#lets see if i actually commit to this and not abaddon it

[write-the-bullets-nobody]

I live in this constant state of static, like an VHS tape trying to boot up a movie. I'm there but I'm not there. My words may be faded in the smoke of the internet but fuck it, I guess.

My mother always told me to try journaling or writing in a diary but I never seen the point of it. I guess I'll give this blog a shot. What do I have to lose? I guess I will introduce myself.

I'm NoBody, a 23 year old woman. I honestly have no idea who I am. Like yes, I'm aware that I'm me in the technical sense. I just don't know the spiritual and emotional aspects of who I am.

My stepfather says that I'm wasting my life away at a damn dead end job while I should be in college. He doesn't believe that I'm as fucked up as I am. I respect him for being there for me as a father when I was growing up. My father thinks he knows me but I can respect him for trying to build a relationship with me. My mother is my probably the only friends I have in my life. She's my rock.

[bulkyphrase]

A (platonic) Steve Rogers ship for every occasion

I did one of these a while ago for romantic (/) ships, and thought I'd see what the platonic (&) pairings were like. Courtesy of AO3's tag browse and Excel, here's a ranked list of the top 20 most popular "Steve Rogers & one other person" relationship tags (out of 345 total):

James "Bucky" Barnes | 10643 total, 1610 (Br)OTP

Tony Stark | 5086 total, 814 (Br)OTP

Natasha Romanov | 2721 total, 221 (Br)OTP

Sam Wilson | 1938 total, 78 (Br)OTP

Peter Parker | 1665 total, 51 (Br)OTP

Peggy Carter | 657 total, 45 (Br)OTP

Clint Barton | 565 total, 45 (Br)OTP

Thor | 359 total, 35 (Br)OTP

Wanda Maximoff | 363 total, 17 (Br)OTP

Darcy Lewis | 290 total, 23 (Br)OTP

Bruce Banner | 326 total, 26 (Br)OTP

Loki | 248 total, 38 (Br)OTP

Sharon Carter | 183 total, 5 (Br)OTP

Maria Hill | 155 total, 20 (Br)OTP

Phil Coulson | 145 total, 22 (Br)OTP

Howard Stark | 147 total, 10 (Br)OTP

Sarah Rogers | 116 total, 7 (Br)OTP

Pepper Potts | 95 total, 7 (Br)OTP

Carol Danvers | 68 total, 11 (Br)OTP

T'Challa | 60 total, 5 (Br)OTP

Charts for the chart god:

Notes:

The numbers in parentheses are the number of stories tagged with that ship. (Br)OTP means the number of stories where that is the only relationship tagged on the story. Numbers are accurate as of sometime last week (let's say June 8, 2021).

Out of the top 20, Sarah Rogers, Peter Parker, Vision, Carol Danvers, Wanda Maximoff, and T'Challa are the pairs where there are more fics tagged with the platonic rather than the romantic ship tag.

Reading the stories for this post was way more fun than reading them for the romantic ships.

Story Recommendations

For your reading pleasure, included below is at least one fic rec for each ship.

James "Bucky" Barnes

All Too Familiar by 16woodsequ (Gen, 13149 words) tumblr: @16woodsequ

"Assets don't have names," he tells Agent Barton slowly. "They have titles. My title is 'the Asset', 'Barnes', or ‘Sergeant Barnes'." He glances over at Steve, and finds the man staring at him mutely. He swallows uneasily, and looks back at Agent Barton. "Your asset’s title is 'Captain', 'Cap', 'Rogers', or 'Captain Rogers'."

Attachment by awkward_iguana1 (Gen, 709 words)

"This isn’t a laughing matter Steven!" Bucky hissed, "Sure, your face is attached now, but what if that changes, huh? What if it just pops off or something? You won’t be laughing then. We have to be prepared!"

Tony Stark

Do Over by 16woodsequ (Gen, 18300 words) tumblr: @16woodsequ

Of course, he doesn’t exactly know why he is suddenly so set on forcing himself into Steve’s life. It’s obvious the man would rather be left alone to sit in the dark and stare at nothing, or whatever, but…he can’t help it if Steve’s behaviour reminds him uncomfortably of his own when he’d been busy dying of palladium poisoning, and then when he’d been having panic attacks after New York.

Robot Trip by copperbadge (Teen, 8194 words) tumblr: @copperbadge

"I'm up at 0600 tomorrow. Want me to wake you?"

"I didn't even want you to come," Tony pointed out.

"Sure ya didn't. Okay, 0700 it is," Rogers replied, and left before Tony could argue.

"You learned that from Pepper!" he yelled.

"Put a sock in it!" Rogers yelled back, through the thin wall.

Everyone else below the cut!

Natasha Romanov

abaddon by Meskeet (Gen, 4978 words) tumblr: @justthebones

While it certainly seemed odd for him to fall ill, it could simply mean he’d come in contact with a particularly virulent strain and he’d suffer no serious sickness as his body fought it off.

It’s illogical for her to worry, she decides at last. And even if it isn’t, fretting about something she can’t change would only distract her from their mission at hand.

Requiescat by Domenika Marzione (domarzione) (Not Rated, 482 words) tumblr: @laporcupina

"I think you don’t understand how heists work," Natasha tells him in return. "Age is supposed to bring wisdom. Or does Captain America not believe in committing crime?"

He laughs because the alternative is to weep. More than Sam, more than Bucky, Natasha was his partner in actual crime.

Sam Wilson

That Thin Atmosphere by TiamatsChild (Teen, 1290 words)

Sam tapped Steve's mug gently with the lip of his own – an undramatic 'tonk', rather than the ring of glass or the satisfying click of ceramic, but it was, after all, a Department of Transportation rest stop in Nebraska. There might be something quietly inspiring about it, in its context as part of a chain of public works spanning a continent, linking travelers safely from one town to the next, providing a place to eat, take shelter, communicate over phone lines or the internet, but it didn't, in its physical presence, precisely stir deep spiritual feelings or suggest the pursuit of glory. Travel mugs were about the right speed.

Peter Parker

Steve Rogers Is (Not) A Good Influence by attackofthezee (noxlunate) (Teen, 4181 words) tumblr: @stevergrsno

"Don’t steal things." Steve says, trying to sound stern and be a good influence while he hotwires a car at 2 am somewhere in Kentucky.

"No offense, Cap, but you’re literally stealing a car right now." Peter points out.

Peggy Carter

Football, Not Soccer by On_Every_Spectrum (Gen, 1248 words)

Peggy glowered. "The Men's World Cup was last year." She drew each word out, as if the bartender was particularly slow. Steve almost felt for him. But, really he was caught up thinking about how much he adored Peggy. She'd only intensified as she grew older. "The Women's World Cup is this year. And, my friend and I are here to watch the England/Germany game."

Clint Barton

That Radium Glow by Tenebrielle (Teen, 61330 words)

Coulson jerked his chin towards something outside the office and I turned. As if on cue, the blond man looked up. He looked somehow familiar, but I couldn’t quite place how. "That’s him. Agent Steven Rogers, DC branch."

