[jackalopiel]

100 good questions to ask your friends at 4:02 am when you can’t sleep (can also function as an asks list)

Are you bothered by your cosmic insignificance?

Do you mourn for a place or person you’ve never known?

Do you really think there is somebody for everybody?

Do you place any value in gender roles?

Do you have to be related to be family?

Are your platonic relationships just as valuable as romantic or family ones?

Are you in love? Do you want to be?

Do you think you can put love into categories (family, platonic, romantic, etc.) or is it just one general sensation?

Would you be happy with a life without romance? 

Are you always going to be a little in love with somebody?

Would you change your appearance if you could?

Do you have the feeling you’ve lost something you might have had in another life - whether it be a person, a place, a world, a language, etc.?

Do you believe in reincarnation?

Would you want to be reincarnated?

Do you think you’re special, or just another person amongst billions? Can you be both?

Do theoretical ethical debates have any value? Is it important people discuss ethical dilemmas, e.g. the trolley problem?

Did you have imaginary friends? Do you still have them?

Are you religious? Do you think your religion is ‘correct’?

If you aren’t religious, do you wish you were? Why?

Do you want a grand adventure?

Do you have somebody, whether it be a friend or stranger, who you think you could have loved if the circumstances were different?

How long does it take you to fall in love with somebody?Is the sensation of ‘falling in love’ or ‘being in love’ better?

Is love about convenience or something more? Can it be about both?

Do you think you really understand your gender and sexuality?

How fluid is your concept of gender and sexuality?

What’s the most life-changing choice you’ve made so far?

Are you afraid of growing old?

Would you want to live forever? How about for a billion years, a million, a millennium, a century?

Do you believe in some form of god/s?

Are your choices fated or of your own free will?

Do you have a hunch about how you’re going to die?

Do you believe in star signs?

How old do you have to be to be considered an adult?

Was your childhood happy?

What are you missing from your life?

Have you ever met someone who had a very similar personality to your own? Did you get along?

Do opposites attract?

Is your life what you expected it would be five years ago?

Do you know what you want out of life?

What makes a person ‘good’? Are you a ‘good person’?

What fundamentally matters do you?

Is freewill an illusion?

Do you create art? How do you define art?

How often do you lie? Is all lying inherently bad? Are you generally truthful?

Do you want to be remembered after your death? What for?

Is true world peace ever possible?

Do you have to suffer to truly understand the human condition? What is the human condition? How can you really experience it?

Are you free? Will you ever be? Can anyone be truly free?

Do you hold yourself to higher standards than you hold others?

What do you expect from a friend or partner?

What question could you ask to find out the most about a person?

Do you justify all your beliefs or have you just inherited/absorbed some?

Which beliefs do you have that is most likely to be wrong?

Can human really understand the complete nature of the universe, space and time?

Is a conscious what makes someone a person?

What do you think about artificial intelligence?

Do you thinks humans are obsessed with escapism (books, video games, movies, etc.)? Are you looking for an escape? Do you think that’s a bad thing?

Are we eventually going to ‘run out’ of new combinations for music, art, language, etc.? Is there a limit to human creativity?

What do you think the next era of music will be like?

What do you think the next era of fashion will be like?

Do we live in tumultuous times, or do they just seem so strange because we’re living in them?

Would you want to meet a clone of yourself? Would you like them?

How confident are you, really?

How consistent is your perception of time?

What age should people be allowed to vote? Should children and teenagers be allowed to vote?

How do you feel about the idea ‘an eye for an eye’?

What’s the worse thing a person can be?

How do you feel about monogamy?

Can you be in love with someone and still fall in love with someone else?

What’s the tragedy of your life?

Would your life make a good play?

Should people be prosecuted for crimes that weren’t considered crimes at the time?

Would you fight for your country? Do you feel a sense of loyalty to your nation?

Do you believe in gender equality in every aspect?

Do we have a moral obligation to care for others? To what extent?

Do you crave approval and/or praise?

Is there comedy in all tragedy and tragedy in all comedy?

Are you ever going to be satisfied?

When you are sad, do you listen to music that conveys your emotions or music that makes you happy?

Is your music organised by mood or sensation or do you just listen to everything at any time?

Would you marry a friend if they needed you to (e.g. for citizenship)?

Are you a deep person?

