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[ajdumpsherbrain]

“I love you,” Dean breathed into the skin of Castiel’s shoulders one night. When he lifted his head and Castiel caught the look of his face, all Castiel could do was kiss the tears off his face, kiss his lips softly.

Another ‘I love you’ gone undeclared, in the wake of one that was.

[ajdumpsherbrain]

been a while, but god this got me

Rare pity, mercy and compassion of the giants called humanity

[ajdumpsherbrain]

There’s a moment, just one fleeting second, when John senses a flicker in Sherlock’s stance.

Almost like the imperceptible tremble of a branch, held in body to the trunk of a large, strong tree. He doesn’t think anyone else can see it, not the way he does. For why would you pay attention to something that was so given in its existence? Why would you pause to examine the earth a tree prevails upon?

He stops. He pauses.

Why wouldn’t John then continue to walk as everyone else has done before?

He glances at the bark, intimidating and dark. He's afraid to lay a hand on the bark, terrified of the layers that lie beneath a roughened surface. He stops for so long, that he’s the only one left in the room when everyone else has long walked away. They don’t stop to question the continued presence in the room, no, for expecting the unexpected is a constant—but the vice-versa is a rarity.

“Why are you still here, John?”

John doesn’t quite smile.

“Why do you expect me to leave?” he answers in kind.

There’s a stiffening of that branch, the wind gone still. The tree’s breath swallowed in a world of breaths. John, impossibly, sees it.

“Go home, John,” Sherlock says.

“Can’t I stay here with you?”

Sherlock says nothing, silent. It is expected. John can’t see Sherlock’s face, only the hard line of his back. It quivers again, and his heart shatters.

“Let me be with you. Just this once,” John says, so softly, so carefully, he’s still terrified, but his hovering hand inches closer. “Please.”

It’s an admission when John pleads. The same admission when Sherlock allows it. The bark is tough and hard and strong. John knows that. Prickly too, shaped by the trials of nature than a dainty hand. But why then, do his fingers fit into the grooves?

Why then does the tremor beat beneath his fingers?

When Sherlock turns around to look at him, John’s hands falling into place at the junctures of a gangly arm, he looks up. Sherlock’s strong features have not changed. They're still as they were, as they are every morning and every night. Expressive and stoic. But of course, when he looks , he sees. The tremulous stillness. The hard look in eyes of steel gray, the sky holding its breath. Just before it rains. The brief trace of something shiny. Like lightning, like a hidden sun. He’s never seen the downpour.

Maybe trees cry in the rain, John thinks. Maybe that’s why no one notices their tears. There is comfort in synchronicity.

He looks at Sherlock and thinks

I hope it rains soon .

He doesn’t think his broken heart can withstand the trapped storm. Can’t bear to see the rain being blinked back, afraid it’ll be alone in its fall.

He blinks. When he tastes the salt in his mouth, he decides pieces of a heart can be sharp enough to pierce a soul. Again, for a fleeting moment he catches a shift in Sherlock. He catches it not because it disappears, but because he quite literally catches it.

There’s a head burrowed into his shoulder, a warm, too-skinny body in his arms. It’s not familiar but it becomes so, so quickly. And when he feels a dampness seeping into his shoulder, when his own tears fall upon a nest of dark curls, he thinks— oh.

[ajdumpsherbrain]

when Taylor Swift said;

you were the king of my heart, and now I can’t find the pulse

I used to step into the daylight, now I just sit in the dark

mending all my gashes, but that’s the kind of heartbreak time could never mend

I hoped it’ll never end, but I’ve seen this film before

now you’ve lost me, when I’d hoped I’d never lose you

and when she said;

for you, I’d never walk Cornelia Street again

[ajdumpsherbrain]

“Look the way I see it, she thinks you’re adorable. And you like it.” James opened his mouth on a flimsy protest, which was quickly met with a harsh shush. “C’mom, don’t pretend.”

“Yeah, I do, but what if it messes up her grades? What if her parents send her to extra classes for it? Oh god Mike—”

Mike stopped in his tracks, squinting forward. “What? What? There something in front of us? The paparazzi again? Didn’t we pay them off last month. Didn’t Roz? I swear to—“

“What if they scold her?”

“Are you—you’re serious right now. Sulley, for the last time, she’s a four year old, they tend to get scolded. We’ve almost been caught four times in the last six weeks because the kids were being scolded.” Mike crossed his arms. “You’re the CEO for crying out loud!”

Sulley fixed him with the meanest look he could gather. It wasn’t very good, he was years out of practice. “That’s the point, Mike. If she isn’t happy, how will she laugh?”

