[ Dean has to admit, the bunker is pretty awesome. The winding stairs, the library with dark wood tables and its low lighting.
...Said fancy tables are shoved out of the way in favor of a dismembered fake plastic Christmas tree he's been struggling with, pieces scattered all over the floor. A box of vintage ornaments is shoved off to the side, something pilfered from the storage room or archive or something, they're probably cursed. But they look cool. ]
Festive, isn't it? I had a feeling you'd like it.
bless your patience!! lets live vicariously in these two's holiday instead ok
( but she has every intention of remedying that. another moment to study the disarray of various decorations cast about the room, surveying what they have to work with— vintage looking ornaments and various strands of garland tangled and spilling from the boxes.
she'd told herself even before she'd arrived that magic-ing the tree up and whimsically coated with baubles and strings of popcorn would be cheating, but now that she's beside the segments of the tree, it's pretty clear it'll be well over her height. a raise of her brow, digging out the ware of cookies within her bag and holding it just out of reach, as if a bargaining chip. )
You promised hot chocolate. ( he didn't, but she wants it. just wait until she requests the music. )
( well, that's much better than the packets of swiss miss she'd expected, and wouldn't have been even remotely disappointed with, by the by. and to think he was downplaying the accommodations. )
Are you warning me or asking for my company? ( she's here, isn't she? so she allows it to be rhetoric, plucking the eggnog from the bag. )
The tree can be sad and dismembered a little longer, I think. For the sake of cocoa.
I, uh - well. You might as well come and see the magic, right? Bring the cookies, I can't make hot cocoa without actual sustenance.
[ And that kind of thing makes sense in his book, anyway. At least she's not getting macaroni fluff - aka, boiled noodles with marshmallows. He's a considerate guy, he thinks. ]
( you could have at LEAST put it together, dean. )
Oh yes, please. Maybe I can take notes. ( a smirk tugs at the corner of rosy lips, nodding in gesture for him to lead. she'll bring the cookies back to snatching distance, but she doesn't intend to keep them from him for long.
a huff leaves her lips a beat later. )
Sustenance. Have you even eaten anything? I could've brought actual food.
( spoken through a scrunch of features, popping open the top to the container and pulling one of the cookies out for herself. naturally, her gaze wanders as he leads her through the winding halls of the bunker — in some ways it reminds her of the labs back at HYDRA, but she doesn't allow herself to linger on the thought for too long.
she takes a bite of the treat, still warm and slightly gooey with bits of chocolate in its center. )
I mean, I did ask for you to spike it, and I'm pretty sure the response was 'hopefully you like shitty whiskey.' ( slightly mumbled. )
Course it is. Got grain in it, doesn't it? That's a food group right there.
[ Most he's probably has is a pound of bacon that morning, so he's totally fine as he leads her into the kitchen, where said shitty whiskey awaits, as do mugs and ingredients and the like. Cocoa powder, milk, sugar obviously, smidge of salt, and the $10 bottle of liquor sitting on the 'counter'. ]
( she's not here to mother him, though the idea of alcohol saturating his system with little to no actual sustenance in his stomach makes her nearly feel hungover just by association. she merely hums, a tone that says it without her having to: whatever you say.
when they make it to the kitchen it's nearly cloaked in black given the lack of natural light, switch flicked as they enter, illuminating the space with a hum. nothing about this place followed the typical, but then again, how long has it been since she's experienced that herself?
at his question and the boyish hope that twinkles in his eyes, she relents, holding out the container for him to grab a cookie — or three, raising an impressed brow at the ingredients he's gathered near the stove. )
Do you do this for all the witches you invite over?
[ It's a little claustrophobic actually; he doesn't love being underground and pitch black all the time. Sleeping with some kind of light on has become the norm.
Amd not to worry, there's food at some point. He likes to cook and eat too much for there not to be at some point. ]
Oh yeah, all the time. [ It's definitely amused sarcasm that comes out, and he snags three cookies to much while he clatters around the kitchen. It's more like an industrial one, but that makes sense, he guesses. This place once had more than two people in it, hard to mass cook in something smaller, more 'conventional'.
He likes it, though. Plenty of room and whenever someone happens to barge in, they're not in his damn way too much. ]
( a click of her tongue in feigned dismay. ) Here I was thinking I might be the exception.
