Coffee & Awesome
If you think you can- do.
Don't talk to me about it.
23, pan, USA, Graphics Student,
insane fan of various universes,
artist, crafter, tea and coffee aficionado
come talk at me
@hotrodngold/twitter
O locks so brown and flowing,
Brushed back so neat and fair.
With side burns of governance
And ends that dance in the air;
Shall never more we see you,
So cropped pixie and short?
Shall never again your bangs be beheld,
Fluttering after derisive snorts?
We miss thee, youthful locks of old,
And entreat thee come again,
Ask we now and ever more:
“Hair and Make Up- the fuck were you thinking?”
Dean and Sam mildly shocked at the polygamous wife
and then there’s Cas
YOU CAN JUST SEE THE LIGHT BULB FLICK ON
I CAN HAVE DEAN AND SAM
(Source: canonsunkmyship, via cautionzombies)
#I DON’T UNDERSTAND WHAT I NEED TO WRITE MY NAME FOR
This is the single greatest thing this fandom has ever produced.
This is fucking transcendental. AND THE BEST PART IS THAT IT’S ENTIRELY WITHIN THE REALM OF CANON POSSIBILITY.
(via hackle)
(Source: onceuponanangel, via bleedcolor)
#we will never be able to really know them #do you ever just #think about that#there is so muchwe’ve discovered about them #and we’ve watched them grow#but there’s eighteen years of empty space there #where they only had each other#and no matter how close we get #how many reinventions of them we see #we’ll never know what sam said to dean over breakfast the day he turned eleven #and we get these little glimpses of the boys who grew up in a back seat of a car wrapped around each other
(Source: halefever, via enochiandirtytalk)
A post about plagiarism…(Left) The original art I did for the In Small Packages community for the prompt “Sam & Dean’s first kiss” - Dec. 2011 (Right) An art posted this morning on Live Journal and blatantly copied on mine - June 2012
What really pissed me off with this kind of stuff is that:
- the artist did this art for a friend and made them believe it’s an original concept.
- they didn’t ask for permission to actually copy my art. I would have said “yes” and very gladly if someone would have contacted me to ask me “I really loved this art of yours, can I make my own version? I could be like a fan art of a fan art”. In fact, I think it’s an interesting concept. There is fic remixes challenges, I would LOVE to see the same thing for art. Asking would have taken this person two minutes and they have no excuse whatsoever because my art is signed, they know where to find me.
It’s that Dean and Sam are so fucked up.
I mean, Daddy Winchester says ‘protect Sammy’ and Dean does it for his whole life until Sam says ‘I can’t stay here any longer’ and suddenly Dean’s missing half his directive. He used to be ‘protect Sam. Follow Dad’s orders.’ Then he’s just ‘Follow Dad’s orders’, only, Daddy Dearest isn’t around much. So he’s not even really that.
Then, ooh, look. He gets Sammy back, only it’s ‘Sam’ now and Sam neither wants, nor really needs to be protected.
And then Dad comes back. But Dad changes his orders. It’s no longer ‘protect Sam(my)’. No, now it’s ‘watch Sam’. Save him if you can, but watch Sam. Watch him and, if you have to, kill Sam.
Dean’s gone from ‘protect’ to ‘be ready to kill’.
And Sam? Sam just lost the one person who, no matter what he did, he knew had his back.
All of this? They’re still the only people they can trust.
That’s what gets me.
AU Meme: Sam&Dean as spies with Castiel as their handler
“Copy that, Huggybear.”
um. yes please.
It wasn’t the first time they’ve failed a job.
It might’ve been the worst.
Dean can hear Cas, their handler, through his earwig, predictably wigging out, “—ever seen. I swear you have nothing better to do than make my life a living hell- why in the world would you ever give a civilian your legal? That’s what we gave you aliases for, you assbutts—”
“Yeah, yeah, chill it, Feathers-”
“That’s ArchangelOne to you, you dick-”
“-it’s not like I screwed the mission on purpose. I didn’t think anyone from my old school would recognize me, let alone be at some posh gig like this.” Dean yanks at his bowtie, scowling before Sam’s hands slap his away and get to untangling the knot.
ArchangelOne is still yammering in his ear and with a grimace, he pulls out the earbud, killing the feed.
