#cuddlebenny

[diminuel]

i forgot how much i love ur tiny dragon!cas drawings he's so adorable i can't handle it TAT

♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥ ;w;

He’s a tiny cutie and I love him too!

If I had better art skills I’d draw him more! (But wings??? How??? *lol*)

[onlyou718]

DeanCas Howl!AU yay! the backgrounds were surprisingly enough my favorite part leave it to ghibli to make me not hate landscapes

[ghostgarrison-spn]

Benny's truck is the oldest fucking thing on this planet, not to mention beaten halfway to hell and rusted to the point that you can barely tell it was originally blue. Despite thinking that it should go to the nearest scrapyard to be stripped for parts, Dean still feels it suits Benny perfectly. 

Dean can't stop thinking about Benny when he sees the same make and model on the highway between the garage and Benny's diner. Every single time, it makes his head whip round, mind immediately flashing to large hands and a rough southern twang that he equates with the driver of said truck.

Despite having told Benny to scrap it or at least let Dean restore it to something bearable for his inner-mechanic, the truck worms its way into Dean's heart permanently the night when Benny shows up at his house unannounced.

He leads Dean into the cab of the truck, not telling him where they're going or why they're going. It could be a new bar, Dean thinks, or a new diner somewhere. Their dates usually consist of something having to do with food and alcohol, as Benny is a bit of a hometown food aficionado and Dean loves a good chow session no matter where they are.

Dean's predictions prove false when Benny pulls off the two-lane highway onto a dirt road, hidden between some trees and juste barely marked with a degrading wooden stake. The road is bumpy as fuck and the truck rolls and jumps with every rock and hole they hit; Dean adds 'shocks' to his mental list of things he'll have to beg Benny to let him replace.

He doesn't know where they're going now and the sky is getting darker and darker. The truck's dim headlights barely light up the road, just wide enough to let branches of the trees brush across the windows and doors.

"Where the fuck are we?" Dean asks, holding onto the door's handle as they go flying over a rock or something.

"Patience, darlin'." Benny grins as he grips the steering wheel, keeping his eyes on the treacherous road. "Gotta have patience."

Dean holds on for dear life, vowing to change out the trucks headlights, brakes, and shocks as soon as he possibly can. Benny must know where he's going, as there's no uncertainty in the path they're taking through the dark forest.

Soon enough, the truck pulls into a clearing, an oval shaped grassy area where the trees have been previously cleared away. Benny puts it in park and jumps out after opening the squeakiest carder Dean's ever heard. 'WD-40' is added to the repair list.

Dean follows suit, getting out of the truck and following Benny to the back. He's about to ask what the hell is going on but is promptly stopped when his boyfriend unlatches the door to the flatbed. Dean's eye catches on a layer of old blankets filling the trunk, piled high and thick with a few pillows tossed in.

Benny flashes him a grin, jumping up to sit in the flatbed before patting the blankets beside him.

They spend the rest of the evening laying on the blankets, curled against each other as they look up at the stars that freckle the sky, fighting off the rapidly-cooling night air by scooting closer and closer.

So yeah, Benny's truck has its downfalls, and yeah, Dean can feel the harsh ridges of the truckbed's plastic liner through the thin blankets, but he would never trade it for anything in the world.

[taeskai]

totoro!tfw ~ I went on a ghibli binge cuz of this perfection and I've been drawing spn aus for the past two days 

[astrasperas]

cuddlebenny replied to your post “ DEANCASBIGBANG IS OPENING SIGN UPS SOON WHO’S JOINING THE REVOLUTION”

i'm gonna try! hopefully i won't drop out like i did last year TAT

Emily PLEASE

DeanCas fics need your fancy hella rad art

[nobledemons]

The Patron Saint of Anonymous Smut left a lovely fic in my ask this morning inspired by Emily's art and Riseofthefallen's one's inspiring concept [here], and it is absolutely incredible and edge of your seat suspenseful.

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“Took you long enough, Sheriff,” he drawls, shifting his shoulders and all but shrugging at the cold pistol digging into the scruff of his chin.

“I was startin’ to think you’d gone off me. Found yourself a girl or the like. But here we are, like it was just fated to be.” Cas doesn’t bat an eyelid at the teasing tone, pushes the stubbled chin up a bit, squints into the scarred features.