Steven Rogers. I frowned a little, trying to place the name. Steven Rogers. I felt my jaw drop. Sure, I recognized the name all right, along with every other American. It was straight out of the newsreels.

"Captain America?" I exclaimed incredulously, half-leaping out of my chair. "You stuck me with Captain America?"

The Things Underneath Our Hearts by Spatz (Mature, 3156 words) tumblr: @cactusspatz

"Did you get super secret cuddling skills from the serum, or does that come naturally?" Clint joked.

Thor

Six Meetings Before Lunch by victoria_p (musesfool) (Gen, 4130 words) tumblr: @cacchieressa

Thor falls into step beside him, a smile creasing his face--he likes brunch and they don't have it in Asgard, apparently. "We do have elevenses," he says, "but there is a sad lack of mimosas. I like mimosas."

Wanda Maximoff

With Magic We Do Fly by Summer_Sunflower (Not Rated, 2269 words)

Back in Sokovia, when Ultron attacked, it had not mattered if she flung them against a wall or tore them in half, as they were the evil army that could not feel, only kill. She could very well imagine that Steve would not appreciate it if she tore the limbs off his torso, leaving him a bloody mess on the ground.

Darcy Lewis

When Darcy Met Steve by Libraflyter (Teen, 4004 words)

Darcy knows that there's a gap between them, between recent college grad stumbling through adulthood and defrosted super soldier from World War II. But aren't friends supposed to close the gap, or at least reach a hand out across from it?

That metaphor makes no sense, but Darcy's willing to stand by it.

Bruce Banner

The Healing Properties of Felt-Tip Pens by Echo (Teen, 3464 words)

"You're not the only person to wake up from torture without a scratch," came Banner's reply. "Normal people get their 'souvenirs'. The scars tell the world that you're not okay. They give you permission to be not okay. But if you don't get to keep the scars, well. It can be difficult."

Loki

So… you got impersonated by aphrodaisyacs (Gen, 4596 words) tumblr: @aphrodaisyacs

Barnes kept glancing between the Rogers next to him and the one from the balcony with unadulterated horror.

"Who the fuck," he exclaimed, "left Steven Goddamn Rogers alone with the actual God of Mischief?"

Sharon Carter

Anchor by sweetheart35 (Gen, 637 words)

Sharon is doing something with her face like she can't decide if she wants to laugh or frown. Peggy used to do the same thing when the Commandos would get up to antics around her. "He said he'd pay me a hundred grand if I pretended to be my own granddaughter." Steve stares at her for a long moment.

"Tony's a dick," he finally says and Sharon snorts.

"Yeah, well, it's a hundred grand so if you could play along and tell him I did, I'd appreciate it."

Maria Hill

In the midst of life we are in death by kateandbarrel (Gen, 8090 words)

"Alright. But if you're tagging along, that means I'm responsible for you. Which means what I say, goes, because I don't really need a rogue Captain America on my hands. Got it?"

Steve grinned. "Yes, sir."

Phil Coulson

A Butt Grows in Brooklyn by tawg (Gen, 2646 words) tumblr: @tawghasa

Steve had always liked that Agent Coulson was calm in a crisis situation. Not that the team didn't pull together and do what needed to be done, but they all had their flaws and all of them were new to superheroics in their own way. It was nice to have someone around who didn't groan or make a smart-assed comment. But on the topic of asses...

Howard Stark

The Scientific Method by Zelos (Teen, 5406 words) tumblr: @overzelos

"And Rogers is a military asset," the man countered. “We made him who he is now, but just who he is is anyone's guess. I would have preferred to ask the late Dr. Erskine to undertake this task – understandably distasteful to you – but the good doctor is dead, and we have neither his notes nor his words to tell us what Captain America is capable of. You are the next best pick, for obvious reasons – for one, you can actually reason your way out of a paper bag."

"I am not experimenting on Rogers, you wretched bastard," Howard snarled back. "He's a good man, a soldier, not a lab rat."

Midnight Oil by Takada_Saiko (Teen, 4493 words) tumblr: @takadasaiko

Howard snorted at that, the sound mostly amused. "Never did run from a fight, did you Cap? Me, I don't jump on the grenade. I just find a way to stick the pin back in."

"So what happened this time?"

"Sometimes there's no way to stick it back in," the other man said softly, his voice shaking just a little.

Sarah Rogers

Peace, Which Costs Nothing by JeannetteRankin (Gen, 1635 words) tumblr: @jeannetterankin

Bucky just watched as Steve watched his mother, staring at Sarah as if he could will his energy into her worn-out body, to make her get better by force of will. As soon as Sarah turned back to them, Bucky could see Steve tug the wires of his cheerful mask back in place.

Pepper Potts

Hammer's Totally Heavy-Handed and Incompetent Revenge by forgetmenotjimmy (Teen, 4097 words)

"It wasn't that strong a blast, I couldn't get a good look at the device. So either it malfunctioned or it wasn't meant to kill." Oh, Pepper thought, so that's his tactical Captain face, I really can't blame Tony's crush now. Then he frowned, breaking through her realisation. "Though attempting to stun someone with an explosion is a terribly incompetent and-" Pepper groaned, cutting him off.

"Oh God, it's Hammer."

Carol Danvers

The Truth When Captains Meet by Kimra (Teen, 2303 words)

"I don't think we've met," Steve says calmly as they take a turn down one corridor and the next. She seems to know where they're going, which is good, she also seems to be able to keep up with him, which is surprising. In fact neither of them is out of breath despite the pace.

"Carol," she turns without missing a beat and blasts some sort of energy out of her bare hands at the creatures behind them. Steve experiences the swell of adoring respect he feels for all his hypercompetent friends.

T'Challa

(We Are Not) Monsters by lionessvalenti (Gen, 1630 words)

"Good morning, Captain."

Steve started, and looked up. T'Challa stood over him, resting his foot against a fallen tree. He wore a black t-shirt, baggy black sweatpants, and a pair of Nikes. He looked less royal and more like someone coming home from the gym.

Honorary mentions:

Interesting ships or fics that didn't make the top 20

Johnny Storm | 13 total, 1 (Br)OTP

Voluntary Bros. by brandywine421 (Gen, 3104 words)

"Dude, you could be twins, they tested you before they defrosted you to see if you were a clone or something, or if he was a clone," Clint said.

"I want to talk to him, I think. I mean, a girl threw her latte at me last week for not calling her back and this dude felt me up at an art gallery yesterday," Steve said.

Vision | 11 total, 2 (Br)OTP

When in Rom(ania), Do As The Ghosties Do by Blizzard_Fire (Gen, 3115 words) tumblr: @superblizzardfire

He joins Vision as he hurries around the house, pointing out candles that have blown out and chalk circles that are now smudged. He’s like a kid on an Easter egg hunt, rattling off “facts” about apparitions and classifications of spectre. They don’t sleep for the rest of the night but Steve doesn’t really mind. It’s a pleasant change from spiders wielding ray guns and black holes in the sky. He spends an hour sketching the mould pattern on the bathroom wall that looks like a screaming face.

