finchandsparrow

I just got hit with spontaneous Samfeels *screams face-first into a pile of gravedirt*

I LOVE HIM SO MUCH

I woke up on January 24th like “WHAT AM I GONNA DO FOR DEAN’S BIRTHDAY” and then failed to do anything celebratory. It was kind of a weird weekend leading up to today, to be fair. Lots of work hours, had just gotten my car back from the shop ($1500 worth of repairs, woohoo), my mom reporting that my dad was having potential COVID symptoms but of course he stubbornly resisted getting a test or staying home from referee work until I got the chance to literally drive an at-home test to their house yesterday (he tested positive). So anyway. Today I had grand plans of writing fan fiction—not finishing fan fiction, just writing some SPN stuff—but apparently the weird surge of inspiration I had (but never put to use) last week has died off, because I tried to start writing for about two hours but instead did nothing but get distracted by everything under the sun while subconsciously panicking every time I saw the time and stewing in a familiar, low-key self-loathing. I did get to see a women’s college gymnastics meet thanks to a free TV trial, and it was a very good meet. <3 This last thing has nothing to do with Dean, but at least I had a good time, and I’ll dedicate the good time to him—and also the self-loathing, for good measure.

In lieu of some actual fan fiction of some kind, I would like to share some Dean-centric fan fiction that my subconscious wrote in a dream about four and a half years ago, because I have just discovered my record of this dream after having lost track of it FOR 4.5 YEARS.

I’d recorded it while only half-awake. I knew I’d done it digitally, but I’d searched Google Drive and my documents a dozen times over the years with no luck. I wondered at one point if I had typed it up in a phone app I no longer used, which meant that it was lost forever when my phone perished in the river water of the North this summer. Honestly, I hadn’t thought about it much since. BUT THEN I stumbled upon it—recently, by chance—buried deep in the mess of an email inbox! Apparently, I had recorded the dream by typing it up in an email and sending it to myself.

Here it is in all its brain fog glory.

Subject: Dream
Sunday, September 24, 2017, 5:52am

Reading fanfic: Dean and Marybond, esp afyer Dams death (earlier 20s), no John (died when kids were tiny?), def still hunters, Dean in John's leather, very melancholy, last scene is Dean making some wisecrack (ohh that devilmaycare thing is something that hasn't shown up until now and Sam died and it's a defense mechanism as he recovers) and then Mary hugs him from the Impala driver seat and lasy linr is, "She was reminded that he had once eantrd an out."

(To translate: The last line of the fanfic was: "She was reminded that he had once wanted an out.")

This fan fiction that Dream Me was reading sounds very depressing but I want to read it.

( Oops I've discovered more things in my inbox )

Genre: gen; angst, hurt/comfort; season 6
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 2,783
Characters: Castiel (POV), Sam, Dean
Warnings: language and some gore
Notes: Written for angelfishofthelord for the 2021

spn_summergen exchange

Summary: Occupying a vessel without a soul is something Castiel is still getting used to. A dramatic injury and an unexpected Sam and Dean Winchester just complicate matters. Late S6.

( Read more... )

Okay but remember when Dean was wearing Sam’s clothes in 4x01, i cry

After catching up with my current podcasts, I recently re-found the podcast “Wonderful!” and have listened to a few episodes from where I left off. (Have I mentioned this podcast before? Maybe. But it’s been at least a couple years, I think??) The podcast is basically just a husband and wife trading off talking about things they really like, whether that be three notes in the recording of a particular Christmas song or a specific TV episode or just having really sharp kitchen knives. It’s basically just people enthusing about things big and small, which is delightful. People enthusing about things they’re into makes me happy. And it reminds me that I tend to be a person with a lot of potential enthusiasm, generally, but that sometimes lately I’ve been bad at enthusiasm. Too plugged in or zoned out to engage it. Or occasionally I’ll be enthused but it’s like I have so much enthusiasm I want to express it mooore! Whatever the case, the enthusiasm is insufficient.

All this to say, I am here to share some enthusiasm! Or, if I am the only one to read it, just to process and acknowledge it for myself. The Vonnegut thing: “If this isn’t nice, I don’t know what is.” (I always intend to make these sorts of posts a consistent thing but I am bad at consistency but lol maybe this time it will stick? In any case, I’ve gone into the rut again where I avoid posting because I think too much about things and paralyze myself. I think diving into some good old fashioned squee is as good a method as any to break myself out of that paralysis.)
( Read more... )

Replace/remove "Marvel Fans" and this meme could double as a Mystery Spot reference.

