#renu rambles

[angelcasendgame]

Daylight savings is the stupidest fucking concept except for this year when it falls on Nov 5 and we get an extra hour of destiel <33

[notrenu]

My biggest crime as a bisexual is not remembering the order of the flag colours

[starlight-strider]

I love this cutscene so much. Why did Adeleine start throwing rocks at the ocean. She wasn’t trying to skip them. She just threw rocks at the ocean for no reason. Dedede’s face in this frame is just… perfect. He is so confused about what she’s doing. And then everyone just joins in throwing rocks. They must hate the ocean

Or maybe Adeleine was throwing rocks at it because she’s never seen a huge body of water that wasn’t frozen before so she didn’t know what to do. That’s also a possibility

[thisisapaige]

Your tags and comment are SO SWEET thank you so much beloved 😭😭😭😭

☺️☺️☺️

Hey, have y'all heard of Proverbs 13:12? You should all read Proverbs 13:12.

Great Cas POV? Proverbs 13:12

Wanna see Dean and Cas, sitting in a tree T-A-L-K-I-N-G? Proverbs 13:12

Want some prime pining that is oh so soft? Proverbs 13:12

Want a fic that gets the DeanCas of it all? Proverbs 13:12

Read Proverbs 13:12

[maryoliverdotcom]

A Shade Darker Than Red: Chapter 8

Chapter 7

A week passed by. Paro was eerily quiet when she was with me, and I thought of what I had said that day. Had I really, truly ruined all my chances of saving even our friendship?

A million thoughts rushed through my head as I turned restlessly in bed, staring at the ceiling.

The ceiling of our bedroom was painted with blue fluorescent stickers shaped like stars. Papa had done that. I had asked Maa to take them off if they bothered her, but we never did.

Beside me, Maa tossed in her sleep. They say if you think of someone, they can’t fall asleep. Could she hear my thoughts?

I had nothing to distract myself with. No phone, no book—nothing. Just me, my thoughts and the stars on the ceiling.

A sudden, vivid memory flashed in my mind. We were six. A year had passed since my meeting with Paro. We were running around like hooligans in the park while our mothers talked about work, pados-wali aunties and whatnot. I still remember what Paro was wearing: a frilly, white frock with Minnie Mouse sewn onto its sleeves. The sky was red and so was our laughter, until Paro bent down and ripped a flower right off its stem. “For you,” she had said, clumsily tucking the flower behind my ear. When she touched my earlobe, the flower was white. When she let go, it was red.

Another memory. We were nine. She sat with me on the bed while I rambled on about my latest hyperfixation: dragons. She listened to every single detail I had mentioned and, by the end of the afternoon, showed me a drawing of a wyvern.

Twelve. I was reading The Priory of the Orange Tree, sitting on the windowsill. I took a sip from my milk tea, letting out a contented hum. I wasn’t on the windowsill anymore. I was Ead, pressing a kiss to Sabran’s brow. Sabran was someone who looked uncannily similar to Paro.

An annoying ding! from my phone forced me back to reality. I heard Maa’s grunts and snores: the coast was clear. 

I climbed off the bed, taking care not to put extra weight anywhere that would make the mattress creak. I walked towards the desk and picked up the phone.

WhatsApp: You have 3 messages.

It was Paro. I checked the time: 3:49 a.m. Paro was a morning person, what was she doing staying up all night?

Paro<3: hi renu are you awake? —00:27 do you wanna hang out on the roof like we used to?  —02:01 its ok if you dont wanna. go back to sleep you have a big day tmrw. actually, if ur awake rn i’ll kill you —03:48

Oh, Paro.

I glanced at Maa, slowly increasing the fan’s regulator. Please don’t wake up soon.

I walked out of the room and closed the door. Thank goodness I’d oiled its hinges last week. 

The main door was locked—opening it meant creating a ruckus. “Shit,” I muttered under my breath. No wait, actually not shit. This meant I’d have to take the old way around. Jeez, fourteen-year-old me was fun.

I opened the door to the balcony and hoisted myself up on its railing. It was an easy jump. I tumbled onto the grass, praying that a grasshopper wouldn’t find its new home in my ear. The grass was wet and the air smelled of petrichor. 

I stood up, smoothening my pyjamas. Staying out late at night was a risky thing, especially in our neighbourhood. Plenty of TicTac-shaped pills here and there, and men on the prowl. I didn’t give a damn. I was eighteen and probably feeling some feelings I wasn’t supposed to be feeling. (That’s a lot of ‘feeling’s, I know.) What could possibly hurt me?

A lot of things, I realised, as I walked up to Paro’s house. Like that mad dog Rathode had warned me about. The creepy guy who keeps children in his basement (just a speculation, but when Madhu speculated about something, it was most probably right). An overspeeding motorcycle that could crash into me any minute. My own mother, with her pots and pans, once she realised I was gone.

Oh well, the damage was done. I found myself opening the gate on instinct, as if I knew Paro’s house better than I did my own.

I stepped into their garden, careful not to trample on any beetles—and made my way to the window of the woman who lived below Paro’s flat. Madame Fosco, I called her, in everything but her looks.

