#john and sam

[lovealwayssay]

Do you think John would have sold his soul for Sam in 2.01 if Sam had been the one dying instead of Dean? Do you think John, knowing everything he knows about the situation with Azazel, who told Dean he’d have to kill Sam if he couldn’t save him, would have sacrificed his life for his youngest son the way he did for Dean? Because I don’t. I think John would have let Sam die.

[angelsdean]

in the true spn that is not beholden to actors, Dean is the spitting image of Mary and Mary is the spitting image of Deanna, hence making Dean also the spitting image of his namesake such that it makes both John and Samuel resent Dean for haunting them each with the image of their dead wife. Sam on the other hand got the genetic scramble in which he looks nothing like either parent but instead, perhaps, some distant relative. Which makes it easier for John to actually look at Sam. When they argue they get in each other’s faces while John can barely stand to look at Dean. When Dean gets in between them the fight goes out of John etc etc. tho, as I’ve said before in my defense for blond Dean as a concept, it would be delicious for both Sam and John to have very dark brown hair as a uniting physical feature while Dean is the blond one like blinding beacon reminding everyone of Mary’s existence, she was here, Dean is proof of that, he is her ghost

[alyssas-personal-diary]

summer of sam

be warned that i write in second person so the reader will be sam essentially. nothing explicit happens here tbh.. just dean and john being pervy and giving looks to little 14/16 year old sammy that only dirty men give little boys.

okay pls enjoy this, all criticism is welcome, im still figuring tumblr out lol

( read this chapter on ao3 ! ) https://archiveofourown.org/works/61008211/chapters/156427612

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When you turned fourteen, you started noticing things. The funny looks daddy and big brother sent your way. At fourteen, you knew what those looks meant from men like them.

When you turned sixteen, you were a bratty teenager, weaseling your way into silly arguments about nothing in particular. The staring had gotten worse. You stopped calling John daddy by now. Big brother didn’t change much, you noticed. You didn’t mind him.

When you were sixteen, you noticed not only how to grab attention, but how to keep it on you. It was great, really. Curls rolling up, stuck to your ears, sweat glistening off your bare skin as you step out of the shitty motel bathroom, the buzzing of the fluorescent lights doing nothing to hide the heavy breathing of big brother. You pretend to not hear it as you drop your towel in change of boxers.

As you grew taller, your clothes got shorter and smaller. You figured out how to alter big brother’s clothes to fit just a little too much. Mama would be so proud, you were sure of it.

At sixteen, you were all sticky and sweet, bubblegum stuck between pretty pink lips, a little too feminine for a boy, a little too young for sixteen.

‘Jailbait’ you heard an old man snicker your way once. You were with daddy, you decided you kept his attention better with that nickname between your teeth, at some rundown bar, big brother and him researching some shitty topic about some shitty demon thing. You couldn’t care really, too focused on getting the details perfect.

You needed everything perfect. The right amount of stomach showing, a peek more than anything, a tease. Shorts a tad too tight, hugging boy hips in all the right places. Pretty pink lips, a shade between deep cherry red and a light bubblegum pink, the right amount of color. You were good with your hands, keeping them clean and manicured, shiny and neat. Saucer eyes, all big and wide, deer like.

You liked the stares from men like daddy and big brother. You couldn’t help it, it was like you were drawn to it. Besides, they never stopped, even as you grew older. You loved the attention, could soak in dirty men till you were a newborn all over again, young and smooth.

You were sixteen and you knew what the stares from big brother and daddy meant from men like them.

[the-gray-ghosty]

John hearing demons talk about how "Sam winchester will be their boy king of hell" then going home to the motel and seeing 14 year old sammy asleep with his head on the table after writing a book report for school

[randommultifandomrants]

Being a girl is: wanting to go to bed early but deciding to just get on tumblr/wattpad/Ao3 for a little bit and then end up finding a fic series that you really like and read until well past your usual bedtime then keeping on because it’s already past your bedtime. Then being mad when you wake up in the morning because you overslept your timer.

[cruel-seduction]

It’s like a full-blown addiction, but instead of drugs or booze, it’s this fictional guy who’s got her wrapped around his finger. She knows it’s fucked up—knows she’s out here daydreaming about someone who’s not even real—but who cares? This guy? He’s everything. He’s charming in the worst ways, flawed in every possible sense, but there’s just something about him that has her hooked. He doesn’t even know she exists, but she’s ready to fight anyone who says a word against him. Seriously, she’ll defend his honor like it’s a fucking life-or-death mission.

