moved blogs;

         Well, kind of. The URL is the same as it has been; this account is officially archived though. I’ll probably be moving the majority of my queue over to there ( might not; depends on laziness level ) but I will not be on this account now. Still working on a couple of things but I am here.

         Well, kind of. The URL is the same as it has been; this account is officially archived though. I’ll probably be moving the majority of my queue over to there ( might not; depends on laziness level ) but I will not be on this account now. Still working on a couple of things but I am here.

         Well, kind of. The URL is the same as it has been; this account is officially archived though. I’ll probably be moving the majority of my queue over to there ( might not; depends on laziness level ) but I will not be on this account now. Still working on a couple of things but I am here.

         Well, kind of. The URL is the same as it has been; this account is officially archived though. I’ll probably be moving the majority of my queue over to there ( might not; depends on laziness level ) but I will not be on this account now. Still working on a couple of things but I am here.

         Well, kind of. The URL is the same as it has been; this account is officially archived though. I’ll probably be moving the majority of my queue over to there ( might not; depends on laziness level ) but I will not be on this account now. Still working on a couple of things but I am here.

I have a problem - Beartooth

オーダーいただきました。Φ280球体

 Fingers clutch the gun tighter, bottom lip trembling as tears unwillingly well in his eyes, leaving his vision blurred, distorted ; some part of him wants to believe it, believe that this is Castiel, or some version of him, and that their reunion was some sick, cosmic joke on his part ; a way of tormenting his already tattered soul, tearing and shearing at the parts still left half-way whole.

  After all, God was a sick man —— a masochist, a sadist, a goddamn psychopath. That had been proven time and time again, in more ways than both Dean and Castiel could count. After all, this feels too real to be a part of some grand illusion — when he looks at him, he can feel it in his gut.

 The gun is lowered with precision, the safety flicked on with a lazy brush of his thumb. Wariness still stretches his features taut, leaves his eyes hollow ; suspicion and mistrust are apparent as the hunter takes a step forward, until the bare skin of a scarred palm can brush across once-familiar jaw, breath hitching at the warmth and divinity that he can feel underneath. Shaky fingers drop back to his side ; virescent hues lock with bright blue orbs for a few long, silent moments ; a short, emotionless laugh reverberates through the night air.

            “ You are him. Holy shit… You’re actually fucking him. ” You’re not the one I left behind.

  The pistol is holstered in favour of his blade, finger running across the etched pentagram before the silver blade smoothly digs into the skin of his palm, crimson welling to the surface, held out for the angel to see.

            “ Not dead, not fake, ” Dean continues. “ Just so ya know. ”

  A glimmer of disdain still lingers in his worn features as he eyes the angel, slipping his knife back into its place at his side, feet taking a wayward step back as he looks around the field, breath ghosting in the chilled air. The trickster still lingers, once again slipping from his grasp ——— though, he may just have to wait before picking back up on his trail.

     He is patient, watching the hunter undergo the strain of a quiet debate-- to trust or to not trust was not an uncommon theme within the Dean that Castiel had watched die before him; it was of no surprise that this Winchester would find problem with the matter as well. Thus so the seraph waited in silence, azure eyes passing over the acute wariness coiled behind the soft well of tears. He is silent even in the knowledge that Castiel's mere presence had brought such a bittersweet pain to a Winchester so like the one Castiel had once known.

     There is no pretending, no illusion that his Father might have brought back the hunter and that Castiel could apologize for the mistakes he had made leading up to the man's death or that the celestial could shake even the smallest of blame weighing upon his shoulders-- did anyone ever? There always seemed to be an ounce of guilt in some form or another.

     Castiel was still as the Winchester's hand extended, fingers brushing his face; while he can understand the action under the thought of the angel being an illusion, some of the reasoning behind Dean's actions remain a mystery to him. It seemed to help though, as the celestial watched revelation spark within green depths.

     The test in which the hunter provided him with, proof of a reality Castiel didn't need-- he knew well how real the Winchester was in front of him-- as azure eyes rake over the thin line of crimson trailing across flesh littered with the thin silver of scars healed.

     Not dead was a statement both true and untrue standing there.

               "I assume it has something to do with a case but is there any other particular reason you are chasing after one of the more famously known Tricksters? In this case, one of the Trickster Gods?"

   “I’ll be fine,” he answered, attempted not to make it sound like a brush off. 

   Castiel wasn’t the person Jimmy would want to seek out if he was in any sort    of trouble. He knew the basics of keeping most monsters away, so he figured    himself alright.

      Looking the angel over, he did wonder.

          “I’m actually surprised they let you take the break.           Is that really all you’ve been doing? Being a healer?”

     His lips twitched slightly, the vaguest of all smiles toying with his      expression but it was not to say that Jimmy Novak was incapable of      taking care of himself; quite the opposite, in fact and Castiel understood      the matter simply.

     The question, however, caught him.

          "They didn't have much of a choice...                 I've been trying to atone for some of the things I've done,                 even recently. I know I can't...make up for the all but I                 figured helping people would be a nice place to start."

                    ” … 'course i bloody didn’t.                       s’a poor replacement fer silk cuts. “

                      "While that may be so, I doubt Gabriel would have                         found humor in the matter for very long if you had                     pretended that their bubblegum state did not bother you."

   If the beat of Cameron’s heart monitor paired with the sound of splitting wood    was anything to go by, that was the pace in which the door was breaking open.

   While a demon could cause the same damage, he knew they would have no    need to. Demons were free to enter and go as they pleased. The only creature    guarded against was the one James had hoped wouldn’t find them. Apparently,    the sigils meant to hide them hadn’t worked. Somewhere they had been faulty    or completely incorrect.

   He cursed under his breath as the door finally fell from its hinges and the other    markings hidden into the wall bore cracks, breaking them to allow the wrath    of Heaven in. Already standing from his seat, James placed himself between    the door and Cameron, ready to fight for what now belonged to him—    the key to his paradise.

   Tilting his head to the side, the demon gave a smile that was more…    a polite snarl.

             “Glad to know demons aren’t the only show offs.              Anything I can help you with?”

     Where at one point the celestial might have found a twisted sense of humor to      the observation, there was nothing within the depths of cold observance. The      weight of the once-undisturbed sigils lifting as easily as a headache fading--      they had been good, the marks though a single loop to be the downfall of intention.

     The lack of niceties was a thing to be expected, brushing past the broken wood      with a quiet disinterest, gaze falling upon the soul evident of their time within Hell,      a twisted mess that lived within the shell of mankind. It brought a minuscule      tightening of his lips though the angel had little room to judge in such an aspect--      he could recognize that much.

     Whether the demon had murdered one of Castiel siblings was only a partial point      of interest, gaze sliding past the twist in creation as he stared at the quiet beep of      a machine: registration of life.

     His gaze slid back to the demon, the current cold of indifference in which he felt      coursed as a quiet undercurrent within his skin.

               "Getting out of my way would prove to be helpful, yes."