Posts tagged sweet

samspurpletoothbrush:

i have this headcanon

that yeah, dean’s the one who pulled the trenchcoat out of the lake, and dean’s the one who gave it back to cas,

but sam’s the one who took it inside, filled the sink with soap and water, scrubbed the red and black stains from it, worked until his fingers were wrinkly and raw because cas was gonna need it, cas was going to want it when he came back. 

Headcanon absolutely accepted, because both of the Boys love their Fallen Angel… but:

The older brother has faith in Castiel because he loves that angel and admires the strength and innocence that he feels he could never manage balancing the way his Angel does. He believes that Cas will always be okay, because he’s resilient and intelligent and strong enough to be okay. Unless  he sees in those blue eyes the fear of something unknown. Fear like he had when he realized that the Leviathan had overtaken him. If a celestial being doesn’t know what’s happening, if the individual he so loves doesn’t look strong enough to handle a situation… well, knowing their track record… what hope can there be? Dean has faith in Cas, but not the universe. 

The younger brother has faith in the fact that most storm clouds eventually show their silver linings. He can see the light at the end of any tunnel you put him at the start of, and he’s pretty damn sure that the people who deserve it will have good things happen to them. He’s absolutely certain that Dean and Cas more than deserve good things. He has faith in the universe, because he has faith in his brother and their devoted Fallen Angel.

So yeah, I’m pretty well convinced that Sam was the one to wash out the stains. To dry it and used a lint roller on it to make it all clean and neat. To make it like new again for Cas’s sake, and for Dean’s. To put it on Dean’s bed once it was all tidied up and folded and silently watch as his brother tucked it affectionately into the trunk of the Impala. Because Dean wanted his Angel back so bad, but somewhere in the back of his mind Sam actually always believed that they would be reunited somehow. And when they were… Castiel was going to need his coat.

(via casthewinchester)

I wrote it down so many months ago that I forgot I’d ever had this dream at all. It’s… kind of nice to read now, kind of lifts my spirits a bit. :)

I called it: Beautiful Circumstance

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fatcatsandcurls:

worsethanbears:

suncalf:

dorirosa:

suncalf:

what if you were in bed tonight and you were really lonely and sad and you were lying with your arm hanging out over the edge of the bed into the darkness and just as you were going to sleep, the darkness reached out and held your hand

i made a thing

LOOK SOMEONE MADE A COMIC THING HERE I’M IMPRESSED. THIS POST HAS DONE ME PROUD

I WAS WAITING FOR THIS TO BE CREEPY

BUT IT WASN’T

crying so much

(Source: lupercos, via thelesbianicplague)

Warning: This story is not intended to be read by parents, prudes, and/ or homophobes. In other words, if it makes you uncomfortable then you shouldn’t be reading it. Which is not to say that I shouldn’t have written it. Please bear the difference in mind. Thank you. ^_^

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Note: My apologies if a weird HTML thing comes up at the top of this. I don’t know how to fix it. If nothing comes up, then please just continue on reading the story. Actually, please read the story either way. It starts at the bold print. ^_^

            I had this dream on the 26^th of July, 2012. I didn’t fall asleep until about five in the morning, and I was still kind of half-awake when I had this dream. It was also brief, and more on the third-person end of the perspective spectrum. Empathetic Lucidity did sort of happen, though, which is why I still say that “we” experienced things here and there.

            It started with a young man who was having a particularly nasty day. He was a lanky individual with subdued-colored clothing and dull blonde hair and a very angry expression on his face. He was mumbling cuss words under his breath, cursing out all of the things that had brought his day down up until that point, as he walked into a video store. He complained about these things the whole time he was finding his movie: the way he had accidentally locked himself out of his own house for a while, the way his car had broken down in the middle of the road, the rude and unpleasant attitude of the cab driver who had taken him to the store, etcetera and so on.

            When he placed his movie on the counter for the cashier to ring up, it was obvious that she was having a bad day as well. We could tell that she either had been crying very recently or had been on the verge of crying for quite a while. She was a little bigger than average but not in an unhealthy way. She was really very pretty, with soft brown skin and sweeping dark brown-almost black hair. She rang up the movie without a word, just with a little storm cloud of unhappiness kind of energy humming unpleasantly over her head. The man waited for a minute, leaning on the counter and watching her. He seemed contemplative at this point, rather than angry.

            Then she handed him the bag with his movie in it, he took it in one hand, and he leaned further across the counter and kissed her gently on the lips with his eyes closed and a slight smile on his face. The girl brought a hand to her lips after he pulled away and looked at him with incredulous eyes. We (as in the guy and myself) felt awesome right then, all of the things the man had been complaining about suddenly wiped away in that warm, fuzzy feeling of making someone else’s day.

