prodigil' sam, jeez-- ' sam rewards brady's ace test scores with an indulgent, lewd embrace. his halloween costume was a sexy final girl, pleated skirt and button up still clinging to his lanky frame, only he's ditched the itchy straw wig and his cotton underwear, his bare cunt seated tantalizingly overhead tyson brady's lap. he pulls brady out of his trousers, the RESIDENT EVIL menu theme a dull drone backtracking their intimate commiseration. it could wait until brady made them something to eat later, post coitus--despite originating from a patriarchy of old money, brady had learned to cook surprisingly well. Keep reading#DRABBLE.#MISC.#NSFW.#very quick little brady/sam smut drabble. nothing else to this it is pure nsfw :)#fucking on halloween freshman year#pre everything sam so mentions of fem presentation though brady always genders him correctly bc he already knows… See all
prodigilRebloggedsammysodatimesFollow3x07, fresh blood#was just losing it on discord about how pretty he is here#I'M NOT CLEAN.#idr my tag for gordon... i'll find it later99183
prodigilRebloggedehstyl"i have a certain skill that is very versatile and very useful in all manners of things."it's not a good explanation, no, but it is true at its core, which satisfies gabriel's mind. he comes closer, then, crouches down, his cloak a little out of place in a swampland like this. it likely contributes to the eerie factor of his person; the glow, the speech, the appearance.very little about him would read as human.he does not offer much more of an explanation: one hand comes to the man's forehead, and the glow of him envelopes him: orange, sunrise-like, drenching itself into his cells as he hastens the process of healing beyond what the body could, without outside help. it's a gruesome process, in a way: every healing pain crammed into one single feeling as he knits his guts back in one piece, feeding each cell and synapse what it would not find on its own. it's a long, long minute before the work is done, but it's still infinitely faster than anything normal medicine could manage. pulling back, the connection between them severed as gabriel retreats, he gives the hunter an once over."better now? i am not very well-versed in this, but turns out the body itself knows what to do with energy when it is given freely."prodigilonly when gabriel's touch nears, wingspan encroaching into feasible and tangible territory, does sam guard a flinch, the weakest point of his lumbar instinctively curling. his effort is fruitless, and he ends up barely moving a half inch, the ripple confining itself from his heavy brow to the point of his dimpled chin. the sensation that courses him through him is akin to a vascular dilation, venous returns pooling hot mercury into the inferior atrium of his thudding heart. holy fuck, it hurts. an expletive rumbles from sam's listlessly gaping mouth, the keen he produces curdling sour at the back of his throat. just when he feels like he might die, legs squirming uselessly, long arcs that widened and collapsed against the ground, it all simply stops. his palm flies to his breast bone, slipping urgently down his belly. his guts arent threadbare through his flesh. sam cranes his head to get a look at gabriel, really look at him, from where he's disposed. panic numbs him from hip to hair, burning prickly under his dermis. ' what.. did you just do to me? i.. thank.. you? ' #ehstyl#THREAD.#V. I WANT OUT.#forgive sams.... paranoia...... everything is hashtag demon city so he's concerned42
prodigilsam made no effort to save brady for multiple reasons. at that point, crowley had already bashed his head in with a crowbar. fatal wounds to the vessel will kill the possessed individual when the force (demonic, angelic) leaves it. if sam were to run an exorcism, brady would've been dead the moment the demon possessing him left.this demon seems to believe it is brady/has adopted his identity to some degree, as when confronted by sam, it refers to brady as itself/not as a separate identity. this, to me, suggests this demon likely has merged to some degree with brady. separation will kill them like conjoined twins. frankly, the blind rage he felt over learning that this demon that believes it is brady, or has posed as brady, killed jess, and let him believe it was brady possibly when they were still friends or together, was completely overwhelming. he needed some kind of vengeance for jessica's death and to take control of it. all he could do would be putting him down.#HEADCANON.#on the brady ep in my rewatch. god i love crowley and sam.4
prodigilmuse's sexual preferences.bold — always applies, italics — sometimes applies, strike through — doesn't apply.Keep reading#nabbed off dash so nab off me.#HEADCANON.#NSFW.3
prodigilonlyfiends asked:the customers come here for cheap food and verbal abuse. // eliot 😔 spongebob. | @onlyfiends' to be fair, i'm pretty sure you can get both of those things at, pretty much any diner in america. ' an authentic american experience, one might regard this phenomena as: others would decry the hammering out of southern hospitality and the kindness of strangers such a statement implies, and tell you to keep on trucking, you'll find a peach among the pears.whatever that meant. sam flares a snort through his nostrils, glancing incredulously in eliot's direction. ' i don't think anything makes this one all that special. ' #onlyfiends#RESPONSE.#PROMPT.#chews on him like a dog toy1
prodigilRebloggedehstylFollowfrom here. // @prodigilAS SHI'AR MORE THAN EARTHLING, gabriel has admiration for martial prowess. he is less a person and more a creature, skulking in the dark and letting his instincts guide him towards the more interesting tastes of energy he finds. these creatures had felt him, surely, indiscreet he is in glow and poise, but none had been foolish enough to attack.it's basic instinct:if it is not hiding, it's not prey. in all the glow of orange-yellow of him, he's a small sun embodied in flesh, and he had only dimmed for a rest.which had been a good choice. a sound one. it had given him the opportunity to witness the fight. the victorious party is injured and some cruel, petty part of him wants to finish the job, but another, more keen on learning, has him offering his multifold gift to the stranger.who are you.gabriel smiles, more teeth than needed, glowing again. a sun, fire-unto-fire."call me a passer-by," hardly convincing in a place like this but he offers no other explanation. "i can help. heal you, even, if you want. you just have to let me." he looks at the bleeding wound, hums. "if you don't take my offer, i fear all your fearlessness from earlier will be for nothing."prodigilevery prey terse part of sam screams at him to run, to muster up his strength and push off his haunches, to stagger down to the local hospital cradling the bridle of his guts in his arms and hope to god the on floor emergency surgeon was educated enough to sort the spaghetti viscera back into his abdominal cavity. but the logical part of him, capable of examining himself from an exterior lens, made heads or tails of the operative truth: he wouldn't be able to push through that far for that long. this wasn't a choice. he was a doe gored by a wolf, and could not discern if the fox came to nurture or consume. his chest heaves with a sandy inhale, veins burning hot beneath his skin.he meets gabriel's eyes, furling his fist into his maroon soiled button up. it hung in gauzy shreds, sticking to his sucking wounds. ' how.. how.. can you, help me? ' #ehstyl#THREAD.#V. I WANT OUT.#ouuuuagh im so into this already.. so atmospheric..42
prodigilgviral asked:"what is it you think you'll find here?"the facade sam maintains of legally protected government agent, he suspects, is the only qualifier keeping him abreast of falling off the proverbial wagon: the idea that absence will provoke inquisition stays the hand of shadowy maladapted scientists with raging god complexes. thats if sam has the right idea, and he does tend to, little incessant blood hound sniffing all about. he's beginning to suspect this isn't a standard hunt. winchester tucks a thumb into his suit pocket, folding his FBI badge one handed to slip back into his suit lining once doctor birkin has gotten his fill of it. ' i'm not liable to say, doctor. '#gviral#RESPONSE.#PROMPT.#i think#anyway this mental image would not leave me#*investigates your crimes against humanity*1
prodigil#A VERY SPECIAL CHILD.#I'VE GOT YOU; BROTHER.#like..2
prodigilrotdame asked:what is this? his demand doesn't drag them away from their guitar, carefully plucking the strings, nor does the sound of paper hitting the table. little more than a glance is spared before she's right back at it. " uh . . . a newspaper? " ' you know that's not what i mean. ' reacclimation to the walking and waking world has come with tremendous difficulty. the cage is a hostile, amorphous, ever shifting environment; it moves as if flesh tarped over joints, writhing and grotesquely maladapted to the laws of God and physics. heaven, hell, purgatory, the cage, the pit, the rack, all of it was an infinite stone's throw from earth and reality: it's sameness only extended to what the mind could tolerate. the cage was the worst of all. it was God's wrath manifest, a sepulcher of nails thrust into every inch of sam's fleshy, soft body. it was a seedy hotel room in michigan over the winter, or a sun soaked highway looping the impala in listless circles, or the bathroom sam had his first period in, or the bedroom he lost his virginity in. it was brady's mom's house and the expensive waiting room where she sketched him in acryllic oils, and then it was his and jessica's apartment. he still wobbles when he walks, like he's waiting for the floor to give in, or its too hard. sam doesn't hide it as much as dean did; he still jumps when someone says his name too gruffly, reflexively wringing away from embraces he cannot see coming, palms playing samba over his breastbone when the cold seeps into sam's very core. he's not okay, but he isn't lying about it.sam folds his arms over his chest. the posture he adopts is virtually maternal, and sorely displeased with her response. ' tara. '#rotdame#RESPONSE.#):<#V. HEAVEN KNOWS I'M MISERABLE NOW.1
prodigilsuredid asked:i gotta say ... your writing is really really beautiful. i mean truly, i am in awe of how lush and lovely it is to read. not to be a total creep on main but this thread with sam and scott is so ???? lovely??? ??? and yall are STUPID good writers jesus christ. ok that is all needed yall to know this byeeeewhaahhhh what the heckie!!! tristan this is so unbelievably kind.. and dont worry you're not being creepy reading my smut, its there on dash for a reason, i dont mind at all when people read my threads. i find it super flattering, especially when its nsfw actually!! especially since my brain has felt like totally gelatin lately where i don't feel like i'm structuring sentences well... this means so much to receive ;_; and i'm always gonna gas up my boy lance @costcokhakis, thats why he's the GOAT! #suredid#RESPONSE.#OOC.#SAVE.#subtle promo of my boy too.. i've known lance for.. gosh three or four years now actually?#we met thru the judgment / judge eyes rpc and have been in a lot of others#he is such a lovely person and writer#and the type of guy where you can throw almost anybody at him and come up with a plot together#the scottsam sex is PLOT RELEVANT! /hj#but i love lance to absolute death... and will always recommend him and his blogs#hes also very much the guy you go to if you do not gaf about tumblr drama nonsense#never seen someone less bothered in my life#(positive)1
