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Dean: Colt?
Mal: Nope, a Moses Brothers Self-Defense Engine Frontier Model B. I know, shiny.
Dean: No, I mean, you’re Colt? Samuel Colt, the gunmaker?
Mal: Guay, boy, how much did ya have to drink? I ain’t been to many schools in total but even I know that’s ancient history.
Dean: Wait, what? You’re telling me this isn’t 1861?
Mal: 186-? Gorramit, seems like you’re a mite confused. Try 2501.
Dean: Damn it, Cas.This was my 5000th ‘like’ on Tumblr, and it’s clearly a sign, because whenever I pretend that I’m actually going to do something with this blog, it generally devolves into wacky crossover hijinks…
(Source: wyndamwesley, via homoerotics)
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you weren’t quite ready for that, were you?
I’ve managed to fool most of my colleagues into thinking I’m a film buff, not a fangirl, but I live in fear that one day they’re going to ask “Who’s your favourite actor?” and I’ll blurt out “Jensen Ackles”
Then when they ask why, I’ll say “He’s so pretty!” and burst into tears.
(Source: mostly10, via bartonesque)
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How d’you like them apples, eh? *waggles eyebrows*
(via bartonesque)
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Oh, good god-
(via bartonesque)
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High Resolution“Tony? I’m home. Ms. Potts said you were in your — well, she said dungeon, but I think I’ll stick with calling it a workshop. Be down there in a few minutes.” Steve’s voice came through the com, dragging Tony out of the mid-day nap he’d later claim he wasn’t taking. “What do you mean, ‘down in a few minutes’? Since when has my elevator taken minutes to travel down a single floor? Unless somebody switched J.A.R.V.I.S.’s operating system to PC, and then I’ll just be ticked off with everything.”
“No,” a chuckle, friendly and warm, and Tony realized just how much he’d been missing Steve’s voice, “it’s not that. Fury has me working undercover, infiltrating an enemy lab, and I’ve had to … well, let’s say the assigned disguise and uniform aren’t what I’m used to. I wanted to get out of it before you said anything about the pair of glasses they forced on me.” Tony paused for a moment, barely letting that final bit of information sink in as his hand was flying onto a keypad and overriding the code, forcing the elevator doors open.
There stood Steve Rogers, wearing a plain white t-shirt, cargo pants (although there was a pair of tacky red somethings discarded on the floor) and as promised, glasses that would make Harry Potter look like a badass. Tony lifted the glass of whatever it was sitting next to him, eyebrows raised in amusement at the look on Steve’s face. “Cute,” he murmured into the rim, “but now you’ve gone and pinged my infamous hot secretary kink, and that’s not something I take lightly. Come in here and give me a refill.” He shook the now-empty glass before setting it back down.
He really wasn’t expecting Steve to start undoing his belt after that, definitely wasn’t expecting Steve to slide his pants down those perfectly sculpted hips with little more than a huff and a playful sigh. “Of course, Mr. Stark.” Steve’s voice, tender yet seductive; all military professionalism, years of obedient soldier seeping through the affectionate tones sent a shot of excitement up Tony’s spine.
“Which would Mr. Stark like me to fill — his beverage, or,” another delectable pause, and Tony thanked whatever gods he believed in at the moment for the look of sheer deviance on Steve’s face, “would Mr. Stark prefer if I filled him up first?”
The Avengers (2012)
OH YES.
I’m also reminded of this fic, because you can never have too many Chris Evans-es in one crossover :)
(via brokenbats)
Sour as sin, sweet as f*ck
...the Devil to pay, so wish me luck.