“Breaking news,” Mike deadpanned, “that happens to be your job. And mine too, but mostly yours.”

[ajdumpsherbrain]

Ao3 Work List

I do write full length works on Ao3 in my free time, so I thought I'd have a masterlist for them! It isn't much at the moment, but I'm hoping with time it'll grow.

Supernatural if the story's over, why're we still writing pages? (completed) word count: 2 374 setting: canon divergence AU, fix-it rating: general blurb: “I hate you,” Dean says, but it sounds like something else. forever is the sweetest con (completed) word count: 17 400 setting: brokeback mountain fusion AU, western AU rating: explicit blurb: the one where love-mongering conmen get caught in their own game. darling, the roses are blooming (WIP) word count: 22 047 setting: canon divergence AU, fix-it of sorts rating: explicit blurb: sometimes the loving is the easy part. Good Omens i once believed love would be burning red, but it's golden (completed) word count: 6 625 setting: canon divergence AU, post-canon rating: teen blurb: Crowley begins a long journey down Love Lane. Sherlock (BBC) three words (completed and cross-posted) word count: 100 setting: post-canon/canon divergence, drabble, poetry rating: teen blurb: they don't say it.

raindrops keep fallin’ on my head (completed and cross-posted) word count: 569 setting: developing relationship, angst rating: general blurb: Sherlock’s a force of nature, but John’s weathered a war.

Monsters Inc.

Much Ado about Kitties (series) word count: 9839 setting: post-canon, time-stamp episodic rating: general blurb: James P. Sullivan, professional closet monster, spends a lot of time being unprofessional.

The Last of Us (TV)

can’t fight this feelin’ (completed) word count: 804 setting: post-canon, slice-of-life rating: general blurb: Bill, Frank, a meal by the fireplace and a melody played between lonely souls.

[ajdumpsherbrain]

Love Letter

I see you through the gaps between leaves, in the pockets of sunlight that burst forth from these humble canopies.

You'd spent years on that apple tree and yesterday, I finally tasted your labor of love. I wish you could have too.

I see you through the mist, veiled by a curtain of intangible grey and yet, you glow.

You loved so much to dance in the mist with me. You'd always tell me how much lovelier it was than the cold, pelting rain. I wish I could hear you talk about the rain again.

I see you through the fire burning ebulliently in the hearth, painting the room every shade of warmth.

Your favorite stories still lie, perfectly stacked on the coffee table; wearing your readings glasses. Aged and yellowed from the countless nights curled up with you on the couch, ingraining your pleasure into every last page. Your dog ear creases, your coffee stains. Time and time again, I try to put them away, but time and time again, I wish it were you instead.

And so, even just for a moment, I imagine you with a triumphant smile on your lips, glossy with juice from your red apples,

as you spin with flourish in the mist,

as you thumb the worn pages,

You're a story now too, and I'll read you every night, I'll remember you, I'll keep you alive

my love.

[ajdumpsherbrain]

Some days, every breath you breathe sounds like ‘I love you’.

[ajdumpsherbrain]

“I can’t believe he caressed you? He won’t even touch me! And I’ve known him for, oh I don’t bloody know, six thousand years? The entirety of time? Eternal evil entity, me.” Crowley throws his hands up, and he thinks he smells smoke. From his ears probably. “So what’ve you got that I don’t? Big black wings can’t be all that frightening, I would’ve noticed if they scared him! Right?”

A pulsating silence (or maybe just the beating of his heart) sulks back at Crowley. Then his mouth rears back on an ‘o’.

“You! You’re all—all voluptuous! Is that it? Perky and bouncy and round…” Instantly, Crowley withers. “Or maybe, maybe I’m just too loud. Maybe he prefers the quiet types. S’ not like I can change that and—and he thinks I’m funny, right?”

Crowley slaps his knees loudly, huffing as he spins on his heel.

“Sod this! Sod it all! If he prefers squiggly, green things, then so be it. I’m just a sodding demon after all!”

The offending houseplant only gazes back at him, unfazed.

[ajdumpsherbrain]

you see people on phones and they don’t look up.

not once, not twice, and surely not thrice.

you see eyes on screens and books and hands

and they don’t look up, they never look up,

you’re caught in a kaleidoscope of eyes

looking away from you, they never see you

but you always see them.

you with your wild eyes and brain trapped in combs,

a honey pot, sticky and pitty, or pit-ty or pithy—

its surplus, its excess and it ferments because

there are no eyes on you, no mouths to taste honey

no tongue to savour the stinging mess. no,

nobody wishes for bees and buzz. nobody wishes

for the head upon your shoulders. domed, hollow

with noise. god, you wish to be nobody.

so you swipe away on the first, the second and

surely not the third time you’ve tried to write this.

the bees rest and soar with the fickleness of

your fingers, and it’s a timer they take flight upon.

fussy, ugly, tiny little things; itching mind and

twitching eyes, scraping their hive with ruthless

teeth. you swipe away again, the bees are hungry.

you try something else, the bees are hungry.

you look up again, because the bees are hungry.

you see people on phones and they don’t look up.