            “Why?” she asked, still amazed. The man pushed off of the counter and smiled with the joy of what he’d just done.

            “Because you’re beautiful,” he told her simply and sincerely. Then he left the store, and the dream kind of faded to white blankness and I woke up.

            It was one of the best dreams I’ve ever had, and it made me rather happy when I opened my eyes to see the sun flooding into my room. Sometimes, the mind just knows what stories to tell you. Until next I wander.

Note: I have said before that Mary & Benji are one of my favorite couples. They, however, are not nearly as adorable as Maylen & Wendy. So these two? They are my actual favorites to write. The story they originally appeared in (involving magical creatures having human forms, as these two do) stopped going anywhere, but I couldn’t bear to give them up. So here they are in short stories instead. ^_^

Written I-honestly-can’t-remember-when
1,998 words:

My breath came harsh and fast, and I leaned back against a tree to keep myself from falling over. I pushed myself off of the tree using my shoulders as quickly as I could, scattering the autumn leaves over the imprint my foot made in the fresh soil around its base. I took a deep breath and marveled as I did at how easily the fiery orange and yellow-gold things were separated. They made such a solid looking carpet through this cold and darkened season, though the trees longed for them to cover something much colder and lonelier. Within moments, it was impossible to tell that I had strayed even an inch from the path I had followed before. In fact, it was hard to tell that I had gone anywhere after the path simply stopped about seventy-five trees back from where I stood lightly on top of the dead and dying foliage of autumn.

I had hopped from that point; jump, land, scatter leaves, and repeat. There was nothing but the clothing shed from these forlorn and naked trees as far as the eye could see. I had left no imprint that was uncovered. I had made no mark. I squeezed between two very close trees and my toes on each one to suspend myself off of the ground completely. I pulled my long, flowing, curly brown hair into a ponytail and made sure that no single strand of it fell to give away my position. There was no need to make it easy for her. I smiled and reached up to the lowest branch of one of the trees, swinging myself to the next one like a child across a set of monkey bars. My smile pulled at the edges of my face, joy and pride filling me. I dropped from the treetops in a few moments, not losing a second as I switched my weight to my toes and ran as fast as I could over less densely covered ground. I ran as fast as I could, every step seeming like a risk as the new-fallen leaves crunched beneath my feet like hard-packed snow. Was it a risk I was willing to take? Would it be worth it to increase my speed if it meant exposing my trail again? Would it really be safe to reveal myself? I ran and ran and ran with these thoughts repeating, until the sun began to fall and my mind was nearly as tired as my legs were.

I finally slowed my pace. First to a light run, then to a trot, then a walk, until finally I couldn’t help but press my side against a tree and try to regulate my breathing again. I closed my eyes, more exhausted than I had thought it possible to be. I let my muscles go lax with fatigue and felt shivers run down my spine at the sensation of falling into a soft pile of brown and golden leaves. The sound of their breaking filled my ears as I sank into the hill, like the crashing of an ocean from the shore of a beach. It filled my mind like a storm and engulfed my body in the violent cold and desperate call of autumn weather. It yearned for the sun to grant it warmth again. It yearned for growth and life and the gentle caress of new breath. It longed for spring to bypass winter and give it hope again, and I could hear that in the dissolving of the leaves beneath the weight of my heavy human form. Then the sound settled, like the last few shots of lightning arcing through the sky at the finale of a storm. It was a symphony, and though I treasured every moment of it, there was one sound which I was even more enthralled by and which complimented it perfectly in its energy and in its grace. It was the sound of the consequence my risk had brought about.

“Alas, it seems as though mine fair and most lovely maiden hath given up on this my most wonderful and exhilarating chase… unless… unless she hath tired of that game which I so exuberantly advocated in the sprawling pink light of the sunrise this morn? Perhaps she finds herself taken ill by thoughts of such trivial things? Perhaps she hath grown weary of our play. Perhaps she hath grown weary of mine own self! Oh! Woe betides this lady of the trees if her love hath forsaken all they ever knew! For though no longer willing to participate in such fine sport hath this lady of mine become…” a playful, gentle voice sang down to me from the seemingly barren treetops. I searched the fading clouds and weather-exposed life for signs of the speaker, but could find nothing. I chuckled under my breath. As if I would be able to find her. She was only seen when she wanted to be. Then, without warning, the breath was forced from my body as something fell forcefully on top of me. I sucked in air through my teeth and sank deeper still into the leaves. They crackled in protest, their electricity bounding in circles around the intruder and I. “I, in all most earnest honesty of words, hath no better options now prepared,” the person finished with a smile in her voice.

