today I was wearing my “yes homo” shirt and some lady told me “you’re going to hell” and I said “with you around it’s like we’re already there” and I swear she made this exact fkn face
I cannot believe this post I made in 2015 is still going around…. anyway plot twist this same lady got famous on my town’s facebook gossip group for divorcing her husband for a woman 💅🏻✨ I like to believe my yes homo shirt pointed her in the right direction
angels at their essence are light. demons are smoke. light inhabiting a body doesn't leave a scent. their (fanon?) scent (ozone) comes from the act of flight. but demons have a scent. they are sulfuric smoke stuffed into a body. it vents out of them like volcanoes. they can play at human, puppeting their bodies, but they can't really mask what they are. the stench is all over them. this is another area in which angels succeed with their Image and PR.
they really did not emphasize enough in the show how nasty sulfur smells. like, they should've been regularly gagging and covering their noses in the presence of demons. when dean finds out abt sam and ruby he should've been wrinkling his nose not just over the whole she's a demon and you're drinking demon blood but also you're making out with little miss fart breath?? yuck! also the only reason anything drowley related could happen IS when dean was a demon himself bc he's like immune to the smell. otherwise?? the germaphobe icky gross aversion IS repelling dean
people not realizing that anakin is the one obsessed with the jedi code, not obi-wan, is so understandable but also very funny bc like
obi-wan has space-catholic guilt, but anakin spends day and night going "the code the code i'M BREAKING THE CODE but i don't care because the code is stupid except Oh No i attacked master windu so now i'm going to jedi turbo hell according to the code i don't care about (except i totally do) might as well become a sith to cement my betrayal of the code"
while obi-wan's approach is "i'll unpack that later"
like. obi-wan follows the code more/"better," but anakin (whether following or going against it) is Haunted By It At All Times
and that's precisely why obi-wan fucks off into the desert and gets depressed while anakin goes on a genocidal rampage for 20+ years
Destiel Trope Collection 2026 | Day 3: First Responder AU
Shattered Lies | @seidenapfel
Rating: Explicit
Word Count: 2,573
Main Tags/Warnings: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Non-Traditional Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alpha Castiel/Omega Dean Winchester, Omega Dean Winchester, pretending to be an alpha, Alpha Castiel (Supernatural), pretending to be a Beta or an Omega, Mating Cycles/In Heat, First Time, True Mates, Friends to Lovers, Top Castiel/Bottom Dean Winchester, Hurt/Comfort
Summary: Dean is a firefighter, and damn good at his job. To live his dream, he has to pretend because no one is allowed to know he is an Omega. His lies shatter when the longing for his longtime housemate and best friend becomes too much and triggers his heat.
Doctor’s Orders | @Labgeek2002
Rating: Mature
Word Count: 12,018
Main Tags/Warnings: Doctor Castiel, Paramedic Dean, hospital setting, shooting
Summary: Five plus one love story of Dean and Castiel's time together in a trauma emergency room, showed through the lens of six patients.
Don't Say It! | @teeparadigm67
Rating: General
Word Count: 13,265
Main Tags/Warnings: Fierfighter AU, 911 Crossover, No 9-1-1 Characters Included, Developing Friendships, Humour, Light-Hearted, Crack Treated Seriously, Paramedic Castiel, Firefighter Dean Winchester
Summary: Dean thought it would be hard to get a transfer to a different state, but all it took was a few forms to fill in and a talk with the chief and he was on his way to Los Angeles as Station 118’s newest member.
Everything seemed to be going smoothly until Dean had the misfortune of uttering the dreaded “Q word” and thrusting him and the rest of B-shift into the most chaotic shift imaginable. Thankfully he has the handsome head paramedic Castiel to show him the ropes and welcome him to the 118 family.