prodigilRebloggedmonsterboysrpFollow@prodigil // [VEHICLE] - For our muses to have sex on the hood of a car/in the bed of a truck~~~At some point, Cyrus had to get up the nerve to ask Sam exactly how long he expected to stay -- but that time wasn't now, and the last thing he wanted to do was fuck up a good thing by talking about it. And they had a good thing going, at least he thought… but he never was good at 'no-strings' entanglements, while he got the feeling Sam would bolt if he pushed it. Play it cool, that was the ticket. Keep it light. Keep it fun.Technically, this was supposed to be a hunting run. Catch the trail of whatever critter had been attacking vehicles since the 80s, put it down or find a logical explanation, head on back. Instead they'd spent an entire day on the road (Texas was a big goddamn state) with nothing to show for it.Well, not nothing -- they got stories from the locals, which Cyrus had the decency not to laugh at until they were alone in the truck and well away from town. Even as they turned off the main drag onto the backroad they claimed was the most common locale for encounters he was still sort of snickering. Eventually they decided to simply pull off to the side and make a night of it camping in the bed of the truck, and Cyrus had joked that maybe they should make out, in case the thing worked on slasher-movie rules. And Sam, after a moment's consideration, had shrugged and said, "Worth a shot."And that, really, was all it took. Now, with the sleeping bags spread out under them and the stars laid out above, Cyrus just hoped this backroad was as deserted as the local burnouts claimed, because he wasn't interested in just making out - and he knew Sam wouldn't require much convincing, either. His eyes reflected moonlight in flashing silver, as he brushed fingers through Sam's tousled hair, pressed him back into the pillows. "More?"prodigilHonestly, Sam likes the hunts like this the best. They're simple, easy, and uncomplicated: he can practically hear Dean's voice in the back of his head, a smarmy edge to his affect (yet there was never any denying those premature crows feet) as he astutely proclaims, that's how I like my women, too. For once, he's glad to be free of his brother's presence. He loved Dean, but like anyone, Sam valued his alone time, especially when it did not preclude the company of a handsome man. And, not just any handsome man, but one he'd worked toward a certain relationship with. Sam wasn't stupid. It would only last so long as the jobs did; no one wanted a boyfriend who could only see them by virtue of occupation every few smatterings of months, whenever the local populace acted up or a migrant cryptid reared it's head to test it's neonate hunting grounds. The job was thankless and the pay was nonexistent, but it was a moral obligation to pursue and maintain. Something would always serve to drive a wedge between Sam and this. This.. sense of normality. Skinny dipping off a lake with friends. Jumping a fence to tromp through some abandoned property line and hope to God they weren't going to get jumped. Fucking Brady in a cemetary after a Halloween party. Brazen, stupid, young. (He's just glad he never contracted any ghastly infections from some seriously peeved Caspers after that. Stupid.) The road is painfully still. At this rate, he's more concerned about the washing white lights of the impala's high beams rolling around a bend than anything else. Sam breathes out slow and soft. It's been a while since he's done this--and he's a bit out of practice. ' Yeah. Yes. I mean.. if you wanna. I'm.. ' A pause. Sam reaches out to encircle Cyrus's fingers, threading them together in an awkward if sincere display of affection. Carefully, he guides his open palm to one of Sam's pectorals, smoothing his digits across the meaty knob of his thumb and wrist. ' Hearts racing. I'm a little nervous. You know I.. have a, uh.. pussy. Right? ' #monsterboysrp#THREAD.#V. I WANT OUT.#suggestive cw#sam who thinks saying 'i am a transsexual' is a mood killer: so have you deduced i am cockless11
prodigilRebloggedcostcokhakisSam's mental touch reaches him, and its sweetness is a rush of blood to the head. He's so delighted like this, full of cock and restrained under Scott's strength, and the sheer honesty of it kills him a little. Even when he's trying to push back, even when he demands just a bit more, that heady pleasure doesn't fade.Christ. Scott's hand leaves Sam's belly to grip his hip instead, and the tip of his thumb strokes the muscle formed along Sam's sides from all his dancing."We've barely started, Sam," he says, but that isn't a rejection. Not when his hips are starting to roll, consistent in a steady beat. Scott doesn't pull out too much on purpose, making it so the tip of him pushes again and again into the deepest parts of Sam he can reach. He entertains some dirty fantasy of making Sam swell with it, but the image fades as soon as it had formed."You're acting like I didn't just fuck you."He gets it, though. Of course he does. Digging his fingers into Sam's flesh and feeling it dimple, all soft under his pressure like his walls are around his cock, is more addicting than Scott cares to admit. It's the trust of it, and the security of being joined-- it's feeling, for just a moment, like he's part of a better whole. The pleasure that runs through him, hot like a fucking live wire, is just a bonus. Scott indulges it in a way he never does anything else, breaths steady even as he thrusts hard enough for their skin to slap.He's still slow with it. Earlier he'd been merciless, forcing Sam's hole wide around the throbbing ache of his own dick. Now Scott enjoys him-- takes his time making Sam loose like he's savouring the finest wine in California."I thought of you," he says, voice low as he pulls out just a little further."But my imagination" -- Scott pushes all the way in, feels Sam soft pussy spread around him, and shudders -- "could never be this good."I should've taken you with me," he murmurs. "Could've hidden you somewhere."prodigilwhere his telepathic anchor hooks, it stays: instead of an active invitation to come, feel, merge into one solitary thing, split atoms together, it settles into a surreptitious rhythm. something that stayed abreast their union, bobbing to and fro, the backing track to their incessant and impassioned coupling, coursing every salacious act shared between scott and sam from now to the end of the night. the song would drive in just the same as scott himself; every time the tip of his dick threatens the precipice of winchester's cervix, an intimate kiss of organs, scott will feel the giddy euphoric height of lust and barely constrained adoration that sam feels. it will ghost up his spine, collect in the same depressions and pools, a sensation not unlike tremors of unmet need.sam leaves it up to scott, to decide when enough was enough for him. he liked testing his reserves, finding the limits of his athleticism or indomitable will, watching him power through the supposed impediments of biology; nothing made sam quite so wet as to feel scott's flagging dick spring back to attention if he mouthed his arousal against the shell of his ear, or projected a vivid and lifelike day dream of sam scantily clad begging to be nailed over a cherry oak study desk. there was a sense of power in that, but more so, the opportunity to be made whole and fucked full appealed quicker than any sort of sense of superiority. it seemed they hadn't quite found his wall, yet. that summers was yet ramrod stiff inside him was--pretty hot. he's sure his legs would shake and tremor if he were upright. sam is thankful for the consideration when his hips arch crescent to the mattress, the impressive curve of his spinal column plumping up his ass. come wettens his sheets, both his and scott's, sheening the valley of his thigh to the band of richer rippling across his kneecap. the evidence of their intimate union will take good laundry work to strip from his sheets patterned cottons. ' s'not enough, ' sam bemoans, his grief an ampule that colors his inflection. it's sincere, skewing toward a wound: like the separation had taken a rib with him, or a finger, something quantifiable. not enough time together, too much time apart. even a single moment without him was too long, in the end, but sam had realistic limits of expectation. the itch to pervert love with want would guide him into sinking infectious into the deepest layer of scott's skin, if he could: he was unabashedly consumptive, and always so hungry. ' not enough when you're gone. should've called me. i've been, ' a divisive inhale follows, marking a particularly pleasurable throb that simultaneously contracts his clutching walls and flexes the tip of his t-dick, ' practicing s-sending out thoughts and my hands over the phone, like.. satellites.. could've.. could've tried 'n' touched you.. let you see the cute little number i was wearing under my--fuck, fuck--under my jeans. it's pretty. b-barely fits. ' this position inflicted one merciless woe upon sam: he could not kiss scott at this angle, suppressed by his guiding hands and pinning weight. at least his unoccupied mouth allowed for conversation, interspersed through his raggedy breaths and trills, pitchy whimpers that were unbecoming of a man of sam's constitution. those deliberate, languid displays made him so soft and disgustingly saturated: if scott swiped a dry finger across the cleave of his sex, it'd come away dripping. his abdomen flexes with his laugh, chased by a creaky groan. scott's dick rubbing the root nerves of his pebbled clitoris and chasing those nerves to the sensitive, engorged head of his t-dick was unlike anything else. he'd ever experienced. ' i hate when you leave. ' #costcokhakis#THREAD.#V. MARVEL.#NSFW.31
prodigilehstyl asked:gabriel extends a hand to the bleeding stranger, the unnatural glow of him an omen of sorts. "come here. you fought well. it would be a pity to see you die after such effort." he's up against a family of man-gators out of a louisiana bayou. it's a once-in-a-life-time kind of hunt, straight out of hushed bed time stories told to rural, small town children to discourage night time wandering out into muddy sinkholes. truthfully, sam had assumed such a tale rested its laurels in the moors of distinctly fictional history: it served a practical purpose, and seemed unlikely to coexist with the flourishment of modern, industrialized development. surely, if such a thing existed, progress would've eliminated it's natural habitat, and drove it to food scarcity. unless it adapted, he supposed. the widower had claimed her husband had called out to her, shimmering wet with newborn scales and webbed fingers, a crook to his snout. there was no saving a man that had undergone metamorphosis, but his ardent death prevented the maiming and killing of more innocents. the cost is a meaty lock on his left leg, another clamp of ancient reptilian jaws grazing the outskirt of his shooting arm. sam is lucky the damn thing hadn't deathrolled it off; perhaps the sacrifice of a bipedial stance shifted the fulcrum of force the thing could employ against him. if it'd been a real alligator, he wouldn't be streaking red mist across the pavement: he'd just be dead. was this how he was going to die, cut to red ribbons, fumbling with his phone in a musty humid back alley just outside the bayou? would he choke on his own blood, if he could manage to dial dean's number? gabriel appears as if a holy icon. one instant he's gone, the next he's there, an aureate luminescence clinging to his every aperture. sam startles, feels his guts contract into the thin dermis threatening to give way under his lacerations. it swells with his breaths, rhythmless gulps. ' who are you? ' #ehstyl#RESPONSE.#if this is from a prompt im too dumb to figure out which#EITHER WAY THANK U ILY feel free to continue if you'd like#this is giving s3 to me i think.. no angels yet1
prodigilRebloggedcostcokhakisFollow@prodigil, semi-plotted starter.It feels taboo, lying with Sam like this, simply because it feels so good. Scott's hand isn't gentle as it presses Sam's waist into his sweat-soaked sheets, but with his torso flush against soft cotton, it makes the swell of Sam's ass look even more obscene. Rivulets of cream dribble down the inside of Sam's thigh from the last round-- fast, hard, and just this side of needy after Scott's one-week trip to New York-- and still Scott's cock is hard as he grips it at the base and touches the tip to his pink pussy.They hadn't lasted long enough for Scott to really enjoy it. Sam ought to know this of him by now-- that he's never really satisfied with just the earth-shattering high of orgasm, and that sex is never just a means to an end. Scott's head dips and his teeth skirt the back of Sam's neck with the temptation of sinking in, and in direct contrast to that brevity, he relishes the spread of Sam's walls when his dick sinks into him once more.I missed you, he'd breathed, wet and vulnerable into Sam's open mouth.The low moan he lets out into Sam's neck echoes this wordlessly.Sam's all soft now, pounded until pliability. Scott sinks inch after inch into wet heat, forcing more of his own cum to spill out the edges of his hole, and sighs with relief when the full length of him is sheathed and Sam can squeeze around him again. One hand curls into Sam's hair, just enough to press his cheek against the mattress, but the other moves around his waist to touch the lower half of his belly, applying just enough pressure for the swell of his cock to feel even bigger inside him."Good?" he asks, keeping his abdomen tight as he rises to admire him.With Sam positioned for him like this, Scott takes his time admiring the muscles on his back. They haven't had sex with the lights off in a long, long time-- a favour, Scott's sure, because Sam knows he likes to look at him. The fondness he has for him is nearly sickening; Scott's cock twitches where it's buried deep, and he can't even say it's solely because his orgasm made him sensitive."I told you you wouldn't be empty for long."