( he certainly was — it wasn't often, if ever, she allowed herself the luxury of something so simple as company. setting the cookies down atop the counter, she lets the small of her back find its edge, sights wandering the assortment of metal shelves situated about the space. )
Home looks different for everyone. ( a shrug, even though he isn't looking. she's not entirely sure how comfortable he was with the idea of her magic, though she is sorely tempted to makeshift a faux window. )
A little dungeon-y... but quiet. ( approval saturates her tone. )
[ This is home for him. It's the first time he's had his own room since he was four. The first time he's been able to nest, that he's been able to have his own things that aren't just rock salt filled shotgun shells or his Colt. He has vinyls now, a record player. Photos propped up on his nightstand, books scattered alongside knives and guns. It's nice.
Sam doesn't really feel the same, it's nice and all but it isn't what he considers home. Not like Dean. ]
It's a little claustrophobic sometimes without the windows, but overall, I like it.
( it's more of a home than she can show for, coming back to the city when sokovia's silence becomes gnawing more than it is comforting, and fleeing back to the cottage when the city starts to feel as if it's closing in on her. on and on it goes.
lips purse thoughtfully, and with a snap of her fingers he'll notice the window that appears beside the stove he's facing, propped open to boast the night sky cradling a glowering moon. an illusion, given they're tucked underground, but a convincing one. nose crinkles in consideration, adding in the sound of distant cicadas for good measure. )
Much better. ( a contented sigh, taking another hearty bite of her cookie. ) I don't know if I could live somewhere I couldn't see the sky.
[ Admittedly it's a bit of a jump scare; he hasn't had very many good encounters with witches, but there's no harm in a fake window. He doesn't think. ]
Very Harry Potter of you.
[ You know, the ceiling and all.
Anyway. ]
Yeah, I think that's my least favorite part about this place. Everything else is awesome, like really awesome. But there's, uh - there's definitely no denying it's an actual bunker.
( a glimmer of a smirk at the remark, humming delightedly at the remnants of chocolate that coat her tongue. )
There's a cottage, back in Sokovia— ( hers, she omits, as if the title alone could threaten to have it taken from her. ) Isolated, but just enough. The sky there is so... different.
( she watches him as she speaks, the broad width of his shoulders, how carefully he prepares the cocoa, as if it were a five star accommodation. ) Open. Almost like it could swallow you whole.
That sounds freakin' great, not gonna lie. I used to want a cabin on a lake, with a dock so I could fish. Something simple, it didn't have to be anything fancy. Just a little place to live my life.
[ A pipe dream, but he's secretly kept a hold of it. It's not something he brings up, ever. Except with her, apparently. Weird how that works. Sometimes talking to someone you don't know all that well is comforting. He can't tell Sam stuff like this.
It's meticulous, the way he's doing it, carefully pouring it into two mugs before adding whipped cream to the top and a little sprinkle of cinnamon. ]
( the smirk that'd previously been strung across her lips eases into something warmer. familiar images of the fog-covered lake just outside her cottage tug at her longingly. )
Well, there isn't a dock, but that's an easy fix. ( she would still find small bits and pieces of the place, both inside and out, to change on a whim— anything to make it feel a little closer to home.
you'd like it, she thinks to say, but she's stolen from the wispy tendril of a thought as he turns to hand her one of the mugs. cradling it carefully. raising porcelain to her mouth, there's an audible noise of delight that rumbles in her throat as the chocolate coats her tongue, heats her throat, balmed by the fluff of whip cream that follows. she savors it a moment, tongue catching the remnants of dusted cinnamon at the edge of her lip. )
I'm starting to question your alleged incapability. ( can't put together a tree, but can whip up a perfect hot cocoa? questionable. more sincerely, since he seems to eagerly await an honest review... )
[ He's kind of thinking it alread; sounds like a place I'd like, but he doesn't voice it either, because a life like that is so far out of his reach it might as well be on Pluto. Things like that aren't for hunters, and definitely not for Dean Winchester.
Instead he focuses on his mug and he's pleased with the result; the cinnamon gives it a nice twist, makes it look a little fancy. ]
Really? [ It's said a little hopeful and he regrets his tone, but it's nice to actually be appreciated. Sam rarely compliments his cooking these days, the ungrateful little brat. ]
( most would argue estranging yourself for the better safety of the public wasn't exactly a life to be yearned after. it's a peace offering, of sorts, one she's granted herself. somewhere to go when she needs to sort through her tangles, rather than getting another knotted up within them.
