fuckyeahdeancas: happyasishouldbe: neraiutsuze: girlwithtulle: ialwayscomewhenyoucall: girlwithtulle: boazpriestly: Tip of a ballpoint pen highly magnified. It was there, in the most minuscule point in the universe, that he found everything he’d been looking for. On the tip of a ballpoint, blown up so every detail could be seen, Dean Winchester discovered the exact shade of blue that Castiel’s eyes were created from.   Sorry that our fandom is so awesome that we can turn a ballpoint pen picture into Destiel. SORRY. OMG GUYS SERIOUSLY? I BET WE COULD FIND DESTIEL IN A FUCKING ORANGE THE SHADE OF… SOMETHING, IDK. Dean looked at the orange he was holding. The shadow it made on his hand, long and slim because of the position of the sun, reminded him of the figure Cas’s shadow made against his own body.  Dean couldn’t look at oranges any more. One of the few times he’d left Sam alone with Cas, he’d come back to find his traitor of a little brother introducing his angel to the blasphemy that was cheesecake. Cas had pronounced the tangy orange zest to be as good as the rhubarb pie Dean had given him last week, and Dean had thrown his hands up in the air and walked right out of the room. He regretted never telling Cas that liking cheesecake was alright as long as you liked pie as well, now. Maybe the angel had died still thinking Dean judged him for that. rebloging this because it makes me remember good old times….

fuckyeahdeancas:

happyasishouldbe:

neraiutsuze:

girlwithtulle:

ialwayscomewhenyoucall:

girlwithtulle:

boazpriestly:

Tip of a ballpoint pen highly magnified.

It was there, in the most minuscule point in the universe, that he found everything he’d been looking for. On the tip of a ballpoint, blown up so every detail could be seen, Dean Winchester discovered the exact shade of blue that Castiel’s eyes were created from.  

Sorry that our fandom is so awesome that we can turn a ballpoint pen picture into Destiel. SORRY.

OMG GUYS SERIOUSLY? I BET WE COULD FIND DESTIEL IN A FUCKING ORANGE THE SHADE OF… SOMETHING, IDK.

Dean looked at the orange he was holding. The shadow it made on his hand, long and slim because of the position of the sun, reminded him of the figure Cas’s shadow made against his own body. 

Dean couldn’t look at oranges any more. One of the few times he’d left Sam alone with Cas, he’d come back to find his traitor of a little brother introducing his angel to the blasphemy that was cheesecake. Cas had pronounced the tangy orange zest to be as good as the rhubarb pie Dean had given him last week, and Dean had thrown his hands up in the air and walked right out of the room. He regretted never telling Cas that liking cheesecake was alright as long as you liked pie as well, now. Maybe the angel had died still thinking Dean judged him for that.

rebloging this because it makes me remember good old times….

(via math-smitt)