(Never mind that Scott's torturing him, just a little, by remaining still.)prodigilthe little grunt that ekes out of sam does nothing to dissuade his rippling want or this iniquitous tangle: so close, he might absorb scott's scent and come clean of this forever, scour away the lingering sick that hangs over him in blankets. he could never explain why he always feels so empty, could never make sense of it: the vacant hole inside him wouldn't fill satiating vices or indulging addiction. this came close to a balm, to be desired for who and what he was, to know that scott wanted him. a low, gurgling whine (like a babbling brook) muffles into the sheaf of pillows propped beneath him, sam's mouth slackening around the sound, filmy spittle shining his lips a kiss plumped pink. congruent to scott's slow, virtually torturous reacclimation with his yielding cunt, sam instinctually pitches forward, met by the resistance scott's sprawling hand creates; the sensation of him bottoming out inside him, finding every flush and wet corner, is thick and filling, previous load mingling with his cyprine arousal slickening up the way. scott has a way of making him feel small and cherished, like a prized treasure buffered to a loving sparkle instead of emasculated and weak. smallness as safety, and comfort; he's so easy to follow, to take orders from. for a dissenting black sheep like sam, that want to follow had to come from an authentic spark: anything less and he'd cut his teeth on it, rebel until civil fracture. ' really good. ' sam's affirmation comes on a sharp, hazy breath, muscle flexing taut in a tremorous, twitchy wave from tailbone to scapula. his resistance is meager, just enough to be pleasurable, friction that grips and hungrily swallows scott's stiff cock. impatience imperceptibly crooks in sam the same as his scoring pleasure, the low thrum of residual bliss demanding more: it was easy to be needy and hungry with scott, to know the vulnerability of something aside from self sufficiency. his telepathic outreach is all autonomous instinct. he brushes the delicate membrane of scott's mind, begging for the reciprocation, a binding invitation deeper than any custom of human culture on earth: feel how good you make me feel. sam, bratty, efforts to scoot his ass back. it achieves very little in this position. ' please, scott. ' #costcokhakis#THREAD.#V. MARVEL.#NSFW.#rubs my hands 2gether31
prodigilsome nsfw hcs :) Keep reading#HEADCANON.#sorry if any of this is gibberish. i am beyond tired right now#NSFW.#will look over it tomorrow again to fix or elaborate if im talking nonsense1
prodigilsome more misc hcs.although sam worked in a strip club, he does still enjoy attending them. probably far less than dean or any other normal attendee, especially as he is capable of seeing them far less as sex objects and far more as girls who are dancing to put themselves through a grand expense like medical bills or college. he sees himself. because of that relation he just doesn't find them hot or sexy much anymore. however! because he does appreciate the work they're doing, he still tends to watch; the difference is that he's viewing it with the eye of an insider as opposed to an observer. suffers from very mild sleep apnea. dean will hear him snorting in the impala if he's leaning backward. tends to lean forwar to get around this, arm under the head. this is not notable compared to the other disorders he endures as he recovers from hell (esp as he develops trauma induced partial seizures). anxiety heightens tremendously after cage for the rest of sam's life, to the point his stutter becomes much more pronounced. volunteered at an animal shelter for a while in california. he needed ideas to get his footing with, and while he really enjoyed helping the rescue and doing what he could, he realized his full ride would not cover every little thing quickly enough to pivot from the volunteer work (as fun and fulfilling as it was) to stripping. it wasn't nearly as fun and soul soothing as socializing dogs, but it certainly got him the spending money he needed for some semblance of independence. he actually never disliked dancing, and only stopped because he was starting to physically transition: the upkeep of shaving every square inch of his body as it would masculinize would've been way too much work for himagain, doesn't really moan in the standard way, tends to whine, whimper, and squeal high pitched in between shivery dialoguethe type to fall asleep quickly in intense summer heat. since sam doesn't tolerate it well, most bouts of intense physical activity are followed by sleep. sports? he's going to bed. good, hard sex? napping right in your arms, thank you.#HEADCANON.#i am very sleepy but he's the only thing on my mind rn#NSFW.#slightly.2
prodigilmultiplicitous asked:(my jason is a werepanther so i believe that qualifies as big sexy monster; but sam is definitely way taller than jason lmfao) anyway... i just think they could be neat...is your muse sam's type? | @multiplicitousoh, slow burn doesn't preclude being a horny slut for sam; sam is far more likely to fuck his to be partner before he has a serious kiss with them. he's not as bad as dean about this kind of thing, but it is pretty clear that physical engagement is much less complicated than being in love. the latter almost feels like he's betraying himself when he can feel it happening, even though he knows there is nothing he can do to stop it. if jason can get on with sam wanting dick in the back of the impala only to kick him out and disappear for weeks at a time on hunts until it bursts into an admission of deeper feelings, we are riding copacetic here.#multiplicitous#RESPONSE.#PROMPT.#JUST HAD TO CLARIFY...#i'm shocked. he is the first person to not think sam is like jesus christ himself come to die for humanitys sins#i am picking up what ur putting down though#DASH GAMES.11
prodigilnonempyreal asked:"do it again, I wasn't looking."spongebob :) | @nonempyrealthe look sam accosts haven with belies only a scintilla of his sudden stutter of exhaustion. he reaches out one handed, telepathically, taking a gentle and precise hold of the side of her jaw to coax her head in place. the encouragement doesn't restrain her: she isn't a pinned moth, unable to flutter those cosmic wings, rather he rears her more like guiding a skittish mare. (not that he thought haven was particularly shy around him, or a horse, god willing.) sam shutters his stare, squeezing his eyes closed. demonstratively, a wobbly brick wires into the air, its motions jerky and unstable. the brick is cast, colliding with the meaty trunk of a gnarled oak. only then does he open his eyes, his psionic grasp on the shale-concrete compound shattering as it does. ' there. '#nonempyreal#RESPONSE.#PROMPT.#grrrrh11
prodigilmultiplicitous asked:and that’s when i punch him, right? / from jason stackhouse :)spongebob :) | @multiplicitousa thrum of laughter lightens up the slack corners of sam's face, all those hard and stern edges scoured clean off by the childlike bluntness of jason's inquiry. ' yeah, that's.. that's when you punch him. make sure you've got the iron knuckles on first, alright? need to make sure hitting him will even do anything, and irons our best bet. ' he shuffles through his nylon duffle, one of numerous army surplus tools, procuring a 1911 automatic. sam ensures the safety is engaged before offering it over. ' silver bullets, iron knuckles. yeah? ' #multiplicitous#RESPONSE.#PROMPT.#this is really cute somehow?? help11
prodigilalso, i was discussing this a bit with bucku and i still am having a hard time elaborating on exactly what i mean by this, but dean has shown himself to be a sadist who enjoys hurting people (on a base, primitive level, such as admitting he enjoyed torturing souls on the rack while in hell), and he feels immeasurable guilt and pain over it, but he's still admittedly a sadist. a perpetrator. a violent man who is aware of his craving and is disgusted by it even though he still wants it. and sam is like. the perfect opposite of this. he is the perfect victim. he isn't a self victimizing martyr, he almost never actually portrays himself as a victim in any way except for when he actually is one and even then its always reluctant acceptance of his stance in a tragedy as a victim. he did nothing to "deserve" his attacks and sexual abuse.#like do you guys get what i mean.#dean is so good at hurting things and sam is so good at being hurt. in another world its all they'd do to each other#MISC.#HEADCANON.#i guess4
prodigilsam taking out two white eyed demons relatively back to back in s4 when alastair was shown to be able to thrown around angels and foot soldiers, including cas with quite a lot of ease, really makes me wonder where exactly yellow eyed demons are on the totem pole, and if sam is just special and atypical given his vessel status. because it stands to reason boy king sam would not be afraid of the general populace of angels; it'd be archangels and those that sit at the throne of god that could smite him clean. gabriel, raphael, michael, lucifer, etcetera. #and this is me speaking as a Cas Enjoyer even if sam is my number one#alastair was not afraid of him or uriel at all and cas could not smite him#i have to reason he would not be able to smite boy king sam either#which makes me rub my hands 2gether about dean being their last chance at 'saving' him#MISC.#HEADCANON.#i guess3
prodigilReblogged gutragegutrage-archive-deactivated2024spongebob sentencesi definitely see i can’t help the mentally atrophied.she looked good enough to eat.__ are meant to be loved. and eaten.goodnight, ___! i love you!good morning, ___. honk.how are we today? everything a-okay here? i guess i’ll have to find a new best friend.i know that i never want to see you two again.that’s what i call music.thanks for sharing this moment with us, ___. wow, that’s a nice one.boomerangs? oh no! they might break my windows! is this the part where we start kicking?you’ve reached the house of unrecognized talent.that’s right. i’m living your dreams, ___. you don’t even have a band! so when do we get the free food?that’s his. eager face. i know what i’ve done.well, you did it. you took my one chance at happiness… and crushed it! crushed it into little tiny, bite-size pieces. if we play loud, people might think we’re good.alright, ___, that is enough! this will prove to be my greatest evil scheme ever.sooner or later, you’re gonna have to go outside.look at those fools, risking their lives.he must be in too much pain to make courtesy noises.ain’t you gonna get lonesome? as if i don’t know … no, really. who is it? i don’t know.is she rich?and that’s when i punch him, right? don’t worry, guys. everything is under control. because i’m an EXPEEEERT! don’t you have to be stupid somewhere else?the customers come here for cheap food and verbal abuse.you’re talking about girls, right? girl-girls?i was wrong to go against nature.i say we take a bath.never ever never ever for never ever?do it again, i wasn’t looking.that’s why you must always pay attention to the mountain.aren’t you supposed to be out front? did you notice something different about ___? could you pass the chips, ___? i got nothing to live for, ___. the way you drove the ___ while lying on the ground was kind of cool.gee, i wonder what ___ has been up to since i saw him last and went home to do nothing of particular interest until this very moment.we can do without the name calling, thank you very much, ___. from the safety of my home.. to the outside world.what am i gonna do with all this dip?we’re gonna find something that’s so dang fun that you HAVE to come outside.we ___ work alone.i’m listening to you, mountain! i thought i was doing a pretty good job.okay, guys, really. this is your saddest attempt yet.c’mere, ya little piggies. look at ‘em. so weak and malnourished. what about the money? i mean, uh. what about the children?at 3:47 in the morning. in my bedroom?!?whatch’y’all doin’, sitting in the middle of the floor like that?just get out of here, you stupid, dumb animal.from now on, i am on round-the-clock butt patrol.he’s probably happy about his new glasses.well it may be stupid, but it’s also dumb.he had to take the bus.they seem to respond to me being in pain. they enjoy other peoples misery.my butt is not safe out here.this is exactly the kind of thing i was talking about.stop naming moves after me.you’re a lucky lucky lucky lucky lucky luck boy.___ told me to help you.ahhh! dimples!you sure have a scorching case of summer fever.ehhh.. that reminds me. i forgot to give you these coloring books slash liability waivers. i’ve never picnicked on a catapult before.okay then. you look like you need some alone time.you sneak into my house EVERY MORNING?!do you remember what i told you happens to my brain every time i see you?before i do this, i want you to know that i only do it out of love.#please.. spunch bop for tomorrow. i'm too sleepy to do any more today.#i have to do my t shot without freaking out about the micro embolism...#PROMPT.#if you cannot see your muse saying any of these please still rb from me; i wanna send some.2710
prodigilRebloggederncstFollowBlood, blood, and more blood.