[ajdumpsherbrain]

“Hey,” Crowley says, just to break the silence.

“Why?” Aziraphale blurts, and Crowley’s gifted with eyes the shade of a million blues.

Crowley only nods, struck speechless for a moment. Then he speaks, “Insurance.” He wasn’t lying.

Aziraphale is quiet for a long time. His next sentence is softer than the quiet. “Don’t you like it here?” His clasped fingers were loosening, his thumb rubbing over his own knuckles. He opens his mouth, as if to add something else, but no words grace the space between them.

Crowley clutches the flask, just a little tighter. “I do, but things can change, ‘ngel,” he says and he tries very, very hard not to crack at the slight way Aziraphale falters, “hell’s funny like that.”

“Heaven’s—heaven’s quite amusing too,” Aziraphale whispers, and he’s turned away from Crowley now, facing the glow of neon store sign LEDs. Crowley gazes at his red-gilded silhouette, realising at once that he wants so badly to touch.

But he can’t. “I know,” he says instead, and if Aziraphale winces, he pretends not to notice. “S’like we aren’t all that different.”

Aziraphale stiffens, and Crowley knows.

“We are, dear.”

[ajdumpsherbrain]

“What does love feel like, angel?”

“Well, it’s warm.”

“Right.”

“And it’s bright.”

“Right.”

“And sometimes, it takes you by surprise and breathing becomes the most difficult feat. Sometimes, you flush hot, and sometimes, just sometimes, it hurts too, a stubborn ache in your heart. Oh, but I’ve said enough.” Aziraphale looks down at his hands, then quietly, impossibly, he asks, “What, do you think it feels like?”

Crowley stills, thinking:

I imagine, that’s how I feel about you.

[ajdumpsherbrain]

“You said you loved me.”

“I did.”

“But I can’t—I don’t feel the same.”

“That’s alright.”

“It is?”

“Yes,” he says, “it has to be.”

[ajdumpsherbrain]

“You know what I miss the most about us?” Charlie says, eyes resting on a rolling wave.

Nick runs his thumb over the knuckle of Charlie’s hand, staring up at black curls and freckles. “What?” he says, even as he thinks: everything.

Charlie’s looking at him now, his smile heavy with the weight of time. Nick smiles back, and it’s the same.

“This,” Charlie says, soft as he flips over on the sand, tugging Nick’s arm around his shoulders. “This,” he says again, his head slotting perfectly into the nape of Nick’s neck.

“This,” he says, a final time, bringing up their intertwined hands and pressing a tender kiss right where they were connected.

[ajdumpsherbrain]

you meet her at a coffeeshop and it’s autumn

on a windswept day, a cloudy London peering overhead.

she’s a stray auburn leaf, you think

as you say hello and green that’d gone returns.

she’s spiced coffee, you think

as her hand warms your heart, kisses illicit soul.

she’s a fireplace, you think

as cold lips meet in flames that bloom in secrecy.

“you’re perfect,” she says,

and she steals the words perfectly, your hearth

open and hot in windowless fall.

[ajdumpsherbrain]

they don’t say it.

they don’t say it, but it’s there when they ask, “tea?”,

like the steady beats of their own hearts.

they don’t say it, but it’s in the way they speak each other’s names,

like sacred prayers sent to stars.

they don’t say it, but it’s there in “i’m sorry”, in “are we okay?”

in the replying, “yes, yes, we are,” even when it feels

like prying gems from ancient rocks.

they don’t say it, but it’s in “stay”,

like the infallibility of the universe.

they don’t say it,

and yet

they do.

[ajdumpsherbrain]

what do you do when ‘i love you’ rivals ‘i’m sorry’ ?

what happens when ‘i love you’ becomes a broom to shattered glass.

what happens when ‘i love you’ becomes a cloth thrown over soiled tables.

what happens when ‘i love you’ becomes a pacifier for unshed tears.

what happens

when ‘i love you’ begins to fall like ‘how are you?’ from the mouth,

the way ‘i’m sorry’ falls like ‘i’m fine’.

what do you do when ‘i love you’ no longer means—