still-day

[still-day]

It’s a rare thing, I was trying to be romantic…

But it turns out that telling someone that you love them so much that you’d die for them without a second thought

when they know you’ve been some degree of suicidal since you were 8

really doesn’t have the same ring to it that it does in love stories.

So that blew up in my face a little bit.

#funny and sad #womp womp #romance isnt dead #and also #punks not dead #me either #ba dum tss

[still-day]

Fuck yes. I wish the people in the back CARED about what is true

Once again for those in the back:

#fuck nazis #fuck the GOP #fuck forced-birthers #fuck QAnon #why do men #and sometimes even women

[still-day]

Wow this is super helpful and concise!

I can’t seem to memorize the tarot no matter what I do! I read the meanings a thousand times and every time it feels new. I need all the tips I can get 😅

Tips of the trade

#tarot tips #tarot reading #esoteric #witchblr #witch community #witch tips #tapping in #tapping in to the universe #present #grounded

[still-day]

Hey, can you please share what meditation you use? I'd love to turn it into a habit and have tried different types so I would appreciate hearing more about what worked for you. Thank you

YES! Absolutely! This is going to be a little all over the place, but this is what I use that’s free on YouTube. I’ve picked up a lot from books I’ve gotten from the library too, but I don’t remember them off the top of my head. I’ll try to come back and add non-video resources later if I remember.

Without further ado:

Stuff I use for meditation

My most go to video for grounded, loving compassion processing of trauma:

Feel safe or grounded in your body and present moment ASAP:

Complex PTSD emergency meltdown video when you need a little sense and perspective talked into you firmly but compassionately:

HRV breathing video (breathing pattern of 6 seconds):

I also listen to a lot of guided meditations that just sound good in the moment—you can quickly get a feel or ones you vibe with and ones you don’t if you listen to them for a bit. Yoga with Adrienne videos are also really helpful for me, I feel like if I'm really into one of her sessions it can involve a meditative state easily.

Meditation stuff from Dr. K:

Mostly it's just gonna take practice. Seconds at a time, minutes at a time, but when it adds up over days, weeks, and months, it starts making a big difference.

#meditation #lovingkindness #living with ptsd #mindfulmeditation #mindfulness #guided meditation

[still-day]

It turns out that the things I'd like to share with the world require a whole lot of vulnerability to do, at least if I'm sharing with the possibility of anyone ever reading this.

I guess I need to try. Hopefully, I will get better at this.

So, something I've been thinking about a lot is love. Everyone wants to be loved, everyone loves love. We are always seeking it out, celebrating it, filming it and writing it, singing about it, dreaming about it. And I guess I always assumed it was one of those things that would happen. I would grow up, I would become an adult, I would find a career, I would fall in love, we would buy a house. You know, the American dream. I'd have to work for those things, the same way I worked for A's in school, but if I worked for them they would happen.

I think we've seen, with the way America is now, that those things are neither a promise nor even a likelihood. A career? A house? But love, still, that was something capitalism couldn't take away, and so someday somehow I would meet the right person and they would love me, and I would feel loved.

I'm pretty sure I've met the right person. I mean, there are things, there are always things, to work on and improve upon and heal. I am someone with trauma, and maladaptive coping skills, I was never going to end up with a securely attached human who never had any trauma but somehow also understood mine. So we're working on that. Nevertheless, while we work together to heal from trauma, I am loved. I know that I am. So why don't I feel loved? I always thought they were the same thing: if you are loved then you feel loved, if you feel loved then you are loved. But he loves me. And I don't feel loved, not even really at all.

That got me thinking: when have I felt loved?

So, I wracked my brain as far back as I could. Marissa, my very first real friend that I made all on my own who liked me for me. Second grade. We would hide under a specific bush on the playground, outcasts that we were, but together. We made up stories about the other kids, about fantasy lands, about a house nearby which was surely haunted by a man who at once enjoyed and hated the laughter of my classmates outside. I think, underneath that bush, I think that I felt loved. But she disappeared one day. At first I thought maybe she was out sick but she never came back. It turned out her family had moved, I never heard from her again.

Stephanie, the first girl to befriend me in my new school in fifth grade. She went out of her way to make me feel included, to teach me the ins and outs of my new school. I felt loved by that, she didn't need to include me but she did. And then one day she ignored me, no matter what I said or did. That was after the bad things that changed me, so I was quiet and shy and afraid then. I didn't push it, and just accepted that we were no longer friends. Once, though, I did ask why. She laughed and said "did you really think I would ever be friends with someone like you?" I still am not really sure what happened. Maybe someone made fun of her for hanging out with me?

