#C. It's Jensen

[jinkieswouldyoulookatthis]

The Heroes' Journey (15x10)

Fuck me.

No really.

Please?

[sweetm0uringlamb]

did jensen’s NDA expire or what

[thefableddestiel]

We need a Destiel kiss in whatever spn thing Jensen ends up making.

“But I don’t want to kiss a man,” Jensen says.

Well, you should’ve thought about that before you decided to play Dean Winchester because HE kisses men and HE is in love with Castiel. Now, get out there and do right by him.

[outtagum]

THE BOYS 3.06 "Herogasm"

[wellofdean]

So... Jensen Ross Texas Cheerleader Drama Club Mechanical Bull-Rider Clothes-Horse Fairy Princeling Ackles did an unmistakably legible and bang up job of acting the complete shit out of the entire insane series of events that we who watched the show with our own two eyes sensibly call The Widower Arc, and I am supposed to believe that he did not realise his character was in love with Castiel, angel of the lord, fallen in everyway possible from the moment he laid a hand on Dean in hell? And then later, Jensen R. T. C. D. C. M. B. R. C. H. F. P. Ackles further acted his sweet little patooties off bringing us the unhinged series of events that those of us with eyes and who saw it call The Divorce Arc? And now we learn that when Cas was telling Dean he loved him, Jensen was playing his own personal DESTIEL AMV inside his brain, and y'all are wondering, does Jensen understand that DESTIEL?!?!!!

Plz.

[packardbaker]

Jensen C-V8

[its-everything-oclock]

The genre is: my faves in backwards caps.

[winchestergirl2]

Dark Angel | 2×11 The Berrisford Agenda | Part 2 (Part 1 here)

[friendofcars]

amabo te, which is to say please, which is to say i will love you, which is to say i will fight so you will not be alone: "amabo te: an essay on love and begging" by franny marzuki (1, 2, 6, 8, 10, 14) / "adam's ribs" by jensen mcrae (3, 9) / greywaren by maggie stiefvater (4, 12) / howl's moving castle dir. hayao miyazaki (5) / call down the hawk by maggie stiefvater (7, 11) / illustration for "amabo te..." by kerstin stillman (13) / the raven king by maggie stiefvater (15)

[anadarmcs]

PRIVATE: So, we survived our first public event. How are you feeling about it? You're not getting cold feet on me or anything? I'm sure this means that you're now pretty much stuck with me. I've been saying it a lot, but I think it's for real now. / @jacklesx

[destielwarmsthecocklesofmyheart]

i KnOw LeTs PuT DeAn iN fRonT Of rELigioUs iMaGeRy wHiLe hE SaYs "i Do" ThAtS SuPeR StRAiGhT RiGhT No onE WiLL tHiNK He LOvEs tHE AnGeL RiGht?!

[highfunctioningflailgirl]

Damage Control: 1x02 Wendigo

Dean would never admit to it, but it’s a good thing that Sam’s driving. In truth, the Wendigo had done a number on him, and now that he no longer has to keep up his Winchester trademark bravado for the girl, the cops and the EMTs, he turns his face away from Sam and leans his forehead against the Impala’s passenger window, pretending to fall asleep. 

The rain-streaked glass is blessedly cool against the bruise creeping up his cheekbone to his eye and soothes his headache. Maybe he has a concussion after all. Although he’d told the EMTs his head was fine and his pupils had done him the favor of being equal-sized when they’d shone their flashlights into Dean’s eyes, he feels queasy now, and a little dizzy.

Everything feels sore. His cheek is swollen, his neck itches under the bandage. His shoulders hurt from being strung up by his wrists for hours. His skin is chafed from the rope. His back aches from being dragged across the forest ground, over roots and rocks, to the cave. Although his sturdy canvas jacket had literally saved his skin, he still feels like he’s been road-hauled. 

Without Sam, he would’ve parked the Impala somewhere off-road and curled up in the backseat to sleep off the worst of it before dragging himself back behind the wheel and onto the road. He would’ve popped a few pills and chased them with whiskey to drown out the pain. The next morning, he would’ve caffeinated at a drive-in to avoid curious looks and stayed away from mirrors for a few days. 

But Sam is here, a reassuring presence beside him, driving him through the night, and the familiar squeaking of the Impala’s chassis and the sloshing rain on the windshield are comfortably lulling Dean to sleep. 

xxx

“Dean. Dean!”

Sam is shaking him by the shoulder, and Dean peels his eyes open, disoriented. 

“What?”

“Jesus, Dean!” Sam is shaking his shaggy head. “I thought you’d fallen into a coma or something!” 

Stiffly, Dean sits up and scrubs a hand across his face. It hurts.

“Why? No. I’m fine.”

“You sure?” Sam arches dubious eyebrows. “Dude, I could barely wake you up.”

