INFJ | PA | 14

+Bree;

demigirl ; she/her/hers or they/them/theirs

•Cas!Girl
• gryffindor
• writer
• feminist

~what i post~

98% spn, 2% other

→watching:

dw s8

→reading:
blue exorcist

→listening:
songs for SAD

→writing:
editing killjoys bk1

→crying over:
yukio okumura
mt

sunriseinside:

I think Cas’ coat is really important, so I drew it.
Also, go read Andria's amazing ficlet, she deserves so much more praise for her writing. ^___^

for jennifer 

lovedsam:

swgraphicchallenge
lovedsam vs. bunkbuddylucifer
prompt: When My Time Comes by Dawes

posted on September 22nd with 255 notes
via deanlirium and lovedsam
#sam  #spn  #hail to the queue

factualfeminist:

We can’t forget about this. It’s still going on.

lightsaroundyourvanity:

anobviousaside:

claire + possession
it’s been too long since i’ve reminded you guys of my claire fixation


When an angel vacates its vessel, it leaves traces of grace behind.
Nobody taught Claire this. Nobody thought she’d needed to know. She’d figured it out for herself, when she’d gone looking for answers to why she sometimes woke up screaming, or why her soul felt half a step out of synch with her form.
She’d gotten her answer: Angel grace. Like divine ectoplasm, just the crap they leave behind. And to that, Claire doesn’t know what to say or to think. She wonders if her dad had felt like this in the face of angels: bitter, resentful resignedness. She’d seen behind the curtain and it was… well, it wasn’t peaceful. It wasn’t even very wise, at least not in the all-knowing, restful way she’d been taught Heaven should be. There had been doubt, and rage, and sick confused grief.
So she asks herself, is this all there is? And realizes it’s not even an existential answer she holds any more; it is literal, concrete, truth. It makes her laugh sharp and then sink.
Claire still goes to church. She even holds her mother’s hand. But when she says, hail Mary, full of grace, she wants to laugh and sink again.
Did Mary feel the wash of ichor, brushed under her skin in a susurrus? Or the black shadow it cast, that chasm of truth that made her fondly remember faith?
If she did, Claire pities her, as she pities herself, sullen and aimless.
And yet there’s power to celestial grace that Claire cannot ignore. It echoes the brief moment when an angel lived inside her skin, great and terrible and terrible and bright. It seeps into her dreams, where she drowns in a dazzling light, and into her bones, where it squeezes until she feels like she might shatter.
Untaught, unwanted, unnecessary: Claire is an empty vessel. The angels have forgotten, but she’s reminded every day.

lightsaroundyourvanity:

anobviousaside:

claire + possession

it’s been too long since i’ve reminded you guys of my claire fixation

When an angel vacates its vessel, it leaves traces of grace behind.

Nobody taught Claire this. Nobody thought she’d needed to know. She’d figured it out for herself, when she’d gone looking for answers to why she sometimes woke up screaming, or why her soul felt half a step out of synch with her form.

She’d gotten her answer: Angel grace. Like divine ectoplasm, just the crap they leave behind. And to that, Claire doesn’t know what to say or to think. She wonders if her dad had felt like this in the face of angels: bitter, resentful resignedness. She’d seen behind the curtain and it was… well, it wasn’t peaceful. It wasn’t even very wise, at least not in the all-knowing, restful way she’d been taught Heaven should be. There had been doubt, and rage, and sick confused grief.

So she asks herself, is this all there is? And realizes it’s not even an existential answer she holds any more; it is literal, concrete, truth. It makes her laugh sharp and then sink.

Claire still goes to church. She even holds her mother’s hand. But when she says, hail Mary, full of grace, she wants to laugh and sink again.

Did Mary feel the wash of ichor, brushed under her skin in a susurrus? Or the black shadow it cast, that chasm of truth that made her fondly remember faith?

If she did, Claire pities her, as she pities herself, sullen and aimless.

And yet there’s power to celestial grace that Claire cannot ignore. It echoes the brief moment when an angel lived inside her skin, great and terrible and terrible and bright. It seeps into her dreams, where she drowns in a dazzling light, and into her bones, where it squeezes until she feels like she might shatter.

Untaught, unwanted, unnecessary: Claire is an empty vessel. The angels have forgotten, but she’s reminded every day.

arisprite:

Dean and Cas need this right now. 

arisprite:

Dean and Cas need this right now. 


When you shoot across the sky like a broken arrow
It’s so hard to keep yourself on the straight and narrow

When you shoot across the sky like a broken arrow

It’s so hard to keep yourself on the straight and narrow

versacepromises:

there is so much unnecessary heterosexuality on tv

ronaldweasl-y:

"Lumos!"

mechinaries:

i thought maybe i could save you

mechinaries:

i thought maybe i could save you