In eighth grade I was sitting outside reading, while my dad ran around the track at my school. Some boys came by and started calling me names and throwing rocks at me, and when my dad noticed he yelled at them and made sure I was ok. I said I was, fighting back tears. But my dad had protected me, tried to keep me safe, and that made me feel loved.

In high school I had a close friend, a guy, we laughed a lot and had a lot in common. We went hiking once, near his house. He let me climb on all the rocks, and followed me down the weird trails that didn't lead anywhere, and indulged me in digging for shiny pebbles and saving a bumble bee from a spider web. I felt so loved, because I could be the me I hid most of the time to try to fit in, and he still smiled when he saw me. I felt loved because he wanted to spend time with me, and I didn't have to pretend around him. He got so mad when he asked me out and I said "no." I thought we were friends, and I trusted him. It felt like he'd been putting in friend time to earn enough points to cash it in for an upgrade. It felt like he just wanted the kissing and the other stuff. When I thought he saw me he was just seeing a female that he found attractive. He said I led him on. I think he led me on.

Romantic relationships were equally disappointing. My first boyfriend at 15 was an unmedicated paranoid schizophrenic who had been arrested at least a dozen times before he had turned 18. He made peanut-butter-and-honey sandwiches for a picnic once, he was so excited for me to try them. That made me feel loved. A year later, when things had been getting worse and worse, I tried to break up with him and he tried to slash his own wrists.

I have definitely experienced emotional, verbal, and sexual abuse in relationships and, I guess if I'm being really honest, some borderline physical abuse. They weren't all like that, though. Of the handful of people I've called a "boyfriend" I've dated two people who were kind of just regular guys, although incredibly emotionally unavailable. Our relationship, in both cases, turned into a sort of friendship with occasional sexual experiences. Now that I think about it, maybe that's why I spent a good portion of my late 20's/early 30's in friends-with-benefit type relationships; the best relationships I had ever had were emotionally disconnected but still kind, fun, and friendly (and sometimes we had sex). I guess the only difference between that, and the previous relationships I'd had with the nice-but-distant guys, was the monogamy.

Jon made me feel loved because he dreamed of a future with me in it, a future that I desperately did not want. He asked me to prom by bribing the AP chemistry teacher to make it one of the questions on the final exam, and made a heart out of tissue paper and glitter. Josh made me feel loved because he noticed the little things, and he never judged me (even when he probably should have). One time I came home to Laffy-Taffy strewn around like rose petals on the floor and couch, two glasses of wine, and all the banana candies saved and arranged in a heart on the coffee table.

Matt is amazing in one hundred thousand different ways. He makes dinner for me, gives me foot rubs, listens to The Podcast on long trips. He loves my kitties, he supports my choices, he understands that I'm broken right now. Still, though, I don't feel loved. To be fair, Jon and Josh were before the breaking of me, and Matt came after.

And now I've taken that lovely walk down memory lane and I'm left with no new insights aside from a possible explanation for what I call my "Ho Phase." What I had meant as a look into the past to figure out what had caused me to feel loved in the past had demonstrated moreso that I have quite a few "I was ok before, but this is the after" events. The second one, in college, I guess was the one that really broke me. But I can't still be that messed up just from that? College was a long time ago, and I'm way too old to be holding on to hurts from back then. Right? And, anyway, how is it that almost every close relationship I've had has been somewhere between unhealthy and flat out abuse. All the way back, as far back as I can remember. Am I lying? Am I forgetting the good ones? If it's real then, fuck, why have I been like this since I was a child?? Why have I chosen friends and partners like this, and why have they chosen me? Have I ever really felt loved? Would I even know what that felt like if I did feel it? Do I even deserve to feel loved?

I guess, if I'm being really honest, I don't think I do. I don't think I ever have. There's a part of me that's always figured I was born wrong, somehow, and I don't deserve the kind of things that others do. I guess I've always known that I don't deserve love or friendship or a happy ending. And I guess everyone else knows it, too. Either they knew it, or they learned the hard way by getting to know me better. Somehow, though, I can't accept that this is my fate. Why be alive, then, if I can't have the joys that Shakespeare and Savage Garden talk about? I'll be damned if I just go to my grave having accepted never truly letting love into my life. So what next?

#savage garden #growing #love? #I don’t know how #love me please #am I fucked? #abusive relationships #i want to be better #someday #please?

[still-day]

I have felt called to write since I was in fifth grade. In eighth grade I wrote a third of a book, more than a hundred pages of amateurish fiction, and then somehow my dad's computer basically melted internally and I lost it all. In high school I wrote poetry (being honest, though, who doesn't?) and then some things happened, which maybe I will share at some point if I'm ever brave enough, and I stopped writing anything at all.

