#also love that my longest tag was about getting jackles' signature at a con. feels good feels right

[miriel-elenna]

I posted 1,590 times in 2022

7 posts created (0%)

1,583 posts reblogged (100%)

Blogs I reblogged the most:

@soldierboys

@becauseofthebowties

@achillestiel

@xofemeraldstars

@sharkfish

I tagged 1,483 of my posts in 2022

Only 7% of my posts had no tags

#thee only otp - 387 posts

#my moon - 327 posts

#my stars - 198 posts

#the show at large - 141 posts

#actor stuff - 117 posts

#the boys - 85 posts

#big sky - 67 posts

#spn ladies - 48 posts

#spn truths - 46 posts

#fifth versary - 18 posts

Longest Tag: 129 characters

#he was sick and it was at the end of a long weekend but he still genuinely smiled at me when i mumbled my flustered little thanks

My Top Posts in 2022:

#5

Parody

The series so far...

Cas went to the used bookstore in town every time he had the opportunity.

Over the Bookshelf was tucked away in the small Main Street shopping area, sandwiched between a Domino's pizza on one side and a sandwich place on the other. It was, in Dean's words, more hole in the wall than a hole in the wall, but Cas found something delightful whenever he visited.

He was beginning to understand why humans put so much emphasis on olfactory sensations, because that first hit of old books, decaying paper and glue, sent dopamine and oxytocin swirling through his brain; a sensation almost as strong, almost but not quite, as what he felt every time he walked into his and Dean's home.

Their home together.

This visit to the bookstore was no different. He grinned as he meandered through the narrow aisles, books shoved willy-nilly into overstuffed shelves. He hadn't arrived with any particular goal, no preconceived book to purchase or purloin. He would know what he was looking for when he saw it.

Amongst a shelf of dusty paperbacks, a particularly lurid cover caught his eye. When he read the title he couldn't keep himself from flipping to the first page. The temptation was simply too great.

That's where Dean found him, his head thrown back in uproarious laughter. Cas rarely laughed so hard that tears leaked from his eyes, but he couldn't stop. The whole thing was too ridiculous.

"What's got you chuckling, sunshine?" Dean asked, a grin on his face.

Cas wiped his eyes and handed the book over. "This thing is entirely absurd."

Dean's eyes widened, a look of shocked horror on his face. He shuddered and dropped the book on the floor, rubbing his hands on his jeans as if to wipe them clean.

"Were you seriously reading one of the Supernatural books?" Dean grimaced. "What the fuck, Cas. I could practically hear you laughing from the street. Didn't realize my life was that funny to you."

Cas bent down and picked the book up, placing it back on its precarious perch. He took a breath and considered how to best respond. Dean could be very sensitive about some things.

He looked up and caught Dean's eyes with his own. "I didn't read them before, there was no point at first and even less later. Reading it now--" Cas paused and placed his hand on Dean's cheek, guiding his eyes back up to meet his own.

"Dean," Cas continued, voice low. "I don't know who that character in the book is. He shares your name but he isn't you. Chuck could not conceive of you, not the real you. He lacked the imagination to understand all of your best and brightest parts. He could never see you, not truly."

"Sweet talker," Dean muttered, eyes suspiciously bright. "But you can see me, is that it?"

"Of course," Cas replied, steady and certain as a mountain. Knowing Dean, seeing Dean, was like knowing and seeing himself; intrinsic and all-encompassing.

Cas crowded up against Dean, pushing him backwards against another tottering shelf. He felt Dean's breath hitch, his pulse speeding, eyes wide again, but not in horror.

He kissed Dean, the pressure going from light and teasing to dark and promising within the space of a gasped breath. Dean opened to him and in that moment, like so many others, Cas marveled at the enormity of Dean's heart.

"Plus," Cas mumbled deep beside Dean's ear, hand going lower to brush teasingly against where Dean was hot and yearning. "He conspicuously undersells the heft of your 'throbbing member.'"

Dean yelped and pushed Cas away. "What the fuck! That was the one where I was full frontal? Seriously, Cas?"

