#NOTHING TO HOLD ONTO

[faebriel]

I HATE THE NEW TRAINS SO MUCH

[almondpiglet]

ITS SERIZAWAS BDAY TODAY!! IM SO GRATEFUL FOR THIS MAN YALL!!

sns and the kids after celebrating all day long... having sweet lil dreams

[a-scary-lack-of-common-sense]

My biggest fear when I was younger was forgiving those who have wronged me, because it meant I moved on.

[mingjoes]

This is SHINee five and we're right by your side.

@userdramas event 18: music @userdramas get to know me bingo: group

[livwritesstuff]

One of Steve’s favorite parts of raising his teenage girls is listening to their drama.

He’s said it since he was in high school himself – girl drama is way more interesting than boy drama. Is he playing into gender roles a bit there? Sure, but sometimes there’s a bit of truth to it.

The thing is, drama is a lot different in 2018 than it was when Steve was in high school. The social media piece of it is totally wild to him – the way that there is an underlying meaning to it all is kind of incredible though. Not really in a good way, obviously, because it’s all completely petty and small and dumb, but that’s exactly why Steve loves hearing about it through his kids.

Like, Moe will ask Robbie,

“Dude, what was up with Molly getting cropped out of that photo Ava posted?”

And then Robbie will launch into a whole goddamn narrative – with secondary characters and side stories and plot twists and everything – and Steve totally lives for it every time.

“Shit, I just accidentally liked Lauren’s VSCO,” Moe said.

“Damn,” Robbie commented without looking up from her phone.

“What’s wrong with Lauren?” Steve asked, because last he checked Moe and Lauren were friends.

“She, like, dropped out of school,” Robbie replied.

“Not dropped out,” Moe clarified, “She withdrew from school because she didn’t like anyone and now she’s doing it all online or something.”

And, see, that’s another thing that’s different between now and when Steve was in high school – he’s an adult, with an adult brain and a handful of psych degrees, so the line between what’s drama and what’s an actually concerning event is quite a bit more defined for him than it is for his daughters’.

“What do you mean she didn’t like anyone?” Steve asked.

“I dunno,” Moe shrugged, “She just, like, stopped hanging out, you know. Like, we’d say hi and she wouldn’t say hi back and she left the group chat and she was avoiding sitting with us at lunch and stuff like that.”

And that had Steve’s counselor-brain completely overpowering his drama-brain, and now he’s wondering if he knows Lauren’s mom well enough to weasel his way into the situation.

[sysig]

Hi, sorry to be anon, but can I ask to see the Vargas family post trick or treating? Divying the goods, or just being tired from the event? Thank you and Happy Halloween!

Day 30 - Fine, but you're taking nightmare duty

[gardenofskeletonss]

THEY DON'T KNOW YOU LIKE I DO

[spookberry]

I love the idea of Gary and Ash traveling together and doing Professor Assistant stuff in their teen years

[kadextra]

anybody else absolutely gutted that dapper and pomme almost died today for the sliver of hope to get their dad back, ventured into the deep dark for ritual materials and faced against a warden, then when finally they made the ritual it didn’t even work right

[nyc-pizza-rat]

okay thinking about her

the tree bark at his back scratches him as he shifts. there are bruises on his skin that sting. he feels the slide of blood at his temple, unsettling and unfamiliar, even after all these years. castiel looks down at his hands, a little calloused, now, and wrinkling, and tries to center himself. there is dirt on his palms, under his fingernails. a small cut on his index finger that is loud and sharp. he curls his fists and tries to reach within himself. the well of his grace has been running low for a while, now, and castiel hasn't been sure of...well, anything.

it's harder to find his dimming grace within, here in purgatory. harder still to coax it to the surface. sweat beads at his brow but castiel keeps his fingers clenched, mumbles to himself in enochian — words to songs of praise and comfort and strength that mean so little now, and yet come to him easy.

there is a thin stream of silver light, and castiel heaves a breath, sinks further into the hollow of the tree. he unclenches his fist, and there are red half-moons carved into his palm. the cut is gone, but there is a scar, still, and castiel cannot stop looking at it. it looks like a thin tear in fabric, like the cracks in between the worlds that let them through. it looks like the beginning of the end.

he rubs his thumb over the scar, feels the slight raise of his skin. his thoughts begin to spin, and all he can focus on is the heat building at the back of his neck, the rushing of blood in his ears. suddenly, then, a ripple within. a breeze by his ear that pull at his core. that compels him to quiet, to listen.

someone, somewhere, is invoking him in prayer.

his grace surges now, easy as it hasn't been in a while, and while it doesn't heal him still, castiel feels more angel than he has in a long time.

