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#tw supernatural mention
realbeefman · 7 months
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totally normal and heterosexual advice to give to your pet freak best friend that you’re definitely not psychotically irrationally erotically obsessed with
7x12 of House M.D.
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incorrectbatfam · 4 months
Conversation
Alfred, looking at a convenience store pie: Look at these chemicals. Do you even read the label?
Stephanie: No. I read pie. The rest is just blah, blah, blah.
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sadgirlbadpoems · 2 months
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I think that the Supernatural fandom doesn't give Dean Winchester enough credit or hold John Winchester accountable nearly enough. I would argue that John's abuse (mental, emotional and physical) and its constant effect in both boys lives is constantly downplayed by a majority of the fanbase.
The parentification of an elder sibling has been proven to cause lasting issues and we see this throughout the show; when Dean is overly protective of Sam, treats Sam's life as more valuable than his own, can't picture a life where he's not needed, and his dismissal of Sam as a valuable contributor in an equal partnership. Dean is often criticized both in canon and by fans for being overbearing and codependent on Sam. This is a direct result of John Winchester's inability to parent.
Dean's emotional repression is shown to be caused by his father's militant behaviors and approach to parenting. Dean doesn't see his feelings as valid or important and thus turns to repression or unhealthy coping mechanisms as illustrated throughout the show. His alcoholism, violent outbursts, and unhealthy relationship with sex are all coping mechanisms he uses not to feel.
Through flashbacks (and some dialog) the viewer is show that Sam is more resentful towards John than Dean, and that he even holds resentment towards Dean for being the "perfect little soldier".
That's part of the reason Castiel is such a great foil for Dean, both are loyal to absent fathers' but while Dean was born with free will he follows his father's orders unwaveringly until sometime after his death, Cass a being created without free will breaks free of the command of his father and from his father's mission, becoming for all intents and purposes a Prodigal son like Sam.
Dean's adherence to his father's word is, much like Sam's rebellion a response to continued and repeated abuse, neither brother is perfect. And their father was the furthest thing from it.
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pollsnatural · 13 days
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*I didn’t come up with this option, this is an explanation that I saw in someone’s post a long time ago.
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softpine · 2 months
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take your time, let the rivers guide you in you know where you can find me again
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Supernatural ◦ 8×11 ◦ LARP and the Real Girl
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babyjackdaniels · 15 days
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420technoblazeit · 8 months
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every once in a while i remember that scene from dark side of the moon where theyre going through sam's favorite memories and they end up on the empty street where john disowned him. and dean just looks SO betrayed and says that it was one of the worst nights of his life
and i lose my fucking mind about it because this is literally after john made the crossroad deal to save his life, and sam's died in front of him, and he's sold his soul and gotten ripped apart by the hellhounds. like so much has happened to dean and this is STILL one of the worst nights of his life. he still recognizes the street where sam left because after that he was all alone
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destiel-news-channel · 7 months
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context: Hubert Aiwanger who had antisemitic flyers in his backpack when he was in school and did not apologize for that and his party, Die Freien Wähler, got the second most votes in Bayern (Bavaria, a state of Germany) and had the biggest increase in voters of all parties.
[Image ID: The Destiel confession meme edited so that Dean answers 'apparently being accused of being an antisemite gets you more voters instead of less now' to Cas' 'I love you'. /End ID]
People in Germany: Please Vote so people like that don't get that much influence!
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one-time-i-dreamt · 1 year
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A supernatural dog bit my face and blinded one of my eyes and somehow that was my mom's fault.
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baticorngirl · 1 year
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pollsnatural · 3 months
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thylaseraph · 3 months
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JANUARY, 1995
It’s a shooting day and Dean’s ears are ringing with the pop of the .22 that’s growing heavy in his hands. At Bobby’s house he always has to wear earmuffs when he shoots; usually Dean complains because they look stupid, but right now his ears are so frozen he’s wishing he had a pair of his own.
He points the muzzle at the ground and shakes his head out, cupping a stiff hand to his cheek. There’s exactly zero blood flow happening in his face, and the cold makes each shot ring out so loudly he has to try not to flinch. And his socks are wet. Pretty miserable shit.
John’s on his way back from replacing the target, face grim.
“How’d I do?” Dean calls. Too loud, judging from the way his dad scowls.
“You’re blowing through ammo and you only got six on the page.”
Dean slumps. “Crap.”
“Yeah, it is. You need to get your shit together, I can tell your heart isn’t in this. You reload yet?”
Dean sniffles, even though he can’t feel his nose, either. “No.”
“No?”
“No, sir.”
“So get going. Show me you can do better.”
Dean’s fingers feel like ten useless icicles. He slides the chamber open and clink-clink-clinks ten bullets inside, then carefully closes the action. The Beretta is a testy bitch that jams constantly. Dad only trusts it for training and seems likely to chuck it soon.
He barely seems affected by the chill. Mostly he looks bored. “Go on and take a few steps forward. Ladies’ tee until you get ‘em all on the page, and then we’ll think about moving you back again.”
Dean’s skin crawls with embarrassment and he wants to protest—he could do better if it were warmer and if he weren’t so tired already—but obediently he moves closer to the target.
“Alright.”
He raises the gun and clicks the safety off. He’s probably more cautious with it than John cares, but he’d rather be safe than sorry.
The target is a sheet of paper with orange circles pinned to a stump surrounded by casings. He lines the center up in his sight and then aims a little lower to compensate because the Beretta shoots high. God, if Dean could get his hands on that ivory-grip Colt, he’d die happy.
He empties her out, gets about nine bullets on the page. Four of them land tight in the center. The stray shot is only because he overcorrected his aim at first.
