Gavotte & Plants

high-functioningginger:

The angel Castiel was much distressed, for he sought the lord God yet knew not where to search.

The Righteous Man perceived this and said in jest “Seek the lord God in the land of New Mexico, for I hear he is on a tortilla”

But, lo, the angel Castiel did not understand this jest and gave consideration to the Righteous Man’s suggestion.

Then he spake and said “Nay, he resides not on any flat-bread” and an awkward silence did fall.

Chuck 5:02

(via saltyfeathers)

salternates:

joanwatson:

season!9 cas should be like THE REVENGE OF CASTIEL: HE’S BACK AND THIS TIME HE’S ANGRY where he goes on a storming grumpy rampage against metatron and rounds up all the fallen angels and they wage war to get their grace back and then he finds god and punches him in the face screaming FUCK YOU DAD!!! and like you know if cas happened to be shirtless and have holsters and guns filled with angel-sword bullets clinging to his limbs during all this i mean i’d be okay with that

grabby hands

(via partofmealwaysbelieved)

cadignan:

“Could you, uh… could you find someone?”

Dean barely sounds like himself. His voice is a low rasp over the phone. He didn’t introduce himself in any way, didn’t say hello, didn’t call her “your highness.” But Charlie knows it’s him all the same. She can picture him standing in the bunker, holding the phone to his ear, rubbing his other hand across his forehead.

She hadn’t been waiting for the call, but it’s not exactly a surprise to hear from Dean. She saw that “meteor shower,” the one NOAA hadn’t predicted, same as anybody else. She’d looked into it but hadn’t found much—a spike in the birth rate, but that seemed more coincidental than anything else. Then again, when is anything ever a coincidence?

She senses that now is not the time to joke with Dean, so all she says is, “Yeah, probably.”

“He might be—he might be going by Jimmy Novak. Or Emmanuel. He—,”

“Cas? You want me to find Cas?”

Dean is quiet for a moment. Maybe he forgot that she read all Carver Edlund’s books, even the unpublished ones. Charlie hears him swallow before he speaks again. “Yeah.”

“You alright?”

“No. Not really.”

Clearly no more explanation is forthcoming. Back to business. “You got any pictures of him?”

Dean doesn’t say anything, but a moment later her phone buzzes. It’s a scan of a small photo, a face shot, probably left over from one of the Winchesters’ many fraudulent collage projects. The man in it is dark-haired, blue-eyed, tired. He doesn’t look like an angel. One of the photo’s corners is very slightly creased, as if it had been folded and then flattened out again, restored. Charlie wonders if Dean had kept this photo aside, tucked into his wallet, a secret icon.

“Good,” she says. “This will help.”

Dean is quiet again.

“Do you… need something else?” Like someone to talk to?

“Just find him,” he says, and hangs up.

(via piesexualhunter)