In my journey towards living as my authentic self, the call to write came back full force. I signed up for this blog, and I wrote a bunch of posts. Or, well, I wrote a post, and then I thought "I don't know, this doesn't seem right" and I saved it as a draft. It felt like I was writing what I thought that other people would think that I should write, if you know what I mean. It felt silly. There were references to MarioKart.

Then, I spent a week thinking "what is it that I want to share with the world?" I had an idea and I wrote another post. That one was too much, though. Like, a fiction, but it wasn't a fiction. A story about myself, but packaged as though it was fantasy. It made me uncomfortable, like telling a lie, so I saved it as a draft.

Then I spent two weeks thinking, and then a week writing. This time, I told the truth, the real truth, about me and who I am and where I came from. It started with third grade, when I would tell curious adults that I wanted to grow up to be a Saint. It started with the time I watched a video about Saint Bernadette at school, and came to the conclusion that one of the steps toward Sainthood was eating grass. But that's about the time when things got dark, in my life. Or at least the part of the darkness I remember. A sick, sick feeling in my stomach told me "If you tell your story, your real story, and the people who are a part of that story somehow see this blog, well... some of them are going to be very very upset." The idea of that, I guess I won't lie, scares me so much it makes me nauseous. So, I saved it as a draft.

There is a story I've been "writing" in my head for a long time. Whenever I have trouble falling asleep, I write the story. It's about another world, and a boy who will end up saving it, even though he doesn't know that yet. It's about his best friend and the people he meets along the way: Nan and The Mother and Tyrus and Ellie (who, believe it or not, he does not fall in love with). It's about new skills and introspection and the battle of light versus dark, but not exactly the same way that dichotomy is usually portrayed. In summary, it's about the Hero's Journey, which every good book tends to be about in one way or another.

I figured I could write that, instead. No one will get mad at me for the things I will say in a fantasy story, at least I hope not. However, that's not what I want to share. That doesn't feel right in my soul, or my heart, or my spirit, or whatever you want to call it. I enjoy it, and if I'm being honest I'm a bit proud of it, but that's not what I feel pulled to put out into the world. At least, not right now.

I've lived a life, as we all have, of course. A life with a lot of struggles, a lot of hard work, and a lot of lessons. I don't think my life, or my struggles or work, or the lessons that I learned are special, and that's exactly why I want to share them. There are many people with the same struggles, going through the same work, the ups and the downs, the wondering if you'll ever reach a point at which you can genuinely say that you're ok. I don't think what I would share is unique, but maybe I hope that sharing it will add something to the world. For someone. I hope.

Having made that decision, I ran into another big problem. I waited, and waited, and thought, and ruminated, and procrastinated, and wondered, and never wrote. I felt like I have to reach some kind of finish line, some kind of aha! moment, because otherwise why would what I share mean anything to anyone but me? There are more self-help books out there than there are stars in the sky, or so it seems, and all of them (or at least most of them) have an ending. A conclusion. A "I am sharing these things so that you can do these steps and be in the better place that I'm at now" kind of intention.

But when will I get there? What if I never do? Does that mean that I can never write? That I can never share? Do I need some kind of denouement, some kind of epic battle, some kind of resolution? Does this odd sort of feeling, this strange call to write and to share, require an "And they lived happily ever after. The end."?

I guess, what I've finally decided, is that I don't think so. Or, rather, I hope it doesn't. I want to share about the messy middle, as Glennon Doyle would say. I want to share about those days where I think I have it all figured out, where my vision seems clearer, both literally and figuratively. Where I feel that I am moving toward a goal, toward a place of contentment and worthiness. And I want to share about those days where it feels like all this work, all this struggle, all this hope that any of this is worth anything at all, seems meaningless. I want to share about the nights where I wonder "what the fuck am I even doing? Who am I to think I'll ever be worth anything at all? Why can't I just give up? Why can't I just lay down, just quit trying, just die the slow death of capitalistic ritual and dissociation?" I feel called to share the feelings, the thoughts, and the process. Because, whatever anyone wants to say, growth is always a process. It's not linear, it's not a step-by-step, it's not a prescription that you take every day and suddenly everything is better.

