#Sam And Dean Winchester Are Not Human Beings

[sky-is-the-limit]

I don’t think people fully understand the sheer gravity of Destiel.

Like, this isn’t just a story about an angel falling in love with a human or another fanon ship that was created just because two dudes were standing too close.

This is an angel, a being forged by God, programmed to follow orders, incapable of free will, the literal embodiment of divine obedience!!! choosing to rebel. For one man. For Dean Winchester.

Think about it. Castiel wasn’t made to feel. He wasn’t made to question. He was made to serve, to follow heaven’s will without hesitation and then he meets Dean. He saves him from hell and in that moment, that exact fucking moment, his entire purpose shifts. Dean didn’t just change his mind cause we are not talking about another mortal being. He changed his entire fucking existence.

And here’s the kicker of it all. God, the all-knowing, all-powerful storyteller, couldn’t stop it. God, who controlled the narrative, who created Castiel and set the rules of the universe, couldn’t stop him from falling. Cas didn’t just disobey orders!!!!!!! He shattered the divine design. He looked at Heaven, at the eternity he was promised and said, "No. I choose him." Insane.

Do you understand how fucking huge that is? This isn’t a simple love story. This is cosmic rebellion and the writers couldn’t even grasp the insanity of what they created for a CW show.

It’s tragic and overwhelming because Cas didn’t fall in love with Dean for any selfish reasons. He didn’t want anything back. He didn’t expect Dean to love him, didn’t need his affection or validation. He never got to touch him or kiss him or get the "I love you too" that all of us wanted to hear. He just wanted to be near him. To help him. To save him, over and over, to make sure that Dean knew that he had someone who was looking after him.

And the cost? It was everything and people just brush over that.

Cas gave up Heaven. He gave up grace. He gave up the safety of eternity and purpose to stay in Dean’s proximity. Not because he was destined to, not because God told him to but because he *chose* to. That’s what makes it so tragic. It wasn’t written. It wasn’t meant to happen. Castiel broke the rules of his existence for someone who didn’t even realise the depth of it until it was too late.

Then THAT moment. When Cas says, "You changed me, Dean." It just hits different, doesn’t it??? Cause it’s not just a love confession. it’s a revelation. He confirms it right there that it was Dean's humanity that did it. Not some grand cosmic force, not some divine intervention. Dean himself, in all his flawed, beautiful, self-sacrificial mess, changed everything.

Dean, who always put others before himself, who had to raise himself, who gave everything to Sam and kept nothing for him. Dean, who was destined to always be second, to always sacrifice his own needs for someone else. Dean, whose car that he loved so much, his only constant, even that belonged to his father. Dean, whose clothes were probably second-hand, whose childhood was spent taking care of his little brother. Dean, whose purpose was always for the world, for the greater good and never for himself.

For the first time, Dean had something that was his. Something that wasn’t meant for anyone but him. Cas was HIS. Not for God, not for his father, not for Sam or the world.

This isn’t just a story about love!!! It’s *the* story about love. It’s messy and painful and romantic in the most devastating way cause Cas didn’t just rebel against heaven, people!!! He rewrote the entire concept of free will, of devotion, of sacrifice!!!!

He loved Dean with everything he was and that love was strong enough to defy God himself.

It’s the greatest, most tragic, most insane fictional story of our lifetime. Nothing will ever come close.

[jinkieswouldyoulookatthis]

Let's talk about what the term "proship" means, shall we?

Now some folks seem to think that someone who is proship likes problematic ships, but while that may sometimes be the case, I for example do ship Sam/Dean, it doesn't actually mean that.

Someone who is proship thinks that it is okay to ship.

That's it. That's what the term means.

That is what gets everyone's panties in a twist.

Being proship means that you don't judge other people for the type of fiction they like to sit around and daydream up scenarios about.

Being proship means that you understand the fundamental difference between reality and fiction.

Fiction comes in all sorts of different varieties and it is not indicative of someone's morality or character. It is also a terrible way to determine what someone likes or wants in real life since our fantasies are quite often not things we would want to engage in in our real lives.

Human beings tend to become pretty good at distinguishing fantasy from reality by the time that they become teenagers, as discussed in this article. But, there are various levels to this progression. Things that obviously break the laws of physics, like cartoons, are easiest to distinguish, while learning that sexual fantasies can and often do include things that people would never actually want to experience in real life, tends to get figured out later, after going through puberty and sometimes much later in adulthood.

