HAUSTE.

i know you're dying. i can feel it.

[prodigil]

TELL ME ABOUT THE DREAM WHERE we pull the bodies out of the lake, and dress them in warm clothes again.

samuel henry winchester of cw's supernatural rp blog, s1-5 centered. crossover, multiverse, multiship, oc & ship friendly. originally est. 2011 , mun 25+. #prodigil. affiliated with @picksmusic.

RULES | ABOUT (DOSSIER) | TAGS | PLAYLIST | VERSES | PROMO. | PERMA SC. blog roll: @zimwy @wyslyyzr aesthetic sideblog: @occulthuntin

[prodigil]

i have said this before, but its on my mind again so i simply must reiterate:

phrases like "i'd never hurt you" and "i want to give you everything" are like instant trigger phrases for sam. they're two of the reoccuring things lucifer said to him and has ground deep into his bones. the panic into a full on collapsing attack will almost always imminently occur.

even when he loves them and trusts them to death. if dean were to say 'i'd never hurt you' (a lie anyway but hey), it'd probably make sam vomit all over the floor.

[prodigil]

" look, i'm sorry my mama dragged you into this — " whatever this is. it's getting harder to believe her mother is just crazy. ( she called them hunters, somewhere in the middle of her babbling, and given the arsenal they brought with them, she's inclined to believe it. ) juniper grasps at the sleeves of her hoodie. " . . . she's unwell. nothing weird goes on here. the islanders like their folktales, that's all. now please leave. "

this isn't an uncommon slant to the cloak-and-dagger aspect of hunting. communities of inhumans and their associated ilk (witches, cultists, consortium) were insular, camaraderie tightly knit into shared speciation. sam doesn't let his distrust show on his face, fingering the FBI placard tucked into his breast pocket. ' ma'am, regardless of that--infraction, which, i'm willing to overlook if you cooperate--i still have to do my job. intentionally withholding information from the FBI is a federal crime. i only want justice for the victims, here, just like i'm sure you do. '

those narrow brows crook upward, toward the dense bridge of bone. there is suggestion in their quirk: the noose of confession is tightening, and now is the time to sound off. ' it's not in my interest to take anyone into custody that isn't our perp if i can help it. you and your mother have nothing to worry about if you haven't done anything. ' said with a placating smile, a tightness to the corners of his mouth.

maybe she really didn't know anything. ' you'll have to forgive my partner's, uh.. coarseness. he can get a little.. maverick p.i. with it. i, um, assume you saw the gun collection. '

[prodigil]

"i try to fit in, i just can't." bob reynolds

hercules. | @topshelfperverts

a seize of the windpipe puffs an air of a laugh from sam's chest, an eke of sound before he can swallow it down. it lacks bite or amusement, and certainly isn't at bob's expense: its the irony. sam palms the outskirts of his opposite deltoid, slides his fingers the length of his arm, and nests them about the outer heel of his palm. making himself smaller soothes.

' so.. i've never really fit in, either. i mean.. i'm.. not normal. and i've known.. in, uh.. some way or another... since i was a kid. not to mention, i've had a.. transient lifestyle. it's really hard, to.. fit in that way. ' his hand unspools, reaches out to hover motionlessly angling toward bob's shoulder, only to preemptively pull away. ' you don't, have to, is the thing. you don't have to fit in. '

[prodigil]

[prodigil]

dan torrance: "you sound like you could use a break."

hercules. | @variations

' you have no idea. '

up coils sam's heather grey undershirt, bunching about the centerline of his diaphragm like scrunching up a second skin. this exposes a gnarled wound, fishline gripping the rift of flesh. the stitchwork lacks the medical precision of a surgeon or trauma nurse, yet the tight line of sutures implied familiarity with surgical closures.

except, a prong of thread is broken. the dehiscence gapes the breadth of a pinkie finger, one suture in the reiterating ministrations blown out under duress. he grimaces. ' do you have a needle and thread sitting around anywhere? and, augh, a fifth or two of whisky, maybe? '

[prodigil]

when sam, michael, and lucifer collided with the cage--finally met the confines, that stiff cosmic steel, thorns and vines and god's very will made into a cell--sam held onto lucifer for another few moments or two. there was no clean, pleasant separation between sam and lucifer; i'm of the opinion while lucifer is able to manipulate the cage/it responds to him since it's 'his home', anything in the cage has to be a singular, bare entity, as it is and will be in heaven or hell.

lucifer ripped out of his body like some hellish birth. crawled his way out of sam's mouth as he vomited him out, stuffed his throat full of charred feathers and bone. sam could only hold on for so long, and doing so on earth was likely already a capability due to the plane of existence not being lucifer's natal domain. i cannot imagine he would have been able to stay sewn up inside sam in hell for anything more than the initial fall.

sam expels him. lucifer is forced out.

