Lil wincest edit.

They're a law unto themselves these Winchester boys.

no comment

i’m not immune to dean winchester and i think of him young and alone haunting highways like some sort of doe eyed freckled angel in a leather jacket too big for him and i doubt there was a single person immune to him. he saves your life and hits on you without following through and drives off in a car louder than him and you think maybe god has good and bad days after all

THIS IS SO CUTE IM GONNA CRY RN

I need to ruffle his hair

kissing him kissing him kissing him kissing him kissing him

truly we lost something so special when they took away dean's jewelry

I love you oral fixation boy

he looks like the Final Girl in a slasher movie

do uh. you guys like supernatural? cause i made some new bg3 friends and i see some of yall like spn....and that is the other thing i have a lot of art for. have two of my favorite deans.

Never coming home, never coming home

hey… brothers kissing, ok?

size difference in 2.02, everybody loves a clown

On being an older fangirl

I was probably 10 years old when I first conceived of what was, looking back, fanfiction. Me and my best friend would lie in bed together on sleepovers and I'd make up stories about what happened after the end of our favorite book, "The Westing Game." She'd ask me for more stories, and I'd tell her more, inventing them as I went along. "Then what?" she'd say.

I was 14 when I went to my first convention. I had discovered Star Trek: The Next Generation. It was 1987, and my youth pastor was a huge Trekkie. He took me to a one-day crappy Creation con, but it was amazing to me. I met Nichelle Nichols. My dad showed me the Trek movies. He and I watched TNG together.

When I went to college in 1991, my dad used to videotape TNG episodes onto VHS tapes and mail them to me, so I could keep watching (I didn't have TV in my dorm room).

By the time I was a senior, we had Trek watching parties in the dorm lounge, where the TV had cable. Star Trek: Voyager had started up, and I wrote a column about it for the college newspaper. I joined a mailing list about it, with people in it that I still know today.

I got my first computer that could go online in 1995. I was on newsgroups. I discovered Doctor Who. I went to Trek conventions where we still passed around fanzines containing fic and art and smutty K/S fan creations.

Then it was Harry Potter. Then there were websites. Then there was Geocities, where we could all make our own little spots. We organized them into webrings. We talked on newsgroups and mailing lists. There were fanfic archives. Then there was fanfiction.net.

Then...there was LiveJournal. And we could interact in entirely new ways. We could form communities, and debate things, and fight over canon, and get into ship wars. On LiveJournal, I met my best friend of 22 years. I was in her wedding. She's my sister of the heart (which is what she calls me).

Then there was Tumblr. And Twitter. And now there's Discord. But it's all the same.

I am the same.

I am still that little girl who made up fanfiction in her head to entertain her best friend. I am still the one who was amazed to find communities on the internet - which was so new, so raw, so uncommodified - where others like me could meet. I found there people to meet in real life.

I am still that twentysomething going to her first major convention, being told that someone loved my fic, being asked about my writing process.

I am still that thirtysomething watching something I wrote blow up. Seeing friends from other fandoms find me in new ones, finding them there, too. Forgetting which fandom I know someone from, because I've known them for twenty years.

I still know some of the people who created those early websites, those mailing lists, those archives. I still meet people in new fandoms who say "Oh, I read your fic in [fandom] fifteen years ago!" There's no feeling quite like having someone remember something you wrote for that long. Or meeting someone whose fic meant a lot to YOU, or who you talked with on rec.arts.drwho.creative in 1997.

Aging in fandom is a gift. Being middle-aged in fandom is a joy. Having people who still read what I write and ask "Then what?" is a blessing.

It breaks my heart that so many people see it as something to be ashamed of, when it is one of my life's greatest gifts.

John's not bothered by how close his boys are, in fact, he thinks this is the perfect way to keep them looking out for each other. He knows with the way that they town hop that they can't afford to make any long-lasting connections with people, friends or otherwise. So when Sam is starting to get uppity and is reeling from frustration about not being able to make friends or even consider dating, John is pleased to see that Dean is willing to step in and fill that void for his little brother.

He sees them in the backseat through the rearview mirror, practically glued side by side to each other and he can swear it looks like Sam's hand is in Dean's lap and Dean looks hot in the cheeks, but he says nothing, he just focuses on driving with a little smirk at his lips.

He'd usually give both the boys the beds, but this time he purposefully took one and faced the motel room door with his eyes closed. He hears Dean offer to sleep on the couch but Sam protests quietly, says there's enough room for the both of them and Dean shouldn't have to sleep uncomfortably. He can hear indistinctive soft whispers before it goes quiet, the A/C kicking on and off a few times is the only hum he can hear before he picks up the obvious sounds of lips smacking wet. A mewl. A soft whimper. A soft utterance of 'Sammy' followed by a quiet shush.

He decides to pick up a case the next day, lets the boys know he'll be gone for a couple of days, and leaves them to their own devices, confident that this is all for the best. They need to be each other's everything. It ensured their survival.

just truly bonkers how much i love lying down……….like being horizontal? unparalleled

when Dean went to heaven, he drove till he met Sam. He d r o v e till he met Sam. He didn't care about anyone else. He drove till he met Sam. Do I have to say it more clearly? He didn't look for anyone other than Sam. While Sam lived his life on earth, Dean waited for him. Dean drove down that road until he met Sam. I'm drilling this into you because I can't get over the fact that even tho they spent their whole lives together, Dean was eager to see him immediately again. My heart.

the "oh no my brother is gone" brothers

Dean recognizes Sam’s voice even when he has absolutely no memory of himself or his life experiences.

This is canon. 12x11 Dean is hit with a curse that slowly unravels his memory and we see it slipping away from him—comedically at first, and gut-wrenchingly, later. It gets to the point where he is standing in front the bathroom mirror repeating a mantra to himself “my name is Dean Winchester. Sam is my brother. Mary is my mom. Cas is my best friend.”

We see him repeat this over and over, slowly losing a word or two each time until he is staring at himself, crying and terrified because he can no longer recall his own name or who he is. "My name...my name is...my n-name..."

Then Rowena gets a call from Sam, who shouts out in pain when he is attacked. And Dean Winchester—who at this point CANNOT RECOLLECT HIS OWN NAME—yells out “Sam!” in alarm. There is concern on his face. Concern that has no right to be there because "Dean" doesn't exist anymore and cannot possibly know the voice on the other end of the phone. But he does.

If that isn’t proof of a cosmic, soul-deep connection I don’t know what possibly could be. I would know you anywhere everywhere. I would know you in death. I would know you even if I wasn’t me anymore. You are more a part of me than I am.

And then when Sam and the witch they’re hunting come into the room and Dean is pointing his gun at both of them, Sam points himself out as “Brother” and then points out the witch and Dean trusts him, without question or hesitation.