bunch of lil coaster paintings i made for gallery nucleus portland for the SALUT! show. u can see them in person when the show opens on June 7th! mostly these r abt trains tho bottom right is abt the bus
this is a sad house. i grew up here. i grew up sad. i have watched every good thing, that has happened in this house, turn sour slowly. there is one man who is responsible for that. and still, i miss him dearly when it's time to leave.
you’re the oracle in the dark, babe. the seer, the witch, the one who feels too much and sees even more. your scorpio moon and cancer sun/mercury/jupiter combo gives you this uncanny ability to read the room, the wound, the person, the lie—before they even speak. you’re supernatural, but quietly so. subtle. maybe you were born like this, or maybe you were claimed by something when you were too young to remember.
you don’t hunt the way the winchesters do. you’re not out here breaking down doors and firing salt rounds. you clean up the aftermath. you ease dying spirits into rest. you sit with the grief, whisper through veils, and leave offerings for gods nobody worships anymore. you're the one they call when the haunting is personal.
and when dean first hears about you, it’s through whispers — “she’s not a hunter, but she gets results.”
✧ what he's like .ᐣ
the guard dog with a bleeding heart. his aquarius sun and mars make him a strategic thinker, distant at times, always scanning for danger. his sagittarius moon/venus/neptune means he wants freedom, thrill, escape — but also truth, meaning, and someone who won't crumble when they see his worst. leo rising keeps the armor in place, and that capricorn mercury makes him overthink every damn feeling he’s ever had.
he’s the man who saves people because saving himself feels impossible.
✧ first meeting + first impression
a case brings him to your doorstep — a little farmhouse outside of town, candles burning in every window, too many cats, no cell service. something about the ghost they’re tracking points to “local psychic,” and sam’s already halfway up the porch when dean mutters, “great. another crystal-hugger.”
then you open the door. and his world goes quiet.
you don’t flinch at the guns. you don’t blink at the name “winchester.” you just look him dead in the eye and say, “you’ve been dreaming of her again. the red-eyed one.” and his blood runs cold.
his first thought? she's trouble. real trouble.
his second? and i want to know everything.
ꔛ. friendship compatibility,
✧ how it'd begin ...
begrudging alliance. you don’t trust him. he doesn’t trust you. but the case forces you into a temporary truce—and over late nights, trauma-sharing, and too much whiskey, the walls come down inch by inch. you patch his arm when it’s torn open by a spirit, and he realizes you’ve got hands that heal and eyes that see right through him.
he doesn't remember the last time he felt safe around someone who didn’t flinch when he raised his voice.
✧ the friendship dynamic
soul-deep and infuriating. your scorpio moon demands honesty. his aquarius sun runs from it. you pull, he resists, and then one night he breaks—spills all the darkness, all the rot, and you just sit there, listening like he’s telling you your own story.
you don’t judge. you understand. and that’s how the friendship sticks.
✧ quirks + fun things
☆ he teaches you how to shoot. you enchant his bullets in return. neither of you says “thank you,” but it’s understood.
☆ you always know when he's lying, which drives him insane.
☆ he pretends not to believe in your rituals but sleeps easier when you light a protection candle on his nightstand.
ꔛ. romantic compatibility,
✧ are you compatible .ᐣ first steps .ᐣ
you’re magnetic in ways that scare him. he tries to stay away. really, he does. but you crack him open without even trying.
your leo mars + virgo venus pulls him in like gravity. he’s not used to someone who gives so much and still expects nothing. he’s used to performing, and you’re just… you. quiet, intense, nurturing without being soft. dangerous in your own way.
he’s the one who breaks the tension. one night, after a close call, when you're cleaning blood off his chest and his hands are shaking from adrenaline, he kisses you like he’s drowning and you're air.
you kiss back like you’ve known it would happen since the stars were born.
✧ the relationship dynamic
slow-burn, all-consuming, high-stakes comfort. you argue because he refuses to feel, and you feel everything. you shut down when you’re overwhelmed, and he doesn’t always know how to reach you. but when it’s good?
it’s foreheads touching in the dark. it’s him carrying you out of burning buildings. it’s you sitting on the floor beside him during his worst moments and never looking away.
you don’t fix each other. but you keep each other alive.
✧ love languages ♡
him
physical touch (hand on your back in crowds, forehead kisses when he thinks you’re asleep)
words of affirmation (gruff compliments, whispered confessions he’ll deny later)
you
acts of service (spells for his nightmares, cooking something warm after a hunt)
quality time (quiet mornings, rituals, sacred silences)
ꔛ. scenario ⊱ ۫ ׅ ✧ hurt/comfort edition
you get hurt on a hunt. bad. too bad. ribs cracked, leg broken, spirit still half-attached. you’re delirious, sobbing, and whispering names of people long dead.
dean’s the one who carries you to the car, screaming for sam, hands slick with your blood, voice cracking as he begs you to stay awake. stay with him.
back at the motel, he won’t leave your side. he prays, which he hasn’t done in years. he stitches you up by candlelight, tears streaming silently down his face while your lips tremble through half-conscious chants of protection.
you wake up two days later. he’s asleep in the chair, gun in one hand, your necklace clutched in the other. you whisper his name and he jolts upright, eyes wild.
and when he sees you're okay? he breaks. just for a second. he puts his forehead to yours, breathes you in, and says, “don’t you ever do that to me again.”
you whisper, “then stop running.”
he doesn’t.
but he stays.
