Aspiring writer, watches movie recaps instead of watching the movie, wannabe artist
273 posts
Latest Posts by whotoldyouso - Page 9
the urge to eat chicken nuggets while the world burns
@lottieholland you inspired me with the androgynous fashion
Tuesday February 7.
The Chosen One: Vanilla Extract.
The hero we need and deserve right now. Ever been making a cake, and then baking a cake, and then consuming a cake, a cake you will subsequently defecate, when you've been haunted by that strangest of feelings that something just isn't quite right? That something is missing. That within this process there has been a void beyond that of the baking process: a void that is not just culinary, but spiritual. It's good, but it's not right. You made it as instructed, and it looks good, and tastes fine too. The good people around you have also taken a fork, which they have politely, and apparently sincerely, enjoyed. One even took a picture which they will later upload on Instagram, with crude, flashing animations of cakes, and captions reading: Cake time! Yum!. The words jump merrily from side to side in neon colors and the cake rests handsomely, with several slices missing. But you know, they know it. It is evident in their expressions: the light is dimmed in their smiles somewhat. They too possess something unshakeable in this mouthful. Something here is left to be desired, and desire as Robert Hass ruminates, is full of endless distances. Hold the f*cking phone, someone says, their eyes suddenly luminous. I know what this needs: #vanilla extract.
At the Knife's Edge
Castiel is... strange, thinks Dean. So stuffy and formal. So small.
You wouldn't think he was an angel. At all, really. Dean didn't, either, until Cas pushed him to his knees in a rainy, dirty, alley, knife to Dean's throat.
Not just any knife. Castiel's angel blade.
He wanted to laugh, to cry, but all he did was beg. And even if Dean's faced powerful creatures before, if you'd seen Castiel in that moment, you wouldn't have begged. You would've gone mad.
All six eyes on display, with white fangs and monstrous wings- and this is what Dean finds funny. All those cathedrals with fat white babies with the fluffy wings too small for their bodies. But Cas's wings? They're black , metallic and each feather is a long blade, glimmering in the streetlight. Deadly was an understatement. All his eyes stare at Dean, and strings of grace waft away from Castiel's body, wrapping Dean up, caressing.
Loving.
And then there's the knife to his throat.
His eyes return slowly to their blue, and the knife drops, and Cas heals him with the ridiculously gentle touch. How does he do it?
Dean notices, for the first time, that there seems to be a ring of light behind his head. The wings are still there, now feathery, and one brushes against his cheek, softer than silk sheets.
To all the artists out there, who think their artwork isn't enough-- there's no need to think like that. Because you're doing the best you can, and there are so many who can't draw. You are enough, and so is your artwork. Don't let anyone ruin it for you. Don't ruin it yourself, either.
not being in america sucks because you cant watch american netflix in india. how can we, as a society, deny anyone the right to supernatural?