Steve Rogers | 6 total, 0 (Br)OTP

Something Isn’t Right (The Meaning’s Thin) by talesofsuspense (Teen, 734 words)

"Do you think he's me?" Steve asks suddenly when they're sitting at Bucky's kitchen table. "I mean, really me? I just- How can there be two of us? And I'm the real me, while he feels so different."

Rocket Raccoon | 6 total, 1 (Br)OTP

you just wait and see by nanasekei (Not Rated, 1417 words) tumblr: @elcorhamletlive

"Thor said you're the captain." Rogers says, his voice distant, sad smile growing into a sadder grin. "Tough job."

Dummy | 2 total, 0 (Br)OTP

Portrait Of The Artist As A Robot by copperbadge (Gen, 1637 words) tumblr: @copperbadge

"Exactly. You left them alone, and you should know better," Steve said, carefully stepping around more golden waves and starting to pull apart the strands that held Butterfingers in place. Dummy protested but Steve batted him off. "Dummy! Art is meant to instruct and delight, not imprison."

[verobatto]

Destiel Chronicles

Vol. LXXXV

It was a love story from the very beginning

Lovers Separation (Part I)

(12x13/12x14)

Hello my dears! I should add by death in the title, but according to the actual events in the show... I'm too emotional hehehee.

I will talk here about the amount of clues and foreshadow the writers were spreading all over the episodes, in which we will see Castiel's death and Dean's mourning for him.

The ship is gonna wreck

First picture we get is a woman dressed in blue pijamas, that dies. Another blue dressed victim that dies as a foreshadow of Castiel's death.

This episode talks about The Star, the ship that wrecked and sinked. And in the meantime, two lovers were separated by special circumstances.

The tragic love story is about Gavin McLoad and Fiona Duncan. They were destined to be together for the eternity once the ship sunk, but Gavin didn't board that ship, because Abaddon stopped him and dragged him to our times. So, Fiona became an avengeful ghost, pining for her lost love. Is a representation of the Destiel tragedy we will live at the end of the season.

The Locket and The Mixtape

The Locket was a gift Gavin gave to Fiona as a proof of his love.

GAVIN: I bought it myself. It was a gift for my Fiona.

ROWENA: Darlin', you had a wee girlfriend?

DEAN: Look at this. Added to the exhibit six months ago.

GAVIN: Fiona Duncan, the love of my life. When she found out I was going to America, nothing would do but I take her with me. I told her it was too dangerous.

Fiona would follow Gavin to the end of the world, just like Cas always manifest to Dean.

That gift, the Locket, was Gavin's way to say I LOVE YOU to Fiona, to give a tangible representation to their union, a commitment. To show her how much she meant to him. Is the perfect parallel for the Destiel mixtape. Because it was Dean's way to show Cas how important he is for him. Important not in a platonic way, because the meaning of the mixtape. When Gavin says 'I bought it myself' is remarking the intimate dedication he took by doing it, because the first was for the love of his life. Is the same with the mixtape, because DEAN MADE THE MIXTAPE HIMSELF THINKING ABOUT CAS. The intimacy of taking his time to choose the perfect songs that could apply to his feelings, to show Cas He loved him too. As a shy, not so committed answer, to that 'I love you' Cas said to him.

Living with the doubt if Cas had said those words platonically or not, Dean Winchester is not prepared yet to answer with his own words, so, he makes a mixtape for the love of his life.

The Separation and the Reunion

There's a scene with two teachers, Karen and

Elizabeth, drinking wine and having a good time inside the Pembroke School for Girls.

Elizabeth stands up and go inside a dark room searching for wine, leaving Karen behind. The dark room represents the Empty, and Elizabeth is Castiel, and she got stabbed in the back, just like our Angel.

Now, there's another beautiful scene, in wich Gavin calls Fiona through his words, reminding us to a prayer.

GAVIN: "O restless spirit, make thy presence known to me. Fiona? It is I, Gavin. Your Gavin. I must speak with you.

After this, Fiona makes her appearance, and finally, the lovers found each other and remained together to the end of times.

GAVIN: I...was thinking the same thing. I loved her. She loved me. That's the only reason any of this happened. I can spare her the nightmare she's trapped in. I cannae say I ever fit here. Here, I'm alone. Fiona and me, we'll spend eternity together.

Gif credit @mad-as-a-box-of-frogs 👇

What a perfect Castiel mirror in these last words, Cas said this season he still felt put of place. The last quote 'we'll spend eternity together' just gives me clues about my spec for a Destiel endgame, sharing vessel.

The Raid: about Dean's improvement and Sam future leadership

Just a few words about episode 12x14. Putting to a side the mommy issues, the episode divided the brothers joining them with their destinies.

Ketch, the killer, tried to bond with Dean, considering Dean was a killer too. But the difference between them was Dean's compassion.

Sam, Mick and Mary were trapped on the BMoL building, and were attacked by vampires, and Sam was the leader, giving orders and organizing the hunter and the MoL. As a foreshadow of the incoming battle between american hunter's and BMoL, and as a prelude of his role as a leader in season 14.

The image of monsters trying to hunt hunter's, is a futurist picture of AUMichael releasing his monsters army against humans in season 14.

To Conclude:

Gavin and Fiona love story is a Destiel mirror. The symbolism of the wrecked and sunken ship is another prelude to the lovers separation by death.

Hopefully, the lovers found each other at the end, to be together for the eternity.

Hope you like this meta, see you in the next one.

Tagging @magnificent-winged-beast @emblue-sparks @weird-dorky-little-deana @michyribeiro @whyjm @legendary-destiel @a-bit-of-influence @thatwitchydestielfan @misha-moose-dean-burger-lover @lykanyouko @evvvissticante @savannadarkbaby @dea-stiel @poorreputation @bre95611 @thewolfathedoor @charlottemanchmal @neii3n @deathswaywardson @followyourenergy @dean-is-bi-till-i-die @hekatelilith-blog @avidbkwrm @anarchiana @dickpuncher365 @vampyrosa @authorsararayne @mybonsai1976 @love-neve-dies @dustythewind @wayward-winchester67 @angelwithashotgunandtrenchcoat @trashblackrainbow @deeutdutdutdoh @destiel-shipper-11 @larrem88 @charmedbycastiel @ran-savant @little-crazy-misha-minion @samoosetheshipper

@shadows-and-padlocked-hearts @mishtho @dancingtuesdaymorning @nerditoutwithbooks @mikennacac73 @justmeand-myinsight @idontwantpeopletoknowmyname @teddybeardoctor @pepevons @helevetica @isthisdestiel @dizzypinwheel @jawnlockwinchester @horsez2 @qanelyytha

@destielle @agusvedder @spnsmile @shippsblog @robot-feels @superlock-in-the-tardis @superduckbatrebel @2musiclover2 @nickelkit @anon-non2 @cea1996

If you want to be added or removed from this list just let me know.

If you want to read the previous metas From season 12, here you have the links:

Vol. LXXV, LXXVI, LXXVII, LXXVIII, LXXIX, LXXX, LXXXI, LXXXII, LXXXIII, LXXXIV.