It's dripping from the blade, and spattered on his shirt.
A moment ago, life had been normal.. or, more normal than now.
Fortunately.. or unfortunately for Jess, he still was not alone. “ give me the knife. ” @prodigil The order startles him; he doesn't know where the other came from. He'd been fighting for his life just a moment ago. His attention snapped to the other, finally taking in the person who was talking to him.
The guy towered over him. If he wanted the knife, he was probably going to get the knife. Holding the murder weapon out to the other, the tremble in hands becomes evident. Adrenaline was still coursing through his veins. He probably would have dropped the damn thing soon, anyway.
"I didn't want to kill them." He stated, exhaustion in his voice. He's still leveling with what he's done, he's not entirely sure he's going to be able to stomach it. prodigilacquisition of the blade comes without a mandate of aggression: it isn't sam's preference to strip the stranger of his arsenal, or bend a flight wing in the process. not a preference, but a potential, if circumstance brought him to the precipice of necessity. hurts better than dead. he stares, expectantly, thumb and index angled to give way to his palm as a sheathe. sam flicks the excess of gore off the knob of his wrist, fluidly jamming the knife up into his lapel to swipe off the loose flowing sanguine. there is a shortness to him not unlike the disapproving reproach of a scorned parental unit, as if there was nothing particularly macabre about the iron cutlery honing in on a strap encompassing his outer thigh. ' don't, don't think about it. it was you or them. i'm taking this away from you, 'cause there're more on the way. they track blood like scent hounds, better if it's on me than you. hey, hey, listen to me. my name's sam. i kill things like this for a living. get up and get moving. ' #erncst#THREAD.#V. TBT.#oh this is perfectly fine ty bb#i'm a big fan of winging it so i'll figure out what they ran into down the line LMAO12
prodigilRebloggedpicksmusic" only one person's here's doing anything to you. " the crisis point of his indignation, despite its moral shape, is anything but righteous in its fuming. ( maybe it's the shadowy silhouette leaping off the rack with brand & knife in hand, ready to tear souls asunder projecting on the opposite wall in lieu of a daeva by his brothers' conjuring ) but it's hot & it's scorching a hole straight through the remnant hope that by his passage to hell in exchange for sam's life that it might have somehow saved him. dean's lip curdles in a snarl of blatant disgust. he stands taller under the thrust of the protesting push of sam's finger into the adjunct tendons to his throat, defiant against the dearth of height he has in comparison. " & we both know there ain't anything good about this. " " look, sam. " when dean speaks again, it's with the militaristic plane of his posture slackened, elbows dropping from ramrod to gentle crooks corseting his torso. tension still circulates the blueprint of his musculature, pulse a hearty hammer just north of where sam's index finger juts. " whatever it is you're doing here, it's not too late. " the dredges of his swallow clear the purling disdain from his expression. one last hail mary effort surges up, shading the gruff undertones in his voice with a distinct color of pleading. " this isn't about dad. & i'm not ... i'll never be afraid of you. but this isn't right. "prodigil' and why isn't it, dean? ' what was there to contest? what moral failing had sam propagated in harboring his devotees--what had he done wrong? yes, to the standard of a hunter split into a monotonous viewpoint where shades of grey did not exist, sam's very physiology was embroiled in evil, but it wasn't as if it was his choice: hell was jammed down his gullet at a tender age of six months, it's marrow congealing into his own, it's festering infection crawling through every vein. ' just because they're demons? how can you hate them for, for being born that way? like me? i don't let them kill people, only people who're trying to kill us first. like this, i can keep an eye on them, and, and, minimize the harm that's already going to happen without us anyway. i've got a hand in hell. i've got us the leverage we need against heaven and all these winged S-O-B's to.. to not, die. ' the unpredictability of hunting was, in fact, it's greatest detriment: security came in the form of knowledge, and sam's had broadened infernally. ' to not wake up every day wondering if this is gonna be the day you get your guts ripped out in front of me, or if i'm going to die choking on my own blood. to fight back, before they let the damned devil out of his cage. i won't watch you die again, dean. even.. even if.. you don't wanna be my brother. i can protect you, and bobby, and ellen, and jo. i can finally, do something, and not just, let life beat the shit out of us over and over and over again. ' exasperation weighs sam's plea deep in his throat, a hot flash of prickling tears wetting his retinas. back of the hand passing the contours of his physiognomy, sam wetly begs, ' if you just, see it from my side. i can't control what i am. i have to be what i am, and, it doesn't.. have to be evil. i have rules. i'll keep you safe. but i can't do that if you're out there. i can't vouch for you if you put yourself on the other side of the line, dee. i want you with me. please. please. ' out flies a desperate, needy hand, fingers blindly parting to desperately engage with dean's, to let him feel his metronomic pumping blood and tempting heat, roiling just beneath the flesh. ' don't leave me. ' #picksmusic#THREAD.#V. IT'S ALL FIRE AND BRIMSTONE; BABY.#barks82
prodigilunder blaring neons, sam's hair catches a radiant pink crest, highlighting the spray of glitter clinging to his femininely styled shag. the pink poodle sign buzzes halo, a monument to sam's sins; the scents that cling to his throat and heels are distinctly perfumed, sweet wine and a tinge of men's deodorant. he can't find it in him to make eye contact, pinned by the scalding weight of mortifying embarrassment. anything else, anything at all, would've been preferrable to his brother knowing where he worked. a hulking kaiju could come down and crush his dormitory apartment, and he thinks the day that sam would have would've been better than this: ramrod stiff under the duress of a flooding street light and bouncing neon, the sound of the club just barely muffled water on his pierced ears, dean gawking at him like he'd grown a second head. he feels like a child, caught red handed in the cookie jar.he tucks his coat against his chest, as if to spare his modesty. goosepimples run smooth up his netted legs, shivering in the cold.' dean, just tell me, why the hell are you here? ' @picksmusic#picksmusic#THREAD.#V. I WANT OUT.#could not stop thinking about dean walking in on sam at work#being the fucking prelude to whatever he stopped at standford for in 03#SO. you get this. we can figure out what exactly he's there for on discord if u want#idm winging though#also i do not care if dean misgenders him btw if you need to
prodigilRebloggedpicksmusicsalt grit spackles dark across his brow, sweat acrid & stale clinging in his underarms & peppered in the wilting blond fronds tilting down over his forehead. the gap-toothed luminescence of the motel's sign had been the first welcome respite dean had seen in a hundred miles. sam, clean, & bent guiltily over the paltry excuse of a desk huddled under sulky light rustles a booming guffaw from a buried place behind the gristle of dean's sternum. after a long hunt, he needs a good laugh & seeing his brother like this is such a quintessential scene ripped out of a sitcom that it hoists his spirits immediately. " jeez, sammy. " his jacket sloughs off, sleeve by sleeve. dean tumbles into the mattress nearest the door. his body thumps into the overworked box springs, sending them into a chorus of creaking. both boots are still on, the laces of the left one licking mildewy quilting. muck grouts between the lugs. in spite of it all, fatigue wicks all the way through every string of sinew in his body. he's tired & it's good to be somewhere with family. dean hikes the flat pillow rolled under his neck & hurls it across the room to smack pitifully into the curling chestnut waves flaring sam's nape above a borrowed hoodie's cowl. " if you wanted to look at some girlie mags, you should've put a sock on the door. " he settles down, both arms splayed, scalene behind his head. " stayed back. said he had a couple of loose ends to tie up & he'd head back tomorrow morning. " dean doesn't bother hauling himself to the prop of one elbow. " he ain't gonna care about a couple of magazines if that's what you're worried about. " prodigil' ow! ' the downy introduction of a pressed, thin hotel pillow impacting off sam's head soundlessly puffs as it's momentum halts, dropping lamely to the floor. despite his vocalization, it doesn't really hurt; there is no lingering fog of pain that sam was so acclimated to, no rhythmic pulse synchronous with his heart marking a laceration. he fires back a derisive grunt, debating the ethics of concealing his painted horizon of opportunity: sam made vague allusions to the pursuit of higher academia the year beforehand, and saw the lines impress upon john's face in such a way it had stifled the visions of santa clara warming his mind, now. ' it's not girlie mags, you dork, ' comes a biting retort, sam's crooked dimples betraying the simmering edge to his intones. with an anxious flex of the fingers, and a glance over the birdwing of his deltoid, he acquiesces to the truth: dean will find out, some way or another. a letter will come when he isn't there to open it (nevermind the felonious nature of intercepting mail), or an application fee will be accounted for. it hurts less when it comes from dean. no matter the passage of time, he always submit to an apology, nested in the russet shag of sam's hair, an arm loping his skinny shoulders. with a flare of the nostrils, sam resigns himself, plying a half finished packet free to present to dean. his drop into the congruent mattress is unceremonious, all his tension held exclusively in the row of his shoulders and the length of his jaw. ' you're going to see it eventually, so.. might as well come from me, since dads not here. i'm--i'm applying to colleges. my, uh, my top pick is stanford, out in santa clara. it's really hard to get into, it's, um.. like a four percent acceptance rate, so i've got a few backups, there's an IBT outta san jose--but.. long as i keep up this senior year, i think i'm set, i mean.. i worked my ass off and i've got straight A's even though we moved, everywhere. i was thinking of majoring in law. ' sam's yammering comes to a precise halt. he swallows, laryngeal prominence bobbing about a rusty scrape of saliva, like chewing knives. ' .. and i was gonna ask you to come with me. ' #picksmusic#THREAD.#V. I WANT OUT.#i'm gonna chew my leg off21
prodigilRebloggedtwobrothersFollowSAM WINCHESTER APPRECIATION WEEK 2025: Day 4 - LGBT Samin his college bicon era!#AHJHHHAHAHHH IM CRAZY im crazy IM CRAZY im crazy#CRASH AND BURN.#YOUR DEMON LOVER.#I'M NOT CLEAN.2246793
prodigilchasing freedoms comes under clandestine condition: when john and dean leave him in the hotel to cap off the violent procession of a hunt chased along the bible belt over the course of three days, sam seizes the ample opportunity to make progress on his college applications. a spread of dense, formal filing packets encircles him like platters of academia, LELAND STANFORD JUNIOR UNIVERSITY stamped in leeching printer ink headlining the centrifugal application. his institute of choice demanded an unerring measurement of his young intelligence quota: near straight A's populated sam's high school transcripts, as frankenstein haphazard as they were, stitched across numerous municipalities from state to state. sam grinds his jaw, a protracted sigh swelling his rib bones. if only john had loved them more than he'd hungered for vengeance: consolidated transcripts would've been a nice little boon. the door thunks into the adjacent wall when it opens, so forcefully that sam jumps right out of his skin. hot, prickly panic sweeps through the atrium of his chest, thickening in the sinew of his throat. a freeze response ensues, an impossible weight numbing his fingers. dean's hoodie, seized years beforehand, barely fits sam now. it skates up around his hips every time he moves. ' hey. uh.. where's dad? ' @picksmusic#picksmusic#THREAD.#V. I WANT OUT.#:) :) :)#you can decide if this is the au where dean goes w sam OR just a normal canon verse bb thread#if its the former im gonna write you a SECOND starter so prepare#adhsjdhwdw… See all21
