I Had A Dream The Other Night That I Met The Supernatural Production Team And Suggested A Plot Idea Even

I had a dream the other night that I met the Supernatural production team and suggested a plot idea even though the show is long over.

I woke up and was like, “wtf, I didn’t even like the show that much and stopped after season 6.”

(My email address is a Supernatural reference.)

[translation] [lyrics] Naotaro Moriyama - Itoshi Kimi E

We gonna take you back. Way back…

I remember his debut era, when I would tell my bff that this angel-voiced baby looked like a hippie. The world was different then, full of jpop lyrics websites and LJ jpop and jrock fans posted mp3s for download and translated their favorite songs. It was awesome and I miss it.

So I thought I’d try translating my faves while I’m learning Japanese. If this helps you appreciate the song better, great! Just keep in mind I’m a total amateur and I don’t take responsibility if your pro translator friend tells you you’re actually singing loudly in public about a huge buttplug.

森山直太朗 - 愛し君へ

Naotaro Moriyama - To My Beloved

Lyrics: Naotaro Moriyama & Okachimachi Kite

Composer: Naotaro Moriyama

Kanji

いっそ 抱きしめて

抱きしめて 離さないよ

このまま 傍にいて欲しい

何も問わずに

いっそ 最後まで 最後まで

信じられる力を 僕にください

例えばそれが 偽りでも

朝の光に 君が消えてしまいそうで

僕はまた眠った振りをした

眩し過ぎる思い出たち

こっちを向いて 笑っているよ

あの日溜りの中で

愛し君よ 愛し君よ

何処にいるの

今すぐ逢いに来て欲しい

例えばそれが幻でも

いいから

Romaji

isso dakishimete

dakishimete hanasanai yo

kono mama soba ni ite hoshii

nani mo towazu ni

isso saigo made saigo made

shinjirareru chikara wo boku ni kudasai

tatoeba sore ga itsuwari demo

asa no hikari ni kimi ga kiete shimai sou de

boku wa mata nemutta furi wo shita

mabushi sugiru omoide tachi

kocchi wo muite waratte iru yo

ano hidamari no naka de

itoshi kimi yo itoshi kimi yo

doki ni iru yo

ima sugu ai ni kite hoshii

tatoeba sore ga maboroshi demo

ii kara

Translation

just hold me

hold me and I won’t let you go

I want you to stay by my side like this

no matter what

until the end

give me a strength I can believe in

even if it’s a lie

in the morning light you appear to vanish completely

I pretended to fall asleep again

all the radiant memories

come to me and I’m smiling

in that sunny spot

my beloved

where are you?

I want you to come to me now

even if it’s an illusion

it’s okay

[fic] [spn | dean/cas ] i'm only temporary

These fucking nerds I swear to god. I stopped watching after season 6 and still came back because the way season 15 ended sucked so bad I wanted something different.

i'm only temporary spn dean/cas 710 words title from "Limb" by Keaton Henson feedback always welcome; errors mine all mine

Castiel emerges from the rising haze of steam in the shower room, still dripping. The towel he grabs from the row of hooks is one of their softest, and he uses it to swipe the moisture from his newly-aware skin and scrub at his hair before dropping it to the floor. He leans his hip on the counter and enjoys the residual warmth from the hot water as he performs his morning hygienic and perfuming rituals. There are many tedious things about being human, but these routines, performed in silence and solitude, are not objectionable.

His reflection appears dismayed as he realizes he has brought nothing to wear with him, and he pads out of the shower room and down the cool hall to Dean’s room.

Castiel knocks quickly, hoping Dean hasn't fallen asleep. “Dean,” he says to the door, “I require clean clothing.”

The response comes muffled from the other side. “Yeah, come in and take what you want.”

It appears that Dean has flopped down onto his mattress and stayed in that position after shoving the towel into Castiel’s hands and insisting he take first shower (never mind that there are other stalls). He is still wearing his road clothes with his face to the opposite wall. Castiel moves to the dresser and simply takes the top folded shirt and pajama pants. He doesn't understand Dean’s objection to sharing underwear specifically, but it is generous of him to share at all.

As he bends to place his foot into one bunched up pant leg, he voices his thanks.

Dean's booted feet are loud on the floor. “Jesus!” He has moved to sit at the end of the bed, evidently having looked at Castiel and turned away again, rubbing the back of his neck. "Didn’t sign up for dinner and a show, Cas."

As usual, Castiel doesn't quite comprehend what reference Dean made in the absence of a meal and a television program, but intuits that it has to do with his state of undress. The sense of shame surrounding nudity is one of many things Castiel finds frustrating about living among humanity. There is nothing shameful about any body. Clothing exists for protection and comfort, and the human form is beautiful.

Fully clothed now, he sits facing Dean’s back and carefully touches his shoulder. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”

“‘S fine, man.” Dean’s cheeks are deeply blushed as he turns around, shaking his head, with his hand winged away from it as he uncovers his eyes. “Not like I haven’t seen a dick before, and with everything we’ve been through, what’s a little nakedness between friends, right?”

Their faces are so close together (personal space, Cas) that even with his diminished human perception, Castiel can make out every freckle on Dean’s face, the furrows and crypts of his irises, and the flush overtaking his ears. Yes, the naked human form is beautiful, but Castiel doesn’t need to lay eyes on the rest of Dean’s body again to feel full of appreciation and affection.

He keeps that to himself. “We have shared much together,” he says instead.

After a long moment, Dean breaks eye contact, groaning and smacking his hand down on Castiel’s thigh, squeezing. “Ah—uh. So. What can I do ya for?” Then, reading his confused expression, “Do you need anything else? C’mon, help me out, here.”

As a human, Castiel can feel awkwardness. Before, he was immune to it and wouldn’t have cared even if he were aware of it. But human emotions carry such strange weight and urgency, and he is torn between competing desires to stay and flee. Even in the cool air of Dean’s room, he’s beginning to feel warm.

“I...enjoy spending time with you.” Despite being the truth, the words feel pulled from the same tumult in his gut that forced him to a since-unacknowledged confession at death’s door. His own face shows evidence of the burning he feels creeping up now, he is certain, and the urge to flee grows. "Do you– would you like to eat dinner and watch a tv show– together? Tonight?"

It is gratifying to watch Dean’s faintly pained grimace melt into a small, crooked grin.

“Yeah…yeah, Cas. As you wish.”

“She’s the last unicorn in the world.” “It would be the last unicorn in the world that came to Molly Grue.”

The Last Unicorn (1982) dir. Jules Bass & Arthur Rankin, Jr.