we would have stayed there until the night and the bonfire but my mom had to leave. oh well

Take Me Back In Time

Inspiration: (x) and (x)

TW: mild swearing and bullying (not homophobic though)

“You got old.”

Dean stopped in his tracks, ignoring his husband laughing from the kitchen. “What did you just say?”

“You heard me,” Claire smirked, a twinkle of mischief in her icy blue eyes. They were a few shades lighter than Cas’s, yet still as captivating.

“I see you found the pictures again?” Dean smiled. He walked over to his daughter, sitting next to her before taking some of the pictures is his own hand. Dean smile grew at the picture in front of him; it was the night of the bonfire.

“Hey, Cas, remember this?” Dean asked, handing Castiel, who just came out of the kitchen, his favorite picture of all time. It was them; kissing, with a huge bonfire and a sky full of stars behind them.

“Of course, Dean,” Castiel smiled, kissing his forehead softly. Claire made a sound of disgust,  like any teenager would but smiled anyways. Her parents were still sickly in love, however, in the end, it was quite cute.

Her father, Cas, still smiles at her other father like he did on the old pictures she had found. And Dean still looks at Cas in the exact same way. As if his world was kept in Cas’s eyes, as if he was unable to look away.

“Okay, tell the story, we all know you want to,” Claire laughed, shoving her dad against his shoulder. Dean smiled back while Castiel sat down next to Claire, eager to hear their story again. “Go on.”

Dean mutters something under his breath, which suspiciously sounds like “don’t push me” and moves so he is sat on top of the wooden coffee table instead of the couch. This way he has the both of them in view. “It all started when…”

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Castiel imagine requested by anon. I’m notorious for not giving warnings, but this is it, if you’re looking for one. Just imagine a big ‘ole sign that says “KLEENEX.” This imagine has been edited for reposting, just to bulk up on details I didn’t write in way back in the Jurassic Period when I originally wrote this up. AND HEY, IT ONLY LOOKS SUPER LONG BECAUSE THERE’S A TON OF DIALOGUE. Hope you like it!

You clenched your jaw, eyes riveting into Castiel’s, his sapphire eyes as solid as the gem with unfeeling authority, your anger flushing to your cheeks, heat prickling along your skin like the rough woolen fibers of a discarded blanket. Your heart was pounding in your ears, egging you on with every aggravated pulsation, the angel’s dismissal of your company as nonchalant as if he was discussing the weather or the drapery in the motel room, as if he wasn’t stepping out of line by deciding whether or not you did your job. Your temper was flaring, patience running low as the wick of your self-control drew nearer and nearer to the pool of molten wax below, flames lapping precariously at the liquid that would extinguish them. Scream. Scream. Scream. Blood rushed to your cheeks, you could feel it, the stupid pigmentation that always accompanied your arguments, scorching along your cheekbones, declaring your state of displeasure to the world without filter. You weren’t fortunate enough, as Castiel was, loaded up with an angel’s unshakable composure, to keep a calm facade while in the throws of a fight. Thus, with one last dismissing turn of the man’s shoulder, the fire struck wax.

“Is that it, then? I’m stupid?” you retorted, warping the angel’s statement, spewing your words like venom, Castiel expelling an aggravated, yet infuriatingly tranquil sigh, as if he were relaxing into a difficult yoga position and nothing more, as he rotated to face you again. His fists tightened slightly before relaxing back into their previously open state, his serenity absolutely revolting. You forced the air through your nostrils, lips sealed together in a harsh line, awaiting your lover’s response, arms crossing tightly over your chest, fingers clenching around your biceps as the angel’s lips parted.

“You know that’s not what I meant, Y/n.” he sighed, his tone unflustered, his palms raised to you as if to sedate with his action, attempting to calm your frustrated demeanor with the simple extension of his arm. The heat was building in your head, threatening to slow-cook your composure, chest straining with every breath against the constricting criss-cross of your arms, teeth grinding as you set your jaw. Castiel’s eyebrows raised slowly, measuring his movements carefully, so as not to further set you off. “You were very badly hurt on our last hunt together, and I can no longer heal you. It would be in your best interest if you would stay here.” He murmured, his hand dropping to his side, eyes pleading with yours, his attention unwanted, the glow behind his irises a mere mask to his overprotective nature. You scoffed at his supposedly unshakable logic, your eyes rolling back in your head. You were not going to let him turn this argument against your inability to do the impossible.