prodigila rush of indignant panic traces sam's finger, swath cut from soft fat to the high of his still bare, soft cheeks. his thumb curls hooded upper arch, cleanly eliminating the incessantly clinging remnants of stark robin's blue eyeshadow. he would not see the combination of powder and primer that conjured the perfect dichotomy of sunkissed angeleno glow and y2k high glamor, nor the petal pinks that reddened sam's lips until they were succinctly plump--he'd thought he'd been diligent in removing his beat face. evidently, he'd missed a spot. sam fusses, turning away at the shoulders. the blue pigment rolls onto his fingertips. ' don't look at me! ' @precheor#precheor#THREAD.#V. I WANT OUT.#u get some real baby sam.. like 19 or 20 at most#look he just clocked off his shift like an hour ago and he's tired and EMBARRASSED#hi lee i think i'm gravitating toward some mild pre est thing here#you can take it in whatever direction you'd like akdhsjdhw… See all11
prodigilrescinding sam's prior occupation leaves him to battle a tepid boredom between the consumption of literature. he feels like he's going to begin cycling back into rereads within a few months at this point--every title carries with it this inexplicable monotony he could not name if pressed, perhaps a blanket of sedition protesting the stagnant position his body takes through his shift these nights. he preferred dancing, honestly, but the books are nice. if she looks, she'll notice he's perusing an old norse edda, bound in waning leather strips likely strewn from the haft of an ancient sword. sam's gaze darts up when he feels those eyes upon him, folding the page to keep his place. ' hi. checking out? ' @empures#empures#THREAD.#V. I WANT OUT.#hi!! i hope this is okay! you get librarian sam : 3 he works at a library on stanford's campus starting like#second semester of the 03/04 school year so 04 in this thread#please feel free to take this in any direction at all andjshdwd… See all1
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prodigilplease like this for something from pre series sam. probably stanford era (18 to 22).#OOC.#TBD.#no icons for obvious reasons!#they will be relatively short unless im inspired.#im in a mood for baby sam stuff. been listening to pink pony club which really gets him going since he was a stripper and all14
prodigilsam lives relatively stealthy in terms of transition. some people, of course, have no choice in knowing: dean, john, bobby, a few fringe associates of the winchesters. anything inhuman that has been inside him, like meg, crowley, castiel, lucifer, gadreel, etcetera. it isn't necessariy that sam feels the need to be seen as a cis man--its nice, don't get it twisted, but he isn't so oppressed by dysphoria or safety related fear that he feels like he has to be stealth. he just, is, because it isn't really anyone else's business. he isn't incredibly loud about it because he grew up in a time period where anti trans violence was very prolific (as it is again), he grew up with terms like 'transsexual' and other lgb people confusing trans maleness with lesbian masculinity, in a very heteronormative male dominated community like hunting. the general expectation is 'don't ask, don't tell'. so sam doesnt ask, and he doesnt tell. it only comes up when he's looking to hook up with someone and as soon as they start flirting with him he's probably going to tell them. #but like he does say 'i'm trans' when it matters. he'll usually use the word 'transsexual' if early years#transgender if moving into later years#he just. doesnt like talking about himself? and its not the fact he IS trans#he isnt ashamed of being trans at all#HEADCANON.#with associates who may have met him as a child he will say they're remembering things wrong#he was a boy the whole time#and generally dean will always back that up… See all6
prodigilRebloggedwallopinwebyapperFollow"Sound advice." Hard to imagine that'd ever be all Peter will say in any trying situation. Two days ago, superstitious activity brewed in the Astoria suburbs; the woods nearest the train tracks were reported having particular youth gang practices going down. The other -- who Peter reluctantly took to partnering with while feeding his curiosity in vigilante stake-out adventure, -- similarly made this information so vulnerable as to share it with the Spider.He courts death should he even think himself any better fit to tackle ritualistic cultists without someone else who knows better. Yet, the emergency gave little time for formal acquaintance making with the Winchester.One hour before their unlikely alliance, smoke and fire sightings were captured within close range to a neighborhood and a retail plaza. Obviously not something that would mull over for the community, especially not if anything close to violent went down."Especially since I have a completely invisible Ghostbuster utility system on my person. Scratch that, rewrite: I have ABSOLUTELY nothing, no training to combat cultists. I can barely ignore podcasts, even when they talk trash about me."@prodigil said: ' you keep watch. '
SUSPICIOUS CIRCUMSTANCESprodigilsam makes a face. ' podcasts? ' his tone betrays some amount of geniality, a tickle of mirth quirking his syllable up; he motions for spiderman, unearthing an iron priest from his beltline. the tool was clearly devised to bludgeon fresh catch, obfuscating the purpose behind it's appearance in sam's arsenal. it's small, non threatening, just heavy enough to give someone a good concussion if all their weight was leveraged behind a swing. ' here. take this. no blade, no gun. it's made of iron. swing it at anything, uh, spectral, and it'll keep most things at bay. ghosts, demons, fairies, hellhounds, witches, uh, i really mean most things. it's not gonna kill them, but it'll ward them. ' only when he feels those gloved digits furl about the breadth of the weight does sam relinquish it. he palms his reliquary of ammunition--the depression in his coat pocket--and exhales, assailing peter with a sidelong glance. ' do you, um, have to wear that? ' #wallopinwebyapper#THREAD.#V. TBT.#wahh thank you honey!#sofhsfhjwfhjwfhwh sam's like hey so you're not gonna believe this but your suit is not inconspicuous12
prodigilemmatriarchy asked:should i be concerned about how detached you are about this? (Cullen Bloodstone? or Elsa?) saints row 4. | @emmatriarchysailing telekinetic spires strip the silverskin of a demon from it's corporeal vehicle, rending hellish essence from leathery flesh and dripping sinew. to his onlookers, it will appear as if the demon merely exploded into a fine magenta airbrush. sam's swirling golden gaze mutes into comfortable hazels the moment his abilities disengage, outstretched extremity slackening to his hip. ' its not my first rodeo. '#emmatriarchy#RESPONSE.#PROMPT.#i made this vague enough it could be for either if you'd like to continue :O !#also could be my marvel verse or canon is up to u <31
prodigilReblogged prodigilgutrage-archive-deactivated2024saints row 4 sentence memefuck that, save me!i want my friend back.that’s no way to fight a lady.you belong to me. i think i remember getting shot here.what’s that bitch doing here?you are really starting to piss me off!i just want it done. i don’t care how it works. you with me? seeing you here now has made me realize how much i need you.i know i’m not __, and i’m not trying to be.it would seem your reputation doesn’t do you justice. i see a trail of dead bodies. i think i know which way __ went. i’ve never seen you this jumpy, what’s going on?i wonder, if i set her and __ on a blind date, who’d kill who first? we’re getting the band back together and then we’re going to kill __. lets not fight infront of the kids.__ is the oldest friend i have, and the baddest motherfucker i know.i’d walk through hell to get him back.we left him to die.there’s nowhere to run.__, shut the fuck up. it’s him.he sacrificed himself to save us.you don’t have to convince me — just yourself.this is like when something you love is trying to kill you, and you just cant stop it.right, forgot to tell you. earth got blown up.i’ll refrain from commentary.the extent of your ego is certainly terrifying at times.i don’t see a point to needless blubbering.should i be concerned about how detached you are about this?yeah! fuck context! so you’re saying she’s close-minded?don’t you dare confuse duty with self-righteousness.hate to tell you, but, your stuffs all gone.i promise i’ll find a way to get you out.remember that time you had to outrun those protesters in boise?i die. you die. we all die.i hate me. lets get out of here.you know you need me.i let you down. you’re a terrible person.he didn’t save our lives so we could feel sorry for ourselves. um.. are you really sure about this? i mean, i know he can help, but… greetings. if you want to save your friends, you will go to my rift. goodbye. fuck it. whats the worst that could happen?he’s going to die. alone. and none of his friends will get to see his body to bury him.i used to be useless. unlike humans, i keep my word and pay my debts.are you trying to kill me, or sleep with me?i’ll rip your fuckin’ head off.how am i hearing you? considering i dont have a phone.you don’t have to yell.i should’ve realized a prison of peace would’ve never held a sociopath like yourself.she has like, one emotion: pissed.evidently, i become a total frigid bitch.yeah, you’re lame now. you used to have fun.that could’ve been a real bonding experience.i’ll just accept this and move on.keep saying shit that i understand, and i’ll buy you a pony.can you quit being a baby and just walk in?surprise, ___, i’ve always been an asshole.you don’t have any pants.this will be the defining moment: an act that was supposed to demoralize; galvanized. i can kill a lot of people with a computer.you don’t even know what will happen. you need help working a DVR.fighting back is pointless. i’m more of a puckish rogue.shit! hold onto me! gosh, what a glorious day! there is definitely something wrong with this car.tear their world asunder.what kind of shit are you fucking trying to pull?i hope you’ve enjoyed your last moments.human arrogance. is there anything more charming? i’m going to have fun breaking you.get off my lawn, you son of a bitch.your bravado means nothing.i’m gonna have you stuffed and mounted. now now, not so fast.say goodbye.did you really think you could stop me?lets do this, you gorgeous thing.what – are you fucking – you blew it up! why do you humans enjoy leaping so much?tell my wife… i had another wife.this is serious.i must say, i am amused at this attempt to save a man who tried to kill you once.c’mon, cant i get some payback? he got a little lost, big deal.if don’t help __, he will die. don’t ruin this, ___. i’ve wanted to kill someone with a robot for so long.i did what i could, i can’t really fix it right now.if your aim was any worse, you’d be shooting yourself.find out where this is, we’re getting my best back.you’re wrong. she’s wrong! not very creative for your “superior intelligence.”that’s not an apology, that’s creepy.the human race would be much safer without you in it.i’m gonna find that ugly mother.ever as always, i’m getting ahead of myself.i said, ‘guns in every room!’ they think we’re about to be attacked by aliens.that’s only vaguely insulting. don’t get killed.i just hope we can trust him like she does.finally, i get to just – blow shit up.well, i wouldn’t want you to go outside your comfort zone.#this one is a classic. please send a few; sam is struggling w our current few replies#PROMPT.15042
prodigilsome more nsfw hcs because sam has been in a mood for days.Keep reading#HEADCANON.#NSFW.#can i REST!!1
prodigillittle nsfw hc beneath the cut. Keep reading#HEADCANON.#sam vc top me top me top me t#NSFW.#its not really like a spicy hc but it is about sex
