and duct-taped.

[safetypinned]

>>how are you alive?<< put one foot in front of the other. once ya realize there's no escape? all you got left is to.. lock your jaw. set your sights on the target. don't forget the most important part. >>give'em hell, kid!<< independent, highly selective and private. SAM WINCHESTER. horror based. set in kripke's supernatural. primarily seasons 1-6. HEAVY AND HIGHLY TRIGGERING THEMES! no one under 21+. guarded by: dixon. >>hallellujah! lock and load!!<<

a study in; coping or lack thereof, a dreamer's hope turned trauma, cursed bloodlines, loyalty beyond the grave, the struggle of good inside evil and evil inside good, overpowering giving up, and what it means to fight.

IMPORTAND LINKS: rules. divergence. memes. verses. headcanons. sam's playlist. board. off-dash. carrd soon!

HEAVILY AFFILIATED WITH: @qapsiel , @trickheaven , @bansheeslain , @avasmess , @thewiickedones , @fallenangelwings / @nichtsehen , @cainevesson AFFILIATED WITH: @cursedhunting , @crispyblonde EXCLUSIVES: @cainevesson

where else can you find me? @bloodsalted -- dean winchester! main blog. @garglemyballsack -- soldier boy! oc's and multi available on request.

[safetypinned]

// dusting off sam's blog on 6/6/26 gives me a lil giggle.

[bcmbsight]

@safetypinned sent: "hey! hey! you dropped this!" the young hunter runs up behind robbie, waving a wallet that definitely belongs to the supe. must've fallen out of his pocket near the library where sam was perched on a bench in front of. flush faced and an ear to ear smile written in an unnecessary apology is plastered onto his mouth. "sorry. tried getting your attention," he breaths quick to catch his breath, "no luck.. here," he hands it over--hand wobbling just slightly in his effort to catch up, "such a pain trying to replace all that stuff. glad i caught you."

His head had been elsewhere, always checking around him, watching for eyes that linger a little too long on his face. Sometimes he's lucky, he can go out without anyone having the faintest sliver of a clue who he is, other times, there's that little twinkle in their eyes that tells him they see -- - something. Maybe they're not sure what, but they know they've his face somewhere before.

Though he doesn't stick around long for them to realise it, or for them to approach him and find out for themselves. He just wants to be left alone, wants to live a normal life, be Robbie, not stand in the shadow of Bombsight.

It's why he doesn't even notice someone trying to get his attention, or that it's him they're after, not until he's approached, suddenly turning only to be confronted with -- - "It's you?" The blonde asks in confusion, blinking a few times as he just seems to stare at him for a second. "I didn't call you, I don't need anythi--" He stares further, notices the differences, this isn't who he thinks it is, he looks -- - younger?

"You're not..." Instinctively, he steps back to get a better look at him. No, it's not him, he wouldn't be seen dead without one of his God awful tracksuits. That, and catching him would've been no problem. "Thanks..." Robbie blinks another couple of times, taking the wallet as he huffs out a breath before looking up at the guy. "Sorry, I thought you were someone else."

[safetypinned]

sam blinks, obvious confusion written upon sharp features. head cocks to the side. it's not who? written upon his expression. pinched together brows. a slight crinkle to his nose. do they know each other from somewhere? he doesn't think so. god, he hopes it's not someone who they ran into on a hunt that didn't particularly care for the way they parted. trust him, there are quite a few that are glad to see the taillights of the impala moving on from the spots they pull in to help. even though--he likes to thik he's left most better off and safer than they were before dean and he got there.

"sorry...," and he truly looks apologetic. that's the thing. where most people would offer up a cardboard cut out of the word sorry. sam? means it. every time he says. it. he's sorry he caused any amount of confusion. hand swings up as if he had the power to? he'd wipe off the blunder and they could start over.

"i'm not... who?" asking what he's thinking? sometimes--works out. sometimes--doesn't. sort've holds his breath til he can see which one it's gonna be. "oh!" brows shoot up. an earnest smile flashes rows of white teeth. "no problem. happens." once his hand is free of the wallet, it balls up and is stuffed in the pocket of a dusty brown carhartt that sits loose on his frame. looks like a thrift store special. or a hand-me-down.

bowing his head, an even glance is given over the other man's eyes. "hey, uh.... are you okay?" he looks off.. can't explain why. two souls that hunger in ways most people don't understand recognizing each other maybe?

[chyremn]

@safetypinned: receiver finds sender desperately trying to wash the blood off of themself.

water runs pink for a moment before disappearing down the drain. reflected in the cracked mirror above the sink is a pale, exhausted stranger with blood on his hands. literally. sam winchester has not taken a life tonight. what he's done is, in some ways, far more alarming. a thin streak of crimson still lingers mockingly at the corner of his mouth. single fluorescent light buzzing overhead, flickering harshly, as sam scrubs harder. but the blood has been gone for several minutes now. yet, sam behaves as though it still covers him.

castiel has been present for some time. silent and motionless, watching near the doorway of the abandoned gas station restroom. saying nothing. just him, the winchester, and the air around them ; thick with a metallic tang of rust and the foulness of stale water. long enough to observe, and long enough to realize that sam hasn't noticed him.

the man scrubs harder at his tender, friction-reddened flesh. another frantic motion, another futile attempt.