Buenos Aires, October 25th 2020, 9:15 PM.

[scaryorganmusic]

s8 review when you are done with it

the thing about season 8 is the last episode is so good i instantly forgive any sin the season may have commited, but going at it bit by bit

Amelia subplot - yeah, i agree with most fans that this was boring. i like Amelia and i don’t think the concept of flashbacks to his year out of the life is bad, i just think it didn’t really go anywhere. i mentioned it in this post but i think it could’ve been interesting to see how Sam’s trauma and resulting trust issues would’ve impacted him even out of the life and all that.

He did nothing wrong in not looking for Dean tho, hills I’ll die on and all that.

Purgatory - iconic. honestly supernatural’s concept of Purgatory might’ve been better executed than both Heaven and Hell (maybe because those two are more interesting when less literal and all that). 

Dean and Benny - again, iconic. (and cameo confirmed now, yay). i’m obsessed with their phone calls and the drama of it all. and it is interesting to see Dean dealing with a non human friend for once. could’ve given him more of a perspective on Sam, on Amy and all of that (it didn’t tho, it kind of didn’t).

Cas - watching him go through the stages of learning how to navigate life when he has to make his own choices is a delight, we watched him mess up and now this guilt stage and need to attone is pretty interesting too. the Naomi mind control thing I cared for a little less but it did provide thee crypt scene so fair is fair.

Kevin - i love him. few people in this show have been as screwed over and as failed by the winchesters as him. I'm dead, you bastards! So screw you, screw God and everybody in between! 

Shout out to Charlie having two eps in the season, and to my girl Abaddon

AND FINALLY, TRIALS - it’s weird to realize how little time of the season was actually spent on the trials, because when i remember season 8 this is what comes to my mind. there’s so much going on there, from Dean assuming from the start he would be the one taking on the trials - Sam killing the hound and saying he saw a light at the end of all of this - Dean’s protectiveness and Sam interpret is as Dean expecting him to fail, - the so? when he learns he’ll die.... the “i could never go on a quest like that” and “you wanna know what i confessed in there” monologues live in my brain [which is why almost immediately after watching Sacrifice i had to make these x x].

AND THAT FINALE, I remember watching that for the first time and getting my mind blown, Sam letting go and Dean carrying him out of that church? THE ANGELS FALLING?? KEVIN GETTING IN THE BUNKER??? HUMAN CAS?????? god i was SO EXCITED for season 9, it felt like everything was going in the most interesting direction ever and i couldn’t wait to see it (and that hiatus was insane!) 

It’s weird how i kinda felt like that again rewatching it even though I know season 9 disappointed me to no end....

anyways, sorry I got a bit long, and do tell me your thoughts on s8 too!

[lilithsgayadoptednephew]

Holy Hands

Fandoms: Shall We Date?: Obey Me!   Not Rated Graphic Depictions Of Violence F/M, Other Complete Work

Chapter List

Chapter 35

Satan was fine.

He'd never really liked that human anyway. If they were going to leave that was completely understandable. He left Lucifer to his denial and went to focus on more important things.

Luke's messenger bag turned out to be stolen from Simon. Inside were potions and spells and even orders straight from Michael. Luke was a bit embarrassed at having stolen from Simon, but he quickly shook it off with the idea that he was justified because he was a demon now.

Luke was doing that often. Just doing mild crimes because he could. He had stood next to the "no food allowed" sign to eat his lunch even though it didn't seem very comfortable. He'd borrowed a pen from Raphael and never given it back. He was honestly kind of adorable in his hi-jinks.

Satan took the bag to sort out its contents. He laid the miscellaneous items on a table and looked them over. There were plenty of useless things, two gold-wrapped herb bundles, 8 miniature glass vials, 3 scrolls yet to be opened, just to name a few. He couldn't focus on what was important and what wasn't, he was too distracted. Too busy wondering things. Things he shouldn't– didn't care about.

Things like whether or not MC was ok. Why they would go this far with them just to bail at the end. Why they'd ditch them all when it was so unlike them.

Had they ever been sincere? Had all their self-assured words and actions been a ruse and they only now decided to show their true colors?

He shook his head, he had to focus.

The horn might be worth something if they used it right. Perhaps they could call Abaddon for help, especially the sheer numbers of his locust swarm...

What could he have done to make them stay? Did he do something wrong?

Shut up, SHUT UP! He didn't care about the human that ditched them and he didn't care about whether or not he had driven them away...whether or not their friendship was real in the first place.

He was fine.

He sat down heavily and sighed. He could understand the humans unwillingness to fight a Celestial battle, he had no right to expect that kind of sacrifice.

But not even an explanation? Not even a goodbye?

He was often envious of them and their understanding. Their ability to shrug off irritation and always be there and be supportive. To both the brothers and their sister. He often thought of his brothers and how they'd never be so close of not for MC. He thought of MCs relationship to Acacia and how it almost paralleled Lucifer's responsibilities.

Knowing MC, had in a way, helped him understand his strict older brother better.

But they'd just abandoned Acacia to the battle. Abandoned her like an old jacket that no longer fit. Maybe they thought she'd be safer with the brothers, bit it was still unforgivable.

"Hey Satan! Luke sai–" Mammon walked in the room without knocking. He stopped when he saw his younger brother slumped in his chair with the Celestial junk on the table before him. "Woah...you look miserable."

"Well I'm not, what do you want?" Satan snapped, harsh even for him. Mammon approached slowly.

"Hey...are you ok? Did something happen?"

"No"

"Don't make me bother it out of you." Mammon smirked and Satan winced at the threat.

In the past when Mammon wanted to get a secret out of one of his brothers he'd "bother" them until they broke. One time Satan had figured he could outlast Mammon's short attention span and took the challenge. This led to 6 straight days of Mammon persistently telling the same knock knock joke. The punchline was always banana...never orange. And he would continue relentlessly saying 'knock knock' until Satan gave in from exhaustion and said 'whos there'. Leading the endlessly repeating cycle to continue.

"No no bothering, Diavolo's sake." Satan gave in. "Fine...yes something happened." He grumbled. Mammon tossed an arm around his chair.

"Alright, tell big bro all about it. What's troublin' ya?" He said. Satan rolled his eyes so hard he saw into the future and actually witnessed his own death.

"MCs gone" he said. Mammon's whole demeanor shifted to one of fear.

"What? Gone? Who has them I'll kill him!" He growled. Satan just raised his hands to explain.

"They ran away Mammon, they got scared and ditched us."

The room went silent, Mammon's mouth fell open but no words came out. He closed it and opened it to try again, but still nothing. Finally he spoke.

"But...no they… they wouldn't…" his disbelief was fragile, and it broke when Satan gave him a mourning look.

"We shouldn't have expected they'd stay" he said solomnly.

0Mammon was sad. He knew he was expecting a lot and being selfish when he wanted MC to stay with him. He knew he was even more selfish for taking their leave so personally.

