#kasbiel

[dem0nsiget]

Kasbiel and his mate, Anahel, my first two Coatls who I already adore

And their son Akhazriel and his mate Semyaza, who I also adore

Semyaza is definitely my fav of the four, her colors are beautiful

[mto-art]

Real Life Artist (tm), and by that, I mean the kind of person you were aware of in class that was an amazing artist, excelled in Art Class, and you just knew were capable of making a career out of it. You're full of talent, and it comes from hard work honing that natural talent.

I wish I could show you the art I made in highschool cuz it all looked like ‘an attempt at anime but failing‘

[drtanner-dickery]

kasbiel replied to your post: I’M HAVING A SHIT TIME THIS WEEK SO IT’S A VENT...

I highly recommend speaking to someone. It’s scary as fuck to feel like you’ll lose independence, but like you said, these issues are getting big. You’re not lesser or less worthy bc of them. I hate that we’re made to think that. I don’t cook for myself, and one time while at my sister’s I chucked the cheese powder of Mac n cheese into the boiling pasta, didn’t occur to me I did it wrong, it’s not like I haven’t seen people do it, I think I read the box too. I hate that feeling.

kasbiel replied to your post: I’M HAVING A SHIT TIME THIS WEEK SO IT’S A VENT...

When under stress I’ve had straight up hallucinations too, auditory and visual. Heard flies buzzing under my pillow and thought I saw a spider in my room when house spiders don’t exist this far up north   

Yeah. I’m seeing my GP next month. We’ll see what we can do.

It’s just so fucking frustrating; I’ve said before that I used to be very intelligent and productive, and I don’t know what’s happened to me - other than The Breakdown™, but that was several years ago and I’m supposed to be getting better, aren’t I? The thought that this might be the rest of my life, where I’m incapable of creating anything on any kind of regular basis and have to rely on other people nearly every day just so that I don’t burn my house down, or that my condition might even worsen even further from here, really shakes me up.

I just want to get back to a place where I can write and draw as often as I used to. Even if I don’t manage anything else, can I at least have that?

[pray4jensen]

For questioning bi anon. I IDed as a lesbian before I realized I was agender, I then IDed as asexual for many years, and have recently accepted myself as bisexual. My attraction leans heavily towards women and enby people, and even more recently I've come to accept my sexual attraction to men. All my labels were valid at the time, they got me through. And for some labels aren't important, like you said. Just be honest with yourself about how you feel and you can figure out the words later <3

mhmm, this is good advice!

[aleshakills]

🔥 music

Anyone who says the listen to "Everything except country and rap" is racist and a liar.

[deanmon69]

Tumblr Prompt #2

@kasbiel And another one is done! This was stupidly fun to write and I thank you profusely for the prompt. I hope it’s to your liking!

Prompt: Dean is actually not scary to be around when Castiel is around and that’s fascinating and intriguing to Jack. Of course, he’s blunt so he says something absolutely nobody wanted to verbalize. Castiel’s more than an anchor or friend to Dean. 

Pairing: Dean/Cas

Rating: G

Warnings: fluff, Jack doesn’t understand subtext, author’s attempts at humor

It started with the coffee.

           Jack watched curiously as Castiel silently handed a still mostly sleeping Dean fresh mug of coffee. Jack didn’t care much for the bitter drink, but the Winchester brothers seemed to live off it. Castiel didn’t drink it either, but he knew how to make it. For Dean. Just the way Dean liked it. And Jack watched, fascinated, as Dean took the mug with a soft grunt and cradled it to his chest.

           Jack blinked, waiting and watching. No matter how many times he brought Dean food, or beer, or whatever the man wanted, Dean had always had some harsh comment. A sarcastic snort. Or even just an angry stare.

           Jack waited a bit more, but Dean just sipped his hot drink and rubbed his bleary eyes. Jack frowned and glanced at Castiel, who seemed at ease around the two brothers. As if he…belonged.

           Jack stood to follow Sam out the door, ready to do their job. He glanced back only a second to see Castiel stand as well. But Dean, with a simple hand gesture, gave the angel pause. Castiel silently sat back down and waited. Because that was all he needed. He understood Dean.

           Jack did not.

~*~

           They were at a diner. One of those new ones that tried to look retro, like it was built in the 60s but really it was only a few years old. Over the top décor, complete with a mural of old cars and waitress on skates.

           Dean, who always seemed to lead by default, sat them near the back. In a booth that squeaked. The table had a miniature jukebox that took quarters and had 10 songs. They all ordered, except Castiel, who sat close to Dean. Their arms brushed together, but neither seemed to mind. Jack glanced at Sam, on his right, and at the near foot of distance between them.

