its-12-in-the-morning

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here are the icons !! do i think floral motifs are over done???? yes but will i ever stop drawing them????????? never in my fcugkin life

like/reblog if using i guess?

parti deux

  • me: okay! time to sleep! it’s a school night!
  • brain: how could neil seriously think that andrew was using him for hate sex when his reaction in baltimore was so completely unlike him? andrew literally went back on his own promise to protect kevin by choking the goddamn guy himself, and it took three people just to pry him off. how can neil continue to think that andrew hates him when andrew agreed to everything he said, when andrew listened to him and carried the weight of his past without so much as batting an eye? how can neil possibly think that andrew wouldn’t want him to stay, when andrew would have burned the world to the ground if it meant finding him? how can neil possibly think that andrew wouldn’t want him there after asking him in book one “what would it take for you to stay?” followed by a “name it and it’s yours.” and neil, not nathaniel, tentatively asks if andrew would want him to stay because he’s unworthy of his support, of his keys, of his protection, of his home— and andrew, andrew, andrew — andrew who has a fear of heights, a fear of falling, a fear of the consequences of falling — falls headfirst into what can only possibly be described as love, a reason, an answer, a light, a someone to live for and wake up for every morning and know that his mere existence is enough, that his feelings will be returned because both their eyes echo with an understanding so deep, so vulnerable, it makes them weak in the knees. but that understanding also comes with a surreal amount of honesty and truth — “sunrise, abram, death” — and trust and comfort and just. the feeling that two broken people can feel a little less lonely because existing like this, in this moment, is enough. also,
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05-28-16 ∴ Silhouette 

quick 11.06 coda for @the-faerie-circle 

When Sam didn’t come back to the war room, Dean figured he’d fixed himself something to eat and gone to bed, so he muted the day with a drink. Burned off the touch of Crowley’s place with each tip of his glass. Cas refused to partake, but he sat across from Dean and watched him through bleary eyes.

“So.” Dean poured himself seconds and set the bottle on the table with a clink. He settled back in the chair and propped his feet up. “The Darkness is your aunt?”

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