I opened my eyes again after the shock had closed them and I melted into a smile like I hadn’t felt in months at the first thing I saw: two sparkling, vibrant, excited, magical, bright white-blue eyes that reminded me of the water in a river that runs energetically beneath a thick layer of pristine ice in those wonderful winter months. A strand of her light blond hair fell from the pigtails set high on her head that seemed to almost be the source point of all the boundless joy that her body glowed with. Her lips, curved in that happy and mischievous and loving smile of hers, made my heart skip a beat and tickled every part of my body with pure happiness of my own. We both shivered joyfully at the sensation of seeing each other’s faces again after so long of being apart. It was bliss have her with me again. I had missed her so much while I had participated in the foreign exchange program. I knew I couldn’t have survived another year of school without her. She was my savior from insanity and anger.

“Ah, but you have conserved your energy better than I, my dear. I’m afraid I simply have no strength left to run from you,” I replied softly once my breath, trying to communicate my regret in my tone of voice and my darker blue eyes. She laid her head on my chest and I heard her sigh contentedly at the feeling. I brushed my hands through her hair and we simply laid there for a moment before she rolled over onto her side and pulled me to turn so we would face each other.

“Thine heart takes the form a hummingbird, m’dear, so methinks it best we find some other game with which to pass this time we have been given,” she finally concluded, clasping my hand in hers. I smiled again at her fingers interlaced with mine and the lovely way she spoke.

“Oh? Then what shall we play, my little butterfly?” I asked in return, imagining her as a bright yellow creature that flitted from flower to flower without worries or cares. That was my Wendy. That was my butterfly, and though she was easily distracted I knew that her mind was sharp and deep and full of ideas I could never have imagined.

“Mmm… words. Poetry. We shall play poetry, if mine lady so wishes it!” she replied, giggling slightly.

“Terrible, tricky tree-trotter. Were I so verbose that we could play such things!” I playfully scolded her, squeezing her hand in mine and placing my forhead against hers.

“Mad, marvelous Maylen! Were you so clever that you could slip poetry into such a reply!” Wendy responded in kind, giggling even more.

Back and forth for hours, our voices echoed together in the trees. The cries of far-off bats squeaked from time to time, and the leaves rustled quietly whenever we moved as if they were respecting the rising of moon while it silently stole into its role in place of the day’s sun. The trees creaked rhythmically in the chilly fall breeze, as if moaning out for the return of the leaves they believed us to hold hostage. Our words grew quiet gradually.

The last clouds, colored like the covering of the ground beneath our bodies, sank as the first indicator that we should drop our own volume. Then the stars began to dot the sky and the sound sank even lower, almost reverant of the cosmos overhead. Then, finally, the vast round moon filled our small area with pale and mystical light; as if we were the only living things it had to illuminate. It was as if we were important. The sky grew dark blue, then black, and a single cloud cut through our light to cast shadows across our bodies. It was strange, the darkness counteracting the light and making the moment somehow more balanced. It was as if all things were in perfect harmony, in quantities that perfectly mirrored and offset each other. Our poetic games finally died into silence. The only sound then was the pacing of our breath, synchronized as if we had planned it beforehand.

Our eyes locked then and both of us smiled, goosebumps rising along our exposed arms as we laid in our short sleeved shirts and thin denim jeans. Wendy wiggled her body lower and pressed her ear against my chest again, the top of her head resting against my chin. I wrapped her arms around her and she reached around to embrace me as well.

“This is why I love you, you know,” she whispered so gently that I just barely heard her over the powerful silence of the night.

“Why?” I asked her, only barely managed to bring the sound up from my throat at the right pitch to match hers.

She didn’t wait so much as a moment, her murmur coming out oddly from the smile that hindered her whispering tactic, “This. You. Being in your arms like this. Speaking akin to a child of the shakespearian era because it makes me comfortable and happy… and having you join me in sincerity and genuine compassion rather than pity or confusion. I love you because of you and what you let me be. I love you because of times like this, when I see that. I simply love you, and no words can truly express that.” My heart beat faster than ever and Wendy giggled at the feeling against her head. The beautiful, cheerful sound of her laugh only made it worse and she brought her head up to kiss me softly on the cheek.

For a moment after, I couldn’t stop grinning like a fool. Then I leaned in and kissed her back, and we lay staring at each other for a time I could never quite measure.

“Shall we yet make our way home, m’dear?” she asked after a while, turning to her back and throwing one arm into the leaves while her other still held my hand fast in her own.

“No,” I answered, “The moon is, I think, beckoning us to rest here a while longer.”

“Shall we play while we are waiting, then?” she wondered aloud.

“Hmm… yes, I think we shall play… colors,” I told her.

“Fuchsia,” she challenged.

“Cerulean.”

“Cyan.”

“Orange.”

“Viridian.”

And so our voices began to echo again, filling the forest with the sound of our game; the sound of our love for each other. The sound of me and my joy and my world and my wonderful, indescribable Wendy.