there's a youth that visits his eyes, a childlike incredulity she'd almost imaged would follow the praise. for a brief, fleeting moment, it reminds her of tommy — her boys — and she hums softly, something sweet. )
Oh, yes. ( there's a toying raise of her brow over the mug, but it doesn't dampen her sincerity. ) Dangerous, even. ( with one hand left cupped to the cocoa, the other uses fingertips to slide the container of cookies closer to him. )
[ His efforts properly appreciated, he looks to be in an even better mood, especially once the container is moved closer, within reach. He sets his mug down so he can use both hands to pry the lid off and snatch one, shoving it in his mouth with absolutely zero finesse.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
YES PLS and yeah the holidays were a hot fuckin mess
...Said fancy tables are shoved out of the way in favor of a dismembered fake plastic Christmas tree he's been struggling with, pieces scattered all over the floor. A box of vintage ornaments is shoved off to the side, something pilfered from the storage room or archive or something, they're probably cursed. But they look cool. ]
Festive, isn't it? I had a feeling you'd like it.
bless your patience!! lets live vicariously in these two's holiday instead ok
( but she has every intention of remedying that. another moment to study the disarray of various decorations cast about the room, surveying what they have to work with— vintage looking ornaments and various strands of garland tangled and spilling from the boxes.
she'd told herself even before she'd arrived that magic-ing the tree up and whimsically coated with baubles and strings of popcorn would be cheating, but now that she's beside the segments of the tree, it's pretty clear it'll be well over her height. a raise of her brow, digging out the ware of cookies within her bag and holding it just out of reach, as if a bargaining chip. )
You promised hot chocolate. ( he didn't, but she wants it. just wait until she requests the music. )
i think that's an excellent idea tbh
Did I? [ He's perking up at the cookies, laser focus on the container. ] I think I can make that happen.
[ He's made it enough from scratch over the years, especially when he and Sammy were kids - long as the supplies are in the kitchen, they're gold. ]
Might take me a second, though.
no subject
Are you warning me or asking for my company? ( she's here, isn't she? so she allows it to be rhetoric, plucking the eggnog from the bag. )
The tree can be sad and dismembered a little longer, I think. For the sake of cocoa.
no subject
I, uh - well. You might as well come and see the magic, right? Bring the cookies, I can't make hot cocoa without actual sustenance.
[ And that kind of thing makes sense in his book, anyway. At least she's not getting macaroni fluff - aka, boiled noodles with marshmallows. He's a considerate guy, he thinks. ]
no subject
Oh yes, please. Maybe I can take notes. ( a smirk tugs at the corner of rosy lips, nodding in gesture for him to lead. she'll bring the cookies back to snatching distance, but she doesn't intend to keep them from him for long.
a huff leaves her lips a beat later. )
Sustenance. Have you even eaten anything? I could've brought actual food.
no subject
[ but isn’t it more fun to put together a plastic carcass with two? ]
Cookies are food. And so is whiskey. Speaking of, do you like brandy or whiskey in your hot chocolate?
[ It’s way for him to wind his way into the kitchen, so nonchalantly, because if he does that he doesn’t have to dwell on pretty lips and eyes. ]
Cause I spike it, that’s just how it works around here. I don’t make the rules.
[ yes he does ]
whose pretty lips and eyes are u dwelling on, dean
( spoken through a scrunch of features, popping open the top to the container and pulling one of the cookies out for herself. naturally, her gaze wanders as he leads her through the winding halls of the bunker — in some ways it reminds her of the labs back at HYDRA, but she doesn't allow herself to linger on the thought for too long.
she takes a bite of the treat, still warm and slightly gooey with bits of chocolate in its center. )
I mean, I did ask for you to spike it, and I'm pretty sure the response was 'hopefully you like shitty whiskey.' ( slightly mumbled. )
Surprise me.
shhhh
[ Most he's probably has is a pound of bacon that morning, so he's totally fine as he leads her into the kitchen, where said shitty whiskey awaits, as do mugs and ingredients and the like. Cocoa powder, milk, sugar obviously, smidge of salt, and the $10 bottle of liquor sitting on the 'counter'. ]
Do I get my cookie now?
👁️ 👄 👁️
when they make it to the kitchen it's nearly cloaked in black given the lack of natural light, switch flicked as they enter, illuminating the space with a hum. nothing about this place followed the typical, but then again, how long has it been since she's experienced that herself?
at his question and the boyish hope that twinkles in his eyes, she relents, holding out the container for him to grab a cookie — or three, raising an impressed brow at the ingredients he's gathered near the stove. )
Do you do this for all the witches you invite over?
lmfaosdfnk
[ It's a little claustrophobic actually; he doesn't love being underground and pitch black all the time. Sleeping with some kind of light on has become the norm.
