a little; but it's been doing that for years, ever since he twisted it weird going down the stairs, the years of abusing it finally catching up with him. His head hurts a little, since he's dehydrated from all the drinking he and Cas did last night. (Celebratory birthday whiskeys. Plural. He knows that he’s getting too old to do that at midnight.)
But other than that—he feels the same.
Rolling over onto his back, he stares up at the whirling ceiling fan.
Imagine where you want to be in twenty years was always the plucky, feel-good advice fed to him by older, well-meaning folks. When he was a kid, he had some pretty good guesses as to what that would be: in a grave. In a motel room with his brother and dad snoring next to him. On the road to a hunt that he’ll be smarting from for days after.
And all that happened at some point in his life, one way or another. But now--
He's not in a grave; he's alive. He's not in a motel; he's in his own bed, in his own house that he fixed up with his two hands. He's in bed with his husband, listening to his soft snoring just a few inches away.
No more hunts, except for the ones he helps other hunters with when they call. No more clear and present danger, except for going down the stairs the wrong way and tweaking his left knee.
The ceiling fan suddenly blurs. Dean scrubs the tears out of his eyes. He rolls over to tuck himself up against Cas's warm, naked back and buries his nose into his skin, breathing him in.
He smells like the detergent Dean carefully picked out a few months ago that’s good for Cas’s sensitive skin. He smells like shampoo from his shower last night.
He smells like home.
Cas stirs. He grumbles and groans at the sun streaming in through the shades because, for all of his amazing, admirable qualities, being a pleasant morning person is not one of them.
"Mornin', sunshine," Dean whispers, nipping at his earlobe just to be a little shit. Cas mumbles something and bats him away. Dean huffs out a soft laugh and kisses his neck in an apology.
Cas snuggles closer into Dean (along with not being a morning person, he’s also a spider monkey that likes to cuddle; man holds multitudes). He turns his head enough to brush his lips against Dean's. "Happy Birthday, Dean,” he rasps.
Dean smiles. Really, honest-to-goodness smiles. Because this is exactly where he wants to be twenty years from now; for every birthday and all the rest of it.
"Yeah," he whispers, pressing his temple to Cas’s. "It is happy."
I’m curious about all my gaming followers: first Pokémon game, first Zelda game, and first Mario game in the tags?
reblog this and tag the first vine that comes to ur mind. mine is the one of the people yelling at cabbage
reminder since we're gettin another wave of bots:
if you don't distinguish yourself from a bot, just any sorta indication that a human made the blog, like a funny pfp or description, or even a disclaimer that you're a lurker, then you're almost certainly gonna be blocked n reported for spam when you follow people
Having a good URL is no longer an excuse. We shoot on sight, it's up to you to warn us you're real.
Emphasizing that this isn't just a quirk of Tumblr Culture--we've had active malignant bot invasions before and we'd like not to have that again
Reblog to hug the person you reblogged this from and tell them that everything's going to be okay
And sometimes when you are curled around each other in the dead of night. You will stop and listen to his breath rushing in and out. And you will tell yourself ‘It’s okay. We’re okay’ Over and over until his heartbeat and his warmth drag your mind into the blissful darkness of sleep.
And sometimes when you are curled around each other in the dead of night. You will cry and clutch at his warm skin and try and try to believe that it’s okay. While he whispers sweet nothings into your ear with a voice that’s already half asleep and way too soft.
And sometimes when you are curled around each other in the dead of night. You will watch over him, keep a silent vigil until the first rays of grey sun poke through the dark and you feel your heart unclench over another passed day.
me: i wanna write
someone: then… write?
me:
ok i just wanna check something.... reblog if you've never watched/opened tumblr live