Cas, I hope you can hear me... that wherever you are, it's not too late.

castiel sighs, something inside him relaxing. he hadn't even noticed the way his muscles had been pulled taut. hadn't noticed the tendrils of fear creeping into his heart. dean's alive. dean's alive.

I should've stopped you.

castiel swallows. digs his fingers into his thighs. his grace spins out, trying to find the source of the prayer. It's harder than it is on earth, and harder than it should be for an angel of his caliber, but castiel keeps trying.

You're my best friend, but I just let you go. 'Cause it was easier than admitting I was wrong.

castiel wishes dean would stop saying these things. he bites his cheek, listening, following dean's voice. he's always following dean's voice, even when he doesn't want to.

I – Ohh. I don't know why I get so angry. I just know – I know that it's – i-it's just always been there. And when things go bad, it just – it comes out. And I can't -- I can't stop it. No matter how –

dean breaks, and castiel pauses, stares at the blinking doorway that will lead them back onto earth. back into a battle that they are bound to lose. he thinks about jack, lost forever. about chuck, who cannot be beaten. about the pointlessness of what they are doing, the desperation with which he has been clinging to hope.

— how bad I want to, I just can't stop it.

he wishes he could see dean. there is something solid pressing against the back of his throat, like he has swallowed a rock, like it is blocking the air. his eyes sting. he wishes dean would just — just talk to him.

And — And I — I forgive you. Of course I forgive you.

castiel shakes his head. his wings are more bone than anything else, skeletons he lugs around because he cannot bear to sever them from his trueform. now they twitch, twined with his grace as they are. castiel lets them curl inwards, pretends he can feel them whole, their warmth, the comfort of it.

I'm sorry it took me so long – I'm sorry it took me till now to say it. Cas, I'm – I'm so sorry.

castiel forgives him, despite everything. thinks he'd forgiven him long before this, before dean ever thought to ask. he wonders if dean knows that castiel doesn't know how to loathe him, even if he wanted to.

longing surges out to him, the pull of the prayer strengthened by cords of need, of want.

dean thinks he's dead, and he's desperate for him to not be. castiel knows what dean can be like, when he loses those he considers kin, when he's even faced with the prospect of losing them.

Man, I hope you can hear me. I hope you can hear me.

longing can feel a lot like love.

angels were never meant to decipher the nuances of human emotion, and despite all the time he's spent on earth, even castiel is not all that good at it. so when prayer is made with longing, it can feel a lot like love.

and maybe it is. castiel doesn't know.

it's almost unsettling, the way warmth bleeds into his trueform, as dean finishes praying, as he makes his way closer. castiel tries to reign in his weak grace, pulsing away under his skin. tries to not let himself get carried away.

he looks up at the grey sky, the sunless world he is trapped in. he thinks about the empty. he thinks about his son.

maybe it isn't. human love is so complicated, after all.

somewhere to his right, footsteps. castiel breathes, wills his lungs to loosen, his heart to slow. he pulls the leviathan blossom out of his coat pocket. all that fighting and the fidgeting has smushed it a little. he rubs a thumb over one of its strange petals, and puts it back in his coat.

dean is getting closer. castiel can hear him breathing now. can hear the way his heart races.

he gathers himself and pushes out of the hollow of the tree. straightens a little.

"dean," he calls. he sounds tired, even to his own ears. human. god. "you made it."

[cringefaecompilation]

matt has been ON THEIR ASSES trying to get them to hurry up and kill ludinus da'leth and he just stopped everything to give them a moment in a fucking woodcarving museum solely to remind them (and/or the viewers) that there are, in fact, things to do after this moon chicanery

[luminaryofblood]

... Really though, how WOULD the Hornsent view Morgott or Mohg? WOULD they revere them, for the aspects they bear - the horns, the tail, the wings - or would their hatred toward Marika be that strong that, even for the omen twins, they would still hold contempt?

[shalpilot]

a notepad that slowly got turned into a journal

[rcmclachlan]

what if i put my life in your hands? what if i took your life in mine?

[creekfiend]

I just really need ppl to integrate the fact that Jews being explicitly racialized and violently targeted for elimination under white supremacy is in fact the reason this is all happening to begin with so perhaps rhetoric which conflates is with the group of people who have been ethnically cleansing and genociding us for centuries is like, not the hottest thing to do idk

[dieselocelot]

you're losing a savior and a saint