“So I couldn’t reload my rifle in point two seconds. I’m only human, Cas! I can’t flap my wings and haul myself out of harm’s way, and I can’t reload a gun that fast. No one can! The wolf would’ve jumped me anyway. You didn’t have my back!” You raised your voice, throat itching with the force of your scream, your vision blurring from the angry tears welling on your waterline, a common disadvantage of being an emotional fighter. Castiel ducked his head, guilt riddling his stern features, his jaw hardening at your words, as if he was just now coming to terms with the fact that your injury was not entirely your own fault, that he had played a crucial role in what he deemed the reason behind your benchwarming.

“That is beyond the point-“ he began, his voice gruff either with building anger or with sorrow, you couldn’t tell (as his face remained stoic as a statue), his eyes lifting to yours. Once more, you scoffed at his words, your vision hazing around the edges, tears falling, your fingers swiping the trails away before the angel could snag your vulnerability.

“The HELL it’s beyond the point! I wouldn’t have gotten hurt if you didn’t have your head in your ass! Jesus, Cas, we might as well install a window in your stomach. That way, YOU’LL BE ABLE TO SEE.” You screamed, your Men Of Letters bedroom walls vibrating with the furious vibrato your yell carried… or perhaps you were seeing things. You were, after all, livid enough to commit a crime of passion. Maybe.

“You’re still recovering!” Castiel growled, his balled-up hands quivering as his rage built. If you hadn’t known him so well, this would’ve been quite the fearsome picture to behold. Unfortunately for him, you knew his anger to be short-lived. He had a much longer wick than you had. “You’re staying. That’s final.” He turned to face his hunting bag, packing the belongings he would need in his power-drained form, his shoulders rigid as a board. You weren’t giving up the fight, determined to win the higher hand.

“Oh, yeah, Mom. You’re right.” You sneered, continuing to load a small arsenal of weapons into your heavy duty duffel bag, selecting your most reliable from their divots in the duvet the angel glaring as you stuffed the bag with your shared weapondry, his hands fluttering over empty pockets of sheets mere seconds after you had swiped a gun or cartridge. After a few rounds of see-who-can-nab-the-Smith-and-Wesson-first, the angel hit his limit. Castiel stormed over to you, spinning you around to face him, his hands constricting your wrists to immobility, his grip firm, but not unkind. Even in his state of rage, he was conscious not to cause you harm. His breath was hot on your face, his every exhale roaring over your flesh like the smoke from a bonfire as the flames raged higher, the kindling devoured in seconds.

“I’m human, Y/n, or have your forgotten? I can’t protect you like I used to-“ He growled, his eyes portraying a glimmer of fear among the aggravation. You silenced his oncoming speech once more, your own words overlapping his own until his voice drifted into nothingness.

“Please, Castiel.” He flinched at the intentionally formal use of his full name, the flare in his eyes diminishing at your abandoned familiarity. “You didn’t protect me. That’s why we’re having this conversation.” You were pressed into his chest, his muscles hard against you through the thin fabric of his white button-down. His jaw tightened and released, a spring-loaded device losing all tension, his fingers loosening on your arms.

“Even in my glorified state, I wasn’t perfect. I didn;t pretend to be. I don’t need you to remind me of the times I’ve let you down. With the level of your confidence, you should have been able to protect yourself without my assistance. If you’re alone again, you’ll be hurt again. You cannot defend yourself without a companion, and we may very well be separated.” He glowered, his voice a weakened grumble. You untangled yourself from his grip, fingers moving to seal the arsenal away before slinging your bag over your shoulder, your body brushing against the angel’s as you passed him, wordlessly, on your way to the door.

