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brokensilence137: heathyr: #i have fallen and i don’t want to get up  #and then I suddenly start thinking: it must feel really horrible when your body wants to pop a boner but it can’t because you’re paralyzed#and then: god how long must they have had to lie there with Dylan’s hand pressed between their crotches #because filming is really slow and there’s a lot of waiting around between shots #and then there’s continuity #like no Dylan your arm was right down between his legs and your nose was pressed up against his collarbone#the show is a gift #also that shirt totally like rips when he grabs it #shoddy quality costuming eh Macy’s? (x) um yeah, reblogging again for the above tags.

brokensilence137:

heathyr:

#i have fallen and i don’t want to get up

 #and then I suddenly start thinking: it must feel really horrible when your body wants to pop a boner but it can’t because you’re paralyzed#and then: god how long must they have had to lie there with Dylan’s hand pressed between their crotches #because filming is really slow and there’s a lot of waiting around between shots #and then there’s continuity #like no Dylan your arm was right down between his legs and your nose was pressed up against his collarbone#the show is a gift #also that shirt totally like rips when he grabs it #shoddy quality costuming eh Macy’s? (x)

um yeah, reblogging again for the above tags.


derekwhostillscaresme:

drivingtheimpala-tocamelot:

I’m still really confused. Did Derek throw Jackson into the lake while screaming THE BITE IS A GIFT, and then disappear in the darkness by slowly walking backwards, or was Jackson like just got bit by a werewolf nbd I think I’ll go for a swim?

It maybe serious, but my laughter is real.


mishasminions:

CAN I JUST DIRECT YOUR ATTENTION TO ROB BENEDICT AND RICHARD SPEIGHT JR
AND THEN OVER TO MARK PELLEGRINO WHO IS CONDUCTING AN ORCHESTRA


spn-slash: Welp, here’s something for Destiel week. /dies “I used to be an angel.”  His memories were gone. No places, no names, no faces. Nothing but the shadows that lurked in the corners of his mind. There was little the patient remembered, almost nothing he could confirm,yet it was with great conviction that he insisted this was true. He could feel something within him, his … Grace, as he was calling it. Sometimes, when he concentrated hard enough, the man could feel a slow burn - like liquid fire - spreading under the skin of his back as if wings were struggling to break free. “You may not believe me,” the patient said quietly, “but I know.”His doctor sighed heavily as he ran his fingers through blond-brown hair, as if listening to this story again was a heavy burden on his heart.  The truth of it was frightening. For the past few months since he’d began working at the clinic, the doctor had watched this man struggle through many a sleepless night. Sometimes he’d be caught whispering nonsense in a language he could not name; other times he’d be found sketching out his dreams on the walls. Always, he emerged ragged from the experience the following morning. It was as if he’d never learned to sleep.“You need to let this ‘angel’ thing go,” the man said softly. “You need to forget.” “But it’s all I have to remember!” the patient shouted, his hands shaking with frustration.On sudden impulse, he reached out for his doctor’s hands, desperate to make him understand. He felt the other man’s muscles stiffening with shock, green eyes widening, but the doctor didn’t pull away. It was he who recoiled as he felt an alien sensation - electricity shooting from his fingertips and up his spine, settling with a raw ache in his core, the heat of it skirting the edge of pain. “I think we’re done for today,” the doctor said slowly, hand still on the desk but balled so tightly his knuckles glowed white. “You can go now. We’ll continue working on your recovery tomorrow.” He refused to meet his patient’s gaze, his voice cracking near the end.The patient remained seated, head tilted to the side with an expression of curiosity, of confusion. Was he just imagining the tears? He certainly wasn’t ready to leave, but neither was he ready to speak. One minute passed, then two… the silence stretched between them, layered thick like winter snow. Time dragged on like this, blue eyes studying green, green eyes studying everything but.It was the slide of a chair pushed back that broke the silence, the patient standing to take his leave when it seemed clear he was getting no explanations. “All I want is to be whole again,” the patient whispered finally, turning towards the door. The words were all he had left to say. But before he could leave, the patient felt that same burning sensation on his shoulder, his doctor’s grip tight and desperate like a man stranded and searching for shore. It was he who felt lost, though, as his doctor finally spoke. “Believe me, Cas… there’s nothing in the world I want more.” Notes:  amnesiac!Cas is watched over by Dean, posing as a psychiatrist.  In my head, this is also the first time the patient hears this name, and it’s Dean who gives it to him - but a full explanation didn’t work with the writing so I hope it sort of came across anyway. The art program I was using crashed on me multiple times (and I’m horrible at saving), so… oof. 

