#shieldeus

[k4sfail]

@K4SFAIL. writing blog for castiel from supernatural rewritten and reimagined into an original plotline inspired by his dark materials, minorly influenced by kripke's serialization, entirely canon-divergent and existing far beyond the scope of the source material. hc-based and in development since 2020, previously @shieldeus. sideblog to vinduri, refer to main blog for rules etc. additional portrayal-specific info under the cut. affiliated with ...

NAVIGATION: # INSP / # HCS / # STORYBOARD

[moltolavoro]

@shieldeus | “I can take your problems away with a nod and a wave of my hand.” | sam

absurdly, it’s the first thing that’s made sam smile all day. perhaps it’s the blatant way castiel says it. as though it’s the most obvious thing in the world. it’s almost endearing, if sam thinks about it. it’s also -- sweet. not in a way he thinks castiel is engaging with intentionally, it just...is. 

still, it takes him a moment to find the words to answer, and when he does, he’s not sure it’s the right one. it’s the only one he’s got, though. ❛ that’s not your job, cas. ❜ it’s soft, and gentle, and sam’s fingers curl on the linoleum motel table. there’s bandages around both of them, covering cut palms and bruised knuckles, pricked fingertips. all the blood shed lately seems to be his. ❛ but if you could...stay? if you could be here...that would be just as good, i think. ❜

[rejectory]

❝It’s not who, it’s what. Exclusively what is just.❞

And therefore unavoidably objective, many have said, of which the overperforming demographic were all nihilists who sometimes didn’t know they were nihilists.

❝To us.❞

He’s comfortable enough to say so. His guest is... clean. Different than boring, certainly. Nicky feels matched in an unspeakable way. Not like with Joe. And with Joe, it isn’t like this. Maybe it couldn’t be.

He has no intention to bristle at it, but he can’t promise anything if he’s goaded well.

❝I see how that must sound vain. I agree.❞

So if fear of slip-ups is a rope, the hands would forever be arrested. And that is a load of nonsense he couldn’t get behind, even considering how much practice Booker’s very existence has thrust on him.

His turn. 

Castiel. What a very interesting name. Oddly biblical, some might say.

❝When were you born?❞

Nicky angles over and into his host role. For the French press—the irony of which isn’t lost on his inward as if—so he can hover it over Castiel’s cup.

Coffee?

@shieldeus​ * from.

[abyssurviveda]

continued from here for shieldeus

SHRUG OF SINGLE SHOULDER , TEETH BEGINNING THEIR WORRY OF PLUSH , BOTTOM PETAL - ----if blend is being honest , she doesn’t know herself why she had pressed such a soft , tender kiss to their face ( maybe it was the way his eyes , despite having caught the light , stayed the same entrancing & frightening blue and didn’t remind her of eyes that still haunt her or maybe it was how , despite what he is , his vessel’s cheeks still flushed that beautiful pink that beckoned ivy closer . . . or maybe the overhanging mistletoe had a part to play ) ; shrugging it off as allowing a harmless impulse . 

❛ felt like it ; tis the season to be corny . ❜ soft smile still lingers of pale crescents , a show of empathy when in reality , blend is terrified of what he thinks it could mean , what he wants it to mean . ❛ you said you knew where i could get some holy water , and you promised i wouldn’t have to raid the local chapel ; keep leading the way pretty eyes . ❜

[spnevils]

     ‘   You  never  call,  Castiel-,   ’

     ‘   ...but  then,  uh-  I’m  the  King  of  not  calling,  so...  comme  ci,  comme  ça,  as  they  say.   ’

@shieldeus​,  𝐒𝐂.

[babylonwhores]

LEAH IS THE NAME SHE’S ADOPTED FOR HER TIME ON EARTH, but she has so many names. the harlot, mystery, the mother of abominations. what’s one more? it means less to her than the humans she is now surrounded by, these brief, firefly existences. none of them see her for what she is. but there is one, in the swill of these bodies, who does.

“castiel!” she calls, cheerily, and she waves, adopting the persona of an excitable, friendly, high schooler to perfectly match the form she stole for herself. “hi! wow, what are the odds of seeing you here, huh? small world.”