The tin shade Madame Fosco had installed last year was probably on its deathbed by now. Rust had made its edges creaky, but Fosco was deaf, anyway. I grabbed onto it and hoisted myself up, finding myself staring right at Paro’s face, our faces a millimetre away from each other’s. She screamed.

I screamed.

My foot slipped and I fell off the tin shade, tumbling onto the grass once again. At this point, I would be surprised if a grasshopper hadn’t found its home in my ear.

“For Whitman’s sake, hush,” I hissed.

Paro peered out of the window, her mouth forming a perfect ‘o’. “I’m sorry,” she mouthed. 

I shook my head (in case a grasshopper had organised a nice family dinner in my hair) and climbed onto the tin shaft once again, pulling myself onto Paro’s windowsill.

“Come in,” she whispered, switching the lights on. 

I felt comfortable squatting on her windowsill like a failed Spiderman and grumbled as I walked into her bedroom.

Paro switched her phone’s torchlight off. “I’m gonna kill you.”

“What?” I stared at her retreating figure. “What did I do?”

“Why are you still awake?” she snapped. I followed her to the door.

“Why are you still awake and staring out of your window like Oscar fucking Wilde?” I snapped back. Paro flipped me off while trying her hardest to pull the gates across the door. Sweat shone on her forehead, her eyes illuminated in the moonlight.

“Hold on, let me help,” I offered, gently grabbing her wrist. Paro grumbled, stepping aside.

I pushed the gate back and pulled it in again, keeping the screw in with my thumb. It glided into the opening on the other side, miraculously not making a single noise. I turned towards Paro. She was staring at my arms.

“What?” I asked her, incredulously. One moment she said she wanted to kill me, and the next she looked at me like I was something she couldn’t quite wrap her head around.

“N-Nothing,” she muttered. My heart fluttered. Dammit, these butterflies in my stomach had turned into fucking bats at this point.

Paro walked up the stairs while I followed her footsteps in the dark. “Just like the old times, huh?” I heard her say.

I smiled weakly. “You make it sound like we're old.”

Paro opened the door to the roof, the tensed line in her jaw glinting in a sliver of moonlight. God, she was as beautiful as ever.

“Come in,” she said, her words echoing in the marble walls.

I followed her to the railings, leaning against the cool surface. A light breeze rippled through, making her hair fly for a brief second. Dear God, she was poetry herself.

“Where are Auntie and Uncle?” I asked, trying to break the silence.

A light breeze caressed my cheeks. “They won’t be back before tomorrow. Business trip,” Paro explained, edging closer to me.

“Oh.” I was suddenly aware of the pen still tucked behind my ear.

Silence.

“So we’re—we’re all alone, then?” I asked her, hoping she wouldn’t hear the slight quaver in my voice.

Paro nodded. “We are.” Silence, again.

She leaned against the railing. “You’re going away in three weeks.”

I nodded, not quite knowing what to say.

“I asked you a question.” Her voice was cold and harsh, harsher than I deserved. 

“That was a statement,” I snapped. “And don’t use your CEO voice with me.”

Paro frowned. “I’m not.”

“You are.” I glared at her. “And you know it.”

She stared at me, scrutinising my every feature. “I’m sorry,” she finally said, letting out a sigh. “I’m sorry. It’s just been—you’ll be gone—and—”

“I know, it’s okay,” I heard myself murmur, edging closer towards her.

“I—I’ve got that Poe book with me,” she said. “Do you want it now or at the graduation party?”

“Now,” I said, without thinking. “The party will be too loud. And too crowded,” I added as an afterthought.

Paro bit her lip so hard I was scared it would bleed. “Alright,” she nodded. “I’ll get it.”

“Okay.”

“Okay.”

I watched her retreat into the shadows, taking the white along with her. The night was a pool of blood, again.

I hummed. Did she know about the history of ‘OK’? Probably not. I’d tell her. Not knowing things I wouldn’t be able to tell her before we drifted apart wasn’t a good idea. At least she’d be able to tell her children that their Renu Auntie had told her about the history of ‘OK’. Maybe she’d sigh and think of me, again. Words were a certain but clumsy way into a person’s mind. 

Papa had told me that. Maybe that’s why I can’t stop thinking of him.

Did Paro know about Jinnah? That Netaji might’ve actually been alive? Did she know that birds came from lizard-hipped dinosaurs? There was so much I had to tell her before I vanished from her mind. It was pathetic. Scrambling onto every crumb of unrelated information I could find, just to hang onto her thoughts, stay on in her mind for a little while longer.

“I’m back,” Paro said, stepping into the moonlight.

She looked like Aphrodite, the goddess of love born from love itself, in all her glory—clutching a book of Edgar Allan Poe, the letters of which shone in the lamplight or moonlight, that I do not know.

“For you,” she said, handing me the book.

“It’s beautiful,” I gasped as I ran my fingers along the edge of its spine. It was a leatherbound book, The Complete Works of Edgar Allan Poe written in shiny gold lettering. I opened the first page. To Renu, it said. Keep me in your mind, always. From, Paro.