the act of dropping them both back into the cage meant the full fury of heaven and hell comes to rail down upon him. while i'm of the opinion michael's rage wouldn't entail sexual abuse (why would it? he is never portrayed as obsessive or possessive the way lucifer is with sam, and even if he was, his target is dean, not sam), i fully believe michael would've been apoplectically angry as well.

sam stopped it all. denied his purpose and his fate. cast him away from regaining god's favor--and i'm sure that is part of it for michael. if he slays the beast, his most beloved little brother, his sacrifice might finally please god, and bring him home. (note that he uses language that suggests he believes lucifer is the reason god disengaged with his angels, so like.. makes sense to me.)

anyway i am rambling a little. lucifer peeling out of sam was not an easy or pleasant thing. it was violent and disgusting and like vomiting up his own intestines, and far beyond comprehension. there are no earthly limitations in the cage, not of gravity or physics or light theory or anything. it is what god wants it to be, and what lucifer has made it to be. sam spat up the adversary and became lucifer's favored chew toy when he was bored of fighting with michael.

[ehstyl]

the disbelief in the man's eyes makes him smile, oddly satisfied. strange, really. it is almost, almost as good as being feared, the strange panic he sees in his eyes, mingled with confusion. he knows fear, yes. he knows fear too well, kingbreaker he is.

it usually stems from hatred, what he's seen. even in his own brother's eyes, he's seen it, tinged a mean, mean color. this fear is less that and more akin to the unknown he seems to bring.

it's... good, he decides. he likes it.

he tilts his head, watching, fascinated.

"i healed you, didn't i?" there is a pause before he goes on into a more... detailed explanation. "i can manipulate energy to an atomic level. your cells, your flesh... all of it needs energy to do what is needed to heal, the biochemical cascades all are starved for energy it can eat up. i can feed that the energy needed. i can speed the process in ways that are... unnatural, i suppose. it is a facet of my gift."

he offers his hand, then, a focal point of warmth in the damp night air, deceptively benign.

"ah, you will likely need time to recover from the blood loss, though. i am no god, after all."

[prodigil]

in sam's seasoned tenure concerning the ultra-terrestrial, beings of divine convalescence were evolutionarily impossible and improbable. a werewolf could heal a broken bone in days if fed a bounties supplement of freshly rent human hearts, but far be it from whatever lupine mutation that made delineating lines between species to allow the mutt to impart that--near creationism--unto another. a beast could only transform, pervert a human life.

for a half second, sam numbly wonders if he's something else, now, worse than before. some eclectic chimera constituting the wills and wants of other men (things, creatures, the thought indignantly scores), stuffed and cut into this tender flesh. demon, and human, and whatever of this stranger now clung to the walls of his innards. he wonders, if he were to run his fingers across the walls of his viscera, if they would come away oily and slick with the residue of others.

sam takes care to unload the slugs from his sawed off before he makes a doe legged effort to creep up the pocked concrete, trembling arm bowing to support sam's half crumpled lanky trunk. he grunts, angling his weight into his aching shoulder. ' sorry, uh.. what are you, then? not to be rude. i'm grateful. this is just--i.. i've never met or.. um.. hunted anything that can do that. '

[prodigil]

sam enjoying a delicious popsicle

full sketch here, i got nervous and deleted this when i drew it.

[prodigil]

dean describes sam as a happy drunk, which does generally seem to be true every time we see him any kind of intoxicated, so some thoughts about this.

stripping inhibitions is generally what gets sam to fuck. post stanford, at least. pre or mid stanford, he rarely drinks, and when he does its for social events like a halloween or christmas party. he almost never gets shitfaced despite working at a strip club for the majority of that time. on the road, he feels too busy to really take a moment for himself--which is why he tends to let loose more at bars, which implicitly creates a wedge of space (theyre usually not there for only leisure, or if they are, the leisure block is one dean is also okay with, so sam wont get yelled at or face massive consequences for choosing to have sex with someone). sam does cruise a little, frankly, and did so numerous times in the months dean was in hell... typically at bars. getting a few drinks in him typically makes him more comfortable with engaging with sex pre cage, though i dont think he likes taking hook ups to his hotel room often--he shares it w dean and finds it inappropriate or at very least bad manners--so they'll go to the bathroom and occasionally the impala (hey if dean can fuck in the impala so can sam okay).

giggly, touchy, blushy, flirty, funny drunk. sam will almost always say what hes thinking for real if drunk.

surprisingly light weight for his height. however, sam is very good at pretending he's sober when he's tipsy or any level of intoxicated; it's only when he's really drunk that he cannot hide it. this is part of the hustling he pulled with dean: he couldn't just NOT drink while playing pool against chumps they intended to hustle, so he had to learn how to handle it.

his relationship with alcohol is mostly healthy. it is not the first thing sam turns to when upset and generally only comes out as a comforting tool when his brother is waylaid or dead.

has never willingly engaged with hard drugs. any dalliance sam has ever had with anything beyond literal demon blood was incidental or accidental. he has been roofied before and drugged by plenty of monsters and humans alike, and he has done like.. a single bump of blow at the club as a dancer (and didnt like it). never done any kind of other stimulants or hard drugs, has probably smoked weed before but not habitually. he mostly kept his nose out of drugs so he would always have a clear head for work and school, as sam strongly dislikes being in an altered state of mind for the most part.

his natal demon blood / what makes him somewhat inhuman from azazel makes his body interact with substances a little differently. i think some things metabolize harder and faster, and others, far softer and lesser.

demon blood is by far the "hardest" drug sam has ever done. (i do want to remind you all that sam was manipulated into using, since this is something a lot of.. certain kinds of spn fans like to hold against him as him being evil or what have you.. when its an addiction to a substance he never even willingly pursued on his own.)

