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LIZ: 18 year old currently living in the frigid wasteland that is Minnesota. Tea addict, Castiel stan, bibliophile, and professional bag of feelings. Need to know anything else? You can find out everything else about me here ! :) xxx This blog primarily consists of posts about: Supernatural, Teen Wolf, Hannibal, Game of Thrones, Star Trek, too many ships to rationally justify, horrible life choices, and the occasional personal post.
Every night before bedtime, Claire Novak makes a wish on the stars.
She wishes her mother would stop crying at night when she thinks Claire is sleeping and wishes that she didn’t always have to flinch when the sun blinds her eyes on days when she’s not careful. She bites down pain and grief and longing and wishes that the prayers that they recite before dinner every night stop tasting like chalk in her mouth every time she speaks them.
But most of all, she wishes for a familiar trenchcoat to appear on the hook by the door when she comes downstairs in the mornings. Claire Novak, above everything, prays that her father comes back.
And one night, when she has another bad day and rocks her body back and forth before whispering the familiar words, Please Castiel, just this once, she looks up at the sky and sees thousands of stars falling.
She doesn’t know what’s really happening, or that Castiel is one of the fallen angels currently plummeting down into the earth. All she can do is smile shakily and whisper “Finally.”
FIERCE FEMMES VOLUME II;
{ 8tracks }“Men categorize women in one of four ways: Mothers, virgins, sluts and bitches. Of course none of the above is suitable for the modern business woman. But you can create your own image by selecting pieces of each archetype that work for you: the sexual attractiveness of the slut, the wisdom of the mother, the integrity of the virgin, and the independance of the slut.”
So apparently instead of working on art that will actually benefit my AP portfolio, I’ve been drawing fan art. #typical
(WARNING THIS IS A TOTAL SWAP!WOLF HAZARD ZONE DO NOT CROSS UNLESS YOU LIKE TO BE ASSSAULTED WITH CONTINUAL “BUT THIS WOULD BE SO COOL IF ___S” BECAUSE IM AVOIDING DOING STATISTICS HOMEWORK AND THIS IS A LOT MORE FUN)
FIERCE FEMMES;
o1. Black Sheep - Gin Wigmore o2. Beast - Nico Vega o3. The Creator - Santogold o4 Woman - Wolfmother o5. Raise Hell - Brandi Carlile o6. Bad Boyfriend - Garbage o7. Heads Will Roll - Yeah Yeah Yeahs o8. Future Starts Slow - The Kills o9. I Like That - Static Revenger & Richard Vission ft. Luciana
Dead Man Walking // A Southern Gothic Mix
(A small compilation of my absolute favorite southern grit music. For those of you who aren’t new to the genre, a lot of these will seem like classics. For those of you who aren’t, embrace the cowboy inside of you and give it a go.)
o1. Raise Hell - Brandi Carlisle
o2. Grounds for Divorce - Elbow
o3. Devil Spoke - Laura Marling
o4. Like A Mountain - Timber Timbre
o5. Beat The Devil’s Tattoo - BRMC
o6. Barton Hollow - The Civil Wars
o7. God’s Gonna Cut You Down - Johnny Cash
o8. House of the Rising Sun - Pip Andrews
o9. Come Alive - Hanni El Khatib
1o. Bottom Of The River - Delta Rae
11. Rocks and Water - Deb Talan
12. 99 Problems - Hugo
13. When The Lights Go Out - Black Keys
I wonder if Sam ever hears Dean praying during the night.
I keep getting this image of Sam waking up to hear Dean quietly whispering in the dark, head bowed down and eyes closed over clasped hands. He’s probably only ever seen Dean pray a handful of times, if that, and all of those have either been sarcastic or to get someone’s attention. But now Dean looks serious and a little desperate as he prays to Cas and hopes that the angel can still hear him. Sam probably wouldn’t even know what to think, let alone how to bring it up. He’d probably lie there and listen as Dean opens his soul up to the angel in a way that Dean will most likely never open up to anyone ever again.
And it breaks my heart even more to think of how it must be such a deeply rooted habit in Dean to pray to Cas every night even after he’s brought back. He probably can’t help but keep doing it in the hopes that maybe, just maybe, Cas is still alive and can hear him.
For Sam, Dean’s praying breaks his heart. For Dean, his praying reminds him that he even has one in the first place.
We start with a store, a small thing nestled in between two equally unremarkable buildings that you would pass without a glance on any normal day. The sign is worn with age and you remember wondering what the hell kind of name ‘Heaven’s Corner’ was the first time around, but now it’s the closest thing to peace you’ll ever find. The sweat had stuck to the back of your neck and you had wiped at it nervously back then, and it’d taken a familiar hand to nudge at your shoulders and an easy smile to get you through the doors in the first place.
‘You okay, Dean?’
‘M’fine. Just a few needles, Sammy, I can handle myself.’
You kept walking.
Derek had been seven years old when he realized that his love killed things.
They cling to one another for completely different reasons. Derek digs his nails into Stiles’ skin because he needs to feel human; needs to feel the life running through Stiles’ veins that makes him so very alive. Stiles pushes his body against Derek’s to try and capture the animal radiating through the Alpha, the power and strength he needs desperately to combat the weakness he feels in every moment of his life. The world is crumbling around them and they can taste the blood thick like honey in their mouths, but they only press closer because they need each other more than either of them will ever admit.
Neither of them knows when it starts happening, but soon their accidental contacts start to linger and become much less accidental in the first place. Derek will catch Stiles when he trips and his hands will hesitate on his shoulders, but hold long enough for him to feel the fluttering of the younger boy’s pulse underneath his skin. Stiles isn’t any more subtle by nature and soon begins openly maneuvering himself to stand next to Derek whenever he thinks nobody is watching, making sure to just barely graze his shoulder against Derek’s own. It becomes a form of comfort: When Stiles is having a hard day dealing with guilt over his dad or feeling left out and pathetic, he’ll reach out to Derek more and take comfort in the natural heat of his body. When Derek feels like his anchor of anger is pushing him down under the water too far, he’ll reach right back. Neither of them ever speak about it out loud, but their glances say volumes. It may be simple and a little bit fucked up, but it works.
Everything changes when Stiles shows up at his doorstep two days after the last full moon. “I had a hallucination that my dad hated me and I could barely handle it,” he chokes out and Derek doesn’t say anything when Stiles’ hands clutch at the dark fabric of his shirt, pulling himself closer to the warmth and letting out a broken sob. “I’m pathetic.”
It’s the first time they acknowledge any of this out loud, but Derek knows exactly what he needs because he feels just as hollow inside. “You’re doing as much as you can,” Derek whispers into his hair and pushes him closer, wrapping his hands around Stiles’ waist as tremors shake the boy’s body.
“It isn’t okay. None of this is,” Stiles groans back, and Derek lets Stiles’ body sag against his own because he can’t force himself to lie and say that everything will be fine. Nothing has been fine since he dug Laura’s grave, pain and anger swirling together as he watched the soil swallow her completely. He can feel his nails digging into Stiles skin and Stiles doesn’t cry out in pain, instead pushing himself against Derek as much as he possibly can.
“I know,” Derek says in response, and the two stand there molding into one another to try and get some sort of twisted relief out of each other.
They may both be broken and weak alone, but they make each other stronger when they’re together. And for now, that’s more than either of them could have hoped for.
