“Finally, you’ll most likely find this…an impertinent question but, indulge me. How did you escape during the siege on the palace?”

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@triforcechaser
“Finally, you’ll most likely find this…an impertinent question but, indulge me. How did you escape during the siege on the palace?”
I laminated a paper towel
why does this have 31 thousand notes
You made it useless but also prevented it from the end it was predestined for.
But wait this is actually freaking me out though, it raises so many questions about the otherwise incomprehensible meaning of life as a collective whole versus personal sustenance and longevity
Imagine if one day you were given a choice: Become immortal and indestructible for eternity, unable to be harmed by anything ever again, and get to live forever.
However, in order to achieve that you must give up whatever your purpose in life is. Whatever it is that you were always meant to do, what you were supposed to contribute to the overall scheme and future of the life of the universe, your purpose… the whole reason you were even created, even born in the first place. You must give that up. You don’t know what that is. You’ll never know; But, regardless, you say yes.
Perhaps you assume you wouldn’t have made any sort of significant difference anyway. That butterfly effect theory or whatever they call it? Nah, you call bullshit. It doesn’t matter - you don’t matter, at least not to anything outside of your immediate connections - and it’ll all be fine, and you’ll just live forever with minimal (or maybe even no) consequences.
So, yay! You’re now immortal. You’ll never die or get hurt ever again. Wee!
But then, centuries and centuries later (not to mention that by this point you’ve gone through horrible heartbreak and misery and despair because every loved one you ever had, every friend you ever made, ever person you barely got to know, has passed away, died as you lived on long without them, helpless to do anything for them as you watched them perish, unable to ever go with them or ever see them again. But I digress), now, you learn you actually were important in the grand scheme of things. You were supposed to be a key factor in the world’s survival, long ago; but, because of the choice you made (immortality over individual purpose), you were never given the knowledge or awareness or resources or ability to save the world that you were always supposed to obtain, before you unknowingly made the wrongest choice to ever wrong.
Needless to say, you’ve fucked up big time.
The entire universe as we know it is destroyed soon after this horrifying revelation. It implodes, collapses in on itself, essentially forming a massive black hole or something. Stars, nebulae, galaxies, solar systems and planets, worlds and worlds of living people and things, and light-years of time and space and life, all sucked up into absolute, indefinite nothingness.
But you remain.
Just you. Floating amongst, spiraling around, rocketing through, suspended in… nothing. With a feeling of such unbelievable loneliness that your feeble brain can hardly perceive, can’t possibly hope to comprehend. Not only are you the only living thing left, you don’t even have one inanimate object to keep you company. You have literally. Nothing. And you are literally nowhere. I mean, technically, you are now the universe - if it would bring you petty comfort to think about it that way. You. Only you. With nothing, no one, nowhere. Forever. And ever. And ever.
All because you thought you didn’t matter. That you had no real, meaningful purpose. That you could never possibly make a difference.
But you did. And now look what you’ve gotten yourself into, you silly nugget. You’re gonna be pretty bored and lonely for that eternity, huh?
Or maybe it was out of selfishness. Maybe this wasn’t because you felt useless, but because you simply only cared about prolonging your own life and nothing else. Hm.
The moral here? Be selfless, and always know and remember that you matter.
Or else, one day, you might destroy the universe. And be left to suffer, and be tortured horribly and endlessly by the void of nothingness that has consumed you. With no way to escape. Ever.
Other moral because I got sidetracked from my initial point - all things considered, would you choose longevity over purpose? Immortality over meaning?
OR, IDK, MAYBE SOME IDIOT JUST LAMINATED A STUPID PIECE OF PAPER TOWEL FOR NO GOOD REASON
AND MAYBE I SHOULDNT BE LOOKING FOR THE ANSWERS TO THE MEANING OF OUR SHORT, FRAGILE LIVES IN
A LAMINATED
PAPER
T OW E L
IDK MAN,
I D K
Write. A. Book.
What if I did write a book
and the pages of that book
were made out of
laminated
paper towels
I WASNT GONNA REBLOG UNTIL THAT LAST COMMENT
This fucked me up.
Somebody has way to much time on their hands ...
Wincest~season9 era ~
After spending a night together, Dean thinks that,
they’re now in a better place, Sam has other opinion.
"What do you mean Sammy, that last night was an error?"
"I can’t Dean, I’m going to leave, I need to leave."
