WELL. LOTS OF DEVELOPMENTS TODAY.

under the cut for space purposes. these are not sequential. pretend the formatting is correct.

plz don't judge this shitty first draft. i just need to put my excitement somewhere.

ok bai

INT. FELICITY'S HOME - LIVING ROOM - DAY Felicity looks at a photo album of Bobby Dean. His age progresses from infant to adult. She reaches the end and places it aside. Felicity rises and walks to her bedroom. INT. FELICITY'S HOME - BEDROOM - DAY - CONTINUOUS Felicity stands in front of a full-length mirror, pulls up her tunic and examines her belly. Stretch marks glisten as her breaths flow in and out. Veins in her hands mimic the wires of a marionette. Cellulite jiggles under her touch. The pooch of her belly signals back to a time 40 years prior when her son wiggled and kicked inside her. She smiles through tears. Her body isn't what it used to be, but it's more beautiful now for having lived so many years. It tells a story -- hills and valleys, freckles and moles, imperfect perfections -- all are like pieces of an orchestra, individually playing the music of Felicity Kirk's life. She stares at her reflection and forgives the woman staring back at her.

*** INT. BETH'S HOME - BEDROOM - NIGHT Beth scrolls social media looking at various posts displaying all the "perfect" things Beth doesn't have: the perfect life, the perfect body, the perfect career. She's become stuck in a comparison loop, never free of the constant push and pull of trying to convince her audience she's worthy of their trust and attention. It's torture. Still, she's sucked in and existing in a comfortable place of self-loathing. She rises and walks to her en suite. INT. BETH'S HOME - BATHROOM - NIGHT Beth enters and flicks the light switch. She stares at her reflection and plays with the skin on her face and neck. Her hairline is thinner… Her eye bags are thicker… Her lips are surrounded by lines and her neck is starting to sag. Beth examines all of her body's imperfections, playing with the skin and scowling at herself. She stops and squints. BETH Where did I go? When did I die? Beth flicks the light off and returns to bed.

***

INT. HOTEL ROOM - NIGHT Beth turns to a social media app and starts scrolling. Every post she sees is a reiteration of the same message: You're flawed. You aren't good enough. You're behind the trend. Again, even though she knows it's fake, it affects her. This endless scrolling has become a nasty habit. Her frustration gets the better of her and she calls it a night. INT. HOTEL BREAKFAST ROOM - DAY Beth fills a plate with food. A YOUNG GIRL and YOUNG BOY (around 8) are in the dining area. The Young Boy is making silly noises and faces, and the Young Girl is intensely videoing him. Their MOTHER calls out for them to follow her. The Young Girl refuses. YOUNG GIRL Mom, stop!!! I'm gonna be an influencer!!! Beth is stunned witnessing this exchange. The girl is so very, very young to be exposed to social media.

(this exchange is taken from a video of a woman explaining why she deleted her social media accounts. seriously what the FUCK bro.)

***

INT. BETH'S HOME OFFICE - DAY Beth and Stella chat via video conference. BETH There was this girl -- she couldn't have been more than ten -- recording her brother in the hotel dining room. She told her mum she was going to be an influencer. Stella, how the bloody hell does a child know what an influencer is?! STELLA How do you think? The parents. BETH Does she think she can post a viral video and start earning wages? Stella shrugs. There's no clear answer here. Beth throws her hands up; trying to figure out the world's problems is too much for her right now. Stella switches topics. Beth is distracted by her phone and looks down every few moments.

