yes sammy

“Woah, Sammy. Who is that hot chick checking in?” Dean asks, totally entranced by the woman’s beauty.

“That’s your wife, Dean.” Sam rolls his eyes, knowing how this charade went down every time.

“Yes, Sammy. That is my wife. I’m married to that!“ Dean grins proudly from where he is standing.

“Yeah, and she’s married to that.” Sam says, looking Dean up and down while giving him a sour facial expression.

“Hey-! Now go park baby while I go remind my wife  that she’s mine.” Dean winks, and stalks off. Throwing his keys behind him, not even turning around to see his brother struggle with keeping everything together.


Obedience training - retrieving the dumbbell 🐶.

He is doing really good, only the speed is a thing we must work on.
I am really so proud that he does not chew when he holds the dumbbell or let it fall.
Sammy, your human is so proud.
The next step will be a hurdle (jumping over it, take it, jump back and into heel start position).

SPN Finale First Thoughts

Honestly are me and @amwritingmeta the only ones so gleeful over these two episodes?! 

 - ALL the PERFORMING!DEAN walls coming down 

- Dean “we kick ass, we saved the world” YES

- Dean letting Sammy go and textualising the fact that he was his parent and it wasn’t fair  now letting him grown up, this letting Sam go and letting himself loose too, to pursue his OWN ends (gee, I wonder what those could be!)

-The end of the toxic bro dependency 


 - Dean saying on numerous occasions how Cas is important to him 

 - Dean reconciling his past and present, acknowledging the bad and good in Mary and himself 

- The Nephilim is not declared good or evil as it has to be its CHOICE - ALL THE DESTIEL

 - Sam as MoL leader YESSSSSSSSS 

- the Nephilim not portrayed as good or bad yet


Originally posted by xnsietyscxrs


Anakin Skywalker is six years old.  He’s just been bought for the very first time.  He can still hear the auctioneer’s voice listing off his best features as the hands and claws of the buyers in the audience reached above their heads.  Taurani, the Phindian man who’d just bought him and his mother, prods Anakin in the back, gently pushing him towards a bodyguard.  The bodyguard ties thin chains around his and his mother’s wrists, and they follow the Phindian (now mounted on the back of some animal whose species Anakin does not recognize) to their new living area.  Through his sandals, Anakin can feel the hot sand.  When he steps into a deeper spot, it seeps into his shoes and scratches his toes.  

Anakin is eight years old.  He’s finished his work for the day, and Watto has agreed to let him go outside for awhile before the household retires.  It’s a rare grey day on Tatooine, and Anakin sits quietly under the awning of the shop building, letting the faint trace of a breeze tickle his cheek.  His fingers absentmindedly rake through the sand and trace delicate plans for his new android project into the coarse crumbs.  He’d seen his mother beaten in the market earlier.  He hates this place.  He hates the Sand People, the slavers, the shopkeepers.  Angrily, he swipes his hand through his sandy blueprints and trudges into his work shed.  Building will help him to calm down.

Anakin is ten years old.  Three people had visited the shop today.  A man and a girl.  There’d been an alien with them, too.  He hadn’t recognized his species, but the creature might have been the stupidest thing he’d ever met.  The older man was kind, though.  At least, he’d been kind to Anakin.  But the girl was the person he remembered best.  She’d been older than him, but she wasn’t an adult.  She’d been beautiful.  Anakin was sure she’d been an angel, even after she said she wasn’t.  That was the kind of thing an angel would say.  He sighed, and continued to sweep the shop floor.  He grimaced.  He hated the sand.  There wasn’t a single other trivial thing like it that could make life so miserable.  He thought about the visitors again.  They’d been interesting, sure.  They had also tracked all kinds of sand in, and it could be impossible to clean up sometimes. 

Anakin is twelve years old.  Master Kenobi has taken him, along with a half dozen other Padawans, to a planet called Illum.   They’re going to start building their lightsabers today.  Master Kenobi had knocked on their shared dorm’s door the night before and told them to dress warmly.  Stepping off of the transport, Anakin understands why.  It’s an ice planet.  He shivers.  At least it’s not a desert.  Then he steps outside.  Snow.  Snow, up to his knees.  No, he thinks.  This is just a different kind of desert.  Cold instead of hot.  Snow instead of sand.  It wasn’t that different at all.  The more he thought about it, the more the snow reminded him of sand.  It had the same cruel, visceral nature to it.  Always hindering, never helpful.  It could look beautiful and appealing, at least until your feet were burning with pain.  Both powdery substances got everywhere, too.  You couldn’t escape it.  At least the snow melted.  But the sand… he would have sworn before the Jedi High Council that he’d been brushing sand out of his hair even a year after he’d left Tatooine.  He shivers, and stares down at his damp boots, kicking a frozen clump of snow in no particular direction. He hopes that his group won’t have to be here long.  

