#tequila thoughts

[princesscocosworld]

i’ve learned that someone’s lack of ability to not sabotage something right in front of them has less to do with me and everything to do with them. if you feel too intimidated and like you’re not worthy of me, then imma take your word since you know yourself best. what i look like being with someone who is already so sure they’re gonna fuck it up with me?

[you-cant-spell-subtext-without]

Writing prompt: nerf gun battle! (I had this written as a note in my phone with no further context lol)

Oof.

The foam pellet bounces off the top of Dean's head, Jack's triumphant "Got you!!!!" ringing in his ears.

He knows Cas only requested the "epic battle" for his Father's Day gift to appease their son, but Dean's the one who's really starting to feel like the martyr in this nerf gun war.

Not that this is unusual for him, he supposes. Grinning and bearing it is what Dean does.

Well.

What he did, anyway. Before they saved the world, and dragged Cas out of the Empty, and he drilled into Dean's head (like he does every day, actually) that he was better than all of his hangups and preconceptions.

That Dean's well-practiced cycle of self-sacrifice and resentment didn't actually constitute living a life.

Dean pauses for a moment to rub what is surely going to turn into a lump on top of his noggin. At least the kid's got aim.

He sighs, trudging up the hill behind the bunker, eyes darting for the next onslaught of bright green missiles. He's already going to have at least four new bruises, not to mention the ache in his knees from crouching to stay out of sight.

Blue eyes watch him from the bushes.

"Hello, Dean." Cas says brightly, shouldering the orange toy shotgun.

Dean swivels to point the barrel of his plastic weapon at Cas' sternum. "You know it's not an ambush if you announce your presence, right?"

Cas smiles warmly. "I wasn't going to shoot you."

Dean raises an eyebrow. "Not really how you win, sweetheart."

Cas frowns, peering at Dean's face. "You're not having any fun," he murmurs.

The seep of guilt is instantaneous, pouring into Dean's chest and choking the insides of his throat. "Sure I am," he says, injecting the words with cheer.

Cas tilts his head, that little bird-like gesture that always gives Dean the fuzzies in the pit of his stomach. He tugs on the bottom of his threadbare AC/DC t-shirt. "Dean, this is my part of the celebration. You don't have to participate if you aren't enjoying yourself."

Dean guffaws, but the laugh feels as fake as the pellets in his gun. "Erhm. No, I'm great. This is great, Cas."

It's not great. His bones ache, and his ass hurts, and he is fucking tired. Dean's been shooting guns for over thirty years, and the last thing he wants to do is play pretend at a job he recently left behind, forever. But saying that -- even thinking about it, feels selfish.

Cas is watching him knowingly. Dean frowns.

"Thought we talked about you digging around in my brain," he says, a little accusing.

Cas' mouth twists slightly to the left. "I don't have to," he says softly. "It's written all over your face."

Dean's shoulders sag. "Jack wanted this..." he starts, but Cas interrupts him.

"No, Dean. I wanted this. And yes, because I knew Jack would enjoy it -- but also because I'm enjoying it too." His gaze is tender. "But you aren't."

Dean sighs. "Don't want Jack to be disappointed," he mumbles, feeling like a failure.

Parents don't just do what they want. He thinks about John, the seep of ice in his belly expanding.

Cas gently brushes a piece of grass from Dean's hair, smiling softly. "Love's not a transaction," he murmurs. "Jack will understand."

Dean blinks at him.

Cas smiles. "Go inside," he says nudging Dean firmly with a palm on his back. "Take a bath. Ice your knee. We'll see you in a few hours."

When Jack bounds in for Dean's portion of the evening -- pizza and video games on the couch -- he doesn't say a word about Dean's disappearance from the nerf gun battleground.

Instead, he looks at Dean with shining eyes, and tells him he loves him before swiftly stuffing his face with two slices of pizza at once.

Cas gives him an "I told you so," eyebrow raise as he slides in next to him on the other side.

"See," he whispers, his warm breath tickling Dean's ear. "You don't have to do a thing to keep us." He squeezes Dean's knee and dumps a forkful of salad on Dean's plate despite his protesting groan.

Dean starts to realize that love may be about 'just being,' after all.

drinking tequila, send me an ask (or writing prompt)

[i-bash-myself-to-sleep]

I love tequila. I also hate tequila.

Right now it's great and I'm healthily tipsy. I wish I had someone who made me feel like a pretty, skinny legend.

[cntzilla]

more mark hamill appreciation!! society has NOT moved past the need to appreciate mark hamill!!

[adorkablejae]

Idk if I’m sleepy or if it’s the shots but a nigga lowkey emotional.

I miss back when I trusted shit was real and could really feel attached to people.

& I miss having a best friend. 😔

[questforratings]

One of my biggest fears in life is that one day, my demons will win; Or worse, they'll be right.

C.B.

[questforratings]

Excerpt From the Stories I'll Never Tell You:

I’ve always wondered:

What it meant when you bit the inside of your cheek. And if you said what you meant, or meant what you said when you spoke to me. Everyone uses the phrase, “It’s not what you say, it’s how you say it.” Which always left me wondering, if she still talks about you as much as I hear you talk about her? I’ve always wondered: If you got the color of your eyes from your mother, or your father? And I always wondered what your brother was like. I’ve always wondered, if you knew how many times a day I think about crying?-But don’t- because once, two years ago you made a casual comment about how you’ve seen me cry a lot…And I’m still embarrassed about it.

I’ve always wondered: For every moment I find you staring at me, if it’s because you’re happy? And if your heart shakes and cowers the way mine does when I catch you? Or if your monotone expression is just disbelief- that this is your life now-that this, me, us, we-is your life now? And I always wonder if you could go back, would you do it differently to still be here, or differently to not? If you’d start over again, or still choose me? I wonder, if I will ever be a significant enough presence for you to talk about? Or if I am just the insignificant piece of awkward furniture that you stored in the aftermath of what you lost, and just never got around to throwing out? I always wonder if I’ll stop making lists and short stories, and write an actual poem? I wonder if I’ll ever find the words or use the vocabulary to make people feel something from the bottoms of their belly’s to the valves of their hearts?

I always knew you could have me anytime you wanted. I think that you knew it too. But I always wonder if you could have her, Would you still take me? I wonder if you’ll keep me?- Like a promise; Instead of a secret.

– Things my Anxiety Always Wonders About // by Cordelia Blackbird 

[questforratings]

I keep trying to find even a small trace of us throughout all your beautiful words and poetry- But all I can find is her name.

C.B.