Articles like 25 Sexual Fantasies That Are Totally Normal highlight some of the more common things that people fantasize about, but barely scratch the surface of kink and the prevalence of darker fantasies. Our brains are full of connections, some desirable, some embarrassing, some flat out disturbing. But what lights up those connections doesn't define us as people. No, what defines us is what we choose to actually do in real life.

So while I, for example, really like to think about Sam and Dean Winchester fucking each other (because they're really hot, and because it's wrong, and it's bad, and they shouldn't) that does not mean that I think things like rape (which includes all pedophilia) or any type of assault are at all okay.

So, to recap, Proship is the acknowledgement that...

In fiction, anything goes.

In reality, be good people.

If you cannot understand this, maybe you aren't as mature as you like to think you are.

[writtenbysprout]

The Heated Confession | Sam Winchester x reader

Word count: 4.1k+

Pairings: Sam Winchester x reader

tags: pining, yearning, tooth rotting fluff, angst

Sequal to The Quiet Ache

The four of you—Sam, Dean, Castiel and you—are gathered around a worn motel table, pouring over case notes and trying to piece together the threads of the last hunt. The air is thick with concentration, the only sounds are the rustle of papers and the faint hum of the flickering motel light above.

You’re sitting next to Castiel, the angel frowning at a pile of documents as he tries to decipher the complexities of human handwriting. He’s been staring at the same page for ten minutes, his brow furrowed in frustration.

“Cas,” you say gently, nudging him out of his thoughts. “Do you need some help?”

He looks at you, his expression both puzzled and earnest. “I understand the words individually, but their meaning together is... elusive.”

You smile softly, taking the paper from his hands. “It’s just a witness statement,” you explain, leaning closer to show him the details. “This part here means they saw something in the woods. And this bit—it’s just their guess about what it was.”

Castiel listens intently, his head tilted slightly as he absorbs your explanation. When he nods, it’s slow, deliberate, as if he’s committing every word you say to memory.

“You’re really good at this,” he says after a moment, his voice tinged with something close to admiration. “At making things understandable.”

You laugh lightly, brushing off the compliment. “It’s just explaining, Cas. You’ll get the hang of it.”

But Sam, sitting across the table, feels his chest tighten as he watches the interaction.

It’s not the first time he’s seen you take the time to help Castiel navigate the complexities of being human. Whether it’s showing him how to work a coffee maker, explaining why humans say “bless you” after sneezing, or patiently describing the rules of Monopoly during a rare downtime, you always approach him with the same warmth and patience.

Sam remembers the way you guided Castiel through his first attempt at cooking, laughing softly as the angel held an egg like it might explode. The way you reassured him when he accidentally burned the toast, telling him it was no big deal and that everyone starts somewhere.

You treat Castiel not as someone who’s different or apart, but as someone who belongs. And it’s not just with Castiel. You have this quiet way of making everyone around you feel seen and valued.

As you lean closer to Castiel now, pointing something out on the paper in front of him, Sam can’t help but marvel at the easy kindness you extend to everyone in your life.

It’s in the way you explain things to Castiel without a trace of condescension, as though you genuinely enjoy helping him understand the nuances of human behavior. It’s in the way you treat Dean with a blend of camaraderie and care, knowing when to push him and when to let him be.

And it’s in the way you treat Sam—with a softness that feels almost like a salve to the rough edges of his life.

How do you do it? Sam wonders, his gaze lingering on you. How do you make everyone feel like they matter?

He notices the little things—the way your voice softens when you’re speaking to Castiel, the way you smile even when you think no one is looking, the way you never seem to tire of offering your patience and understanding.

It’s not just admirable; it’s breathtaking.

Sam doesn’t even realize he’s staring until you glance up and catch his eye.

“What’s up?” you ask, your tone light and curious.

He quickly shakes his head, his face flushing slightly as he pretends to refocus on the paper in front of him. “Nothing,” he says, his voice a little too quick, a little too quiet. “Just… watching you explain things to Cas. You’re good at it.”

You smile at him, a faint blush dusting your cheeks at the compliment. “Well, someone has to make sure he doesn’t think Monopoly is a form of warfare.”

Sam chuckles softly, the sound low and warm. But inside, his thoughts spiral.

You don’t even know, he thinks. You don’t know how much better you make everything. How much better you make me.