But he couldn't help it. He was the Avatar of greed, and he wanted the world and he wanted it to cost nothing. He should've known it would just blow up in his face.

He trudged away from Satan's brooding-room to find Acacia. The least he could do was break the news to her gently, no one else was gonna do it.

He hated feeling like this, but it wasn't the first time. He'd felt this horrid sting of abandonment multiple times before. When his father cast him out for defending Lucifer. When Lucifer got so busy he stopped talking to Mammon, unless of course it was to yell at him.

He knew how to deal with this feeling by now, the key was gratitude.

Gratitude didn't come easily to one so greedy, but he could summon it when he really needed it. To calm his heart and feel whole again. So he thought about it.

He was grateful for those who were still in his life. His brothers, Satan working through denial to give them the best chance of success. Lucifer, working tirelessly for years to keep them together and still managing to have time to flay Mammon for his grades. Acacia, ever-present with a smile and an inappropriately timed joke.

He was grateful for this, but he'd also been grateful for MC before they left. Maybe everything good in his life was destined to leave.

Maybe he just drove people away.

He was just a stupid mammon after all, he couldn't even be an angel right. How was he supposed to focus on anything other than money when they paved the place with gold?

Reaching Acacias nook where she was charging her phone, he cleared his throat.

"Maaaaaaammon!" She called while shaking her head side to side vigorously. Her hair flying wildly around her.

"Acacia I need to tell you something." Good start, good start, but then a chilling thought struck him.

What if she blamed him?

What if he told her this and she thought it was because MC was scared. Because he wasn't enough to protect them. He hadn't been enough during the exchange program or when they were trampled on earth or when they fell on the bridge. It was no wonder they'd run. Acacia looked up at him with wide, expectant eyes and Mammon choked.

He couldn't just turn back now.

"MCs gone." He said in a strangled voice. Acacia tilted her head.

"Gone where?"

"Gone…" he couldn't elaborate. Acacia's curious face suddenly morphed to one of horror.

"They... they're dead?" She sounded disbelieving. Mammon immediately backpedaled.

"No no no they just ran away! They ditched us Acacia."

The human looked at her hands in her lap, her hair obscuring her face. Silently she stood, her shoulders shaking slightly.

Oh no she was crying, he wanted to break this too her gently, but he'd obviously fucked it up.

"Oh hey, Acacia I'm sorry. Don't–" but Acacia didn't listen, she walked slowly to the door. She looked up and Mammon saw she wasn't crying, she was just shaking.

Faster than he thought possible for a human, she slammed her fist into the drywall beside the door, leaving a sizable hole. With a roar of aggravation she threw open the door and stomped down the hall. Leaving a confused and slightly scared Mammon in her wake.

0Acacia was Mad. She had to take a walk and she had to do it now. Her body shook with energy and rage as she power walked through the halls of the hospital.

How dare MC leave? How dare they...they...AAGH!

It was just the day before that Acacia had been panicking over the situation. She always had MC around to help with her anxiety attacks, and it was MC who told her not to be afraid. To trust that they would find a way to get through this.

How dare they run away? After telling her not to fear.

Acacia screamed incoherently and punched the air as she walked. MC had always been there, always promised they'd be there. Then they just left? Without so much as a good bye?

She was fuming so hard as she rounded the corner she almost ran over the small demon walking the other way.

"Hey!" Luke yelled in indignation before seeing Acacia's red faced anger. "Woah, what happened?" Acacia balled her hands into fists.

"MC ditched." She spat. Luke looked at her for a few moments.

"What a fucking meanie" he said a little hesitantly. Acacia blinked. "Yeah I say 'fuck' now" he crossed his arms and tilted his chin up. Obviously thinking himself very cool and edgy. Acacia almost laughed.

"Hell yeah little dude! What an absolute Fucking meanie. You said it." She pumped her fist as her anger turned more into reckless energy. Luke looked very proud at the praise. "You a little sinner now?"

"Yep, and this is just the beginning!" He waved one finger in the air as he spoke. Acacia got a devious idea as she looked at the little trouble-maker-in-progress.

"Wanna go trespass?" She wiggled her eyebrows. Luke hesitated for a moment.

"Yeah?" He said cautiously.

"Alriiiiiight!" Acacia yelled and Luke started getting into it. "Screw everything let's commit property damage."

"Fuck it!" Luke chirped as the two went off to cause mayhem.

0Lucifer was pensive.

He knew MC hadn't ditched him. He knew it in his bones, his skin, his hair follicles. He was so sure they hadn't that he could practically hear MC laughing at the notion.

They were trying to do their job. Some way, somehow, they were gone because they had to be to complete their task. He was not suspicious of their intentions.

But he was afraid.

So many things could happen to them out in the Celestial Realm. So many horrible, inhuman things. Things he couldn't protect them from because he wasn't there, and he didn't know where they were.

He could only trust they could hold their own. They had Liliths bow, and they were smart, creative, alluring to a dangerous degree. And most of all, they were confident. That seems vague, but an unshakable self worth and resilience was the only defense a human could have against the pure aura of an angel. He had seen it when they'd faced Michael on the Petco roof, and he saw it every day when he looked in their eyes and they didn't look away.

If any one could survive out there. It was MC.

[stusbunker]

Known: Angels are Assholes

A Supernatural DARK Fan-fiction

Summary: Chloe faces what was following her in the woods. Dean gets a monologue, before going darkside and all knifey on some angels. Crowley toys with our reader. Cas squints in confusion. Somebody wakes up and somebody doesn’t until they’re gone.

Warnings: Suggested child rape (past, unfounded), blood, feelings, mind-fuckery, revelations, character death. This chapter is super long.

Series Masterlist

The clouds rolled in behind her as CC came to a stop in her usual spot, kitty-corner from the porch. Her bike had been miraculously refueled once she found her way back to it. The fog of the subconscious haven thinning as she put her boots on the ground and faced the figures looming in the shadows. She opened her mouth to call out but thought better of shouting at bits of her past. They’d find her anyway.

She stepped through the trees, letting the path unwind itself as she faced what she needed to know. Now that she was focused and no longer running the opposite direction, it all started to come together. Her granddad kneeled along the bank of a dusty river, strong hands timidly comforting a young girl, who was visibly shaking in her sparkling new school clothes.

“It’s alright, my Falling Star,” his voice was low, but CC recognized the nickname he had given her mother. The child whimpered and shook her head, an infant’s cry broke through the forest’s peace.

“I didn’t mean it now,” was all she heard her mother say.

As Chloe turned to look for the baby, she found a weathered neighborhood sidewalk, houses in need of paint jobs and new shutters stretching before her in every direction. A long sedan with police lights on the roof parked in front of a yellow Cape Cod with wooden siding. A woman with oversized glasses held a file in her arms as she talked to CC’s granddad, her mother and her watching them from the front porch. She hadn’t remembered her mother ever being that young, small and nearly fragile.

“Mr. Longfellow, we understand that the original complaint is unfounded, given the child’s other genetic markers, but there has still been a crime committed. Please, let us put the bastard away.”

