segernatural · 9 months ago
Dean goes to the empty to rescue cas. He gets trapped.
This is all just a fake heaven reality to not let dean escape. To wake up. The empty wants dean gone. Not meddling. Not asking questions. It just wants to sleep. So it pulls on dean's earliest memories of hunting. Which is why we see jenny. Where theres no cas. Where he still thinks he's meant to die young. Where its only him and sam, and he doesn't hate his dad as much. And bobbys there to greet him, but something cracks. A mention of a Cas? Who's that? But the illusion moves swiftly on. Not before slyly mocking that dean might be able to kick some ass still before its all said and done.
And sam gets his 'happy' ending, that he no longer wanted past season one. Settling down. Naming his kid after dean despite the both of them being beyond that point. No eileen because she didn't exist yet. Him never being able to move on from dean because season 1 sam couldnt.
But cas is breaking through the cracks for dean. In his mind, he knows this isnt right. And it all comes to a head when he sees jimmy novak in heaven.
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you-are-my-neverland · a year ago
i miss them....(my wips)
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tfadi · 2 years ago
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mhaccunoval · 2 years ago
oh god..DAMmit.. i just realized i've wasted 40 minutes of my life on the wrong movie..... i've been watching campfire TALES (despite putlocker saying stories)......
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rex-ol-boy · 3 years ago
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pozolegirl · 4 years ago
(Gross sobbing over the last picture of secret ending 2)
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triquetrine · 11 months ago
history major and hobbyist archer kevin day: obviously he gets really into renaissance faire LARPing and gets really mean when people aren't 100% period accurate. also: babysitters neil and andrew each wearing party city viking hats and blank-faced passing a giant turkey leg back and forth while trailing after kevin in his hand-embroidered court motley
RENAISSANCE FAIRE KEVIN!!!!!!!!! BABYSITTER ANDREIL!!!!!!!!!!!!!! the comedic potential for this is through the roof............i’ve never been to a ren faire before (although i REALLY want to) but from what i know they are truly magical places and i think kevin would be having the time of his life. he definitely makes all these snippy comments to andrew and neil about people’s costume/hair choices and they just have to like. Nod and Validate him. his own costume looks like it could win an oscar (“where the fuck does he find the time for this” “do i look like i know”). neil and andrew are, at first, mildly overwhelmed but they eventually start to really enjoy themselves. andrew singlehandedly consumes enough kettle corn for four people. neil watches one musical performance and now he MUST watch all the others. kevin competes in an archery competition (and does very well). they return to fox tower exhausted but with lots of stories and then next year they bring the rest of the team with them. shenanigans ensue.
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mwagneto · 11 months ago
writing emails >_<
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dreamer-hyun · 11 months ago
1. Teenage bedroom (late night)
2. Lord
3. Planetarium
4. Basketball court
5. Malevolence
prompts by @nosebleedclub can be found here!
i. it’s cold and dark— the new moon and cloudy skies mean only the artificial glow of streetlights filters in, soft and subdued, through the hazy fabric of his curtains. 1:30, reads the clock. he closes his eyes. opens them when dreams won’t come.
it’s often that teenagers like him are lost, this time of night, it’s often that sleep can’t find him.
ii. he doesn’t believe in god, he never has, not since his father first laid his eyes on him, laid hands on his mother, took away his little brother. when he looks to the whorls of stars glued clumsy and hasty to his bedroom ceiling, when he closes his eyes at night, he does not pray to any lord. he worships her smile. 
iii. there’s a galaxy swirling in the depths of her clear gaze, constellations that could be drawn in the scattering of freckles across her cheeks that only darken come summer. she dimples. stars collide, stars reform. it’s astronomy planetariums and textbooks could never hope to teach, astronomy only poets and lovers know.
(he’s pulled into her orbit, the weight of his heart nothing against her gravity. her force. his heartbeat accelerates. but he doesn’t fall, he flies.)
iv. physics class blurs past him. most of his classes do. but when the teacher’s droning voice turns to talk of the stars above, the way the planets move, he listens. it makes sense, somehow, though little else in school does. he thinks of it often. of laws of motion. of forces and attraction.
an object in motion will stay in motion, the teacher says.
she moves him. his heart’s restless. it stays restless, no matter what he does.
he drums his fingers on his desk in time with his racing heart, doesn’t stop even when the bully in the seat in front twists around to glare. he ignores the boy, lets his eyes instead follow her across the classroom.
basketball helps, keeps his motion focused, lets it flow. he dribbles the ball. thinks about the ball’s bounce, its steady spring back up after every fall. thinks about how she says she liked the other team’s dunk, the way the last player had looked when he’d scored.
he jumps. he shoots. he scores. he makes sure it’s when she’s watching, he’s rewarded with her bright congratulations! and her grin, a small cosmic wonder.
it feels like flying. like defying gravity.
