seepy-sucker

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From their first meeting in hell - Castiel thought Dean Winchester was a work of art. The angel painstakingly rebuilt the righteous man. Then left his mark upon him and signed his work

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jesse calling danny jojo and joseph :( i love them sm

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headcanon that the isle kids who don’t have good/affectionate parents (ie. mal, evie, jay, carlos) are just super physically affectionate with each other. like casual intimacy is high on their list of friendship traits yk? and i feel like auradon just. doesn’t do that. they don’t really hold hands or sling arms around shoulders typically, so when isle kids start flooding the halls and touching each other they think it’s really weird

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Luigi Mangione's lawyer is SO good

like, she didn't miss a beat in the arraignment, calling out the police, the perp walk, the mayor...

I hope this trial is televised tbh. i will not miss a second of it if it is

ETA: ANNNNDDD calling out the mayor for not using the word "alleged".. YES!

I get SOO annoyed whenever people complain about the media using the word "alleged", especially when there is video footage of the crime happening... people complain that it's some sort of media bias, and not like... straight up a VIOLATION OF A CONSTITUTIONAL RIGHT if they don't say "alleged"

The presumption of innocence is a right. Luigi's rights have been violated repeatedly in this regard.

And possibly also his right to a fair trial, since they are creating SO MUCH bias against him

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hair is washed. i am lovable and capable of loving again

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it’s not fucking tinnitus idiot that’s my guardian angel speaking to me

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troll hunters was a wild ride bc wdym there’s very literal mpreg in that movie

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dean ‘abandonment issues’ winchester really fell in love with a bewinged creature who can teleport at the drop of a hat huh

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“are you okay” no bro i constantly feel like i am too much but simultaneously not enough

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https://linktr.ee/avis_server

harry potter server <3

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if you’ve got playlist ideas, lmk!

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i need touch. i need to have a hand in mine and a palm to my wrist, a forehead against my shoulder and a cheek to my neck. i need affection. i need little taps on the shoulder and resting heads against my own. i need it. i follow after those i love like a dog on a leash because i need them. i need their eyes and their attention— but i fear asking for it. i hover like a lighting bug too scared to seek the big light, throat lodged and eyes wide. like a puppy trying not to beg for a treat, wanting but taught not to ask. this need is not a want, like wanting a new toy. i need it to function, like you need words of encouragement and love to function. words are nice, but words can lie. and for me, touch is what i need.

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It’s Christmas, or so the date on Dean’s phone says when he wakes up. He doesn’t expect much— the Winchesters never pay much attention to the holiday— but today feels hollow.

Maybe it’s because Sam left the bunker a week ago to spend this day with Eileen. Maybe it’s because the big, silent bunker looks the same as ever— not a single twinkling light or Santa in sight. Maybe it’s because Dean’s seen too many cheesy Christmas movies the last few days and he longs for a holiday miracle of his own.

It seems greedy to ask for another miracle. After all, Cas is back from the Empty, fully intact with wings and all, and living in the bunker. Dean couldn’t ask for more.

Well, he could ask for the ability to say more than one word to Cas when they pass each other in the hallway first thing in the morning. Dean wants to say more. He wants to grab Cas by the shoulders, look him in the eye, and say it.

Dean wants to say it. He wants to say it so badly, but whenever he sees Cas, Dean’s arms become leaden weights, his tongue ties up in knots, and he barely manages to squeak out a, “Hi.”

And Cas just looks at him, smiles that special smile where his eyes do all the work, and replies, “Hello, Dean.”

Then Dean is left rooted in the hallway as Cas walks by, heart beating like he ran from a nest of fifty vamps, because of the fondness in Cas’s voice and the love in his eyes.

Love. Love.

Dean sighs then leaves the bed, dressing quickly into his warmest flannel and jeans to avoid the bunker’s winter chill. He shoves his feet into fuzzy slippers and exits his room, ready to follow the usual morning routine.

Except, Cas isn’t there. Dean looks up and down the endless brown hallway, waits a few minutes, and checks again. Cas is always there, every morning, but today Cas isn’t there.

Trying to shake off his disappointment, Dean trudges to the bathroom to clean up— a cold splash of water on his face does the trick— and heads to the kitchen for a much needed cup of coffee when he’s done. On his way there, however, he hears a crash and a deep, heartfelt angelic curse.

As he seeks out the source of the noise, Dean notices a bloom of multi-coloured lights coming from the war room. When he enters it, he sees Christmas lights wrapped around the staircase banister— half of them coming loose because the tape securing them are pulling up— a tiny and thin tree at the head of the table with a haphazard mess of tinsel draped over it, and Cas, his eyes wide as his mouth parts in surprise.

“Oh. Hel—” Cas closes his mouth and clears his throat, then tries again, “Hello, Dean.”

“Morning, Cas.” Dean leans into the door frame. He studies the piles of decorations on the table. Ah, there’s a Santa. “What’s all this?”

“This?” Cas scratches the back of his head, a piece of blue tinsel shining from above his eyebrow. “This looks much easier in the movies.”

Dean grins and walks into the room. He avoids the mess of shattered red glass on the floor that must have been an ornament— the source of the earlier crash— and stands across from Cas.

Cas ducks his head. “You— you’ve been quiet since Sam left and you were watching all those movies so I thought—” He gestured to the stumpy little tree. “It took me all night to find that. They’re sold out everywhere. And I suppose I lost track of time and—”

Dean surges forward and Cas cuts off with a surprised, “oof.”

Burying his face in Cas’s shoulder, Dean breathes in the scent of the Christmas tree and Cas— of the ozone just before a lightning storm, hinting at the incredible power wrapped by the body of a warm and wonderful man who fits in Dean’s arms so perfectly. It’s as if Cas is made for them, as if he belongs there.

“I love you,” Dean mumbles into the material of the trench coat.

Cas hears it. Dean knows he does because Cas freezes, arms hanging at his side. It makes Dean’s heart race. But he doesn’t regret it. He should’ve told Cas sooner.

“I love you,” Dean says again, a little louder, a little more confidently.

Cas raises his arms and returns the hug. Dean lifts his head and presses his lips to Cas’s ear.

“I love you,” he whispers, a declaration, a prayer.

A miracle.

Cas squeezes Dean tighter, but doesn’t say anything. Pushing down his initial panic, Dean realizes that Cas is shaking. He’s overwhelmed. Speechless.

Kissing Cas’s temple, Dean runs his fingers through Cas’s hair. “Merry Christmas, Cas.”

(A few hours later, the tree is decorated and lights twinkle from the stairwell. Dean and Cas stand hand-in-hand beneath them, watching each other smile under every colour of the rainbow.)

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Cas being able to canonically pick up on longing?? Dean Winchester you are so fucked.

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Don’t they have to clean the bunker? Did they hire someone? Did they clean up themselves? Did Dean wear like a lil cleaning lady uniform while mopping the floors? Did Cas help dust the furniture and books? Did they just pretend to be busy cleaning while Sam did all the work?

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Jensen: “Destiel is trending again because Misha said WHAT??”