Given the chance to live your life on Mars, with no hope of returning to Earth but with the promise of scientific discovery and glory, would you take it?

Are you who people think you are?

Do you think you would be happier if you had been born a different gender, sexuality, race, ethnicity, nationality or religion?

What’s your toxic trait? Are you trying to improve yourself and fix it?

Do you anger easily?

Are you a jealous person?

If you lost all your memories, would you have the same personality?

Given the chance to reset your life (with none of the knowledge you currently have), would you take it?

Is hate as strong as love? Who do you hate?

Do you speak multiple languages? Which do you dream in? What language would you want to learn?

Do you draw meaning from your dreams, or do you disregard them?

How would you describe yourself when you love? Do you love forcefully, unconditionally, gently, quietly, desperately?

Is unrequited love real love?

Is your perception of yourself similar or the same to how others perceive you?

Are you overly analytical?

Do you ever feel that you are really a terrible person, and only act good out of societal or some other obligation?

Do you believe in magic? Are you superstitious?

What belief do you have that isn’t logically grounded, but you still firmly believe in?

[usersukuna]

[youchoseeachother]

Jealousy is a bad color on you, bro.

[mr-smith-wesson]

“if I’m in heaven where’s sam?” 

[1x20]

You get out of my house. And let go of my son.

[meowmeowmessi]

Yandere dean 👀

Who’s killing practically everyone who he thinks is a threat to Sam’s attention on him, a threat to their so very unhealthy relationship

Considering how Dean killed Ruby and Amy this is pretty much canon 😏

Speaking of yandere Dean: I was listening to Meant to Be Yours from the Heathers musical the other day, and if these lyrics don't scream "Dean going psycho after Sam left him for Stanford" idk what does (just replace high school with college lmao):

[urnewbestfrenemy]

gays: i want what they have

what they have:

[twinnedpeaks]

@holetual

[heywhoaeasytiger]

It's too late

I’ve read way too many porny/UST-filled fics about the filming of this scene to see it any other way.

Jensen where’s your leg?

Guys they haven’t called action, you don’t need to start eyefucking yet

Holy fuck Jared look at you, you’re just fucking undulating your body under him, jesus

unf

Jared has something across his crotch, it’s probably some padding so Jensen’s knees don’t dig into him but I like to think it’s to hide his boner.

Seriously this gif makes me want to explode, the way Jared grabs at his hand like he’s protesting at the sudden loss of contact, Jensen’s little touch to his chest, reassuring but playful at the same time, and the way Jared looks so dazed and alone when he’s gone holy shitballs you two

But then Jensen just sticks out his hand and it’s like Jared suddenly snaps out of it, grabs his hand and jumps up like a fucking beanstalk and THEN THE LITTLE FUCKING TOUCHES TO EACH OTHERS WAISTS YOU GUYS ARE KILLING ME FUCK MY LIFE

[wendigosam]

"i love you so much, my baby."

[houseofwax2005-deactivated20220]

sorry for padalecki posting but i cannot stop thinking abt the noises he made in this scene

[houseofwax2005-deactivated20220]

[unfleshly]

A poem I wrote for my dearest with BPD so she never forgets i’m with her in the storm.

[furry-trash-era]

“Princess baby sorry my writing is so messy but my thumb hurts and it won’t stop bleeding.      I love you so much baby, you really are the greatest thing that’s ever happened to me. You really have no idea how much I love you babe.    I got some blood on this note, I hope you don’t mind.     You’re totally my best friend and I’ll always be here for you no matter what. I’ll love you more than anyone else will.  You mean the world to me.       I can’t help but smile when    I see you because I feel so lucky to have somebody like you I’m in so much love with you. I can’t wait to marry you Princess You really mean the world to me. I’d do anything for you babe You’re the most gorgeous person alive it’s hard to believe you’re all mine. I’m never going to leave you and I hope you never leave me. I’m in so much love with you.      I love you Princess                        -Anthony”

-

-

-Found this in the gutter while I was out one day, and it’s by far the coolest/creepiest/saddest thing I’ve ever found.-

[taur]

Texting your ex 😍

[roadmotel]