Cas shrugged, though he would hardly use the term "full-frontal." Chuck was a sub-optimal erotica writer.

Dean pointed at Cas. "You're sleeping on the couch." He turned and stormed away.

Cas rolled his eyes. He caught up to Dean, grabbing onto and holding his hand for full effect. "No, I'm not." Cas declared.

Dean had the temerity to roll his own eyes, but he squeezed Cas' hand "Fine. You're probably not."

Cas grinned, secure in his victory. They held hands as they left the store.

"Was that monster truck actually racist?" Cas asked, unable to stop himself.

Dean glanced over, eyes narrowed. His mouth twitched. And then, there, in the middle of the sidewalk, on a clear autumn day, Dean started to laugh.

5 notes - Posted November 30, 2022

#4

Maze/Maize

Corn stalks rustled in the evening breeze. The stalks' hollow scraping rattled down the long rows, snaking around the hard-beaten path and sending a shiver down Dean's spine that he could almost blame on the night's sudden chill. Almost.

The warm, golden afternoon had dimmed, the wind turning chill as the sun sank. Now, instead of high-pitched children laughing as they through the twists and turns, his only companions were the sound of his own breath, the hollow tramp of his footsteps over hard-beaten ground, and the cold, clear light of the moon.

And the corn. Always the corn.

He plowed onward, around the hard turns and past the blind corridors, shadows flickering in his periphery. He knew the maze, now. And he knew what waited at its heart.

Then, past the last turn, the land widened into a round, barren meadow, the place where all paths met. And there, in the middle, stood Castiel, long coat billowing around his legs, head tipped back and eyes fixed on the sky.

Dean came up from behind Cas to stand at his left side. Their shoulders brushed and Dean reached down to grab Cas' hand, cold fingers finding warmth, the contact always electrifying. He was Cas' and Cas was his.

"Come on, man," Dean said, eyes caught on Cas' profile, the graceful curve of his mouth. "It's time to go. They're closing up shop."

Cas lowered his eyes from the sky. His mouth curved into a smile as he caught Dean's eyes, the smile he saved only for Dean. The smile that broke Dean's heart and mended it again.

He leaned into Dean's shoulder and squeezed his hand.

"Of course, Dean," he replied, eyes glinting warm in reflected moonlight. "Let's go home."

28 notes - Posted October 2, 2022

#3

Digital

Hamburgers sizzled on the grill.

They were Dean's special blend, just the right blend of ground beef varieties, with a couple secret herbs and spices massaged into the patties. All topped off with salt and pepper and seared by hot charcoal.

He had a gas grill, a gift from Cas and Sam and Jack back around Father's Day, but for a burger it had to be charcoal.

The sliding door into the house was open, and through it Dean could hear the rapid fire patter of Cas' knife. In his mind, Dean could see the graceful curve of Cas' fingers around the handle, the loose but precise way he held it as he chopped through vegetables like some chef on TV.

Dean would eat those vegetables and he would love them. Because Cas made them for him.

Dean flipped a burger, the scent of charred meat and grease spreading out through the air around him. He glanced at the spatula, the scars on his knuckles and calluses on his fingers. A history of violence, pain, and death memorialized on his skin.

All he had ever wanted was this: a home of his own, a person to love and share it with, a future to create not just to survive.

He flinched a little, the clatter of plates set down on the table behind him snapping him out of his thoughts.

Cas came up behind him, careful to step on the creaky board, to make a noise, to announce his presence, to not startle someone who had spent his life in fight or flight mode. Always so careful with Dean.

Cas hooked his chin over Dean's left shoulder. "Those smell great," he said, voice a warm rumble in Dean's ear, body warm and snug against his own.

"Should be nearly done," Dean replied. "Grab me the plate?"

"Of course," Cas said, and Dean could hear the smile in his tone.

Before Cas could step away, Dean reached over and grabbed his hand. Dean looked at him, their eyes met and held, and he raised Cas' hand to his lips. He kissed Cas' knuckles and squeezed his long, beautiful fingers.

