just some lil dean/jensen-isms

Watched The Episode™ and this happened.

Day 30: Dress-up Doing This Thing

dean is just like… my whole persona is a performance that was ingrained in me since i was a child. i am terrified of vulnerability. i repress 90% of the thoughts that enter my mind. i love with every fiber of my being. i feel like all i do is feel. i feel like all i do is cry. i feel like all i do is yell. sorrow and happiness are too painful, so i lash out in rage, the only feeling that has become comfortable for me. i hate my father. i love my father. i am terrified of my father. i want to be my father. being like my father is one of my worst fears. trauma has become so normal for me that i don’t know how to function without it. i am ashamed of the things that actually make me happy. my performance has become so second nature that i’m not even sure what actually does make me happy anymore. i love my mother. i hate my mother. i wish my mother lived up to the ideal i had of her in my head. i love my mother for showing me that i’m actually more like her than my father. i cannot fall in love because it will be taken from me. i want to be loved more than anything in this whole world. loving women is easy, comfortable, and i wish i could give the women i’ve loved more of myself. loving men is uncomfortable, terrifying, yet it is unstoppable. i wish i was able to love men more freely. i know god. i’m faithless. i’m in love with an angel. his is the only love of a man i’ve ever experienced to be comforting. my love for my angel is painful. i run from it. i run from him. i want him to stay more than i can possibly say. killing comes easy to me. killing is all i’ve ever known. it’s all i’ve ever been told i was good at. i enjoy killing. i hate myself for enjoying it. a secret part of me wants to be gentle instead. i love my brother. i would die for my brother. i resent my brother because taking care of him is the point of my existence. i don’t know who i am without my brother. sometimes i wish i was able to exist separate from my brother. my love for my brother is what has kept me alive this long. my love for my brother has cost me my life more than once. i want a normal life. i could never have a normal life. a normal life would bore me. i long for it anyway. i am a torturer. i am a savior. i am damned. i am saved. i am a monster. i am a broken man. i am a hero.

(Part Two)

It’s coming “back to my teenage year’s favourite show” time y’all

AU where John Winchester loved his boys just a little bit less and put them up for adoption and they were raised in a healthy, functional home.

They’re good boys. Mischievous, too smart for their own good, scrappy, practically attached at the hip, but good boys. Dean had a hard time adjusting at first, nonverbal and nightmare-ridden from post-traumatic stress, prone to panic attacks when alone, but their adopted parents found the best child psychiatrist they could afford and in time he began to heal, began to break out of his shell. Even when he wasn’t talking his empathy was remarkable, and as he’s grown a whip-smart analytical intellect developed to supplement it.

Dean remembers their birth parents like looming figures seen through smoke, but Sam, Sam grew up in this life, and their adoptive family is the only one he’s ever known. He has a rebellious streak a mile wide and it frustrates no one in the world more than it does Dean (still prone to hovering over or trailing behind him with a dreamlike missive ringing in his ears like the last audible echoes of a scream – Look out for Sammy), but he’s smart and strong and driven, independent and devoted all at once. He has these fits at times, though, and Dr Margaret (now the family psychiatrist) calls them rage attacks but they feel like blisters of thick oil growing and bursting inside him from gut to teeth. Over time he learns to swallow them down til he can go somewhere quiet, like the creek where the brothers chased frogs barefoot and shot BBs at old cans, to give in to the festering dark where he can’t hurt anyone else. Everyone knows sweet, sweet Sammy is the one with the temper. It gets chalked up to adolescence but he knows damned well it’s always been this way and probably always will.

They love to spar. Dean’s fondness of sports shooting tapers off in favour of wrestling and team sports (he loves the rush and competition but not so much the hurting-people part), while Sam is kind of scary good at Krav Maga once he finds a trainer for it (the discipline does him good).

At eighteen Dean is buried in scholarship offers – engineering, business, sports, he has heart and brains and beauty enough that the sky’s the limit – but passes up the Big Important Offers for the chance to stay in town close to home. Maybe he’ll do MIT later on but he just wants to stretch out his time close to family as long as he can. That’s where he’s happy. That’s where he’s safe.

(And, Sam suspects, it might also have something to do with wanting to stay near that one friend he’s been so close to since junior high. He’s been placing bets with himself on when his brother will nut up and ask the guy out for years.)