Don't Trust Them (Trust Me) | @imaginaryprotagonist
Rating: Explicit
Word Count: 25,333
Main Tags/Warnings: Graphic Depictions of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Fake Relationship, Smut, Top Castiel/Bottom Dean Winchester, Angst with a Happy Ending, Suicidal Thoughts, Drugs, Substance Abuse, Homophobia, John Winchester’s A+ Parenting, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat
Summary: Dean’s entire life has been a string of bad luck: some because he’s suffered the consequences of drug kingpin John Winchester’s terrible decision-making, some because he seems to have inherited the trait. After being attacked in an alley, Dean is saved by a mysterious man in a trench coat. Castiel turns out to be a cop determined to arrest two key players in Chicago's illegal drug game; a corrupt politician, and a murderous drug dealer with a dark connection to Dean. He offers Dean an opportunity to turn his life around, in exchange for helping Cas gain access to these people. Their cover story? Castiel, or rather, 'Jimmy', is Dean’s new boyfriend.
Don't Let Go | @envydean
Rating: Mature
Word Count: 28,578
Main Tags/Warnings: EMT!Castiel, mechanic!Dean, alcoholic!Dean, Alcoholism, Car Accidents, Hospitals, Recovery, PTSD, Descriptions of Injury, Angst with a Happy Ending, Angst, Trying to fall in love, Hurt/Comfort
Summary: Dean Winchester’s life is a mess. Ever since his father’s death, a downward spiral has seen his occasional beer become something of a crutch. Then, a revelation has him going to see his brother in California—except he doesn’t make it and ends up in a nasty accident, destroying the Impala.
Air rescue paramedic, Castiel, and his partner Benny are the ones to pull him out of the wreck and that’s just the start of it. He forms a tentative friendship with Dean and manages to convince him he needs help and that he can be there for Dean.
It should have been all uphill from there—because getting sober is easy, right?—except it isn’t and their relationship is thrown into turmoil at the wrong time. Slowly, they learn to accept each other once again.
Mist hangs low over the grass, thin as breath, drifting in long silver ribbons that catch in the reeds along the creek. The water moves slow and patient through its shallow bed, curling around stones polished smooth by years of quiet persistence.
Everything feels hushed, held in that delicate space between night and day, when the world seems to be listening to itself.
Dean kills the engine and the sudden silence rings in his ears.
For a minute he doesn’t move. He rests his hands on the steering wheel and looks out over the field, at the way the first light gathers along the horizon. Pink and gold seep into the sky.
Cas sits beside him without speaking. The air between them is easy. No urgency. No ghosts chasing their heels.
The Impala's engine ticks as it cools.
“Nice,” Dean says finally, voice rough with sleep and something softer he won’t name.
Castiel tilts his head, studying the meadow.
“You said it reminded you of somewhere.”
Dean shrugs one shoulder. “Maybe. Just feels… quiet. In a good way.”
Cas nods once, like that answer is sufficient.
They step out into the morning.
The grass leaves damp blotches against Dean’s boots. He breathes in deep and tastes water and earth and something faintly sweet from the wildflowers tucked between taller blades. The creek gurgles nearby, a low, constant murmur.
Dean stretches, joints popping, and glances over at Cas.
Cas has already wandered a few steps ahead, coat hem brushing against the grass. He stands near the creek’s edge, looking down into the slow-moving water. The light touches his face and turns the edges of him soft, almost unreal.
Dean watches him longer than he means to.
Cas crouches and trails his fingers through the water. Ripples spread outward in gentle rings.
“It’s cold,” he says, almost to himself.
Dean snorts. “That’s what creeks usually are, buddy.”
Castiel glances back at him, eyes bright in the morning light. “You should feel it.”
Dean hesitates, then walks over. He steps carefully down the small slope to the bank and crouches beside him.
He dips his fingers in.
Cold bites his skin, sharp enough to make him hiss. “Jesus.”
Castiel smiles faintly.
They sit there a while, shoulders almost touching, watching the current slip past.
A bird calls from somewhere in the trees. Another answers. The mist lifts slowly, dissolving into air.
Dean feels something inside his chest loosen.
Right now, he has nowhere to be. No people to save, no graves to salt and burn. He can just. Be.
Dean decides not to think about how he doesn’t deserve a rest.
He blinks a few times and concentrates on the creek.
Just water moving over stone.
“You are calmer here,” Castiel says after a while.
Dean wipes his wet hand on his jeans. “Yeah, well. Don’t get used to it.”
Cas considers that. “I like it when you are calm.”
Dean glances at him, caught off guard by the quiet sincerity in his voice. There’s no weight to it.