“I know you mean well, ma’am. But my Candace is fine and we came here for a job, we won’t be staying long enough for any investigation. Thank you for your time.”

“Sir, if you’re protecting someone—,” the officer spoke for the first time. He couldn’t have been older than twenty-five, and he visibly flinched when her granddad’s eyes fell on him.

“The only ones I am protecting is those girls, now get. We’re done here.”

CC stepped forward, wanting to ask what the social worker was talking about and possibly glimpse the blood tests that must have been among her paperwork. But her mind held her in place until the memory faded and she found herself on another street, sleet-slick and freezing. She saw the old station wagon fish tail and the driver try to over-correct, completely losing control and wrapping the car around an old oak tree.

“Chloe!” Her mother screamed against the static of falling ice crystals.

“Mama?” Chloe was frozen watching her mother limp around the hood of the car to get to her.

“It’s okay, doll-baby, it’s okay,” Constance reached her hand in through the shattered passenger side window, to touch CC’s forehead. “You’re going to be fine.”

But she lost consciousness, the blood flowing through her hair as her mother continued muttering in Tsėhésenėstsestȯtse. Then she saw it, the blue magic flow from her mother and coat her in a golden light.

“You can’t die. You can’t die. You can’t die. You’re going to be fine.” Constance inhaled and then fell against the untouched edge of the tree’s trunk, her strength leaving her as she joined her daughter in unconsciousness. The sirens came an hour later, the back roads impassible, but miraculously the woman and the young girl were found in stable condition. CC didn’t even know they had ever been in an accident.

The darkness followed her to the small back bedroom in Montana as she saw her barely teenaged self staring at the ceiling. The argument wafted through the walls like a television left on.

“You’re just going to leave her? Clean up your own mess,” her granddad spat.

“That’s not fair. She’s safer with you, you know that. There are things that I need to do, that only I can do.”

“Yeah, you do too much of that and they’ll find you. They aren’t stupid, Constance. You shine like a beacon and they will follow you home,” his voice was desperate, Chloe couldn’t remember ever hearing him sound so worried.

“Then maybe I shouldn’t come back.”

There was an agonizing pause.

“Maybe not.”

Chloe didn’t realize it, but both versions of her wiped at the same tears of betrayal with the heels of her hands.

“It’s okay, child, just relax now,” Missouri’s voice was soothing, despite her own skepticism. CC opened her eyes, she was in the memory this time, not looking at it from the outside. “Well, this is a new one.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” CC heard herself say it but had more pressing questions at the moment. She began to speak over herself, “What’s happening Ms. Mosley?”

“Girl, you’re going to have to slow down, I can’t hear all of you at once.”

“All of us?” CC remembered eyeing the corners of the room as if this woman was seeing things.

“I’m not the one asking if she’s crazy, so don’t you go thinking ill of those helping you, Chloe Cathleen,” Missouri snipped.

“Yes, ma’am,” CC said in unison with her past self, Missouri always had a natural command of respect and if she wasn’t shown it, she demanded it.

“Now, you’re gonna come back here, in a good long while, but I hope what I say now makes sense to you,” her dark eyes lingered, a burden near pity overtook the psychic’s soft features. “You are a miracle, made unique and uniquely made, but that also means you need to be careful. It’s like you have a glowing vacancy sign on the front door, next to the one screaming there’s nothing to see here. It gets confusing. But know this, you need to fortify your own house, because certain guests are welcome, but most are not.”

“Thanks?” CC’s past self said through squinted eyes, but her current-self locked onto Missouri’s weighted stare, certain she had sensed her the entire time.

A voice sounded behind her and Chloe suddenly remembered who had told her about Missouri in the first place.

“I was right, wasn’t I?” John’s easy grin turned sour when he saw the confusion on CC’s face. “Hey, everything okay kiddo?”

CC nodded, the grief of seeing Dean’s father again brought up the events that had led her to Missouri’s front door. Her granddad’s death and knowing she would have to face her mother again after years apart. “Yeah, or, it will be, in a good long while,” CC parroted Missouri.

“Somethings are like that,” John patted her back and walked her to his massive truck. “Where to? Dean’s got something in Illinois this weekend, but we could probably salt and burn things faster without him, what’d’ya say?”

CC smiled at the offer, but thought better of tagging along with the Winchesters, especially without Sam. “Just take me to Bobby’s, or close enough for me to hitch there,” CC corrected, seeing the tension roll in as John’s hands tightened around the steering wheel. “Thanks, though.”

*^*

May 13, 2014

The Bunker

Dean stalked down the hallway passed his room, ignoring Sam who lingered in front of his own bedroom door. The infirmary was the only place that made sense to keep CC, so that’s where he headed as soon as they got home. Dean hadn’t wanted to put her back in her old room, not after he gutted it. They had her on a simple cot, jacket set on the back of a chair and an old quilt from her truck tucked around her chest. Her gun and her knife rested easily on small bedside table. She never moved, still in a state close to sleep, her heart beat and her lungs expanded, but she never woke.

Dean watched her and chewed over the spreading numbness inside him. Between the two of them, they were a butchered collage of folk stories, each broken parts of different tales, cursed and waiting to be saved or charging the castle and any monsters that stood in his way. He was on a narrow path, one down, two boss fights to go in the grand saga of the Mark of Cain. Dean was alight, focused, up until he tried to start talking.

“Hey, Cease,” Dean’s voice caught in his throat. “I, uh, well, I ganked Abaddon. It was pretty unreal, actually, but yeah, put her down for the count this time.”

Dean had done his fair share of talking to the unconscious, especially if one counted the time spent praying to Cas, listening to his own voice wasn’t as uncomfortable as it should have been. He settled on to the empty cot next to CC and balanced his elbows on his knees.

“You know I had a feeling, about you, about that thing inside you. And I know it was there longer than that day at Magnus’s. But I didn’t say anything, because, hell, who am I to judge, right? But it was worse than I thought, I thought it was just a chip on your shoulder after that case in North Carolina, but I was wrong, and for that, oversight, I apologize.” He shifted and he cleared his throat, “But, I don’t know why I’m sorry. Am I sorry because I missed the obvious? And never tested you? Or because I let you in and got hurt? What exactly is my fault here because I’m used to taking it all on and I can’t really feel it. Any of it. I’m just pissed and the only thing I want to do is the job. Nothing more, nothing less.”

He stood up, energy gnawing at him once more. His voice grew angrier, no waver to his jaw and no moisture in his stern eyes.

“So that’s what I’m going to do. Because I owe you that much, even if it’s not going to bring you back. I am going to gut that black-eyed bitch.”

The certainty hummed along his veins like a tuning fork, vibrating in the key of Cain and the decided fates of his enemies. Blood and destruction his new anthem. Gone was the righteousness and purpose that had carried him this far. Inside, his soul flickered.

He continued to watch CC on the cot, thoughts and memories warring with the need to move. Luckily, Cas called, giving him the excuse he needed, allowing him to walk away.

*^*

The Bunker

Tail end of Stairway to Heaven

“Cas, you just gave up an entire army for one guy,” Dean explained across the table. “No, there’s no way you blew those people away.”

