Found a source for you
Also; holy shit is that a cool more barbaric Thor. Gonna stalk this gallery a bit.
Taisuke Mohri, Resurrections, Giuliano de’Medici, pencil on paper, 73 cm x 73 cm
WAIT A SECOND THIS IS A PENCIL SKETCH
MADE TO LOOK LIKE A THREE DIMENSIONAL DRAWING
OF A CARVED STATUE?
THIS IS BETTER THAN THAT BIC BALLPEN PHOTO OF THE GINGER GIRL GOING AROUND
THIS IS UN FUCKING REAL
MY BRAIN HURTS
“what are you going to look like when you’re older?”
Like I fucking lived one hell of a life.
2nd, 5th and 9th are especially incredible damn.
THIS IS AMAZING. Fucking love the bottom row.
It’s a question that’s been on his lips for a long time now, since that low voice growled, “I’m the one who gripped you tight and raised you from perdition,” and those blue eyes looked at him as if they were deconstructing his soul.
There’s the snap of a book shutting, and Castiel looks up from where he’s sat cross-legged on the end of the bed. Dean is lounging in one of the chairs, flicking idly through a book of his own for any information on wyverns. Sam stole the computer and left the motel on a brave quest to find an internet cafe an hour ago, and Dean suspects he won’t return any sooner than he has to.
“I beg your pardon?” Castiel sounds confused, but perfectly calm – his head is tilted slighlty to one side, and those wide blue eyes are focused on Dean, through Dean. It sends shivers down his spine.
“Why was it you who, y’know.” Dean shifts in a mildly uncomfortable manner. Even after all this time, it’s still not something he likes to talk about. “Pulled me out of Hell? Not that I’m complaining, mind, but it seems like a pretty important job, given I’m Michael’s vessel and all – and, well, you ain’t exactly the Terminator of planet angel, from what I’ve seen.”
Castiel evidently doesn’t understand the reference, judging by the slow blink he gives Dean, but the question seems perfectly clear. “I…” He pauses, draws a breath, then stops completely as if trying to decide how to word this. Finally, he closes his eyes lightly and breathes in slowly through his nose. “If you wish to understand,” he says quietly, eyes still shut, “then there are three things you must know first.”
Now it’s Dean’s turn to be confused, because he’d been sure it would be a simple answer, something like, “I got to you first,” or, “we picked names out of a hat.” But from the book on Castiel’s face, this is a serious, important, workings-of-the-universe type of explanation. “Yeah, go on,” he says, putting his book to one side and leaning forward.
“You have heard that humans are made from stars before, yes?” His eyes finally open, swirling with something unreadable and focused intently on a point somewhere in the middle of Dean’s chest. Dean feels as if it’s inside his chest, as if Castiel can see through blood and bone and strip him bare of flesh, but that’s ridiculous.
“Yeah, of course. Gets chucked up and time some romantic wants to justify their poetry with scientific shit.” He shrugs his shoulders. “What of it?”
“Your atoms, all that you are – every atom on this planet, every atom of this planet – came from the stars. This is important.” He doesn’t offer a why, just states it in a quiet, monotone voice, and then adds, “Atoms have memory.”
“What?” This makes little sense, even coming from a wavelength of celestial intent, and Dean frowns. “How?”
“Not a memory as you would understand it.” There is infinite patience in Castiel’s voice, resting next to something taught and sharp and nervous. “A kind of… resonance, maybe. Echoes of the place they were born from, echoes of bonds they once had with other atoms.”
“So…” Dean thinks he knows where this is going. “So you had a piece of the star my atoms come from? Man, that is just… weird.”
Castiel twitches, a small, soundless jerk as if Dean had slapped him, and the hunter shuts his mouth with an audible click. “What did I say?” He gets no response, just a small shake of the head, before Castiel continues.
“You are not made of a single star. Many atoms from stars went in to making the earth. For someone to be made exclusively of the atoms from one star would be almost infinitely unlikely. But… a person will have more of one star in them than of any other. Will be drawn to others the same, with the same shard of star inside their hearts. Will… will fall in love.” His voice is so soft now that Dean has to strain to hear it.
When he does, he bursts out laughing. “God, Cas, you’re a right romantic, aren’t ya? Who’d have thought, Mr. I’m-a-heavenly-warrior is a bigger teenage girl than Sammy.” Castiel hunches over again, that small shudder of movement that looks pained and scared and makes the bottom of Dean’s stomach drop out with worry, and he shuts up again. “So, what, you found a piece of the star most of my atoms come from? You’re arguing over details here, same difference.”
Castiel shakes his head. “No,” he murmurs, eyes slipping gently shut again. He tilts his head back, stares up at the ceiling, draws in a deep breath. His throat is pale and oddly vulnerable, the motion strange and out of character. “You are forgetting the third piece of information.”
“Which is?!” So much for shutting up, but impatience is getting the better of him, and Castiel’s weird behaviour is setting his nerves on edge.
“Humans once knew Lucifer as the Morning Star.” Dean’s heart leaps into his throat, starts choking him, but before his mind can grasp wildly at the fact that the Devil is being mentioned in conjunction with his atoms, Castiel continues to speak. “Few other angels are commonly called by the name of a star, but we all have one. A star that burns with our grace. A star we were born in. A star that is, to all intents and purposes, us.”
“And…?” Impatience, confusion, fear crowd his chest, press against his ribs. His eyes are wide.
Castiel slowly lowers his face. There’s nervousness in his expression, but the corners of his mouth are curled up into a quiet, serene smile. When his eyes open, they’re bright and deep and old, and Dean swears he can see galaxies in them. Something in his chest aches, a sharp tug that drags him to his feet to stand before the angel, looking down into those impossibly blue eyes.And before Castiel even opens his mouth, he knows.
“Your atoms, Dean Winchester, once belonged to a star named Castiel.”
…A falling star fell from your heart, and landed in my eye…