He turns back to his dad with a grin on his face, feeling pretty proud. There’s a pleasant buzz of warm feeling in his nose and eartips along with the ringing in his ears as he traipses back to the ammo box. “Not so crappy, huh?”
John shakes his head. “Dunno where you learned to be such a brag.”
“What am I supposed to be, humble? Pass.” He squats by the box, breathing on his numb hands before delicately picking up the bullets. “Hard pass.”
“Being humble is what keeps you alive. Nine out of ten only seems good on a target that doesn’t move. It isn’t your best—or it shouldn’t be.” John’s silence is as unforgiving as his voice. Dean watches his words sink through the winter air like smoke.“We stay here until you can actually hit what you’re aiming at.”
Through no fault of his own, Dean’s mouth is suddenly letting loose the complaint he’s been trying to hold in. “Come on, give me a break, Dad. It’s freezing, and I’m tired, and I’m about to have frostbite on my carpal tunnel. I feel like I can barely pull the damn trigger!”
His father’s boots crush against the frozen ground louder than a gun. He looks up quickly, stomach dropping. Dad and his rifle make a stark silhouette against the cold white sky above.
“You don’t ever speak to me like that again. You sound like your brother, like some insolent child, not a man I’d trust with my weapon. I know I taught you better than this. When lives depend on you, are you still gonna be making excuses? Are you gonna be whining about the weather when it’s your bad aim that gets somebody killed? Is it gonna be the trigger’s fault when you get yourself killed?”
“No, sir,” Dean replies, heart beating in his throat.
“You’re laughing, you’re fucking around, I can see you’re not taking this seriously. You still don’t understand the stakes. Think about Sam—you know whose fault it’ll be if you can’t take care of him or the lives you say you want to protect?”
“My fault, sir. Dad, I’m sorry.”
“Don’t say sorry. Don’t be begging for respect when you haven’t earned it. The only reason we’re still out here is you. You being cold and tired right now is on you. This is all in your control. Your life is in your own hands, nobody else’s. Do you understand that?”
His eyes are so heavy.
Dean nods and looks down, unable to speak. He is so stupid.
The dry air is hurting his head; he won’t be surprised if they get back to the cabin and find Sam with a bloody nose. Kid’s got a fragile sinus. The sooner Dean makes this, the sooner they can get back. He loads fast.
“Sam told me that you went hunting,” John says, tone slipping back to conversational.
“Yeah,” Dean says, grateful as he slides the clip home. “Bobby showed us how to do animal calls.”
“Being able to hunt and eat what you’ve killed is important. For when you have to keep yourself fed, but for building character, too. A hunter should be able to hunt.”
“And fish,” Dean adds. “Hey, we should go again soon.”
John nods, the barest hint of warmth. “My point is, everything you need to survive should be in your power. Your gun is your second most important tool after grit. Even when you won’t know if you will survive, you have to know that you can survive.”
Dean nods, and after a few seconds of silence, he supplies, “Bobby makes good venison chili.” He doesn’t mention that Bobby specifically said John was not invited to any of his suppers.
“You get one?” John asks. “A deer?”
Dean stands slowly, thumbing the safety. He doesn’t click it off, yet, and he keeps it pointed at the ground. Like Bobby keeps cussing him out about. “Not yet.”
“Why not?”
Dean’s mouth is sour, the pit in his stomach is growing again, and somehow he’s sweating. John sounds like he knows the answer why.
Dean clicks the safety off and Dad doesn’t even look twice, just waits. Dean walks back to his spot and gets into position. Behind him, John sighs. He sounds so tired.
“If you can’t even kill a deer, how do you think you’re gonna be able to shoot things that look human?”
Dean aims at the target and tries to breathe. The freeze is in his lungs, now, January’s teeth seizing his insides so every inhale is sharp. The target wavers in his sight as he tries to keep his hands still. It’s just an orange circle. Just a tree stump. Just practice, so he’s fine.
He exhales slowly, finger curling around the trigger. He’s fine and he’s got this.
“I mean, what am I supposed to think, Deanna,” John says lowly, voice pinched with disappointment, “you tell me you want me to treat you like a man, but you can’t even—”
Dean fires, ten rounds in steady, thundering succession until the ringing in his ears drowns out the sound of the chamber clicking empty.
The target is in tatters. He thinks they all landed.
His chest is still tight, and raw, and like maybe something has shaken loose or broken free. With shaking hands, he zips up his jacket, and then he turns and walks to his father’s side.
“It’s Dean,” he says thinly. He clears his throat and adds, “Sir.”
John’s looking at him and Dean can’t make out what’s going on behind his eyes. After a moment he nods, and then jerks his head toward their gear. “Pack up.”
As Dean’s cleaning up—collecting fallen casings and discarded targets, and making sure every gun is unloaded and every safety is on because Sam always pokes around even when they tell him not to—John claps him on the shoulder. His voice is soft again.
“I’m just worried about you, I need you to know that. I want you to be able to take care of yourself and Sammy when I’m not around. This world is mean, and cold, and it’ll tear you apart. I can be hard on you kids…I push you too hard, I know it, and it still won’t be enough to keep you safe. And that kills me.”
John cups the back of his head. Dean meets his eyes and sees a world in there that he can’t begin to fathom. “You did good today, Dean, really good. I don’t want you to think I have any doubts—about how strong you are, and how brave. And I trust I can depend on you, son.”
Somewhere inside Dean, a knot loosens, like he’s finally been allowed to breathe a little. It’s good.
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zukkaart · 7 months
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You want them to live happily ever after? Well I want the grumpy one to cry over the sunshine ones broken and lifeless body because I love drama and am also mentally ill
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youre-only-gay-once · 11 months
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Supernatural ◦ 9×02 ◦ Devil May Care
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Sam does coke in a motel bathroom while blood washes down the drain—he’s not quite sure if it’s his or not
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