#jaredsnuggles

Thank you! I never really write things about Sam! 

—

Sam didn’t remember leaving the house, only John’s words that followed him. He didn’t remember jacking the pick up truck at the end of the road, but he found himself driving down a dark road. Blood rushed in his ears, his brain a wild tangle of thoughts. Frazzled, Sam realized his erratic driving would put him in the grave before he even saw Stanford.

Sam pulled off at the first motel. R D ROOF I N. They had vacancy and a vending machine. Good enough.

The man might have thought Sam was coked out but Sam didn’t care. He felt coked out, but he didn’t care. He got out.

He got out.

The shabby room had peeling wallpaper dating back to the 80’s and a lumpy heart shaped bed. When Sam laid on his back, his reflection stared back at him from the stained mirror above him. The TV didn’t work, the AC barely worked, and the bathroom saw better days.

All better than what he left.

Sam stared at himself in the gross mirror. From a distance he could still see the bags under his eyes. If he looked closer in the bathroom mirror, he was sure he sprouted a few grays after tonight. His father hadn’t been too happy to hear of Sam’s plans for the future, but Sam wasn’t going to let that stop him. He worked too hard, too long, and dammit he was getting to California.

He rolled over, checking his phone. Dean called him about a dozen times. A pang of guilt dropped in his stomach thinking about his brother’s face when he stormed out, but Dean knew it was coming. Sam confided in him a couple weeks prior, and urged Dean to come with him. The California sun would do him good. Getting away from John would be good.

But Dean refused. And Sam went anyways. He couldn’t stay behind just because of Dean, it wasn’t plausible. It wasn’t logical.

Sam left a note under Dean’s pillow, telling him the address of his dorm on campus and that he was always welcome to stop by. But he didn’t think Dean ever would, especially after the shit show that went down tonight.

Dean’s face filled Sam’s mind as the adrenaline wore off and he slipped into unconsciousness, the guilt settling in his soul for the night.

*      *      *  

The first week at Stanford was hell.

Not only did he skip most of the orientation due to his journey to California starting so late, but he also just felt like shit.

Sam wandered around the streets of Palo Alto alone, in a kind of daze. The dream realized, he didn’t know what else to do now. He spent so long of his life trying to get out that now he was, he didn’t know what to do. He didn’t plan for this.

He made one friend in his Western Civ class, a kid named Brady who seemed nice enough. But that was it, and Brady had a bigger group of friends Sam didn’t try to tackle. It was then he realized that even though he was surrounded by people like himself, he felt incredibly lonely.

Sam did decide on a major by the end of the week, something he didn’t intend to have right away. He thought of his brother, and god help him his father, and the people they helped. He thought of all the cases that would get tried, prosecuted, and land innocent people in jail. He thought of the shapeshifters, the vampires, and the whatever else went bump in the night and turned innocent people into monsters in the public eye.

He figured the world could do with a defense lawyer who saw past the box.

SUPERNATURAL CREATIONS CHALLENGE | octomoosey for jaredsnuggles ↳ Prompt: Sam Winchester + {Quote} “People can change. There is reason for hope”

OMG FRIEENNNDDDDD HII

I grew up with F1, so this has been in the back of my mind as a fic idea for a long time! DCBB just finally made me kick myself into gear to finish writing it.

You’ll catch a lot more references in the fic then! :D (and probably a lot of the technicalities too lol)

@ spnsummergen assignments come out today!

same ��

Sarah! °˖✧◝(⁰▿⁰)◜✧˖°It’s not really an option at the moment, although I guess it could be. I’ve certainly considered commissions, but let me explain as to why I have never offered them.

I feel that I’m just not good enough.

Art is incredibly important to me, and I think it’s one of the greatest things that we, as humans, have to offer the world. Sure, it can come to us in many forms, but I personally find “my form” underwhelming. When I started uploading my art onto Tumblr, I felt as though I wasn’t quite making the grade. So essentially – to me – offering commissions was like selling an apple beside an orchard, you know? Why would I encourage people to pay me for what I consider a joyous hobby, when there are greater artists out there who do this for a living? 

Then you’ve got the fear of disappointing people, which has held me back throughout most of my life. I studied photography for three years, but would rather spend the rest of my working life in a call centre than risk disappointing a client. If I spend weeks drawing a portrait, only for the requester to loathe it, I’ve placed time and energy into nothing but disappointment. It’s an off-putting prospect.