You loaded your pistol with rock-salt rounds, Dean’s cautious footfall marking the hallway before you as your hunting party traveled through the asylum, the beams of your flashlights the only light in the building. The electricity lines been severed long ago, leaving the four of you to navigate in near darkness as the ghosts ran rampant, unhindered by the lack of illumination. Sam was behind you, treading on your left, and Castiel strode by on your right, your formation admittedly sloppy. The place was riddled with vengeful spirits, their howling piercing the cold air, your breath fogging your vision as you crept along their stomping ground, each turn taking you deeper into the labyrinth of rooms and medical supplies, as well as further from the exit. The tension was tangible between yourself and your newly estranged boyfriend, the air thick with discomfort as you moved. The stagnant air was heavy with the odor of rot and decay, black night stealing precious illumination, your feet occasionally squelching against unseen obstructions, your nose scrunching at the scents that arose from these confrontations. Dean’s hand signaled for you to move right, and you silently obliged, Castiel shifting to stand in front of you. Sam and Dean ducked into the adjacent hallway and out of sight, the light cast by their LED flashlights fading within seconds, leaning you to continue exploring with the highlight of your day, in the flesh.

“Stay behind me, Y/n.” Castiel whispered, cautioning you unnecessarily. This had been your profession long before the angels swooped into your daily routine; you were familiar with the precautions and dangers of a hunt. You sure as Hell didn’t need him acting as human shield the whole damn time. You exhaled, reminding yourself to remain professional, to focus on the job at hand before lunging at the angel’s throat. Priorities, your had priorities. These spirits weren’t taking any bull from a few of hunters, no matter their current states of emotional stability, and they were highly dangerous. The tortured often are, and their stay, during their lives, in the asylum hadn’t been a Beverly Hills retreat. The shock machines spoke for themselves, as did the occasional femur locked in the beam of your flashlight. They’d been through Hell, and now they were determined to raise their own rendition.

“I can take care of myself.” You hissed, anger polluting your renewed declaration of independence. Castiel seemed on edge as he paraded through the halls, his gun a foreign object in his grasp. You could almost feel the way his eyes darted about, overreaching and struggling under the weight of scrutinizing every detail of the hallway for traces of evil. Castiel was keeping a sharp eye out for anything that could be a possible threat to you, or him, determination strong, radiating from his being with every beat of his heart. Perceptive as he was, even he couldn’t see the invisible.

You flew against the wall, your elbow crunching against concrete as the bone broke within you, a sickening sound like brittle boards snapping muffled by your skin. You let out a scream of anguish, agony ripping through from elbow to your shoulder as the bone settled into it’s new formation, fragments pricking along the inside of your arm. Castiel’s head whipped around, his gun at the ready, metallic barrel starring you down.

“Where is it?” he asked, his voice strained, eyes flitting about, targeting nothing, searching for everything under the Sun. You shook your head, panting, lost without an answer, your hand wrapping painfully around your elbow, fingers prodding the shattered bone gingerly, your face scrunching in agony, your consciousness fleeting. Where was it? You heard maniacal laughter erupting from everywhere, reverberating from the walls, warping the definite location… a single voice emanating from various places. You slid to the floor, clutching just below your shattered bone. Blood soaked your palm where you had held your injury, sticky, thick, and dark, crimson pigmenting your skin with the garish hue. Tipping your head back, you felt a hand on your shoulder, the angel prompting you to stand, his weapon held carelessly in his occupied palm. You followed his nonverbal instruction, standing, Castiel’s hand shifting to the pit beneath your arm to assist your ascent. “You’re hurt, badly. I’m calling Dean.” He whispered. Behind him, you locked on a glitch in the light, a faint glimmer of something assembling behind the angel’s back. Your eyes widened as the glowing figure of a man, his eyes focused on your boyfriend’s spine, appeared, his head tilted to the side with practiced arrogance. The sagging skin underneath the ghost’s eye twitched, his otherworldly rifle clutched to his chest. He took aim…