@shieldeus​

[voidbeings-a]

there is a stark difference between a caretaker and a parent   ...   perhaps none of them know it.  (  have any of them had proper parents ?  )     jack slinks into the bunker, returning to the only home he’s known so early in the morning that not even the owls stir, only to meet the angel. there is an expression of guilt that the nephilim has not yet learned how to hide, simultaneously ducking his head and holding eye contact.

❛❛   i once wished you’d leave me alone   ---   but i took it back.   ❜❜          jack mumbles. blood staining ends of sleeves has been washed off clean hands, he clasps those arms behind his back as so to hide the evidence that he had been doing anything mischievous in the first place.          ❛❛   i didn’t understand when i’d wished it that you love me. i didn’t really know what love was.  don’t be mad?   ❜❜          mad about what?  one might ask. anyone who knows jack knows he isn’t a gifted liar to begin with, so he might as well just out himself before he’s asked any questions.

❛❛   i had an   ...   itch ?   of sorts. i’m trying to know myself, father. i’m trying to stretch my powers. i had to hunt tonight. i’m sorry. please, don’t be upset with me. i kept myself secret. only the monster knew i was there.   ❜❜

[fiveslays-a]

❝           are all angels this...    philosophical?     guess so since,    y’know,    heaven and all that.          ❞          seemed like quite the stretch to faith.    she wasn’t too big into philosophy and all that jazz.   it was just surviving day to day,   it wasn’t anything deeper than that.    even on the road to redemption,   philosophy or even attempting it,    made her feel out of place almost.    in a way,   it was still the same;       just take it day by day.        ❝           ⸺         listen feathers,    sounds like you’re having it rough and hey,   i’ve been there.   i mean,    look at when we first met;    practical rock bottom.    you can’t change the past but you can add that to your checklist for the future and if that fails...    there’s always the classic:      liquid courage.    works in a pinch,   lemme tell you.         ❞

(   RE:      some meme.     ⸺⸺         PROMPT:    ‘i’ve never had the courage of my convictions. ’       @shieldeus​​.

[cadisflya]

@shieldeus​ said:  𝙴𝚅𝙴𝚁𝚈𝙱𝙾𝙳𝚈 𝙷𝙰𝚂 𝙰 𝙲𝚁𝙸𝚂𝙸𝚂 𝙾𝙵 𝙵𝙰𝙸𝚃𝙷. 𝙸𝚃'𝚂 𝙽𝙾𝚁𝙼𝙰𝙻.

   𝙼𝙾𝚂𝚃 𝙰𝙶𝙴𝙽𝚃𝚂 𝙺𝙽𝙾𝚆 𝙰𝙻𝚁𝙴𝙰𝙳𝚈 𝚃𝙷𝙰𝚃 𝚅𝙾𝙻𝚄𝙽𝚃𝙴𝙴𝚁𝙸𝙽𝙶 𝚃𝙾 𝚁𝙸𝙳𝙴 𝚆𝙸𝚃𝙷 𝚆𝙸𝙻𝙻 𝙶𝚁𝙰𝙷𝙰𝙼 𝙸𝚂 𝙰 𝙱𝙰𝙳 𝙸𝙳𝙴𝙰. Yes, Uncle Jack has ordered him his own rental car and, yes, it will be blissfully quiet compared to the packed vans and borrowed squad cars that the others packed into hours ago—but Will Graham will be in it. That usually sticks like a bad smell. The car is late, some mix up at the airport, and they’ve been standing outside the motel for almost an hour. The rooms are emptying out. The diner just adjacent to the office is filling up. It’s cold, early, and the air is tacky, and Will’s bitter little scoff becomes a beautiful white breath of steam suspended in the windless distance.

   “You’d think God would begin to find that narrative redundant. Finite sins against an infinite atonement.”

   He pulls his gloves off with a jerk, one by one. Will doesn’t care if the car never comes. If the car never comes, he can go back inside and lay on his back in the empty rented bed and try to sleep. He’d never managed to make it under the covers last night. The sheets are still fresh. There’s no evidence that he was even there.

   “I would.”

   Find it redundant. Meaningless. The entire notion of a ‘normal crisis’ is deeply ironic on top of being self-annulling, but Will doesn’t feel the need to point that out. That would touch too close against the border of what might begin to be considered small talk. He doesn’t want that.