I guess I'll have to get over the fear of people seeing this. I don't expect anyone to read it at all, to be honest, but I am very very scared that they will. It's on the internet, after all. And just in case someone does, and just in case someone who is a part of my story reads it, I guess I'll have to get over the fact that they won't always like the way I tell it. It's my story, and I am telling it as honestly as I am able to do so I shouldn't be afraid (I tell myself), but the fear is visceral. And I guess that's part of the process, too. I guess maybe I'll just write, I'll just write the things I feel called to write. And I'll just hope, and I'll just be as strong as I can be, and I'll cross whatever bridge needs crossing if and when I get to it. I guess.

So, here I am. This is me. This is the beginning, which I am beginning in the middle. I hope there is something here someday, for someone, but maybe I'll just be writing for no one, or maybe I'll just be writing for me, and that's ok, too.

This is me, I guess, today. Tomorrow, we'll see what comes. But right now, here I am.

It's nice to meet you.

#growth #authentic #healingjourney #healing #writing #blogger #this is me #hello #real

[still-day]

I'm too puppy to live. For better or worse, I agree.

ESTP: super attractive physically but it’s all downhill from there. never quite know what they’re going to do next but you can probably bet it will be irresponsible. somehow still lovable.

ESTJ: loud, logical, and get shit done—they are the...

[still-day]

Holy fuck, why us this not real? No, really, why? Misha would volunteer, obviously, Jared is beautifully perfect, and Jensen can music. And then the REST of them??! Why, oh why, is this not real??!

P.s. I don't even like musicals but fucking Foreigner, Journey, Kansas, Europe, Asia, REO, ELO, AC/DC, ZEPPPPP??! Any musical staring those is amazing, anything staring the boys is amazing. Combine the two? Like an aurovisual orgasm, times, probably, around 10-ish. If they had CCR and maybe even QUEEN???! Oh for the love of all that is good in this world: WHY IS THIS NOT REAL!!???

P.s. I am fantasizing so "don't stop me, I'm never gonna stop at all! *guitar solo*"

so i was reading [this] article about the musical episode of supernatural and

ok you have my interest

wait…

oh my god

#supernatural #musical #kickstarter

[still-day]

Ok but then the kids came in and it kinda ruined the spank-bank material like… Well, completely. He’s a husband and daddy and he’s really good at being those things so I feel guilty for also wanting to do bad things to him. Well, bad is relative, but still. Also, is it weird that, with all the voice-kink tropes, I like his regular voice better? Like, before I even knew about fan fic (I know, right??) I loved the Jimmy episode a lot. I like dudes with deep voices, why does Misha always become an exception?

EDIT: obviously, I am saving this for totally not spank-bank-related reasons. It’s just research, is all. That’s all. Just… Researching, um, dudes with… Inflatable horses. And also bathtubs. And possibly faces, as well, because those are important. It’s like. Kinda my thing. Researching is. Probably. So, I’ll be in my bunk. Researching, obviously. Like SO much, ALL the time. The research, I mean. That I’ll be doing. Just thought I’d clear that up, just in case.

ARE YOU

FUCKING

SHITTING ME 0ß?????

IM FREWKAING OUT HOYL FSHIT HE LOOKS SO GOFD OGM

#spank-bank fail #cries a little #can maybe edit out kids? #oh Misha #ice bucket challenge

[still-day]

Peaches

So, I got this idea in my head and I feel I should write it out before it burrows in and makes a home there. I suppose this is like a season 5-ish type idea? When Cas still doesn’t eat human food (often) and is all naive? I guess? Because that was back when their love wasn’t all sad and tainted *sigh* Take what you will, but I will give it a home here, instead, because I’d prefer not to be elaborating on porn in one hemisphere while teaching 2-year-olds their colors in another. Well, ok, this is not actually porn. But I think, it’s possible, that it could certainly be elaborated upon to become porn. Like, probably, lots of porn. -*-*-*

They had made it to the hunt just in time, and were relaxing a bit before heading back in the goddamn opposite direction they’d been driving in for the last two days to get to another goddamn hunt. As per their usual agenda.

They happened to have bedded down in a town in northern Colorado, as the hunt had been in Wyoming but who really wants to stay in Wyoming longer than necessary? So, Colorado it was.

Sam had talked Dean into walking to the store down the street from their motel for some toiletries (“Toiletries? It’s deodorant and razors, not tampons, you vagina.”) and as it was currently a warm, golden-rayed day in early Fall, Dean had acquiesced. Then, much to Sam’s delight (and Dean’s chagrin), they’d found a farmer’s market in a large parking lot that was advertizing, among other things, fresh, Colorado peaches. Sam had practically drowned in a puddle of drool.