(when she faints during p.e. he’s by her side. she gives him a band-aid, after, cheeks flushed, dimples showing.
for every action there is an equal and opposite reaction, he thinks, and puts the bandage on with an answering smile.)
v. there’s his father’s anger, vicious swirling storm of violence that leaves him broken breathless beaten, curled into a corner wishing for gentle winds and the summer stars. his father’s anger and the cold winter that follows, eyes that look past him, that look through him, murmur you failure, you, that put icy fingers of frost deep into even the warmest corners of his heart. there’s the bullies who corner him atop the roof, knives in hand, telling him to jump, telling him his destiny was always to fall.
he survives the bullies. weathers his father. but when it’s her standing in front of him, his fist curled in a boy’s shirt, her starbright eyes dim with horror, it dawns on him. there are some falls that were always meant to happen. there are some orbits he can’t escape from (this one’s a hole opened up in the pit of his stomach, dark and wide, his snarl reflected in her eyes an inescapable force that pulls him apart, pulls him under). this is his event horizon.
1. Teenage bedroom (soft morning)
2. Dwarf rabbit
3. Seaside memory
4. Embrace
5. Peach juice
v. she likes the juice normally. it’s sweet and light and refreshing, a nectar of the gods, bottled in it is a hundred laughs and smiles, the taste of summers gone by. today, the drink sits heavy on her tongue, choking, cloying artificial sugar that makes her stomach turn.
what’s wrong, her friend asks. it tastes like missed opportunities, she thinks but does not say, it tastes like what-could-have-been turned sour, then sugared over again, far too sweet, it tastes like regret. it tastes like a bloodstained letter from a desperate boy left unopened, like a desperate boy left standing in an empty parking lot, his heart in his hands a star, waiting to fall.
she says, it’s nothing, smiles, and tries not to wince when she sips at her straw again. 
iv. they don’t ever hug in their teenage years. they could barely manage the brush of fingers without the hint of a blush. when they meet again, it’s different. gravity, attraction, all the laws of physics bend his path back to her.
he falls back into her orbit like breathing, an inhale, an exhale, and he’s weightless, he’s flying again.
she saves him. he saves her.
when she’s in his arms, he wonders if she sees stars in his eyes, wonders if she thinks there’s a gentle supernova within his every smile. little does he know, she’s wondering the same things, too.
for every action, he nearly remembers, slow and distant, a memory from light-years away, there is an equal and opposite reaction.
iii. once there was an ocean between him and her, waves of years-old misunderstandings come crashing down through time to separate them. tides rise. tides overflow. there is truth to be had on both sides, she thinks, in the flood of feelings that follows. there is a peace to be found when the tide goes out again, an understanding when they stand beside each other, hand-in-hand, back to the storm-swept past, looking to the starlit seashore of their future.
call it what you will. call it love.
ii. she curls against him, her head on his chest, hair fanned out in ripples of starless sky. they’re universe enough, two celestial things settled into comfortable orbit: some nights she circles him, some nights it’s her. his moon. her jupiter. he’s mapped an infinite number of constellations from her dimples down the small of her back and lower. she’s traced comets and meteors across the scars on his torso, discovered nebulas high on his cheekbones, made them burn bright red under her touch.
still, they turn their eyes skyward, to galaxies beyond. a world within their arms, a world without.he points out the constellations, draws out the shape of their mythological namesakes with one outstretched hand. over here, a legendary hunter, he says. there, a lyre.
here, a goddess, he says, and his eyes are on hers. she blushes. in the flush of her cheeks, he imagines new stars are born. (fusion, fission. love as something stronger than a nuclear reaction.)
tell me about the different types of stars, she says instead of a reply. he nods, pulls her closer, recites facts slow and soft he learned for her years ago: dwarfs, giants, all their different colors. she giggles at dwarf; she always does, asks if she’s a dwarf, a dwarf bunny. he laughs, pokes her nose, says, weren’t you listening, that’s not a kind of star—
his voice gentles to silence. she cranes her neck to look up at the stars in his bright eyes, the planets, the worlds.
maybe we’re binary stars, he says at last. you and i.
i. it’s warm and bright— rays of dawn drift light and dreamy through her open window painting long panes of her rumpled blankets the gold of the morning’s sunshine. he murmurs words, soft, loving, unintelligible, against the crown of her head. she smiles an i love you and a good morning into his chest, presses a kiss to his heart, and snuggles closer. his hand finds hers beneath shared sheets. their fingers tangle. they take their waking slow, their hearts beating as one, a secret language, a morse code of lovers, spelling out the words you are found. you are home. 