   Will turns the side of his body to the slant of the diner window behind him so that the glare across the glass shifts and he can see inside. He can see inside, but a hard wall of yellow light will make him invisible to the people on the other side. They're all eating breakfast. Two dozen people, maybe more. When someone pushes the door open, a bell rings and the smell of the coffee and grease and frying potatoes is sucked outside for just a moment, before the cold air pushes it back in as the door closes. Like a hot breath that’s been swiftly stolen. In the same moment, Will can hear the soft clink of metal utensils on ceramic plates. Mugs being set back onto tables after someone has taken a drink. And conversation. Of course, that. Maybe two dozen conversations. Maybe less. Some people are bound to be dining alone.

   It’s not remarkable—just people eating breakfast.

   He’s taken only six or seven seconds to catalog all of these details, and they file to a frontward drawer that sorts itself and dumps the extraneous after every short-term cycle is up, but, suddenly, Will is cold. Situational awareness. Longing, maybe. He likes to hear people talking when he can’t tell what it is their saying. Diners are good for that. The din of bodies, people, crammed together. Calm and happy in the net.

   He doesn’t offer, just announces:  “I’m hungry.”

   Will puts his gloves back on before he touches the door handle, but stops pulling it open when he hears Jimmy’s shoes crunch on the frost-slick sidewalk just behind him. Will turns over his shoulder, a heavily saturated slice of blue eyes between the brown of his curls and the pink of his cheeks and the hard, featureless blackness of his wool coat, and hesitates. His eyes flicker from Jimmy’s shoulder to his chin, very briefly to his eyes before they drop again.

   Jimmy is an amicable man. Anonymous, in that way. Attractive. Will has never worked with him before. Well, not with him. He doesn’t work with them. Near them. But Jimmy follows towards the restaurant almost automatically, like a lost child with nowhere else to turn, perhaps equally or differently like an attentive guardian, like Will is the child, like he has tacit permission to go astray—Alana does something similar. Smiles, and crowds from a casual distance, to prevent anything from startling him from behind. She thinks he doesn’t notice it. Will allows her to think that, because it makes her feel better about having the impulse, but it’s a starkly atypical behaviour for an FBI agent, for any law enforcement. An FBI agent would stand outside and wait for the car. A cop would have wanted to get to the door first. To open it first. Cops don’t follow people through doors. Cops hold doors. They make the subject shrink to get by without touching them, and take a private pleasure in exerting a repulsive gravity strong enough to change your shape without realizing that the theory relies on mutual repulsion to have any merit.

   There’s something else different, too. Something animal that Will can’t name.

   Somebody has to go first. The dogs always wait for him to go through the door first because he trained them to behave that way. Will looks at Jimmy again, and his head tilts just a little.

   Jimmy is amicable. They don’t have that in common—but Will rubs his cheek into his own shoulder, isolating the sensation of grating skin against grating fabric, and wets his lower lip.  “You don’t have to come if you don’t want to.”

   I’m not pleasant company, and I’m not sure I want you there.

   It seems to need saying. It’s also a subtle inquiry into motive.

   For a quick, pleasant moment, pleasant bordering on eerily delightful, Will is struck with genuine interest in whether or not the other man is even carrying a wallet. Everything seems incomplete. His suit is grey. It shouldn’t be.

[waterfrd]

@shieldeus​​ liked this post!

❛ Blessed day, we've been sent good weather. ❜

[huntborn-a]

starter   for   :   @shieldeus​

          ❝   woah   there   𝚃𝚁𝙴𝙽𝙲𝙷   𝙲𝙾𝙰𝚃   ,          careful   where   you’re   going   with   that   𝘱𝘰𝘸𝘦𝘳   𝘴𝘵𝘳𝘪𝘥𝘦   and   determined   look   in   your   eyes   .   ❞

[flammeusarch2]

@shieldeus​  /  “There’s no one in here. You’re just imagining things.“

“  dude,  don’t  you  have  like  higher  knowledge  or  something?  ”    they’ve  been  in  the  building  for  less  than  twenty  minutes  and  she’s  already  spotted  five  people  waiting  for  them  to  make  one  wrong  move.  “  you  better  pull  out  that  magic  sword  of  yours,  we  might  have  to  fight  our  way  out  of  this  hellhole.  ”