Dean had put up a token fight but, really, they both knew it was just for show (“You’re making me eat rabbit food, Sam. Again?” “Rabbits don’t even eat peaches, you idiot.” “And how the fuck do you know that?” “It’s—I’m pretty sure they don’t ea—I mean peaches are a…Whatever! Jerk.” “Bitch.”). Even if he didn’t have happy, sticky memories of them from his childhood, Dean probably would have given in to Sam’s pleading at some point. So it was that they’d ended up at a park with a small pile of fuzzy, ripe, sunset-colored peaches.

When Cas showed up, Dean had the sleeves of his plaid shirt rolled up past his elbows while Sam’s overshirt was tangled in some branches above them (because Dean was a dick like that) and they were both finishing their first peach.

Cas opened his mouth to speak but Dean cut him off with a glare, “Don’t ruin the moment with your doom and gloom bullshit. Take the stick out of your ass and grab a seat. You know, relax.”

Cas’ mouth snapped shut and he narrowed his eyes, “I was merely going to greet you, Dean, but as you’ve been so polite in inviting me to stay, I’d really rather get going.”

Dean sighed but Sam gave him a bitchface so Dean capitulated a bit, “No, no, seriously, stay. Sorry. Just, you’re not exactly a beacon of good news, and it’s nice now so let’s keep it nice. Try a peach. Really, they’re good.”

Cas stopped and looked him over, as if inspecting Dean and the surrounding area for some kind of trap. Dean supposed he wasn’t being unfair in his caution, but still, a little annoying. When the angel finally sat down with a huff Dean looked away to hide a small grin. It was hard not to tease the guy: he was almost as easy as Sam to antagonize, and just as overly-emotional in his responses.

Sam wordlessly handed Cas a peach and the angel peered at it like a diamond appraiser might scrutinize the Crown Jewels, or a biologist might stare at a bug. Really, it was more the second one. He looked confused and a little unsure.

“It’s not gonna bite you, Cas. But if you want to try it, you might want to try some biting of your own. You know…With your teeth. To eat it,” Sam snorted and Dean kicked him under the table, “Freaking take a bite, Cas.”

He could practically hear Sam roll his eyes. Well, it wasn’t his fault his jokes weren’t always up to par. He’d set the bar so high, joke-wise, who could blame him for falling short once—maybe even twice—in his life.

Cas glared at him again, “Dean, it has hair on it. And, I don’t need to ea—“

“God damn it, Cas, we know you don’t need to eat! It’s not always just for—whatever, give it to me, you are no fun.”

Sam threw his peach pit at Dean’s head, which led to Dean staring at his brother incredulously and then lunging at him, and Dean was this close to ruining Sam’s stupid hair-do when a small noise stopped both men short. They looked up to see Cas, eyes closed and face lifted up and a little to the side, as if he was listening to some orchestra only he could hear. He chewed slowly and the brothers watched, oddly entranced.

When Cas opened his eyes Dean fought the urge to whisper, as if his voice might interrupt some glorious moment, like he was in some kind of art gallery, some exhibit. He cleared his throat, a bit loudly, “So?”

Cas stared off in the middle distance for a second, as if cataloguing each flavor and scent and texture combo he’d just experienced in order of best to least best and finally parted his lips to speak, “That is very, very good.”

So, spell broken, Dean and Sam each grabbed another peach and began to eat, surreptitiously watching Cas the whole time. It was like watching a dog do ballet, unnatural but strangely beautiful. Ok, perhaps that wasn’t the best comparison, but it was quite interesting. Like a nature documentary. Dean wondered if this was Cas’ first fruit. He’d certainly seemed to like burgers and…raw meat. Dean gagged a little and glanced at Sam, who was munching away happily, a bit of juice sliding down his forearm. And then he wondered if he could get Cas to eat pie. Maybe start out with peach pie, since he seemed to like peaches?

He glanced back at Cas and immediately froze. Cas was holding the peach delicately, like a goblet, palm cupped beneath it and slim fingers gathered around. There was juice running down Cas’ fingers, pooling in his cupped palm, and starting a slow slide down those tan forearms. When had he rolled his sleeves up?

A clear drop rolled lazily down his pinky finger and coalesced around the jut of Cas’s wrist, and the angel peered at it before darting his tongue out to curl around the bone there, to suck the skin and swirl his tongue a little. His eyes fell partially closed at the taste of the juice (or maybe the feel of those plush lips on his skin?), and when he opened them he seemed to notice the syrupy pool in his palm. He tipped his head and his tongue darted out, pink against the paler skin there, lapping at it almost delicately. He used his lips and pink tongue to chase the juice into the corner created between his curved thumb and forefinger, sucking it into his mouth. Then he pushed his tongue up, into the tight fit between the skin of the peach sitting against the backs of his fingers and his palm beneath it. He sucked a little, lapped at it, cleaning himself in a way that was seriously bordering on pornographic. Bordering was, well, he looked just like that girl in Texas who’d cleaned off her hand, slowly and deliberately, after a ridiculously hot hand-job in a bathroom stall. She’d licked the come off her hands like it was icing, moaning a little way back in her throat, watching him beneath her lashes.