“Yeah,” Dean says after a beat. “Me too.”
They climb back up the bank and wander into the meadow.
The grass brushes Dean’s fingertips as he walks. It’s taller here, bending in slow waves under the light breeze. Small white flowers scatter through it like little stars dropped into green.
The sun edges higher, warming the air. The pink glow deepens, soft and luminous.
Cas moves ahead again, turning in a slow circle.
“It feels…” he begins, then stops.
“Go on,” Dean says.
Castiel searches for the word. “Safe.”
Dean exhales.
“Yeah,” he says. “Safe.”
He hasn’t felt that in a long time. Never allowed himself to.
They stop near a patch of wildflowers growing in a shallow dip in the field. The creek curves behind them, catching light in bright flashes. Trees line the far edge, dark silhouettes against the warming sky.
Castiel bends and studies the flowers with careful attention. His fingers hover above them, not touching.
Dean watches him, leaning his weight onto one leg. The breeze lifts Cas’s hair slightly. There is something achingly ordinary about the moment. Something so gentle it almost hurts.
“What are you doing?” Dean asks.
Castiel glances up. His hand frozen above the flower.
Dean crosses his arms and scoffs.
Castiel answers by reaching down and plucking a small white flower. He turns it slowly between his fingers, studying the petals.
“It is delicate,” he says.
“Yeah. Don’t crush it, Hulk.”
Castiel steps closer.
Dean doesn’t realize he’s holding his breath until Cas stops directly in front of him.
The morning light pools around them. The air smells warm now, sun-warmed grass and water and something green and alive.
Cas looks up at him in that steady, unguarded way that always makes Dean feel like he’s been seen too clearly and somehow accepted anyway.
Dean’s chest tightens.
“Hold still,” Castiel murmurs.
Dean blinks. “What?”
But he doesn’t move.
Cas reaches up, careful and deliberate. His fingers brush Dean’s temple as he tucks the small white flower behind Dean’s right ear.
The touch is light, barely there. Still, Dean feels it like a brand.
Cas’s hand lingers a fraction longer than necessary.
He steps back to look at his work.
Dean feels ridiculous. He knows he looks ridiculous. He lifts a hand halfway to pull it out, then stops when he sees the expression on Cas’s face.
“Don’t laugh,” Dean mutters.
“I am not laughing.”
“You’re thinking about it.”
“I am thinking that you look…” Cas pauses, searching.
Dean raises an eyebrow. “Yeah?”
Cas meets his eyes. “Happy.”
Dean swallows.
The breeze moves through the grass around them in long sighing waves. The creek bubbles behind them. All around them, insects hum lazily in the warming air.
Happy.
Dean hasn’t worn that word in a long time.
“You’re weird,” he says, because that is safer.
Castiel nods, accepting this.
They stand there in the soft pink morning, looking at each other, because.
They have nowhere else to be.
Dean becomes aware of the way the light settles across Cas’s shoulders, the way the warmth of the sun seems to gather at the edges of him. He notices the faint lines at the corners of Cas’s eyes, the ones that appear when he’s quietly content. He notices everything.
Cas studies him as well, his eyes clear and unblinking.
The flower remains tucked behind Dean’s ear.
Neither of them moves to remove it.
“Why here?” Castiel asks after a while.
Dean looks out over the meadow. The mist is gone now. The sky has shifted from pink to pale gold.
“I used to drive through places like this with my dad,” he says. “Didn’t stop. Never stopped. Always chasing something.”
Dean nudges a clump of grass with his boot. “I figured maybe… stopping might feel different.”
“And does it?”
Dean looks at him.
The more he thinks about it, the more Cas could belong here. Should belong here. In this soft, warm and safe biome. He fits here. Far and safely tucked away from the total shitshow that is Dean’s life.
Something pulls at Dean and he closes his eyes for a moment. It’s too much.
Dean breathes in.
“Yeah,” he says. “It does.”
They wander farther into the field, walking without direction.
Dean lies back in the grass after a while, hands behind his head. The grass is warm beneath him now. Cas remains standing a moment, then lowers himself carefully beside Dean, mirroring his posture with faint awkwardness.
