Charles Bukowski | A3 | Charcoal on Paper

Something else is hurting you - that’s why you need pot or whiskey, or screaming music turned so fucking loud you can’t think.

Charles Bukowski

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8

Fans meeting lauren last night (from twitter users carefreecabello, jewishjauregui, perfharmonys and CamsJauregay)

endstiel said:

DeanCas + witch!cas au

salem 1692.

Castiel’s jaw was set, eyes hard on his securely barricaded door. Dean would not stop pacing. Castiel knew how this ended. He’d been hearing the whispers in town, especially Dean’s panicked retellings of rumors muttered in the square.

"They’re going to hang you," Dean said, finally stopping his frantic pacing. "You have to go." His voice was so wrought with determination, fright, desperation, that it was deeply endearing.

"I’m not leaving," Castiel said patiently. He can feel the waves of frustration rolling off of Dean in droves.

Dean knelt in front of Cas, finally catching his gaze. “They’ll kill you. They think you’re-” Dean paused, face pinched, like the word itself was poison to say. Castiel sighed. Their friendship had spanned decades at this point and still Dean fretted over Castiel as if he were a child.

"Even if I was," he said thinly, "I wouldn’t leave."

"You’re insane," Dean accused. "You want them to think- are you trying to die? If that’s what you want, I’ll unlatch the door and let them stomp in here with their torches and burn you to the ground. You have to.”

Castiel didn’t flinch. 

"Say something!" Dean growled, hands tight on Castiel’s knees. "Why don’t you just tell them you’re not-“

"Because I am," he said simply. He brought a hand up to cup Dean’s bestubbled cheek, smiling sadly when Dean didn’t inch away. He just stared at Cas, his brows knit tightly, mouth gently agape with confusion. 

"Cas," he started, the name itself trembling on the tip of his tongue. Castiel’s hand moved to comb through Dean’s hair. Memories flashed behind Castiel’s eyelids; late, warm nights with his hands tangled up right here, tugging and pleading while Dean whispered promises into his skin that he could never keep. 

"We’ve been friends a long time, Dean," Castiel explained, "I thought it was time you knew the truth. Especially if I’m going to die today."

"You’re not,” Dean said angrily, automatically. It made Castiel’s heart beat hard in his chest. “I mean- I can’t- it doesn’t matter.” He paused. “You’re really-“

Castiel flicked his eyes to the table to light a candle. Dean didn’t even startle; he only leaned in, wide, curious eyes staring at the flame. He looked back to Dean and lit all the candles in the room, the fire shooting up unnaturally high for only a moment before dying down to natural glows.

He watched a grin break out over Dean’s lips and the knot that was forming in his stomach eased and unraveled. Dean stood, yanking Castiel up with him, hands tight on his shoulders.

"We’re leaving," he said firmly.

It was the first time Dean had said we.  

—-

Leave an AU and a pairing in my ask and I’ll give you the plot of the fic I won’t write for it.

except I accidentally wrote some of this one 

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