do you ever think about how certain characters are really smart
but they think they’re stupid
because everyone treats them like they’re stupid
because of their attitude or look or whatever
and they keep doing these really smart things but no matter what you know they think they’re so stupid and you just want to cry forever
A follow up to the bloody and wounded Castiel and Dean drawing, just something self indulgent and sweet. It’s the first drawing in a new sketchbook and to me that’s always an event on its own, hehe :)
(P.s. I don’t think I’ll draw all the angels but Zachariah’s true form is on the way!)
“Y’know it’s funny,” grunts Dean to nobody in particular. “The Chrysler Building needing a power nap.”
Except it isn’t funny, thinks Dean, not funny at all. Cas warned him that Purgatory was a realm of terrors, but the angel didn’t know, couldn’t know, that the worst part of it all would be watching him sleep like this, broken in Dean’s lap, undeniable proof that God couldn’t make a damn thing without breaking it first.
Even if Cas does twitch his wings rather adorably in his sleep.
“You chasing squirrels or demons?” Dean shifts his legs to offer the sleeping angel better purchase. “Well, either way, give ‘em hell for me.”
That was a revelation too, that angels could dream; that they were even built with the capacity to make up something in their heads that wasn’t theirs to keep. Or maybe only Cas can. Cas is different, after all, more human than angel — though it’s hard to remember that now, with three purple-white heads drooling against Dean’s thighs.
Suddenly, Cas’s wings seize. He moans, a pitiful sound, like wind through bare branches. Without thinking, Dean cups the jaw of Cas’s mask face, stroking a thumb along its outer edge – which isn’t quite a cheekbone, but then again, this isn’t quite a caress, either.
The cataclysm etched on Cas’s face relaxes, and Dean allows himself a small, self-indulgent smirk. He did that, nobody else. Not God or Meg or Daphne. Just him. Months ago, he would have wondered what that meant. Now all he cares is that Cas sleeps a few minutes longer.
Dean palms Cas’s jaw and doesn’t even try to ignore how easily it fits into his hand, as if Cas were made for his touch—or maybe the other way around.
“Cas, you sly dog,” he murmurs.
The curious thing is, Dean isn’t tired – or, well, no more than usual. And Dean considers himself something of an expert on fatigue. He’s grappled with it ever since he was 27, since Dad and Sam and the psychic Hunger Games, when he finally realized he was an adult chasing after a life not made for old men.
Seeing your baby brother’s corpse does something to a man; it settles a certain kind of weariness into your joints and behind your eyes, a stupor no amount of liquor or resurrections or staring contests with angels can ever shake. God knows he’s tried. Especially that last one.
Dean wonders now how many baby brothers Cas saw stretched out before him during the War. Hundreds. Maybe thousands. He can’t imagine it. He’s thankful he can’t even dream it.
Dean looks down at Cas again, and shudders.
The movement jostles Cas, and he blinks awake, fixing that sky-pale gaze up at Dean in the rough approximation of a stare—which only makes Dean roll his own eyes in response.
“Sorry, dude,” says Dean with a smirk. “Puppy eyes don’t work when you’re skyscraper-sized.”
He lets his hand linger on the angel’s not-cheek only a second longer before finally dropping it away.
FLUTIEBEAR I LOVE YOU.
I hadn’t thought of this until recently, but I’m thankful for being proud of who I am. Yeah, there are days where I wish I was different, or I wish I would change, or I wish that I was better, but overall, I never want to be anyone else, nor do I want to bitch and moan about what’s wrong with me all day. Yes, I’m overweight. No, I’m not attractive. Yes, people don’t like to hang out with me usually. Yes, I know that I’m not good enough for other people. No, I am completely aware that I am just “not enough” in most categories.
But fucking Hell, I am me, and no one else has the right to say that except me. So I dare the world to do the same and be who they are, because I’m sick of seeing all of this shit about, “Oh, I hate my life.”
Get over it. Yes, you are going through a hard time, and I am sorry that’s the case. But there is NOTHING you have been through that no one else has had to suffer through. The world’s seen it all by this point, so I beg of you, instead of whining, try and make things better.
Say what you will, but this makes a very good point. (Maybe not entirely true, because I’d rather have the superpower of not giving a fuck- Wait. I have that one. Can I have a comic made about me now? )
Say what you will, but this makes a very good point.
(Maybe not entirely true, because I’d rather have the superpower of not giving a fuck-
I have that one.
Can I have a comic made about me now? )
I love my cat. I do. Really. But sometimes, she needs to get a brain. She went for my chocolate pie. (Yes, it is still frozen. But she can’t have it. :P) So I threw a pencil at her before she could get her kitty-paws on it. She starts playing with the pencil. She stops and goes for the (frozen) pie again. I throw a Sharpie at her. She plays with it again. She gets it caught in her fur somehow. She starts howling. I have to then cut her fur off to get it out. My poor, ditzy, darling little kitty.
I love my cat.
But sometimes, she needs to get a brain.
She went for my chocolate pie.
(Yes, it is still frozen. But she can’t have it. :P)
So I threw a pencil at her before she could get her kitty-paws on it.
She starts playing with the pencil.
She stops and goes for the (frozen) pie again.
I throw a Sharpie at her.
She plays with it again.
She gets it caught in her fur somehow.
She starts howling.
I have to then cut her fur off to get it out.
My poor, ditzy, darling little kitty.
hey congress guess what’s not even a vegetable
that’s right a tomato you dumbasses
what is happening
i don’t want to live in this country anymore
America is so fucking stupid.
This is like Reagan declaring that ketchup is a vegetable.
As a girl that has been deemed “obese” by America, I ask you: Is that really my fault? I mean, come on. If people are saying that pizza is a vegetable, and vegetables are good for you, OBVIOUSLY I’ll eat a lot of pizza, since going by logical reasoning and deduction skills, pizza is good for me.
Not to mention, it’s tasty as sin.
I blame the politicians for my “obesity”.
(Yay creating an illogical scapegoat for my own problems! :D )