Dean waves him off. “Yeah. I’m good. I was just exhausted. Relax! I’m fine.”

“You don’t look fine.”

“Then don’t look at me.”

“Hah! Funny.” Sam isn’t laughing. 

Dean ignores him and tries to gather his bearings. “Where are we?”

“Motel parking lot”, Sam replies, still frowning at Dean. “You’re beat, and I could use some shut-eye, too. Something to eat. And a shower.” He sniffs at his jacket and wrinkles his nose. “We both smell like roadkill. You look like it, too.”

Dean blinks blurry surroundings into focus - a mostly empty parking lot ringed by the peeling outline of a cheap motel complex, a “vacancies” sign flashing orange in the misty dawn. Then he looks down at himself, at his dirty clothes and hands, and takes a whiff.

“You’re not wrong,” he admits. He stinks, and it’s not exactly helping with his lingering nausea.

Sam pulls the keys out of the ignition and reaches for the door handle. “I’ll get us a room. Stay here! We don’t want to scare the locals.”

When he’s out of sight, Dean angles the rearview mirror so he can look at his face. He does look terrible. His right eye has blackened, and his cheek is swollen and tender around the cut. The bandage on his neck is a rusty brown. He‘s pale, the freckles on his face competing with dried specks of mud and dirt. His hair is plastered to his temple where he’s been leaning against the window.

“Ughh…” he comments and repositions the mirror, away from his face.

It only takes a few minutes for Sam to return, motel keys jingling in his hand, but it’s about time. Dean is already drowsy again, and only his full bladder is keeping him awake. 

While his brother grabs their overnight duffels from the trunk, Dean hoists himself out of the passenger seat, and, for a hopefully inconspicuous moment, hangs on to the passenger door while a dizzy spell passes.

“Dude. You’re on concussion protocol for the next twenty-four hours!”

Shit.

“I’m f-”

“Shut up.” The sudden authority in Sam’s voice surprises Dean. He almost sounds like their dad. “You’re swaying, and you look like Casper after six rounds of mud wrestling. I don’t care what lies you told the EMTs, but I am going to wake you up every hour to make sure you’re not bleeding into your stupid brain!”

The fact that Dean can’t even come up with a return has Sam nod in confirmation. 

“Right. Now let’s get your ass into the shower and then into bed.”

There’s no further discussion. Sam carries their bags to their room while keeping a close eye on Dean who crosses the parking lot like his own friggin’ grandfather. As he shuffles along, Dean wonders about the sudden role reversal. He‘s the one who‘s always taken care of Sammy, and it’s odd to experience it the other way around. Odd, but not entirely unpleasant. 

Inside, the garish interior of their lodgings bites into Dean’s aching eyes - tasteless combinations of orange and green that would put even the ‘70s to shame. Longingly eyeing one of the two beds, Dean staggers past it, into the bathroom. Once he lies down, he knows he won’t be able to get back up.

„Wait!“ 

Sam prevents him from shutting the door, then he reaches inside Dean‘s duffel bag and, rummaging around, retrieves his toiletry kit including shampoo and shower gel.

„Here, you’ll need this.“ He hands it to Dean. „And don’t lock the door!“

„Sammy, you don‘t have to take care-„

„Well, yes!“ Sam glowers at him in a mixture of worry and annoyance. „Because someone has to if you’re not taking care of yourself. I know you Dean, and some things… they don’t change.“

The brothers lock eyes and, for a moment, memories bounce between them. Memories of hunts with their father when one of them had gotten hurt and Dean in particular had quickly adopted John Winchester‘s way of unwavering stoicism. It hadn’t just been about copying the behavior of his father, whom Dean admired. Nor had it been about heroism or masculinity, as Sam had often claimed. No. Dean had simply never deemed his pain important. Saving people was important. Protecting Sammy was important. The world was full of monsters hurting innocents. They were important. Not Dean’s occasional sprained ankle, a cracked rib or a conk to the head.

His attitude had driven Sam crazy. Even Dad had torn him a new one once, for ignoring an injury that had brought him close to sepsis and forced them to abort the hunt for a shapeshifter. Dean had learned from that. A little.

“Thanks, Sammy,” he says and disappears into the bathroom.

The massaging heat of the shower trumps the stinging of his wounds, and Dean spends so much time under the hot spray that Sam gets nervous outside and knocks on the door, threatening to come in. 

“I’m fine!” Dean yells, and he wonders how many times he’s said those two words in his life when, truly, he’d been anything but. 

When he emerges from the bathroom, wrapped in a towel, he’s weary to the bone and grateful for the fresh set of clothes Sam has already laid out for him. He nods at his brother and briefly returns to the bathroom to slip into the soft, clean jogging pants, t-shirt and hoodie, his shoulders groaning in protest at the movement. 