spn-slash:

Welp, here’s something for Destiel week. /dies

“I used to be an angel.” 

His memories were gone. No places, no names, no faces. Nothing but the shadows that lurked in the corners of his mind. There was little the patient remembered, almost nothing he could confirm,yet it was with great conviction that he insisted this was true. He could feel something within him, his … Grace, as he was calling it. Sometimes, when he concentrated hard enough, the man could feel a slow burn - like liquid fire - spreading under the skin of his back as if wings were struggling to break free. 

“You may not believe me,” the patient said quietly, “but I know.”

His doctor sighed heavily as he ran his fingers through blond-brown hair, as if listening to this story again was a heavy burden on his heart.  The truth of it was frightening.


For the past few months since he’d began working at the clinic, the doctor had watched this man struggle through many a sleepless night. Sometimes he’d be caught whispering nonsense in a language he could not name; other times he’d be found sketching out his dreams on the walls. Always, he emerged ragged from the experience the following morning. It was as if he’d never learned to sleep.

“You need to let this ‘angel’ thing go,” the man said softly. “You need to forget.” 

“But it’s all I have to remember!” the patient shouted, his hands shaking with frustration.On sudden impulse, he reached out for his doctor’s hands, desperate to make him understand. He felt the other man’s muscles stiffening with shock, green eyes widening, but the doctor didn’t pull away.

It was he who recoiled as he felt an alien sensation - electricity shooting from his fingertips and up his spine, settling with a raw ache in his core, the heat of it skirting the edge of pain.

“I think we’re done for today,” the doctor said slowly, hand still on the desk but balled so tightly his knuckles glowed white. “You can go now. We’ll continue working on your recovery tomorrow.” He refused to meet his patient’s gaze, his voice cracking near the end.

The patient remained seated, head tilted to the side with an expression of curiosity, of confusion. Was he just imagining the tears? He certainly wasn’t ready to leave, but neither was he ready to speak.

One minute passed, then two… the silence stretched between them, layered thick like winter snow. Time dragged on like this, blue eyes studying green, green eyes studying everything but.

It was the slide of a chair pushed back that broke the silence, the patient standing to take his leave when it seemed clear he was getting no explanations. “All I want is to be whole again,” the patient whispered finally, turning towards the door. The words were all he had left to say.

But before he could leave, the patient felt that same burning sensation on his shoulder, his doctor’s grip tight and desperate like a man stranded and searching for shore. It was he who felt lost, though, as his doctor finally spoke.

“Believe me, Cas… there’s nothing in the world I want more.”

Notes:  amnesiac!Cas is watched over by Dean, posing as a psychiatrist.  In my head, this is also the first time the patient hears this name, and it’s Dean who gives it to him - but a full explanation didn’t work with the writing so I hope it sort of came across anyway. The art program I was using crashed on me multiple times (and I’m horrible at saving), so… oof. 


saucyaussie:

I get so worked up when I think about this LOL

1) He’s their HALF-BROTHER.

2) Look what The Pit did to Sam. Adam’s been down there a LOT longer than Sam was, so I can’t even imagine the things he’s been through all this time. It’s awful for me to think about.

3) He never,…