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walrusi · 3 months ago
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cringetiber 8: just standing there (easy challenge for me)
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htgawparksandrec · a year ago
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the-darklings · 2 years ago
Number 30 with our baby Quentin Beck??? #prompts
30. — beautiful
It’s not conscious, the realisation. 
It’s a slow, festering thing—the type they tell you about in stories, the type that slowly manages to consume you and strip you of reason. 
What good was it for?
Especially now, especially—
He’s never denied himself anything in life. If he wanted it, he took it; fought for it, tore things apart till the thing he desired found its way back to him. It’s not so simple with you. 
There is nothing to fight, nothing to demand. There’s just you and him, and you’re frowning at him as you sit curled on his bed. He likes having you here; in his apartment, in his life. You belong here, with him, he tells himself constantly. He has to because for the first time in his life he wonders if he’s worth what he has. 
He’s a liar, a manipulator. It’s as easy, as enjoyable, to him as breathing is. He’s not a good man—never wanted to be one—even though he’s exceedingly good at pretending he is one. You know that, but surely something keeps you with him. Keeps you smiling and kissing him, keeps you loving him through everything. 
“Stay tonight,” he half-demands, half-pleads, his voice sultry against your lips. “Need you.”
He rarely admits to ever needing something—too weak, too pathetic, and he’s never been one to show his hand so easily—but he rather likes the slight, warm smile that curls your lips whenever he does. Like admitting he needs you is as good as a love confession. 
When did you become so pathetic?
That little voice still crawls out of recesses of his mind on occasion but your lips ghost over his; delicate, loving, and the roar it awakens in his body is anything but. 
You hit the mattress before any more words can be exchanged, and Quentin doesn’t bother holding back his pleased smirk at the image of you underneath him. 
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jordanlakesessions · a year ago
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fabulouscourier · 4 years ago
i havent eaten right in abt 3-4 days and hhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhO BOYYYY hhhhh my stommmm,,,,
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cherryviscera · 4 years ago
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me : were not doing this
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freshparking · a year ago
Whenever you stop posting for a little bit I automatically go "oh, I hope they're okay..."
Oh thank you anon ;o; This was a really sweet message to come back to. I definitely took a bit of a break from Tumblr half because I had some work I really needed to focus on, and half because of exhaust negl. Social media is just ....a cesspool lately with everything going on in the world and I was like okay this is mentally exhausting I need to like take a break and read some books and watch some movies and ....chill out. Thank you for the concern. I really do appreciate it espec considering mental health issues I struggle with. It’s nice to know some of you guys genuinely care
You’re a sweetheart. I hope everyone’s doing okay! I miss ya’ll.
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mini-donuts · a year ago
tell me why these old ppl next to me are talking to eachother abt trump and praising and excusing him bc “he’s a New Yorker!!!!” Like u dumb whores you are in a small town across the country almost 3000 miles away you are in a NOWHERE town how the fuck u know what a New Yorker is get outta here
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mwagneto · 9 months ago
Can I ask why you hated Loki? He was my first fav MCU character and the reason why I started liking MCU (his character and Tom's acting); surprisingly, I didn't like Steve at all until VERY recently after watching Avengers Assembe; His full name is Morbius U Morbius. Owen is a sweet fellow who went through some sad times (I only know cuz it was in my newspaper back then) was the Cowboy in Night at the Museum movies. Not watched that?
tbh i cant.... actually remember, ive repressed most of my mcu related memories dgjdjcjsn i think it was a combination of 1) his fandom being fucking weird as hell 2) me being annoyed that everyone was like awww ommg he's just a widdle babyyyy even tho he committed mass genocide 3) me just not vibing with the whole evil asshole whiteman with greasy black hair who kills his parents thing ahem kylie ron ahem 4) me wanting to piss my irl off in a jokey way coz she was like, in love with him and it was funny to be on the opposite ends of the loki stan scale
OHHHHHHHHH yeah ive seen that dkmfmdcnnfnnvnff VERY iconic role
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earnedmagic · 2 years ago
at the time i don’t think i fully expressed how i lost my mind when i saw st. vincent play her guitar live, but let me tell you, i did.
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almondcookieclusters · 3 years ago
A concept: Lance + Gel Pens
The stock markets would crash, cities all around the world would be in crisis and the entire world would explode
   A.k.a… Lance would be cute as shit fanboying over some quality ass writing utensils and use it to write smol little notes to Keef and the rest of the squad and ugh he’d be so in love and sO WOULD I 
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