Sam huffs, still concentrating on Dean’s tie.
“No, Archangel, he’s not listening. Well, I don’t know, maybe it had something to do with your blaming us for a ridiculous turn of fate that no one, save maybe God, could’ve predicted. No, I’m not telling him that. Or that.”
Sam finishes with the tie and yanks it off, his face flat and tight. Must really be pissed, Dean thinks, if Mr. Masks isn’t putting on a pleasant face.
“Look, if you two want to continue your petty, married spat, that’s fine, but don’t make me your go-between.”
They both buckle up, the old Impala offering them a relatively safe form of transport, both sturdy in it’s steel frame, and blessedly free of any sort of advanced computer system that could be monitored or tracked. Dean starts up the car and pulls out without a word, the further tightening around Sam’s eyes showing his distaste at whatever Cas is still ranting about until his face falls completely blank.
“Dean. Dean, put in your ‘bud,” Sam says, smacking his brother with the back of a hand.
“Ok, ok, jeeze, gimme a second,” Dean pulls over and fishes in his suit jacket for the earbud.
When he puts it in, it’s to the sound of a radio news broadcast, “—and reports are still pouring in from the sight of the devastation, though deaths already number in the hundreds. Again, for those of you just tuning in, a bomb has been detonated in downtown LA. So far, no claim of responsibility or demands have been sent, though there are already FBI and FEMA agents on scene armed with ultrasound scanners and—”
There’s silence from the other end of the line before Cas’ voice comes over, clipped and tense.
“ArchangelTrue is calling all agents back to base. There’s a plane at McKinley fueled up and waiting for you. Come back now, KansasOne, Two.”
“ArchangelOne…” Dean hesitates, but Cas must anticipate because he offers up a short phrase before signing off.
“…Preliminary reports indicate it might’ve been Lucifer Inc.”
Beside him, Sam crumples forward, cupping his head in his hands.
Dean swallows.
Adam.
Dystopia!AU because I am a shameless whore for a good picture and this prompted ALL THE FEELINGS.
The evil crept back in slowly. Insidiously.
Sam was the first to fall. The first that was noticed. Dean found his brother still and silent in an alley in Westchester, not two blocks from the brownstone they were squatting in, the knife in his back still warm at the hilt.
Though he tried, he couldn’t find a demon to Deal with.
They’d killed too many.
Bobby was felled next, found slouched back in his chair, throat slit from ear to ear and wrapped up as a suicide when the police found his prints and only his prints on the knife dripping in blood and still at the scene. Dean moved into the house, parked the Impala outside and tarpped her. He’d never found what killed his brother.
He never finds what stole Bobby from him, either.
He hears about Lisa through another job, four towns away and rushes over. When he touches her, clothed in a suit and badge, she’s still warm, if just barely. He can’t bring himself to look at her face, though her guts have been removed and scattered about her until her ribcage lies empty and gaping. He has the dark thought that they’re a matching set now.
He takes Ben with him, Lisa’s Will bequeathing him guardianship over her only son. They stay in town a week.
Ben dies at school, in the gym locker room, wrists, jugular and femoral artery slashed so that the showers they find him in are painted in red.
Dean drinks so much that night that he passes out. When he comes to, two days later, the Wesson hotel across town is lit up in red and blue, body bags brought out by the dozens.
Cas finds him two months later.
“Enough, Dean,” the angel’s voice is low, pained. Resigned.
Dean downs another shot, throat so raw he doesn’t feel the liquid one step up from turpentine slide down it.
“Cas,” he rasps back, poring another two shots out.
He slams the first shot and the second, capping the second glass with a sharp slam.
“How nice’ve you to show up, you feathered prick.”
Cas stares at him, silent and intent and Dean has no energy for this. Has just enough juice left, in fact, for this last hunt and then he’ll crawl off and find a place to hide until he dies or another hunt derails him from his passive suicide. It has the last three times he tried.
“Dean,” forceful without being forceful. Why aren’t you getting it stop being deliberately dense own up.
“S’rry, Cas. Not exactly at my best right now. You’ll have to excuse the poor, lonely drunk.” Dean levers himself up, leaning on the table for balance rather than strength. He’s not sure he can get drunk enough any more to need strength from furniture. Some days, it feels like the booze is the only thing keeping the crushing weight of his feelings off long enough to do the job. He doesn’t want to think about what it’d be like without it.