As you turn back to Castiel, picking up where you left off, Sam leans back in his chair, his gaze still lingering on you. He doesn’t say anything more, but in the quiet moments that follow, one thought echoes in his mind.

If there’s any good left in this world, it’s sitting right here at this table.

But it’s the little things you do that undo him, the quiet acts of care that feel so natural to you and yet so monumental to Sam. He knows you’re not trying to be extraordinary, but to him, you are.

He notices everything.

The way you leave a cup of coffee at his elbow during the late nights spent researching. You never make a fuss about it, never draw attention to yourself. You just set the steaming mug down with a quiet precision, as if it’s the most natural thing in the world, and return to your seat. It’s such a simple gesture, but it speaks volumes. It tells him you see him, that you’re thinking of him even when he’s too caught up in his own mind to notice his own needs.

The way your voice changes when you talk to him. You’re still you—direct, steady, with a clarity that cuts through the chaos of their world—but there’s a softness, a warmth that’s reserved just for him. It’s in the way you ask if he’s eaten, the way you tease him when his head gets too stuck in the books, the way you draw him out of himself when the weight of everything becomes too much.

And then there’s the way you look at him.

It’s not pity—God, he hates pity—but something deeper, something gentler. Your eyes hold an understanding that feels rare and precious, an acceptance that makes him feel seen in a way that both comforts and terrifies him. It’s as though you’ve peered into the darkest corners of him, the parts he hides from everyone, even himself, and decided they’re worth staying for.

Sam doesn’t just notice the moments—you’ve etched them into his mind.

He remembers the night after a hunt that had gone sideways, leaving everyone bruised and exhausted. He’d been sitting at the war room table, staring blankly at the maps spread out before him, unable to shake the weight of the lives they couldn’t save. The bunker had been quiet, and he’d thought he was alone until he heard your footsteps.

You’d walked in, carrying two mugs of tea. “Coffee this late’ll wreck you,” you’d said simply, setting one in front of him before taking a seat across the table.

He hadn’t said much—what could he say? But he remembers the way the warmth of the tea seeped into his hands as he wrapped them around the mug, grounding him in a way he hadn’t expected. You hadn’t pushed him to talk, hadn’t tried to fix anything. You’d just been there, your presence anchoring him, your silence offering a solace words couldn’t provide.

Or the time you’d patched him up after a rough hunt. The gash on his arm had been deep, the sting of the antiseptic biting into his skin, but your hands had been steady, your focus sharp. You’d worked with a quiet efficiency, your brow furrowed in concentration, and for a while, he’d let himself just watch you, marveling at the way you carried yourself with such quiet strength.

When he’d flinched at the sting, your touch softened immediately. You’d glanced up at him, your eyes filled with something that looked like apology.

“It’s okay,” you’d murmured, your voice low and soothing. “You’re okay.”

And he’d believed you—not because of the words, but because of the way you’d said them, the quiet certainty in your tone that made him feel, even just for a moment, that he really was okay.

When you’d finished wrapping his arm, your fingers had lingered on his skin, just for a second longer than necessary. And in that second, Sam had felt the air between you shift, heavy with something unspoken. He remembers wishing you wouldn’t pull away, wishing he could reach out and hold onto that moment, onto you.

These memories stay with him, surfacing in the quiet hours when he’s alone. They aren’t loud or dramatic, but they cut deeper than any grand gesture ever could.

Because it’s not just the way you care for him—it’s the way you do it without expecting anything in return. The way you make him feel seen, steady, and whole in a life that so often feels like it’s falling apart.

Sam doesn’t know what to do with these feelings, doesn’t know how to tell you what you mean to him without risking everything. But the ache in his chest is growing, spreading, impossible to ignore.

And as he sits across the room now, watching you curled up in that oversized chair, your face serene, he can’t help but think: You deserve so much more than this life.

Sam doesn’t mean to hover. At least, that’s what he tells himself. But lately, it feels like you’ve become a magnet, and he’s powerless to do anything but orbit around you.

If you’re in the library, he finds reasons to join you. His laptop is always conveniently dead, his notes mysteriously missing, or he suddenly remembers a book he needs to check. He’ll settle across from you, opening a lore tome or pretending to skim a case file, but his eyes inevitably wander. He watches the way your brow furrows when you’re deep in thought, the way your lips twitch into a small smile when you find something interesting.

And when you glance up and catch him looking, his heart skips a beat.

“Need something, Sam?” you ask, teasing but not unkind.