prodigilRebloggednonempyrealOne hour on the road, plus the angle of the shadows cast by the sun hinting that they were headed west. Little scraps of information to file away in case she needed them. "And how far do we still have to go?" If their journey is coming to a close sooner rather than later, she wouldn't have to come up with something to keep her mind occupied."Oh. Damn. Was gonna show you this freaky guy I drew with weird eyes." Whoever was lucky enough to stumble upon the sketchbook would be treated to several pages of incoherent and sometimes concerning scribbles, made with cheap ink pens and whatever other materials she had access to at the time. The first page, for example, was a doozy: if you looked at it at the right angle, you could make out a burning building, flames in yellow highlighter contrasting against a Sharpie-black night sky. Any scrap of paper would suffice if she had something revelatory to draw, but it had been helpful to keep all her visions in one place."I guess this isn't the right vibe for 'I Spy' or '20 Questions', is it?"prodigil' oh. ' if it were an entity wielded exclusively for haven's entertainment, that was different. sam momentarily pours over the logistics of a prophet of god transmitting cosmic radio waves through a sheaf of lined paper and bic pen; what harm could she really do? even a memorized sigil bore limitations, especially if scrawled in such a mundane format as solvent ink as opposed to freshly tapped life blood. ' uh, probably not. ' with a resigned sigh, he trawls through his pack cramped about his boots, hauling the duffel to sprawl crossways the span of his lap. blindly pawing over a set of knives, iron flask, buds of white rosary, he retrieves his ledger from the confines of nylon and a "CHASE BANK" stamped ballpoint. sam offers the items past the center gap, ' here. ignore the old stuff in the back, you, uh, won't make sense of it anyway. ' surnames and death dates and locations and a spread of uniting omens, neatly worked into a hand written diagram, all dated several years prior. ' we're heading to sioux falls, to a good friends scrapyard. probably the safest place. you'll understand more once we get there. known the guy all my life. ' #nonempyreal#THREAD.#V. HEAVEN KNOWS I'M MISERABLE NOW.#shajhdjahdjshwdh#sam draws sometimes... but its never people.. always symbols or nature..#he's terrible at drawing people61
prodigilnonempyreal asked:is your muse sam's type? giggled warmly at how big the 'would beat lucifer to death' blob is. empassioned#nonempyreal#RESPONSE.#PROMPT.#DASH GAMES.#OOC.11
prodigil:) just for funsies. no need to be shipping with me to send this.#OOC.#this was actually unbelievably hard#MISC.14
prodigilRebloggedmahawavyFollow#pookie... absolutely stunning work#I'M NOT CLEAN.164,53217,152
prodigilhcrctic asked:dude, you’re confusing reality with porn again.' what? no-- ' the slope of sam's nose crunches up toward his heavy brow, mulling over every categorical film reel of memory stationed in his mind. ' nah, come on, you gotta know what i'm talking about. they're a.. a, like, militant, anti mutant group with this gimmicky recruiting thing, and it's, like.. sexy... rednecks, or.. something like that. ' a growing urgency wrings sam's hands in loose and lazy arcs, a dire effort made to tether thought to reality and precisely hone in his point. a frustrated grunt rolls off his molars. ' i swear this is real. ' fun spn quotes. | @hcrctic#hcrctic#RESPONSE.#PROMPT.#HDHFHEJHEjghejgehjfrmhrh#V. MARVEL.1
prodigilReblogged unmechanormal-horoscopesFollowTHIS IS WHAT GOOD PUSSY SOUNDS LIKE: [GEIGER COUNTER GOES WILD]#ABOUT.#whatever#NSFW.12266,78363,641
prodigili dont understand at all how one can watch the finale of s2 of spn, where azazel subjects sam to viewing his own mothers death up close and intimate, whilst also using charged language ("sammy, you're my favorite" "she walked in on us" "better than mothers milk" and sam's "what are you doing to me?") and not feel this like, deep, visceral disgust. azazel is such a good villain. i do not even think any of his abuse was explicitly sexual the way lucifer's toward sam was--there is no denying lucifer raped sam, but i wouldn't say azazel sexually abused sam. but the language used is so, synchronous, deliberate, intentional? to me. azazel speaks like a groomer. validating sam as his favorite and special. obsessively seeking him out for years. monitoring his life and childhood, intentionally creating plants that broach into his personal life (brady being his "demon lover", jess being introduced to him through brady and thus azazel, plus the implication demons have been observing sam his entire life given lucifer's speech about it), and, again, the language he uses about inoculating baby sam with his blood, it's so very analogous to what its like to go through grooming as a child by an older adult, especially if you were so young you forgot or repressed it. what really seals that deal to me is that claim sam makes that he's always felt dirty, filthy, and unclean. sexual abuse on a young person can manifest traumatically and invisibly like that--a feeling of something being wrong you cannot place (somewhat similar to gender dysphoria actually) stemming from the trauma inflicted upon that person is not uncommon. anyway. my point is. while lucifer is sam's rapist, azazel is the one who paved the road for him, and happily. sam's autonomy has been denied since before he was even born, and frankly, mary facilitated it too despite the unfairness of the deal she was backed into. she still made it. #HEADCANON.#REWATCH TAG.#to block this if you're annoyed by my babbling since i rewatch spn every few years6
prodigilsam was going to ask jessica to marry him at that impending christmas. it was two months away, mid semester, but gave enough leeway to become engaged; his intention was to remain engaged until he graduated law school, and wed once he found a firm or practice that would take him. eventually, he intended to tell her the truth about hunting as well. not per se that there are evil things out there that hunt humans and kill wantonly, but that his abusive upbringing was induced by a seemingly unexplainable event that killed his mother and catalyzed his father's militant behavior. something that lent more credence to his dodgy responses, something that neutralized suspicion as to why he was scarred and slept with a bowie knife and had perfect firearm knowledge and aim.he never liked lying to her, he only did so out of necessity. #HEADCANON.4
prodigilRebloggedpicksmusicon the opposite side of an arm looping his brother's, feathered fronds of dark hair dusting the ridging underside of his clamping mandible, dean's fists are knotted up. he is under the thrall of warring factions: to soak up sam's hemorrhaging grief as much as he can, pressure of his crushing embrace a gauze impotent to staunch all that seeps from it or to divest himself of the relative safety the impala's interior offers & fling himself upon a crossroads with a fast track back to hell to tangle with the devil for vengeance himself. rage alternates its breathing with sorrow. & while sam fits himself into the supportive cradle at dean's collar, all dean can do is be grateful for the way it shields his conflicting countenance from view. sick, dog mange bile floods his taste buds considering all befalling sam in the bowels of lucifer's prison. it spasms at his diaphragm, pulsing his gut in a desperate beat to get free. his tongue is all caustic disgust & rage & a futile drive for recompense that he knows he can never earn. " it should've been me in there. " how many more decades of alastair's torment would he endure to rescue sam from this dooming fate? how many centuries would he spend on the other end of the rack should it prevent even a moment of this destitution now shackling sam to the cage even topside. friction born of his inability to reconcile his empathy against his sharpening urge to exact retribution grates every abrading word free of his constricting throat. dean's clasping grip fastens, tighter, winding sam until the rough hew of his jacket scrapes his cheek, until he can just feel the easing breath sewing in & out of his lungs with each passing accordion flex of his ribs. that he's alive. " i was up here, living a life while you were down there with that bastard. "dean's eyes, struck with a feverish hunt & yet haunted all the same, squeeze closed, too. the compulsion prompting him to find some way to raze all of hades to right these horrible wrongs does not abate. but he knows ... no amount of retaliation can seal the invisible wounds sam will carry with him for the rest of his days. " listen. i know it was your choice. " with both palms, dean moves to dislodge them from one another, forcing himself to look at sam face on, to see the unsealed scars. " but it don't change that i feel like i failed you, like i'm failing you right now because i can't do anything to change it. " prodigila surreptitious finger of hell's anxieties traces sam's spinal bridge, landing around the crown of his spread halo hair, bangs and feathery shag offset by the delicate bow of his head. it feels like needles in his skull, scraping the inner walls partitioning brain from flesh even now; he doubted those infernal wounds would ever truly heal, severed nerves and shattered atoms stitched crudely into some iterative shell. lucifer had done what he'd set out to do: if he could not have his toy, he would break it. irrevocably ruin it, sully it to it's tender core.these days, sam felt the tapestry of his life bore a million deviant razor-blade cuts, each fiber sown back at incorrect angles and intervals. like he was imitating himself, and this is what remained of sam winchester: a waxy, clammy corpse adorned in his warm clothes, casemaking moth larva gnawing his slack cuffs whilst it's mother fluttered lamely around the lightbulb bobbing above his makeshift grave.(or ritual altar. or death bed, awaiting the funeral knell. he remembers the scent of pine and petrichor clinging to his back, mingling with blood and spinal fluid sunk deep into coat fibers.) he relishes in the radiating comfort of shared body heat, the sturdy broad points of dean's familiar physique, his solid resistance keeping sam from lapsing into his past. lucifer's mimicry always precluded the affects of dean's weight, burdened by an angelic richness; his violent press offered no resistance, and verified the complete impossibility of it. human pliability jerks his brother's shoulders, lets sam feel the wire tension coiling his forearms, prompting a soft exhale of held breath. ' he threatened me, before i ever fell. the.. the very first time he appeared to me, he was.. pretending to be jess. i-i still think about her, you know? and then it was, when you shot him, and we thought it'd kill him. he promised, he'd.. ' sam trails off. digging the hole to plant the flagpole of the wound himself wasn't going to help, but, god damn, does excising it feel almost good, crouched upon the precipice of religious confession. ' hey-- ' dominant hand frees to slink up the arch of dean's shoulder, thumb coursing an affectionate and appraising tract across his collar (a tear trickling hot and salty simultaneously from the corner of one eye), ' dean. you couldn't have known. you never.. stared me down that barrel, okay? i know i-i can't, make it better. you can't make it go away. but you've always taken care of me. and i'm, i'm only still here, because of you. he tried to ruin that, but he never will. you already suffered for me. ' #picksmusic#THREAD.#V. HEAVEN KNOWS I'M MISERABLE NOW.#man.62
prodigilYOUR TRAGIC LOVE STORY IS: orpheus & eurydice. you’re a dreamer, a hopeful soul who clings to love even when the world tells you to let go. your love is rooted in devotion, in the belief that you can hold onto something through sheer willpower. you see beauty everywhere, in music, in memory, in small moments, and you tend to put your heart above your head. sometimes this makes you hesitate, second-guess, or lose faith at the worst possible moment. but that doesn’t mean your love isn’t powerful... it’s just achingly human. you remind people that love is fragile, that it can be lost in a single glance, and that doesn’t make it any less profound. you’re the kind of person whose love lingers long after you’ve gone, echoing in the songs and stories of others. tagged: @picksmusic RAHHH
tagging: ermm.... @eidetic187 @punchedharder @godblooded @redstrng @thcrnypain.#DASH GAMES.#PROMPT.#killing me because in his romantic relationships sam is frequently analogous to orpheus.#but in his relationship w dean he is 100 percent by far eurydice.#doomed to fail by the person who loves him most out of love.… See all6
