Are you in?
Living in sin is the new thing, yeah…
Are you in?
I am counting…
pushy, sassy bottoms
(ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*:･ﾟ✧
Caution: Images of Lobotomies Used, Sharp Medical Tools and Eye Gore contained
So there’s this theory that Castiel may, in 8.10, undergo a lobotomy. However, this is a very erroneous theory and I am merely pointing out the bugs, expressing personal opinion, and also explaining the medical subject which plays a major part in this theory.
written for rachel. wordcount: 11342 rating: nc-17 (read here or through ao3)
The eternal night dominates the sky, the ominous blackness forever shadowing the overgrown forest, the paradise of pain, pen of those condemned by their paranormal natures. The only rips of light that leak in from the inky pallet are the stray, faint beams from Heaven, the pale white light akin to the earthly moon bleeding through the tiniest tears, those barely detectable from the grounds below.
Only so much can be seen from the ground, from the rocky and hard soil that expands endlessly in all directions, covered with slender, prickling needles—fragile as the pines yet piercing as sharpened metal—and rough, jagged rocks—the broken glass of Mother Nature embedded in the dirt. The splintering woods of Purgatory, those that go on and on, a standing army of so slim trees with brittle, creeping branches and slithering, swirling roots. The few sparse blessings of light scarcely penetrate the thick entanglement of woody arms, weaving together as they shed their browning leaves whenever the wind blows through the canopy.
A gust huffs against the crackling fire, raising the flames of orange and yellow and red, sparks coupled with clumps of ash leaping from the circle of stones locking in the kindling, starving to burn whatever dead blade of stiff and trodden grass or flat and crushed leaf they could jump for. The smoke dances with the fire, the two caught in a hot tango, one flicker of fire stepping one way, the plume of ash mirroring its partner’s move. Up and up the grey rises, dusts floating up in the cloud of darkness, carrying the scent of smouldering wood, reeking of rot and fungi festering for untold millennia, existing before Man or Monster.
Flutter, flutter, flutter; Castiel’s eyes flutter like a pair of butterfly’s wings.
The blue glows with surging pleasure, a stark contrast to the deep hue of red colouring his cheeks and face, the heavy flush revealing the overwhelming boil of his blood and the intoxicating bliss smothering him where he leans.
While his lungs starve for air, desperate for a single breath, a pant, a gasp, he keeps his mouth clamped shut, edges of his teeth digging into the chapped layers of fleshy lip. Every inhale is funnelling fire through his nose, each exhale the weakest expel of steam, never enough to prevent overheating, not when all the gears and pipes pump and turn so quickly, keeping his body tense and atremble.
Fight Club AU: Sam Winchester, after suffering from insomnia, finds himself frequenting local support groups, where he meets Castiel Singer. Shortly after, while on a business trip, he bumps into his estranged older brother, Dean, who he strikes a fast friendship with. He and Dean end up starting strings of fight clubs as Dean starts up a relationship with Castiel. With Project Mayhem coming into full swing, Sam realises something: He doesn’t have an older brother.
“You created me,” Dean says, smirking down the barrel of the gun. The clock is counting down—three minutes, two and a quarter, two and a half until demolition—all while Sam chokes on the gun.
His tongue moves around the muzzle, tapping the slide, the metallic tang burning his mouth. He tries to speak, but with a gun in your mouth, you can only speak in vowels.
Dean looks at his watch, smile ever wider as his fingers stroke the trigger: “Two minutes, Sammy.”
Two minutes until self destruction, the supposed answer to everything. Dean knows this, and thus Sam knows this.
Sam shuts his eyes, letting out a deep sigh when Dean pulls the gun from between his lips. And as Sam gasps for breath, he knows that all of this has something to do with a man named Castiel Singer.
actual philosopher Castiel
