#boy king Sam

[andyevej]

they say the devil looks like me

[i-already-know-im-going-2-hell]

I have an obsession with editing Sam with the crown of thorns honestly

[mishoru]

[eaudeclown]

Dean being the most sane person out of three in TFW is something to think about. Yeah he's had crazy ideas but he didn't try to BECOME GOD nor DRUNK DEMON BLOOD to help move things along.

[wilsonthemoose]

use a photo on your phone camera roll and write a quick scene/hc for it

Art is 10 of Sword by David Palumbo

The demon blood makes him heal faster. Skin knitting over in mere hours– tendons, bones, and ligaments righting themselves from their displaced positions. He is a push puppet, a monster, a vessel that must sustain no harm.

Convenient in more ways than one, it affords him the luxury to be reckless because he is not being reckless. It works so it works, and it works so he uses it. Picks bullets out of his torso, races every day against his fast-healing skin as he picks glass and gravel out with tweezers hastily cleaned of yesterday's dry blood. He is a freak, inhuman, other, but he is useful. He can walk off a broken leg, live through a death. He is cursed but it is a tool, not a blessing but he can use it as such.

He drinks the sluggish blood of her corpse, the coagulated dead lifeblood of the dark-haired girl whose name he never wants to know.

He pretends he doesn't see her smile, her watering-a-poisoned-plant smile. She pretends she's not holding a knife to his back, they're both using each other and so what if she smells like rotten eggs, like mold and rot, and what if she tastes like every grave he's ever dug and all the blood he's spilled. So what if he's thinking of maggots when he sucks a string of solid congealed blood out of a vein.

They keep him there, in the dark with the salted iron bars and demon traps, cast iron shackles around his wrists and ankles burning into his skin. And every few hours, when fancy strikes, they go in for another round.

The demon blood makes him heal faster. Wounds sealing themselves shut, broken bones snapping back into place. He is an abomination, a monster, the boy who started the end of the world.

They deserve their revenge and he deserves the pain.

[sammys-carhartt-jacket]

just rewatched 1x14. Why tf did we get telekinetic Sam and then it’s never mentioned again???

[quinneleanor]

Boy King!Sam fic I highly recommend:

And So Awakens Devils by Concernedlily (Sam/Dean, 58k+)

"He doesn’t have the first clue – how do you even start to process something like that? Yeah, Sam seems different to him now, erratic and weird and wielding his power over these demons more easily than Dean likes to see, but he hasn’t seemed evil. Dean doesn’t know how to fix that up, finally, with the certain knowledge that he’s done – is doing – evil things. Back in Boston, he’d been able to kid himself that maybe Sam was sitting around somewhere giving orders to get things done but turning a blind eye to how, and that would have been bad, but not as bad as learning that his hands are dripping in blood, that he’s personally given the orders for who’s got to die and when, if not going out there and doing it himself. He has no idea how Sam is working this out in his head, how he’s making it okay to himself."

Posted all the way back on 12/31/2007, this fanfic deals with Sam literally ending the world and ushering the apocalypse to bring Dean back from Hell. This story has that delicious flavor of the early seasons, perfect characterization, and a Sam that’s just so hopelessly down a dark path. Oh, and Sam’s so stupidly in love with Dean. Absolutely lovely. Dean here is just trying to make the best of the fucked up world around him. Their romance floats from bromance to romance in a way that’s organic and realistic. You have to read this one!

[boykingbrainrot]

supernatural sideblog II samgirl II all characters but mostly the brothers II boy king of hell truther II not really anti anything but definitely not a heller II I'm really just here for the gen 

[quinneleanor]

Sam has 12 of these and wears one to work everyday.

Sam bought both himself and Jack this shirt and they wear them together but don't say anything

[vaguely-concerned]

are. are you telling me that if the romanced mage warden dies and alistair is king, he deadass stares greagoir down over her dead body and grants the circle of ferelden its autonomy after ordering it rebuilt somewhere safer. first you have to deliberately leave him behind so he won't die for you and then he does that for you once you're gone, even when you're broken up??? absolute and literal king behaviour of the highest order????? the actions speak louder than words of it all??????? I think I hauve covid

[i-already-know-im-going-2-hell]

I've said it once and I'll say it again, Florence and the Machine is so Sam coded

[shanastoryteller]

The day his deal comes due, Sam goes missing.

Dean tells himself it’s nothing, that he’s gotten caught up in some research, some last ditch, hail mary nonsense and that he’s just turned his phone off and everything’s fine, that he wouldn’t do something stupid, that he wouldn’t break his promise.

He tells himself that for the first two minutes after he cracks his eyes open and sees the empty bed across from him, and the first time his call goes straight to voicemail, and not much after that. Sam’s broken his promises over things significantly less important to him than his brother’s life.

Dean is dressed and in the Impala five minutes later, heart thudding wildly in his chest. He calls Bobby, Ellen, everyone he can think of, but none of them have heard from Sam, none of them have eyes on him. Sam was with him last night, even if he boosted a car, there’s only so far he can get.

