I mean... hi? I’m pro-pig, though. Also pro-bacon, so an admitted dichotomy. I do question the need for an aerial assault to kill pigs, however feral, but you do you. Not really “hunting” if you’re not on an even playing field as it were, eh? Better verbiage “annihilation”. Why are you wearing camo if you’re all the way up in the air? And are those assault rifles? Jesus Christ, your pricks must be minuscule. I’ll be blocking you shortly. But I thought my followers might get a chuckle. Byeeeeeee.

...that you can have a reader insert story without using the “name” Y/N at all. 

You know, the *only* time I post back-to-back-to-back without some semblance of space/without queuing is when I live blog. But hey - don’t let the door hit you on the way out.

#unreal #and always in pairs #like it’s goddamn Noah’s ark

Hey, who’s as pumped as I am for this Maggie-centric episode?

Let me tell you why you’re here.

“You're here because you know something. What you know, you can't explain, but you feel it. You've felt it the entire time, that there's something wrong with the reblogs. You don't know what it is, but it's there, like a splinter in your mind, driving you mad. It is this feeling that has brought you to me. Do you know what I'm talking about?”

“The fanfic.”

“Do you want to know what it is?”

“Yes.”

“The so-called stories claiming to be based upon Supernatural are everywhere. They are all around us. Even now, in this very post. You can see it when you look on your phone, or when you turn on your laptop. You can feel it when you check your notifications... when you scroll through your dash... when you see your mutuals vomit-fawning. It is the world that has been pulled over your eyes to blind you from the truth.”

“What truth?”

“The same-shit-different-title fic is a system. That system is our monster-of-the-week. When you're hunting for fic, and you look around, what do you see? Emojis, notes, hearts, ask-kissing: the very minds of the people we are trying to save. But until we do, these people are still a part of that system, and that makes them our responsibility. You have to understand, most of these people are not ready to read good fic. And many of them are so inured, so hopelessly dependent on the system, that they will fight to protect it... Were you listening to me?

.

.

.

Or were you reading about two men who neither speak nor behave like the  Winchester brothers?”

@favilla1479 replied to your photoset

(said hashtags above, for the populous)

And look, Fav, she’s already there, in yonder background, offering her pathetic -- I MEAN -- sympathetic angst to “Sam, out there hunting”....

But as she’s a redhead, it’s 50/50 that she’s The Chosen Snatch or just another sweetheart notch on the ol’ bedpost. 😉

Public, well-earned, much deserved thank you to....

.... @emlostinwonderland for bringing that imagine into my life today, you’ve no idea the unbridled laughter it has brought me. I’m going to try my hand at them one day. I’ve got a killer one thought up about toothpaste being found right where it was left that morning. In any event, I have located actual footage of the guys upon being presented with such a scenario, please enjoy. 

A recovered letter which never reached its destination, written by a beleaguered hunter during what came to be known as The Great Flatulence Fracas of 2015, as narrated by Ken Burns

𝑀𝓎 𝒟𝑒𝒶𝓇𝑒𝓈𝓉 𝐸𝒾𝓁𝑒𝑒𝓃,

𝐼 𝓇𝑒𝑔𝓇𝑒𝓉 𝓉𝑜 𝓉𝑒𝓁𝓁 𝓎𝑜𝓊 𝓂𝓎 𝑒𝓈𝓉𝒾𝓂𝒶𝓉𝒾𝑜𝓃 𝑜𝒻 𝒷𝑒𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝒷𝓊𝓉 𝒶 𝒻𝑜𝓇𝓉𝓃𝒾𝑔𝒽𝓉 𝒶𝓌𝒶𝓎 𝒻𝓇𝑜𝓂 𝒽𝑜𝓂𝑒 𝒷𝓎 𝓉𝒽𝒾𝓈 𝓉𝒾𝓂𝑒 𝓌𝒶𝓈 𝒶 𝒻𝑜𝑜𝓁'𝓈 𝒽𝑜𝓅𝑒𝒻𝓊𝓁 𝒶𝓈𝓈𝓊𝓂𝓅𝓉𝒾𝑜𝓃, 𝒶𝓈 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝓂𝒾𝓈𝓈𝒾𝑜𝓃 𝒽𝒶𝓈 𝓉𝒶𝓀𝑒𝓃 𝓊𝓈 𝒾𝓃 𝒶 𝓃𝑒𝓌 𝒹𝒾𝓇𝑒𝒸𝓉𝒾𝑜𝓃, 𝑜𝓊𝓇 𝒹𝑒𝓈𝓉𝒾𝓃𝒶𝓉𝒾𝑜𝓃 𝓀𝓃𝑜𝓌𝓃 𝑜𝓃𝓁𝓎 𝓉𝑜 𝓂𝓎 𝒷𝓇𝑜𝓉𝒽𝑒𝓇-𝒾𝓃-𝒶𝓇𝓂𝓈, 𝓂𝓎 𝓈𝓅𝒾𝓇𝒾𝓉 𝓌𝒶𝓃𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝓌𝒾𝓉𝒽 𝑒𝓋𝑒𝓇𝓎 𝓂𝒾𝓁𝑒.