Amd not to worry, there's food at some point. He likes to cook and eat too much for there not to be at some point. ]
Oh yeah, all the time. [ It's definitely amused sarcasm that comes out, and he snags three cookies to much while he clatters around the kitchen. It's more like an industrial one, but that makes sense, he guesses. This place once had more than two people in it, hard to mass cook in something smaller, more 'conventional'.
He likes it, though. Plenty of room and whenever someone happens to barge in, they're not in his damn way too much. ]
no subject
( he certainly was — it wasn't often, if ever, she allowed herself the luxury of something so simple as company. setting the cookies down atop the counter, she lets the small of her back find its edge, sights wandering the assortment of metal shelves situated about the space. )
Home looks different for everyone. ( a shrug, even though he isn't looking. she's not entirely sure how comfortable he was with the idea of her magic, though she is sorely tempted to makeshift a faux window. )
A little dungeon-y... but quiet. ( approval saturates her tone. )
no subject
[ This is home for him. It's the first time he's had his own room since he was four. The first time he's been able to nest, that he's been able to have his own things that aren't just rock salt filled shotgun shells or his Colt. He has vinyls now, a record player. Photos propped up on his nightstand, books scattered alongside knives and guns. It's nice.
Sam doesn't really feel the same, it's nice and all but it isn't what he considers home. Not like Dean. ]
It's a little claustrophobic sometimes without the windows, but overall, I like it.
no subject
lips purse thoughtfully, and with a snap of her fingers he'll notice the window that appears beside the stove he's facing, propped open to boast the night sky cradling a glowering moon. an illusion, given they're tucked underground, but a convincing one. nose crinkles in consideration, adding in the sound of distant cicadas for good measure. )
Much better. ( a contented sigh, taking another hearty bite of her cookie. ) I don't know if I could live somewhere I couldn't see the sky.
no subject
Very Harry Potter of you.
[ You know, the ceiling and all.
Anyway. ]
Yeah, I think that's my least favorite part about this place. Everything else is awesome, like really awesome. But there's, uh - there's definitely no denying it's an actual bunker.
that icon
There's a cottage, back in Sokovia— ( hers, she omits, as if the title alone could threaten to have it taken from her. ) Isolated, but just enough. The sky there is so... different.
( she watches him as she speaks, the broad width of his shoulders, how carefully he prepares the cocoa, as if it were a five star accommodation. ) Open. Almost like it could swallow you whole.
Oddly it's... comforting.
i love his lil face
[ A pipe dream, but he's secretly kept a hold of it. It's not something he brings up, ever. Except with her, apparently. Weird how that works. Sometimes talking to someone you don't know all that well is comforting. He can't tell Sam stuff like this.
It's meticulous, the way he's doing it, carefully pouring it into two mugs before adding whipped cream to the top and a little sprinkle of cinnamon. ]
Let me know what you think.
the things i would do for that lil face tbh
Well, there isn't a dock, but that's an easy fix. ( she would still find small bits and pieces of the place, both inside and out, to change on a whim— anything to make it feel a little closer to home.
you'd like it, she thinks to say, but she's stolen from the wispy tendril of a thought as he turns to hand her one of the mugs. cradling it carefully. raising porcelain to her mouth, there's an audible noise of delight that rumbles in her throat as the chocolate coats her tongue, heats her throat, balmed by the fluff of whip cream that follows. she savors it a moment, tongue catching the remnants of dusted cinnamon at the edge of her lip. )
I'm starting to question your alleged incapability. ( can't put together a tree, but can whip up a perfect hot cocoa? questionable. more sincerely, since he seems to eagerly await an honest review... )
A little too good.
ugh sorry for the delay work had me a blob
Instead he focuses on his mug and he's pleased with the result; the cinnamon gives it a nice twist, makes it look a little fancy. ]
Really? [ It's said a little hopeful and he regrets his tone, but it's nice to actually be appreciated. Sam rarely compliments his cooking these days, the ungrateful little brat. ]
we love blobs here
there's a youth that visits his eyes, a childlike incredulity she'd almost imaged would follow the praise. for a brief, fleeting moment, it reminds her of tommy — her boys — and she hums softly, something sweet. )
Oh, yes. ( there's a toying raise of her brow over the mug, but it doesn't dampen her sincerity. ) Dangerous, even. ( with one hand left cupped to the cocoa, the other uses fingertips to slide the container of cookies closer to him. )
You've earned your share.
no subject
[ His efforts properly appreciated, he looks to be in an even better mood, especially once the container is moved closer, within reach. He sets his mug down so he can use both hands to pry the lid off and snatch one, shoving it in his mouth with absolutely zero finesse.
#guys ]
These are amazing.