Real life is boring.

Neurotic people live longer.

Studies show those who are often stressed, get irritated easily, and worry about things tend to have longer life spans than people who are more laid back.

❅ 10 Songs, 10 Years Old ❅ 2011 - 2021 ❅

I want you to reblog this if you believe that two people can be very close and physically affectionate with one another, but still have a completely nonsexual, non-romantic relationship. 

Even if the two people in question are capable of being sexually or romantically attracted to one another. 

I’ve never been much of a skier myself. Tbh, until today, I quite frankly thought I sucked, worried that I was gonna fall and break my face or something😂 But once you get the technique down it’s fairly easy going, the most important thing is that you keep going forward. However, if I were to go down a loooong slope.... oof.

I don’t know a lot about good skiing spots, but some that are popular are Hemsedal, Bjorli, Fjellsetra (which is not TOO far away from my home), Trysil and Geilo, which is probably the most popular one. A quick Google search can probably answer your questions a lot better than I can. I think it all depends on where in the country you want to go, if you want to be close to the coast or more «in-country» as we say.

“he’ll get sick,” he explains when Bobby gently asks what he’s doing, thumb skidding over Sam’s cheekbone with his fingers cupped around the back of his neck to lift Sam’s forehead to his hand, check for a fever. “I gotta get him inside, Bobby, he’ll- he’ll get sick,” Dean asserts, teeth chattering. 

Bobby doesn’t say anything for a while, watching Dean struggle to shove Sam’s hands through the jacket sleeves while he repeats, let’s get you inside, little brother, we’ll fix you right up.

“Dean.” Bobby speaks after a while, his voice too loud in the calm-quiet of the thunderstorm, miles away. “He’s gone, son.”

Dean’s still smiling, assured. “Let’s get you up.” He tries to haul Sam vertical by his armpits, lame footing on the slick ground, but slips back onto his knees with all of the weight and the wretched rain. Sam’s head lolls to the side and the light catches on his pale cheek, fresh blood smeared there from Dean’s hand- transference from Sam’s gutted spine. Bobby cringes. 

He tries again. “Dean-”

“Help me get him up,” Dean half-yells, frustrated, pressing Sam’s face into his chest. “C’mon Sammy, let’s get you inside, you gotta help me out, here, sasquatch.” His voice shakes even though he’s half-smiling, chin tucked against the top of Sam’s head. Bobby can’t watch this anymore.

“Kid.” He lays his hand on Dean’s shoulder- “look at me.” And when Dean doesn’t, shrugs him off- “Look at me!” 

Dean turns then, finally, and Bobby is nearly knocked flat by the look in his eyes- an expression he doesn’t know if there’s a word for yet- horror, confusion, nausea, pleading- Bobby has to choke back his own tears as one falls down Dean’s cheek, following the same path as the rainwater.

“No,” he says, mouth twisted, sick, chest shivering. Absolute. “No.” The tears come faster now, dam broke-open, and he gasps, heaving, falling forward onto Sam in the muck like he can’t hold himself up anymore. “No,” he says again, and it’s shaky, loud, drawn-out, muffled up against Sam’s chest. “Please, god-” he chokes, fingers gripping white-knuckled in his own jacket against Sam’s still ribs.