𝒲𝑒 𝓌𝑒𝓇𝑒𝓃’𝓉 𝒷𝓊𝓉 𝓉𝑒𝓃 𝒸𝓁𝒾𝒸𝓀𝓈 𝓈𝑜𝓊𝓉𝒽 𝑜𝒻 𝒮𝒽𝑒𝓇𝓂𝒶𝓃’𝓈 𝒻𝒾𝓃𝒶𝓁 𝓈𝓉𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝓌𝒽𝑒𝓃 𝑜𝓊𝓇 𝓈𝓉𝑒𝑒𝒹 𝑔𝒶𝓋𝑒 𝑜𝓊𝓉, 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝓌𝑒 𝒽𝒶𝒹 𝓉𝑜 𝓈𝑒𝑒𝓀 𝓇𝑒𝒻𝓊𝑔𝑒 𝒻𝑜𝓇 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝓃𝒾𝑔𝒽𝓉 𝓊𝓃𝒹𝑒𝓇 𝒶𝓃 𝑜𝓋𝑒𝓇𝓅𝒶𝓈𝓈 𝓅𝑜𝓅𝓊𝓁𝒶𝓉𝑒𝒹 𝒷𝓎 𝒻𝑒𝓇𝒶𝓁 𝒸𝒶𝓉𝓈 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝒶 𝑔𝓇𝒶𝓋𝑒𝓁-𝓋𝑜𝒾𝒸𝑒𝒹 𝒷𝓊𝓂 𝓇𝑒𝑔𝒶𝓁𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝓊𝓈 𝓌𝒾𝓉𝒽 𝒶 𝓉𝒶𝓁𝑒 𝑜𝒻 𝒽𝑒𝓂𝑜𝓇𝓇𝒽𝑜𝒾𝒹𝓈 𝒾𝓃 𝒷𝑒𝓉𝓌𝑒𝑒𝓃 𝑔𝓊𝓁𝓅𝓈 𝑜𝒻 𝒶 𝒻𝒾𝓃𝑒 𝓋𝒾𝓃𝓉𝒶𝑔𝑒 𝑜𝒻 𝐵𝑜𝑜𝓃𝑒'𝓈. 𝒜𝓈 𝒻𝑜𝓇 𝓊𝓈, 𝓌𝑒 𝒽𝒶𝒹 𝒷𝓊𝓉 𝒶 𝒻𝑒𝓌 𝒷𝒾𝓉𝑒𝓈 𝑜𝒻 𝓈𝓉𝒶𝓁𝑒 𝑜𝓃𝒾𝑜𝓃 𝓇𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝒽𝒶𝓇𝒹 𝓉𝒶𝒸𝓀 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝒶 𝒽𝒶𝓁𝒻-𝒸𝒶𝓃 𝑜𝒻 𝑅𝑒𝒹 𝐵𝓊𝓁𝓁 𝒷𝑒𝓉𝓌𝑒𝑒𝓃 𝓊𝓈, 𝓅𝒶𝓈𝓈𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝑔𝓁𝒶𝓇𝑒𝓈 𝒶𝓈 𝓌𝑒 𝓅𝒶𝓈𝓈𝑒𝒹 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝓂𝑒𝒶𝑔𝑒𝓇 𝓇𝒶𝓉𝒾𝑜𝓃𝓈 𝒶𝒸𝓇𝑜𝓈𝓈 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝓈𝑒𝒶𝓉, 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝐼 𝒶𝒹𝓂𝒾𝓉 𝓂𝓎 𝑒𝓃𝓋𝓎 𝑜𝒻 𝒽𝒾𝓈 𝒷𝓁𝒾𝓈𝓈. 𝐼 𝒸𝓇𝒶𝓋𝑒 𝓈𝒶𝓁𝒶𝒹𝓈 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝓁𝒶𝓉𝓉𝑒𝓈 𝓌𝒾𝓉𝒽 𝓃𝑒𝒶𝓇 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝓅𝒶𝓈𝓈𝒾𝑜𝓃 𝐼 𝒸𝓇𝒶𝓋𝑒 𝓎𝑜𝓊, 𝓂𝓎 𝐼𝓇𝒾𝓈𝒽 𝓇𝑜𝓈𝑒.