[prodigil]

"when i was a kid i would've given anything to be exactly like everybody else."

hercules. | @prophetyse

irony strikes sam hotter than a cherry red metal to be smithed; he can't help the titter that dances about the great mass of perching in the canal of his throat, that bloody and wretched thing that was his childhood. even if he'd remained newborn innocent, those youthful membranes of naivety separating children from grown men, he thinks he would have yet felt the very same: as if some black, sludgy thing had taken up residence inside him, spooling out it's every hazardous and hostile accoutrement until it became sam.

or maybe it's what he's been since the start. only god knew. he wipes an apologetic hand across his raspberry soft lips, like it might wick away the passing sin of his inappropriate laugh. ' no, i.. i get it. i mean, you're really preaching to the choir, here, um.. i've.. felt like a freak my whole life. '

[prodigil]

"come inside. i want to show you something."

hercules. | @latebrous

hoisted shotgun sweeps the perimeter frame of a mechanical walk-in, naked cold ripping up his tawny hoodie and jingling that box of spare ammunition slung in it's center pocket. sam moves with a militant efficiency, flush black eliminating blindsplots his other half would otherwise blockade (two headed, same bodied beast they were: sam knows if he bleeds here, that winchester brand of fury will chase this dogged sadist into his grave and beyond). he checks the side by side barrel, thumb passing the curled hammer. ' i'm, uh, not such an easy girl, you know. '

[prodigil]

Visit Original Link

and we fight like there's no one watching but honey, in the eyes of god and he hurts me because he wants me and he looks at me like the one

[headtraumasam]

sam winchester (⁠.⁠ ⁠❛⁠ ⁠ᴗ⁠ ⁠❛⁠.⁠) in bad day at black rock, supernatural 3.03

[prodigil]

"are you always this articulate?"

hercules. | @urlgh0st

' i try to be? ' his shrug is complacent, accompanied by a signature downward curdle of the lips, sans rankling displeasure. it's always just been how it is, to sam; he delegates himself to the intellectual branch of hunting due to personal enjoyment over anything else. violence doesn't become sam, no matter that the make of his very soul was branded with it. it was implicit: he and dean gelled together as two adjacent cogs in finery, one tooth running zipper to the other. ' i've been, uh.. doing the, lore-keeping side of things, for a really long time. since before i started actually killing things. '

[prodigil]

this episode is so fucking frustrating. sam tells dean that amy saved his life as a kid by killing her own mother, and that the circumstances that led her to killing as an adult were extremely specific and a one time thing (he got sick, and fresh meat is what saved her son's life with no substitute) that she immediately stopped doing once her son was safe, sam tells dean all this happened and begs him to spare her because her violence was temporary and excusable in his mind (it didn't happen out of enjoyment of killing, it happened exclusively for survival and he personally owed her), and dean decides to kill her anyway and tell her son he's going to kill him too if he ever hurts anyone.

i dont have a problem with this episode per se, that feels in character to me / like something dean might do. what i do have a problem with is that this is never brought up in season 8, when dean is openly buddying up with an actual vampire (something he, remember, thought dean compared him to since the angels manipulated dean's last hail mary voicemail to sam to sound hostile; sam never knew this was not dean).

like, narratively, its okay for dean to kill sam's friend--this is never really portrayed as a bad thing--but not okay for sam to even want to kill dean's friend, or to want to not be around him. it's all fine that dean is close to a vampire, he's not slipping, or becoming evil, or losing his way, or turning into a monster. its always sam, for having normal reactions to things, especially having his autonomy repeatedly stripped from him.

[prodigil]

"you sure this is the right place?" / from nancy, if that’s okay 🫡

hercules. | @finalslay

' yeah. this is the place. '

disrobed of his weaponry, sam feels as nude as a neonate, castrated by the good nature of magnetic screening and weapon wands. can't hide a pistol from an imaging machine. ' we're just here to look for it, alright? we can always come back after close. ' to adopt an illegal method of entry and repossess the haunted artefact, of course. no milling attendees. maybe half a dozen security guards and a spiderweb system of cameras, of course, but those were semantics in the end. sam's lip presses into the other. dean will want to be there for the final thing, anyway. ' i hate art museums. i mean, for hunts. you can never tell what you're looking for. loved them in college, though. '