“NO!” you cried, pushing Castiel to the ground, your arm screaming in horrifying protest at the movement as the air was split by ghastly, semi-tangible gunfire. The bullet, however, was very much real, and very, very much tangible. You were knocked back into the wall by the force of the shot, the ghost disappearing in a wisp of smoke, grinning sinisterly. You felt as though you’d been punched, but you knew better than that to believe yourself so invulnerable. Your hand on the end of your unbroken arm fluttered to your abdomen, a pooling of the same scarlet stickiness meeting your numbing skin. You slid to the floor once more, unable to hold your body erect any longer, your knees buckling as your newly inflicted wound pulsed, spreading the slick warmth outward, Castiel scrambled over to you, his hands cradling your cheeks, his touch likely the only thing holding your head away from your chest, as your motor skills were fading fast. You heard Sam scream your name in the distance, followed by more gunfire. your ears ringing over the sounds of battle, blocking out the noise of the scuffle you knew was erupting many elongated hallways over. Dean was calling for Castiel, his tone urgent… but the angel remained by your side, shaking your face when your eyelids began began to droop. Castiel’s eyes were marred by an onslaught of tears, his face fading in and out of focus, as if your eyes were suddenly a water-logged camera phone struggling to capture a picture.

“Y/n? Y/n, keep your eyes open, we’ll get you out.” he assured you, one hand leaving your face to apply pressure to the swamp of blood collecting on your shirt, the contact stinging like salt poured over an open wound. You cried out, his touch relaxing slightly, though his hand did not desert your injury. “Why would you do that?” he demanded, his vice lilting from emotion to a higher, softer pitch, his eyes hardening in confusion and anger, though his irises swam with tears brought about by terror and concern. You managed a sweet ghost of a smile, your chest becoming heavier with every laboured breath, your lungs leaden within your ribcage, organs jagged around the bullet.

“I’ll always… jump… in… in front of a… bullet… for you,” you rasped, your throat closing around the warmth of slick, watery blood, the heat of the liquid dribbling over your lips as you spluttered, choking, lungs constricting around nothing. Castiel’s tears spilled over his cheeks, his eyes portraying his distress as he ran his thumb over your face, wiping at the collection of blood spilling from your mouth, your cndition worsening quickly. He pressed his lips to your forehead, a droplet falling from his chin to land on your nose.

“It’s okay, you’re going to be alright.” he whispered, looking away from you and down the hallway, his lips quivering as he called for the brothers, his screams warbled, the noise muffled, like he was yelling from the other side of a vault door as you were submerged in a tank of water. He directed his gaze to your face once more, eyes flickering down to your stomach, Adam’s apple bobbing as he gulped. “We’re going to bring you to a hospital. Don’t worry. Can you stand?” he asked, his eyes pleading with you, his voice a distant whisper. You were unable to respond, sunken as you were in your own mind. He tried to lift you, but returned you to the ground when he realized you were no longer in control of your limbs, your cries of unadulterated agony another factor in his release. “Y/n… don’t…” he mumbled, tears staining the planes of his cheeks, jostling your face as your head lolled to the side. If you had the strength, you would have wiped those tears away, but you could barely manage to force the breath from your lungs, let alone raise a hand. You heard the ocean, loud, in your ears, washing the angel’s sobs clean of all misery. Castiel’s voice faded into nothingness… he was screaming your name, you could see, followed by two beams of light and more terrified voices, words uncertain through the haze settling over your body. You blinked, Castiel's face overtaken by darkness, his tears falling on your cheeks as he held you to his chest, his lips quivering as he sobbed, shaking your body… before you felt nothing at all.

Your world went black.

anonymous asked:

Angsty and fluffy high school dramatics

Derek was sitting across from Stiles at the lunch table when the new girl made her way over to them.

“Hi!” she said. And wow she was overly peppy.

Stiles turned to face her.

“Um hi.”

“I’m Lucy. I just started here yesterday. I saw you in the halls a lot yesterday and you are so cute. And I noticed we have the same lunch period so I though I’d come over here and see if you wanted to hangout some time?”

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