So I had this dream. That Dean Winchester was in a motel room and Sam and Ruby (Ruby 2.0, the superior Ruby) entered together. Everything circa season 4. Ruby immediately started talking to and walking toward Dean (he was at the far end of this absurdly sizeable motel room) like that was what she'd come there for. Ruby was impatient and demanding and Dean was irritated that she was even there and that Sam had brought her in and Sam hung back near the door and put his hands up and said—mostly to himself, but, yes, aloud—"I'm walking away" and did just that. He went out the door and after a minute he dragged a huge rocking horse into the room. Like, a Sam-sized rocking horse. At this point, Sam was wearing a dark grey suit (I don't know if he was wearing it at the start of the dream) and appeared to be a Sam of at least three years later than the "current" season. His demeanor was entirely glum, which is a word I do not use very often but is the exact right word here. He pushed the horse toward one of the bare corners of the room. Mounted the horse. Said, glumly, "Riding cob horse." And the horse broke free in a splash of royal blue color and, with Sam on its back, started gliding around the floor in a fantasy dream sequence. (Sort of went surreal at that point and I wonder if I can blame that on the fact that I read a synopsis of "Eraserhead" the night before.)

Also a couple nights ago I had a dream that Genevieve Padalecki and I were chatting and gardening or something and having a good time and then I had a big mental panic because I suddenly realized I couldn't remember when we had become friends and I became afraid to do or say anything because if I broke the illusion how awkward would it be when she realized we didn't actually know each other?

Gen has been super sweet in all her dream appearances. JA and JP are wildcards: usually they're perfectly cordial, but (and I don't know if I've mentioned this before) sometimes they will make very stupid drunken jokes about what tattoos you should get (you don't want a tattoo) or push shopping carts at passing vehicle after passing vehicle just because they're feeling pissy.

Happy birthday, Sam Winchester!

I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you.

(I'm sorry all the art I make with you in mind is depressing.)

"Trust me, it's torture."

I watched 8x12 “As Time Goes By”! Not one I recall particularly loving, and not necessarily one of my favorites on rewatch either, but the amount of enjoyment I nevertheless got out of this episode speaks to my love for this show. I think the weakness of this episode is that it has a lot of parts, but only just enough ligament to keep its skeleton from falling to pieces, and the bones are probably from the same species but not all from the same animal. Like, logic and coherence aren’t at their best? Some of those individual bones are real good, though.
( Read more... )

Turns out that, to the best of my recollection and reasoning, my long-abandoned Supernatural Rewatch left off at season 8’s “Torn and Frayed” and I remember being floored by so much of this episode, especially the ending. I just found a thing that I wrote in reaction to it, apparently in February of 2019:

That the music at the end is so ambivalent. These two guys just ended relationships that are very important to them, that have been what they relied on to survive in the past year. That is massive. Those relationships were messy, but they were familiar. Their relationship with each other is not as familiar as it once was, and it’s messy at its very best. It’s practically in shambles right now. But they’re giving up other supports to try again with each other. It’s foolish, maybe. It’s sad, definitely. It’s not a touching moment.

I LOVE THE FIRST HALF OF SEASON EIGHT. All the personal history they’ve experienced over the past year, individually and without each other, that’s now inescapably a part of them? All the emotional and relational nagivations each of them are going through? It’s so complex and so MUCH and Show gave that to us??!?!?!!? Incredible.

Anyway but what I watched a couple nights ago was the episode after that one and CAN I JUST SAY that after like 16 months of growing increasingly obsessed with Critical Role and developing an interest in D&D and roleplaying games in general, I was just SO TICKLED to have 8x11 “LARP and the Real Girl” be my episode for jumping back in??

As soon as Sam and Dean showed up on screen I was like OMG LOOK AT THEM SITTING IN THE CAR, LOOK AT THEM EXISTING, GAAAAAHHH. Like, when I say “existing,” I mean existing in a specific moment in time, I mean that they hadn’t even said anything yet and I could hear the weeks they’d just lived through in the quiet, and I could feel the silence and not-silence of the past four hours of the drive in their posture. They were so immediate and tangible and wholly realized, and that always slays me—and did this time as well, to the point where I was like, I LOVE THEM TOO MUCH, I’M NOT GONNA MAKE IT THROUGH THIS EPISODE. But I made it, I made it! And it was so good. <333 This episode was light on the angst, considering what came before (Supernatural tends to play that balance, remarkable as it is, quite well). Little golden moments. I’m always impressed by the precision with which Charlie/Felicia Day plops that crown on top of Dean’s head. The Belladonna moment gets better every time I see it. Dean is the hugest nerd and I adore him for it. Also I like his hair this ep and he does so well in this rust color and costume and fake chain mail. And I adore Sam for volunteering to dive full-force into Moondor roleplay at the end, even though it’s not his thing. (I feel like Sam commits to setting himself aside like this—in not just big ways but also little ones—many more times than people recognize. I see you, Sam!)