           Their burgers arrived (Sam got a salad, which Dean scoffed at). While they ate and discussed the current case, Castiel reached over and fiddled with the knob on the jukebox. His head tilted, his eyes squinted. Jack watched, enraptured, as Dean ceaseless handed over a quarter while munching on a fry. Castile wordlessly stuck the quarter inside and a few moments of indecision, picked a song.

           you need cooling

           baby I’m not fooling

           im gonna send ya

           back to schooling

             Dean began bobbing his head, mouthing the words in between bites. Castiel leaned back in the booth, shoulder leaning against Dean’s as he gazed out the window. Sam ate his salad, Dean devoured his burger and occasionally passed a fry to Cas, who ate it even though he didn’t need it. And Jack watched this all, his own food completely forgotten.

~*~

           Jack sat in the backseat of the Impala. Normally he would be watching the trees fly by, the rain drops splatter across the glass of the windows, but his eyes were trained dead ahead. At the two in the front.

           Dean and Castiel. Sam was back at the bunker, sick with the cold of all things. Dean’s music was playing at a moderate level and the hunter was drumming his fingers on the wheel. The drive had remained conversation free for the most part. It made Jack twitch, but Castiel seemed…content with it all. He sat comfortably up front, watching the rain and lightning with eyes that spoke volumes. Like the angel knew just what is was like to fly into the heart of the storm.

           Jack blinked when Castiel suddenly moved, reaching over to the cassette player. Jack’s jaw dropped as Cas wordlessly ejected the tape. Jack cast an anxious look to Dean, remembering a time when he’d tried to ask to change the music. If looks could kill, Jack would’ve burst into flames.

           Dean’s fingers paused and he blinked, but said nothing as Cas rummaged through the collection of tapes. Once settled on one, Castiel popped it in and once again music filled the car. Jack watched Dean pick up his drumming once again, as if nothing had happened, as if Jack’s world wasn’t just tilted on its axis.

~*~

           Jack followed silently behind the three. He still felt unsettled by places like this. The big red ‘Target’ was lit up above as they walked across the parking lot. Once inside, Sam grabbed a cart and darted off towards the grocery side. Dean and Castiel, however, walked towards men’s clothes at a more leisurely pace. Jack, without much thought, followed them.

           People rushed by them, some in a hurry, some with upset children, and some with overfilled arms because they only come in for one thing. He watched as Dean, oddly, let Cas lead the way. The angel walked around the racks of clothes, occasionally touching one the flannel shirts. Jack felt sorry for Cas. He’d made the mistake of asking for something once, at another Target. Dean had snapped, saying they didn’t have the extra cash to spend on things they didn’t need. Jack just hoped Cas kept his desires to himself.

           They found the socks and here Castiel paused. Dean almost ran into him, stopped in time, but didn’t move out of Castiel’s space. His chest brushed up against the angel’s arm as Cas observed a pack of men’s socks. They had bees on them. Castiel smiled softly and took them off the hook, running a thumb over the material.

           Then they moved on, the pack of socks in Castiel’s hand. Jack frowned as he followed, so deep in thought he hadn’t noticed they made it back to the clothes. He blinked as Castiel held up a few shirts to Jack, eyebrows furrowed slightly. Jack realized Castiel was sizing them, making sure they fit him.

           In the end, the Impala’s trunk was filled with food and Jack’s shirts. He sat in the back with Cas, who held his bee socks, and began to wonder.

~*~

           Jack came to a conclusion on a Thursday afternoon.

           He was in the garage, watching Dean rattle around under the hood of the Impala. He couldn’t understand how Dean knew how to take the engine apart and put it back together. It all seemed rather complicated to him. He’d tried to help once, to learn how, but the only thing he’d learned was that Dean Winchester didn’t let anyone touch Baby.

           Except…

           Castiel had his trench off, his sleeves rolled up. He was hunched down beside Dean, their hips bumping, as Dean showed him…something. Jack had no idea, but he didn’t care. What he cared about, what was absolutely boggling, was that Castiel was the one with the tool in his hand. Dean showed him where it went, Cas made an attempt and failed, and Dean patiently explained it all again.

           Cas bent over, eyebrows knitted in concentration, and Dean’s hand came up to the small of his back. And stayed. They both bent underneath the hood, cheeks just an inch apart, voices low, and that hand was still there.

           “Oh,” Jack breathed. “Oh…”

~*~

           They were in the library, researching a case. Jack was good at this and so he was eager to impress. When Dean called a short break, Jack opted to bring everyone a fresh drink. He brought Sam a tea, and placed a single beer between Dean and Cas.

           Dean blinked. “We only had one left?”

           “Not at all,” Jack beamed, pleased with himself. “But I read that couples like to share their drinks.”