“Flirting again, hm, Winchester? Well you’re in luck. We’ve got a date first thing at dawn. Got your fancy necktie right here,” he says, in a gravelly, triumphant tone, hefting the rope.

Dean’s cold smile splits into teeth, whiter than they have right to be. He drips with irony. Sweet like honey, bitter like engine oil.

“Oh, Sheriff, you’ve promised me things before. You think I’m gonna be there by mornin’?”

“Test the rope all you want, boy. It’s tight. Watertight. You’re headed nowhere but the noose,” the sheriff says, pushing Dean’s chin up further.

“You know, Winchester, I heard your name a long time ago.”

“Most people hear it pretty early in life. I mean, it’s a make of gun,” he smirks up. He expects the butt of Cas’ pistol, but his chin drops with the force of a blow all the same. The nasty feeling of jarred teeth and the sting of a bruise forming. He spits blood, grins back up wildly, squirming in his ropes for a moment. If he gets just one finger free, he knows he can get the rest to follow. Just one finger. “Your Daddy? Back when he was stealing horses, I used to see his poster up. Hear people talk about the nigh /untraceable/ Winchester on his fearsome black horse. Then you. Well, gotta say it, boy, you slip up. And since you killed those ladies back in Tennessee—”

“You think I killed those girls?” Winchester asks, laughs lowly. One knuckle grating against the ropes, barely slipping out now.

“The Baby-faced Ladykiller, they call you.”

“Baby-faced?” he asks in an exasperated tone, pride clearly wounded. “I never killed nobody who didn’t deserve it. Why’d I want to go shooting up on girls, huh?”

“You tell me,” Cas says, gun sliding, scratching up his jaw, on the edge of his parted lips now. The gas light flickers, and Castiel’s eyes narrow a little, casual demeanor slipping.

“Or I could just shoot you now. Say you were trying to get free, nobody will blink round here.”

“Wait, wait, you /seriously/ think I killed some whore and I’d just waltz back to Missouri happy-go-lucky to st—”

“She wasn’t a whore!” the sheriff says sharply, gun slipping between Dean’s lips now, scraping over his lower teeth.

“You remember her name? The little brunette? You blew her brains out against a stable wall, Winchester,” he says, voice breaking, lips pulled to a snarl.

“Go on. Try to remember her name, I’ll give you three ch—” Dean makes a muffled sound around the gun, something that sure doesn’t sound like a name. Castiel is livid still, but pulls it out from between his teeth, to by his side.

“What did you say to me, boy?”

“I said…Anger makes you stupid,” Dean says, and suddenly his leg is between Cas’, kicking hard at his inner knee. He falls, barely holding onto the gun, and Dean’s now free hand collides with Cas’ gun arm, wrenching it up. The struggle is abrupt and Castiel doesn’t have his footing right. Dean has it, and trains it on Castiel’s head as he backs up. Castiel falls to his hands and knees, then glares up. Blue eyes quiver with emotion. 

“Go on,” he spits furiously, dizzy with danger, watching Dean step closer. He’s about to say something more when Dean hits him on the back of the skull. No time for quips. Someone’s going to have to hear the scuffle. Still, he grabs the quill, tucks a note into the sheriff’s jacket by the gold crucifix. 

He won’t see it till he’s woken up groggy, when the whole town is up in arms about the cowboy riding off on a stolen mare. He should be giving chase, maybe, but there’s other men out there looking for a lynching, and he doesn’t have the heart. He lights a candle, rubbing his head to clear the headache, squints down, a hot plume of anger already beginning in the depths of his gut. He can write. Not very neatly, but Winchester can write.

‘They call him Crowley. I don’t kill people who don’t deserve it, Sheriff. Sorry about your pretty little head.’

[bsaapiers]

cuddlebenny replied to your post “75-78!!!”

i talk to u all i want

weeps

n o

[bsaapiers]

75-78!!!

75: The only quote coming to mind right now is "And you can KAYAK DOWN IT" because the entire Mary Kate and Ashley Licensed to Drive playthrough by Game Grumps makes my day in an instant omg

76: Favorite to say: Fuck. Favorite in the way it's written/ect: Galaxy

77: There's a word I really don't like, but I forget what it is (thankfully lol)

78: Pizza

ps: dnt tlk 2 me