“1. put the gun down, he says, darling, put it away. no, you say, really, barrel pressed against your lips. it’s alright. just like this. i’ve been holding guns my whole life. getting shot is messy, the blood never comes out. your brother used to sew you up, but lately you’ve just been sticking your fingers in the holes to make them bigger. 2. (when you were young you met death and he showed you the ocean, your little brother dead on the pavement, an empty bed. this is the morgue where they cut your mother open, this is the backseat of your father’s car, this is a record collection of suicidal thoughts and bar fights— a sign saying TURN BACK NOW, but everybody knows you won’t. and death said, dance the dead waltz with me, darling, dance until you feel nothing at all. there was an empty crypt in your head when the reaper sent you home.) 3. when that boy moves, those hips like hunting knives, your spine wants for the beetles in his blood. give him shotgun shells, a mouth full of teeth, love on a rusty fire escape, this isn’t how the story is supposed to go. you carve suicide into his skin with a broken bottle, and you don’t take your finger off the trigger when he kisses you. 4. this is a prophecy bookmarked; dog-eared, this is god telling you— stop taking my book so fucking seriously. this is his hand around your throat, squeezing, this is you telling him— welcome home, darling, i’ve been waiting here for longer than you know. 5. you were in junior high and there was that motel room in some sleepy town, the one with the awful wallpaper he’d tried to peel away with his pocket knife. ugly walls, ugly hearts, ugly brother secrets that nobody wants to tell. kiss him in the dark because nobody wants to see that either. the first time was an accident, you swear; a stupid mistake, he was drunk and you were drunk and there were cheerleaders at the party. you were playing seven minutes in heaven and they all said to kiss him, so you did. he didn’t talk to you for two weeks and when he did he punched you so hard, your tooth went straight through your lip. he sewed it up and sobbed sorry’s into your shoulder and then he kissed you again and it pulled the stitches right back out. 6. admit it, if he had wings you would rip them off and sew them to your own shoulders instead. greedy graveyard boy, dirt under his fingernails and war in his heart, this time last week he was telling you about a girl in kentucky, how he’d fucked her brains out, but he always fucks you with your brains in, arms in, legs in, ankles crossed like you’re still fourteen and a virgin, pink in the middle like dime store candy. he only fucks you with your brains in and you wonder what that means. well, i’ll tell you what it means: it means that you have lots of time to think about him, and hunger, and how he only loves you when he’s dying or when he owes someone money, when you dare him to say i love you and he whispers, nobody likes a liar, darling. 7. you remember the nights that he bent himself over backwards until his spine broke. you remember pouring whiskey into his wounds, his schizotypal judas dopey grin, death on a queen size bed. you remember wanting to be inside his blood. 8. home is inside of him when he is inside of you. home is not these rotting walls, it is not a gun, though you want it to be. home is the velvet inside of tongue and teeth, is this love pinned up, nailed down, crucified. 9. he pushes you against the door, but doesn’t kiss you. he leaves you with a pack of cards and a pack of matches. pick one. you could play solitaire or you could burn this whole city down. 10. you want to pull the door off its hinges and leave it splintered in the yard outside. you want the splinters in your skin. you want his fingernails there, too. you smoke an entire pack of cigarettes, find yourself winding him up just so he shoves you away. it occurs to you that you are self-destructive. 11. you know, this ends with you dead, him dead, both of you dead, lying next to each other under blood halos, ribs like opera balconies, open and terrible— see, this ends with an empty apartment, shutters closed and no one home, rotting food in the fridge, his car keys on the table, dust everywhere— see, this has nothing to do with happiness. 12. you’ve run out of gas and there is nothing but cornfields. you swear and kick the dirty ground. he sits on the hood of your precious car while you open the trunk and count your precious guns. and he almost looks— in this light— like he could be precious too. 13. maybe it’s supposed to end here, but thirteen is a damned unlucky number. 14. you dream that you and your brother are chained together at the ankle. that god is drunk on wine and he’s singing billie holiday. that all you can smell is burning flesh, you dream that you have monsters that are too big to fit under your bed, but that’s not a dream, now, is it? 15. someday you’re going to steer this car across america and straight into the pacific. 16. but your car is not yours, and neither is the gun in your hand or the voices in your head. sometimes they say hello, sometimes they say, pick up that gun, sweet boy, pick it up, cock it back— bang bang bang, there. just like dancing. 