Between blows, it occurs to you that this is what you had expected, once upon a time. This is what the old you expected out of the old Castiel, back at the barn, back when it was just you and some infernal creature, all howling wind and lightning flash. And wouldn’t that have been easier? Wouldn’t it have been easier if that were all he is - a force of nature, the sea that drowns you, the storm that felled the trees?
There is no malice in the destructiveness of a hurricane. This is all he is now: the storm. His empty eyes, devoid of tenderness, but devoid of cruelty too, and still you can’t shake the habit of love. Is that the word? You’re bleeding at his feet and you’re ready to die. Is that the meaning? Can the lightning love you back? You thought it could. It strikes in the same place more than once and your heart is sore from it.
You’re tired of losing people to themselves.
“Cas-” you say, through the blood in your mouth, through the pain in every bone. And then you tell him the truth.
My love, I am the speed of sound
I left them motherless, fatherless,
souls dangling inside-out from their mouths
but it’s never enoughMy love, I’m an owl on the sill in the evening
but morning finds you
still warm and breathingThis tornado loves you. (x)
(Source: mufffliato)
imagine if when benny is at his lowest point and desperately trying to stop himself from attacking someone, and he can’t call dean because dean’s cut him off, when he’s panicking and suffering with irrepressible bloodlust and trying to cling to anything, anything at all, that might help him
he ends up mimicking dean all those times in purgatory and praying to cas
not expecting the angel to show up or anything just as an attempt to stave off the murder instinct by pretending someone, anyone, cares about him not being a monster
but then cas appears, tired and pale and shaken but there, because as little as cas liked benny - benny was dean’s friend, benny saved dean, and benny saved cas too, and if cas isn’t good enough to save angels then he can at least try to save the monsters who want to be good.
#he flies into blood banks to get blood for him #physically holds him down with angel strength when the kill instinct almost overtakes him #and just having him around helps benny focus on being better #and equally #benny gives cas someone to talk to #he doesn’t need to be afraid of hurting him because heaven has no interest in a vampire #he can even talk to benny about his strange memory blanks and confusing thoughts and visions #because what does he care about a vampire’s opinion of him? #he doesn’t need to be afraid of judgement because what moral high ground can a vampire have #and the simple fact of having someone to help; someone who takes his mind off himself and his own crushing guilt #and having a visible positive effect on someone - even if it is a vampire - helps cas get through the days #and by the time benny feels stable enough to last on his own #they have their own sort of friendship #admittedly still based mostly in snarky comments and taking 0 shit but now with a respect flowing underneath #HOW AMAZING WOULD IT BE
Forever in love with this clip.
Sam’s just like ‘Fuck this shit’
and Dean’s like “oh fuck you sam of course leave me with the psychopath”
dean taking care of a recovering sam (◡‿◡✿)
dean touching sam’s shoulders and face and back and arms and constantly asking after his wellbeing to reaffirm what he said in the church about putting sam in front of everything (✿◡‿◡)
dean coming up behind sam’s chair to pull sam’s hair back into a ponytail so it doesn’t get in his eyes when he’s researching (✿♥‿♥)
dean making sure sam eats well and gets a lot of sleep and feels safe and calm (♥‿♥✿)
dean truly realising how fragile sam’s self-worth and self-image are and making a point of consistently showing sam how much he loves and trusts him
(ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*:･ﾟ✧
do u kno who else wanted and deserved love?
- linda tran
- bela
- gordon
- anna
but they’re dead and buried under six feet of racism and sexism while crowley gets to live — crowley, the maker of rape jokes, crowley, the one who murdered and possessed thousands of innocents, crowley, the torturer (look at what he did to meg), crowley, the one who has had chance after chance after chance only to get the the chance denied to so many other people — the chance to live.
Part 4 of Purgatory.
“That’s the door?” Dean asks. His breath steams out in the air, though as usual he feels neither hot nor cold, regardless of surroundings. In the distance, across a deep rift in the ground, a charcoal tower of smoke rises against the purple sky. Lightning stabs inside it, a constant strobe of spiderwebbing light.
“So it seems,” says Cas.
“That fucker lied to us,” Dean mutters.
“He did not,” says Cas.
“He said we could get out this way!”
“We forgot to specify that we wished to survive the trip,” says Cas.
“Yeah, well.” Dean rolls his shoulders, grits his teeth. It has to be said. “You might.”
“It doesn’t matter,” says Cas. “I won’t go without you.”
“If you get to the other side, you can - it’s easier from out there, remember? You can do that spell again, the one you used to supersize yourself, and -“
“No,” says Cas, and turns his back on the portal. “We will find another way.”
“Cas, dammit. Stop.” He catches Cas’ arm, turns him. “Listen, we have to think rationally.”
“I am,” says Cas. “I will not leave you here. There is the possibility of time slippage, and you cannot survive more than a day without me.”
“But if you do the ritual right away -“
“I have chosen this duty,” says Cas. “I will not abandon you.”
That one hurts. “Duty?” asks Dean. He smiles and it feels tight on his face. “We might be in purgatory, but I’m not your fucking penance, Cas.”
“That is not what I meant.” Cas pins him with that angel-blue stare but Dean gotten pretty used to it over the years, even the high-octane version he’s getting now.
“What did you mean, then? Because I don’t need a nanny. I don’t know if you noticed, but it isn’t me those things keep sniffing after.”