STELLA Parker got home from holiday last night. BETH Oh? STELLA And she brought biscuits from France. They're divine. Brossard Savane. Soft chocolate sweets. I had something similar in sixth form and hadn't been able to find them since. Parker should get a job with MI6. BETH Biscuits, you said? STELLA Yeah. BETH What kind? STELLA …Brossard Savane. BETH Right. STELLA Why are you checking your phone? Are you expecting a ring? BETH No. Sorry, darling. Beth puts her phone aside. Stella isn't impressed. STELLA Do you even want to talk to me? BETH Of course! I always want to talk to you. STELLA I'm not quite sure I believe that. BETH Why? STELLA You don't text me back, you don't ring me up, you check your phone when we chat… I never get to have your full attention. I'm concerned, Mum. There's a reason I don't have any social media. It takes you out of your life for long stretches of time. You don't get that time back, Mum. I still need you. When I was in hospital, you were different… You were attentive and present, and I knew I could trust you -- It's a hard lesson to learn from her own daughter. Beth bristles in immediate response. BETH Don't be ridiculous -- You know you can trust me, Stella. STELLA Do I? I don't want to sound cruel, but you're not the mum I grew up with. I don't know where you went. And I don't know what's changed other than that fucking phone. They taught us to how to spot patterns in Narcotics Anonymous. You're addicted, Mum. You reach for your phone when you wake up. It's always by your side even if you don't need it. Instead of laughing with your mates, you capture everything on video so you can watch it later when you should've been enjoying the moment. Beth can't argue back. It's all true, disturbingly so. STELLA Do you know what your screen time is? BETH I'll check. Just a moment, darling-- STELLA (with force) Mum, stop. Just stop. Put it down. Beth hasn't seen her daughter use as much force with her words before. It's unnerving but enlightening. She puts her phone down. STELLA (deliberate) Your screen time is time that's been stolen from you. And there it is: the crux of the issue. Beth doesn't know what to say or do. She offers a placating smile, but it feels fake even to her. Stella sees right through it. STELLA Can you live without it for a day? Even just a few hours? BETH (genuine) …I don't know. STELLA Try? Can you try for me? Please? BETH Yes. I can. Stella is pleased. Beth is relieved someone gave her an excuse to stop scrolling. Then the reality of her commitment hits. She panics. BETH How am I going to fill up that free time? STELLA You'll find something. You can find anything entertaining if you're bored enough. Try fishing. Beth smiles -- her apple didn't fall far. BETH I love you. Chat again soon. STELLA Love you. Bye. BETH Bye. Stella ends the video chat. ***

CAN I GET A HOLY SHIT????

Hello i dont know what specific request you ask for if you did i forgot uhmm may i request a bigb?

Ok guys I knowwwww the 2016 PPG remake is bad. I'm seeing it firsthand with my own eyes as I watch it because I'm a bit sadistic. There's a lot of shit in here that makes me gag from its sheer stupidity.

But listen. Where the fuck else do I get fanservice gold like THIS 💘💖💘💖💘💖💘💖💘💖💘💖💘💖

uhhhh okay, I know I've done this before but I lost it (sorry), so...

like to be on the relationships page! this is fair game as long as we've either plotted a dynamic or have written together for long enough that it's naturally developed. will be added to the new carrd since I'm going to remake it

dreams and visions and carrie underwood <3

I wrote something inspired by the funeral scene from the new Winchesters episode. How Dean prepared Cas' body.

Dean steps through the threshold of the quaint little house. The door had been left open, welcoming in a gentle breeze that smelled like pine and which ruffled the curtains. He imagines it would have been kept like that often. There was no fear or paranoia that would have kept it locked. Not here.

Cas would have liked the freshness, he imagines.

The thought halts him, just as he stands a few feet from the table. He swallows, thick down his throat. He watches just beyond what sprawls across and lets his mind expand on the image.

Castiel would have liked the breeze. And the smell of pine and the calming rushes of water. He would have kept the door open, the windows too, so that he could enjoy everything. Enjoy the freedom to do so especially.

He imagines the table adorned with cloth and trinkets. Cas settled with a book or maybe a writing set, hunched over in the stiff chair in concentration. He'd be rid of his coat and his shoes. He'd take small breaks just to look up and breathe, just because he could. And he'd smile from across the table, where Dean would sit, drawing or drinking his cup of coffee.

Dean closes his eyes and takes in a breath, his head hung low. Feels the shame and embarrassment of where his thoughts led him. How could he imagine those things, he thought. How could he insert himself into a life he was never considered for. Just perverted projections onto a dead man.

When he raises his head, he stares straight at the table, and the lifeless figure shrouded on top of it.

This is his life.

Dean clenches his bloodied fist. The sting from his ripped calluses helps ground him as he wanders closer, until he was eventually on the other side of the table, looking down.

He's drawn this out for too long now, he knows. Without another breath, he rips off the sheet.

Castiel looked like he was sleeping. He was still, eyes closed and holding no tension. Peaceful. Dean found no comfort in this.

He almost covered Castiel's face just as quickly as he had removed the sheet, but something caught his eye as he moved. There, right above Castiel's brow, was a smear of dirt.

