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@spnhiatuscreations | week five: favorite season

good morning to these talented husbands who are both called david and wear the same outfits and to them ONLY

“thirty years + and counting”

Doing some gardening

this is specifically a call to action for fellow white people. if you’re white and you’re in any way able to, donate.

George Floyd’s memorial fund

Minnesota Freedom Fund: “We value a society that values its people, their freedom and recognizes their contribution to the greater good. A society that does not condition pretrial freedom on class or identity, that has ended mass incarceration, and that invests in restorative and transformative justice.”

Black Visions Collective, an org that strives to “shape a political home for Black people across Minnesota. We aim to center our work in healing and transformative justice principles, intentionally develop our organizations core DNA to ensure sustainability, and develop Minnesota’s emerging Black leadership to lead powerful campaigns.”

Reclaim the Block, which “organizes Minneapolis community and city council members to move money from the police department into other areas of the city’s budget that truly promote community health and safety. We believe health, safety and resiliency exist without police of any kind. We organize around policies that strengthen community-led safety initiatives and reduce reliance on police departments.”

Dean’s hands are in fists at his sides. His shoulders are held high in tension. His mouth is twisted downward. By all accounts, he looks angry.

If Cas had just met him, he’d think that’s all there was. Anger and fire and hate.

But Cas hadn’t just met Dean. He’d known him for always. He touched the depths of Dean’s soul, held it together to keep it from breaking as he pulled it from hell itself.

There is no anger or fire or hate here.

There is fear. Doubt. Worry. Longing. Pain.

The faulty notion that if you push someone away, it will hurt less than them leaving on their own. They still leave. It still hurts.

Cas isn’t leaving. The reasons why are immeasurable - he’d need eons upon eons to list them even in part. Yet their meaning can be contained in three tiny words, so small for the weight they carry.

“Because I love you,” Cas says.

Dean blinks once, twice. His shoulders lower. His fingers loosen their grip. His mouth opens, then closes, no longer frowning.

A war wages in him, to believe, to want, to accept. Cas waits patiently for each battle, and watches Dean’s face carefully to see them pass. At last Dean smiles, a fragile thing, higher on one side. Beautiful. Bright.

labour of love - lost time - let alone lost track of it…

I paint Castiel so often, it was a joy to paint Misha instead.