And Y’ALL, TOP FIVE SHERIFFS OF ALL TIME.

(

kalliel I didn’t even realize that this was the sheriff who said that until he said it!? What a legend.)

The episode I get to look forward to next is “As Time Goes By,” which I don’t remember (and

kalliel this may have been another episode we were discussing in some capacity, and whose details I could not recall, lol) except that there's definitely a scene in which Henry Winchester gets carsick because I never forget puke or the threat of it, ahaha

I went to bed at a relatively decent hour last night, and because that hour was earlier than usual I didn't fall asleep quickly and had a bit of time for thinking and I dedicated that thinking to Sam and Dean and that was SO NICE because I haven't had some good Sam and Dean think time in a while and I'd missed them.

And then I had a Supernatural dream. A gift! Happy birthday to me!

In this dream, it was night, and Sam was walking along a country sidewalk, which doesn't make sense (especially as there was no discernable road) but that's apparently what it was. It was night, like deep night, and there were very occasional trees or residences but mostly lots of open empty field and stretches of long grasses all greyed out in the darkness, Sam visible almost as if via night vision. Brown hoodie, his hands deep in its pockets. Young Sam, no older than 22, but more hardened than Stanford life should allow. Going toward something he didn't want, and doing it with resentment but also with grim purpose, radiating this terrible sardonic humor about it.

It was so dark that he literally didn't see the other person on the sidewalk until they half-collided as they crossed paths. Sam barely stopped, acknowledged the accident with a grunt and kept going, and the man—hefty guy, short beard, jacket in some dull olive color (or was that just the lack of light?)—paused and demanded, "Seriously?"

Sam said it was an accident, sorry. Didn't stop walking.

"Seriously?" the guy said again, halfway to yelling now, aggression born of panic born of the paranoia that comes with a secret that requires walking weird paths at night and avoiding people who are also walking weird paths at night, people who shoulder check you and then laugh, people like this kid in the hoodie.

"Yeah, seriously," Sam said in a laugh, and the laugh had genuine humor to it, the kind that makes you squirm because it says, Come at me if you want; I don't give a shit, and the joke isn't about you but the world at large. (I can still hear that laugh, and it haunts me.)

Sam kept walking. The man didn't seem to follow.

Later, it was Sam and Dean walking on the path together. A voice came from behind them, and a flashlight beam. A man who claimed to be a cop followed them at a short distance and spoke to them in thinly veiled threats: Silas was his friend, and Leonard, and you know too much, don't you, I won't let you two just walk away. (Silas, or Leonard, must have been the name of olive-jacket guy, I assume.) Sam and Dean said nothing, expressions stoic, and kept walking.

I don't remember how exactly it escalated, but the three got into a truly brutal and poorly lit fistfight. I didn't see how the fight ended, but last I knew, the fake/crooked cop was on his knees while one Winchester held him and the other delivered double punches.

where I love Sam and Dean so much, out of the blue. Clearly I do not love them out of the blue, because this is a deep and years-long love, but said love just surfaced very suddenly and it is too late in the day for this, where do I put it

I just found an untitled entry in my notes app, which I (vaguely) remember writing down in a haze, immediately upon waking, in an attempt to capture something from a dream. This is all it says:

Devil told me, Don't you die,
I need a good roadkill pie
(and you ain't it)

I have no recollection of any further context, but apparently I dreamt it the morning of Dean's birthday.

Happy... birthday, Dean? I guess???

On December 30th, I had a dream that I was Sam Winchester, circa 1997/1998, and me and John were driving away from a case, or something like it. We'd been tying up loose ends with a woman who owned a quirky and luxurious house. (The house was purple. The furniture was purple. The woman's hair—her name was Savanna—was dyed bright purple.) As we were driving away, we turned off of her road onto a county road, and at the corner was an enormous sign, ground-level but billboard-sized, advertising "Savanna's House!!!" (The house was a private residence.) All this was located in a fairly isolated rural area, all flat Midwest farmland. It was an overcast winter day. The fields were bare and brown. The sign was illuminated, garish, glitzy, and purple. It made me sad in a way I didn't quite understand.