He clears his throat, averting his gaze. “Just… wondering if you found anything.”

You smile, shaking your head. “Not yet. But I’ll let you know.”

In the kitchen, it’s the same story. You’ll be making tea or rummaging through the fridge, and suddenly, Sam decides he needs a snack. It’s not subtle—Dean’s smirk from across the room tells him as much—but Sam doesn’t care.

You greet him with a warm smile, sliding a mug of coffee across the counter to him before he even asks. “Figured you could use this.”

“Thanks,” he murmurs, his fingers brushing yours for just a moment as he takes the mug. The brief contact sends a jolt through him, one he has to mask with a long sip of coffee.

You start talking about something casual—the weather, a new book you’re reading—and Sam drinks it in, grateful for the excuse to just be near you.

One evening, he walks into the living room to find you curled up on the couch, a blanket draped over your legs and a movie playing softly on the TV. You look up when he enters, your face lighting up with a smile that’s brighter than it has any right to be.

“Hey,” you say, shifting to make room for him.

Sam hesitates, his hands stuffed into his pockets. “Mind if I join you?”

“Of course not,” you say, patting the cushion beside you.

He sits down, careful to keep a bit of space between you at first. The movie is something light, a romantic comedy that Dean would have mercilessly mocked, but Sam doesn’t care. He’s too focused on the warmth radiating from you, the way your laughter fills the room.

“You can change it if you want,” you offer, gesturing toward the remote.

“No, this is fine,” he says quickly.

Minutes pass, the movie fading into the background as Sam’s attention drifts entirely to you. You shift, leaning into him, your head resting against his shoulder.

Sam freezes, his heart hammering in his chest. He glances down at you, the soft glow of the TV illuminating your face. Your eyes are closed, your breathing steady, and for a moment, he can’t believe this is real.

He wants to move, to wrap his arm around you, to hold you closer, but he’s terrified of waking you. So he sits there, perfectly still, letting the weight of your head anchor him in a way nothing else ever has.

You fall asleep like that, your body relaxed against his. Sam stays awake, his mind racing but his body still, savoring the moment. The blanket you’ve draped over yourself spills onto him, and he tugs it up a little, covering you more fully.

The movie ends, the credits rolling silently, but Sam doesn’t dare reach for the remote. He doesn’t want this to end, doesn’t want to disturb the fragile peace that’s settled over the room.

In the quiet, he lets himself imagine—what it would be like if moments like this weren’t rare, if they weren’t accidents. What it would be like if he could hold you like this every night, no excuses, no hesitations.

But for now, he just sits there, his heart full and aching all at once, and lets the hours pass with you by his side.

It starts small—a faint tightening in his chest, a flicker of heat low in his stomach. Sam tells himself it��s nothing, just the remnants of a long day and a longer week. But as he watches, that faint flicker builds, burning into something sharper, something heavier.

You’re standing by the counter of the diner, waiting for the check while the three of you gear up to leave. The guy behind the register—tall, broad-shouldered, with an easy grin—has been chatting with you for a few minutes now. It’s harmless. He’s just being friendly, and you, being you, respond with a warm smile and a polite laugh.

Sam knows that smile. He’s seen it a hundred times. It’s the one you give to strangers who need a bit of kindness, the one that makes people feel at ease. It shouldn’t bother him. You’re not flirting, not leading the guy on in the slightest. You’re just… you.

And yet, it twists something inside him.

Sam knows it’s irrational. He knows he has no right to feel this way. You’re not his—hell, he hasn’t even worked up the courage to tell you how he feels. And even if you were, this? This isn’t anything.

But knowing doesn’t make it easier.

He tries to focus on something else—the way the warm light of the diner reflects off the checkered tiles, the smell of burgers and coffee that hangs in the air—but his eyes keep drifting back to you. To the way your shoulders relax as you chat, to the way your laugh rings out, soft but genuine.

To the way the guy leans just a little closer, like he’s trying to soak in as much of you as he can.

Sam’s fists clench under the table, his nails digging into his palms. He hates the way it makes him feel, this jealousy curling tight in his chest. It’s not you—it’s him, and he knows it.

You’ve done nothing wrong. You’re just being polite, kind, the way you always are. But Sam can’t help it, can’t stop the possessive streak that flares despite every logical argument he throws at it.

Dean notices, of course. He always notices.

“You good, man?” Dean asks, his voice low as he leans back in the booth. His eyes flick toward you, still at the counter, before landing on Sam with a knowing look.