This was that, but more innocent, more heartfelt, more naive. Probably.

The angel returned his meticulous attentions to the skin of the peach, so ripe and pale, shiny and dripping. Cas sucked gently against the teeth-torn edges of it, rolling his tongue against its flesh once, to get the juice as it dribbled out.

He took another bite and Dean looked away, hearing the sound of the angel sucking juice from the skin, aware of the blush on his face and his stupid ears, and what was wrong with him? Jesus. This was an angel of the goddamned… ok, phrasing. This was an Angel of the Lord. Eating a peach. This was not porn. This is not porn.

Sam seemed immune.

Dean looked back, against his better judgment, to see that Cas had switched the peach to his other hand. He had the first two fingers of his first hand in his mouth, sucking. He pulled them out, laving the crease between them with his tongue, and then slid them back in again, hollowing his cheeks around them. Dean could see him spread his fingers slightly in his mouth, stretching his lips, as he slid his tongue between them, curling around each slender digit before pulling his fingers out with a pop and starting on the next two. Dean watched the muscles of his forearm flex, sticky trails running down his skin, following the long line of a vein, and disappearing in Cas’s pushed-up sleeves. On top of everything, all the sucking and fluids and that tongue, this was the most skin Dean had ever seen. This was like the Puritans seeing an ankle for the first time. Like the first time he’d ever seen a real, in-the-flesh, honest-to-goodness boob. This was…

Dean, seriously, Dean, this is not porn!

Cas seemed to realize that the peach was now dripping steadily into his other hand and he stared at it a second before attempting to eat it as quickly as possible, sucking in juice as he bit down. Dean managed to look away then, to the sticky mess now pooling in his own hand. He ate his peach quickly, ignoring the quiet, wet noises coming from the other side of the picnic table. When he was done, he threw the pit behind him.

He glanced up, intending to tell his brother and the angel that he was going to find somewhere to wash his hands, when he caught another look at Cas and lost the function of his mind again.

The angel was holding the peach pit up to the light, head tilted back a bit, studying it as if pondering the meaning of life (and he probably was, the nerd). His lips were darker than usual, stained sticky and shiny in the dappled rays that landed on his face. The sunlight filtered through the branches above them, making one blue eye appear to glow, and setting a soft blush to the skin it touched. As Dean watched, Cas stuck the tip of his tongue out, dragged it slowly along his lips. He closed his eyes, drew his bottom lip into his mouth to suck on, and when it slid back out it looked kiss-bitten and flushed and Dean really hoped that small, satisfied sigh he’d heard had been Cas, and not him.

Dean, for one split second, could see, as if he were watching a movie! he could see himself pulling that mouth to his across the weather-worn wood of the table, hands fisted in the lapels of that ugly trench coat. He could hear himself licking and biting and sucking all the juice off the angel’s lips, sucking that sugar-sweet tongue into his own mouth. He could almost feel his own jaw going wide and tongue plundering, stealing the sweetness in the depths of that warm, wet heat for himself. He imagine dragging those fingers up and sliding them into his mouth, one by one, licking them clean, one long stripe across Cas’ wide palm, sucking a small bruise into the underside of those delicate wrists, and watching Cas fall apart, head thrown back, voice somehow both a whimper and a growl.

Dean made a sound approximating the same whimper, which he manfully turned into a cough, and happened to glance up at Cas’ eyes. They were staring. Cas was staring. His eyes were darker, pupils wider than they had been, blue a thin line around the edges. And then his lips twitched up just slightly at one corner and the fucker winked.

Dean was up and practically running to the gas station across the street before anyone could react. When the younger hunter glanced at Cas there was a small quirk to his lips as he watched Dean go and Sam knew at least some of what had just happened because he was not an idiot and also had functioning sensory organs, and who knew peaches could be so pornographic? He was pretty darn sure he knew but he shoved down any pondering he might have done (because, mainly, ew. And furthermore, ew) and resolved to tease the shit out of his brother later that night. Also, forever after that, for as long as they both shall live.

He wondered if Cas had just given his brother a fruit fetish. That could be funny, and the double entendre! but also ew. He shook his head. Good God, how was this his life…

#destiel #supernatural #porn without porn? #peaches #you've got the peaches I've got the cream #hey I wrote this #Sam is sad

[still-day]

Oh, boy...

