This is literally my fourth or fifth time reblogging this.
It’s still hillarious.
And she’ll sit there. She’ll rust, fall apart. In a junk yard in a small town. Kids will pass by, run their hands along the rumpled metal that lost its shine after one too many rains. The grass beneath her is pale and dead. No one will look at her and give her a second thought. It’ll be that car that’s always been there. But really, there was a time, so far back that no one can remember now, when two boys rode around in that car. They drove for so long, all their lives, wheels hot, and the windows rolled down. Old songs that no one knows the words to anymore. So many memories cling to the falling paint, and the worn leather. About the two boys who loved her. Who were good. The ones that saved the world a few times. Who fought the monsters people refused to see. But, of course, they were also the boys who died.
And sometimes the weird guy in the trench coat will visit her. That’s when the parents call their children back inside as the man sits on the hood, legs folded up beneath him; just sits unmoving for hours. There’s a rumor that before he leaves, he caresses her side gently and whispers “thank you for taking care of them”.
NO THAT’S NOT OKAY YOU ARE NOT ALLOWED TO IMPLY THAT DEAN AND SAM DIED AND CAS IS ALONE NO
I DON’T EVEN WATCH THE SHOW AND THAT WAS PAINFUL AND UNCALLED FOR FUCK
But then one day a person runs past it. She pauses, looks closer, peers inside and circles it. And then she see’s it, the oh so noticeable markings on body. “Unbelievable” she mutters. It was only a story, an old fairy tale her grandfather had told her. A story of two brothers who saved the world, with a little help from some friends of course. She reached out, touched it, felt the warmth left from the sun that had died long ago. And for a brief second she pictured it, two brothers sitting on the hood, drinking a beer. And she smiles. Goes on. But she doesn’t forget. Two weeks later she comes back with a tow truck she borrowed from her brother. She doesn’t know why she’s doing this; why it’s so important. She does it anyway. She takes her home and fixes her up. And just for a split second, right before she turns the engine on for the first time in oh so many years, she see’s him. Maybe you’ve seen him too. He’s been there just as long as the car. An old man, an angel they say. Standing guard in the shadows of the forest. And she realises, he’s been there all along, guiding her to this moment. He’s gone within a blink of the eye. The only thing left from the lonely angel was an outline of his wings, resting on the trees of the forest as a symbol of his protection.
The Avengers give Peter Parker a ‘hair cut’.
my little american
This isn’t science
There isnt a single part of this that isnt gold
remember that time Stiles punched Jackson in the face.
No but really, why don’t we talk about this? How he socks him GOOD, not just a light punch, and Scott has to pull him back to KEEP HIM FROM DOING MORE. THIS RIGHT HERE FOLKS, this is our first view of that rage he hides behind the humor. THIS IS WHY I WRITE HIS WOLF AS SO AGGRESSIVE, because take away the sarcasm coping mechanism and you have a truly fucked up kid. A kid who holds it together for his friends and dad. A kid who had to grow up fast. A kid who saw way too much of the worst this world has to offer even before he knew werewolves were a thing.
Stiles Stilinski’s the funnyman but it’s a mask. A well worn mask, but still a mask, and this is why the Nogitsune is so dangerous in him.
matt smith reading his last lines as the doctor for the first time.
Come on now, you can’t crumble that easily.
help it hurts