Oh My God, This Really Is What It Must Be Like To Read The Morning Newspaper, Isnt It?

Oh my god, this really is what it must be like to read the morning newspaper, isn’t it?

can’t wait to log into this hellsite tomorrow and read the summary of everything that happened/was said at denvercon today like its the morning newspaper

Oookay, I‘ll just read that over and over again until I‘ve memorized every single word😭😭😭

Why didn’t I follow you already? Your writing gives me life and kills me at the same time.. How is this so relatable and beautiful and just..everything?!

something went wrong, you know this, something always goes wrong.

why does that something always seem to be you? 

i die slowly, drowning in despair with a rock at my foot pulling down, down, down till i reach the bottom of the well. and this is how i die, not by your hand, but by the cold of steel in your eyes, by your aching silence.

i don’t think there’s anything left to say.

breathe in, breathe out, lungs full of murky water, of mud, of pine jello; the ribcage too tight to contain my pain and anger, but you make some room inside me for both, ripping away my racing heart and taking it with you.

i think it’s time for me to move on.

i’m stuck in this moment like some prehistoric bug in the gold of amber, like a little fish in the nets of an old man. you walk away, it doesn’t last long, but it keeps happening for eternity. i’m stuck in a loop of you leaving me behind in the coldness of the room, in the emptiness of the place we called home once.

‘stay’, i should say. ‘please, don’t leave me’, i should beg, but the stubborn silence won’t tremble.

footsteps fade away, the thud of the door puts a full stop to the scene.

you don’t look back. 

for the first time, you don’t look back.

‘cas’, i whisper, when the curtain falls. 

this is how i die. with your name, a cold smooth pebble in my mouth. with your name, a hot and sharp knife at my throat. with your name, slipping from the tip of my tongue a little too late, when it doesn’t matter anymore.

i die with your name on my lips, as the last ‘i love you’, as the last ‘forgive me’ and the last ‘goodbye’. 

x

Do it like me and find a way to write the essay about spn🥳

but why would i write an essay when there’s castiel supernatural to talk and think about?

La Verdad

Written for Suptober21 day 4: Secrets.

Link to ao3! (1.4K)

All Castiel had to do was remain silent.

On the last case, he did not think about it. The second the witch readied her spell, Castiel shielded Dean from her wrath.

The blast of green light hit Castiel right in his chest, just a few seconds before Sam’s witch-killing bullet killed her. The spellwork tingled as it ran through his body and knocked him off his feet, but he sustained no injuries. The Winchesters were concerned, but Castiel assured them both he was angelic enough to withstand her spell.

That was the truth. Castiel knew it was true because he was incapable of speaking falsehoods.

It seemed that Castiel’s grace— his angelhood— was strong enough for him to survive the more deadly aspects of the spell, but it had faded enough that he still suffered the effect of the curse.

The curse that compelled him to speak the truth.

Castiel could be blunt, or so he had been told by Dean and even Sam a few times. However, this curse wanted to force every last secret out of Castiel’s heart and release it through his mouth.

And there was one secret he was not ready to tell.

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How could I ever not reblog this masterpiece?

nails my 95 destiel theses on the pope’s door