prodigilmore misc hcs :)sam runs cold, and is not fond of intense heat. he barely tolerates summer, and likes to keep an ice pack or two in the impala (in a cooler) for extremely hot days. he will also insist on AC where possible, especially since they dont really pay for anything legitimately. he'd rather be comfortable and cool than gross and sweaty. yes, he finds this bitterly ironic once he learns lucifer "burns cold" himself. sam played a good deal of video games in his downtime in stanford, in between studying and working and classes. he and brady shared a nintendo 64 and a ps1. (or, rather, brady bought them, and sort of gifted them to sam, and no longer cared about them once he became possessed.) sam knocked out a few of the early resident evil games, mario 64, a handful of mortal kombat games, and a few others. he played a number of games with jess after it became apparent brady had fallen off the wagon and sam couldn't save him.most of their job doesnt bother sam in any traditional sense. gore, shed flesh, dead bodies, the scent of burning skin and hair, inhuman physiology--yeah, some of it is a bit gross, especially anything slimy or molting. but in the end, none of it would dissuade him from doing his job.(he doesnt need thanks either. the job itself is thankless. the hard part is not getting paid for it. he would love to live a legitimate life free of this burden but doesn't feel he is entitled to happiness or his own life.) there are a number of non prescription medications packed away in the impala. light otc from tylenol and advil and benadryl to heavier things stolen from pharmaceutical safes like morphine, vicodin, and some surgery grade opiates for breaks and lacerations that cant be taken to the ER. topical anesthesia, too, of course, but nothing to knock anyone out but rohypnol, and that isn't for stitching--thats for monsters responsive to it usually. sam has some moderate field medicinal skill and knowledge: he can reset breaks and dislocations, can identify compartment syndrome or when a limb isnt salvageable, can cauterize and tourniquet wounds, and is a relatively skilled stitcher. (he learned how to sew clothes first, when holes would punch through his growing up, and moved onto flesh when dean and john would present with wounds). many nights were spent sitting beside his father or behind his brother to sew up a wound.sam probably would've worked both as a criminal defense lawyer and divorce attorney. i think he would enjoy those aspects of law the most and would pursue them specifically. so he would've been barred as a general practice attorney in santa clara somewhere. a lot of sam's old ids, both his real california state drivers license and his falsified identities, still list his sex as F. he just doesn't really care about changing them all the time because there is no monolithic gender marker in the US. if someone notices he writes it off as a misprint due for fixing on his next renewal. would have also been one to take adolescent cases involving sensitive crimes against children in terms of prosecution, especially in verses with no monsters, as azazel would've groomed him regardless.#HEADCANON.#rahhh my beloved boy.4
prodigilsam with a partner who doesnt travel with him and dean and instead expectantly waits for him to visit them on the road and gets so antsy about it they drive out to where they suspect he's going to be by scouring papers and digital trails and sort of accidentally unintentionally become a hunter themself just to keep up w their boyfriend#i want ships in general.......... but you know.#WISHLIST.#OOC.54
prodigilsome little things btw your muse is totally free to recognize sam as both a hunter and a criminal. while dean has a more forward facing criminal profile via identity manipulation, sam is considered an accomplice, suspect, and a participant in the "milwaukee bank robbery". (which btw. there is no bank of milwaukee irl. drives me crazy). the winchesters are also prolific hunters and enter a sort of boogeyman status for most inhumans entities. sam has always displayed minute demonic traits since his blood inoculation. it's never been so intense as to induce anything like electrical storms, but sam's very presence frequently made clocks freeze and lights flicker or stall. excusable weirdness that never led to anything significant. his blood is also hot and likely hallucinogenic to some degree, his smell is off (he wont smell entirely human), and he's obviously been able to perceive that something is 'wrong' with him since he was very little. since john says he's 'known for a while' i personally assume that means years ago he figured out what was "wrong" with sam and never told him. i do think some of sam's lingering dysphoria is very strongly eradicated by the heavenly host being like 'lol you were intentionally made this way' about him being trans#HEADCANON.#just on my mind.#leaving soon but will be back later after my surgery.#my hysto is scheduled too :'D september 29th.3
prodigilRebloggedbootscootedFollow@prodigil"Now what in the HELL happened here?"He has folks to do this sorta investigating for him but Rae is both a nosy mother fucker and a boots on the ground sort. He just can't stand only giving orders, he'd rather be showing how it's done and in person.His hands are set on his hips as he looks at the damage, then at the tall fella nearest him."Who did this?"prodigil' this is--this is, uh-- ' so much for his guarded reputation as the academic; sam comes to a staggering halt, discreetly concealing his silver plated 1911 in the confines of his cahartt sleeve. instinctively, he flails, hands crooked at awkward inward facing angles, as if to divest himself from the imagery charcuterie stretched out before him. the scrawled mandarin on the ground is in a childish, wobbly hand, the warding circle accompanying it practiced and narrow chalk. crusting the pavement beside it is a shock of black soot, circling the perimeter of the evidently chinese ward. it looked as if someone had taken a conductive, if not explosive, heating element to the ground, just barely skating past the zone of safety created by the makeshift warding. sam flusters, picking at his threadbare denim knee. ' i don't have a good answer. ' #bootscooted#THREAD.#V. TBT.#wuahfjaFsjfhjsfwfmwg#i think spn missed out a lot by not expanding into cross country mythology enough#so chinese mythology it is. sam was fighting a dragon :/11
prodigilRebloggedpicksmusicinside dean is a tenuous wire trap that's been eroding since the moment he crawled out with a mouthful of soil & the ghost of the rack tormenting the sinew astride his spine. watching the warmth snuff to something cold, inhuman, so callous compared to the entreating empathy sam typically heralds to a fault is the last, winnowing straw that ruptures it. red roars up to his temples & floods his sight line. woozy with wrath, dean's voice rumbles a thread he has no hope of carrying out if sam has truly followed this path. " do you realize what you're doing? " booms in a crackling bellow. bone surges to steal pigment from straining, leeched skin over the bulbous flare of his knuckles. cords fletch tendons pulleying on either side of his neck, teeth bare to gnash. he stares into his brother's eyes, heart palpitating at the bald fear he might find a flash of yellow stolen amongst the hazel hues. " you are so far off the rails right now, i gotta wonder if you even remember what the goddamn track looks like. " fists pommeled at his hips, the flexion of his fingers bearing the brunt of his fury, dean thrusts his chin toward the door. " surrounding yourself with demons? " he studies over sam's form, so familiar to him with the curling halo of chestnut hair flicking up around his slim, soft features, his lanky frame hilted four inches higher than his own, as he could somehow catalogue the changes with his naked eye. " are you even human anymore? "prodigilthe verbal beatdown isn't unexpected, that toothy repertoire a cruel fusillade to sam's squirmy insides. it hurts, it really does, gnaws at all the chewy valves of his organs, but what lightens sam is that dean--perhaps paralyzed by an apex and deeply primordial fear, the way the fish fears the shark--fails to act on his swelling rage. sam shuffles foot to foot, hip cocked at a lax angle. the tension he bears settles into the plaid bound line of his shoulders, stiff plateaus markedly heavy. in that moment, he is simply sam, an anxious swirl flexing the muscle cradling his viscera, crown cast down. his bangs shadow the nervous dart of his stare, a dog's white whale eyes. ' don't do that to me. ' a hard line sets sam's jaw, molars gnashing sour discontent. ' don't punish me for protecting myself. for accepting this part of me that was forced onto me! ' an accusatory finger prods the apex of dean's clavicle, the junction adjoining his deltoid. ' don't.. don't pretend you think it's right dad knew what i was and--and, pretended i was something else. you've been afraid of me since the start--both of you were. i'm just making something good out of it! '#picksmusic#THREAD.#V. IT'S ALL FIRE AND BRIMSTONE; BABY.#wah82
prodigilsam hates cops. he always had a very hard time not telling off cops interfering with a hunt growing up, and sort of hates when he has to pretend to be one. he knows it is a necessary act to play as it gives him access to private information, but he doesn't like it. he much rather prefers to pretend to be a private investigator, which is leagues closer to what he actually is anyhow. if he hadn't gotten into stanford, he might've ended up tangling much more heavily with police in his late teens. won a number of shooting competitions as a teenager. sam is a crack shot with a rifle, and liked the feeling of doing something right, of winning. he's pretty sure his old trophies got pawned for a knife or two at some point. sam doesn't really love driving the impala. he just wont do it post s1 finale unless he has no choice, but overall he doesn't like driving cars; he is vastly preferential to motorcycles. is generally the one who remembers to purchase contraceptives between him and dean. there is an assortment of condoms and a few sheets of day after pills in the glovebox tucked away behind everything else. both for his safety and deans, since he really doesnt want to be carrying a kid on the road and doesnt want to spontaneously discover he's an uncle. (side eyes emma....) will look like a career criminal to anyone looking into his life. numerous fake ids for a number of associations, credit fraud trails and spoofed papers, jailbroken electronics, etcetera. prefers the more subdued methods of entry (i.e. lockpicking) over forceful ones. sam generally does feel bad about causing collateral and environmental damage to peoples homes and businesses, so tries his best to avoid it. #HEADCANON.3
prodigilRebloggednonempyreal"Man, what the fuck?" That, and a million other burning questions careen through her mind, runaway trains of thought on a collision course at their junction. It's hard to untangle one line of thinking without losing grip on the others. Haven gives up - for now, at least - and leans back in the seat instead.As the landscape outside the car's windows scrolls by, she can't help but ruminate over the nightmares she had woken up from the week prior: strange shapes in the sky, impossibly bright light burning someone from the inside out, and familiar-seeming faces distorted into unfriendly expressions. She had bolted awake on more than one occasion with a strong urge to run. From who, or what, and to where? Indiscernible. Regardless, she'll keep it close to her chest. Divulging her visions has already earned her a helping of blunt force trauma, and that's more than plenty, thank you very much.One question she can manage to lasso and express, though. "How long have we been on the road?" A valid inquiry given the circumstances, but Haven won't explain that with elapsed time and a general sense of direction, she can make a few educated guesses about their current location on a map. "Oh, and did either of you troglodytes grab my sketchbook by any chance?"prodigil' uh-- ' up rolls steam pressed borrowed suit jacket, unveiling sam's wrist watch and a narrow hypertrophic scar cutting crossways from the mechanized straps, dead stop halfway up his forearm. ' 'bout an hour. ' a succinct seventy miles or so cleared under wheel, owed to the impala chugging a solid tempo across a spanning interstate. he's familiar with these veins of asphalt and concrete, the sprawling roots that made this urban nest; the roads are second only to the interior of the impala, invisible ley lines scratched across sam's brain. although his preference wasn't the helm, he could steer the impala through any back country the same as his elder brother. the look sam spares haven through the reflective rearview is an authentically wounded one, a brief spring of the mouth and twine of the brow that flattens back into his typically worn mask of somber placidity. she had a right to be angry, even if this was an abduction in her benefit. the host would gun for her the moment they felt her in the cosmic stratosphere, that much, even sam knew. ' ...why? ' he cranes his head over his shoulder to get a look at her, appraising the threat she posed from the otherwise unoccupied back seat. ' no, i didn't think to grab your sketch book. ' #nonempyreal#THREAD.#V. HEAVEN KNOWS I'M MISERABLE NOW.61