' that will not remove it. ' the angel speaks, at last. voice cutting through the buzzing above. water still running between fingers. the blood on his hands is no longer physically present, but the aftermath remains. castiel can still smell the sulfur. he steps further into the restroom, gaze dropping to the hands braced against stained porcelain. ' you cannot wash away what is already running through your veins. ' eyes lift. he regards him ─ expression hardening.

' the water will not reach where the blood is hiding. you know this better than anyone. '

[safetypinned]

sam winchester doesn't seem to notice that his hands are raw. there's scratches in his flesh. skin is bunched up underneath unevenly cut but blunt, short nails. hunched over the rusted, dirty sink--face twisted in the expression of panick and determination and fear--barely sated hunter that's already beginning to rear its ugly head--he scrubs and scrubs and rinses. repeats. the sickening smell of cheap, powdered pink soap (like the kind they used to put in the bathroom of grade schools he only spent weeks in on pitstop after pitstop) that's got barely any left in the soullessly abandoned station.

who comes to put this in here anyway? no body. maybe it's what was left and no one bothers to...

WASH THEIR FUCKING HANDS!!!

chesnut hair sways in front of his face as he digs and digs. pointed nose scrunches when he, finally, breaks the skin deeper and ignores the red that bubbles up in the trail his scraping's left. he doesn't notice he's being watched. no psychic alarm rings that he's not alone. cause this shit doesn't work the way it does in the movies. never in his favor. always in the favor of a mind that just succumbs to the noise.

he jerks up so hard he gets lightheaded when he hears the voice behind him. castiel's reflection in the broken glass is jarred. uneven. a horror movie shot that makes you think he's about to pull apart the glass and come walking out from between the walls.

there's no comfort. no lies. blunt truth. hazel eyes flecked with so much gold, they'd remind you of the sunlight peeking through treetops inside a meadow as the morning rays break through if they weren't so bloodshot and frantic stare. and stare. "i just want it out." his voice is so much smaller than his frame. and in spite of the sage advice he's given. something in him breaks and it jerks his attention away. down to his bleeding hands, ignoring the wet on his mouth that's now drying bloody brown and goes back to shoving them in the water. nails once again sinking into red skin.

[2sw]

Supernatural S1E07 Hook Man

[safetypinned]

// you know what? in my mood. maybe i'll dust off this guy tonight. get some gears grinding. see what happens. ya know? why not? right?? he's been patient enough just chilling out. he'll he's used to it. been getting that treatment for years. poor bastard. :(

[safetypinned]

// how much would y'all hate me if i brought sam back on a limited basis but emptied out his inbox and cleaned my threads out so we can start some new stuff fresh, etc? might keep a few that i have with trickheaven and those who give me a poke and let me know the ones they want replies to.

but yeah. i think that's what's holding me back. i just don't know where to pick up again with him.

maybe a lil freshie freshie might do the trick. xoxo

he's gonna be focused on s1-6 and sporadic plots post that. only if plotted and only with established partners. cause my bread and butter sam is basically kripke era and a couple of seasons past that.

[seasononesam]

Sam Winchester Appreciation Week 2026: Day Seven- happy birthday sam!

It doesn't matter what you are. It only matters what you do. It's your choice.

insp

[2sw]

Like there are times when I'm… not here.

#samweek2023 day 6 Autonomy | Abuse

[chyremn]

@safetypinned: read. silently read a  book  alongside  my muse.

the library was quiet. the whole bunker was, in fact ; and it usually was whenever it was just the two of them left to their own devices. dean was currently in his room taking a much-needed nap. convincing him to get some rest had been like trying to put a fussy toddler to bed.

castiel appreciates these moments alone with his friend. he listens to the slow turning of pages and the rasp of paper beneath pads, observing the way the lamps form a pool of warm light over the table's surface. observing hunter's long frame bent over the thick, well-worn book across from the angel. he watches the slight furrow of his brow, the way sam ever so often pushed his hair back or underlined something with his pencil. castiel's own book lay open in front of him ; he hadn't really been reading for several minutes now ─ merely absorbing the serenity surrounding them.

mug of tea placed beside sam's elbow, angel's gaze following his hand as sam automatically reaches for it - eyes still fixed on the page of his book as he puts the rim to his mouth, only to realize that it's nearly empty. and castiel notices, of course, words escaping vessel's mouth before he even meant to. ' would you like some more ? '