“I’m fine,” Sam says quickly, too quickly.

Dean raises an eyebrow but doesn’t push. “Right. You keep telling yourself that.”

Sam grits his teeth, his gaze dropping to the table. He doesn’t want to talk about it, doesn’t want to acknowledge the mess of feelings swirling inside him. Because the truth is, this isn’t the first time he’s felt it—the ache of wanting something he doesn’t know how to reach, the sting of watching someone else notice what he’s known all along.

When you finally return to the table, smiling as you hand over the receipt, Sam forces himself to relax. He unclenches his fists, lets out a slow breath, and meets your eyes with what he hopes is a neutral expression.

“Everything okay?” you ask, tilting your head slightly.

“Yeah,” he says, his voice steady despite the storm raging inside him. “Ready to go?”

You nod, grabbing your coat as Dean tosses a few bills onto the table for a tip.

As the three of you step out into the cool night air, Sam walks beside you, keeping his hands shoved deep into his jacket pockets. He’s quiet, his mind racing with thoughts he can’t quite pin down.

It’s not your fault. You don’t even know.

But that doesn’t make the jealousy any easier to bear.

Because the truth is, Sam wants more than he has any right to. He wants to be the one who makes you laugh like that, who gets to lean close and soak in your warmth. And as much as he hates himself for it, he wants everyone else to see that you’re his—even though he knows you’re not.

Not yet.

Maybe not ever.

The thought is enough to make his chest tighten, but he keeps walking, the sound of your voice pulling him out of his spiral as you talk about something mundane and comforting.

Sam’s grip on his machete tightens as the group approaches the abandoned house. The air is heavy, the kind of oppressive stillness that always precedes a fight. Dean is leading the way, his shotgun raised, while you follow just behind, your steps quiet but sure.

Sam should be focusing on the hunt—on the creak of the floorboards, the faint whispers of movement coming from deeper inside—but he can’t. His eyes keep darting to you, his chest tightening every time you take a step further into danger.

“Stay close,” he murmurs, his voice lower than usual.

You glance back at him, raising an eyebrow but nodding. “I’m fine, Sam.”

Fine. The word does nothing to ease the knot in his stomach.

It happens fast. Too fast.

The wendigo bursts through a wall, a blur of claws and teeth, and the room erupts into chaos. Dean fires a shot, the salt rounds forcing the creature to stumble, but it’s not enough to stop it. You lunge toward it with your knife, and Sam’s heart nearly stops.

“Wait!” he yells, his voice sharp.

You hesitate for just a second, long enough for the wendigo to change direction. It barrels toward you, and before Sam can think, he’s moving. He throws himself between you and the creature, his machete swinging in a wide arc.

The blade connects, but it’s not a clean hit. The wendigo shrieks, clawing at Sam’s arm as it retreats into the shadows. Blood drips down his sleeve, hot and sticky, but he barely notices.

“Sam!” Your voice is frantic as you grab his arm, trying to check the wound.

“I’m fine,” he says, brushing you off as his eyes dart around the room. “Are you okay?”

“Am I okay? You’re bleeding!”

Dean shouts from across the room, drawing their attention back to the hunt. “Focus, you two! It’s still here!”

Sam forces himself to breathe, to focus, but his hands shake as he readjusts his grip on the machete.

The hunt ends in a blur. Dean gets the kill, the wendigo collapsing in a heap of ash and bone, and the three of you stumble out of the house, battered but alive.

Back at the Impala, Dean tosses his shotgun into the trunk with a muttered curse. “What the hell was that, Sam? You almost got yourself killed!”

Sam doesn’t answer, his eyes fixed on you as you press a cloth against his arm, trying to stop the bleeding.

“I told you, I’m fine,” he says, his voice softer than before.

You glare at him. “You’re not fine, Sam. That thing could’ve killed you.”

“And it could’ve killed you!” he snaps, the words bursting out before he can stop them.

The silence that follows is heavy. Dean glances between the two of you, his expression unreadable, before muttering something about “patching up later” and climbing into the driver’s seat.

Later, inside the bunker, you refuse to let him brush it off. You pull him into the kitchen, forcing him to sit while you clean and bandage his arm.

“What was that back there?” you ask, your voice quiet but firm.

Sam hesitates, his jaw tightening. “I just… I couldn’t let you—”

“Get hurt?” you interrupt, finishing his sentence for him.