Cas gazed at him, golden in the late afternoon light. Eyes full of fondness and love, eyes that Dean could finally see a future in.

Dean loved Cas, with all that was left of his soul.

44 notes - Posted October 3, 2022

#2

Wicked

The day was not going to plan.

The cold, autumn rain had set in early and hard. October had hardly begun and the leaves had already been stripped off the trees by the never-ceasing rain.

It was gray. It was cold. It was damp. And the weather had lied, promising a warm, sunny day--a break, a chance to put the garden to bed for winter--but instead the rain persisted.

It was wicked, evil, an abomination. Cas wasn't sure why he'd even gotten out of bed.

Dean had left earlier, soon after breakfast, errands to run in town. He'd invited Cas along, but the thought of a day spent driving in and around town, music too loud on the radio, surrounded by crowds and hordes of people, was more than Castiel could bear.

His day was already ruined and a meaningless day of excursion would not improve it.

Dean had smiled at him, too wide and bright for such a grim day, and told him to enjoy being miserable.

Castiel would enjoy being miserable. He would be the most miserable he could possibly be. He refused to go back to bed, instead he did the dishes and started the washing machine.

If he couldn't do what he wanted, he would do what he despised instead.

Now he sat at the table, mug of tea long gone cold, as he struggled to read a book that Sam had recommended to him. The subject was compelling but the text was tedious and overwritten.

Typical.

He was so caught up in staring at the sad, scraggly remains of his vegetable garden--shriveled brown vines, dripping and sad--that he missed the sound of the truck pulling up to the house and the engine shutting off.

Dean had already put the Impala away for the winter, unwilling to risk it to ice and salt and the precariousness of country roads. Not even that one joy remained to them.

Cas absolutely did not startle when Dean draped himself over his back, chin hooking over Castiel's shoulder, nose chill against Cas's cheek.

"Hey, sweetheart. I got you something." Dean's voice a rumble that Cas felt more than heard.

Dean reached over and deposited a small plastic pot beside Cas' abandoned mug. It was an African violet, leaves tinted with yellow and a few petals knocked loose.

Castiel felt a clenching in his chest, a fist squeezing around his heart. It was easy to forget that there were things that made the pinpricks and paper cuts of disappointment and inconvenience worth it. Things like plants that needed care and someone who would bring him flowers to brighten his day.

Cas turned in his chair, angling himself to look back at Dean, to see the softness in Dean's eyes and the affection in the curve of his mouth.

"Thank you, Dean. I love it." Cas placed his hand on Dean's cheek and kissed him, soft and lush and perfect.

45 notes - Posted November 15, 2022

My #1 post of 2022

Pillow Talk

Castiel woke in the dark before dawn.

He came awake slowly, wrapped securely in soft blankets and curled up close behind Dean's sleeping warmth. There was always a weight to Dean's slumber, one that anchored him during the difficult nights and that held him securely now.

Dean's deep, slow breaths meant comfort and safety. All was well and they could rest.

Cas had been dreaming before he woke, a dream vast and empty, lonely but not alone. The images eluded his waking mind, memory sliding away, slipping faster and faster the more he strained to recall.

The anxiety clicked higher in its place. Dreams, memories, the forgetting of what he had been, all reminding him of what he had lost and what he would never be again.

He did not regret his choices, but his grief remained with him.

Dean sighed, a low deep exhalation, and rolled over. His eyes slitted open, barely visible in the slow-gleaming light of the still-gray dawn.

"Go back to sleep, sweetheart," Dean grumbled low, not even half awake. " It's early."

Dean's arm curled over Cas' waist, pulling him closer. He kissed him, warm and slow and a little sour, his eyes already drifting closed.

"All right," Cas mumbled. Love and fondness swelled in his chest, smoothing anxiety's sharp edge. "All right."

Cas closed his eyes and matched his breaths with Dean's. He drifted back to sleep as the birds outside began to sing.

57 notes - Posted October 2, 2022

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