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⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆ sleepyhead ⋆｡☁︎ ｡ﾟ⋆

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your “loyal and virtuous” knight is doubting the cause he pledged his very soul to 🫵😂

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I saw a post saying that Boromir looked too scruffy in FotR for a Captain of Gondor, and I tried to move on, but I’m hyperfixating. Has anyone ever solo backpacked? I have. By the end, not only did I look like shit, but by day two I was talking to myself. On another occasion I did fourteen days’ backcountry as the lone woman in a group of twelve men, no showers, no deodorant, and brother, by the end of that we were all EXTREMELY feral. You think we looked like heirs to the throne of anywhere? We were thirteen wolverines in ripstop.

My boy Boromir? Spent FOUR MONTHS in the wilderness! Alone! No roads! High floods! His horse died! I’m amazed he showed up to Imladris wearing clothes, let alone with a decent haircut. I’m fully convinced that he left Gondor looking like Richard Sharpe being presented to the Prince Regent in 1813

*electric guitar riff*

And then rocked up to Imladris a hundred ten days later like

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custom made

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i love watching TV shows that absolutely suck and being like "this would be so good if it was good"

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I finish two fics back to back and the Ao3 curse hits me I am in the TRENCHES rn please send help

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Fic: Lilac, White, Grey

PAIRING: Castiel/Dean Winchester

GENRE: Character Study, Domestic Fluff

TO NOTE/WARNINGS: not betaread, established relationship, everybody lives AU

WORD COUNT: 1,527

PROMPT: Lilac, White and Grey moodboard (above) from @chevroletdean ‘s 500 celebration challenge!

Ao3 link

Summary:

One of the first things Cas learned about humanity was that it was a grotty, painful thing. It made its own cage to pace in, gnawed relentlessly at the bars, grinding its teeth and howling against the winds of life until it simmered down and faded over the course of seventy-odd years. It was hardly a life, the other angels had all agreed. Cas had agreed too.

No longer ‘blunt little instruments’, Cas and Dean reflect on the steps they’ve taken to get to where they are.

Cas

One of the first things Cas learned about humanity was that it was a grotty, painful thing. It made its own cage to pace in, gnawed relentlessly at the bars, grinding its teeth and howling against the winds of life until it simmered down and faded over the course of seventy-odd years. It was hardly a life, the other angels had all agreed. Cas had agreed too. The trees, for example, don’t question their own nature. They don’t choose to snuff the light from the forest floor with their leaves, and they don’t agonise over the consequences because why would they? They’re trees, and they need to reach upwards to live. It’s what they do best.

He would see this and turn to the humans, who wrestled with the meaning of everything constantly, never truly content to accept that existence itself had meaning. It was so disappointing, he’d thought, that God’s greatest creation would sacrifice their own potential over such petty things as interpersonal relationships. Guilt, grief, remorse, they were ugly things to be trapped inside such tiny souls.

Angels were cosmic beings. They couldn’t cry or scream, they couldn’t love and therefore they couldn’t experience heartbreak. The first time an angel in Castiel’s charge died, a galaxy was born. The sense of loss was so strong, so raw that his wings unfurled throughout space, leaving trails of dust light years across in their wake. He can see it from earth, sometimes. Although he hasn’t in many years, not since he fell. The scale of an angel felt almost appropriate for the searing pain of grief. It was no wonder humans drove themselves mad with it. It was no wonder the Winchesters became what they did.

Since returning from The Empty, Cas’s grace had begun to change. It was a slow process, although it wasn’t unpleasant. Cas had been human before, and he felt that his new status was closer to this than anything else he had been in any lifetime. He had struggled to describe the experience to Sam, who had spend the rest of the afternoon hunched over a notebook, firing questions at Cas until hunger had called to them both. Human language, by and large, was not designed to be able to capture the Angelic experience, and English was not a top contender for the closest match.

It seemed that the best way to describe it was as a separation of all Cas considered to be his ‘self’. His earthly experience had once been secondary to his being, where being refers to existence or state. The buzzing of the celestial choir had been a constant, vibrant thing, as tangible and necessary as air to breathe or water to drink. Now there was silence, with an occasional hum as though through a closed door. At night, before he drifted off to sleep, he would sink back with ease into the bath of noise that his siblings carried with them.

As disturbing as the experience had been at first, Cas was growing to appreciate the space left behind. A part of him had been, in some sense, lost - but now he had room to enjoy the motions of the new small life that had replaced his former family. Sometimes the leaky faucet down the hall kept him awake at night, and he would have to struggle against Dean’s arms to get up and tighten it. He would often sit by the window in the library with his morning coffee, inhaling the rich aromas as he watched birds fly high above. Time was infinitely more precious now that he had the chance to quantify it with aching joints and wrinkles.

Dean had lived with this his whole life. He’d lived through pain and suffering at the hands of his father, by the command of heaven and hell, and still emerged a righteous man. What a spot on humanity it would be if he was the only one who could do it. If Dean could remain soft, if humanity could leap into the arms of age with honour and reverence, why not Castiel?

All this to say, humanity was the greatest experience, and the greatest honour that Cas had ever received. It was love unrestrained, unbound and pure. Or maybe he just got lucky.