[safetypinned]

the quiet envelopes them in a soft warmth that feels peaceful. serene. calming in a way that is a balm to a soul that so often does not allow himself that reprieve. there are no tendrils of worry clinging to this mental break. no hidden or masked anxiety. existing. sam is simply existing alongside someone he has come to care so deeply for. a bond of trust that allows him to sink into his book without any walls or guards up. brow burrowed in concentration, he comes over the pages stopping herea nd there to highlight or mark a spot of import.

every now and then, those hazel hued eyes will shift from the page to the form across the table. as if to check that he isn't bored. dean left a wave of silence in his fitful wake that they both seem to be enjoying. the man really can put up a fight when he doesn't want to do as he's told (and needs to for his own good) if he decides against the advice.

sam's admired, for quite a while, how cas seems to be one of the only people in existence that can override his brother's stubbornness. either by dean giving in or.. leaving him no other option should that come up. funny to see over the years how forcing dean to rest happens less and less and he yields or caves to the angel's requests(?) demands(?). either way? that gift horse's mouth is safe from sam taking a peek inside for the foreseeable future. his attention's back on his book when the question comes. quiet tone draws a smile over sam's mouth. "that'd be great. thanks, cas.." then breaking his line of sight from printed wording, he catches the angel's profile. "...and thanks for the company, by the way."

[2sw]

Supernatural S1E07 Hook Man

[compassionvi]

on wikipedia straight up "learning it". and by "learning it" i mean, lets just say.. information

[k-i-l-l-e-r-b-e-e-6-9]

Visit Original Link

Helmet - Unsung

[trickheaven]

                            HE BARKS A LAUGH. Best handjob he's ever had, huh? What a charmer. Gabriel takes the compliment, though, because he always accepts praise. It's probably some sort of kink, who knows. Anyway, he chuckles again and ruins the kiss Sam dragged him into when the younger Winchester gets all needy and horny again, even though Gabriel still has his fingers wrapped around their fucking cocks. Ooohhh, to have waited so long to get this little snack and then make him crazy for more. Gabriel feels himself grow at least two inches in pride. The car radio decides to play some M.C. Hammer. "U can't touch this," he sings, even though Sam can definitely touch whatever he wants.

                             Gabriel preens down at him and then gets his ass off Sam's lap (and his back away from the car horn). "That entirely depends on how quickly you can take me to that candy shop," he drawls as he burns the spunk from his fingers but otherwise makes no move to tug himself back into his pants. His dick deserves some fresh air. He was hidden away far too long. "And then how quickly you can take us back to the bunker to some comfortable bed. And lastly, how quickly you can get that majestic beast back up," he adds with a wink towards Sam's cock poking out from his jeans.

[safetypinned]

gotta say! admitting that part out loud? might've been a slip or not but sam doesn't seem to regret giving gabriel the props he deserves for the effort put into what just happened here. he feels spent. liquid spine and a hunger that he'd been denying he had for so damn long is, mostly, sated. cause it's nagging in the back of his head that they shouldn't be done yet. there should be more. there will be. soon as they get to a freaking candy shop and fill the angel up with sugar. though the other stipulation has him cocking one of those tapered brows a little high on his forehead. cocky sam winchester? engaged.. and here he is..

"trust me.. never had any issues with getting this going again.." look at that spark in eyes that are so often troubled or detached or a mixture of both! looks like the little miracle worker slowly edging himself off his lap might have more magic tricks than playing a horrible song on the radio. SAM GETS THE MESSAGE LOUD AND CLEAR THOUGH. dean would throw a fit if he knew that stuff was defiling the impala's speakers. makes sam grin even wider. gabriel makes no movement to pull up his pants. just lets himself hang out and--a puff of laughter and a shake of his head as the whites of his teeth flash in the dark say that the younger winchester's more entertained than put off by his dick flapping in the breeze.

the candy shop's parking lot is empty but the neon sign in the window says open. must be a slow night. or the sugar seekers come earlier. the impala purrs to a stopped silence and sam ducks down to check out the storefront through the window. "was it all that you dreamed of? the shop i mean.. let's go.."

[safetypinned]

*rests her chin on his shoulder* :))

sam feels the gentle weight of her chin fall on his shoulder from behind. hazel eyes glance up from the book he's been combing through. long fingers curl towards his palm. all but his pointer. that digit taps the very tip of her nose in greeting before he returns to pinching the top corner of his page ready to turn it once he's finished another dead end paragraph. the smile sticks, though. warm and content for the distraction.

"thanks. think my eyes were starting to cross," been at this thing so long--they very well might've, "would never hear the end of it if they got stuck that way." thinking better--he closes the book instead. small, worn leather bound sorta thing that looks like the swamp they might've found it in. puts it in the inner pocket of a carhartt he slung on the back of his chair. "..what's up?"

[2sw]

Supernatural S2E16 Roadkill

[lost-in-eriador]

in 2026, remember how GOOD writing feels. remember how satsfying it is to get your characters to the point you have been dying to get to, where they will experience the love, fear, relief or whatever the feeling you want to bring to life may be. let this year be the year of writing, prgress and of satisfactory endings.