Tony and Dean would be BFFs, repair cars, eat pie, drink whiskey, and NOT talk about their feelings.
This is the most accurate thing I’ve ever seen.
And Cas and Steve could just sit there in a state of total confusion
OH MY GOOOOOOOD
and sam and thor would be on the sidelines comparing workout regimes.
Oh my god Gabriel and Loki though
That is terrifying
Bobby and director furry
John Winchester and Odin
"Well, honey, I’m off to work. Superman’s cape isn’t going to flap around in the wind by itself!"
i am dead
What if night vale is a normal town and Cecil just does a lot of lsd
"Quick, quick, turn on the radio that guy who hates the dog park is on again!"
My sister is wearing a necklace that says Jessica that she found in her room. Her name isn’t Jessica and she doesn’t know any Jessica’s. We are confused of its origins.
Cas reading all of these modern books about mental illness and depression and anxiety, because he wants to understand humanity but he doesn’t quite know how. He figures that it’s best to start at extreme or constant cases of emotions, which he can look at and work from there. It’s not until Sam walks into the room that it all clicks and Cas has this sad watchful gaze over the hunter for a long time after that.
Thought I’d try Officer Stilinski since I did Officer Hale last time…
oh god I really think Stiles should arrest Derek while he’s peacefully protesting for werewolf civil rights and be incredibly gentle when closing the handcuffs around Derek’s wrists, even though the crowd is against him, shouting, roaring, spitting in his face, and the cop’s face is impassive, but he cups his hand protectively over Derek’s head as he folds him into the back of the squad car, and when he catches his eye in the rearview mirror, he grins, and says,
"Well, I think they liked me."
Derek looks out the window; he knows all about this part. Cops pretend to be your friend so you’ll admit to something incriminating, and they’re all really fucking assholes underneath.
Derek was trespassing, it’s true, he violated his probation (probably for graffiti-ing a giant wolf paw on a highway barrier when he was sixteen, he got of with six months of community service and probation). The cop doesn’t say anything else, but at the station he books Derek through quickly, points him down the hall to the phone while he’s signing the paperwork with a ballpoint pen. Derek shrugs. He doesn’t have anyone to call.
"You—then you’ll have to spend the weekend here," the cop says, mouth tucking down into a frown. Derek shrugs again. Officer—Stilinski, he can see now, on the nametag, clicks the pen a few times, and then says, "Okay," and puts him in a cell.
The public defender shows up at 4:53, a young guy in a dark suit who smiles at him on the police station steps and tucks a card into his hand—a card for the most expensive law firm in town.
"I can’t, um, afford," Derek says, and the guy—McCall—waves it off.
"Pro bono," he says. "Favor for a friend."
Derek hesitates; that sounds like there are strings attached. The sun is setting, crimson and purple, and McCall’s eyes glint, reflect, flash red.
"I have a—vested interest, you could say," he says, shoving his hands in his pockets, ruining the line of his suit.
It makes me happy knowing that someone had to animate that.