They lie shoulder to shoulder, staring up.
Clouds drift in thin streaks across the blue sky, the air laden with countless pleasant smells. Dean closes his eyes.
For a moment he imagines roots growing from his spine into the soil, anchoring him here.
He doesn’t remember the last time he let himself be still.
“Dean,” Castiel says quietly.
“Yeah?”
“I am glad you brought me here.”
Dean opens one eye. “You’re welcome.”
Castiel turns his head slightly, studying him. Dean can feel the weight of his gaze even without looking.
“Is this what peace feels like?” Cas asks.
Dean considers the question. The breeze passes over them.
“Yeah,” Dean says softly. “I think it is.”
After a while, Dean turns his head. Cas is still watching him.
“What?” Dean asks.
“You did not remove the flower.”
Dean reaches up, touches it lightly. The petals are soft against his fingers.
He drops his hand.
“Why should I?,” he says after a moment, his face creasing into a genuine grin.
Cas’s mouth curves in a small, quiet smile.
They lie there until the sun rises fully and the pink glow fades into bright morning gold.
“I am sorry!” he whispered. “I did not mean to call You improperly! I did not mean to test You!”
The words barely left his mouth before something inside him gave way completely.
Dean folded in on himself like a structure that had been holding too much weight for too long. The rosary slipped from his hand and scattered across the floor. His shoulders shook once, twice, and then the restraint he had clung to for months broke open.
“I tried,” he choked. “I did everything right.”
His voice rose, cracked, dissolved.
“I prayed. I guided them. I told them to trust, to endure, to believe that there is purpose in suffering, that none of this is without meaning, and he is still dying.”
The last word tore out of him.
Dean dropped to his knees fully now, no hesitation left, and surged forward as if pulled by gravity itself. His hands caught in the rough fabric of the angel’s coat, gripping tight, desperate, grounding. He pressed his face against Castiel’s chest, breath hot and uneven, tears soaking into unfamiliar cloth.
“Please,” he whispered again and again, the word losing shape, becoming something raw and instinctive. “Please, please, please.”
The chapel seemed to shrink around them. The candles dimmed, their light paling as though something greater had taken precedence.
Castiel did not move away.
For a long moment, he simply stood there, looking down at the man clinging to him. His expression remained distant, as if observing a phenomenon rather than participating in it.
Then, slowly, he lifted his hand.
It hovered above Dean’s head, fingers slightly curled. Slowly, it lowered, resting against the crown of Dean’s head.
The touch was cool.
Dean gasped at it, a sharp intake of breath that stuttered through his chest. His grip tightened instinctively. Castiel’s fingers spread slightly in Dean’s hair.
At first, the gesture was gentle. A steady pressure, grounding, allowing Dean’s sobs to spill out. His body leaned into it without thinking, seeking it.
“I cannot carry this,” Dean whispered into the coat. “I cannot bury him. I cannot stand before them and tell them it is God’s will.”
His voice broke again, softer now, worn thin.
“I do not know how to believe if You take him.”
Castiel’s gaze did not waver.
His hand remained where it was, but the pressure shifted.
Gradually, the touch grew firmer.
Castiel’s fingers pressed more firmly into Dean’s hair, keeping him there, bent forward, face buried against his chest. The wings behind him shifted, closing in further, casting deeper shadows around them.
“You are very loud,” Castiel said softly.
The words were not unkind. They were not comforting either.
Dean swallowed hard, his hands still clutching the coat, knuckles pale. “I am sorry,” he murmured again, though the apology felt misplaced even as he spoke it.
Castiel tilted his head, studying the top of Dean’s bowed form. His hand remained steady, unyielding now.
“You call,” he said. “And you expect an answer shaped like mercy.”
Dean’s breath hitched.
“That is what I was taught,” he said quietly. “That is what I have taught.”
//PROJECT HAIL MARY\\
I listened to the movie’s OST the whole time while drawing this and had an absolute blast. I think I might love the soundtrack even more than the movie, it’s so emotional and life-affirming, UGH.
I couldn’t decide whether to give Rocky his suit so he could hug Grace, or if this is Grace dreaming about hugging Rocky without one… you decide! :D
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