prodigilsam and michael is a dynamic i think would be very fun to explore. especially post cage. because michael's suffering is a fragment compared to sam's; michael is an archangel, THE archangel perhaps, and his time in the cage would have been not nearly as detrimental to his well being compared to sam. not only do i not believe lucifer would hurt michael in the way he hurt sam (he rapes and assaults sam; i think he just physically fights with michael), michael would be resilient in comparison to sam toward these attacks. sam is nothing but a demon blooded human to them, very finite and small. his potential relationship with sam depends on how michael would react to it all, though its already negatively standing due to his intention to participate in the apocalypse and his want to possess his brother. sam's experience with lucifer was so vile, he'd rather destroy michael himself if he could, to prevent dean from experiencing a scintilla of pain in comparison. (not that i per se think michael is capable of rape the way lucifer was, i truly do not think he is, but still. you cant help hypervigilance like that when its merited.) i just. i cannot imagine how terrorized sam would feel regardless. you saw him, you saw what he did to me, and you never stopped it. you never tried. you're just as bad as him. #OOC.#michael being a hypocrite about lucifer the way dean is about sam though. whoowee#MISC.#rape mention tw3
prodigilsup3s asked:[ ice pack ] - bobbytaking care of (sam). | @sup3ssender wraps an ice pack in a towel and presses it gently where it hurts.an unflattering trench whorls crossways sam's puffy lower lip, vibrant purples pressing the swollen lids of his left blackened eye together. he's fifteen, in the midst of an awkward growth spurt; his limbs stick out too long and gangly, the ankles of his wide mouthed jeans hiked up over the knob of bone. worst of all, he flinches every time uncle bobby nears his peripherals, like a startled prey animal. the fight in him that had prompted his struggling just the night before has guttered out: the vampires that had snatched him from that nebraska gas station were dead, and with their death, sam's retaliatory spirit. still, he's spooked. he trusts bobby implicitly: sam's distress stems from dean's absence and the eagerness he and john had exhibited at the prospect of chasing the blood suckers back into the depth of their nest. sam would have liked to be there. yet here he was, putting on a brave face, pretending he wasn't still riding the aftershocks of a visceral fear. it took a sick mind to encourage your prey to participate in their own death: sam had always thought of vampires as an elusive non-threat, hanging upon the dredges of society to leech off their benefactors. fairy tales and old memories. bobby is gentle as he applies the home made ice pack, a handheld bag of chipped ice wrapped in an old, clean dish towel blunting the scorch of cold. ' i don't wanna talk about it. '#sup3s#RESPONSE.#PROMPT.#tiny sam so no icons#rahhh1
prodigilone more little nsfw hc then before i go to bed.Keep reading#HEADCANON.#NSFW.#yes he knows its unsafe but thats part of the thrill for him i think#listen dean isnt the only one who got used to being a drifter okay1
prodigilsome more psychic child stuff bc its on my mind as i'm in s2 in my rewatch.sam is immune to all acts of telepathy. he is not immune to telekinesis in any way, but mind reading, altering, manipulation, etc, are all completely inert when used against sam. the telepath will be blocked and receive no "signal" and cannot make any suggestions unto sam's psyche or impart him with anything. (nor can they take anything away.) only physical manipulation allows for this and it needs to be consensual, a la castiel taking on some of sam's trauma and pain in s7. something that is self contained like a projection he is more likely to be susceptible to, but actual mind manipulation simply will not work. (you also wouldnt want it to after sam's abuse in hell. it is incomprehensible for others and feels like being flayed alive to touch.) the only way to see sam's memories then is through possession. this means a telepath cannot reach out to him benignly either, sam simply will not pick it up.sam is capable of learning all powers the other psychic children possess and imo is natally gifted with them, they're just not his focus so he doesn't know he can do it at first. (plus, he is discouraged from flexing these muscles by dean, who is obviously afraid of sam's abilities.) in every verse, his precognition will manifest first; everything else comes in after as a trickle. as the boy king of hell, sam is able to summon things like hell hounds and daeva without involving rituals or binding spells. canon sam could maybe do this with enough effort, though it is highly unlikely, especially as he is gated by his own reticence and fear surrounding his abilities. in his boy king and marvel verses, sam's weaknesses are not present at all. as in, he cannot be telekinetically manipulated by others, or rent from his own body, or anything he can do to others. boy king sam also can contend with alastair and lilith, meaning seraphim and angelic foot soldiers dont particularly frighten him. his only enemies are the archangels and lucifer himself.#HEADCANON.#as i thought it would be it is BLAZING hot.#i moved all my shit to the living room but it is so hot i will be on off for the rest of summer.#expect normal activity by september. but i do have operations coming up in that time#that'll make my activity a bit sparse too.4
prodigilsam has such a miserable ass life if you think about it, both if you go from just s1 to 5, to all the way to s15. he has such spotty moments of happiness. the nexus of dean's enjoyment of life and happiness seems to slowly open up over time to include more than sam, but from sam's end, it is more like an exclusion, especially as sam is given a backseat narrative to dean / dean becomes the favored child narratively. (but i'm not here to grouse about that rn.) imagine being born and having a huge part of your autonomy immediately overwritten by your own mother. no matter that sam "understands" why she made it once he knew it happened, he still grows up his entire life feeling sick, dirty, and poisoned for reasons that he cannot understand that feel impossible to apply a metric to. imagine having a father like john who spirals into this overbearing drill sergeant instead of being your father, because of the actions of your mother trying to save his life, so he instead unwittingly repays her by completely ruining her children. and alright, not just that, but you spend your entire adolescence not getting to be a child because you have to be a hunter. okay. so when sam finally gets an inkling of independence and a life outside of what hunting offers it's stolen away from him in a grand total of four years (and this life is one he makes at the expense of sacrificing his previous life and starting from nothing. john told him not to come back.)like. this is already a horrible existence to contend with. but the things that happen to sam over the course of the show are just, completely despicable. his girlfriend dies in a violent supernatural goring and fire by the same thing that killed his mom to spurn him back into hunting. immediately the life he spent four years building is gone, down the drain, his prospects as an attorney squandered. he gives up having stable shelter. he spends a whole year looking for his dad which is why he agreed to go back to hunting to begin with, just for john to repeatedly divorce himself from his kids and then fucking die. sam bears the guilt of this forever as he was driving the impala when it happened and can put two and two together. and the thing you've spent your entire life going after still isn't dead. so there goes another year of this, not knowing what you even are, learning along the way your father believed you had the capacity for evil so intensely that he ordered the only person who wholeheartedly loves you, your brotherfathereverything, to kill you if you're evil. like. what does that even mean? evil can be anything. and sam is disadvantaged by circumstances that were completely out of his grasp since before he was even born. and then the angels tell him his destiny is to be eviscerated from the inside and for whats left to be mercilessly abused by the literal devil forever. they're like sitting there telling him that heaven wants the apocalypse, therefore they want lucifer to claw his way inside of him. imagine learning what becomes your unending rape and absolute, total cellular destruction was sanctioned by a host of angels. this is your life, sam winchester: stolen from you before you were even born. #this is a queued post because i'm just in shambles#Q.#MISC.#HEADCANON.#i guess#rape mention cw#the amount of angels who are like. 'lol yep lucifer is going to turn you inside out' before it happens...??!!#like theyre so candid about it. they know and they dont care. because sam is just a human after all.1
prodigilsam and kinks.Keep reading#HEADCANON.#NSFW.3
prodigilRebloggedpicksmusicsam's fingers mark the trellis edge of the angel print welted at his shoulder & dean stalls every lurching compulsion firing at his nerve endings to rip away from his brother's probing grasp. " dunno. " empty, staring eye sockets pulsing & pulped with wet red, static paired off with zinging shards cascading out at rapid speed, a pair of piercing blue eyes & shadowy wing tips flung out to massive, impossible outline on the wall. the protrusion above his voice box oscillates in a slow, adhesive roll. bobby's ill at ease, evasive commentary about making a visit to sam a secondary priority is a sudden intrusion encroaching on the thoughts pelting about his skull so colossal it rivals castiel's branching span. " guess something hitched a ride with me on the way out. " under any other circumstance, lying so baldly to his brother after clawing his way free of a pine box would be the sole source of bile eroding a caustic path up his esophagus. but, as dean acclimates to the scene surrounding him, the sour spill coating his tongue only envenoms. the acid pit rendered to his stomach lining distends to a corrosive, precarious void. sam speaks to explain, but all dean can hear is the ripping snarl of a hell hound. he can only experience the strips of his own flesh shredding his guts from where they collar from pelvis to rib under raking, vicious pawing as talons hook his flesh to tow him down to hell. " you tell these goons to screw off for a second? " dean asks, his own voice far off, stolid to his own ears. " i gotta talk to you. just us. " prodigillike closing a book, the warm and open affect sam portrays stalls to a flat and dead end, as if dean's been hitting his ticker and finally clocked the last ticket in the roll. sam's fingers flex into his palms, thumb curling over a bridge of incorporeal claws; natal affronts that would serve to drive home his profoundly ambiguous inhumanity, newborn teeth and feathers affixed at birth yet spared by the rich character of his human soul. he can yet hear azazel's trilling rumble loping up the knob of his neck, mouth low at the shell of his ear: she walked in on us.those invisible claws fold sharply into the meat of sam's palms, clustered nerves responsively twinging. ' they're all outside of the building. they won't go further than that. it didn't really matter if they did, anyway. ' in fact, had dean the appropriate internal attunements to mark out their wraith silhouettes, he might note the shadowy spires streaking distended hatches across tile wall; more than one daeva prowled the boy king's inner domain, frothing guard dogs. ' ' let me put it like this. i love you, dean. i'd do anything for you. i mean, this was for you. but i won't let you stand between me and ending this before it begins. ' sam absently cracks his knuckles, palm thrust into the titanium ridges, anything to occupy his hands. ' you gotta level the playing field. i'm not losing you again. ' #picksmusic#THREAD.#V. IT'S ALL FIRE AND BRIMSTONE; BABY.82
prodigilfiguring out some of sam's tells... heavily bruised knuckles and dirty nails for human sam who has been actively beating the shit out of visitors. i think human sam also would have clean but hairy armpits and visitor sam would have clean but hairless armpits, as a very subtle tell since that isn't an explicitly visitor trait. #they both have imperfect teeth. but visitor sam probably has an aura with scary ass wings to account for lucifer#human sam probably has the hanging body aura photo#MINE.#still gotta work up a sprite for him but with how my laptop is failing i cant use photoshop at all#so idk when that'll happen14
