uniqualed-archive - Tumblr blog

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hi everyone!! i know i haven’t been active here at ALL lately but just wanted to let everyone know that i’m moving accounts! i will be posting on @uniqualed from now on. and mutuals, would love to keep the moots there if you want, so follow! <3

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Being-A-Creative-On-Tumblr-Culture is going through all of the 24 reblogs on your post with 357 notes just to get just enough serotonin to get through your day by reading what the five god sent people who left tags wrote

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NOT THE ONE OF THE LINE WITH A CRACK IN HIS CHASSIS      — SUPERNATURAL S15E17 “UNITY”

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sam winchester is just like [scream constantly perched at the tip of your tongue] [eyes always gazing warily at ceilings] [stolen bible from a motel stacked among your college books that burned down] [counting down to something and you don’t even know what] [heavy eyes] [holding onto the leather of your brothers car because it’s the only place you feel safe] [smiling at strangers because seeing them smile back reminds you there’s still kindness out there] [wishing there was just some more kindness for you] [only to feel underserving of it when this kindness finds its way to you]

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Senegalese musician Sallilou on the Cas Cas, also known as Kashaka, which is an instrument made by connecting two small, bean-filled gourds with a string. [x]

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Postcards Dean never sent while Sam was at Stanford - Part 1

(Part 2)

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Postcards Dean never sent while Sam was at Stanford - Part 4

(Part 1) (Part 2) (Part 3)

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Postcards Dean never sent while Sam was at Stanford - Part 3

(Part 1) (Part 2)

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it is!! lex’s bday!!! so here’s a gift of some samjess softness <3

i hope u have a wonderful day @howboutsastiel !!

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Some quiet fanart for @cuddlebabies (komodobits) superb fic novel, Ninety One Whiskey. 

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In which Sam “Pre-Law” Winchester saves the day.  Inspo

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oh haven’t you heard???? things will get better and you will be okay

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gay culture is being attracted to the same gender

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The hero shows up at the villain’s doorstep one night. They’re shivering, bleeding, scared. There’s also a slightly dazed look in their eyes– they were drugged. They look like they were assaulted. Looking up at the villain, swaying slightly as they’re close to passing out, they mumble “…didn’t know where else to go…” then collapse into the villain’s arms.

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I would like to apologize in advance for my behavior when 15x18 airs

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Coda 13.11

Sammy’s hurting. He’s not right. Dean has seen Sam ground down before but this makes Dean nervous. The bunker hums quietly, air circulating, heat making the kitchen feel nice.

He plunks a cup of coffee in front of Sam. Somehow over the years, Sam has become a person who drinks coffee 24 hours a day. Dean thinks it contributes to Sam’s weird sleep habits and that Sam uses caffeine to avoid eating but really, glass houses, stones, Dean’s not going to discuss coping mechanisms. He wants to do something, though, So he lurches lamely into conversation, “That was hella messed up, huh?”

Sam says, “Thanks” to the cup of coffee and then looks up at Dean. “Messed up?”

“The auction thing,” Dean says.

Sam’s forehead creases. Dean expects an awkward laugh. But Sam says, “Yeah, shooting someone in the head cuts out the kitsune.”

Sam stopped trying to get Dean to talk about shit a long time ago. Now Sam lectures sometimes. Sam insists on saying things. He doesn’t demand Dean talk and Dean is both relieved and saddened. But this is not where Dean expected Sam to go in conversation. He studies Sam for a moment. He wants to keep his temper. Sam’s… hurting.

“Really?” He busts out. “REALLY? Nut job almost blows your brains out and you’re worried about,” it takes him a moment to find the words, “monster diversity awareness? WHAT THE FUCK, SAM?”

Sam frowns. “I thought the whole gun thing was obvious.”

“I’M OBVIOUS,” Dean says, “SO SUE ME!”

Sam rubs his eyes with the heels of his hands. “I haven’t had coffee yet,” he says.

“Right. It’s been what, three four hours since your last cup?” This is not going the way Dean had hoped. Why Sam is being difficult is beyond him.

Sam doesn’t answer, just takes a drink of hot coffee. Things about Sam that Dean doesn’t think Sam knows. Sam is kind of impervious to certain kinds of discomfort because heat or cold. It’s like after the cage, some things don’t register. It’s funny because when Dean came back from Hell, for awhile he was hypersensitive to pain so he would have expected Sam to be that way about cold. But if Sam isn’t paying attention, like now, he drinks coffee that should be too hot to drink. He wears flannel in 90 degrees.

“Look,” Dean says. “I’m sorry if I’m not worried about if vampires get a shot at O negative Winchester blood.”

“What do you want, Dean?” Sam asks.

“Something’s wrong. I want to know if you want to talk about it.”

“The only thing wrong is that I’m saying to you exactly the same things you’ve been saying to me for years. Remember the shifter in St. Louis?” Of course Dean remembers the shifter in St. Louis. His face must say so because Sam continues. “You told me that it sucked but in this business you can’t get close to people. Well, you were right.”

“For fuck’s sake. I say a lot of things. You know that.”

“Well, you were right.”

Sam takes another drink of coffee, sipping this time. Maybe he does notice it’s hot.

“Sam,” Dean says and doesn’t know what to say. He takes a breath. “You… you’re not like this.”

“Maybe it was time I got with the program.”

No no no no. That’s not how it works. Dean sticks half a package of Twizzlers in his mouth and Sam rolls his eyes, disapproving. It’s the way Dean knows that somewhere, people care about stupid everyday shit like manners. That the world is not up to its knees in monster guts. Dean beats the Impala with a crowbar and Sam stands around like a flustered girlfriend, emoting and trying to get Dean to deal.

Dean puts his hands on Sam’s shoulders. “Sam,” he says and his voice is like prayer. “We keep each other human.”

“I’m not human,” Sam says. “I haven’t been human since I was six months old. I’ve tried. I’m done.”

Sam looks Dean straight in the eye and for a moment, Dean doesn’t have a clue what to do with this. I need you, he wants to say. I need you to not turn into some angry, Hell shriven asshole.

But Sam doesn’t need Dean to need Sam to be something. “Just be Sam,” Dean says. Please, he thinks, just be Sam.

It is the wrong thing to say? Sam’s eye shutter, like he doesn’t want to reveal what he’s feeling. He makes a quick and wounded grimace of a smile. “That’s me,” he says, trying to joke.

Silence opens up between them.

“You hungry?” Dean asks. “Pancakes or omelet?”

As if it matters. But it’s what Dean knows how to do.