Dean

Sometimes there was nothing quite like waking up to Cas’s soft breathing. It never got old. Dean would often lie there for a half hour or so, just soaking in the puffs of air that hit his nose as he slowly woke up to start the day. Cas's hair was ruddy in the mornings, sex tousled and dangerous looking. It always reminded him of their first meeting. There was something in that, he thought, that a solider of heaven could let himself fall into bed with a man, with Dean, and wake up with the words “Hello Dean,” on his lips.

Dean’s new life felt like vindication after everything they had been through. He could finally cook in his own goddamn kitchen, in his own goddamn home with its own freaking driveway. He could bake, and read, and sing, and learn about the plants in Cas’s garden, and call Sammy, and he never had to look over his shoulder again. Jack’s promise. So there was bread every week, and books piled high on his night stand that he would eventually get around to finishing, and he used the veg that Cas brought in for new recipes, and called Sam every other night so they could talk for hours and bitch about gas prices.

Sometimes he worried that he was going to use it all up, and that maybe one day Cas would get tired of him taking up space, food, time, sheets, anything. Then he’d wake up to a new morning, and relish the short minutes before Cas opened his eyes and smiled, soft and bashful in the cool light that fell through the blinds, and none of those worries mattered anymore. They deserved this.

“I’ve grown to understand my father’s vision,” Cas murmured one evening.

It had been a warm day, and the heat lingered on as the sun made its way towards the horizon. Dean and Cas were sitting on the steps of their porch enjoying the breeze. Cas liked to stargaze, Dean liked to watch him. It worked.

”Gee, man. That’s a little high brow for,” Dean checked his watch, “6 o’clock, don’t you think?”

Cas laughed softly, and Dean gave him time.

”I mean for humans. Mortal life. It’s addictive, it’s painful, but it’s utter bliss.” He smiled at the sky. “I suppose that’s all I understand. As I’ve grown in love with this life, I’ve rediscovered something similar to the anger I used to feel. The anger that I felt when I first started questioning.”

A pair of bats crossed the sky, flitting too and fro almost too quickly for Dean to track.

“Why would he leave you all? You truly are his most wonderful creation. It seems cruel, it seems insulting, that he would abandon you all when you so desperately search for purpose in this life.” Cas didn’t seem particularly angry when he said this.

He sounded confused, maybe a little lost. Dean moved his hands over to take Cas’s, where they’d become entangled at his knees in frustration. He spoke quietly, leaning in like he was telling a secret.

“I’m glad he left.” Cas looked up. Dean carried on, “Seriously. I used to tear myself up about it, you know, why would he make all these awful things and then dip? But then something Sam said a while ago made me think, something about being clean. Maybe we’re made dirty. Everything can’t be all light, or all dark, it’s gotta meet in the middle somehow. People call God ‘The Creator’, so maybe that’s all he is. He created everything, and when there was nothing more to make he left. This is how it is, nothing to save you from yourself but you and the family you make.”

”Life isn’t perfect, people aren’t perfect, nothing is. But we can make it good. We can deal with the bad when it comes, ‘cause we know it’s gonna come, and we can pick up the pieces together.” He paused for a second. Cas was looking at him with those dark blue eyes, giving his full, undivided attention.

“He left. Fine. But we’re still here, right? That counts for something. Everything, actually. Just living is enough and Cas,” He smiled down at him, “I think we’re doing a damn good job. Don’t you?”

Cas smiled for a second, then he let out a soft laugh. It was a stilted sort of thing, Dean loved it, Cas always laughed like he didn’t mean to, like it was the first time this had happened to him.

“Have I ever told you?” Cas started, then he stopped and let out a breath. “Have I ever told you that I love you?”

Somehow, even when he felt like the air had been punched out of him, Dean replied.

”Every day, sweetheart. I love you.”

”I love you.”

”I love you.”

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To all twenty (20) of my followers…

HI HELLO HELLO HI HI HI HEY HI HOW ARE YOU HELLO HI

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First words I heard, clear as a bell: "Dean Winchester is saved."

Because I kept having thoughts about their first meeting.

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My fuzzy mama

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Old man yaoi rarepare

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The loo roll dispenser at work has run out: (⁠‘⁠◉⁠⌓⁠◉⁠’⁠)

Surprise! There is another, secret, loo roll hidden in the second compartment: (⁠人⁠ ⁠•͈⁠ᴗ⁠•͈⁠)

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It’s been 2 months since i started my spn rewatch and so far I’ve: started writing 4 fics, made 8 playlists, destroyed my phone to make a dean/cas edit, joined an an writing server, reached season 5, bought a new flannel shirt.

This is so serious, it’s chronic. I didn’t engage with this shit for 10 years because I knew the monster I would become and oh boy has it ARRIVED

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Feels like repayment for that time a manager said I have “The timid demeanour of a devout Christian.” … something cosmic, perhaps.

My manager told me today during an exit interview that my work is “frighteningly comprehensive.” and I think I’m going to be riding this high for a while.

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My manager told me today during an exit interview that my work is “frighteningly comprehensive.” and I think I’m going to be riding this high for a while.

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Finished my fic for the monthly challenge of the writing server I'm in!

This was the first time I've forced myself to finish a fic no matter how I feel about what I've come up with. Usually I'm such a perfectionist that it holds me back - I'm sitting on a ton of unfinished projects right now. Hopefully this will kickstart my brain and as I write more finished stories the quality will get easier to hold on to.

Here it is:

https://archiveofourown.org/works/65102902/chapters/167425873

Treat her kindly 😌