@threadofjune - Tumblr Blog

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.

soleilpirate

My dreams and wishes will come true because I’m a strong manifested but it’s a lovely post and everyone can use the vibes!! ✌🏼

saucynewf

Badass!Dean + Gun Porn ↪ Long-Distance Call | 3.14

rainbow-motors

watching-the-moon

He’s so fucking pretty in these gifs ngl

frijolebean

They must have hooked up between hunts🤨

calcifershearts

what happened to hello. what happened to good morning.

livelovecaliforniadreams

The 👏 Way 👏 He's 👏 Always 👏 Looked 👏 At 👏 Her

paceyjoeydaily

365 days of paceyjoey → day two hundred and twenty

threadofjune

Why is Pacey dressed like European Dean Winchester?

hunenka

Dean and Hell

I love how whenever (and it’s sadly very rarely) Dean’s time in Hell is brought up or hinted at, Jensen chooses to portray Dean’s reaction almost as a non-reaction, instead of making a show of being traumatized by the memory. You see that it does hit Dean hard, but he hides it really well and doesn’t show it on the outside. After all, he hates to show any weakness, especially in front of enemies.

archtroop

Because he liked to torture those souls. It’s his own unforgivable unmentionable. I think the reaction of non reaction is to hide his turmoilof emotions; terror mixed with a ting of… may I say pleasure?

Dean: I enjoyed it, Sam. They took me off the rack and I tortured souls and I liked it. All those years; all that pain. Finally getting to deal some out yourself. I didn’t care who they put in front of me, because that pain I felt, it just slipped away. No matter how many people I save, I can’t change that. I can’t fill this hole. Not ever. (4.11 Family Remains)

halewinchester

archtroop

And I feel slight shame reblogging. But then again…

heenbeans

Kim Addonizio; Death Poem

Do I have to bring it up again, isn’t there another subject? Can I forget about the scrap of flattened squirrel fur fluttering on the road, can I forget the road and how I can’t stop driving no matter what, not even for gas, or love, can I please not think about my father left in some town behind me, in his blue suit, with his folded hands, and my grandmother moaning about her bladder and swallowing all the pills, and the towns I’m passing now can I try not to see them, the children squatting by the ditches, the holes in their chests and foreheads, the woman cradling her tumor, the dog dragging its crippled hips? I can close my eyes and sit back if I want to, I can lean against my friends’ shoulders and eat as they’re eating, and drink from the bottle being passed back and forth; I can lighten up, can’t I, Christ, can’t I? There is another subject, in a minute I’ll think of it. I will. And if you know it, help me. Help me. Remind me why I’m here.