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samjohn

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You Are Not Immune To fanart of characters who die in canon that has them alive and well, with scars from the wound that originally killed them

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election so bad you made my chemical romance wake up

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I don't need someone to match my freak; I need someone to complement my freak. Accentuate and accent my freak. Plus, we gotta diversify our freak portfolio here -- combine our efforts to cover the greatest amount of freakage instead of seeking freak redundancy.

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dean making sure to have everyone thinking he and sam are a couple. flirting with him, calling him pet names, touching him constantly and for too long. sam thinking it's just to annoy him. dean doing it because he can't stand the looks sam gets when he walks into a room. yes sam is hot and tall and strong and has this stupid long hair and puppy eyes but that doesn't give them the right to look at him like that. he's dean's (brother, but they don't have to know this part).

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Later, it will become abundantly clear that Jared owes the entire trajectory of his life after the age of thirteen to Chris’s late-night Omegle habits.

But in the moment, they’re sitting shoulder to shoulder in the back corner of the computer lab with one pair of earbuds split between them, waiting for YouTube to load on the school’s shitty bandwidth. They’re supposed to be analyzing and researching their mock trial case packet, but Chris had appeared in the cafeteria this morning practically vibrating and grinning so wide the sides of his smile were liable to meet in the back of his head.

(“Dude,” he’d said, throwing himself onto the bench where Jared was bent over his last set of pre-calc problems for Ms. Walrath’s class. “Meet me at the lab during study hall. There’s something I gotta show you.”)

The video’s only been up a few weeks, but it’s already got a fair amount of views for something boasting a blank black thumbnail image and the title “FB&C – Fredericksburg, TX – 10/17/09”.

“You’re gonna fucking eat this shit up,” Chris assures him as they watch the circle of gray dots spin against the blackness. “Seriously; I think I must’a watched this like, six or seven times minimum this morning.”

It bodes well that this is clearly just bootleg tape of a concert. With Chris, it could be (and has been) way, way worse. Videos you’ve gotta see before you die include – according to Chris – 2 Girls 1 Cup, that fucking annoying “Numa Numa” song, and United Breaks Guitars, all of which he was turned onto by strangers on Omegle, and felt it was his solemn duty to then pass along for Jared’s viewing “pleasure”. It’s always Chris's first ask after the preliminary A/S/L’s are out of the way: what video can’t you stop thinking about?

The footage is shaky and the sound quality’s crap. It looks like it was either recorded on somebody’s phone camera, or a handheld camcorder they managed to slip past the door. A bar, good-sized stage, badly lit. The lights are way too bright for the space, washing out the performers in overexposed white glare. Jared can only just make them out, each one rendered about the size of his thumb on the screen. Three guys, two girls; bass, drum kit, guitar, accordion, and a singer. They’re mid-set when the video catches up with them, but a lot of the crowd is still milling around; clearly not here for the openers.

The bassist and guitarist are crowded at the same mic, both men turned to look across the stage at the frontwoman as all three sing, “Come in my mouth, you’re already there; a notch on my belt for the pearl necklace you wear. Baptisms of fire and highways through hell; come hell or high fire, got no soul to sell.”

“They said in the comments this song’s called John the Baptist in the Wilderness,” Chris mutters, like if he talks quiet enough he won’t break the spell. “But wait, they’re like, almost done, and the last one’s the best. You’re gonna fuckin’ nut, swear to god.”

They finish off John the Baptist in the Wilderness (and Jesus fuck, what kind’a name is that for a band that plays in dives like this?) with a wild crescendo as each member joins in a repetitive coda of “Come in my mouth” until all five of them are screaming it at the audience and the drunker members of the crowd are screaming it right back. It’s – good. A little dirty, in a way that has nothing to do with the hygiene of the bar and makes Jared’s stomach squirm, even under the fluorescents of the computer lab.

The guitarist leans down to grab his water bottle and twists the cap off one-handed as he takes hold of the mic and calls out, “Y’all havin’ a good night yet?”

There’s sporadic shouts from the crowd; seven-second tape delay. The guitarist huffs a little laugh right into the mic, hair falling into his face. He pushes it back with one ring-bedecked hand, and – shit, but he’s pretty. Even all grainy in 720p, he’s got the kind’a daytime-TV face that the boys in Megan’s girly magazines have, and that dark slick of eyeliner ain’t helping.

“Doesn’t really matter, guys; we’re gonna get paid whether you enjoyed the set or not.” He fields the mixture of cheers and heckles with a placating hand. “C’mon, we’re nearly done here, and we’ll let y’all get to the action – one last song ‘fore we welcome to the stage Bulletproof Turnstile.”

That gets them going, and Jared bites back a scoff. The main act is called Bulletproof Turnstile?

“Now,” he strums idly through a few chords as his bandmates move mic stands and amps and congregate behind him. “An oldie, but a goodie, as a treat for being such a swell audience.” Scattered chuckles, catcalls from the back of the bar. “See, we went ahead and booked this show under our new name – and if y’all need merch, there’ll be a table out front after the show; t-shirts, cozies, stickers, CDs, whatever. You can find us now under Family Business & Co., but the real, true diehards among you will know what FB&C really stands for.” He says the letters in a single slurry run – ef-bee-en-sea – with his mouth turned up at the corners, canary-cat happy.

“FB&C?” he shouts, pulling back from the mic to join the singer at her spot center stage. “More like – ”

All five members and a good portion of the crowd scream in unison, “FUCK BUSH AND CHENEY!”

The song’s a lot punk, a little rock, a little folksy-bluegrass-protest song, and the lyrics make goosebumps pop out on Jared's arms, even as he sweats a wet spot through the back of his t-shirt. When the music finally cuts out in his left ear, Jared catches himself staring at the LOADING NEXT VIDEO screen with his mouth dropped open like a dead fish.

He can’t believe that three weeks ago not all that far away in Fredericksburg, there were people singing about GOP dicksucks and one hundred fifty-two executed Texans and no-bid contracts for Halliburton.

He knows there’s plenty of bands out there with songs like this – Green Day, and  A7X; Anti-Flag and Bad Religion and Rise Against; NIN and FFDP; Pet Shop Boys and Street Dogs; even fucking Pearl Jam. He just didn’t know there were any performing practically in his own backyard, and manned by matinée-idol musicians, that’s all.

So yeah. In retrospect, it's entirely Chris's fucking fault that Jared's life starts going off the rails in the middle school computer lab in the fall of 2009. That said, it doesn't derail entirely until almost a year later. That's when FB&C plays a gig in Jourdanton.

(That’s the night Jared falls so hard for Jensen Ackles that he goes home with a broken arm.)

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obligatory 'the other way around' post

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it’s always “he drank demon blood and had a hot demon gf!!! bloodfreak <3” and never “whose death was so unbearable that sam let go of his deepest childhood fear of being unclean and taint his body that way? whose absence ripped away everything that sam held dear because nothing mattered without him? who did the demon have to emulate to worm her way into his life and his confidence (and his bed)? whose memory was so inescapable that he was drowning in grief every second of every day? whose death caused such ruin to his being that avenging it became not only the only reason to live but also a cause worth sacrificing every principle he lived by?”

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happy nov 5th anniversary to the people who swore dean was just afraid to say i love you can’t wait to see you on nov 19th!

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someone should write a fanfic where dean reads the fanfics about him and sam after finding out about slash and gets so upset that he’s always the bottom that he fucks sam for the first time over it

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I want to be a white dad in a horror movie

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Do not worry guys, the misogyny brothers are on their way!

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the long way home