𝑀𝓎 𝒶𝓁𝓁𝒾𝒶𝓃𝒸𝑒 𝓌𝒾𝓉𝒽 𝒞𝒽𝒾𝓅𝑜𝓉𝓁𝑒 𝓌𝒾𝓁𝓁 𝒷𝑒 𝓂𝒶𝒹𝑒 𝑜𝒻𝒻𝒾𝒸𝒾𝒶𝓁 𝓉𝑜𝓂𝑜𝓇𝓇𝑜𝓌 𝒷𝓎 𝓈𝓊𝓃𝓈𝑒𝓉. 𝐼 𝒽𝒶𝓋𝑒 𝒾𝓃 𝓂𝓎 𝓂𝒾𝓃𝒹 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝓌𝑜𝓇𝒹𝓈 𝓉𝑜 𝓈𝒶𝓎 𝒾𝓃 𝑜𝓇𝒹𝑒𝓇 𝓉𝑜 𝑒𝓃𝓈𝓊𝓇𝑒 𝒷𝓊𝓇𝓇𝒾𝓉𝑜𝓈 𝓌𝒾𝓁𝓁 𝒷𝑒 𝒸𝒶𝓅𝓉𝓊𝓇𝑒𝒹, 𝓅𝑒𝓇𝒽𝒶𝓅𝓈 𝒶 𝒷𝑜𝓌𝓁, 𝐼'𝓋𝑒 𝓃𝑜𝓉 𝒹𝑒𝒸𝒾𝒹𝑒𝒹. 𝐼 𝒻𝑒𝒶𝓇 𝓂𝓎 𝓉𝓇𝑒𝒶𝒸𝒽𝑒𝓇𝓎 𝓌𝒾𝓁𝓁 𝒷𝑒 𝒹𝒾𝓈𝒸𝑜𝓋𝑒𝓇𝑒𝒹, 𝓉𝒽𝒶𝓉 𝓂𝓎 𝓁𝒾𝑒𝓈 𝓌𝒾𝓁𝓁 𝒸𝒶𝓉𝒸𝒽 𝓊𝓅 𝓌𝒾𝓉𝒽 𝓂𝑒, 𝒷𝓊𝓉 𝒾𝓉 𝒽𝒶𝓈 𝓉𝑜 𝒷𝑒 𝒹𝑜𝓃𝑒, 𝓂𝓎 𝒹𝒶𝓇𝓁𝒾𝓃𝑔. '𝒯𝒾𝓈 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝑜𝓃𝓁𝓎 𝓌𝒶𝓎 𝐼 𝒸𝒶𝓃 𝒽𝒶𝓈𝓉𝑒𝓃 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝒽𝓊𝓃𝓉, 𝒷𝓇𝑒𝒶𝓀 𝒟𝑒𝒶𝓃'𝓈 𝓇𝑒𝓈𝑜𝓁𝓋𝑒, 𝒶𝓁𝓁 𝓈𝑜 𝓌𝑒 𝒸𝒶𝓃 𝓇𝑒𝓈𝓊𝓂𝑒 𝑜𝓊𝓇 𝓅𝓇𝒾𝓋𝒶𝓉𝑒 𝓂𝑜𝓂𝑒𝓃𝓉𝓈 𝑜𝓋𝑒𝓇 𝒮𝓀𝓎𝓅𝑒. 𝒯𝒽𝑒 𝓈𝓅𝑒𝒸𝒾𝒶𝓁 𝓀𝒾𝓃𝒹, 𝒾𝓃 𝓇𝒶𝓃𝒹𝑜𝓂 𝓇𝑜𝑜𝓂𝓈 𝒶𝓇𝑜𝓊𝓃𝒹 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝒷𝓊𝓃𝓀𝑒𝓇, 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝑜𝓃𝑒𝓈 𝓌𝒾𝓉𝒽 𝓇𝑒𝒶𝓁 𝒹𝒾𝓂 𝓁𝒾𝑔𝒽𝓉𝒾𝓃𝑔, 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝑜𝒸𝒸𝒶𝓈𝒾𝑜𝓃𝒶𝓁 𝒫𝑒𝓉𝑒𝓇 𝒢𝒶𝒷𝓇𝒾𝑒𝓁 𝒷𝒶𝒸𝓀𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝓉𝓇𝒶𝒸𝓀. 𝐼 𝓉𝓇𝓊𝓈𝓉 𝓎𝑜𝓊'𝓋𝑒 𝒹𝑒𝓁𝑒𝓉𝑒𝒹 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝓃𝑒𝒸𝑒𝓈𝓈𝒶𝓇𝓎 𝒻𝒾𝓁𝑒𝓈 - 𝒾𝓃 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝑒𝓋𝑒𝓃𝓉 𝐼 𝒹𝑜 𝓃𝑜𝓉 𝓇𝑒𝓉𝓊𝓇𝓃, 𝒻𝒾𝓃𝒹 𝒶 𝓀𝒾𝓃𝒹𝓁𝓎 𝓌𝒾𝓉𝒸𝒽 𝓉𝑜 𝒷𝑒𝓈𝓉𝑜𝓌 𝒶 𝒽𝑒𝓍 𝓊𝓅𝑜𝓃 𝓂𝓎 𝓁𝒶𝓅𝓉𝑜𝓅.