He keeps calling, keep searching, desperate to stop whatever he’s trying to do, to find him, to see his brother one last time before he’s dragged to hell. To make sure Sam is going to be okay after he’s dragged to hell. But the hours tick down, the sun sets, and he can’t find a trace of him. He’s so exhausted and heart sick that when he goes to call Sam again it takes him a long time to read the number on his phone, eyes swimming, the time not making any sense.

1:03

That’s not possible.

That’s not –

His phone rings, blocking out the time with Bobby’s name across the screen, and he answers it but his throat is too thick to say anything.

“Dean?” Bobby says tentatively. “Are you – I got an email from Sam. It just said, I mean, did–“

“What did it say, Bobby?” he asks, even though he’s sure he knows.

Bobby sucks in a breath at his voice, because he knows just as well as Dean that he should be screaming in hell right now, not answering his phone. “To take care of you.”

Dean drops the phone, hears Bobby still talking as he grips the wheel and presses his forehead against the back of his hands. This is what he’d been afraid of. This is why he hadn’t wanted to mess with the deal in first place. This is the one thing he’d begged Sam not to do.

It's easy to find a crossroad.

The demon is laughing at him when it shows up, wicked grin in a pretty face. “That didn’t take you long, boy.”

It’s a different demon than the one he delt with, obviously, but Dean figures they all know the same shit, since demons are a bunch of gossips. “This wasn’t the deal. My brother lives and I die.”

“You traded your soul for your brother’s life,” she corrects, so amused by all this that all he wants to do is kill her, to exorcise her, to make her scream. “Just like your father traded his for yours. There’s no reason Sammy can’t make his own trade. Man, but is your family fucked up. Maybe if you’d just settled down like little Sammy wanted, you wouldn’t all be bargaining for each other’s lives like haggling at a flea market.”

“Untrade it,” he snaps. “My soul for him alive, come on, no year, no waiting, you bring him back and take me to hell right now.”

She laughs in his face. “You don’t have anything to bargain with, boy.”

“My soul,” he repeats, “That’s what this is about, isn’t?”

“Oh, it’s what it’s all about,” she says. “But Sammy’s a clever boy. You know that, don’t you? He didn’t trade his soul for your life, he didn’t have to. You didn’t die. No, he traded it for your soul. Sorry, honey, but your credits been declined.”

At first he doesn’t understand. Sam traded his soul for Dean’s, exactly, so there’s no reason he can’t trade it right back. Then he gets it.

She sees the exact moment it clicks, the moment despair and horror sweep across his face too quickly for him to stop them. “That’s right. Little brother owns your soul now. For some reason he didn’t think you’d take proper care of it. You have it because that’s where he wants it, but no one will be making any deals with you, Dean Winchester. You can’t sell a soul you don’t own.”

“You can’t,” he has to clear his throat, “you can’t just come in and change things at the eleventh hour-”

“Eleventh hour?” she interrupts. “Sammy made his deal eleven months ago.”

His mouth is so dry he can’t speak.

“Isn’t it funny?” she asks, head cocked to the side. “All this time, the deal he’s been trying to get out of wasn’t yours, but his own. Maybe the two of you might have even managed it, except you just wouldn’t help, would you? Insisting that he not research, that he not look for a way out, and he spent so much time trying to convince you, coaxing you to talk about your feelings when he knew you were safe, all he because he thought it would make you feel better when he was gone, because he couldn’t tell you the truth and talk about how scared he was, so talking about your fear was as close as he could get.”

Dean’s going to be sick. “Don’t – please, please, I’ll give you anything-”

“You don’t have anything,” she says, gleeful. “You want to know why I agreed? The thing that made it just too delicious to refuse? Sammy’s down there, just starting in on an eternity of torture, and all he has to do get out of it is give up your soul. It’s his, after all, and he can put the original deal back in place any time he chooses. Just one moment of weakness on his end and his beloved big brother will be on the rack instead.” She sighs happily. “It’s almost as good as anything we’re doing to him down there, the knowledge that if he slips up for even a moment then it would all be for nothing. I couldn’t have found a way to twist the knife deeper if I tried.”

There’s vomit crawling its way up his throat and he has to swallow it down before he can speak. “I can’t – I’ll do whatever you want, please, there has to be something.”

She leans forward, cruelty and delight shining in her eyes. “The only thing you can do is what you’ve been telling your precious baby brother to do for the past year. Accept it. Move on. Live a good life so his sacrifice isn’t in vain.”

God. How can she – how can Sammy expect him to –

He’s doubling over, finally upchucking what little he’s ate today, and he’s dry heaving on the dirt when he hears the fading sound of her laughter.

This can’t be real. This has to be Hell, he has to be in it right now. He has to be.

[dead-angel-witch-fae]

THIS WOULD HAVE BEEN SO COOL

when sam said “there will be no new king of hell and if anybody wants the job you can come through me” his eyes should’ve flashed yellow like they did at the end of 4x6

[eaudeclown]

I wish people told me beforehand when they're about to make a noise, that way I'm 43/100 sure it was real

[archangelsammy]

feeling some boy king sam in this chillis tonight. art for my upcoming fic lol