He nods, his gaze dropping to the table. “I don’t know what I’d do if something happened to you.”

For a moment, you say nothing, your hands working methodically to wrap the bandage around his arm. When you finally speak, your voice is softer. “Sam, I know you worry. But you can’t let it get in the way like that. We have to trust each other out there.”

“I do trust you,” he says quickly. “It’s me I don’t trust. Not when it comes to keeping you safe.”

You meet his eyes, your expression gentle but unyielding. “We keep each other safe. That’s how this works.”

Sam swallows hard, the weight of your words settling over him. He knows you’re right. But as he looks at you, at the quiet strength in your eyes, he also knows that his feelings for you are becoming harder to control.

For now, though, he nods, forcing a small smile. “Okay.”

But deep down, he knows it’s not that simple.

Another hunt had gone wrong—terribly, inexplicably wrong.

You’re sitting at the war room table back in the bunker, a hastily wrapped bandage on your arm, your face pale and drawn. Sam is pacing, his long strides eating up the space between the table and the far wall, his fists clenching and unclenching at his sides.

“Do you have any idea how stupid that was?” His voice is sharp, louder than you’ve ever heard it.

You glare at him, your own frustration bubbling to the surface. “I saved your ass, Sam! Or did you miss the part where that thing was about to rip your head off?”

“I didn’t need you to throw yourself into danger like that!”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” you snap, standing up despite the sharp pain in your arm. “Did you want me to just stand there and watch you get torn apart?”

“That’s not the point!” Sam’s voice cracks, his frustration turning into something raw.

“Then what is the point, Sam?” you shout, stepping closer to him. “Because all I see is you treating me like I’m some fragile thing that can’t handle myself!”

“You don’t get it,” he growls, his eyes blazing as he finally stops pacing. “It’s not about whether you can handle yourself! It’s about the fact that I can’t handle losing you!”

The words hang in the air, the weight of them pressing down on both of you. Your breath catches, your anger faltering as his admission sinks in.

“Sam…” you start, but he cuts you off, his voice softer now but no less intense.

“You don’t understand,” he says, running a hand through his hair. “Every time we’re out there, I can’t stop thinking about what could happen to you. Every scratch, every close call—it eats me alive. And tonight? Seeing you get hurt? I—” He stops, his chest rising and falling as he struggles to find the words. “I can’t do it anymore.”

You stare at him, your heart pounding. “Sam, I—”

But before you can finish, he closes the distance between you in two long strides, his hands cupping your face as his lips crash into yours. It’s desperate, unrestrained, years of pent-up emotion spilling over all at once.

For a moment, you freeze, too stunned to react. But then you’re kissing him back, your fingers tangling in his shirt as you pull him closer. It’s messy, overwhelming, and everything you’ve both been holding back.

The sound of someone clearing their throat snaps you both back to reality.

You break apart, your breath coming in shallow gasps as you turn to see Dean and Castiel standing in the doorway. Dean’s eyebrows are raised so high they practically disappear into his hairline, while Cas looks… well, Cas-like, but with a hint of curiosity.

“Uh… are we interrupting something?” Dean asks, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth despite his best effort to sound serious.

Sam takes a step back, his face flushed as he scrambles to say something. “I, uh—this isn’t—”

“Sure doesn’t look like ‘nothing,’” Dean quips, crossing his arms as he leans against the doorframe.

You groan, covering your face with your hands. “Oh my God.”

Cas tilts his head, his expression thoughtful. “I believe this is what humans call ‘acting on repressed emotions.’”

Dean lets out a bark of laughter, clapping Cas on the shoulder. “Well, I’d say it’s about damn time.”

[deansbbyx]

I know this isn’t my usual program but I thought I’d reflect on what has happened in the last year for me. 2024 was the year filled with conventions & a lot of traveling. Whether it was a road trip to New Jersey for a supernatural convention or flying overseas to Portugal to say goodbye to my family’s home. I am truly grateful that I have been able to travel to meet my idols. It has been such a blast not only meeting them but I am lucky enough that my friends got to be there with me. Making memories with each other and seeing one another’s experiences.

