beefbasket:

anonymous said: could you do cas with wings in #4? (x)

You bet your ass I can.

(via ewdean)



Filed Under: # supernatural # castiel # fanart # pretty

min1919:

stuckygluedmyheart:

min1919:

…I need a happy scene. Why am I doing this

 Bucky had been roaming undercover for months after Hydra’s plans fell through. He was on his own. In the 21st century. All he knew was his name and that he knew the man he was told to fight.

In his time working for Hydra, he had either been in a freezer, placed in special treatment, or hunting someone down. He was taken care of- well more like kept alive. He was put through trials of experiments to make him stronger and practically invincible to help the cause. It had succeeded long ago. Only a couple years of procedures and they had mastered the formula. He became their soldier, the Winter Soldier. 

After that, the focus was really on their genius achievement of his arm. Improving it was a big priority, making him a bigger threat to all who opposed Hydra. But they also kept maintenance on it.

With him trying to escape his past, it meant he had no one to help him. No one with the knowledge to repair his arm. It had gotten damaged in the crash after the captain fell. After he had saved him.  There was one problem. 

It was hardly functional, he lost all motor skills in his fingers. But he had full movement of his shoulder joint, thankfully. Otherwise, the only thing that useless hunk of metal hanging off his shoulder could do was bend at the elbow some. He had taken to wearing a hoodie with his metal arm tucked securely into the pocket. At least that way it wasn’t swaying at his side and getting in the way.

But that wasn’t the worst part. The arm was never really comfortable to him in the first place. The only features the Hydra followers cared about was that it could carry a gun and destroy a car. Apart from that, it didn’t matter. 

The metal dug into his skin. It irritated it. The skin on the edges of his bionic arm would swell and scar. The men working for Hydra that specialized in his care would only treat if it seemed to be a real problem, impeding their plans. Every so often it would flare up and they would have to routinely clean and care for the arm to prevent further damage. Sometimes making changes in the engineering of how the arm fits against his skin.

They were working on it before Captain America had come down to stop their plans. It was cut short and they had to send Bucky up to fight without fully fixing the problem with his arm. He didn’t have the chance to return as he had left as soon as the fight was over. 

The arm was in disrepair and was in need of a professional to fix it, and if the metal pieces kept scraping against each other inside, the debris would cause an infection soon enough. He couldn’t be seen by anyone. A doctor would turn him in before he even showed him his robotic appendage. A mechanic would not only do just the same, but they would have no idea where to start with such advanced technology. 

There was nothing else to do about it. Bucky continued with his work. He wanted to lie low before he decided on anything, to learn about what he missed in his trance, to regroup and figure who he was, who he is, and what he had become. He had begun researching his former life, before he became the Winter Soldier. He researched more about Shield. About what Captain America had done with them. 

He looked into who was left of Hydra. What he could do to right his wrong. What he could do to wipe the red from his ledger. And he acted on it. 

After months and months of going from place to place, fighting for good and redeeming himself in the only way he knew how, his arm deteriorated more and more. Each time he had to fight off someone, the more the metal wore off. 

One day the pain became unbearable. He tore off his shirt. The gore around the edges of his shoulder were hard to look at. He scratched and clawed at it, in his struggle to rid himself of this weapon that had turned against him.

It began to bleed. On the ground of this obscure and generic motel room he was hiding out in, he thought he met his end that should have come decades earlier. The blood trickled down his side, his back, pooling under his arm, and dripping onto the floor. 

There was a knock at the door. Bucky couldn’t answer. He tried to groan in response, but even that was too difficult. Then a pounding. He was too delirious to recognize that a visitor would be odd.

 The door was forced open. Steve called out, “Bucky?” He was wary in the way he asked it. The man was only trying to assassinate him less than a year ago. He also didn’t want him to think that he was trying to attack him. But he had to come in. He had been trailing him ever since Shield fell and he wasn’t going to miss this opportunity. 