Anakin is fourteen.  He and Master Kenobi are dueling in the temple of the courtyard.  It’s pitch black outside, the way it usually is at two in the morning.  Master Kenobi had said they came out to fight this late because it would help Anakin to rely on the Force, but Anakin was fairly sure it was because Obi-Wan didn’t want to be seen.  Strictly speaking, Anakin wasn’t old enough to duel his master yet.  He steps forward, brandishing his lightsaber to deflect Obi-Wan’s blow.  His foot lands solidly on the stone floor, and he can’t help but remember sliding when he tried to stick a difficult piece of footing on Tatooine.  The sand would give way under him, dragging his whole body down with it.  He’d lost fights that way before.  He couldn’t count the number of black eyes and broken noses the traitorous sand had cost him.  Taking advantage of his Padawan’s distractedness, Obi-Wan forces him backwards, with Anakin folding his back in such a way that he can’t react to anything his Master does without Obi-Wan moving first.  Anakin doesn’t mind losing too much.  He’d lost to his own emotion.  The ground had nothing to do with it.  There was no sand here.  

Anakin is sixteen.  He slumps against the headboard of his bed, one knee  drawn up in front of him and the other stretched out with the rest of his leg.  He doesn’t know how much longer he can deal with being banished to his quarters.  He’s in trouble with the Council again.  Obi-Wan stuck up for him during the proceedings (the way he always does), but in the end, the Council had still decided he must be punished.  He’s been grounded and his lightsaber has been temporarily revoked.  He glances at the time display on the wall.  He only has three more days of a two week sentence to serve.  He sighs, and gracelessly drops off the bed and into a siting position, legs crossed, hands resting on his thighs with his palms facing the ceiling.  He closes his eyes and focuses.  Obi-Wan told him to meditate during his confinement, so he will.  How long he’s under, he doesn’t know, but when he opens his eyes, half the objects in his room are floating.  He grins, and plucks a grain of sand that’s floating about eye-level out of the air.  He stares at it a moment, remembering Tatooine.  He’s not grinning anymore.  Despite the evening breeze wafting through the courtyard and into his window,  Anakin can suddenly feel an intense heat on the nape of his neck.  His floor seems to shimmer with the reflection of two suns beating down on golden sands.  Long-forgotten scars across his body begin to tingle with a phantom pain that Anakin recognizes as the sharp sting of being caned. Caning had been his first master’s favored method of punishment, and the wounds he’d left on his young slave’s skin had never truly healed. Despite being mental rather than pyhsical, the pain makes Anakin wince, pulling him out of his memories. He drops the grain of sand and lets it fall. A long sigh forces itself out from behind his teeth. He doesn’t move from his seat on the floor for a long time.  

Anakin is eighteen.  Padmé - no, Senator Amidala - has come back into his life for the first time in eight years.  She still looks like an angel.  She also refuses to give him the time of day, which hurts, but at the same time… he’s a Jedi.  She’s a senator.  Their stars crossed the wrong way, he decides, and tries not to linger on it.  He fails.  Obi-Wan senses something wrong with him, and Anakin knows.  Thankfully, Obi-Wan has left him alone so far.  Anakin finds himself thumbing his lightsaber more often than usual, as if to remind himself of his duty.  Duty.  Duty to what?  Who was to say he couldn’t leave whenever he wanted?  He was tired of the council, anyway.  Tired of the endless picking at him, tired of their constant warring with the Chancellor, tired of their infinite rules and regulations.  Sometimes he wished he could just toss his lightsaber away and leave it all behind.  Or maybe take his lightsaber with him, he didn’t know.  But where would he go?  The Order was all he knew now.  He certainly couldn’t go back to Tatooine.  He’s spent too many years surrounded by civilized people and clean buildings and healthy children and stone paths.  To go back to the suns and the sand… he can’t do that now.  But sometimes he wishes he could.

