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Dean n’ Cas, huntin’ buddies in Purgatory! But I don’t think Cas would be too useful at this point
Shitty, blobby Supernatural fanart, brought to you by my unemployment. This took a lot longer than it should have!
“THIS MANTICORE, IT FOLLOWED ME HOME.”
“CAS.”
“I’LL NAME IT BOB.”
“CAS, NO.”
“THE GROWLING MEANS IT LIKES YOU.”
“CAAAAAaaaa—”
“DEAN, WHERE ARE YOU GO — BOB, HEEL! BOB! BAD BOB!”
(via amoreprofoundblog)
#what if #finally #castiel falls in purgatory #the snap just comes when neither of them expect it #suddenly his grace is screaming to get out his body and castiel is taken totally by surprise #he has to reach behind himself and claw at the howling agony at his shoulder-blades #where his wings are ripping themselves apart #and suddenly they burst out of him #one last glory-flare #and they explode like galaxies and universes #shrieking up in columns of black fury into the sky #a fucking lighthouse for anything that wants to eat them or hunt them#and castiel is screaming because he didn’t expect it to HURT like this #and then dean is pulling him to the ground #sheltering him with his body #comforting him#it’s just another wound he says #just another thing to patch up #when we get home
(via morwens)
by Anna Peters
He said once that we must all do our share of regrettable things, and it makes you wonder, the way he said it, if you are his biggest regret. You don’t dare ask. You have no strength for the answer.
(via nyokala)
Dean and Castiel in Purgatory. I got my little Bamboo tablet today, and I’ve got to say while I’m totally missing my cintiq at home, it’s not a bad little tablet for the price. It’s nice and sleek and portable, and great for sketching on, so I’m really happy with it. I’ll definitely be using it for travel, and now I don’t feel totally un-digitized when I leave home.
Angels have six wings. Castiel now has five.
(via saltfree)
amonitrate:issafly:darkface:(via voodoovoodoo)
“Something’s following us,” Dean says softly.
Castiel says, “It’s been following us for a long time.”
But every time they turn around, they don’t see anything.
Look at me.
#the part where Cas tries not to look at Dean because he has ~orders~ #and also #the part where he fails#miserably #every time
(Source: capsiclestark, via jebiwonkenobi)
My friend, I am not what I seem. Seeming is but a garment I wear — a care-woven garment that protects me from thy questionings and thee from my negligence.
The “I” in me, my friend, dwells in the house of silence, and therein it shall remain for ever more, unperceived, unapproachable.
I would not have thee believe in what I say nor trust in what I do — for my words are naught but thy own thoughts in sound and my deeds thy own hopes in action.
When thou sayest, “The wind bloweth eastward,” I say, “Aye, it doth blow eastward”; for I would not have thee know that my mind doth not dwell upon the wind but upon the sea.
Thou canst not understand my seafaring thoughts, nor would I have thee understand. I would be at sea alone.
When it is day with thee, my friend, it is night with me; yet even then I speak of the noontide that dances upon the hills and of the purple shadow that steals its way across the valley; for thou canst not hear the songs of my darkness nor see my wings beating against the stars — and I fain would not have thee hear or see. I would be with night alone.
When thou ascendest to thy Heaven I descend to my Hell — even then thou callest to me across the unbridgeable gulf, “My companion, my comrade,” and I call back to thee, “My comrade, my companion” — for I would not have thee see my Hell. The flame would burn thy eyesight and the smoke would crowd thy nostrils. And I love my Hell too well to have thee visit it. I would be in Hell alone.
Thou lovest Truth and Beauty and Righteousness; and I for thy sake say it is well and seemly to love these things. But in my heart I laugh at thy love. Yet I would not have thee see my laughter. I would laugh alone.
My friend, thou art good and cautious and wise; nay, thou art perfect — and I, too, speak with thee wisely and cautiously. And yet I am mad. But I mask my madness. I would be mad alone.
My friend, thou art not my friend, but how shall I make thee understand? My path is not thy path, yet together we walk, hand in hand.
Monsters by Tavo Montañez
prey on each other for all eternity
Dean can hear Cas yelling, “Don’t listen to them! You know yourself better than the monsters ever can.”
But they don’t need to know him better. They already know enough.
![victoriousvocabulary:
FOLIE À DEUX
[phrase]
from the French for “a madness shared by two” (or shared psychosis) - a psychiatric syndrome in which symptoms of a delusional belief are transmitted from one individual to another. The same syndrome shared by more than two people may be called folie à trois, folie à quatre, folie en famille or even folie à plusieurs (“madness of many”).
[term requested by belletristcoterie]
It’s Azazel, it’s Alastair, it’s Anna, it’s his mother, but then Cas touches his arm and says his name and they’re gone. It’s just shadows. If he is so porous as to be subject to illusions, he is porous enough for Cas to dispel them.](http://24.media.tumblr.com/tumblr_m34qywxsTX1r47bczo1_500.jpg)
FOLIE À DEUX
[phrase]
from the French for “a madness shared by two” (or shared psychosis) - a psychiatric syndrome in which symptoms of a delusional belief are transmitted from one individual to another. The same syndrome shared by more than two people may be called folie à trois, folie à quatre, folie en famille or even folie à plusieurs (“madness of many”).
[term requested by belletristcoterie]
It’s Azazel, it’s Alastair, it’s Anna, it’s his mother, but then Cas touches his arm and says his name and they’re gone. It’s just shadows. If he is so porous as to be subject to illusions, he is porous enough for Cas to dispel them.
I take this road to arrive at its end
where the toll taker passes the night, reading.
I feel the cupped heat
of his left hand as he inherits
change; on the road that is not his road
anymore I belong to whatever it is
which will happen to me.- Lucie Brock-Broido, “After the Grand Perhaps”
(Source: idrather-haveyou)
even the landscape is a beast
To Dean’s surprise, dawn breaks. He didn’t think there was daylight in purgatory.
The sky brightens and sunlight - or what passes for it - bends through Cas’s wings. (Yeah, he can he see them now, almost, the way you can see water by how it distorts the bottom of a lake. The world shimmers behind them when Cas moves, and he is becoming difficult to hear. The piercing hum of an angel’s true voice begins to outline his voice. Cas is changing.
“It’s this world,” he explained. “It undoes you, or remakes you.”
“Well, stop it!”
“I’m trying.”
Dean still sees the face of a man, but he has to blink out the afterimages of holy fire. He counts six wings.)
“At least we can see where we’re going now,” Dean mutters, squinting at the horizon.
“No,” Cas whispers. “No, this is bad. It’s awake.”
“What’s awake?”
“The land.”
Nobody cares that you’re broken, Cas. Clean up your mess!
#it’s not that he doesn’t care #it’s that he knows all about self-sacrifice