I chuckled, flipping through the pages. “Of course I’ll keep you in my mind, Paro,” I laughed. “What a silly thought!”

Paro looked at me, hope faintly glimmering in her eyes. “You will?” Her voice had softened down to a murmur.

I looked at her incredulously. “Well, duh, Paro, I can’t just forget my best friend of thirteen years now, can I?”

Paro’s lower lip trembled. “You promise?”

I smiled. “Always.”

“Always?”

“Always.”

A comfortable silence followed and as we looked at the stars, I knew we were both smiling.

@avani-amulya @manujanolavu @nirmohi-premika @lovesickpdf @arachneofthoughts @sonilaalbindi @desi-yearning @alhad-si-simran @thatpagalchokri @trashmeowcan @waitingforthesunrise @vellibandi @thesunandstarss @chanda-chamke-cham-cham @damnn-dorothea @the-unhinged-fanwinggg @watchingblsnowandforever @disproportionatelysculpting @bundle-of-glitter @bibliophile-dendrophile please let me know if you want to be added or removed from the taglist <3

[mybrainproblems]

It really is that Dabb gave us a pretty great potential finale in 15x10 heroes' journey. Like the implications of it all. Dean wants to retire and dance with a lamp Cas, wants to choose healing and love.

And extrapolating, it's about Dean and Cas having a life together and I'm not saying Dabb was baby!Jack truthing but he does say that children need a loving home and that their parents should make that for them.

Because it's about Garth and Bess building a home and a life together and choosing love and family and healing and it's about the potential of Dean and Cas choosing each other and building a loving home and breaking the cycle of violence and trauma.

I also think it makes sense as a potential finale bc Chuck being defeated would have meant the loss of that insane Winchester plot armor! I actually really love the idea that with Chuck gone, they become regular ass people! I seriously don't think it's that far fetched to call it the finale that Dabb intended (or at least a version of it) bc it does have thematic consistency with his past writing. And with some changes to earlier eps, the story could have easily been reshaped into an extremely fulfilling finale rather than just a solid mid-season ep. Just... The absolutely bonkers catharsis that we would have gotten had all the potential and slantwise implications of 15x10 been made literal!

[chocolatecakecas]

Hiiii! If you're still doing the playlist name thing, mine is Renu!!! 💕

Hi!!!!

R- Ramble On (Led Zeppelin)

E- Everytime We Touch (Cascada)

N- New York State of Mind (Billy Joel)

U- Upside Down (Jack Johnson)

have a great day/night wherever you are in the world!!!💛

send me your name and i’ll make you a playlist

[govindkrishna]

Trains Post #01

Trains-Locomotives, have been my fascination from the time I remember them as a child. And I have heard that many share this traits. Anecdotally, I noticed I share this fascination with a lot of other men.

So locomotives, especially the older ones, I am so pulled by their sheer grandeur. The smell of grease and metal frames and casings… I can stare at it for hours. Well that’s what happened at the at Usuitoge Tetsudo Bunka Mura (碓氷峠鉄道文化むら), if it wasn’t for Renu who pulled me out of there physically & from my own imagination I’d be stuck in time with these old retired force of engineering marvel, these old decommissioned Japanese behemoth’s were spectacular. I could actually touch those giant metal wheels and those interconnected metal tubes and connections, the engine on these class 9600 steam engine was massive - it’s hard to capture the scale in photographs. It looked menacing even though it was stuck in time.

“Humans made these machine,” I constantly reminded myself. Whilst I was awestruck by this metal leviathan, I chanced upon a small toddler terrified, not going near the steam engine for a picture, even though his mother kept telling him that there nothing to worry about. I could imagine his fears: what if? Just what if this moves all of a sudden.

What would it have been like, to travel in one of these. Probably not as comfortable as the modern locomotives but one can be lost in romanticised fantasies, the steam bellowing and the classic “train cho-cho” sound, the vibrations from those heavy wheels that it’s sound on rails.

Since I can write a 300+ words essay, Tumblr is supposed to be for bite size post, but I went ahead rambling about my locomotive fascination. So going to end it here, sort of abruptly, probably a post that made no sense, but hey! enjoy the photos. Cheers!!

[retamasten]

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[angelcasendgame]

After Dean and Cas get into a fight, Cas pours some oil under the Impala and watches Dean lose his shit as he tries to figure out what's wrong

[notrenu]

.

[starlight-strider]

Have I ever mentioned that I only recently realized Ripple Star fairy wings aren’t actually attached to their bodies

“Why do so many people draw Ribbon with separated wings” because that’s how they are in canon

[angelcasendgame]

When Dean is on his knees and grabs Cas' wrist in the crypt, permanently breaking the connection between Cas and heaven, it should've left a handprint

[angelcasendgame]

Cas dating someone else would result in a very messy situations of Dean being overly encouraging and weirdly involved in Cas' relationship and then he'd go sulk in his room but Dean dating someone else would result in multiple attempts of murder <33

[angelcasendgame]

emmanuel's guilty pleasure is the supernatural series by carver edlund

[angelcasendgame]

Sorry I'll never get over Dean's love language being cooking and Cas' safe space being the bunker kitchen