Sammy Lawrence: *takes a deep breath*

Sammy Lawrence: I lo-

Anyone who has spent five seconds around Sammy ever: yes, you love the demon bendy, we know, you love bendy so much, he’s the light of your life, you love him so much, you just love the demon bendy, we KNOW, you love bendy you fucking love bendy ok we know, we get it, YOU LOVE BENDY. WE GET IT.

The Things She Carried

Part 4. Human After All

Dean x Reader

Masterpost with all the parts

Summary: Dean meets a huntress. Well, he would define her a robot. At least until he gets to know her…

Word Count: 1700+

Warnings: Potentially triggering for those who have lost their mom.

Tags: @mrswhozeewhatsis @daydreamingintheimpala @mysoul4dean @thing-you-do-with-that-thing @amoreagron @spnfangirl1965 @aristtewinchesterholmes @thisisthelilith @chelsea072498 @aiaranradnay @skymoonandstardust @apeshit7x @anokhi07 @tatortot2701 @jerkbitchidjitassbutt @mangasia @squirrellover1967@sharkeeshark @maui137 @electricbluecas @kazchester-fanfiction @gabavaldman @riversong-sam @lavieenlex @zanthiasplace @holywaterbucketchallenge @soullessbabee @loricwizardbluetoastedcake @extreme-supernatural-lover @imissyoualittlemoreeveryday @barneybrigade @iliketowrite02 @itschelseabennett @mogaruke @stormisamystery

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Let Me Help

Word count: 965

Warning: smut, blowjob, some fluff

Pairing: Sam Winchester x Reader

Summary: Sam is feeling embarrassed and frustrated so Y/N helps him out.

A/N: Sorry it’s short but it does go in to quite a bit of detail for what it is.

“For fuck’s sake!” Sam yelled from across the table, slamming his laptop closed and hitting his fist off of the table. You could see that your boyfriend was stressed out and you knew why; both of you were struggling to find any lore that would help you with your case, even though you had been looking for at least 3 hours now.

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“I mean, I’m sorry, I didn’t try it though…want me to pour you another?”

Requested by: 18tails

Wild Animal ~Freaky February~ (S.W)

Prompt: So I did something different, I took a story from years ago, that was posted on another blog (I wrote it, promise!!), and I edit it. This is the story.

Pairing: Sam x Reader

Word Count: 680

Warning: None

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Characters: Dean, Sam, reader, John

Warnings: swearing, arguing, angst

Word count: 4241

Summary: your childhood is taken away from you when three hunters decide to take your father. When you decide it’s time to get your revenge, you learn that maybe not everything is what you believed it was.

A/N: this is for @mamaredd123 birthday writing challenge. I’ve used quotes from the TV show I was given (Revenge) and they are highlighted in bold ((If anyone wants a part 2 to this just let me know because there’s a bit of a cliffhanger ending))

Three years old. That’s all you were.

It was only you and your father because your mother had left you both when you were born. He never explained why she did it but you wanted to forget about her, all that mattered to you was him. He was a single father raising the child of the women he loved that had left him. You thought that any other man would have just left their child at a foster home and took off. That’s why you adored your father so much; he stayed even when it wasn’t the easy option.

It was a normal day, or so you thought. You called out for your father when you heard a noise come from the living room. You were in your room when you heard a cry from downstairs. Although your father had previously had a talk with you about what to do in situations like this, just locking the door and waiting for him to come and get you seemed pointless. You were three years old, but you were brave.

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Just Once (Part 2) // SHAWN MENDES

Once I go to open the door I look back at him as he gives me a wavering look, begging me not to leave.

“Don’t worry, I’m sure you’ll forget I was ever here in the first place,” with that remark I slam the door shut.

The amount of tears I had shed since the day I walked out the front door of our shared home could fill the lake on the other side of town. I just couldn’t seem to stop. As much as I wanted to seem strong and not depend on Shawn, there was a tear in my heart that ice cream and chocolate just couldn’t seem to patch it up.

I missed him. Terribly. My thoughts consumed by his ruffled curls, eyes the color of my chocolate ice cream, well, what ever was left of it as I had consumed mostly all of it. It hurt the most to know he was probably over it by know and was living his life, carefree and happy, while I sat on the couch owned by my best friend, wallowing through out every day in sadness and misery. I needed to get out. 