Cas had been left on the shore of the lake through the night. Dean had went back for him the next morning; it was the first thing he did. He had been cold and colorless, hair and skin damp from the morning dew. Dean carried him into the house alone.

Now, Dean looks at him. Grains of sand littered his hair, some even settled on his lips. Grime filled the crinkles by his eyes and mouth, in the folds on his eyelids, in his ears.

Dean was brushing back Cas' hair before he realized what he was even doing, hand shaking as he did so. The first touch to the strands broke something deep in Dean's chest. He felt an ache that seized his chest so greatly it brought tears to his eyes, his face twisting into something awful and tight.

Overwhelmed, he slams his fist against the space unoccupied next to Cas' shoulder. Quickly, he straightens up, rubbing his hand down his mouth roughly.

For this next part, he doesn't think. He doesn't let himself feel anything other than a itch to get a task done. He just walks on autopilot to the kitchen.

He makes quick work in the kitchen. Grabs a metal bowl from a cabinet low to the ground and wash cloth that hung by the sink. Waits for the water to warm up before filling the bowl, setting it aside on the counter once it's done to scrub at his own hands. The water turns a rusty brown immediately but eventually runs clear off his skin. He shuts it off and takes the cloth and the now warm bowl back into the dining room.

Dean slows down a little once he reenters the room. Of course, nothing has changed in the few minutes he was absent. The breeze has turned colder, perhaps. Carefully, he sets the bowl and wash cloth down by where Castiel's hand lay and goes to shut the door.

For a moment, what he's about to do catches up with him. Flashes cross his mind like a silent movie reel where the film has been eaten at the edges, of him doing the same exact thing as he is now. With dad, with Bobby, with Charlie.

A hunter's funeral.

He shakes his head and pushes those memories away. Falls back on the safety of routine.

Dean makes it back to the table and drags the chair at the head of the table and takes his seat by Cas' head, shucking off his jacket on the way. At first, he just sits there.

There's a dead body in front of him. Technically, it's not even Cas' dead body, but one of a man from Pontiac, Illinois. A man who loved his family so much he abandoned them to house a cosmic power within his mortal body, just so that they would be safe. They hadn't been, in the end, despite his attempt.

When Castiel died, he burned away inside this body, this vessel, in a brilliant light. Like a star going supernova. That was the closest Dean would ever get to seeing him in his true form.

But trying to separate Cas from this vessel, to try and fully conceptualize that it was the light itself that was Cas, made Dean's brain feel like it was folding in on itself.

Because this body wasn't wearing anything that Jimmy Novak owned. It had wrinkles that Jimmy Novak didn't form, scars that he never endured the pain of. Ripped apart and made new again, this was Cas' body. His friend's, above all else.

So Dean sits up straight and rolls up his sleeves. He grabs the wash cloth and submerges it in the quickly cooling water. Wringing out the excess, Dean slowly brings it up to Cas' brow. Gently, he pats the smudge of dirt away until the skin there was clean again.

Dean repeats this process over and over again. Back and forth, he remoistens the cloth and brings it to Cas' face where he would pat or rub out grime, careful as to not pull or bruise, steadily softening his features again. He sits hunched over, his own face so close that his lips just barely keep from grazing Castiel's cheek as he works over his forehead and eyes. Water runs down his wrists and his fingertips became raw, but he doesn't pay it any mind.

His hands do not shake.

Not even as he reaches to turn Cas' head every few swipes of the cloth. His touch remains feather light, Cas pliant in his caress. Only once does he clench his fingers to his palm, in realization that of course it'd only be in Cas' death that Dean got to touch him like this. This is the first and last time he's ever kneeled down in reverence like he's always wanted to; to reach in with hands unclean, and bathe his beloved anew.

Cas' skin is warm from the water, but Dean pretends, if for a little while, that it was from a flush of blood and grace, and that Cas really was just asleep.

Finally, Dean tosses the wash cloth back into the soiled water and stands up from his chair. He barely looks at Castiel's face again.

Instead, he grabs the bowl and disposes of the water in the kitchen, drying off his hands while he's up as well. He grabs his jacket and throws it back on once he comes back.

Dean fiddles with his sleeves for a second longer than necessary before finally giving up. He looks down at Castiel one last time.

Even dead, he is the most beautiful thing Dean has even seen.

With this, his strength runs out. Looking away, Dean covers Cas' face with the sheet once more, and turns to rip off the curtains. He ties them tight around Cas' body, pausing at his feet to make sure he won't throw up.