Look what my friend Stephanie got for me! I know I already have like 5(?) sets but this Sam & Dean CAME IN THE SAME BOX, OKAY? A HMV exclusive. They won’t be leaving the box. ❤️
Trapped behind the plastic, unable to look into each other’s eyes, hands not quite touching…
I now ship the tragically doomed romance of Leslie’s Sam & Dean dolls. I’m off to cry and write fanfics for them.
WANT WANT WANT WANT
My love must be a kind of blind love I can’t see anyone but you
Are the stars out tonight? I don’t know if it’s cloudy or bright I only have eyes for you, dear
The moon may be high But I can’t see a thing in the sky I only have eyes for you
I don’t know if we’re in a garden Or on a crowded avenue
You are here and so am I Maybe millions of people go by But they all disappear from view….
Helen love, I know you'te the queen of darkness, but I have seen you fluffing also, so here is my prompt and hopefully it will inspire you: Hurt/comfort Wincest when Sam is having the hellucinations in s7, and Dean is comforting him? <333 Refua Shlema Bubale!
Hell is the same song, repeated over and over. The tune is the same, but as each word is expected, they start to lose meaning. They become sounds, nonsense vowels that string. It’s Chinese water torture, Sam thinks, then reproaches because that’s not racially sensitive, that’s not what he meant to think at all, but there’s a note outside of the melody that jars so hard it hurts.
He sobs. Dean can’t hear him. It’s the real Lucifer, it has to be, because he chose the song that Dean now sings, the song pumped through the radio, and it hasn’t stopped for sixteen miles. Sometimes, Dean turns to him and winks. The light is wrong. Green looks black.
"Dean, I—"
Sam vomits down himself and over his part of the dashboard. He hears Dean’s curse, feels the way that the Impala is yanked to the side of the road.
They’re outside the car and the music hasn’t skipped.
"Jesus Christ, Sam," Dean snaps, "why didn’t you just—?"
The question stops and Sam cries. Lucifer clicks his tongue.
"Fuck, Sammy. Shit. C’mon. We—we gotta get you cleaned up."
Sam wants to tell him not to bother, he’s desperate to apologise, but Dean is away to the trunk. He pulls out bottles of cold water from the cooler, tugs a fresh pair of clothes from Sam’s bag, finds a tube of toothpaste.
When Sam had been thirteen, he had long-started his wars. The ‘flu had caught him and he thought that he would die, fever strong enough to paint Dean’s triplets and John’s forked tongue. Dean had stayed, despite the hunt that he had wanted, cooled him in the shower and made him soup from John’s best recipe.
Now, Sam holds still. Dean unbuttons his shirt and doesn’t care about the mess. On the highway, there aren’t any drive-bys. Sam has to hold Dean’s shoulders to kick out of his jeans. He lets Dean damp the back of his ruined shirt and use it to wipe his face.
"This bit’s gonna suck," Dean says, "but we don’t got any gum."
He squeezes toothpaste onto Sam’s finger as a makeshift brush and helps to guide it. Mint isn’t harsh enough to kill bile, but Sam rubs it over his tongue before he spits into the dirt.
"Next motel that don’t look too bad, we’re gonna set up, okay, Sammy?"
"Dean, I’m. ‘M sorry."
"Shut up, man. All you gotta do’s get in the back and try for some shut-eye."
"The car," Sam tries, "I didn’t mean to—"
"Hey. Don’t worry about it. C’mon. We’re gonna get you better, and when you are, then I’ll kick your ass. How’s that sound?"
The music fades, just a little, and Sam smiles.
Dean Appreciation Week | Favorite Quote | S08E23 - Sacrifice
“I’m willing to let this bastard and all the sons of bitches that killed mom walk because of you. Don’t you dare think that there is anything, past or present, that I would put in front of you! It has never been like that, ever! I need you to see that. I’m begging you. […]Let it go, c’mon. Let it go, brother.”
If you fight like a married couple, talk like best friends, flirt like lovers, and protect each other like siblings, then you were meant to be. inspired by x
I’ve got you, Nothing can stop us now Because we found in life what’s true …oh, my brother, I’d follow you
― Brother; Mighty Oaks
brother touching (▰˘◡˘▰) (for Dora♥)
Sam’s big brother.
person: what r u doin
me:
Dean loves his food.
Sam cut it. He cut Dean’s grilled cheese for him. He made his 36 year old brother a grilled cheese while he watched funny videos on his computer, and he cut it into triangles. I can’t.
you don’t cut someones sandwich into triangles? well now thats just rude.
majestic
I wanna run my hands all through his hair. It looks so soft.
( insp. )
Grandpa Cain’s Year in Review 2014