“Dean, I-” Castiel sighs, rubs at the back of his head like he used to. When everything was normal.
Dean would feel worried about this but, alcohol aside, he hasn’t been able to feel in so long, the sentiment wouldn’t get through anyway.
“I can’t let you keep doing this, Dean. It has to stop- Heaven is noticing, Dean.”
Castiel looks at him with eyes broken and so wretchedly sad that Dean thinks he’s not imagining the small, sympathetic something that breaks loose in his chest.
“Well, good for fucking them,” he rasps.
Castiel closes his eyes, raises his hand and rests it on Dean’s head.
“I’m sorry.”
“Goodbye, Dean.”
Later, when he has time, Castiel will wonder and pray and contemplate and ask himself what could make a man such as Dean kill the only thing he held dear.
(via helevingnes)
I mean, come on. You have demons. Lots and lots of demons. There’s hot demons, conniving demons, ugly demons, ‘friendly’ demons, sexy demons, trixy demon. You have The Plot To Take Over the World, starring one High Demon and His Majesty Lucifer, through infection of babies with demon blood (or fallen angel, if you want to look at it that way).
You have Daddy issues, through two sets of brothers. Daddy issues that involve delicious things like angst and manpain and more angsting while Putting On a Brave Face which inevitably leads to-
All the Self Sacrificing, All the Time. Which is seriously almost a cliche with these boys. Honestly, they’re not happy unless somebody is giving their life up for family. (Really, these guys die more than the heroine in a series of Buffy.)
There’s all the betrayal. Again, a serial occurrence. Like, every single one.
Then, we add angels to the mix. Angels? Seriously? Like this needs to get any more awesome. But it does and our first interaction with an angel who’s not pretending involves lines like ‘I’m the one who gripped you tight and raised you from perdition’. If our fannish hearts weren’t satisfied by the liberal application of Rule 34 re: Winchester familial relationships, that line right there would fix it all better.
Oh, and we must not forget the time travel. Very awesome time travel, by which we get a Meet the Parents. (I’m just saying, it’s too bad that Dean/Sam didn’t drag his angel along asking ‘look what followed me home! Can I keep him?’)
We get to the end of series 5, where we’re all sure that everything is going to be the shits, and hey- we’re right, they pull a Hamlet and everyone dies. For about five seconds. We get assbutt jokes, and exploding!Cas proves to be a far more fun game than that one with the exploding cards in the universe with the 14 Year Old Girl Evil Overlord set on Avada Kedavraing the guy who broke his heart.
And then everyone comes back (new and improved, even) and nothing hurts.
Until they give us a soulless guy wandering around wearing our lovers a familiar face and torturing the shit out of things. But it’s okay, because Dean gets turned into something else ( :D) and the scary-mofo face sets many a loins aflame.
Mustn’t forget the gratuitous pop/rock culture references and the music that we all headbang (don’t deny it, I see you every Thursday/Friday with your hair going everywhere, right next to me) to like its the end of days.
Which is is. Again.
Did we mention the Apocalypse, and ‘last night on Earth’ is a valid means of gaining sex in our fandom? Luckily, we have an expert prepared to help you through the fact that you’re aiming to misbehave in life threatening ways by making sure you Don’t Die a Virgin. Even if he has to make sure himself.
We have soulmates.
We have profound-bondmates.
We have sexy, sexy accents for the other 363 ‘mates’ in the year, and although about half are sarcastic, we get a snarky King of Hell to deliver them, and he’s fucking our resident demonologist awesome, so who gives two shits?
Trucker caps, leather jackets, jeans, work boots and flannel never go out of style here and fit in very well, in fact, with suits and ties and trenchcoats. Dressing up as a priest is a special event and is by invite only, but don’t worry. We have extra cards.
We have magic swords, we have dragons, we have vampires, parallel worlds, doppelgangers, locked-room mysteries, tricksters, Japanese references, witches, werewolves, ghosts, local legends, spells, aliens, hot cars, gay references, bondage and much more.
Sometimes, I think that I might die if I had to watch SPN all day, every day. Those times number three, and coincide with finals weeks. (I think I’m forgiven.)
WE ARE SUPERNATURAL.