Sammy?” I call, my voice echoing throughout the quiet apartment.

“Yeah?” her muffled voice says back. 

“Wanna go to the bar tonight?” The sound of rushed footsteps resonate as she rushes down the stairs, her head peaks around the corner eyeing me suspiciously.  

“You want to go out? You?” She asks bewildered. She comes over resting a hand against my forehead. “You coming down with something, Hun?” I shove her hand of me giggling. 

“I want to get drunk, like really drunk,” I say determinedly. Sammy just grins at me.

“Is this the next faze of I quote operation-get-over-Shawn?” I smile sheepishly. 


“Lets do this!” Sammy squeals, running back up stairs to where I presume she will ponder many outfit choices for tonight. 

Lets do this.


It was around 8:15 when we got out the taxi and walked though the doors of the bar. The scent of alcohol and sweat greets me, people already on the crowded dance floor. 

“You go find a seat and I’ll get some beers,” Sammy shouts over the thudding music. 

I nod and watch as her body disappears within the swarm of people all looking to have a good time. I turn away moving to the more deserted part of the club where tables were placed, most of them taken. 

This is what I need, I try to tell myself but my nerves are on overdrive and my hands can’t seem to stop shaking. This place, this was where Shawn and I used to go when we were together.

I lean my head against my hand, looking out the clouded windows. Smart decision, choosing a bar that holds so many memories.

“Your beer,” Sammy says placing them on the table. I take a gulp, the cold liquor making my face scrunch in disgust. I never liked beer. Tonight though, I didn’t care what it was as long as it did its job.

“Thanks,” I say, my hands begin to peel at the label on the bottle.

“Mmm,” she hums, eyes scanning the room. “Lets dance,” Sammy says abruptly, standing up. 

“But we just sat down..” I trail off.

“And you look like your dog just died. Y/n, we came here for you to forget about Shawn. If he was here wouldn’t you want him to see you happy, dancing and just having a good time rather than looking like you were about to start crying?” she frowns at me. 

I pause. “You’re right,” I get up.

“Yes y/n!” Sammy cheers pulling me to the dance floor an into the clump of people. We begin to dance, moving to the beat of the music, and I can’t help but laugh, finally feeling a flicker of happiness I haven’t felt in a while. 

I’m three quarters through my beer when Sammy has disappeared with a guy. It usually happens when we go out so I was used to it. It didn’t bother me that I was left with my beer and the music. 

Chugging the last of it I made my way back to the bar, ordering my second, when I’m approached by a guy.

“Tommy” he shouts over the music that’s still as deafening as ever.

“Y/N” I shout, offering my hand for him to shake. This is good, talking to other men.

“How are you?” He grins. 

“ Good thanks, yourself ?”  I call back, smiling at him.

“Awesome, even more so now I’m talking to you,” He says, his blue eyes twinkling.  I giggle, grabbing the beer the bartender passes me.

“So what brings you here?” I ask, looking at the crowd before looking back at him but a figure catches my eye, causing me to do a double take.

My eyes met familiar caramel ones over the guy’s shoulder whose name I’ve forgotten. He’s here, in the same bar. The pain crashes into me repeatedly like waves against the shore. 

Of course he is. Shawn looks just the same as ever. Hair pushed back off his forehead in a tumbling mess, olive long sleeved shirt hugging his body and tight black skinny jeans adorning his legs. God, he looked good.

“Gotta go,” I say, walking around Tommy and heading straight for Shawn. I don’t know if it was the alcohol or if the misery I had been feeling heightened the loneliness I felt but when I saw Shawn all I wanted to do was wrap my arms around his waist and not let go. 

A group of people pass in front of me and he’s gone for a second. That second however, was all I needed to realise what I was doing. Why was I going up to him? We hadn’t talked in over 3 weeks and as soon as I see him I go crawling back like a lost puppy.

I made my getaway, rushing straight for the door of the club. Cool air slaps me in the face as I quickly walk down the street. 

“Y/N” Shawn calls, his voice still sending shivers down my spine.

I don’t stop until a hand wraps around my wrist, turning me around.

“What Shawn?” I ask impatiently, not meeting his eyes.

