I have the worst artblock.
It’s driving me insane, I’ve had three pictures I should have had done weeks ago, and every time i opened photoshop I just sat there, starring at the rough sketch or the blank bloody document and it just stared back. Waiting, insolent and smug, asking ‘whatcha gonna do eh? whatcha gonna do?’ and I just didn’t bloody know- so I took the high road and closed that little bitch of a program, and went back to watching Battlestar Galatica.
It’s been productive week to say the least…
I’m halfway through season two though.
But this was due today! And I guess the deadline got my ass in gear, because I started this at 10 30 last night, and posted it just in time by 3am. My plan for an early night kinda fell to pieces, kinda like the first sketch I had planned to finish, but luckily this one came together from scratch. I fell back on the background, and that alone is astounding- I used to HATE backgrounds, activley avoided them. They’re where painful, cruel, fiddely and just too big and now? I made the characters as small as possible because I just couldn’t be fucked and went to town with the rest of it.
Characters are usually my happy place.
Times are ‘a’changing.
Still got two more pictures I’ve gotta get done, but my hands a touch stiff this ‘morning so im going to take today off, head to see RedDawn with a mate, and hopefully get some sleep tonight with the party my Roomates hosting 
Anywho, theres a little ficlet to go with the picture below the line
Hope you’ve all had a good one and are feeling creative and fresh!
~Jess
The road is quiet, the ice is thick, and Cas has never had the chance to Ice-skate.
Sam’s skates don’t even really fit Sam, but Deans’ are close enough to the Angels’ size to make do. With a few quick knots that would put MacGyver to shame (and that his brother is going to kill him for), Dean manages to get the sasquatches sized shoes to stay on his feet and then they’re off.
One fumbled hesitant step behind a familiar glide and shift of weight.
Cas looks like a foal on stiff unsteady legs, arms out, face pale as the fresh foot of snow that fell across the state last night. His eyes are growing wider and wider as his mouth presses itself into a tight bloodless line.
“Are you sure this is ‘fun'” he asks, eyes locked on his feet, and Dean grins, circling him, feet tracing neat lines into the ice’s crust as he skips backwards about the man who slides one foot slowly forward.
Dean’s darting in before Cas even realizes he’s lost his balance; feet too far forward, weight too far back, arms pin wheeling madly just as he skids behind him, ice splattering against the back of Cas’ legs. His hands are firm about Cas’ waist, bracing and reassuring as the man pants, shaking. He pulls Cas close, coaxing him upright and he can see his pulse fluttering visibly at his neck, skin flushed and dotted with sweat and a stripe stubble he’d missed while shaving.
Dean smiles, the expression hidden and tender behind Cas’ back,
“Yeah Cas, I promise.”
Castiel nods frantically, swallowing, cold fingertips anchoring themselves about Deans’ hands.
There are a lot of things Cas hasn’t had the chance to do, and Dean’s determined to change that. The Angel’s grip tightens about Deans’ hand as he takes another step forward, wobbling on the thin blade, little fragile bones cracking under the force of Cas’ nerves, but Dean doesn’t really mind.
He won’t let Cas fall.
Not again at least.
Dingobait 