I'm pinay. I write poems. Music is life. I love my guitars. I create these things called ickle-isms, my rules/way of life. Video games and painting in small doses. Child at heart.
I’m not much of a praying type, but I prayed to you, Cas, every night.
I DON’T BELIEVE IN MUCH, BUT I BELIEVE IN YOU
Oh God, can we just talk about this a little? Because Dean’s prayers to Cas are everything:
They’re faith, born in the heart of a man who’s made every point how much he doesn’t give a crap about God.
They’re hope, when Dean turns to look, looks around every time, even when chances are small.
They’re a miracle, a childish joy, when he shuts his eyes till they’re all crinkly and then peeks playfully, or just closes them gently, with a soft expression, hoping to open them and find Cas standing there like kids from happy families find presents under a Christmas tree.
They’re a flirtation, a cheeky game of “I know you like me so much that you’ll be here, no matter how much I butcher the ritual and how many times I tell you to get your ass down here”.
They’re intimacy, when Dean’s sitting on his bed alone, or sneaks out in the middle of the night, and even when he’s not alone, because noone can hear what’s really on his mind, only Cas can. They’re something that’s between the two of them, and that belongs to them.
They’re pining, wondering, fearing that things have changed. “Do you still like me better, Cas? Am I still the one you’ll answer, am I still the one who comes first?”
They’re needing. Needing to see him, to hear him, to TELL him, even though Dean’s never thought himself to be good with words. Needing things he’s never thought he’d need from Cas, things he still can hardly bear to admit, even to himself.
They’re understanding. Realising how that he needs to do this, deep it runs, how much this need has seeped into his bones, into his very core.
They’re caring. Worrying, night after night, if he’s still out there, if he’s still himself, if he still IS.
They’re begging. Begging that comes from a man that doesn’t beg, a man that doesn’t give a damn about gifts from God, but who’s so desperate to get something, anything, some kind of sign, that he’s ready to beg, and he’ll do it again, and again.
They’re mourning. Mourning the time when Cas was close by, when things between them were less complicated, when Cas was less broken.
They’re waiting. Day after day, impatiently and patiently, calmly and furiously, but never, never giving up.
They’re loving. Stronger than Dean ever thought he’d love someone who isn’t his blood. Stronger than he could ever imagine he’d love someone who isn’t his kind. Stronger than things that tear them apart. And stronger than silence.
(via agentkikirogers)
When people ask me to share my food.
(via obsessedwithteenwolf)
There is an assassin in the crowd. #renfaire #dragonborn
