#lrb

[headtraumasam]

interviewer: how did it feel to fight your spn costars and crush the throat of misha collins and break the legs of jared padalecki

jensen ackles: yeah we've done that before it wasn't a big deal. but jared was so comfortable with me and because of my restrictive suit i couldn't bend my chest. so jared and i fought against folks on spn but sometimes we had to fight each other. yeah sorry so jared was so close to me i accidentally landed a soldier boy punch. And you know what jared was really great, he carried on. Did i mention we had to pause and make sure my buddy didn't get a bloody nose? yeah so we did that. and he was good. so like I was saying jared was really close and he didn't realise he had to put that extra distance. and I forgot to mention, in true jared fashion, he carried on with the scene. and on supernatural we never miss hit each other or whatever so I was like how did that happen. and I can't believe I'm telling you this but jared really carried on with the scene. jare-

interviewer:

[despazito]

oof.

[jlaudio]

[psyduckz]

can you ask my strong as fuck ice mummy if we can have a sleepover.. she'll say yes if it's you

[ilynpilled]

there r lines from hamilton that r good and there is writing in hamilton (like as the fictional story and piece of musical theater with its own themes and motifs and merits) thats v good but unfortunately the ideological baggage of it all as well as lmm’s delivery and performance pops into my head and i start immediately laughing uncontrollably

[bvrialatsea]

dean's all "see sammy? that wasn't so bad" meanwhile sam's knees are shaking and his right arm is bloody and numb and he can still see their daughter's shoulder stuck inside dean's– inside dean's– and he genuinely thought he was on his final breath.

[peanutbutterandbananasandwichs]

The covers wrench back abruptly. Arms slide beneath Sam, scooping him up, pressing him close, close enough to hear the soft, rhythmic thump of a stilling heartbeat. Calloused fingers at his hairline, a careful sweep, brushing aside a stray lock of hair. Breath ghosts his cheek: heat and alcohol and tobacco, foul and familiar. Comforting. Disgusting. He does this sometimes, holds Sam when he thinks he’s asleep. Just stands there. Watching.

If he opens his eyes, just a flicker, would it break the spell? Confirm what he already feels? That low, crawling uncertainty skirting the edges of his mind.

It's not that Dad doesn't hug him when he's awake, but he rarely meets his eyes. Unless Sam questions something or speaks up at the wrong moment - which felt like every moment lately - then Dad's gaze fixes on him, unyielding like stone.

[guiltfactory]