Steve walked in and saw Bucky. A mess on the floor. He rushed to him. Kneeling at his side, Steve tried to make sense of what had happened. He hovered his hand over the metal arm not wanting to startle or hurt him, seeing that the skin puckered painfully. He finally looked up at Bucky.

Bucky’s tormented eyes stared up at him. “Steve?” he asked roughly.

"Yeah, it’s me, Buck. I came to find you." Steve said. "Sam was just with me, he’ll be here soon." Steve put his hand onto the side of Bucky’s face to prop him up so he didn’t have to struggle to look up at him. 

Bucky started to say something, but he was losing consciousness fast. He tried again and began mumbling apologies repeatedly. 

"Hey, stay with me." Steve choked, his voice was giving out. He couldn’t lose his friend again, not when he was so close.  "Till the end of the line. Remember?"

"Till-till the end of the line, pal." Bucky gasped. His vision went white.

It’s 9 in the morning in my time and I saw this. Hell what’s the point to get up then…with all the words and details it hurts even more. Hell of a way to start a day and a whole week.

(via sebstantialcrisis)



Filed Under: # marvel # captain america # bucky barnes # steve rogers # fanart

soaked-fallen-angel:

blackeyedcas:

'Their greatest asset is their greatest curse. They can never be seen. 
Loneliest creatures in the Universe.' -The Doctor

#DEAN DIED#SO WHEN CAS VISITS HIS GRAVE HE JUST BREAKS DOWN#SO TERRIBLY HEARTBROKEN#NOTHING LEFT TO LIVE FOR#SO HE TURNS INTO STONE#IN THE HOPE THAT SOME DAY#DEAN WILL COME BACK AGAIN#LIKE HE ALWAYS DOES#BUT HE DOESNT - 

In the cemetery in a small town in the middle of Kansas, there’s a gravestone with a peculiarity to it. The statue of an angel lies there, slumped over, weeping.

The townspeople like to tell stories about the angel. They say the angel’s lover was buried there, and the angel was so heartbroken that he turned to stone, lacking the motivation to move ever again without his lover to move with him.

People go missing there, sometimes, in the graveyard. Parents warn their children never to go alone, to be careful, because people go in to mourn their loved ones and they don’t come back.

-January 24, 1979-

Emma Grey views the hospital around her and blinks. She’s sprawled on the ground, confused. Emma wipes the tears off her face and stands up. She’d been walking to her recently passed father’s grave to talk to him and give him her weekly flowers but now – where was she?
“Shhh, let’s get you to the nursery. You’ll be fine, sweetie. We just need to get you checked out and then you can go back to Mommy.” A nurse hurries past Emma, pushing a cart with a crying child down the hall.

–November 3rd,1983–

Michael blinks, confused. He’d been walking with Mommy, to visit where Anna was sleeping in the ground, but Mommy got mad after he asked when his sister would be back and Mommy scared him when she was sad-angry like that, so he ran off. But now there was a big orange and yellow fire eating up the house in front of him. Michael turns around and around, trying to find the familiarity of the stone rows and fresh flowers, but all he sees is the house and the firefighters in their big suits and look, there was another boy! He was running out of the house carrying a bundle of blankets and Michael tries to call out to him but the boy doesn’t turn around.

–July 14th, 2002–

One moment, he was standing in front of his mother’s grave, and the next, Thomas Fox was pacing the pavement in front of a shitty motel. He blinked, dazed, taking in his surroundings as two young men argue several yards away. One of them is carrying a duffel bag over his shoulder and he’s yelling.

“Dean, this is my choice. I told you I want a normal life and Stanford–”

“Shut up, Sammy.” The shorter one - Dean - seems to hesitate and then he embraces the other man. Thomas isn’t sure but he thinks they both might be shaking.

–September 18th, 2008–

Her palms have suddenly been sliced by broken glass and Ingrid blinks rapidly, trying to wash away tears of pain and grief. She’s in some kind of supply store, an abandoned one judging by the glass everywhere, and fuck she cannot deal with this right now. All she wanted was to call Leah and tell her about the most recent insane development in her life but Leah was just a hole in the ground now and - Ingrid lets out another sob and pulls herself up, avoiding the shattered glass while she walks to the door.

