#exangelis

Hush now. That’s okay. Real life comes first, and I’ll always understand that! I loved your Castiel to pieces, and I never have enough Cas roleplayers to interact with my Sam.

if you could take on the appearance of your muse would you?

 [clarence;;] Wait, what? You’re actually capable of hating life? 

“You couldn’t have been praying properly, Dean. I’d have heard you.” (There’s no reply via text, because Castiel just turns up, all stern and disapproving.) “What’s the matter with you? Why are you on the floor?”

“gOD---” He doesn’t get up just yet, in stead flopping over as though he’s been hit with a taser, though in reality, it’s Castiel giving him the habitual jumpscare. There’s a knocked-over chair that probably came down when Dean misplaced his buttcheeks and hit the floor, though remarkably, the bottle of liquor he’s clutching is still intact. 

“Nothin’ ‘s the matter with me. I’m havin’ a blast countin’ the cracks in the floor.” 

Sarcasm, obviously. And this is no party either; Dean doesn’t get drunk unless there’s a damn good reason for it, or at least, if he thinks inebriating himself is going to solve whatever he’s gotten himself into. If there’s anything he’s good at, it’s running away from problems. 

[text: cas] we’re still alive, ‘s the occasion. might as well celebrate, right? tomorrow could be different.

[text: cas] might not get another chance to drink the good stuff again. so here’s to takin' those chances.

send a ✚ for a drunk text from my muse

{endverse}

[text: cas] u r literally in the next cabin over but i’m too pissed to get up. broke into that bottle of scotch i’d been saving. u want some?

{regular verse} 

[text: 1800-H E A V E N] help ive fallen and i cant get up