Ancient Roman Artifacts of the Day: These carved bone phalluses with finely detailed wings — dating back 1,600 to 2,000 years — were dug up in Britain and recently published in the journal Britannia.
I find this extremely fascinating.
Angels are dicks.
Ballpoint pen artwork of Castiel in his true form (huh..not exactly but I am not gonna reveal everything ^^) for the fic God Save The Human Cannon Ball by Downjune.
(Left) I worked on a A3 format on a sketchbook using ballpoint pens and watercolor pencils. (Right) The final version. I added two textures and changed the colors of the line work. I also used PS to make the separation between the two pages of the sketchbook disappear. There was a big line in the middle and the staples were visible.
I honestly cannot even begin to conceive of the mastery this took. There are so many lines but the page isn’t crowded. There is a perfect balance of space and the work reads so well in that space.
The whole layout of it guides the eye through everything and still leaves room for Castiel’s face- that serene expression of trust? surprise? acceptance? the way I read his expression alters every time.
The details are mind boggling. I love the detail of the writing on his ribs, I love the rams horn and the wing and the almost middle eastern influence of the shapes.
Everything about this makes me want to be a better artist. It makes me want to try new things. This artwork is amazing, magnificent and inspiring beyond belief.
Meanwhile, Prawnny is somewhere is the background in Prawngatory. Ask and ye shall receive, Lina, don’t say I don’t deliver.
I JUST DREW A PRAWN IN A TRENCHCOAT THIS IS THE PINNACLE OF MY EARTHLY ACHIEVEMENTS
ok ok I might draw some actual End!Destiel pr0nz over the weekend because in my headcanon there’s no way 2014 Can and Dean weren’t bumping uglies BUT IN THE MEANTIME ENJOY THE DESTIEL PRAWNS
True form!Castiel with Soul!Dean.
One of the things I love about this ship is that they could literally be together for eternity, even after Dean’s body dies.
I will never be able to draw hands.
From his constellations Castiel conjures the man he destroyed and rebuilt. The man he betrayed. Below his shaking hand Sam Winchester appears.
His hair spirals out on imaginary currents below the glassy surface, splaying inky tendrils and he is just beyond Castiel’s reach. Castiel could touch him. He could. He knows he just has to let his hand drop a little lower. His fingers linger just above Sam’s peaceful face.
Work in progress. Oh I am so excited to be posting this when it’s done 😀
the angel has always been there, even if he doesn’t always remember. it’s not easy, after all, to think in veins of leaves and haloed particles once one becomes used to the solidarity of blood and electric nodes, bones under muscle under skin like so many layers of earth, right down to the molten beating core. human brains have trouble with the language of winds, the laughter of grass, the poetry of stones. so much gets lost in translation.
it’s much easier when you speak in stardust and the twitch of feathers which might, or might not, be there; this angels understand, a tongue of indefinites. when he can remember what it was like, he misses this. he looks at two winter-eyed, summer-skinned boys and would like to be able to say—
(the turning of the moss as a fawn flees to mother, unbearable sunlight spilling around the curve of the moon, the spinning eye of a galaxy, the iron in the heart of a dying star, a breath of air down the tiger’s back, the vibration of a thrumming bass in metal and leather, the space between fingers on the steering wheel, prismic songs of water against the flanks of leaping salmon, carbon dioxide like milk in tea blooming white in the air, constellations shining on a dark mirrored hood, a lullaby in the hollow of an ear, the last sigh of autumn, hey jude, on her lips, hey jude hey jude hey jude)
—but he has forgotten how.
(by the banks of a river he hums a song that he does not remember, cracks “make it better” over his wrists and wonders why he says it)
He sighs and blinks and looks away instead, and later, forgets.