Should I
       e m b r a c e
              the  m o n s t e r
                      or try to hide it till it
                                          b r e a k s


My favorite thing is when two muns are just chatting casually as their muses have hardcore sex

04:35 584 notes via + source


  • Send a strongly worded letter. With underlining, and exclamation points.
  • Ask if I’m the real Slim Shady, in which case, I will stand up.
  • Believe really hard that we’re already roleplaying. Believing makes things a little less fake.
  • Submit your desperation and cry a lot.
  • Throw a brick through my window. We can be penpals once you’re in jail.
16:05 11,371 notes via + source

Home on Prom Night || deanchestah


Sam caught the can and popped the top to take a sip, almost choking when Dean made the suggestion.  “Dean…you can’t be serious.  Who’s gonna be my date?  You?”  That thought made his heart give a leap.  No one in this town knew Dean or knew that Dean was his brother.  The younger Winchester shrugged and finally got up and walked toward the small closet.  He didn’t know why he had a suit anyway…he never did the interviews with their dad so he never needed to look professional.  “Better get yours on too big brother…you’ll be coming with me after all.”

He fervently prayed that they sold tickets at the door and they would be able to get in for him to enjoy this.  Sam tossed the tie to the side, opting to go without one and went to the bathroom to change.  The white shirt was thankfully unwrinkled and the pants and jacket were neatly ironed.  His hands shook violently as he took the items off of the hanger and began to change into them.  It seemed to take forever to get dressed and put his shoes on, but he finally managed.

When the teenager finally stepped out of the bathroom, his throat dried up at the sight of his brother.  He looked amazing.  Sam knew that Dean was going to be in every girl’s sight the moment he walked into the door of the school and that thought made him jealous.  “You’re gonna be a chick magnet,” he finally managed to squeak out.  “I’m gonna have to beat them off of you with a stick.”  He smoothed out the jacket and made sure his hair wasn’t mussed.  “Uh…shall we?”

"Well, if you’re going to be that forward." The remark was intentionally light-hearted but the look in his eyes as he throws a grin in his brother’s direction reveals more sober undertones than his sarcasm lets on. Shrugging it off anyway (and trying not to look so happy when Sam took him up on his offer), he watched his brother cross the motel room over to his makeshift wardrobe, a short laugh leaving him. "Really? You want me to dress up all pretty too? We’re really going the full nine yards, huh."

Originally he’d intended on just going in another one of his shirts, a pair of jeans and John’s jacket drawn across his shoulders. But now? Now he was fingering through the suits he wore to interviews pondering over what Sam would like him in best like a teenage girl on her first date. Mentally cursing at himself for his ridiculous behaviour, he quickly pulled out jacket and trouser co-ordinates, a white shirt and a tie, pulling them all on before donning the smart jacket for his casual worn-in usual one; figuring it looked less like he was overcompensating whilst still looking genuine enough for Sam’s fellow pupils. And here he was again: over-thinking his own damn clothes. Sam was getting to his head and if that wasn’t the most obscene thing ever he didn’t know what was. (Even so, he must have changed jackets half a dozen times.)

By the time Sam finally re-emerged from the bathroom, Dean was all ready to go; the pizza box shoved into the mini fridge (he liked cold pizza anyway). He had to give it to Sam: the boy could scrub up good, and now — upon seeing him — he felt something resembling self-conciousness in a way that was both ridiculous and completely foreign to him. “It’s the Winchester charm” he muttered, doing his best not to check his brother out whilst his brother was looking at him so fervently.

"Uh huh" He nodded, eager for some fresh air. Thanking the Gods above for John being off hunting with a fellow hunter buddy (and henceforth leaving the impala with them), he got into the driver’s seat, drumming his thumb and forefingers against the wheel as Sam took shotgun. The venue wasn’t far from here; already he’d seen the crowds of bright dresses and array of tux’s entering a building down-town when he was out getting dinner… which was almost an hour ago. Shit. Well, in that case he just hoped being fashionably late was still a thing. “So…” He felt compelled to fill the silence with something; pursing his lips as he kept his eyes on the road and willed a coherent sentence to merge. “What’s our story? For prom, I mean.. if anyone asks. Am I your charming, considerate boyfriend of three years or your clearly superior, attractive fling of two weeks?” He’s trying to ease the tension, but if anything it’s making him more and more worked up. He was Dean Winchester. He dealt with vampires, werewolves and every other evil thing under the goddamn sun… so why was he getting nervous over a prom? “Wait— do your friends think you like guys?” Even if the question of his brother’s sexuality was intended discreetly it seemed clear what he was asking. Smooth, Dean, smooth; he scolded.


          “I haven’t changed that much,
           Dean. I’m still me, why can’t
           you see that?”


          “Well, you tell that to the endless amount of
          hunters on your ass. Pretending I have no
          clue where you are only cuts it so far, Sam.

         And oh, I don’t know. It must be the whole
         King Of Hell thing clouding my judgement. 
         No biggie.”


        “—I’m not sure what that’s
         supposed to mean.”


             “It means you’re off the rails. It means,
          I’m standing a foot from my brother and 
          can barely even recognise him. Look at
              you, Sam —- the hell’d happen to you?”


