Sketchy sketchy sketchy. But my darling @vixiebee asked for Korrasami as part of the couples meme I reblogged on my personal account, and I’m here to deliver! I will never not love drawing these beebs.
“Trust your gut.” But I can’t. I can’t trust myself in any manner, because today I might not be who I really am, whoever that is. What if this is a manic whim that will pass in the morning. What if when I kiss him I’m just using him as another brick wall to slam my body against. What if my gut says slam the accelerator, don’t bother trying, shoot yourself in the foot. What if I get fear for no reason, anxiety in the sixth floor bathroom, what if my gut says stay home but my heart says go. What if my gut says check the lock again, and again, and again, and again, and, what if my gut says seven is good but did you count it right. what if my gut says leave the party nobody wants you here, what if my gut says why did you leave now everybody thinks you’re weird. What if I get a bad feeling about everyone because one person once opened me up and sewed all their bad into my pockets, what if I go with my gut and overshare a lot and leave awkward silences that stretch in wet muslin bandages over pity-frowns, what if my gut says give in and my gut says I’m worth nothing and my gut says give up. What if you’re right and I’ve been ignoring signs that keep coming and I belong in a box somewhere, un-becoming.
My mom asks me what I want. Where I want to be. I wish I knew how to want things. I wish I had one feeling I knew wasn’t just a rush or a spiral or a warning sign. Something I knew was pure. Something actually mine.
it’s my birthday!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! THE 21ST OF SEPTEMBER IS FINALLY HERE, and that means a fic!!! have a destiel coffee shop AU on me. <3
“What are you having?” Castiel asked with a smile, and Dean’s stomach flipped.
“Um. Regular latte,” he managed to say, and smiled.
“Regular latte,” Castiel repeated. “Coming right up.” He turned away, and began to prepare Dean’s drink, tanned hands picking up a plain white cup which he spun into position onto the coffee machine, glancing up to see whether Dean had noticed. Dean smiled, hoping it came across as ‘impressed’ and not ‘totally smitten’.
Shifting his weight from one foot to the other behind the cafe counter, Dean waited for his latte to be ready. He preferred espresso, if he was honest - but lattes took longer to drink, and just recently, Dean had found himself becoming a professional in the niche field of ‘reasons to take a long time over drinking a coffee in a small cafe’. He’d never even liked coffee that much - it had always been more of a necessary evil, utilized when he’d pushed his sleeping schedule beyond the reasonable limit - but that was something that he’d conveniently forgotten, just recently.
In fact, he could date this very specific amnesia to the exact moment that he’d walked through the door of this tiny cafe, tired in the middle of a long day at work and gasping for something to drink on his lunch break. That had been the first time he’d come, but there had been a second time, and a third… and now it was almost a whole month later, and Dean was still coming in every day.
He wished he could say that it was the coffee at Better Latte Than Never that kept him coming back. The coffee was good – or at least, Dean thought it was, though he was no expert - he hadn’t exactly sampled a whole lot of different brands. In fact, recently, he hadn’t even bothered buying his usual packet of filter coffee when he went grocery shopping. He spent so much time in Better Latte Than Never that he was starting to genuinely worry about the effects of overcaffeination.
After all, maybe those effects included giddiness, and butterflies in his stomach, and a heart rate through the roof, all of which Dean had been experiencing on a daily basis - but if he was honest, Dean didn’t think he could blame the coffee so much as the maker of the coffee for the symptoms.