So, my mom used to work as a customer service person for Intuit where she specifically dealt with people who'd bought a program (or something, I was unclear) to help build a website and then did customer-servicey things to answer questions and help them get the most out of it. And she'd tell me these stories of people who'd call her and be like "Ok, I did everything the thing said so now how do I get to The Google to look at my website?" And I always thought "Why, for the love of this series of tubes, would you buy something like that when you're not even ironically calling it 'The Google?' Shouldn't you know a little interneting before you try making a website?"

And now I have made a tumblr and I confess, I believe I judged those people too soon and too harshly. How do I tumbl? Is that a word? There are so many things on here, and words and names, and all the freaking gifs are going to give me seizures and for fuck's sake there's so much porn! And so many dicks! There are, really, so very many dicks. I am kind of maybe a little bit overwhelmed... Or perhaps overstimulated is a better word? Because of the porn. Oh, I don't even know anymore...

[still-day]

Bookmarker badass

So, apparently, not only is surlycat a master at annoyingly frustrating (I really mean delightfully cliff-hanging, but what’s the difference) WIPS filled with sexy, gorgeous word-art but she is also pretty goddamn adept at finding (and bookmarking, thank god) some great stuff.

So, in the interests of priorities: read all her stuff, then read everything she’s bookmarked. Rinse and repeat, until she stops giving us awesomeness. (Hey! If you’re ever reading this, don’t stop making greatness, just do it more often because … Ok I just had this weird image of me as Jabba [and apparently you're gold-bikini Leia] going “write more awesomeness and also smuuuuuut” and now I feel weird and kind of unclean but… Please write more?)

To those who ignored the previous paragraph: you're welcome. Go read and then read some more! Everyone else: I'm real sorry about that.

But, mostly, thank you surlycat!

#bookmarkers #surlycat #sexbomb #click that shit

[still-day]

I don't understand! I love the shit out of Teen Wolf and, in the interest of one disgustingly cute dude and one disgustingly gorgeous dude macking, I have TRIED to understand but there's nothing there. Destiel is OTP, even The Nerdist interview with Misha talks about it. I love Stiles, and Derek is great, but WHERE are people getting the sexin' vibe? I just don't understand.

(Ok, other than that one trailer cuz HOLY SHIT, if I didn't know they were playing off my hormones I'd have fallen for it.)

LET’S GET DESTIEL TO 500,000 VOTES TODAY!!!

We’re currently in the lead, but this can change very quickly. Sterek gains most of their votes during the day and they’ve made our 20k leads disappear very quickly before.

Right now we’re at 25,000 votes away from reaching our goal.

If everyone reading this can vote for 15-30 minutes straight we can accomplish that in a very short time!

Don’t forget that together we’ve submitted close to half a million votes. An extra 25,000 today to secure the lead isn’t a lot. So please join us!

The more support, the easier it is for those of us voting! https://polldaddy.com/p/8223562

#Sterek #Destiel #Destiel is OTP #Bitches

[still-day]

Magnificent porn wizard…

is what a reader just called me in a comment on Words with Friends. I feel successful. (via bettydays)

Ha! This lady, who is the purveyor of great and wonderful things, liked my AO3 comment! I am unreasonably excited about this. If I wasn't so tired I might dance a little...

[still-day]

Porn Queen revision needed?

Holy goddamn shit. For real, I don’t even…

Ok so I wrote all the previous recs in one day. The next day I had an aftermath freak-out a little because this is me officially admitting I like reading about two fictional people, two fictional men, doing really inappropriate things to each other and I read it so often I need a goddamn repository and I’m not just admitting it in my head, I’m admitting it on the WORLD-WIDE web which means anyone could see and oh my good Lord what if my dad found out like through some magical, awful, shitty-comedy-coincidence thing and disowned me and my boyfriend was all “Ew, you can’t live with me anymore” and I wandered the streets in a sea of grief and then I slept at a park one morning and woke up because some kids were throwing rocks at me and calling me gross and then maybe a meteor would come and I’d be slowly crushed to death (because meteors are slow when people find out you like reading dirty things, I suppose) all while I fantasized about Dean and Cas and then I died. Because that happens, I swear, and it’s best to be prepared.