We also passed some sort of lodging that appeared to be either closed or out of business. I had at some point seen inside through the large windows: it was a single large room with a central fireplace, a kitchenette, and bunks along the walls. On the singular table there was a forgotten plastic retail bag and two fake daffodils in a vase.

We drove a few miles and I (Sam) wondered if John (Dad) knew where Dean would be, or if he was just guessing at it; either way, that had to be where we were headed. A couple days ago, Dean had gotten so worked up about the case that he'd left before it was taken care of. He didn't try to hide his departure, but he wasn't open about where he planned on going. John had just let it happen. Sam (I) had a roiling ambivalence about that.

We got to a dirt road that rolled through a little patch of woods, and John made a late left turn toward it. And then kept turning left, using the width of the road to circle the car around until we were back on the same road, going the opposite direction. He drove us all the way back to Savanna's sign and the weird cabin-hostel, which was apparently open, and at which we would be staying as reserved guests, amongst who knows what other guests. What the hell.

John had told me nothing about this inexplicable plan. And he wouldn't say anything about Dean. I was seething.

When I asked him, "What about Dean?" he said, "He'll be back."

Of course he would be back. I didn't doubt that he'd be back. I wanted to know if he was okay. It wasn't like him to leave in the middle of a case.

When Sam (I) pressed Dad (John) about this, he said, "He'll be fine. He probably has a truck." (He probably stole a truck.)

And even though me-as-Sam was fairly livid about this response, I myself am very charmed by the Winchester definition of "fine," and how often it increases rather than decreases with every crime the person in question has committed.

Are you ever doing something completely unrelated and mundane and then you just out of the blue think of "A Very Supernatural Christmas" and the stupid fishing bobbers and car fresheners on the little potted tree and the 87 different emotions Sam and Dean experience in that scene (and the 87 parallel ones you experience watching it) and the people the two of them were in that moment and the people they were when they were toddlers, kids, teens, and the people they were in season 1, in season 6, in season 10, in season 15, and what they've gone through and grown through, torment and forgiveness and practical jokes and persistence and fear and laughter and failure and friendship and loss and trauma and doubt and defiance and anguish and horror and hope and cooking in the bunker and research in laundromats and compounded grief and roundabout suicide attempts and motel wallpaper and two-lane roads and blood and love and driving, driving, driving

and you just brim with love for Supernatural

(and it's been too long since that's happened and GOOD GRIEF YOU LOVE SUPERNATURAL)

♥

I've been a bit of an emotional mess since watching the final Supernatural episode yesterday. So tonight, to avoid finale-feels overwhelm, I thought it would be good to direct my emotional energy toward my Dungeons & Dragons session tomorrow by listening to the playlist I made for my character. (Yes, I am that nerdy.) So I queued it up while I started washing the dishes. And the first song that played was "At A Glance" by Message to Bears, which is straight out of my Sam Winchester playlist.

I can tell you, this did the exact opposite of calming or redirecting my emotions. I immediately started crying again.

Throw it down, look away
Don’t be scared, it’s okay

Settle down, set it right
Don’t be scared, it’s alright

( Read more... )

Genre: gen; angst, drama, hurt/comfort, horror; season 3
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 5,750
Characters: Sam (POV), Dean
Warnings: language and some gore, non-con and consent issues re: possession, PTSD
Notes: Written for

kalliel for the 2020

spn_summergen exchange! ♥

Special thanks to

hells_half_acre, whose stellar Supernatural Timeline helped me place this fic chronologically. Takes place sometime after 3x07 Fresh Blood and before 3x08 A Very Supernatural Christmas.

Summary: When Dean is halfway to hell, he and Sam hunt a half-dog, half-man, while Sam struggles with memories and instincts that are only half his own.

Dean’s in a good mood. You’re trying to be in a good enough mood, to find the balance between qualified denial and sober recognition. You’ve been at that for six months—long enough to realize that there is no good balance. Every ratio is destructive; you choose the destruction.

( Read more... )

Me, suddenly awake at 4am for no reason: Oh my lord, that news outlet could have made a play on "The rise of the Roman empire" but instead they went with "The rise of Dick" what a choice

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*chokes* ohm y gos h ilove SamandDeaaannnn

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finchandsparrow

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I'd rather be a sparrow than a snail.

Recent Entries

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