SpnNj24- This was my second con I have ever gone to. These are some of my favorite photos I took that weekend. The experiences I had this time around were truly out of a fanfic. Jensen Ackles the man that you are 😩😮‍💨 (I’ll never be able to normal abt him…ever) Briana & Kim my comfort people. They are the moment, they are the light at the end of the darkest tunnel. Misha Collins…After meeting you idk if you were in character when you portrayed Castiel raising Dean Winchester from perdition. Good god man you got a GRIP 😏

FWB OTH turns 21- I was in Portugal when I found out Danneel was going to be in Wilmington NC a month later. The day I flew back home I bought my tickets and went. This my first time properly meeting her. She’s so funny and sweet. We talked for a good time during autos. Been a fan since I was 14 prior to my spn days. So this was very surreal. (I loved you first)

BostonExpo, Fwb OTH turns 21, & RICC- If little Carina could see me now she would think I’m the coolest girl ever. Meeting the people who have been apart of my childhood healed something within me. Grey was the cutest human ever. She was so excited that someone dressed as daphne. (Apparently I was the only one that day.) I wish I had more time with her but she had such a long line. Peter…Carlisle….THAT MAN!!! I love him your honor. So respectful and so sweet. The man asked if he could hug me….HELLO?! Matthew is an amazing hugger. Asked him for a bear hug and he squeezed me so tight. I regret nothing. Ending my night by being the last person in Giancarlo’s line AND him calling me beautiful was something I never expected. Meeting Hilly from Hillywood, Shantell (My Quinn) & Emmanuelle (beloved Madison) was such a fun experience too! Can’t for get Sam Witwer my favorite vampire.

SpnOrl24-Last but certainly not least! I am so happy I got to end the year with this convention. Everyone that we took pictures with were such troopers. (I’m looking at you Jensen & Jeff) We had a lot to do; between photo ops (almost missed two), outfit changes, meet & greets…we made it through. I admire and respect these men so much. They are conscious of putting in the effort to make sure they’re there for us. I am so grateful. I love them dearly. This one for sure going down in the books. (I mean cmon smooches knows my name now 😵‍💫)

Thank you 2024 for letting me grow & heal. Cheers to 2025, I’m manifesting that I’ll get to blossom and shine after all the hard work I did last year.

I hope you all get to live your dreams this new year (even if it’s just for a little.) and heal that inner child of yours.

[spnupgrade]

Simple, Dean and Sam are soulmates, and Dean's carnal desire is Sammy. It was told during Sex and Violence, the Siren saying to Sam that Dean doesn't want a b*tch in a G-string but his little brother, then Dean told Sam, during season 06, that he went to Lisa and Ben because Sam asked him to do it not becausehe wanted to, and before this, when he woke up and look that Sam was back, he said: is this heaven? They also shared heaven.

Jensen said that if Dean saw Sam with a dress, he would say: YES!. So Dean's obsession is Sam.

Does it mean that you have to ship Wincest? No, you can see their relationship as non-romantic soulmates. This just means that Dean number 1 priority is Sam. No one else.

Dean is a functional alchoolic, misogynist, violent, and obsessed with his little brother.

But in the canon both Sam and Dean are heterosexual, that's it. So for the series, Dean doesn't like men.

Castiel is a SOULLESS celestial entity, a warrior of God. He is not there to save the Winchester from themselves. What he feels is outside human comprehension. And there were many times when Dean left Castiel or sent him away; he doesn't come before Sam.

Also, Jensen said that Destiel doesn't exist, that Dean likes women, and that the story is about the 2 brothers.

I don't have a problem with people shipping Destiel, but I can't stand when they shit on everybody that is not Cass and Dean, change the canon, and completely destroy the characters. Making Dean and oppressed bisexual man who can't show his emotions because he grew up with a homophobic father and brother, and Cass, who looks more like a dog, then an angel.

It's the fact that they can't accept a simple reality: Dean is not a saint who needs to change, because he doesn't want to change or to be saved, every relationship with Dean is an abusive one, he is controlling and obsessed. Being with Dean is not a fairytale.

That's what I can't stand Destiellhellers and some other shippings; because they want to change such complex characters.

If you want to ship Destiel do it, just don't push your ideas as canon.

But, for me, I don't find the appealing between Cass and Dean, there are other relationships for the both of them more interesting and complex.

Non Destiel Shippers, what stops you from shipping them?

What are the reasons you don't ship them? Im just curious, not looking for a fight.

[finalgirlsamwinchester]

1.01, "Pilot" | Stephen Adly Guirgis, "The Last Days Of Judas Iscariot" " | 5.22, "Swan Song"

[ghostpajamas]

damocles ; sword perspective

uncropped + detail closeups

[beebox-illustrations]

Sammy and Dean having breakfast for dinner, waiting for John to return.

