I should really but in bed but NOPE.
I had to finish this.
I read this fic the other night about lil Gabriel getting his wings, it was adorable.
#can’t you imagine how excited he was? #how quickly he ran to go show lucifer almost tripping over his own legs? #'i've got wings like you!' he would smile brightly and jump up and down #and lucifer would just smile down at him letting out a small chuckle as he shook his head #just imagine how proud they both where at that moment [Via helloandwelcometowienerhut]
supernatural > 2x13 houses of the holy > faceless
There’s no higher power, there’s no God. There’s just chaos and violence, random unpredictable evil that comes outta nowhere, rips you to shreds.
[ resisting jim is a losing battle ngl. ]
……i now understand.
time to go look up icons and urls.
[ Well, there’s a blade in his shoulder, his shirt is sticky with blood, and he can’t move either arm for fear of shifting the weapon and slicing himself open even more. His shoulder is throbbing dully, and that’s what’s worrying him. The sharp stabbing pain has stopped. Humans have something like this, don’t they? ‘Shock’ or whatever? He doesn’t know what it feels like, so he can’t tell. What he does know is that he’s losing blood faster than a Jack the Ripper victim, and he needs to get this blade out. Father knows what kind of filth came off Malachi’s hands onto that thing. ]
[ In the hall, the door opens. Slams. Footsteps coming closer.
Doesn’t really matter who it is as long as they get this huge-ass butter knife out of him, so he throws caution to the wind. ]
“— Little help?”
physically repressing the urge to create a moriarty blog by stuffing my face full of potato chips.
Gabe’s bleeding over here if anyone wants to RP.
okay, having joined a fandom where the setting is a zombie apocalypse, I noticed that it’s harder for me to reply to opens of other characters because their main setting isn’t an apocalyptic world. So, if you don’t mind having a muse reply to an open and having the setting be a zombie-verse, would you be so kind to reblog this.
[ He twists at the last moment,
avoiding certain death (thank Dad),
but the blade rams into his left shoulder
and sticks there.
He feels it jar off his shoulder blade,
scraping bone with a hideous skkkritch
that sets his teeth on edge. ]
[ There’s blood trickling down his spine,
soaking his shirt, and every movement
drags the blade further across the bone,
so he holds himself stiffly, doing his best
to keep his arm immobile.
His free hand flicks out sharply,
his treacherous sibling dissolving
into a shower of blood and gobbets of flesh.
Gabriel’s teeth dig into his lower lip,
brow furrowed and eyes flashing.
He can’t reach behind him;
his arm isn’t cooperating.
Well this is just peachy. ]