“You want something to eat before turning in?” Sam calls from the main room. “I was thinking about ordering take out. D’you want a burger?”

Dean’s stomach does a little flip at the thought of greasy food - more proof that he’s indeed concussed - but he can’t quite shed the pretense. It’s too ingrained in him.

“Cheeseburger and fries, but only if you order something, too,” he calls back. “And do we have beer?”

He shuffles back into the main room and sits down on the nearest bed, gingerly leaning back against the headboard.

“Alcohol and a concussion don’t mix,” Sam tells him sternly, one ear pressed to his cell phone. “But you know that, and I guess you’re not going to- Yes, hi, can I place an order, please?”

Whatever burger joint is on the other end of the line, Dean’s grateful for the distraction. One good thing about hunting alone had been that no one had lectured him about his lifestyle. Not that his father had cared about Dean’s preference for junk food or his drinking. If anything, he’d set an even worse example, living on whatever food was left after his sons had eaten and regular swigs from his hip flask. But hunting had been John Winchester’s number one priority, and he would’ve taken Dean’s head off for aggravating an injury through drink and compromising his hunting skills even further. 

“… you should really change those.”

“Huh?”

Dean looks at Sam, forcing his eyes to focus. Jeez, he’d really zoned out for a moment there. 

Sam’s standing by the bed, his own toiletry kit and fresh clothes in his arms. His brows are knitted in annoyed concern, forming a swirly set of wrinkles on his forehead that Dean thinks is going to stay if his little brother doesn’t stop this mother-henning anytime soon. 

“I said food is ordered, I’m gonna hit the shower, and you should change those bandages. They’re wet.”

Dean sighs in surrender. “Yes, ma’am!” He lifts his hand to peel the sodden bandage from his neck. “Go shower!”

“First aid kit is on the table.”

“Go shower!”

Finally, Sam leaves him alone. Reluctantly, Dean gets up again and fetches the first aid kit. It needs restocking, but he finds some gauze, and, in front of a dusty mirror by the door, tapes it over the wound on his neck. He doesn’t bother with the cut on his cheek; it’s already scabbing over. Same goes for the abrasion on his forehead. 

The shower’s still running when he’s done and he sinks back down onto the bed. Sam seems to be enjoying the hot water as much as Dean, and although he managed to escape the Wendigo nearly unscathed, Dean is sure he’s feeling the long hike through the woods in his muscles, too. 

Dean himself feels leaden now. His head’s still hurting, and he leans back, closing his eyes. There’s a soothing comfort in the sounds emanating from the bathroom - water running, an audible sigh from Sammy and muffled banging as his 6’5 brother navigates the too-small shower stall. 

Before Sam had joined him in his search for their father, Dean had only had silence for company, filled with a looming, leering sense of danger. It’s not that he wasn’t used to being on his own. His father and Dean had been splitting up and gone on solo hunts ever since he’d turned twenty-five. In fact, Dean quite enjoyed those times. His father’s tough love approach wasn’t always easy to bear, and his presence always diminished Dean. He was more confident and a better hunter on his own. As a bonus, solo hunts meant he could pick up girls more easily.

But it had been different this time. His father was missing. John Winchester was in trouble; Dean could feel it in his bones. And suddenly the motel room he’d been staying in on his own hadn’t felt like freedom; it had felt stifling and too quiet, with evil lurking in the corners. For the first time in a long time Dean had felt alone, and scared, and he still doesn’t know what he would’ve done if Sam hadn’t come with him to go looking for Dad. 

That fear isn’t entirely gone. Dean still worries that something happened to their father, that he– No. He’s not going there. He’s got Sam now - who’s apparently going through a whole bathroom routine with his fancy shampoo and expensive shower gel - not like the cheap no-name soap Dean uses - and will later sleep in the other bed the way he always does, on his belly, his long  lanky body sprawled on the mattress like a starfish. If Sam isn’t haunted by nightmares about Jessica, he will sleep like a log, his deep, even breaths reassuringly filling the darkness. 

And it is with that comforting thought that Dean himself drops into slumber now, concussion be damned, and he doesn’t wake up until Sam, like clockwork, raises him exactly one hour later, for a warmed-up burger and fries. 

