de facto:

Quirky Skirmishes

“Beck! Where are my socks!?”

“In your drawer, hon, probably.”

“No they’re not!”

“Are you, perhaps, looking for particular socks?”

“Yes! Yes you tease! Where are my TARDIS socks, I have to leave for work in five minutes!”

“Oh those socks—“

“—yes those socks!”

“Those are in the bookshelf.”


“Ah, there you are, isn’t this better than yelling across the house—“

“—they’re in the bookshelf!

“The left sock is hidden in my favorite book. The right sock is hidden in the first book that ever made me cry.”


You baked my car keys into your favorite cupcake and made me guess and now it’s coming back to bite you in the ass, Rachel!”

Okay but guys


This episode gave us literally the closest we will ever come from TBPT to a full on Destiel love confession.

We had

“I love you” - Cas looks directly at Dean before saying “I love all of you”

Dean’s face reaction to that.

“I’m fighting for YOU” Dean to Cas.

“Let’s go home” - Dean, looking directly at Cas

Mary called Cas one of her ‘boys’. Implying she sees him as another son, basically her son-in-law.

I don’t think IMO that The Powers that Be will ever go full Destiel on us but this is basically my mindset that Destiel is 'de facto’ canon now. They’ve given us the closest they can. I’m fine with this, I can live with it.

Nisam smeo ni da je taknem te prve noći. Samo sam je gledao. Bila je previše, previše vredna. Činila mi se krhkom, lomljivom, zato i pomalo zabranjenom… najposebnijom od svih.
—  Zajedno sami, Marko Šelić
Long Days

I have never had the illusion, which so many men have, that the presence of and care of children in some way ennobles a man. That the radiant innocence within children acts as a spirited tonic of redemption for the man who sups at the cup of family is a notion which should have remained servants’ chatter and idleness at the women’s table.

But then I see the Count and his little children, and to describe the beauty of the man separate from those children would be to make the Count a cathedral of windows with no sunlight shining through it.

The way his little one responds to the curl of his hair, the locks he brushes aside and out of his eyes and that she pulls down over his face like a great dark curtain. She parts the curtain and finds her father making a face and she giggles, when she lets slip his bangs again and again reveals his face, this time it is sillier still.

He laughs from his belly, tugs her into the air and lets his hair fall back upon his shoulder. The Count takes his youngest son by one hand and swings him up in the air. The boy has soot rubbed into his cheeks to invoke his father’s rich beard.

I have been, in the world, a force for whom there can be no innocence and no true and trustworthy desire for anything which will grant me favor when I meet my maker—all of my life is such as this: to look upon the face of the Count and study his presence, to breathe in his laugh and delight in his gaze and to feel the aberration in my core as a joy. Children have not ennobled me, or any many. They do not pour an innocence into the soul that burns it clean.

But the Count pours something into his children and does not wait to receive at all—he is so unlike other men. I know nothing of the man except that he is the architecture of perfect beauty, grace and noble form of sunlight through colored glass. And I know he is different—not as I am different—but yet… if he can lavish such love on those from whom all men expect so much, can he yet render aberrant love in holy ways?

The Man

The evening air drips from the gutters, slithers in my window, fills my room with the scent of the weather-change. It makes me feel like a young man, waking up suddenly after 15 years—been a child trying to fall asleep in an orange twilight, imagining what it meant to be ‘out on my own’—as if I didn’t grow here but beamed directly to manhood, trying to stay awake in the twilight.

Who turned on the music? Who put the bass beneath the mattress, whose music is this? My comforter is crumpled and damp with sweat. It feels so odd, suddenly, to be me. Exhaustion is a time-bending drug. When I was a child, my limbs could make snow-angels in the creases of the yellow sheets: that was a pastel twin bed my parents gave me.

Now, wearing almost nothing, I spread my legs, my arms above my head, I smell earthy and a complement for the evening air, like what was missing when I tried to imagine as a child.

The music is so subtle and so loud, imagination mixed with exhaustion—how lucky I feel to be me. How much I’ve longed to be this man. Like a child woken up in a man’s body: I declare everything I lay eyes on ‘mine’ by context alone.

The music is mine, the king-sized bed and the snow-angels I make are mine, the man who stands at the foot of my bed (boxers only and sweaty hair, trail of chest-hair matted to itself) seeing the sunset through the open window… he is mine.

Everything comes to me, fighting to stay awake. I have been so many places, I did not beam here. I have been so many places where the evening air didn’t make me feel like this. I have had lovers in dreams and weekends that did not watch the stretch of my limbs and the sheen of sweat on my chest like a sunset. He looks at me, now, light in his eyes–my light.

I feel such myself, and I love this drug. I love everything the evening air touches, I will feel like a young man again, I will wake to this moment again—someday—when we have grown old. Come with me. Come to the bed, or I should come to the window.

Svaki put kad poželiš avanturu s nekim, taj neko ipak ostaje u tvojoj glavi neko vreme, ti vaši zajednički trenuci… nekako… jasno osećaš da ni to nije tek tako. U svemu tome postoji neki mali, sasvim mali komadić prave ljubavi. Sasvim mali, ali i sasvim pravi. Nešto što se u tebi rodilo i živelo verovatno svega sekundu — ali je živelo.
Busy Day

To Do:

-      Groceries

  •    Avocadoes
  •    Anchovies (Salt packed?)
  •    Mouthwash
  •    Bread Loafses
  •    Paper towels
  •    Tomatoes (whatever’s ripe)
  •    Crunch-Orbs (2 boxes!!!)

-       Return library books
-       Return Tami’s face-cream-stuff
-       Take out trash
-       Gym
-       Get tips on bicep curls from Liza
-       Watch Liza do bicep curls
-       Count Liza’s bicep curls
-       Find out what day Liza does legs/arms/chest

  •   Do opposite
  •   Stop being a creeper

-       See if Hank can cat-sit while at Mom and Dad’s this weekend
-       Watch Liza’s abs while she does sit-ups
-       Try to find out if Liza is seeing anyone
-       Find out what kind of food Liza likes

  •   Does she eat food?! She’s ripped
           +  Everyone eats food

-       Think about what touching Liza’s abs would be like
-       Make Liza laugh
-       Make Liza laugh a lot!!
-       Think about Liza’s laugh for two hours
-       Kick self for crushing on coworker/gymbuddy
-       Ask Liza about necklace she wears
-       Find out if Liza likes jewelry/candy/wrenches/PUPPIES ANYTHING
-       Ask Liza to tell the story about the water-balloons again
-       Hate self 5-ever
-       Vacuum