Castiel didn’t realize how much he needed to hear Dean say that, to know that his friend believed in him once again. “Do you really think that we three will be enough?”

Dean gave Cas a company smile. “We always have been.”

Cas cautiously watched Dean as footsteps approached from seemingly out of nowhere.

“Guys!”

“I’m not here to fight,” Gadreel announced with his hands up. Dean locked on to the fugitive angel, his sights set, and his senses primed. Gadreel spoke pointedly to Cas as Sam challenged his honor, but Dean wasn’t listening, he was busy keeping the Mark in check. Then it happened, an olive branch, an opening to add to their numbers. To strengthen and inform their dwindling resolve. Dean reached forward with his lesser hand, extending hope, if a tenuous partnership. The moment their palms touched and their eyes locked, Dean knew. He didn’t hesitate, he swung, blade teeth up, slicing Gadreel hip to collar bone, a broad seam of grace gaping in his chest.

Sam dove for him, but it was already done. Dean pushed on, the Mark craved more, it demanded death. Both Cas and Sam had to hold him as bestial grunts escaped his lips, he wouldn’t be stopped, not yet.

They listened to him, but still left him in the fortified space behind the storage in 7B, the dungeon. There was that other thing they needed Cas’s help with and after Gadreel had escaped, however bloodied, they took the five minutes and headed deeper into the Bunker.

“I can’t believe she was possessed this whole time,” Cas muttered, hand drifting inches above Chloe’s body.

“What? You knew? How long?” Sam spat as he loomed overhead, head tipped, watching every motion of the angel’s fingers.

“Since Nebraska, since the fall, Sam. She, the demon, almost ran me over with her truck,” Castiel explained, huffing against the flickering grace inside him.

“And you didn’t think to tell us?!”

“Dean wasn’t exactly willing to lend me an ear, I suspect it had to do with hiding, who he thought to be Ezekiel, from the other angels, who were hunting me.”

Sam settled back on his heels, processing what that meant for his brother and CC and their, situation. “It’s been a rough year, I’m sorry. But, is she going to wake up?”

“I don’t know, probably. But there are layers to her mind that I can’t get through. She isn’t just dreaming, and she’s not an empty vessel. I don’t think... I don’t think she’s human, Sam.”

Sam froze, “Well, what the hell is she then?”

“Nothing I have ever seen before.”

“Any idea?”

“Some sort of hybrid, when I search her mind it literally tells me she is human, nothing extraordinary.” Cas’s brows pitched up, hoping Sam understood.

“Someone put that there to hide her.”

“More than one person did this.”

“Do you think she knows?”

“No, if she did, she wouldn’t have been possessed in the first place. She probably has no idea who or what she is.” Cas stood up, eyes still on the sleeping woman before them. “Or what she can do.”

*^*

A Demonic Massage Parlor, The Tropics

“You see, Y/N, there are perks to working with the throne,” Crowley muttered into the towel that held his face. The demon working him over was wearing an unnaturally beautiful vessel, every detail coiffed for seduction. Which she used to her advantage as she whispered poorly veiled taunts of demonic unrest.

Graciously, your vessel had died from cardiac arrest shortly after you walked him away from harassing the woman at the bus stop. You couldn’t have bothered letting him live much longer anyway, his mind was two parts alcohol, one-part abuse and a few too many pinches of misogyny. But he had means, even after his license had been revoked, so you kept on his identity and found your way back to being Crowley’s gofer.

The male demon who had been assigned your massage was too busy lusting over the one trying to get in good with the King. You kept having to move his hands as he worked. He was not utilizing his vessel’s muscle memory, at all. The entire scenario wasn’t much of a perk, it was more of one more thing to endure in order to stay on Crowley’s good side. You hummed in agreement, the deep voice still uncomfortable in your throat.

The walls began to shake, and you rolled your eyes at the bimbo’s obvious statement.

“Sir, I believe you’re being summoned.”

The next thing from her lips sent a pitfall through your gut.

“It’s a Winchester.”

You had no idea how she knew who was on the other end of the spell, perhaps it was an acquired skill or an enchantment to the room placed for her own protection. Either way, you remained quiet as Crowley waved the help off and dressed himself.

“Sir?”

“What? You want me to give your regards?”

“I’d rather you didn’t mention me at all.”

Crowley watched you with a slight distaste, “Fine, just don’t let Tarisette clock out, just yet.”

You nodded, rolling over as the man’s large gut shifted uncomfortably to the side. You really needed a new vessel and a plan.

*^*

She hadn’t seen her in eleven years, hadn’t even spoken in five, but her mother was just as beautiful and menacing as she had ever been. She remembered this conversation because it was the one that changed her life.

“What are you doing here? How did you find me?”

Words that were the perfect greeting for someone like Constance Collins to her estranged daughter, Chloe forced a chuckle. Playing tough, her past-self spoke, but she now watched her mother’s wandering eyes, the telltale fear and alarm of a trapped animal. She was scared of her, not just what else could find her. Find them.

“Do you have any idea what’s going on out there?!”

“No, Mama,” both of her replied, the past defiantly, the present sadly.

The edge wore off, maybe it was reliving it, but Chloe had let go of her anger with her mother somewhere between there and now.

“The angels are everywhere, you need to be careful,” Constance mumbled, stepping closer to her daughter, her hand coming up to brush away a strand of hair mindlessly. As if they were familiar enough for such intimacies.

“Is Gram’s angel back?”

“I don’t know, I haven’t heard that name, but we need to be careful. They will find you if they need to.”

“What about you?”

“Me? Me, they’ll kill on sight.” The fear resurfaced in those chilling words, nearly apologetically.

 Chloe turned and faced the bright and unnervingly blue eyes of a weaselly business man.

“Chloe is it?” The man’s voice was nasally but pressing.

“Maybe, depends on who’s asking.” She wasn’t in her body, but this memory wasn’t that old, she had seemed to have travelled sequentially thus far.  The missing memory set the hairs on the back of her neck on end. She watched herself talk to the weird man, confusion burning through her.

“Someone who knows your family, on your grandmother’s side.” He lost all pretense as two more angels stepped behind her past self.

“What do you want from me?”

“Relax, we just need to run a few tests, you won’t remember a thing.”

The scene changed, but she still hadn’t returned to her part in the memory.

“Sir?”

“Yes.”

“The Contingency?”

“What about her?”

“She’s waking up.”

“Well, knock her back out. She isn’t going to tweak herself.”

Chloe couldn’t see most of her body, only a strip of arm behind the angels surrounding her. The room felt like a surgical bay, pure white with lots of metal. A spare bed and what looked like dental equipment remained untouched on a side table. The metal rods looked long enough to pierce both ears, simultaneously. As soon as she arrived, she returned to the street with the presumptuous man.

“You can call me Zachariah. Do me a favor? Reach out as soon as you hear from those Winchesters again.”

“Uh, sure thing,” Chloe pocketed the business card, and before she turned to go the guy vanished. Figured, good thing she never intended to help the creeper in the first place. She crossed her arms over her chest recalling how she hadn’t been able to shake the sense of Déjà vu for a week.

