Anything For Our Moony..

Everyday i'm reminded that no one could ever even come close to serve as much cunt as this gay ass demon.

This is a little short story I wrote called False Faces... let me know what you guys think!

One, two, three, breath Chris you’re fine. My internal monologue screamed at me, clawed at my brain. He wouldn’t ditch me, not when it’s something important, he just wouldn’t.

I could feel my heart pounding in my chest, it’s fine, it’s going to be fine. He’ll be here in a few minutes, he’s only five minutes late, it’s fine. I looked down at the mug sitting on the table in front of me, trying to drown out the buzz of the people around me. I ran a hand through my dark hair, my finger tapping on the table mindlessly, the buzz of these people’s gonna drive me insane. That’s when I heard the door open.

Benny sat down in the seat across from me, a smile across his face, I must look panicked because as soon as he looked at me his expression turned to worry. “Chris, are you alright?” he sounded genuinely concerned, maybe he wouldn’t run away. No, he wouldn’t do that, Benny isn’t like that. He’s not, and I know that.

“Benny, if I told you something that you might not like, would you stick around?” my voice was shaky and his eyes widened at the question.

“You know I wouldn’t up and leave you.” He picked up my mug and took a sip of the coffee inside, looking at me over the cup. The light hit his eyes and made the dark brown look like rich honey. I liked his eyes, they made me feel safe.

“Well, um… I just don’t want you to hate me,” I took the mug from his hands a took a sip, letting the warm liquid help settle my nerves. I could feel that lump in my throat, and the burn in the back of my eyes, “you’re my best friend.”

“I could never hate you, man you’re like the most important person to me,” he put his hand over the mug and lowered it to the table, locking his eyes with mine, not letting me drop my gaze. “Chris I could never.” He said it strongly a firm expression on his face. He wasn’t lying, he wouldn’t leave.

I took in a breath. “So, you know how you’ve been trying to set me up with a girl?” He nodded his head, knowing not to speak or I might go into a panic. “I want… no, I need you to stop.” I put my hands on the table scraping at the wood with my nail.

“Okay, you don’t want a relationship that’s fine man, I mean whenever you’re ready.” he leaned back in his seat. “I’m sorry I pushed that.”

I away from him, biting at my lip, and shaking my head. “It’s… It’s not that I don’t want a relationship, Benny…” my voice was barely a whisper, but he heard me. My vision started to become blurry and I looked out the window. I felt the wet tear slide down my cheek. “I just don’t want one with a girl.” I wiped my face and looked up at him. I couldn’t read his face, but it looked like shock. “You can go if you want, I get it, okay.” I heard my voice crack and I swallowed thickly.

He stood up, and dread immediately washed over my entire body, and I felt myself sink into the chair, as I tried not to let this god awful noise leave my throat.

But he walked over to my seat grabbing my shoulders and pulling me into a bone-crushing hug. I balled my fists into the back of his shirt, burying my face in his neck. I was shaking from head to toe, my knees about gave out on me. But he squeezed me tighter.

“It’s okay, Chris. You’re okay.” He soothed, and I just let the hot tears fall from my eyes. “I’m glad you told me. Chris, I could never hate you for who you choose to love… never.” I nodded my head, a smile he couldn’t see across my face. I couldn’t believe it, it took me so long for me to be okay knowing that I was gay, but he… he accepted it just like that. I dropped my arms and lifted my head, the grin still on my face. He smiled back.

I think it’s going to be okay, I think we’re gonna be okay. I don’t have to hide behind this mask anymore. I don’t need to be as afraid. I can be okay with me again, and I can be happy with that, just as I should be.

Ok I have a weird personal thing about gender:

I feel like “guy” and “girl” are more aesthetics for me

but also I strongly feel I’m a woman, and a woman isn’t a “girl”

isn’t that weird? Why do I think that idk what I’m trying to say with this post but whatever

This was quite interesting... do recommend

@actually-azi @bil-daddy @blusheher

Picrew And Uquiz Chain

Picrew here

Uquiz Here

No Pressure Tags:

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Mary: Well, has James been wrong before? Lily: How wide are we willing to open this up?

Jack: “DAAAAAAAAAAAAD, Claire is being mean to me!”

Castiel: “If you continue doing that, Claire, you won't have ice-cream as dessert.”

Dean: “But we still love you.”

Castiel, looking at Dean: “Why do you say that everytime I'm scolding one of them?”

Dean: “I'm…”

Castiel: “Don't answer! You're going to say something sad. Then I'll feel bad for you and then I'll want to kill your dad.”

I hate this whole needing money to live thing

let me introduce you to the gang from the book I'm writing...