           Sam choked on his tea and launched into a coughing fit. Dean sputtered, face turning a deep shade of red. Castiel tilted his head, looking curiously at the bottle of beer.

           Jack’s grin faltered a bit. “I…I’m sorry. The site actually said shakes, but we don’t have any…is it supposed to be shakes?”

           Sam was now laughing, wheezing actually. Dean looked ready to explode, and hadn’t managed to get a single coherent sentence out. Castiel was silent, thoughtful, until he purposefully picked up the beer and took a sip.

           “No, Jack,” Castiel said smoothly, gently placing the bottle down. “Beer is just fine.”

           Dean cursed, Sam fell out of his chair, and Jack began to wonder if he’d ever understand these three.

[favoritepersonsuggestion]

My FP has helped me grow into a better person, even when I was splitting on her and hurt her so much she forgave me. She is always honest with me and the fact she’s chosen me as a friend multiple times makes feel like the world will be okay and I love her so much it brings me to tears.

[deanmon69]

Tumblr Prompt

@kasbiel Here you go, hun! I have to admit, I struggled with this. Making these boys Talk is like pulling out a tooth. Hope it’s to your liking. Ask box is open for more prompts, folks! Just hit me up!

Prompt: Cas finds out all the scary violent and John-like things he’s been doing and they Talk.

Pairing: Dean/Cas

Rating: T

Warnings: Mild language, fluff, slight angst

He was supposed to be

The first male love of your life

You still search for him

Everywhere

-father

(poem by rupi kaur)

Castiel stared up at the old and somewhat yellowed ceiling of Dean’s bedroom. It was crumbling in the corners and a few mysterious stains spotted the area just above the door. Castiel thought it was one the most beautiful things in the world.

           He breathed in deep, taking in the old and musk, the leather and gunpowder, the freshness of laundered sheets, and the underlying scent that was Dean. Not because he needed the oxygen, but because he wanted to savor this. All too soon after escaping the Empty, Cas had found himself locked in a cage with Lucifer, with no way to reach out the Winchesters. To Dean. All he could do was wait, search for weak spots, build up his grace. The longing he’d felt from Dean was painful, a knot in his chest that tugged at his wings. They wanted to spread, fly, carry him back to the soul he’d branded long ago. The soul his grace ached for, reached for every time they were in the same room.

           Finally, he was back. He was home. His grace sung, content and warm, with his human lying next to him. Dean’s soft breathing tickled his ear, his scruff scratching against Castiel’s shoulder as the hunter slept. An arm was slung possessively across Castiel’s chest, calloused fingers clutching at his side almost desperately. Castiel understood this. He’d been torn apart from his hunter too many times, and he wasn’t stupid enough to believe the debacle with Asmodeus was the last.

           Cas instinctively tightened his hold on Dean, causing the man to grunt in his sleep. Castiel frowned and loosened his arms only a bit, that feeling of contentment rapidly fading. What he’d learned after he finally reunited with Sam and Dean was rolling around in his head. Sam had pulled himself aside once they had gotten back to the bunker, expressing concern for Dean and his behavior as of late.

           Admittedly, Dean was not the most stable person. Well, neither of them were. It came with the life. Dean had to grow up at the age of four, after watching his mother burn on the ceiling. Sam had no childhood to speak of, and when he tried to have a normal life it was always snatched away. In a bloody, violent way. And after a few ‘end of all things’, well you couldn’t really blame Dean for being a little rough around the edges.

           But what Sam had confided in him was, Cas thought, just a little alarming.

           “Mngg,” Dean snuffled up against Castiel’s neck, eyelashes fluttering across the skin there. “Wha’er you thinkin’ about so much?”

           “Hm?” Castiel licked his lips, running his fingers through Dean’s hair. It was sticking up at odd angles from Cas’ constant need to touch it.

           “Cut the crap,” Dean huffed, finally shifting to look up at the angel. “You’re all tense and broody, and it’s messin’ with my nap. What’s up?”

           Castiel hesitated, fingers stilling. If there was one thing he learned from running with the Winchesters it was that one didn’t talk about one’s feelings. Especially with Dean. Often times when attempted, it ended in a yelling match and someone storming off. Nothing solved and everyone involved either hurt or angry.

           “…Sam and I talked,” Cas finally murmured, closing his eyes when he felt Dean stiffen almost immediately.

           “Yeah,” Dean clipped. “So.”

           “He…made me aware,” Castiel continued. “Of some of the difficulties you’ve been having.”

           “I’m fine, Cas,” Dean huffed, already trying to pull away. Castiel let him go and sat up as the hunter rolled over to show him his back. “Sam is worrying over nothin’. He thinks he’s a damn therapist or some-“

           “You pulled a gun on an innocent girl,” Castiel interrupted firmly, eyes trained on the back of Dean’s head. “That is not ‘nothing’, Dean.”