ꔛ. overall ゛ ⸝⸝.ᐟ⋆ 8.7 / 10
this isn’t easy. this isn’t simple. but it’s real. visceral. meant. you challenge each other in ways that hurt — but you grow. you survive. and more than anything, you see each other. all the darkness. all the damage. all the goddamn beauty in the cracks.
if you can both stop protecting your pain long enough to let the other in?
you’d be the love that finally sticks.
not perfect. not pretty.
but true.
ꔛ. navigation 𓂃˖ ࣪ all drabbles ; compatibility readings ; support my work .ᐟ
* since the birth time of dean hasn't ever been mentioned, I've placed him as a leo rising, since it's the sign that makes more sense to me.
Respectfully, I would not buy tumblr for negative one million dollars. No one who is healthy wants the kind of power associated with owning a social media platform.
You open one of Albedo’s books and find a delicate dried flower inside, one you gave him weeks ago.
He notices your expression and clears his throat. “I couldn’t bring myself to throw it away. It reminded me of… that day.” He says it plainly, almost scientifically, but his ears flush pink.
You gently close the book and place your hand over it.
“Then I’ll give you more. So you can remember more days like that.”
His eyes lift to yours, soft and stunned, like he has just realized something important.
Yet another post that reads like four shakespeare characters who come out in the middle of the play to talk about something completely unrelated for comic relief
I’m sorry but the THOUGHT that has been put into this, I actually CAN’T—
The fact that nearly every line is so metrically considered- near perfect iambic pentameter witb the occasional trochee for emphasis, but usually retaining a strong sense of rhythm nonetheless. And then the king comes in at the end, so wound in his disbelief that his response is reduced to prose.
And the even better thing about this is how easy it would have been to structure the king’s line into iambic pentameter: it is effectively already said as such because of the way wizardlyghost has phrased it, yet they haven’t!! They did not break the line, rendering what, by all typically of both Shakespearean canon and other periods context should be the character with the most command and authority in the whole play. If there was ever a more effective way to convey a genuine “what the fuck??”, I know of it not.
But it gets better!! Shakespeare regularly uses meter in order to represent class divide; the nobility usually speak in iambic pentameter, save for a few particularly chosen moments (e.g. Lady Macbeth’s descent into madness, Othello’s realisation of Desdemona’s “betrayal”) or just lines where Shakespeare needs to suggest high emotion or when a character is lost in thought. Supernatural characters like the fairies in A Midsummer Night’s Dream and the Witches in Macbeth usually speak in trochaic tetrameter, an inversion of iambic pentameter. Lower class characters, particularly those used for comic relief (usually under the influence of alcohol), speak with no structure at all: their language is plain prose. Therefore, if this is a conversation between these types of characters, as the prompt from silvergirachi suggests, why the hell are the characters speaking so eloquently???
Now, this is Tumblr. It is subsequently logical to assume that this may have merely been a humorous recreation (and a very good one at that) of the Shakespearean style in a way that is widely recognisable to an audience that may or may not have read a great deal of Shakespeare, which is understandable. However, logic is boring so I’m going to probe further into this to the point where future historians will look to this as an example of overanalysing.
The inherent eloquence of the characters here suggests an unusual subversion of the roles typically assumed in Shakespearean comedy. This could be interpreted along two major avenues: firstly, that the rhetoric displayed by the speakers is fundamentally representative of how truth can be expected even from the most seemingly pointless or ludicrous discussions. Furthermore, it could suggest that it matters not how well constructed your speeches are: if you talk bullshit, it’s going to sound that way despite your attempts to hide it.
This is similar but not identical to the second avenue of interpretation: there is the implication that the noblemen in the play are in fact the comic relief characters, therefore implying that the “common people” of the play are the ones whose influence, though not expressed in such a highly spoken manner, makes a lot more sense than whatever the hell this is. If this was a real Shakespeare play, I would call it a subtle exploration into the innate corruption of the rich and powerful. Well done, op.
Now, I doubt any of this is actually grounded analysis in any way, shape or form, but if someone else can take this to the extremes of writing a Shakespearean scene, why can I not analyse it as such? And where else to do so than Tumblr?
From the heart of unimaginable suffering, I want to sincerely thank everyone who has supported my family 🙏🏻
Right now, famine is hitting us harder than ever, my heart cries whenever I go to the market to buy any basic necessities! The prices are crazy, and most days my children survive on just bread Hunger and thirst are destroying us, and cooking on fire increases our suffering unbearably! Severe eye and chest sensitivity, in addition to constant stomach pain due to the type of food and the way it is cooked.
All this while we flee from one place to another in fear of bombing, bullets, and imminent danger! I cannot describe what I feel, but it is a feeling beyond exhaustion!
Despite the exhaustion, your support gives us strength and I hope you will not let us down
If you can donate, please do so, or at least help us by sharing, so we can reach those who can
Your kindness truly keeps us going
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