And I was kind of unsure about this whole writing thing, for the aforementioned reasons, and the meteor and all. And then I started reading Words With Friends by betty days (sadrobots). And it was going pretty good, I mean really good, and then the author notes for one of the chapters said “Read this alone” and I was like “Yeah right, you cocky sad robit, I am made of sterner stuff” and it turns out she is not cocky, just looking out for us readers because I am goddamn glad I read that alone. So, it turns out that being crushed to death by a confusingly slow-falling meteor while being taunted by little kids almost seems worth it if somehow this post gets word out that you should absolutely read this fic all the time for the rest of your life because HOLY GODDAMN SHIT. I had to stop in the middle of a goddamn sex scene to write this up because I needed a break due to the small but very real chance that I might have an aneurysm. It’s a multi-chapter PWP (PWP up until the imminent aneurysm prompted me to pause, so maybe more than that later on?) and it is so great. So, please go read it. Forever. Go now.

Edit: Jesus, the next chapter is better and I’m only like halfway through the whole thing. I am going to DIE if this keeps up!

Second edit: I was wrong because at the end there were so many feels and I think, having barely survived an aneurysm, I now have a squishy heart, my heart feels squishy now. Is that a thing? Oh, Lord, must WebMD if this is fatal.

#destiel #supernatural #pwp #d/s #best ever #dom!Cas #sub!Dean #words with friends #betty days (sadrobots)

[still-day]

Not Part of the Plan series by scaramouche aka Annie D

So, the plot line of this verse (by the inimitable Annie D) is that the characters live in a world where Castiel is from the Kingdom and has an arranged marriage to a prince from the neighboring Republic because he is the king’s (Michael’s) cousin. The night before the marriage ceremony Cas sets out to find a one-night-stand, to learn about how all that sex he is about to provide works (and also to be a rebel and take something for himself before everything he loves is taken away in the name of familial duty). In some dive-ish bar in the Republic he meets Dean, and the sex is super hot, and then it turns out his arranged marriage is to Dean’s brother, and various angsty, plotty things occur.

Having read the original plot I was all “Ok, arranged marriages? Princes? One-night stands being conveniently related to the former two aspects of this ridiculous thing? This sounds silly and dumb.” I thought those things because I am an idiot.

This story is amazing. There is surprisingly little sex, given the author and the plot and how goddamn good she is at writing smut, but what sex there is is holy-crap-hot. The sexual tension alone is sexy, before it becomes annoyingly, frustrating(ly sexy?), and then all this plot stuff and angst happens and it is so well-written, the plot so well-developed, the smut so good and the feels even better, that by the time I realized it was a WIP it was far too late. My heart clenched when Cas heard Dean on the radio and I had to admit I had fallen in love with this story. 

Details: they are fairly in-character, especially as far as an AU as AU as this goes. The smut is great but the story would be wonderful even if the sex part was a fade-to-black-come-back-in-the-aftermath like movies. Really, the smut is like a little extra prize you get, like the toy in a Happy Meal, and the meal is still complete without it but who doesn’t look in there to squee about the toy first? The plot is well fleshed-out, detailed and beautiful, and the plot-twists and angst kept me on my toes even though I was sitting. Which is quite the feat of feet! (Dammit, grandpa joke…)

As all her stuff generally is, this story is goddamn amazing and the updates are going to be like Christmas wrapped in a very large trick-or-treat bag tucked in a Thanksgiving turkey. Which sounds weird as shit so, what I’m saying is, it’s gonna be pretty great.

#destiel #supernatural #fic rec #AU #best ever #WIP

[still-day]

This Story Needs More Power Ballads by Pyrebi

I feel like I'm coming off as all smut and no plot, although smut is generally easier to rec as it is short (usually) and to the point. So, here is a fic by Pyrebi, who writes about sexy times but never actually about them. And who is also one of the few writers who almost always makes me laugh out loud, or at least smile.

The writing and voice of it all is, if we're being honest here, flawless. I'm just getting that out there. As far as the story goes, it's SU, which I love, and it's hilarious, which I believe I've mentioned. Here's a taste:

At first he was pretty pro-angel, and then angels turned out to be dicks, then angels turned out to want to kill him. Then he’d started the apocalypse. Then Castiel had started to...not want to kill him? He guessed? Which seemed like kind of an odd reaction, that Castiel liked him better after he’d unleashed the devil than before. But whatever—gift horses, mouths, et cetera. He’s sure it’s just bleedover from Castiel being totally in angry-angel-love with Dean.

It is just beautiful and cracky and you should definitely read it because there are no warnings or weird kinks and it's adorable and it's rated T for teen! So if you're even remotely into Destiel there is no reason you should still be reading this, instead of that, but thank you for following through with your commitments, I find that very endearing.

#destiel #supernatural #oneshot #short #adorable #crack #best ever #This Story Needs More Power Ballads #pyrebi