𝒪𝓃𝑒 𝒻𝒾𝓃𝒶𝓁 𝓃𝑜𝓉𝑒, 𝓂𝓎 𝓉𝓇𝓊𝑒 𝓁𝑜𝓋𝑒-𝒶𝓉-𝓁𝑒𝒶𝓈𝓉-𝓇𝑒𝒶𝓁𝓁𝓎-𝒟𝒯𝐹-𝒹𝓊𝓂𝓅𝓁𝒾𝓃𝑔: 𝐼 𝓂𝓊𝓈𝓉 𝓌𝒶𝓇𝓃 𝓎𝑜𝓊 𝓂𝑜𝓈𝓉 𝑒𝓁𝑜𝓆𝓊𝑒𝓃𝓉𝓁𝓎 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝒾𝓃𝒸𝓇𝑒𝒹𝒾𝒷𝓁𝓎 𝓈𝓅𝑒𝒸𝒾𝒻𝒾𝒸𝒶𝓁𝓁𝓎 𝑜𝒻 𝒶 𝒹𝒶𝓃𝑔𝑒𝓇𝑜𝓊𝓈 𝓅𝓁𝒶𝒸𝑒 𝓉𝒽𝒶𝓉 𝓃𝑒'𝑒𝓇 𝓈𝒽𝒶𝓁𝓁 𝒷𝑒 𝓉𝓇𝒶𝓋𝑒𝓇𝓈𝑒𝒹 𝒶𝑔𝒶𝒾𝓃, 𝓌𝒽𝑒𝓇𝑒 𝓂𝒶𝓊𝓁𝒾𝓃𝑔𝓈 𝑜𝒸𝒸𝓊𝓇, 𝓌𝒾𝓉𝒽 𝓉𝒽𝑒𝓈𝑒 𝓌𝑜𝓊𝓃𝒹𝓈, 𝓉𝒽𝒶𝓉, 𝐼 𝓂𝑒𝒶𝓃, 𝓌𝑒'𝓋𝑒 𝑜𝓃𝓁𝓎 𝓈𝑒𝑒𝓃 𝓈𝑜𝓂𝑒𝓉𝒽𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝓉𝒽𝒶𝓉 𝒷𝒶𝒹 𝒶 𝒻𝑒𝓌 𝓉𝒾𝓂𝑒𝓈. 𝐼𝓉'𝓈 𝒶 𝓌𝑜𝑜𝒹𝑒𝒹 𝒶𝓇𝑒𝒶 𝓉𝒽𝒶𝓉 𝒹𝑜𝑒𝓈𝓃'𝓉 𝒽𝒶𝓋𝑒 𝒶𝓃𝒾𝓂𝒶𝓁𝓈 𝓉𝒽𝒶𝓉 𝒹𝑜 𝓉𝒽𝒶𝓉, 𝒾𝓃 𝒮𝑜𝓊𝓉𝒽 𝒞𝒶𝓇𝑜𝓁𝒾𝓃𝒶.

𝐸𝓋𝑒𝓇 𝓎𝑜𝓊𝓇𝓈, 𝒮𝒶𝓂

A Slight Sunday Snark + A Shout-Out

You know, there's a weird part of me that enjoys reading Poor Man's Nash. I somehow feel as if I deserve a 25-35% cut of the hundreds of notes, though. Like a ghost writer, albeit one who didn't agree to haunt their brain.

Tangentially-related: Secret shout-out to the person who spotted what they found to be similarities to something of mine in another writer’s fic. They kindly mentioned it to the writer, who took it to heart, and equally kindly asked me for my take. I read it over and did so - it didn’t grab me in the quite the same way it did the concerned party (I saw their point, though, and so did writer), ergo I requested nothing of writer in terms of a change/alteration to their work.

Thank you both - you rock on levels geologists would be hard-pressed to find, and I appreciate it more than I can say. 😘