He carries Cas' body to his pyre alone.

I wish those "YOU GUYS NEED TO ACTUALLY REBLOG POSTS!!!" posts actually worked I hate looking at my art that got decent notes only to see abysmal reblog:like ratios.

October is my favourite month and its over tomorrow :< terrible... its been fun though i think this has been my favourite October

:D so glad you like the Mola designs! the pretty colors make me happy too :)))) another really pretty deep dive is visible mending and sashiko/boro stitches (if you get deep enough you will know those terms are contested and/or problematic but they are the only words we have that the moment). idk how much you are into textiles (probably less so than i am lol (most people are)) , but if you ever wanted to get your hands busy in addition to distracting you mind, i highly recommend visible mending as a task that is both satisfying and also keeps your favorite clothes from ending up in a landfill :D Happy web diving! -textile anon

visible mending looks soooooo fun but i have had a HORRIBLE time trying to sew in the past. i just dont think im coordinated enough for it :0 i like the way it makes clothes look tho, and i'd much prefer keeping well-worn jeans than having to toss them out

idk much about textiles but ark rlly enjoys sewing and stuff! i personally barely know the names of fabric types, so i'm definitely unfamiliar with styles and techniques, but even if i dont know much they're pretty cool and i like hearing about them :]

picrews that perfectly capture how my natural eye shape makes me look like the pinnacle of sadness and sleep deprivation

link attached • feature descriptions in the replies • image id in alt text • feel free to rb with your own :)

uh oh. inhaler made me incredibly shaky too.

y’know the cool thing abt the 2020-2021 school year being the worst period of my entire life is that despite having an objectively heavier workload this year i’m coping a lot better

[01:41] you woke up with a startling chill running down your spine. bringing nonexistent blankets closer to your chest to keep you warm, it took you a few good seconds to realize that you, in fact, didn’t have any blankets in your possession.

goddamn it, kwon soonyoung.

you rolled over onto your other side to face your sleeping boyfriend who, just like you predicted, had made himself comfortable in the cocoon he had made himself with the queen sized duvet. surrounding him was also an assortment of different tiger plushies varying in size and design.

when you first moved in together, you refused to share the bed with soonyoung’s 43 tiger plushies but when you saw the sad look in his eyes, you couldn’t say no.

‘goddamn it, kwon soonyoung’ you grumbled out loud, this time. ‘stop hogging the entire blanket’

you pressed your cold feet against your boyfriend’s bare calf, which was basically his fault for 1) leaving his calf out in the open, vulnerable to any attack and 2) hogging the blanket which in turn, made your body temperature drop at least 2 degrees.

soonyoung hissed and practically jumped out of his cocoon. ‘jesus christ get your grippers away from me. why are they so cold?’

you rolled your eyes at his choice of words and wiggled your toes against his warm leg. ‘you stole the entire duvet, genius. and i thought you loved my grippers’

your boyfriend groaned, sleep obviously still laced in his voice as he jokingly pushed you away. ‘ewww gross. go away, i’m trying to sleep’

you inched closer to him, pressing your chest to where his arm would be under the blanket. ‘i’ll leave you alone if you give me back some of the blanket. my balls are about to freeze off’

‘then lose your balls, fuck, i don’t kno- OW OW IM SORRY’

soonyoung immediately opened up his cocoon, motioning for you to join him in his little bundle of warmth. you giggled and wriggled into his embrace, resting your head on his chest with a content sigh.

‘gnight soonie, i love you’

‘i love you too baby.. good night’

feeling your body grow heavy with the intoxicating warmth of your lover’s body combined with the weighted blanket, you hummed quietly and nuzzled your face closer to soonyoung’s chest. you felt his lips gently press onto the crown of your head.

‘babe?’

‘hmm?’ you grunted, half asleep.

‘i can’t sleep now. your cold grippers woke me up’

a/n: this is like peak kie humor LMFAO anyway i meant to make this soft and sweet but it ended up being more humor than fluff although it gets kinda fluffy at the end?? hehe anyway i miss u guys i promise to come back once college apps szn is over

well i was Going to go to bed early. but then i got distracted thinkin bout villain au donnie. then i decided to respond to all my ao3 comments. now im sitting here an hour late to bed like. hm. hmmmmm. repercussed again

anyway gnight everyone see you tomorrowwwwww <333