           The silence stretched out, tense and thick. Castiel waited, not sure if he’d made a mistake to bring all this up now. Sometimes he wasn’t sure where he stood with Dean. Their history was messy at best and old wounds tended to flare up from time to time.

           “I wasn’t gonna…” Dean started, voice wavering. He swallowed and tried again. “C’mon, man…you know I wouldn’t have actually hurt her. It was a bluff. I needed-“

           “I know, Dean,” Cas said gently. “But it doesn’t excuse-“

           “I know, damn it!” Dean shot up and twisted around, his green eyes dark with anger and regret. “Fuck, Cas, I…” He stopped and scrubbed a rough hand over his face. “You were gone. Again.”

           Castiel winced and looked down at the sheets.

           “And I was tryin’ not to worry about it, but I did, okay? I hadn’t heard from you…I thought…” Dean shook his head and fisted his hand into the blankets bunched around waist. “And then I find out mom could be alive, and this girl could help us get her back and I just…” He took a breath. “We needed her, Cas. If there was even a slight chance of getting mom back…I had to take it. Damn the consequences.”

           Dean snarled and ripped the sheets off his body. He swung his legs over the edge of the bed and made to stand. Cas was quick, reaching out and wrapping a firm hand around Dean’s wrist. The hunter tugged, but Castiel shook his head and slid up behind him. Cas looped his arms around Dean’s waist and rested his chin on Dean’s shoulder.

           Dean turned his head, refusing to look at the angel. Afraid of what he might see. Disgust. Anger. Rejection. Neither of which Dean could take from Cas right now. Or ever.

           “Your father did you a disservice, Dean Winchester,” Castiel said solemnly, not at all surprised when Dean jerked in his arms and turned an angry stare on him.

           “What the fuck, man-“

           “Let me finish,” Castiel sighed, placing a soft finger over Dean’s lips. The man glowered, but fell silent.

           “I understand your need to stay loyal to your father,” Cas murmured. “I do believe he did his best in an impossible situation. I don’t mean to insult his memory, but just because he was your father doesn’t mean what he taught you was right.”

           “He taught me how to survive,” Dean bit off each word with barely controlled fury.

           “He taught you how to be his soldier,” Castiel said, slowly, carefully. He watched the emotions flicker in and out of green eyes, saw the muscles tightening, jaw clenching. Cas didn’t have to be an angel to feel the resentment, the bitterness, coming off the other man. He could see Dean shutting down, the walls coming up, and Cas thought maybe this was a huge mistake. What right did he have to bring this up, to lecture him?

           Castiel tore his gaze away to settle on the desk pressed up against the wall. He pointedly ignored the picture of Dean’s mother, opening his mouth to apologize and beg forgiveness.

           “…What else was he supposed to do?” Dean’s voice broke through Castiel’s mental berating, rough and low. The angel snapped his head up to find Dean’s eyes on him. They were glossy, which Castiel was sure he supposed to ignore, with a desperate sheen.

           “Be your dad,” Castiel sighed, daring to reach out and grasp Dean’s hand. “Not a drill sergeant.”

         Dean’s face was always an open canvas for the man’s emotions and thoughts, and Cas watched it closely now. He could almost see the internal battle, one he recognized in himself so well. The need to be a good son. To perform and obey without hesitation. And the desperate blind eye to how wrong it all felt, because the ends always justified the means.

           “…I felt sick, pulling that gun on her,” Dean swallowed thickly. “Getting her into this mess. I…” He closed his eyes and shook his head, voice dropping to a near whisper. “I don’t want to be John Winchester, Cas, but…I’m so afraid that I’ll…”

           Dean never finished, because Castiel didn’t let him. He moved forward, placing a firm kiss on slightly parted lips. Dean sucked in a surprise breath, this thing between them so new and fresh still. Even Cas sometimes felt it all a dream and that he’d wake up from it. Cold, alone, unwanted. But Dean pressed back, fingers clawing through Castiel’s perpetually mussed hair.

           When they eventually pulled apart, Dean was breathless and Castiel was hungry for more. But he refrained and smiled softly, a hand sliding over Dean’s jaw to his chest, where a strong heart beat just below the surface. And just below that was the brightest, most beautiful Castiel had ever seen. The soul he touched years ago, in the deepest pits of hell, and in so doing had been lost ever since.

           “I have held your soul, Dean,” Cas spoke low, voice of gravel and whiskey. “You have nothing to fear.”

           Dean exhaled sharply and fell back easily when his angel pushed him down. Castiel lost himself in the Righteous Man once again, and Dean followed him gladly.