A Deafening Reality
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This is a Supernatural blog with plenty of Destiel. Poetry and random funny things are also reblogged occasionally : )



The Fault In Our Sombreros.

Nacho average love story.

it’s spelled olé not olay you illiterate fuck this ain’t the fault in our lotions

(via hdshadowcat)




my mom was playing world of warcraft and someone said “fuck off” and she said “such language” and the next person said “very swear” and the next said “much offensive” and basically my mom started crying and blamed me


Did you just

(via hdshadowcat)



Most of you know who electricmonk333 is. She’s been a member of the SPN family for a long time and makes some amazing edits for us all.

Most of you also know the story of what happened to her just days after DCCon. If not, her post is here.

Her family have…


“fuck it” tends to be the last thought running through my mind before making any final decisions

(Source: profound-sins, via levi-the-hobbit)

I’m scared to be an uncertainty,
I regret that I am not fire.

Alexander Vvedensky  (via lonehands)

(Source: heatherchristle, via writingsforwinter)

it’s eight o’clock in the morning and i ask you if
you love her
and you say “um” and
i just kind of grimace because it’s so early and
hearing you still stutter over the places
she left burning on your skin
as if you were her ashtray
just makes my heart chug like a steam-powered train
and god help me but i know i’m barely more
than a speck of dirt to you, some kind of
decomposer so your death doesn’t have to be so slow,
some kind of fungus that’s grown up between your toes
but you’ve kept around because you like how it
hurts you know once you told me
“i feel like mold gets a bad rap”
and i feel like the mold that’s growing over all the
damp fingerprints she left behind

i mean you choke on the bits of her
still left in your throat
how are you supposed to even say my name
when you can’t even get air to your lungs i mean
i was supposed to be your something-special
and most of the time i wake up and find
you’re at the other side of the bed,
nightmaring about her again

and god, i don’t know,
it’s eight o’clock in the morning
and you still make me think the kind of thoughts
that belong to
3 a.m.

Be careful or he’ll turn you into a toadstool /// r.i.d (via inkskinned)

no baby it’s just a bad night i’m absolutely fine: a collaboration between the sainted max and myself

burdensome. /// r.i.d