Somehow the thought of how little Sam must have eventually stopped asking when their dad‘s gonna return makes me really emotional 🥲

Had a busy weekend so here we are with a belated post! Have a fantastic week✨🌻

[catsconflictscopicsandchamomile]

...I always interpreted this as Cas seeing, and falling in love with, Dean's demon form first. So

1- Cas has known What Dean Is(tm) the whole time and has never not loved ALL of Dean's weird, demihuman/monstrous, "what if I punched God in the face", undefinable riftwalker hot boyMILF ass.

2- Cas raising Dean from Hell was (at least to start) less the dramatic bridal carry we all envision and more like someone trying to rescue a very angry stray cat that does not know its being rescued so it has to be wrapped in a towel until it stops trying to claw its rescuer's face off.

i think a lot of people don’t realise that cas pulling dean out of hell in lazarus rising wasn’t cas pulling dean off the rack, it was cas pulling dean AWAY FROM the rack, away from the people he was torturing

the first time cas touched dean he saw the pain dean was inflicting on other people, saw the way he enjoyed it, and it didn’t change how pure dean was to him, it didn’t make him any less good

[shadystranger]

What was up with cass fighting for his life to stop dean from rescusing sam (not to mention his almost enthusiastic jumping to move past sam's death) He did NOT have that energy when the roles were reversed

like summin smell fishy and it aint just cass's pussy

[incesthemes]

i can't stop thinking about the first episode of season 6, when sam tries to convince dean to come with him, to come back to hunting. he says "it's just better with you around, that's all." it's an interesting line because sam is soulless, obviously. and even though he doesn't understand the details yet, he knows something's wrong with him.

"it's better with you around" he says, citing dean's compassion and care for others as the reason why. and how interesting is that? sam's working with plenty of other hunters who still have their souls—they're all more than capable of caring about the people they save. but sam needs dean specifically. he knows he's missing something, and he sees dean and recognizes that something in him. even cold and calculating and unrelentingly logical, sam recognizes that dean, alone, can "complete" him, give something back to him that he's supposed to have.

in episode 8 he tells dean he "needs his help." he doesn't elaborate; he never explains what he means by that. he has a whole family of hunters who'd be willing and able to help him, but still he needs dean. even without his soul, his hyperrational mind knows he needs him.

soulless sam isn't capable of caring about dean. but he doesn't need to care to know they need to be together, no matter what—to know dean is good for him, dean completes him, dean needs to be there for him.

it's like a sick reversal of season 1. sam drags dean back into this life because he can't keep going without him. because he needs him. because when you think about it logically, and sam has no other choice, there was never any other option for them.

[harbingerofsoup]

“dean’s problematic” “no sam’s problematic” “cas is a bad character”

guys, we can’t judge them by the usual standards of morality applied to characters. the writers were all fighting each other over consistency and the network was meddling so their actions episode to episode don’t mean as much for their characters as their essence does or like the core of the characters

[s0fter-sin]

sometimes i think about how much of a waste it was to just have cas ignoring sam’s prayers in s6 instead of him actually not being able to hear him bc he was soulless and his prayers didn’t work

[soullessjack]

i think perhaps another layer of autism in jacks character is that he’s fine with being different, but is always upset to be treated or perceived differently.

[batcavescolony]

S4 E10 Supernatural

Anna was an Angel, also Only 4 Angels have seen God. Ruby got tortured by Alastor, that's sucks. Uriel saying Castiel has a weakness and it's that he likes Dean. Dean and Anna...seem to get along. Ok OK OK and on to the heartbreaking stuff. Dean told Sam about hell, and how it's wasn't months for him it was 40years and he was given a choice to get tortured or torture others. Dean wishes he couldn't feel anything cus he cracked after 30years and he was good at it. Uggh 💔

[quietwingsinthesky]

still thinking about how gadreel blew up. lmao.

i still think he should have cut his own grace out and fed it to cas. feels like a better conclusion to his arc. fucked it all up for humans trying to do the right thing, fucked it all up for angels trying to do the right thing, he's been trying to martyr himself since at least Dean and Sam captured him, but fuck that. live, bitch. lose part of yourself that both connects you to your trauma but also to everyone/thing you love. give it up to save someone else. and then go live at the bunker as a human guy while sam is at his most fucked up because dean just died <3 it would be so awful for both of them <3