Tag: destiel

rosemoonweaver:

Hey, @profoundfall , I finally wrote that 4th of July ficlet (and not a moment too soon). And guess, what? 666 words! 

There were few holidays the Winchesters actually celebrated. Christmas and Thanksgiving were always difficult to manage on the road, and Easter was a messy waste of eggs. Valentine’s Day didn’t become important until after they were old enough for hook-ups and even then it was really only celebrated by Dean. St. Patrick’s a good excuse to get drunk, but the Winchesters never really needed an excuse for that, and Halloween wasn’t even on the list of things they even wanted to think about. No, holidays were never really important to the Winchesters growing up, save for one; the Fourth of July.

It wasn’t that they were particularly patriotic, hell, neither Sam nor Dean had even registered to vote, it was more to do with the fact that every year on the fourth, things seemed a little more normal. Several times when they were children, John would make sure they were staying at a motel with a pool, so his boys could spend the day swimming before he took them out to a field in the middle of nowhere. There, he’s set up a small campfire and treat his boys to slow roasted hot dogs and smores, and, when it got dark, as many illegal fireworks as they could manage. When they got older, and John fell deeper into his obsession, it was Dean who took Sam out to the middle of nowhere, just to see the look on his face when they shot mortars into the air. To this day, the summer of ’95, the year they nearly set the entire field on fire, is Dean’s most cherished memory.

But in the past several years, they’d let their holiday celebrations slip. Too many bad things had been going on in their lives. Now, however, with the Darkness and God having made amends and Sam having been rescued from the Men of Letters, and their mom back from the dead, there was no reason not to celebrate.

It was some field in the middle of nowhere Nebraska, where they set up a few ratty old blankets around a small fire pit. Eileen had joined them, per Sam’s request. They’d been skyping a lot in the past few months, but Dean was a good big brother about it and hadn’t teased him too much about it. Their mother was a different story, however, constantly asking when she was going to be allowed to meet her. Now, Mary had finally gotten her wish and was sat between Eileen and Castiel, laughing as Eileen taught her simple signs and cracked jokes. Sam and Dean sat on the trunk of the Impala, watching and nursing their beers in the warm glow of the fire.

“This is nice,” Sam said, leaning back against the rear window.

Dean nodded in response, unwilling to break the peace of the evening with too many words. It was then when the first firework from the fairground, not ten miles away soared into the air and exploded into a starburst of red sparks. Mary, Cas, and Eileen turned their attention upwards, towards the lights in the sky as several more fireworks shrieked and crackled.

“I’m thinking of asking Eileen on a date. Like a real date,” Sam whispered, nudging Dean with his elbow.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. I think it’s about time, ya’know?”

Dean smiled, watching the three people huddled together on the blanket. “Yeah, I think you’re right,” he said.

Sam and Eileen were cute together, and after all, they had been through it was about time Sam caught a break. Maybe it was about time that they all caught a break.

“And ya’know, maybe it’s about time for you, too,” Sam said, his eyes trailing over to the blue-eyed angel who was snickering at something their mother had said.

“Yeah, maybe it is.”

Sam and Dean hauled themselves off the trunk, settling in on either side of their mother to watch the light show above them, relishing in the warmth of the fire and family around them.

NEEDED: Generic Father Figure for Backyard BBQ

deancasheadcanons:

4.5k words based on this Craigslist ad

Fourth of July fic featuring a 20-year age difference, shotgunning, chubby dad Dean, lots of weed and my actual dad Gary

To interested individuals,

We will be throwing a backyard barbeque on July 1 with a group of about 15 men and women between the ages of 21 and 25. While most of us know how to operate a grill, none of us are willing to fulfill the role of “BBQ dad.” That being said, we are in need of a generic father figure between 4 p.m. and 8 p.m. We’ll be partying well into the night, shooting off illegal fireworks, making out with each other, etc., so you’re welcome to stay and hang out all night or leave once the grilling duties are complete.

Duties include:

-Grilling hamburgers and hotdogs (while drinking beer)

-Refer to all male attendees as “big guy,” “chief,” “champ,” and all female attendees by their first names because we’re not weird

-Talk about dad things like lawnmowers, building your own deck, Jimmy Buffet, etc. Funny anecdotes are highly encouraged. All while drinking beer.

Desired experience:

-Minimum 18 years as a dad

-Minimum of 10 years grilling experience

-An appreciation of a nice, cold beer on a summer day

We can’t pay you in money, BUT we can give you all the food and cold beer your heart desires. Grill for a few hours, then sit back and crack open a few cold ones with the boys.