17. you take a blunt instrument to the cave of your chest, carve your heart out and pin it to the motel wall with your throwing knife. you do this to all of the people you love because you are a killer and heartbeats are the sick lullaby you need to sleep. because you are a killer and you like the taste of blood. because you are a killer, but he is, too. 18. the ghosts tell you: you are not your father’s weapon. you are not your mother’s angel. there is no room here for kindness. clean up the blood, boy. 19. there’s nothing in this room but a baby cradle and it’s on fire. you wait by the door for hours, but it never burns. 20. see, sunday came and went and still nobody’s praying. 21. but wait. this time there’s a boy. a boy in a car in the dark on a highway in kansas, and you think he might be yours, but you can’t be sure. you’re driving and he’s got your fingers in his mouth, and his eyes can’t decide if they’re blue, or green, or everything other than that. there is the smell of winter in his bones, pale trees, frightening hollow faces. if you had the time you might be afraid, but he is in your way; hair bitten by wind, cheeks stained red, and you only have ten minutes before the dogs catch up to you. 22. he looks like a fucking victory march. or maybe he looks like a disaster. 23. a litany of bible verses is on your tongue, and you’re about to say something about the army of god, that sweet chariot garrison of blood and light, but they’re all dead, aren’t they? dead from the moment they pulled you from the pit and hung you high, sang hosannas in the footsteps of a man who was never holy; at least, not holy in an ancient stone, biblical tapestry, david-and-goliath kind of way. not in the way the angels wanted you to be. 24. he tells you that there is no god in this car, in kansas. or in all of america, for that matter. he tucks your fingers into the roof of his mouth. your vision does fuzzy things at the edges. the car swerves. he says, god has more important things to do than stop you from making mistakes with tragic, dying boys. he bites down and your fingers come back bloody. someone once told you that red darkness is much darker than black darkness; and so the blood on your fingers could be red darkness, it could also be nothing but your blood. he sunk his teeth into you. let’s not make this poetic. 25. really, sweetheart, it’s too late for that. 26. boys with guns in their pockets are poetic the same way that a crime scene is poetic. it’s only after you’re both dead that you realize something is terribly, terribly wrong. 27. he finds the gun under your pillow and he leaves it there. if you want to put it to your head he knows you will, bullets or not. he has given you many death instruments over the years. daggers and demons, fire and fist, but you will always come back to your gun. it’s easy: like loving him, like fucking him. all you have to do is pull the trigger. 28. there is a boy in a church who wants to be saved. the church doesn’t want to save him. this is your boy— although you would never admit to wanting him like that. you push him hard against the stained glass and his skin refracts the light like a glass prism does. you want to confess all your sins to this boy, kneel, and pray, and spill them at his feet. you want to suck him off in the confession booth, sing hymns into his navel. you want to burn all these goddamn prayer books. 29. you swallowed god when you swallowed your mother’s rosary at the age of four. you used to suck on it because the bone-carved cross fit perfectly into the niches of your tiny, tiny mouth. 30. oh, little soldier, there isn’t a holy inch inside of you. 31. you listen to your monsters, that animal trying to get out from under your skin, your legs buckle. drop. the floor is not forgiving. once, you drank three bottles of whiskey and puked up your guts and he still kissed you like you deserved it. 32. amen, he kisses you down. amen, says your smalltown, carhood heart. amen amen amen, the rhythm of his fingers, his tongue. you look up at the ceiling and wonder why every ceiling isn’t this beautiful. 33. when he pulls you both together you gasp out— OH, GOD, and all the angels in heaven turn their eyes away. 34. you are my god, you tell him with a dopey dreary bible bloody smile, now give me back my gun.”

— good morning, fire eater. (or: the one where he calls you kindness and you still put a gun to his head)

[maspwinj2]

Didn't I read somewhere that after meeting Jared at the audition, Jensen went back home to his roommate and couldn't stop gushing about Jared and how smitten he was with him?

it was jason :))

source

[zenon-karr]

‘The guy I’m doing it with’ 😁😂🤭

[bloodysamuel]

hurt me & tell me you’re mine

[freakygirlie]

there’s no one on this planet who could have played sam winchester better than jared padalecki. no one else would have fought for him and cared for him in the way that jared did. jared is so so proud of the journey sam has gone on and i’m so fucking happy for him. i love you sam winchester <33

[supernaturallywincest]

Sam is a hero