john my bby

lillysilverus  asked:

It makes me incredibly sad that the show, intentionally or unintentionally, has seemed to establish that Sam really has no real connection to his Father or his Mother. They've gone out of their way to show that Dean is a Mary clone. And although it's been pointed out that Sam is like John, he barely had anything but a contentious relationship with him. Jared's portrayal of Sam's obvious need to be understanding and ...good, I guess... whenever she's around just breaks my heart.

Thanks for the lovely message! I hear ya!

Season 12 went waaaaaaay out of its way to make sure we knew Mary was very much like Dean as a person and hunter (loud music, burgers and beer, etc). When it comes right down to it, though, she has so many things in common with Sam. Her desire to escape from hunting and her failure to do so and her use of hunting in s12 as a coping method not least among them. Her brainwashing/loss of agency and shame for things that are not her fault are also things Sam has experienced—things they could have discussed and connected about.

It wouldn’t bother me at all if Mary were superficially just like Dean if it wasn’t for the fact that Sam never even really got to have a meaningful conversation with her. Even the Sam-related-conversations went down between Mary and Dean. In the very beginning of the season, Mary brought up Azazel…

to Dean.

At the end of the season, Dean shared Sam’s experiences with Mary. Dean had the “will he forgive me” conversation with her, and Sam only showed up at the end to give her a hug.

As for John… the show has revealed that Dean shares (among other things) his hunting ideology and his estimation of the heroism and glory of hunting with John, but… Sam is repeatedly compared to John throughout the story by other characters, especially after Jessica’s death, which always struck me as appropriate on a surface level but not particularly accurate. I suppose, in a lot of ways, the repeated comparisons of Sam to John strike me as more unsettling than the show’s unwillingness to align Sam with either parent. Sam’s similarities to John (as we saw him in s1) are superficial at best, yet the show persists in comparing them.

I suppose there’s an exception: a comparison that brings me true joy is Henry’s comparison of Sam to John in a deleted scene from s8.

Because… Henry only knows John as his very young son, smart and curious and loving, a Legacy, a future Man of Letters, destined to gather and share knowledge. Henry knows John Winchester as his son brimming with kindness and possibility, not as the exhausted, sad, and desperately vengeful man he became after his wife’s murder.

Henry looked at Sam and saw a Man of Letters, someone destined to be passionate about learning, and that makes me so freaking happy.

Honestly, forget John and Mary, complex and fascinating characters though they are. Dean can share their legendary hunting skills (though Sam is for sure a legendary hunter) and their ideologies and their preferences when it comes to food and drink and the upkeep of their classic cars.

Sam is a lot like his heroic, kind paternal grandfather, and that makes me the happiest person in the world.

and you drive me wild

Wow, I can’t believe it, but we’ve reached the end! I really hope you kiddos have enjoyed this fic even half as much as I’ve enjoyed writing it! Thank you so much for reading it! It’ll be posted to Ao3 in its entirety soon! <333 (Read the rest of the story here!) 

PART SIXTEEN: How lucky we are to be alive right now!

One Month Later

“It landed on you so you have to!” Angelica declared, grinning at Eliza and Maria in turn.

All of the friends were gathered at the Schuyler’s for game night once again, and, this time, they actually got to play the games. Right now they were playing spin-the-bottle, and, while he couldn’t prove it, Alexander was pretty positive that Angelica had somehow rigged it so Eliza’s spin would land on Maria.

Eliza’s face blushed a deep red as her eyes met Maria’s. “Are you okay with us––” Eliza was cut off by Maria lunging forward and locking her lips over the other girl’s.

Eliza’s eyes went wide at first but then shut, a dreamy look overtaking her face. When Maria pulled away Eliza gently touched her own lip, where the remnants of Maria’s rose-colored lipstick lingered.

Maria moved over to Eliza, sitting next to her–– and much closer than she absolutely had to–– and they held hands for the remainder of the game.

Alexander leaned against John, his boyfriend of two weeks now, and let his eyes drift shut. He felt one of John’s warm hands take his, John’s thumb rubbing small circles over the back of Alex’s hand. He listened to Herc’s booming laughter and heard Laf’s flustered protests and knew without even peeking that Laf’s spin had landed on Angelica, who he’s had the most obvious crush on since the moment he met her, and probably even before then, somehow. But that was Angelica. Nearly everyone had a crush on her.

There was a silent moment, then burst of whistles and cheers and applause, and Alex smiled to himself, loving the feeling of being surrounded by his friends’ happiness and laughter; of being next to John.

