Not Dead

Yessssss I love him, look at this beautiful art, at this beautiful manz Look at him

Inventory check: Seth

This is just a small glimpse at some of the things he carries around. He has a secondary bag for other items. (And i got too lazy to draw anything else lol)

I agree, I would very much like a stick as well; it would be very useful.

i think every gay person should get a monthly stipend for. piercings and such also beverages. and i think every trans person should get to hit people with sticks legally

playing god

Me: ...I need a way to get rid of all these crows so that this plot hole can be fixed. Also me: Let’s just flood the town and attack them with lighting; yes, great, perfect.

Start of Chapter six, Sins of the Flesh

Start of chapter four, Sins of the flesh.

Link to Wattpad: https://www.wattpad.com/1281199235-sins-of-the-flesh-chapter-6-castiel-angel-of-the Link to Ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/38974686/chapters/107196657

---- A few calm weeks went by as the temperatures dropped, whatever green was left on the trees shifting to bright fiery colours as they approached the end of October. Winds began to pick up and frost collected on the grass in the early mornings, days shortening as the sun began to lower in the sky earlier and earlier in the evenings. On October 23rd, Dean found himself hunched over a bible, trying to memorize a script for the Sunday sermon, one which his father had always taken very seriously because of the approach of Halloween. John had always been unnecessarily strict about the fact that Halloween was the devil’s work, that ghouls and demons would be invited into your home if you celebrated it. He wasn’t completely incorrect as both a priest and a hunter; many idiots tended to summon things nearing Halloween as a sort of daring and spooky activity, although the celebration itself had no attachment to any sort of gateways, as his father so-called them. Nonetheless, the priest still found himself in the dark of his kitchen, fingers gliding over the same imprints in the paper over and over in a desperate attempt to memorize them all by the 26th. He had, of course, memorized hundreds of passages in the past few years he had been carrying on the family business, but Dean preferred to preach new lectures and teach new things each year instead of simply repeating what he had already said; although there had been a few times he found himself repeating himself when he wasn’t able to think of anything new for that week. Dean barely noticed the passing of time as he worked for hours on his memorization, his mind began to wander as he remembered the happenings only just under four weeks prior; he had heard from Sam that the matricide had continued, and in some sick way, Dean felt guilty for leaving so many people to die. Plagued with guilt and the need to make his father proud, Dean carried on with his memorization and only stopped when Castiel entered the room and lay a gentle hand on his left shoulder. The priest flinched, startled out of his concentration at the sudden touch; he hadn’t even heard Castiel’s footsteps. “Jesus, Cas! Warn a guy before you touch him,” Dean grumbled as he fixed his terrible posture, raising his arms above his head as he stretched. “I apologize, Dean, usually I don’t have to,” Castiel apologized softly as he placed a mug on the table in front of Dean, the thick glass clunking against the table as it was set down. Dean picked up the mug and took a careful sniff of it before taking a sip, his brow creasing in confusion as he recognized the bitter taste of coffee on his tongue. “Why are you giving me coffee so late?” The priest questioned as he set the mug back down, careful not to spill any on his bible. “Late? No, Dean, it’s early. It’s five am,” Castiel informed as he sat down beside his friend at the table and sipped at his own coffee, made with cream and sugar.

I don't believe that intelligence can be accurately quantified, but I do have an IQ of 187, an eidetic memory, and can read 20,000 words per minute. Yes, I'm a genius.

Dr.Spencer Reid; Criminal Minds, season 1 episode 1 - extreme aggressor

I have always been a lot like my father. I have his hair, his face, his taste in music, his last name, some of his old jackets and shirts. I’ve often hated that I’m so much like him, as the only thing I don’t and will never have from him is his support. Now, however, I carry pocket watches and work towards education, a feat he never achieved. I do not use his last name, he doesn’t deserve the credit of my success. His music I’ve integrated along with violins and melodies that his rough and tough demeanors would never fit into. His clothing and jackets are reserved for when I make art, the paint that is left on the shirts show how I can make beautiful things as opposed to the blood that had previously stained them when he got into fights. I am very much like my father, but never will he be like me.

trans masculinity, when u have a shitty father, is abt taking pieces of him for yrself & reclaiming it & turning those things delicate & caring in ways he could never, ways that would disgust him. in his hand-me-down jacket, i carry bandages. the knife he used to skin deer is now the knife i use to sections apples to share with my brother

To see into the soul of another, you must first see into your own.

Myself, Sighlas-Rhodes

Salutations.

I am confused, I am caffeinated and preppared to make bad descisions.

Cole by the window - Tacita Corvus peek

Soon, perhaps too soon, Cole found himself sitting alone in the attic, the moon shinning in the sky. Hours had passed since dinner time, and every member of the Vasily family had gone to sleep. Though, it didn’t much bother the boy that he was left with nothing but the company of Mx. Moon and Ella Froufrou, who was seated comfortably in his lap.

He stared out the windows, gaze fixed upon the winged creatures that slumbered upon the roofs of family’s and lonely people alike. There was a feeling of both uncertainty and comfort in the air, one that Cole was not yet familiar with. It felt strange to be dressed in clean clothes, curled up under a blanket and observing the stillness of Lanercost with a full stomach.

Cole thought for a moment, brows creasing as he searched his memory for what he was looking for. When he found it, he couldn’t help but smirk and let out a satisfied and partly amused sigh.

Nyctophilia.

That was the word he had been searching for. It was a noun, meaning ‘an attraction to darkness or night; finding relaxation or comfort in the darkness.’

He smiled at the definition, though, he then began to chuckle lightly under his breath as he gazed at the stars, having suddenly remembered another bit of information he had gained from the library, just as he had the rest of his knowledge.

He had suddenly acknowledged the meaning of Nyx’s name.

Cole recalled that Nyx was the daughter of chaos, primordial goddess of the night in Greek mythology. Though the name itself leaned more towards feminine, it was still androgynous either way, which was most likely why Nyx had chosen it for themselves.

 Cole gave a small hum into the darkness, he thought it was a lovely name, and even lovelier now that he had recalled its meaning. He hoped that maybe one day the two could find a way to converse, as it was difficult to do so presently.

The boy returned his attention to the town and the candles still burning in people’s windows. There were few, but each one let him know that someone else was still awake, possibly suffering from insomnia, or simply enjoying the nighttime as Cole was.

The boy felt a small pang of something in his chest as he recalled the sounds of the violin he would often hear when drifting off to sleep in the alley of forest row; how the smooth symphony had accompanied the stars perfectly.

I have a mixed relationship with studying.

On one end, I absolutely adore it; the classical or gentle music I listen to as my pen glides against the page, the controlled chaos that litters my desk and the dim lighting of my lamp.

On the other hand, however, I hate it; the seemingly endless hours I spend studying and yet never learning, the few bits of knowledge I do retain about these subjects I despise barely enough to get me passed with a decent enough grade.

If only I could learn to love the ache in my hands after writing for hours again, the challenge of understanding new knowledge made fun again.