       ❝ gotta say, hell’s sure had a pay raise since my last visit. 
            less high maintenance. more homey

            stained red hands fall to his sides as he turns on the
            balls of his feet to face his new-found companion, a 
            crude half-smile, half-smirk curving up the corner of his
            lips as he surveys their surroundings, before his eyes
            once again landed on his (however cliché it sounded)
            partner-in-crime. ironic how the once vessel of Michael
            had now become consort to the reigning champion
            of something far from heavenly.

                       with the blood of the deceased Crowley and his few 
                       remaining followers on his hands, it seemed this was their  
                       Hell homecoming. nobody left was delusional enough to 
                       take on the next two knights-of-hell (and even if there 
                       were Dean would have little to say other than b r i n g  
                       i t). hell was theirs for the taking; the only consideration
                       he now cared for being how much fun they could make
                       out of running it.

          If it wasn’t for the stirring of his little brother by his side, they’d be no way Dean would have gotten up to the sound of his alarm that morning. Sure, he loved his sleep; but all the early on-the-road hunts with John throughout his childhood had long since denied him the privilege of the capability of a lie-in. The real reason between his reluctance was what the day awaited him: not a spirit, nor a poltergeist or a nasty nest of vampires to shoot his way through. No, high school. In his world, a fate worse than death.

          Rubbing the sleep out of his eyes with the back of his hand, he squinted over at Sam; groaning as the boy woke up to an almost inhuman avidity that he never seemed to master on all days Monday to Friday. “Morning, sunshine.” He drawls, half-hearted sarcasm coming easy in his pre-school grumpiness. “7am already?” His lack of enthusiasm was hard to miss. After all, reciting algebraic equations at a demon wasn’t going to magically make them go away (and it wasn’t as if school taught you how to load a gun in three seconds flat either); efficiently rendering school pointless to him. Yet at the same time, Sam always seemed happy enough going, and so ‘putting up and shutting up’ seemed to be the way to go.

          Reaching his arm out to hit the alarm into silence, he grudgingly rolls out of bed, throwing on a shirt, accompanying overshirt and a pair of faded jeans; the amulet Sam gave him all those years back hanging from his neck unceremoniously. There’s not much he can do to his hair (unlike Sam who’d practically been born with hair longer than his) and so he just leaves it as it is in it’s tousled slept-in state. “Come on, go shower and brush your teeth and I’ll get breakfast ready.”

Home on Prom Night || deanchestah


Sam couldn’t help but roll his eyes.  He didn’t mean experience that way but he knew it was a lame attempt on Dean’s part to make him feel better.  He wasn’t going to lie…it had worked.  “Of course I still like pepperoni, jerk,” Sam answered with a big grin.  He noticed how close his older brother was and he could feel the butterflies flutter in his stomach.  How could he keep his feelings hidden when Dean made it almost impossible for him to do that?

He snagged a slice of pizza and the remote to find the channel for the marathon.  He needed a good laugh to forget what he was missing tonight…and to forget the warmth of the older Winchester beside him.  “Damn…this is good pizza.  Where’d you find this place Dean?”  Sam devoured his slice and reached to grab another slice.  This time, his fingers brushed against Dean’s.  It took everything he had not to intertwine their fingers.

He quickly noticed that the episode that was playing was the prom episode and he frowned.  The universe was definitely against him.  Of course the main topic that went with the episode had him thinking again.  Would he have been able to lose his virginity tonight had he been able to go?  Sam sighed and nibbled the second slice a little slower.  “Hey…do we have any soda?  You know I can’t have pizza without a soda.”

Catching his brother’s eye roll sedates his worry enough for him to nudge his shoulder with his own, that casual playfulness seeping back into his persona. “Bitch.” The response is automatic and his own promptness almost catches himself off guard and would have if it hadn’t been for the distraction he found in the way Sam grinned. His eyes glue on the ridiculously-prominent albeit adorable dimples in his cheeks and the bright eagerness in his eyes before he realises he’s staring and quickly snaps his gaze back to whatever TV programme he was supposed to be focussed on. Oh, he was so going to hell.

"A great place I like to call just around the corner. Gees, Sam. Who knew you could be such a pansy over pizza." And he may be acting ridiculously over-sensitive, but he swears Sam makes sure their fingers brush when he next grabs another slice. Casting another glance up at his brother, he then returns his gaze back to the screen; once again pretending to be engrossed in whatever was on. A prom episode: the cruel irony of it.

Leaning across Sam’s body (and doing his best not to react to the contact), he prised the remote from him and muted the episode with nothing to compensate for his actions but a casual shrug of his shoulders. The whole point of this was to get Sam’s mind off whatever dumb girls (or boys, he went as far to muse) had turned him down; not to watch another half an hour episode on the exact thing he was trying to evade his thoughts from.

"Yeah yeah, I know." A sheepish smile briefly curls up his lips, though he soon clears his throat. What had been comfort in closeness before now seemed like it should be a little too intimate for time spent with his little brother, and so Dean jumps at the opportunity to calm whatever impulse it was that had him looking at his brother with such puppy eyes by grabbing two cans from the little motel fridge, taking his precious time in crossing the room. It only now occurred to him that muting the TV wasn’t such a good idea; whatever highly-inappropriate thing was going through his head right now, limiting his Sam-less distractions wasn’t helping it. Tossing Sam a can without prior warning —- knowing he’d catch it —- he purses his lips, the slight squinting of his eyes in thought causing crinkles. It was a few seconds before he spoke again, but when he did it was abrupt; a complete spur on the moment decision. “You know what? Screw this. You’re right: I’m not going to feed you the same crap Dad did. We can stay inside any other goddamn day, this is your prom. If you wanna go, the hell am I to just let you sit on your ass all day. Go get your suit. We’re going.”