headcanon: mary was the one to get john into classic rock since he was way too clean-cut soldier boy
all the tapes in the impala were hers
Dean Winchester, season 1-season 8
he’s a baby at the start and then omg aw
“salt, cat’s eye shells — he was worried, trying to keep something from coming in.”
oh my god
i can’t believe i missed this for all this time
the woman in white was going after john.
interesting how the woman in white goes after unfaithful people combined with the imagery of their lack of intimacy at the beginning
also constance goes after sam even though he says he has not been unfaithful
but i think he has—with his lies to jessica. he has not kept faith with her.
I really wasn’t supposed to spend three days on this.
I really like the theory that Naomi is actually one of the Fates; I picked Lachesis because she’s the one who measures the length of a soul’s life, and is said to choose a person’s destiny after a thread is measured. That’s why her lowered right hand is made of sewing, crocheting, and leatherworking tools. The gold threads she’s manipulating are the puppet-strings of heaven. The albatross head is a reference to the Rhyme of the Ancient Mariner, and the shadows on the human face are in the shape of a spade in reference to the Queen of Spades in French tarot.
There’s an omega sign in her ribcage to indicate she’s sort of the last resort of heaven; the upside down cross is St. Peter’s Cross, to show her reluctance to claim true divinity. Her raised left hand is decked out in surgical tools that she uses as a physician of angels, in Castiel’s “recovery” in particular. Her wings are a shattered mirror as a reflection of Heaven’s poor condition and also her own enigmatic duplicity.
TL;DR: I just have a lot of Naomi feels okay
supernatural + art history: nocturne for michael and lucifer
james abbott mcneill whistler, nocturne in black and gold - the falling rocket, 1874, oil on canvas
For Heaven’s commanding general and the ruler of Hell. For the sons who adored their Father, and only differed in how they showed it. For the brothers who loved each other and betrayed each other, and in doing so decimated all of Creation with their rage and grief.
coming online to discussion of tender!dean/cas is— is pretty much all I could have asked for!! favourite trope or favourite trope
as much as i love wall-slamming and scratching and biting and rough dangerous fucking, burning off a haze of adrenaline after a hunt or a fight or if one’s been gone a while— if they’re starved of one another and slam themselves into one another like crash test cars and just take boundlessly—
some of my favourite dean/cas scenarios are just these; the rarity of having time to take time for themselves.
dean being laid out on his stomach on some rickety motel bed, bare and prone and vulnerable in every way, and cas’s hands mapping the familiar dips and planes of his back with loving calculation, working out the knots worn into his shoulderblades by the hardships of the day in slow circles of his thumb joints
cas covering dean’s body with his own and pressing reverent little kisses to every inch that’s scarred, every place where the memory of violence has strung muscle tight, ghosting his lips across each white roping score into his flesh, soothing a body so starved for gentle touch
dean is an inherently physical creature, and there’s a lot of potential for nonverbal communication in someone looking after him for once, giving him refuge in a reassurance of commitment and care in every roll of cas’s body against his, every gentle word murmured into his ear
and finally reaching the point that as they slot their bodies and ease long, deep presses of cas’s hips against the backs of dean’s thighs, for a while to themselves, he even feels an illusion of safety. when there’s nothing but the sound of the radiator and cars occasionally passing by outside and slow, heavy breathing punctuated with needy little whines leaking out around throaty repetitions, pleads, praises of cas’s name that are echoed right back in quiet, ragged counterpoint
and just— the idea of dean coming to let himself be taken care of, to take this, especially considering cas so wholly wants to give it
PLEASE, YES, PLEASE. Dean’s body has known so much violence, years, decades of it. It has been torn, beaten, split, broken, sacrificed time and time again. But Dean remembers every moment when he’s felt tenderness too, known a gentle touch, a kiss pressed against once-swollen flesh, a hand holding him in kindness instead of violence.
#oh honeys ‘what broke the connection’ #‘i don’t know’ #no you don’t because it doesn’t make sense #none of it has ever made sense #why castiel turned his back on a lifetime of faith in god and fellowship in heaven #for some idiot who sings off-key to music that sounds a bit like a garbage truck doing a collection run #why dean trusts something that isn’t human so completely #even after he betrays you breaks your brother and disappears for months at a time #why dean kneels on the floor of that crypt and begs #(‘cas — no. cas…cas!’) #for cas to not land the killing blow #but he leans into the touch and fists a handful of that trenchcoat anyways #it just doesn’t make sense. #except maybe it’s starting to #(‘you heard me didn’t you?’) #(‘yes i heard you’) #he told you what it meant for him to pray #‘it’s the same as begging’ #so when he’s begging at your feet with the sound of his bones breaking still grating against your vessel’s eardrums #and the sound of him choking on his own blood fills the crypt like rising water #he’s praying #you /idiot/ he’s praying #and you make sense of it by figuring out who he’s praying to and for #… #oh no i made myself very very sad #:( (via divachester)
Sam Winchester is hard to describe. He’s enigmatic, mysterious. You think you have him all figured out and then he does something that makes you even more confused.
For me, it’s not confusion. It’s intrigue, it’s me enraptured with everything this character encompasses. It’s his stubbornness and pride that gets him into trouble. His one of a kind faith when everyone else has long since lost hope. His unwavering love and devotion for his brother. His tendency for self-preservation which are his most endearing human qualities. His enormous amount of guilt he carries around. His sadness at fighting with his father before he died, his despair and insanity when Dean finally dies.
His tendency to help others even though he’s too broken to help himself. Whenever he hides secrets out of wanting to help someone else. How he assumes everyone always has it worse. How he jumped into the pit to save the world and his brother.
His unwavering love, compassion, determination, stubbornness sympathy, kindness, understanding, pride, guilt, anger, resentment, faith all makes up his amazingly complex character. Sure he’s an enigma. Maybe he’s too hard to figure out, we’ve heard characters on the show admit as much but once you do. Once you get one little peek inside that head you’ll never want to leave. He’s such a genuinely interesting, complex TRUE human character down to his core that it always amazes me when people claim not to love him. How can you not? He’s the most human of them all. His traits so characteristic of humanity it’s hard not to sympathize with him.
Most of all it’s hard not to love how he loves without judgement. He understands love is hard, he’s gotten burned in that department more times than I can count but he keeps coming back. Loving Dean with every fiber of his being, accepting and loving Castiel despite everything he did, loving Bobby until his last breath, appreciating and loving John even more since he has fallen, loving Mary even after discovering her mistake that damned him. His ability to love those who have hurt him, his ability to forgive and overlook errors yet be so harsh on himself makes him a truly amazing character.
You are beautiful like demolition. Just the thought of you draws my knuckles white. I don’t need a god. I have you and your beautiful mouth, your hands holding onto me, the nails leaving unfelt wounds, your hot breath on my neck. The taste of your saliva. The darkness is ours. The nights belong to us. Everything we do is secret. Nothing we do will ever be understood; we will be feared and kept well away from. It will be the stuff of legend, endless discussion and limitless inspiration for the brave of heart. It’s you and me in this room, on this floor. Beyond life, beyond morality.
— Solipsist, Henry Rollins