#2am writings

[wxrdsareart]

https://vm.tiktok.com/TmTAMS/

[cajunquandary]

I haven’t posted in ages, so help me do a thing.

This is a smidge of a new project I’ve been working on--my life intertwined with the story of Supernatural in a standalone kind of way. Send me prompts, quotes, gifs, anything you personally might like to see in the story. Send me some things about you and I will write you into the story.

Let’s go full Chuck on this bitch.

The start of the Thing below the cut:

Tailgate Blues

There’s nothing quite like the full silence of the waterside. Well, that’s not quite right. It’s not a silence if you know how to listen. I do. The pulsing sounds of the brush and thinning groves surrounding cushion your ears in such a way nothing else quite can. There’s stories in every chirp and buzz, every rustle of leaves and gentle bowing of willows in the warm breeze. Even the water seems to dance and dip in time, adding the most delicate and deceptively powerful notes to a symphony older than humanity.

I wouldn’t call myself a drunk, and even in my benders I’ve been known to down less than most, but lately I’d begun to have my doubts. It seemed the only escape—no, break—from the physical and mental pains of daily life. And I hated myself for wanting the easy way out, especially when I’ve been worse off, and I watch so many suffer every day.

I shield myself, a necessity in my profession, and yet when the noise of life is too loud, or achingly empty, the walls become bars, trapping me in my mind with all these memories, all the heartfelt sympathies. You see, what my patients don’t know is that I care. I know their families and their pets, who went off to what colleges and who just got married. I know and understand the travelers, those who are going without and are desperate. I watch the light in the eyes of people I know, each swimming in their own unique luster, sometimes snuff out despite my best efforts.

Mostly, I’m okay with this. I know, or at least convince myself, that everything happens for a reason—it’s all in God’s plan. The angels are watching. They’re in a better place. But I know that’s not always true. You see, I discovered several months ago that monsters, like the ones in fairy tales and story books, are real. Or, at least most of them. I never would’ve believed either if I hadn’t nearly been a victim myself.

To Be Continued....

[virgofaeriegirl]

Going to the park to write n take a nap and feel like a human and less like a disembodied spirit floating aimlessly through a plane that does not welcome me

[sleebyshrub]

apparently I wrote some really deep shit at 2 AM

“Slightly too cold is an empty chill, the feeling of something missing. its never being able to get quite comfortable, or feel perfectly safe and relaxed. its hiding under a slide or behind the wall because its windy and your jacket doesn't quite keep the chill out. its numb fingers and toes when your socks get wet from the rain. its the heart-wrenching ache or rejection and loneliness, the longing for the return of the sun-lit warmth.

Slightly too warm is lazy sunny afternoons, laying in the grass for hours just letting the world exist around you. its being bundled in blankets in front of a fire, the heat from the flames stinging your face, but the person by your side making you to content to bother moving. its eating popsicles and drinking lemonade because water just isn't cool enough, and feeling great about eating fresh fruit until you remember you don't have any fresh fruit. its feeling everything all at once, and it washes over you like a wave. its yearning for the stillness of a chilly evening.”

there’s more if anyone wants it

[myblackeyedfire]

Dean is smoke

Dean is smoke. He’s a blazing trail of bitter truckstop coffee, longing, and duty-cemented tenacity Castiel would follow to the end. To the next apocalypse. The please return to your seats for yet another end of days after the intermission song and dance. Of course. 

Dean is the lingering, gritty curl of cigarette smoke behind his teeth, infrequent and habitual, impatiently kissed into Castiel’s mouth behind a diner, blurred with faint apple pie sweetness and stubble. 

He’s greasy gasoline droplets soaked into leather and denim from close-call salt and burns, stink of fear and graveyard dirt not far behind.

He’s the campfire cinders of lapsang souchong divination - “It’s just a heap of leaves, Sam. It doesn’t look like an arrow for shit. I toldja, let’s give radiomancy a shot instead.”

He’s peppery, hot gunpowder, ashes to ashes, dust to dust, rusted blood splatter of a just finished hunt, flecks of red shadowing the freckles on his cheek.

He’s brimstone scorching the edges in black. Seeing this, Castiel loves Dean, loves the blazing tendrils of his soul regardless, its unquenched radiance his moth light and beacon.

He is himself, after all, the infinite space between star and synapse, angel grace a wispy, twining light curling itself around Dean, protective, claiming, grounding. 

Dean is smoke. Castiel is the surrounding air. 

[lavenderkitsune]

"A little hollow and inky on the inside, my outside dripping in days on end sleep. a sky painted in stars while my own insides hold universes, im somewhere lost in between; of a never ending dream. "

[4044444]

guns don't kill people, people kill people

- guns aren't the only problem (via @2am-writings)

[drinkindionysus]

you're in my veins and I've never been so addicted to a drug that smiles at me with eyes as clear as a lake I've lost myself in you if you ever left I would drown in your eyes I've already lost all of me in you and I swear as soon as you stepped foot out of my life my entire being would tremble my bones would shake and I would spend the rest of my time trying to pick up my broken pieces that you probably cut yourself on I would never be able to move on I would look for you in everyone but no one could live up to those eyes I find galaxies in and that smile where the sun sets I am nothing without you you have all of me there would be nothing else left to see there's no other way to say my mind would be put through hell if you left