“I…I saw you in there, then you left. I just wanted to check you were okay?” he asks and I finally look at him. His eyes weren’t red, he didn’t have bags under his eyes nor was his hair disheveled in a way which might suggest he had been stressed or upset. I knew Shawn like the back of my hand and this Shawn wasn’t heartbroken. 

“I’m doing fine what about you?” I ask my voice trembling the slightest. He opens his mouth to respond when a voice cuts him off. 

“Shawn what are you doing out here? Its cold,” A female appears behind him, wrapping one hand around his forearm. “Oh hi, I’m Jess,” She says noticing me.

“Oh god you have a girl?” is the first thing the blurts out of my mouth. It felt like someone had punched me in the stomach. “Of course you have a girl, you’re Shawn Mendes,” 

Shawn looks at me, his face one of guilt. Jess stands there awkwardly before tugging at Shawn’s arm.

“Come on, lets go back in where its warm,” Her voice feathery soft. I feel like I’m going to be sick.

“Yeah go inside, don’t want you to catch a cold or anything,” I say bitterly, not being able to stand the sight of them together. 

“Y/N” Shawn says taking a step forward reaching out to me.

“Go Shawn, Jess wants to go inside,” I say, playing with the hem of my dress.

He looks like he doesn’t know what to do.

I smile at him. “Go be happy, I told you that you would forget about me,” My eyes prickle with tears. Don’t cry.

As long as you’re sure you’re okay?” Shawn asks, his eyes soft and pleading for me to confide in him.

I nod my head once and they turn away making their way back to the bar, Shawn hesitant to leave at first. I watch as they walk off, Shawn’s arm looping over her shoulders like he used to do to me.

“God I’m so not okay,” I whisper to myself as I turn away, finally letting the first tear fall. That was the second biggest mistake I’ve made in my life, letting him walk away from me. The first was not fighting for him.

Originally posted by thugshawn

Until Tomorrow Comes

Read on AO3

“Alright,” Sam announces, tipping his empty in Dean and Cas’s direction. “I’m heading to bed. See y’all in the morning.” He claps Cas on the shoulder before he heads out, leaving Dean and Cas alone in the relative silence of the war room.

Cas is the first to speak. He leans forward, adjusting his jacket, setting his beer on the table. “You should get some rest, Dean. It’s been a long day.”

Pursing his lips, Dean nods. “Prob’ly,” he mutters, draining the last of his beer. He watches Cas for a moment, as if expecting more conversation. When Cas says nothing, he sighs and stands. “What’re you gonna do? Angels don’t sleep.” They gave Cas his own room, but Dean often hears shuffling in the halls at night. He’s not really sure what Cas does all night.

Cas stands, shrugging. “I read, mostly.” Dean watches as Cas glances toward the library. “This bunker has a great deal of interesting books.” When he turns to Dean, he offers the slightest hint of a smile. “I like it.”

Unsure of what more to say, Dean nods again. He pats Cas’s shoulder as he passes, still clutching his beer bottle, and mumbles a “goodnight, Cas.”

“Goodnight, Dean.”

The reverence in Cas’s voice freezes Dean in his tracks. He turns to find Cas, still bloody and bruised, watching him with a soft smile. It makes Dean’s heart ache. Suddenly, guilt washes over him. For how he’s treated Cas since Billie. Hell, for how he’s treated Cas for years. “Cas,” he starts, retracing his steps toward the angel. The closer he gets, the bluer Cas’s eyes seem to be. “Look, I…” he reaches past him and sets his empty bottle on the table. Their chests nearly touch. When he stands upright, he moves in closer and lays his hands on Cas’s shoulders, his thumbs brushing the place his skin meets his shirt collar. “I meant what I said earlier. All of it, really. I’m worried. For a lot of things. Mostly, though,” he hesitates and swallows, his throat suddenly dry. “Mostly for you.”

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missvirginie100  asked:

*Stands next to him* Heyy, can I keep you company? :3

>Sammy seems a lot less goopy than the last time he appeared… could his physical stability be linked to his current state of mind?

Anything for my babygirl

Title: Anything for my babygirl

Author: @jensen-jarpad

Characters: Dean x Daughter!Reader, Uncle!Sam

Word Count: 1020

Warnings: None

A/N: This was written for Nicole’s YouAU Challenge ( @iwantthedean ) . I hope I did this right! lol

The reader is almost 6 year’s old. And this is almost everything from Dean’s POV.

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