rococorendezvous:

victoriousvocabulary:

LORN

[adjective]

1. forsaken, desolate, bereft, or forlorn.

2. Archaic: lost, ruined, or undone.

The landscape seemed to change as quickly as the pale moons rose and set. At times it was as unforgiving as the creatures that attacked them, shifting and undulating like a writhing beast. Even when it was quiet, Dean could feel the ground breathing. But there were other times where he could feel the silence, where it enveloped him like Cas’ wings when they stole moments of rest.

The mire underfoot turned to ruins in another gradual instant that made Dean pause to shake off the wave of disorientation that followed. It was a strange feeling, like something just out of sight, a little ahead - or was it behind? - until all at once it was upon him with staggering omnipotence. Everything, even the land itself, seemed to vie for control here. The power of gods seemed to surge unbounded, in the clawing swipes of the mindless monsters they fended off hourly, in the twisted spirals of gray trees looming like solid shadows, in the whispers of the mists that made the heavy air tremble, made the outline of Cas’ wings shimmer into existence and back into non-being. When the angel walked ahead as he did now, Dean trembled too.

Slowly, he felt himself becoming undone. By the things he witnessed, by the screams he heard half-stifled in the night or whatever the hell that darker darkness could be called. If Cas had noticed, he said nothing.

Impossible towers now arched overhead with a strange ferocity and grace; they reminded Dean of how Cas used to be before he’d been broken by the madness he’d taken on. It wasn’t just saving Sam that had done it, Dean could see that now. It was everything. All the betrayal, the lies, the war, the loss of his garrison, it had tortured his soul long before he’d tried to set things right with Sammy. His grace was as tattered as his trenchcoat, literally. Dean could see it, whenever that power of Purgatory flared, no matter if it was a creature ripping through their clothes or piercing  sounds ripping through their ears and shaking their very cores, Castiel’s grace flickered.

The towers grew taller and more complex until Dean couldn’t bear to be alone with his thoughts anymore. “What are these damn things?” Dean asked Cas.

“Thought-forms,” Castiel answered over his shoulder. “I can sense traces of humanity within them. They’re collections of lost thoughts, I think. Neither good nor evil, they simply exist. They’ve no allegiance, so we may be able to use them to fight.”

“But if they’re created by humans, why are they here in Purgatory?”

“They are the lorn remnants of all things forgotten, lost hopes, plans forgone, and dreams destroyed. It’s a funny thing, the human mind. It can conjure up the most fantastic ideas, but sometimes its magic falters and it forgets. A thought that escapes one’s consciousness is a very sad thing. It can’t return from where it came, so it must wander for eternity. Reminds me of the bees,” Cas mused with a slight smile. Dean rolled his eyes. “Sometimes, someone else’s Will may call to them, and they will enter that person’s mind and find a new home. Other times, ideas remain perpetually unwanted, and they begin to fade. Yet they cannot be killed entirely. So this is where they go.”

Dean opened his mouth with no response ready. It seemed Castiel’s profundity was somehow heightened here, yielding a hollow semblance of his old self that Dean both welcomed and feared. But those moments were often short-lived, and this one proved no different. The angel’s grace glowed as a low growl reverberated through the air, and even as the sound pierced through him like a shockwave, Dean watched as Castiel too grimaced. Dean wanted to apologize, to touch his shoulder and give him strength, but there was no time.

“They’re coming.”

thecapn:

signiferlucis:

#I’M JUST GOING TO FEELS IN THESE TAGS OKAY? OKAY #Here is #Sam Winchester #and he’s dying #Literally dying #Hs body is slowly beginning to shut down and he’s too tired to even fight it #He is at the point where he doesn’t care if he dies #Because he just wants it to be over #But when a girl offers him a stolen candy bar #what does he do? #He asks if they can share it#He wants to talk to her #He wants to know her story #And in the end #Even though he is on the verge of death #He spends what could be the end of his life trying to save her #Because Sam Winchester is a fucking hero #To his very last breath#he is a hero

(Source: yourdarlinglittlesammy)

tomesawayfromhome:

Critters + imagination + math = stuff that makes sense for the first time in my life.

scottysamplenacelles:

1 How long, Lord? Will you forget me forever?
How long will you hide your face from me?
2 How long must I wrestle with my thoughts
and day after day have sorrow in my heart?
How long will my enemy triumph over me?
3 Look on me and answer, Lord my God.
Give light to my eyes, or I will sleep in death,
4 and my enemy will say, “I have overcome him, ”
and my foes will rejoice when I fall.

Psalm 13 by ~MadGeneticist

(Source: repimg)

enochianrage:

#Purgatory Feels #They set up camp somewhere close to a pool of putrid water #it fucking stinks and Dean’s gagged more than once before he started to get used to it #he still automatically breathes through his teeth #and the foul air keeps making his mouth water in disgust #Castiel is mostly silent #especially now after they’d managed to set up a small area easily protected from the beasts lurking in the shadows #Dean get’s the feeling Cas’ working some kind of mojo he hasn’t seen or heard anything for a while #not after some scaly dog-like creature had taken a nasty bite to his thigh #it had bled ridiculously much #but Cas had been quick with healing hands and they’d run fast and long to get away from the fresh scent of blood #They’d managed to get a fire going #despite the moist and wetness and huddled close to let the weak warmth of the small fire warm their hands #‘We need to get going soon Dean’ Castiel murmured from Deans right #‘The sigil won’t last for long and it’s the strongest obscuring ward I know #I’m afraid Purgatory itself is working against us. It’s eating away at my sigils as we speak #and I’m afraid it won’t be very long until it start’s eating away at my grace.’ #Dean sighs and drags dirty fingers through his equally dirty hair #‘You’ve got to stop with the full ‘restoring’ thing you’re doing to me. #We’ll find some sort of food and I could use a few hours of sleep every now and then.’ #Castiel gives Dean an impossibly soft look when he turns towards him #‘Keeping your blood filled with nutrients doesn’t take much effort #though letting you sleep every now and then would be benefitial if we could find a closed off cave or crevice’ #they bump shoulders in companionable silence #waiting for a dawn which would never come

THAT PICTURE IS WHAT I WANT PURGATORY TO LOOK LIKE. PERFECT ATMOSPHERE AND PERFECT MIX OF MYSTIC AND CREEPY.

(Source: wearesoscrewed)

magalud:

yaduntgawtdafunkk:

theelectrictalesofcharizard:

idopostmortems:

askarsenickatnep:

futrmrssnape:

itsdaisyhater:

you must reblog every sunday

Reblogging, Just because it’s sunday

Three minutes past. I could’ve avoided this lul.

It is Sunday. Therefore, it is relevant.

every sunday

woo sunday !

I work on Sundays :(

bananasandguavas:

tony and metagross

mostly my sister’s fault

lastlabyrinth:

bishounen aziraphale haha