“If I keep my Grace tamped down -“
“Yeah, how’s that working out?” Dean jerks his chin at the shadows gathering around Cas’s shoulders. “Having some problems, I think.”
“Why is it such a burden that I wish to look out for you?” Cas snaps. “We are stronger together than apart, and I owe -“
“I don’t wanna be a debt you’re paying, man!” Dean says.
“You never listen to what I am saying,” Cas says. He reaches out and grabs a fistful of Dean’s shirt. “I will not leave you.” His wingshadows grow brighter. “I don’t want to leave you. And if it is a choice between freedom without you or eternity in Purgatory by your side, then I have already chosen.”
Light flares behind him, white and blinding as the sun. The electric smell of ozone is in Dean’s nostrils, every hair on his body stands straight out. A great buffet of wind blows his hair back, whips Cas’ trenchcoat about both their legs and through the watering of his eyes he sees them. Fire and lightning and crystalline feathers spread wide, refracting glory.
They vanish and Dean is left blinking in the sudden darkness.
“No, no, Dean.” It is Cas, holding him upright with an ungentle grip on his shoulders. “Dean, Dean, are you alright? Dean?” A thumb at one of his eyelids, rolling it back. “I’m sorry, I - Dean. Dean!”
“Ok, alright,” he manages, pushing at the hand on his face. “Jeez, back off. ‘M fine.” Vision is returning, though he sees spots swimming everywhere.
Cas draws a huge, shuddering breath. “I am sorry,” he says again. “My control is not - I should not have gotten so agitated.”
“Dude,” says Dean, suddenly, awed. “Those were your wings.”
“Yes,” says Cas. He eases Dean down to sit on the ground. Snow crunches beneath them.
“And my eyes didn’t boil.”
“They did not,” Cas agrees.
“What - why not? I mean, not complaining, just … “
“I don’t know,” says Cas.
“Well, next time I’m wearing sunglasses,” says Dean, blinking hard. The spots are fading, slowly.
A familiar howl drifts across the stony, frozen plain.
“Can’t convince you to go, can I?” Dean asks conversationally, looking at the portal.
“No,” says Cas. “You can’t.”
(Source: skeletales)
Analysing a piece of literature/film/etc with a romantic storyline between a male and female character:
- Analysing plot points that are significant for the relationship
- Analysing their storyline together
- Analysing each character and their compatibility
- Figuring out how the relationship would work
- Analysing chemistry
- Relationship develompent, psychological stuff, character development, yadda yadda yadda
Shipping:
LITERALLY THE SAME THINGS, SO OFTEN, LITERALLY THE THINGS I DO WITH DESTIEL, FOR EXAPLE.
Why the HECK does the first belong in public discussion, literary criticism, books, movies, and the second is useless delusional crap that I’m wasting my time fantasizing about that should be hidden somewhere where we disgusting fangirls dwell and ridiculed and not talked about openly or treated equally, ever?
I’m sorry, but when I write meta about Destiel, it’s literally NOTHING different from when I analysed the romance between Raskolnikov and Sonya in “Crime and Punishment” with my Russian Lit teacher. As in, I put literally as much thought, effort, time into it - except, a lot more because it’s a serious passion of mine. I don’t get, in the slightest, why people would treat it as something less serious when it’s ALL analysing relationships in works of fiction. IT’S ALL THE SAME THING. Don’t tell me that what I’m doing is less serious or that I should be ashamed or afraid to talk about it because they’re characters from a TV series. Or that they’re both male. Or because I’m a young person engaging in fandom activity. I call serious bullshit, because it’s literally the same type of activity. Except we call it shipping. Antient Greeks didn’t go around saying “Achilles/Patroclus is so OTP it hurts. I just ship it SO HARD, man,” while I do, but that doesn’t make me potentially dumber or less deserving of recognition.
I would put my meta in a fucking thesis and defend it before a crowd of fucking professors. I would make a fucking public speech about it. I’m not going to, like, hide and be ashamed because what I’m doing is shipping. I’m fucking proud of shipping. It’s a highly intellectual activity that takes all my analytical, language and creative skills. It makes me grow as a writer and it requires so much freaking research that I feel like my head’s gonna explode when I try to hold all the arguments and points inside it. I put more effort in my shipping-related activities than people put into their academical life or their actual job.
I will treat what I do with the same respect I treat any kind of writing or analisys and I sure as hell won’t try to hide it or cower in my little shipper corner because what I do is supposed to be offensive or unserious or what have you. It’s about as offensive as talking about the relationship between Romeo and Juliet. Regardless of canonicity, I will not separate “srs bzns media criticism/relationship analisys” from “shipper shit”, because I do everything I can to analyse a complex relationship and do it justice. I won’t buy the fact that the relationship isn’t canon yet, or the fact that it’s between 2 guys, or the fact that there’s porn about them in fandom, as reasoning to not be taken seriously and wrapped up in negative stereotypes and told to shut up. If the idea of queerness or interpreting characters as non-straight is something people have a problem with, it’s their problem.
I will try my very best to always be constructive, respectful, polite, kind as much as I can (but of course I am only human, I make mistakes like everyone). But I will not accomodate for hate, queer/homo/biphobia, people being uncomfortable with the idea of non-straight characters, or even fear. I will make no effort to get my interpretation of characters out of the pubic eye or treat it as something private and unmentionable. No such luck.