prompt by the brilliant hummingbirdcas : What if for some reason Cas and Dean have been locked in a room and the only way for them to get out is for them to have a nice open discussion about their feelings; starts out with them admitting things and then somehow it leads to their feelings for each other?

“Well, I’m not going first,” Dean said. “You go.”

Cas glared at him.

It had seemed such a routine case – a series of suspicious disappearances in Truth or Consequences, New Mexico; rumours of a strange, white-clad woman who flickered in and out of view; several leads which the boys had traced back to an old house on the outskirts of town.

“The Truth Shall Set Ye Free,” Cas had said as they stood together by the front door, reading the words etched into the grey bricks above their heads. He remembered Dean throwing him a strange look, and then saying gruffly,

“Sam, you take the basement. I’ll take the first floor, and Cas can search upstairs. Yell if you’re about to die, meet you back here in ten.”

Inside, the house had been surprisingly light and spacious. There was no furniture upstairs of any kind, except in one room, where there were two large hourglasses sitting on a rough wooden table. Cas had taken his time inspecting them, sure that they must have something to do with the haunting.

“Cas? You OK?”

“In here,” Cas called, hearing Dean’s footsteps creaking across the slatted wooden hallway.

“You’ve been longer than ten minutes, Cas, we don’t agree on meeting times like that just for kicks. You’ve got to –”

Bam. The door had slammed shut behind Dean as he entered the room, and in front of them a beautiful, dark-skinned woman dressed in white had flickered into view.

“Good morning,” she’d said, with a wicked grin. “My name is Veritas, goddess of truth. Welcome to my home. We’re going to have a lot of fun.”

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Seven Minutes in Heaven


A/N: Happy birthday to the ever lovely, poorbeautifuldean! I apologize in advance for the gooey cheesiness that this is. Ew. — DeanCas, college!AU, first kiss ~1k.

Dean thought he left games like Truth or Dare and Seven Minutes in Heaven behind when he graduated high school.

He’s not 18 anymore (19 is worlds different than 18, thank you very much); spends more nights studying than he does going out, yet here he is at a party, tucked in a closet with a guy. And not just any guy, no that would be too easy. Instead, the universe just had to go and give him Castiel Milton, photojournalism major who sits just in front of Dean in Econ 1010.

The very same guy Dean’s been pining over for the last semester.

Anyone else and Dean’s sure he could have dealt with it. Seven minutes of making out with someone he was never going to see again? No problem. Seven minutes of - so far silence - with a one Castiel Milton and Dean’s certain this is his last night on earth because he definitely isn’t going to survive this.

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Cas is a screenwriter, and a great one at that, but blasts from the past aren’t exactly simple in Hollywood.

“He’s a hack,” Cas sighs, rubbing the bridge of his nose in frustration, his thick black frames hitching above his fingers, “The most he can do is make explosions pop on screen, and that’s all very well but I don’t want that. I want something more.”

“We’ve been trying our best, Novak, but your screening process is pretty picky,” Ellie explains, her hair still tied back in a perfect ponytail despite the California heat, “You want a good director? You’re gonna have to pick one and stick with him, long as you can. You gotta stick it out, man.”

Poor Ellie, Cas thinks, long-suffering for his particular edge that Hollywood has started clamouring for after nearly a decade of poverty. But he can’t pick any director, he needs someone with integrity, who understands the message, who cares about the art rather than the money. This screenplay has been sitting on his computer since he was nineteen, and all the studios are lapping for some juvenilia, thinking it has the household Castiel Novak edge, but it’s just teen angst repurposed for a different age, that’s all. Still, it was his first serious piece, and he needs someone who really knows his stuff.

He looks down the list, having skipped down the list of names until a name pops out at him like a lance through his memories.

He stubs a bitten-to-the-quick fingernail at the name and gruffly informs Ellie, “Him,” before picking up his trench coat and walking out for some fresh air.

Dean Winchester. Hasn’t spoken to him since film school, since that night. A shiver runs through him, despite the stifling humidity, and he tells his driver to take him home.

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Fire is catching! And if we burn, you burn with us.

Anonymous said: dani you're super pretty so I wouldn't be surprised if there were like ten people who had a crush on you right now

/blushes omg thank you anon i love you <3


i hope someone has a secret crush on me. at least a little tiny one.like a baby sprout one…like a little drop maybe,a little syrupy drop of crushy crush baby love nectar





they put up a jensen misha photo op when I can’t go to dallascon im so sad

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