Finnly Grey- 16, blonde, anxious, funny, athletic, compassionate

Jacson Towers- 16, ginger, depressed, writer, anger issues but kind

Callie Rose- 16, brunette, ADHD, artsy, very kind

Theodore Visour- 17, teal/ dark blonde, addict, working on himself very slowly

Luna Banks- 16, brunette, anxiety, loves sarcasm

Elaina Visour- 17, purple/ dark blonde, resentful/ distrustful, helping get her brothers life together

how long before it's trending guys. cmon ineffable fans.

In which Dean and Cas find a home.

“That one.”

Dean followed the trajectory of Castiel’s pointed finger: a house, red like a barn, with dark brown shutters on the windows. A wild garden was blooming over most of the concrete path leading up to the front door, and ivy grew in reckless abandon over most of the house. “That one? It looks like no one even lives there.”

“It has a wild beauty,” Castiel shrugged.

They continued their walk down the quiet neighborhood street. It was a warm day; Dean could feel the sun leaking through his leather jacket. The occasional bird twittered from one of the tall oak trees’ branches draped over the road, and white noise filtered from the freeway in the distance.

“I wouldn’t want to live on this street,” Dean said.

“Why not?”

“You can hear the highway.”

“You spend most of your day travelling on a highway,” Castiel gently reminded him.

“I know; but when I’m home, I want my peace and quiet.”

Castiel hummed thoughtfully. He nodded his head to the left of them, toward a sprawling rambler. “What about that one?”

“I want two floors. At least.”

A few more steps and Castiel gestured to a towering old Victorian-style home, at least three stories high. It was akin to the types of houses Dean and Sam had squatted in over the years while healing from a difficult hunt: dilapidated and abandoned. Dean raised a questioning eyebrow at Castiel, who said defensively, “It’s tall, like you wanted.”

Dean was beginning to realize that Castiel had no idea what was considered a proper home to live in. He held out his arm; it hit Castiel across the chest and he stopped. “Look at this one,” Dean said before Castiel could protest.

The house that Dean chose smiled at them with a huge bay window, its glass reflecting the afternoon sunlight. It was painted a gentle grey with a large cedar door as an entrance. A little white porch, decorated with a splatter of wicker lawn chairs and a collection of wind chimes, was seated at the entrance.

Dean put a hand gently onto Castiel’s back, smiling down at him. “Well?”

Blue eyes turned from the house to regard him. “It has a very nice garden,” he stated.

“You’re really jonesin’ for a garden, aren’t you?”

The corners of Castiel’s lips lifted into a small grin. “What do you wish for in a house?”

“A big kitchen,” Dean replied without any thought. “Big kitchen with lots of sunlight. I want to be able to see the crap that I cook. And I want a huge bathroom, one that connects to our bedroom. A shower that I can actually move around in; not one of those ‘I’m a shower but also a crappy bathtub’ situations. And a big garage to work on Baby, and a huge TV so you can watch your dumb soap operas and… what?” Dean asked, self consciously cowering under Castiel’s gummy smile.

Castiel laced his fingers between Dean’s, pressing into his side. “A comfortable couch,” he continued softly. “For when we watch my ‘dumb soap operas’.”

“Yeah,” Dean said in a hoarse voice. “Not leather. A soft fabric…maybe.”

“Can we have a large living room as well? Higher ceilings? We can hang plants.”

Dean scoffed, “Hang plants?”

“They brighten up a room, Dean.”

Both men stood for a moment longer, hands entwined, staring wistfully at the house. Dean tried very hard not to think of the symbolism in that moment: the house in front of them owned by someone else. Someone who can live a very normal life with sunny kitchens, a garage, kids, maybe even a dog if they wanted.

Someone who could live a traditionally long life with someone they loved, giving them all the gardens they wanted in the world.

“Let’s go,” Dean said abruptly, pulling Castiel away from the house. “We told Sam we’d only be on this stupid walk for an hour.”

“Dean.” He felt Castiel tug against his hand, pulling him into his space. He stared at Dean very intently, brushing a hand against his neck, making Dean’s skin shiver.

When Dean didn’t protest or move away, Castiel’s hand came up to cradle his cheek. Dean’s breath hitched and he closed his eyes against the touch. “Cas, we’re in public,” he murmured in a barely argumentative tone as Castiel’s chest pressed up against his.

“I don’t want you to be sad.”

“I’m not sad.”

“Regretful, then.” Dean felt gentle lips pressing against his jawline. “You don’t need a house to have a home. Sam is your home, as is the Impala, and the bunker.”

“I think you’re forgetting someone there, Cas,” Dean said as his arms tightened around Castiel in an embrace.

“Who?”

Dean rolled his eyes. “You, ya dummy.”

“Oh, yes.” Castiel rested his forehead onto Dean’s shoulder, smiling into the crook of his neck. “You are my home as well, Dean.”

Dean’s hand ran up and down Castiel’s back. “We’d be happy in a house,” he said thoughtfully.

“Yes,” Castiel agreed. He pressed a kiss against Dean’s lips and guided him up the road, toward where Dean had parked the Impala. “One day, we will be.”