THIS IS A REAL AD. Do not hesitate to call if you are interested. Preference will be given to applicants named Bill, Dave or Gary.

Keep reading

Hi! Could I have Cat Lover Dean and Tattooed/Pierced Castiel please?

jupiterjames:

ORDER UP!

Dean’s next door neighbor is going to fucking kill him. He thinks. They don’t tend to mix much, even though their apartment doors are side-by-side in the quaint, renovated Victorian house. 

Dean’s been looking for his cat, Lucifer, since the night before. The bastard had door dashed when Dean returned from work, and never showed up despite him shaking bags of treats and making dumbass kissy noises all over the neighborhood.

Lucifer’s back, and he’s having a staring contest with Castiel Milton. God’s gift to Dean’s monochrome life. Castiel is just… everything Dean covets, really. Dark hair tinged with electric blue, thick black glasses, nose ring, fully pierced left ear, and an explosion of color up his entire right arm. Dean’s never seen the tattoo completely, but it looks like angels bathed in cool tones fighting demons in warm tones in splashes of watercolor.

He’s also smoking a Marlboro Light, the white filter of the cigarette casually hanging out of his mouth; stuck to his pale lips in a way that makes Dean want to kiss the life out of him.

He cringes when Castiel, face pinched in his usual grumpy-murderous look, reaches towards the cat. Please don’t hurt my cat, he prays.

To his utter shock, Castiel strokes the top of the Scottish fold’s head so incredibly gently with his knuckles, then he follows the movement forward, stubs out the cigarette in the ashtray on the porch railing, and kisses the cat right between his eyes.

Dean’s whole body stutters as he approaches the porch stairs. He doesn’t think Castiel has seen him yet. But he has.

Without removing his pale blue gaze from the cat, Castiel says in a gravel-rough voice Dean’s sure he’s never heard before because he doesn’t remember feeling these butterflies before, “why would you name a cat Lucifer?”

“Because cats are devils,” Dean answers easily, really about to swallow his tongue. “Awesome little devils.”

Castiel’s gaze shifts up and it freezes Dean in place, even though his body is on fire. “Dean Winchester, apartment two. I’m Cas Milton, apartment one.”

“Yeah… I know. Don’t think we’ve ever spoken before. Sorry about that.” Not for the lack of trying, his brain stage whispers. Castiel just seems so… above. Scary, too. He’s intense. And Dean gets the impression that Castiel has found something lacking in Dean by the way his gaze sharpens. 

He can barely look at Castiel. It’s like staring into the sun. He’d always thought it was a stupid cliche, until it wasn’t anymore.

Therefore he’s struck dumb when Castiel says haltingly, “thank you.”

Dean looks up and is rooted by something his brain won’t process. Castiel is staring at Dean with a red face and wide, earnest blue eyes. “For?” Dean prompts hoarsely. What is HAPPENING?!

“Back… when…” he pauses, rubbing the back of his neck. Is he… embarrassed? No way. No fucking way. “When I first moved in,” he rushes on. “You brought me the…” he cups his hands. “The cupcakes. From the local bakery. Left them hanging on the door with the lovely welcome note. They were good. I never thanked you. I didn’t know how.”

Slowly, Dean steps up onto the porch, resting his hip against the railing. “How do you not know how to say thanks? Not that I’m accusing you, or nothing. I’m just surprised.”

Castiel shifts on his foot, arresting eyes falling to his combat boots. “I’m not a people person. I don’t easily relate to others. And you were…” he balls his fists and smacks them against his thighs. “You were irritatingly hot.”

Dean laughs, startled and happy. At least he knows Castiel doesn’t hate him. “I’m not anymore?” The wink is too irresistible to hold back.

If possible, Castiel’s face gets redder. His shoulders hunch. “That’s not what I meant,” he mumbles. “You still are.”

In his distraction, Dean’s almost lost track of Lucifer, who’s starting to get bored. He grabs the cat and drapes him over his shoulder before he can make a second mad escape. “I gotta get this bastard inside, but, like, hey, do you wanna come in? Hang out?”

Castiel blinks up at him looking pleased. “Yes, Dean, I would. I think we would get along if we… hung out. Thank you.”

Grinning, Dean nods over his shoulder. “Come on in.” He thrills at the sound of Castiel’s heavy boots clomping behind him. And if he gives Lucifer an extra chin scratch and treats for bringing about this incredible turn of events, no one needs to be the wiser.