Find the whole series on AO3 here:

[englishcarssince1946]

1965 Jensen C-V8 Mk III

My tumblr-blogs: https://www.tumblr.com/blog/germancarssince1946 & https://www.tumblr.com/blog/frenchcarssince1946 & https://www.tumblr.com/blog/englishcarssince1946 & https://www.tumblr.com/blog/italiancarssince1946 & https://www.tumblr.com/blog/japanesecarssince1947

[d-criss-news]

‘Justice League: Warworld’ Cast Unveiled (Exclusive)

The Justice League is going to war. The upcoming summer animated home entertainment release Justice League: Warworld has unveiled its cast, which is toplined by Jensen Ackles as Batman/Officer Wayne, Stana Katic as Wonder Woman/Diana Prince and Darren Criss as Superman/Agent Kent. Warner Bros. Animation, DC and Warner Bros. Discovery Home Entertainment are behind the project. The official synopsis reads: “Until now, the Justice League has been a loose association of superpowered individuals. But when they are swept away to Warworld, a place of unending brutal gladiatorial combat, Batman, Superman, Wonder Woman and the others must somehow unite to form an unbeatable resistance able to lead an entire planet to freedom.”

The cast also includes Ike Amadi as Martian Manhunter/J’onn J’onzz, Troy Baker as Jonah Hex, Matt Bomer as Old Man, Roger C. Cross as Machiste, Brett Dalton as Bat Lash, Trevor Duvall as Drifter, John DiMaggio as Lobo, Robin Atkin Downes as Mongul, Frank Grillo as Agent Faraday, Rachel Kimsey as Mariah Romanova, David Lodge as Sheriff, and Damian O’Hare as Deimos and Teddy Sears as Warlord. Executive producers include Butch Lukic (Batman: The Long Halloween) and Sam Register, along with longtime Batman franchise executive producer Michael Uslan. Jeff Wamester (Legion of Super-Heroes) directs from a script by Jeremy Adams (Supernatural), Ernie Altbacker (Justice League Dark: Apocalypse War) and Josie Campbell (She-Ra and the Princesses of Power). The producers are Jim Krieg (The Death and Return of Superman) and Kimberly S. Moreau (Batman: The Doom That Came to Gotham).

[wellofdean]

Don't you think it's a homophobic of you to neg Jensen by calling him "Jensen Ross Texas Cheerleader Drama Club Mechanical Bull-Rider Clothes-Horse Fairy Princeling Ackles"? It's clear what you are implying.

Wow. Ok.

I woke up to a lot of notes on this post, and this anon ask, and like...thank you, tumblr! Is it my birthday?

Firstly, anon:

And secondly, WHO'S NEGGING?? I LOVE MY QUEER SIBLINGS! Queer people are my favourite people!! But, to be clear here's what I am implying:

Jensen: it's his name, innit.

Ross: again, it's his name. But, I special like it because it was my great-grandparents last name, too.

Texas: he's from Texas, ain't he?

Cheerleader: factually, he was a cheerleader in highschool, and like, surely dealt with some innuendo about it IF NOTHING ELSE.

Drama Club: as above.

Mechanical Bull Rider: I saw it with my own two eyes. He can ride a mechanical bull.

Clothes-Horse: seriously, have you seen some of his fancy-ass IRL getups? So cute! I love a man who isn't afraid to dress pretty!

Fairy Princeling: he's got the world's prettiest green eyes, long pretty lashes, all those delicate little freckles and that mouth, ok? I think those are pretty much objective facts. I can't help that...though at his age, you're right, anon, he's no longer a 'princeling', he's a prince...I guess. I don't think he's the king, somehow?

Ackles: ok, I get you. That IS a funny name.

Look: I don't know if Jensen Ackles has a queer bone in his body, and it's not my business. He owes us nothing but his work, and he doesn't even properly owe us that. What I do know is that he SEES QUEER PEOPLE, like ALL THE TIME. He is at least queer adjacent, and by that I mean, peaceably and kindly living in a world where queer people are near him a lot. He has queer friends and has played queer roles. He interacts with deep kindness with queer fans. He has done things from a young age that people associate with queerness, like being a cheerleader, a model, and a fucking artist. He is also a VERY pretty man, and has no doubt gotten a lot of attention for it from people of any gender who have eyes and can see. None of that makes him necessarily queer, but at the very least I think it's clear that he is not afraid of queerness. There is A LOT of evidence to say so, and nothing I've ever heard (and I am a massive SPN fan, yo, so I have read ALL ABOUT the things he's said) that seriously makes me think he is a homophobe.

To be serious, the point of my post was that Jensen MADE DESTIEL. He yearned hard onscreen as Dean, and he made it so. He filed Dean's pretty, wet eyes up with love, and looked at Castiel with them, and he knows it. He is not an idiot, and he is a very good actor. He knew what he was doing. He did that shit. I love him for it. I would never neg him! I big up him all the time. He is very good, and seriously underrated, and I wish him a long and happy life and every good thing on earth because he told me (and is telling me) a story I fucking LOVE, and he did it beautifully.

So, like all hail Jensen R. T. C. D. C. M. B. R. C. H. F. P. Ackles! Long may he reign.

[ardentpoop]

jared in 2012: "we almost talk about it like there's three characters: there's sam, there's dean, and then there's samndean."