John.

John, who, against all odds, was his.

After that day at the diner, John slowly seemed to grow happier and happier. He never said it, but Alex was sure it had at least something to do with the fact that Henry Laurens was now doing his absolute best to support his son.

In the last car commercial Alexander saw (because yes, of course he still watched them every night) John had been wearing a black t-shirt with a rainbow heart over the chest pocket along with a face-eating grin, making that commercial the most liberal thing to air on Fox News maybe ever.

John nudged Alex with his shoulder, jostling the other boy out of his dream-like state. “It’s your turn,” he said with a smirk.

Alexander grinned back at John and took the bottle in hand, turning it until it pointed at John. Angelica protested that that was entirely unfair how could he!, Laf and Herc whistled, and Peggy snickered.

“This isn’t seven minutes in heaven, you guys,” Peggy said after five seconds.

Alex pulled away and winked at John.

“My turn!” Peggy declared, even though it wasn’t her turn. But nobody said no to Peggy. Who knew what she would do if they did.

She gave it a good spin and cackled when it landed on Adrienne. “Imma steal your girl,” she said to Laf and Herc.

Hercules rolled his eyes, but Laf actually looked a little defensive. Peggy narrowed her eyes at him.

“You literally just kissed my sister.”

“That is not the same thing!” he exclaimed.

Peggy winked at him. “No, it’s not, but oh well!” She looked at Adrienne who giggled as she crawled forward to meet Peggy halfway. They shared a chaste kiss, but it was enough to get Laf a little bothered, which seemed to be Peggy’s goal.

Peggy leaned toward Laf and whispered “That was for lying to me about the lizard.”

Everyone gave Lafayette a confused look. He simply shrugged. “I needed her help and I knew she wouldn’t come without… incentive.”

“Next time you say there’s a lizard, there better be a lizard, or Imma kiss your boyfriend next.” Peggy winked at Herc, who seemed a little bit flustered. Laf waved her away.

“Okay, let’s get back to the game,” Angelica suggested. “Now, whose turn was it really?”

And so they continued to play, all of them content–– happy. Alexander gripped John’s hand, and John squeezed back, both of them buoyed by their friends’ laughter, by each other.

*THE END*

“Oh man, I really love dancing. I think it’s a great way to let go and bounce around. Dancing was a great way to really get back on top of things in those days (‘97). The most difficult thing about quitting drugs is becoming 'normal’ again. Your mind and body are so used to the stuff that, when you are clean, you feel you are a boring, superficial and useless person. There was a period of nine months in which I had the feeling that I couldn’t express myself in a way that was really John Frusciante. The only way in which I could express myself was dancing. I had a pretty big living room and the whole day I was dancing to music that I liked, whether it was Black Sabbath, The Cure or something else, no dance music in any case. I almost literary translated the music and lyrics into visual things in a way that made sense to me. For about three months dancing was my main activity. And at the end of that period I was myself again. Then I was ready to quit everything: even smoking pot and drinking wine, 'cause I had started doing a lot of that again. I felt ready to try my best at leading a normal life.”

- John Frusciante

Shepard Twins Aesthetic

You don’t meet people like this everyday, their actions are accompanied by their “twin magic” - they’re different yet same, they have fights yet they’d risk their life for the other. No one really knows how they cooperate with their clashing personalities and classes - have you ever seen a vanguard working like this with an infiltrator? I haven’t, well until now.
Maybe it’s because they were looking out for each other since they were kids, the life they had before the military strengthened their bond. That bond cannot be broken and that bond they have is more dangerous than any weapon in the universe.

this is my newest background for my desktop - hopefully these adorable dorks will inspire me not to fail all of my assessment this term

2

“Sometimes when I hear players nowadays, it sounds like all their inward pain comes out through their music, like they have a strong desire to prove they’re better than everybody else. It’s as if their insecurity about inadequate penis size comes through their guitar playing. But to me, that’s not what makes a musician “better.” For example, I think that “Three Hours Past Midnight,” by Johnny “Guitar” Watson, from the ‘50s, is the greatest guitar solo of all time. It’s just mean-as-shit-sounding, like he’s just playing with his middle finger, and it makes me want to get violent. To me, that’s what a great musician is. That’s what was so beautiful about the punk rock movement. It had nothing to do with how “good” you were, or how much time you had to practice. It was just an expression of their lives.”

- John Frusciante