He’s a goddamn trainwreck, but he’s her trainwreck. She’ll put up with all his baggage, his emotional scars, his dark sides, because somehow, that brokenness makes him feel more real to her than any real guy could. He’s messed up, but she’ll fix him in her head every single time. Maybe it’s that thrill of knowing he’s dangerous and untouchable that makes him even more irresistible. He might break her heart in a hundred ways, but it’s the kind of heartbreak that makes her feel alive, even if it hurts like hell.

And it’s never gonna happen, right? She knows that. He’s not gonna waltz into her life and sweep her off her feet. But it doesn’t matter. Because she gets to have him on her terms—no messy reality, no awkward first dates, no risking her heart for real. He’s always there when she needs him, in that perfect little bubble of fantasy she’s built for herself. And maybe she’s a little crazy for it, but at least with him, she’s never disappointed. Every time she replays his scenes, reads the fanfics, imagines their future together—it's like a high she can never quite shake. She knows it's all just a mindfuck, but she’s never felt more alive.

[myladyship]

"After everything you have done. How will you sleep at night?"

"Next to my wife."

[damnikindadontcare]

Actually the reason why we never saw Bobby and John interact is because Bobby would’ve beat the shit out of John on the spot.

[naomistares]

harrow soup comic! harrow soup comic!

took some creative liberties with the structure of it all otherwise it would've been 20 pages long... love u tazmuir and all your words but i removed some for my sake... enjoy...

[connorsui]

"How beautiful was she?"

"Was? ...please ..she is beautiful, but not like those girls in magazines. She is beautiful, for the way she thinks, She is beautiful for the sparkle in her eyes when she speaks about anything she loves. She is beautiful for her ability to make other people smile, even if she was sad. No, she wasn't beautiful for something as temporary as her looks. She is beautiful, deep down to her soul ....

She is the love of my life"

The man: Nanami Kento, Geto Suguru, John Price, Jason Todd, Sam Winchester, Higuruma Hiromi, Halsin, Astarion Zayne, Sylus, Xavier, Levi Ackerman, Simon Riley, Johnny Mactavish, Leon Kennedy, Aizawa, Dabi, Hawks, Rafayel, Cooper Howard, Logan Howlett, Aemond, Nikto,

[hacked-wtsdz]

I love early seasons supernatural aesthetics so much. The isolated highways, funky motel rooms, neon signs, shiny guns and shiny cars, leather jackets, old books, through a film camera lens in seasons one and two, makes for such a specific atmosphere. It transfers the isolation Sam and Dean experience so well, cramped into the seats of a 67’ Chevy impala, claustrophobically un-alone while individually lonely. The nasty, sometimes created with horrible special effects, monsters really do look monstrous, unsettling more than outright terrifying. With yellow eyes, in dirty clothes, glitching and pale. The whole colour palette is grey-ish and cold, you almost feel the contrasted darkness, the distrust, the nagging belief that something wicked may be hiding behind every corner, behind every corner of your own self as well. Idk. The blood looks dark, the sulfur looks sickeningly yellow, the skin looks unnaturally pale. It’s all so horror-coded, and gives such an atmosphere of instability in your own existence in the world, which aligns with the themes of the seasons. This atmosphere, to me, makes it a better horror show than if it had had better special effects and scarier monsters. Because the horrifying is in the daily existence, in how you are, rather than what you face.

[lillyrob]

Actual footage of me patently waiting for my favorite author to upload😫😫😫

[wombywoo]

just checking...

[reddie-as-ill-ever-be]

I love that everyone in Cobra Kai is in a different genre.

Daniel and Johnny are in a homoerotic buddy-cop comedy, Tory is in a Saw trap, Miguel is in a coming-of-age movie, Kenny is in a coming-of-rage movie, Hawk and Demetri are in a BL sports anime, Sam is in a teen drama, Robby's in a reboot of a hit movie from the 80's, Chozen is literally just there, Kreese and Silver are in a psychosexual thriller, Amanda is in a sitcom, Kyler-

[fandom-shiet]

Why Castiel’s character has so much depth:

[randommultifandomrants]

Being a girl is pt.2: deciding you’ve read enough fics for the moment and swiping out of the app just to re-open tumblr or open wattpad/ao3