–May 4th, 2056–

The cemetery is old and crumbling now. The woman, bones brittle with age, hobbles to the middle of the graveyard and raises a bony hand to what once was the statue of an angel. It’s almost as if the feathers on it’s wings have fallen out. Castiel, she whispers. It took years of research and conversations with shady people in shadier alleys, but she’d figured it out eventually.

This statue is utterly broken. What must once have been powerful and indestructible is turned to stone, to dust. She crouches, paining her old knees, and brushes the dirt from the grave. It wasn’t unmarked after all; the shadows of Castiel’s stone trenchcoat merely hid it.

Castiel, she breathes again. Castiel, he was saved the moment his soul and your grace embraced. Do not mourn, for heaven has granted him all the paradise it could. Rejoice, for he only waits for you to join him and complete it.

Emma Grey walks away and does not look back, knowing only stone feathers remain.

         D. W.

–the righteous man–

(Source: midget-banana, via casfucker)



Filed Under: # supernatural # destiel # fanart # edits # favorite # pretty

Show-writing is like politics. As long as people are satisfied with the big picture, they’ll let the past mishaps go.



Filed Under: # but if they're not # ohhhhh dear lord # looking at you supernatural # personal # not a reblog

flurgburgler:

Something's made your eyes go cold.
Come on, come on, don't leave me like this,
I thought I had you figured out.

(via garrisonbabe)



Filed Under: # supernatural # destiel # fanart
  • What I really should do: study
  • What I tell myself I would do: write
  • What I end up doing: tumbling


Filed Under: # not about supernatural # not a reblog # not a real problem # dasdjfksl can't concentrate on the textbook
The Slumber of Summer - Chapter 1 - lyrithim - Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe [Archive of Our Own]

There was a war brewing in Steve and Bucky’s apartment.

“Red shell red shell red shell—yes!” Bucky shouted, pumping a fist into the air, as Steve’s head bowed in shame. The golden “1st” letters were emblazoned across his side of the screen the moment his character, a green dragon whose name Steve could not quite recall, sped across the finish line.

“I was so close,” Steve said, stunned.

“Ah, but not close enough, punk,” Bucky said, ruffling Steve’s hair. “You should think twice before you challenge me in Mario Kart again.”

“I will never understand how you’re able to beat me in the game when you’ve only started playing last week.”

“Well,” he said, heading toward to fridge, “I suppose that’s one of the advantages of being young and sprightly.”

“I am one year older than you,” said Steve. “One year.” Not to mention that their current set of games was passed on to them by Mrs. Lowery next door, who must have been at least eighty and had dozens of video game trophies lined next to her china cabinet.

As part of their video game policy, Steve, the loser, went around the living room area to pick up video game controllers and popcorn scraps. At the same time, though, he was keeping a careful eye on Bucky, who was pouring himself a glass of orange juice with his non-prosthetic arm—they would need to visit the supermarket every day, by the rate Bucky was downing the entire thing—and giving Steve a detailed description of the last four seconds of the game. His shirt was all rucked up to the side, and his hands were engaged in such animate gesticulations that the glass of orange juice looked precariously close to splashing against the fridge several times. The shadows underneath his eyes, a relic of his time in Russia, looked all but gone, and Bucky was smiling, a grin not quite as wide as the ones he had given Steve in their first years of acquaintance, but Steve loved it all the same.

[Read More]



Filed Under: # marvel # captain america # bucky barnes # steve rogers # bucky x steve # fanfiction # link

(Source: buqy, via cassexual)



Filed Under: # supernatural # castiel # winged!castiel # wings # graphics # pretty

(Source: lilicha, via dahliasheng)



Filed Under: # supernatural # destiel # demon!dean # demon # winged!castiel # wings # fanart # adorable

sammysnotokay:

And let it be known

He

Has returned

(via highermagic)



Filed Under: # supernatural # dean winchester # winged!dean # wings # graphics # edits # kewl
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