#THANKS AGAIN COWBOY BUTTFUCKERS!!!!!!

[spike-and-faye]

COWBOY BRACKET IS COMPLETE!!!

And the winner issssss….

B.O.F.A. DEEZ NUTS BALLAD OF FALLEN ANGELS!

Ok ok, we saw this coming but for real, these final two were neck and neck. The winner was changing by the hour at some points! Needless to say, BOFA pulled a decisive though narrow victory in the end!

Scroll down for audio of Ave Maria because the Cowboy Bebop version is superior to the original and that’s a hill I’ll die on 💅🏼

I just wanted to say again THANK YOU SO MUCH to everyone who participated!!! This was so much fun and I got so many lovely messages from everyone 💕

Also sorry I posted the results like almost a week late ✌🏼 I had an absolutely hellish menstrual period this week with a super cute migraine that made looking at a screen physically hurt ✨💅🏼💕

[quillquiver]

According to the weather people, it feel liks 47C here today, so have this. Also, I know nothing about cars :))

“It’s hotter than my brother’s asshole.”

Dean rolls his eyes from under Baby’s hood, half-heartedly wiping his grease-stained fingers on an already filthy rag. They’ve been stuck at the same gas station in buttfuck nowheresville, New Mexico for over three hours, and they’re probably looking at a couple more before the Impala’s up and running again. In that time, Cas has stripped down to his white t-shirt, bemoaned the fact that hunters wear jeans, and spouted facts about dehydration every seven minutes. Oh, and complained. Non-stop. Cas may be new to the whole permanent humanity thing, but he’s got complaining down pat.

Dean is ready to kill him.

“This is not what you’re supposed to be wearing in this heat. Did you know—”

“I swear to god, Cas, if you say another word about how hot it is, or how uncomfortable you are, I’ll dig a nice, cool, 6-foot hole and dump you in it. Capiche?”

Cas glares at him, a flush breaking out over his already sun-reddened face before the dude turns on his heel and crawls into the backseat. 

Thank fuck.

Dean sighs and gets back to work.

Some indeterminate time later, the left backseat door slams and Cas marches towards the AC-less shack of a mini-mart. Dean doesn’t have to look up to see how pissed Cas is, and glares at the wrench in his hand as he hears him stomp across the cracked lot. Some part of Dean—that part that’s inexplicably in love with the blue-eyed asshole—marvels at the fact that they can fight like this at all; that neither one of them is terrified to get pissed in case the other walks out for good. 

The footsteps return and Cas drops something heavy onto the ground. Dean glances over to find a case of what appear to be room temp (read: hot) water bottles.

And then there’s a splash.

Dean knows because he feels it hitting the concrete and splashing up on his own jeans. And—yep, when he looks over, there’s Cas: shaking out the rest of a four litre bottle over his own head, the white fabric of his t-shirt see-through and plastered to his chest, his jeans—

Dean blinks.

Shorts. Jean shorts. Short jean shorts. Cas took scissors to his jeans and cut off the legs until the pockets poke out from underneath. He’s got a wet t-shirt on and soaked through booty shorts, and as he pushes the water-logged hair from his eyes and bends to get the shitty, novelty cowboy hat from the concrete Dean thinks he’s having a heart attack.

“Uh.”

Cas smirks at him because he’s an ass, and pulls out a water bottle from the pack. He offers it with raised brows. “It’s hot,” he says unnecessarily.

Dean gives him a once over and nods. “Um. Yep.”

“You should hydrate.”

“Right,” Dean says. “Yeah. I should... I should... uh...”

“Are you hot?”

Dean nods. Vigorously.

...And watches Cas’s nice, round ass as he bends down again to get another four litre bottle, which he upends over Dean’s head. 

When Dean finally stops blinking water out of eyes, Cas is close, wet, flushed and grinning. Jesus. Dean reaches for his belt loops and tugs. “C’mere Mr. Lone Ranger.”

He kisses him.