[moltolavoro]

@shieldeus | starter call !! | sam

if sam were to try and count, genuinely, how many time he has felt unclean, he would be counting...endlessly. he has spent most of his life feeling different, out of place ; strange. but it’s only recently that he’s begun to understand why. that he’s learned the mechanisms of his own body have been out of his control since before he could roll over on his own. there is something demonic latched on to his very being, and same despises it with everything he is.

he had never, of course, expected the problem to be compounded like this. it was bad enough when dean had started to look at him differently ; had turned a gaze that sam had once only ever seen directed at monsters towards sam himself. he had understood, in that moment, why monsters fear the winchester.

but now he sits in the same room as an angel, and heat thrums under his veins as he thinks about how dean was granted salvation. couldn’t that be him, too? isn’t he worth saving? ❛ can i -- ask you something? ❜ it comes out almost abruptly, sam’s breath catching as the words land on the air. stupid -- presumptuous. this is an angel. cas doesn’t have time for his question. ❛ no, forget it. sorry. ❜

[vswartzschild]

“I have no reason to reason with you.”    (  @shieldeus​  )

                        Upturn      of      ruby      lips     (      there      is      nothing      human      about      her     smile      ),      her      eyes      cast      a      glance    towards      the      angelic      being      –      two     kindred      souls,      he      views      himself      above     her,      but      she      knows      better.      Katherine’s     clothes      are      now      drenched      in      rainwater     and      blood,      mud      coats      black      heels      –     even      in      her      ugly      monstrosity     there      is      beauty,      blemishes      of      red      upon    immaculate      snow.      And      she      laughs,     it      mocks      Castiel      like      it      mocks      most     people      (      reason      with      her?      there     is      nothing      depraved      in      living      like      one    pleases      ).

                “      you      amuse      me,     castiel,      ”      Katherine      hums      in      retort,     echoing      her      footsteps      against      cobblestone     when      she      nears      the      angel      –      the     storm      is      dissipating      in      the      horizon     (      the      beast      has      fed,      the      hunger      is     satiated      ),      and      moonlight      begins      to     creep      through      cracks      in      the      fog     when      she      brushes      bloodied      claws      against     the      jawline      of      his      vessel      –      a     handsome      human      he      was      once.      All      angels    are      filled      with      vanity,            “      you    think      there      is      a      higher      reason      for    you      to      try      and      convert      me.      do     you      intend      to      save      me?      ”      voice     is      a      jesting,      taunting      murmur,      honeyed    in      its      entirety      (      saccharine      sweet,     nauseating      ),      “      all      the      angelic     wisdom      of      eternal      knowledge      …      but     you      really      lack      in      common      sense.      ”    she      leans      closer,      scarlet      -      coated     lips      press      against      the      ear,      “      no     one      who      has      tasted      the      true      power     of      the      wolf      wants      to      go      back      to    being      a      stupid      little      lamb.      ”

[abyssurviveda]

@shieldeus​ said “  i don’t mind telling you some things. many things i mustn’t say . “ from here !

CLICK ! IN HER ALREADY DRY THROAT IS AUDIBLE AS SHE FORCES TO SWALLOW DOWN HER MOUTHFULL , THE BURGER’S TASTE TURNING TO ASH AS BLEND CONSIDERS HIS WORDS ( WHAT THEY REALLY MEAN ) - -----to avoid continuing the conversation , ivy nervously blots at her mouth with a napkin , earthy green orbs flickering on anything that isn’t him . ❛ so uh , what does that mean , really ? ❜ lost the courage to ask what she wants to hear , what she needs to hear ; wishes she had kept her mouth shut and hadn’t let the initial , goofy words past her lips , but as always , she hadn’t thought . ❛ . . . . can you tell me how i’ll die ? ❜ 

[gloryshound-archive]

@shieldeus​​ prompted   ♗   for  an  icon  of  their  muse  in  my  icon  style  / ACCEPTING ! 

my psd wanted to make him very red or very white and there was no in-between for a little bit.