He takes a summer job as a volunteer firefighter. He has a panic attack the first time he has to go in. Even though Dean’s too old to see Dr Margaret as a patient she helps him through it, helps him overcome, but he decides discretion is the better part of valour. The family supports him in quitting as much as they did when he took the job: “You already saved me from the fire,” Sam tells him, “you don’t have to prove anything.”

Two years later Sam cashes in on his bet. Mom and Dad are a little shocked but Eric’s been like a third son for so long that when he comes over for dinner with Dean and they’re lacing fingers together instead of trading playful punches it’s just another layer of family, just another kind of love.

One year later Sam nearly hyperventilates over his acceptance letter from Stanford. It’s a full ride though their parents would have put up all they could afford and help shoulder his loans even if it wasn’t. Dean’s heart breaks a little, but Sam’s joy is like wildfire and they promise to visit each other even though Palo Alto is so far away. They make good on it, trading off driving (Dean) or flying (Sam) on breaks, keeping tabs in email and, later on, Skype. Sam brings a girl home with him for Dean’s graduation. They all love Jess, of course, instantly, and she’s instrumental in talking Dean into going after his MSE after all. Dean starts placing bets with himself on how long it’ll take til she’s wearing a ring.

They were good boys, and they become good men. Stalwart, too clever for their own good, not so attached at the hip anymore but still close, still mischievous, but good men. Dean soaks up love and radiates it back into everything he does and everyone he knows. Sam harnesses the dark inside him and turns it into a driving passion to do good and right wrongs, and doggedly ignores the nightmares that seem to come out of nowhere – Jess is there to soothe him when he wakes. Neither of them are marksmen, neither have Latin chants memorised; they don’t fear the night or the fire, nor go looking for trouble in them.

So when Azazel comes for Sam six months after his twenty-third birthday none of them are prepared to put up a fight.

He makes a good king.

OUCH

I CANT STOP LAUGHING YOU FUCKING GOT ME YOU ASSHOLE HOW DARE YOU

Fuck…

okay but sam obviously didn’t apply to just stanford, he’d know better than that. he chose stanford because they offered him a full ride, but he probably got in to several ivy league schools and other private ones.

what i’m saying is sam probably had to throw away acceptance letters.

like, rip them up into little pieces, so john and dean wouldn’t be able to tell what they were.

imagine a little almost-eighteen-year-old sam winchester on the bathroom floor of the motel room for the night, clutching a crumpled piece of paper and crying, because it’s a letter from the harvard admissions office and it says “dear mr winchester, we are delighted to inform you…” and he feels stupid for getting excited because no way he could afford it without a scholarship, and he’s gonna have to tear this one up just like the one from brown last week, but he can’t make himself do it yet.

Angel wiggles are a thing Dean must bravely contend with. Let us pray for him.

———————————-

I’m trying to come up with an excuse about why I’ve continued this… but I’ve realized it’s because I am a sad, sad person. ANYWAY HERE IT IS LIKE I SAID ENJOYYYYYYY.

(Pretty please don’t repost | Visit my main account @lizleeillustration | Buy me a Kofi? )

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Bonus closeup:

When he don’t accept the boop

X

The god steps closer, right into Dean’s personal space, and reaches up towards his face. His fingertips ghost along Dean’s cheekbone, then down his jaw, and then strong fingers grip his chin and force him to make eye contact.

“You are my sacrifice?” he asks quietly, and gods, that voice. Dean is putty in his fingers—but he’s not just going to be all soft obedience just because he’s been promised to a god, and for a moment, he forgets himself. The corner of his mouth curls up into a faint smile.

“Have you found anyone else naked in the woods today?”

Hooo boy I had never drawn pagan gods destiel before, even though I LOOOVE the idea, and then @saltnhalo wrote a ficlet in which gold and black markings are involved and I totally jumped on that train like whoa (also the fic is basically smut but my weird ass got turned on by those markings ljsdgf)

(I’m still practicing with anatomy and gold ink and I had some accidents drawing this but overall I’m quite satisfied ? Managed to salvage the look of Castiel’s legs with the markings and what are feet anyway XD)

(Also I tried scanning, and taking a shit ton of different pics with different devices, but it still look like shit I’m so sorry :O)

*fingers crossed* please don’t be flagged please don’t be flagged

A little cup of sunshine in the morning 🌞