There were ridges along the ground that rose and fell with each new memory, the woods cracking open and rearranging as she navigated the path toward her decision. She watched them sink and settle, unaffected by the new topography she walked on. After an hour or twelve, she came back to the clearing that held her Granddad’s cabin, spotting him eyeing her through the sun-bleached curtains.

She stomped toward the small house, feeling the anger and frustration churn with each step. He could have said something, anything, years before. This wasn’t just on Mama, this was on the Old Man too. She tried to center herself, tried to hold back the rage and the betrayal their secrets created. CC failed at composure, never one to tip toe into an argument.

She yanked the storm door open and stepped inside, eyes like saucers at the state of her granddad, her words sticking behind the latch in her throat.

“There’s our girl,” his voice fell flat, the mutilated side of his face rippling as he clenched his jaw.

“I guess this look is better than the bull elk,” CC mumbled as she took the familiar course to the battered sofa. “Let me have it, what do you have to say for yourself?”

“Nothing. I’m not here to speak for the dead.”

“So, what are you here for then?”

“The choice.”

“Right, well, I want to wake up, figure out just what she got me into.”

“That’s not what you need to decide.”

“Okay, I’ll bite. What do I need to decide?”

“Whether you are going to go back to life as a human, forgetting everything you’ve seen and losing all those burdens and pain from years in the dark.”

Chloe stilled, though her hand reflexively worried the handle of her knife, worn and familiar beneath her callused hands.

Her granddad’s corpse continued, “Or, you go back. With all of the hard truths and the responsibilities of one brought into being by a simple childish wish from a being who had yet to grow into her powers or place in the universe. You can go back knowing who and what you are, but that comes at a terrible cost. For Heaven’s eyes will never be far from you now and the minions of Hell will seek you out as a fortress against the light.

Either way, you wake up. But, first, you must choose.”

His beetle black eyes watched her, the emptiness threatening to consume her as CC realized the elk was her true family. He never wanted her to come here, but now that she had; the choice must be made. Knowing she wouldn’t die wasn’t so reassuring anymore, and twisted laughter erupted from her chest. The part of her mind that became her worst memory watched her, unwavering.

As she closed her eyes, CC inhaled.

And chose.

CC opened her eyes, dragging in a deep breath through her nose as her body protested her every shift. She pulled her hands into fists and clenched her back through the clammy shivers of waking up. The air was cold and stale, a raw discomfort reassuring her that she was back in her body. She appeared to be with the Winchesters, there wasn’t any other place she could think of that had brickwork like theirs. She sat up and looked around, scanning the abandoned sick room. CC stood, staggering on pins and needles, and clumsily took her knife and her gun.  Carefully, she made her way down the hall. Every room was empty, or locked. Every room until the one she remembered. CC almost missed him, he was below eye level after all. But she found him, off to the side and flat on his back. Dean.

Dean sticky with blood and unnaturally still.

Dean.

Dead.

No.

“No.”

She stumbled from her perch in the door frame, reaching the edge of the bed to fall beside Dean. She grasped at his shirts, shaking him.

“What did you do?! Damnit Dean,” she howled, voice cracking from lack of use. She slapped him, the cold skin of his cheek stung as she fell face first against his pillow and fissured. This was not the reality she fought to get back to, she wanted to go back. But there were no more memories to seek out and now there would be no new ones made. Not with Dean. Her arms clutched to his face, pulling him up, his bulk anchoring her as she sobbed. Nothing felt connected, rage, guilt, grief flowed into a noxious mix and Chloe had to step back. Hurling all over the floor as her body rejected the trauma as much as her mind had.

Once the putrid yellow liquid had emptied itself, she focused. Where the hell was Tweedle Dum?

“Sam!” CC walked backwards, keeping her eyes on Dean’s body as if he would disappear at any moment, just another nightmare she needed to pass through. “Goddamn it, Sam, where the fuck are you?!”

She was still crying but clutching the door knob and shouting through the cavernous Bunker had given her some slight release. If anyone was going to hear her, it wasn’t going to be misunderstood for more than it was. There was a faint rumble and the sound of doors closing.

“Sam?” CC’s voice broke and she whispered to herself, “Oh, Maheo’o, please.  He’s okay. He has—”

Sam rounded the corner, dirty and mystified.

“—to be.”

They fell at each other, Sam tucking his gun in his belt before his arms could hold her to his chest, keeping her upright. “I’m so sorry, Chloe.”

She felt his words more than she heard them, her head clouded, ribcage unhinged and gaping. She kept looking over her shoulder, watching Dean’s body, but Sam turned them both away, unwilling to let her dwell on it like he had, the entire drive home.

“What happened?”

Sam swallowed. “Metatron.”

Angels. Of course.

She nodded, trying to remember everything she could about what they had been hunting last. “But what about Abaddon? And Crowley? How long have I been out?”

“Yeah, well, hey are you alright? Do you need anything?” Sam held her at arm’s length, taking in her eyes and her steadiness. “Because I was going to summon Crowley, make him fix this. Since he was the one that started this whole suicide mission with the Mark of Cain.”

“Suicide? Sam, what are you talking about?”

Sam sniffed. “Oh, Chloe, tell me you know. That you--”

“Don’t ‘oh’ me, dumb ass.”

Sam almost laughed at that, inhaling with a mirthful pout. “Let’s get you some water and then how about we see what we can do?”

“How can we just leave him like that?”

Sam gave her a sad smile. “We’re not going to. Let’s go.”

Sam led her to the kitchen, keeping his right arm over her shoulders, at the ready should she lose her balance. But he needed her there more than she ever could.

“Finally,” Crowley muttered as he watched Sam and the empty vessel slink off together.

*^*

This was new. It was as if a seatbelt had been strapped to his soul, barring him from escaping the wreckage that was his body. So much for meeting his new Reaper and getting the spiel that was once reserved for Tessa. He tested the barriers of his body, unsure what would happen if he couldn’t crossover. Would he go vengeful? Was Sammy going to have to go full blowtorch on his ass? He started to separate, slipping from solid to gas and back to liquid as the darkness pulled him apart. He folded in on himself, twice, twenty, two thousand times until he was frayed and knotted and mangled beyond belief. The unscratchable itch remained the same, the Mark the source, but not the remedy. Dean stretched, reaching out to gain control in a space only he could navigate. It was disgustingly fragile to him now. Everything felt, lesser. It still reeked of humanity and its pathetic mortality.

Then he heard him, Crowley. That smug bastard really could spin yarns, but Dean wasn’t convinced, yet. He settled back, as easy as slipping into an old flannel, finding his arms and toes and all the other places he liked to control. Once Crowley made his true offer, Dean knew what he sold to be true, or as available as any other fate to him now.

And so he opened his eyes to bask in their shared damnation.

Next Chapter: Too Good to Be True

[passive-aggressive-sarcasm]

Treachery, Thy Name Is Brother - Part 5: For The Queen Walks Among You

Sam is the King of Hell, Jess is his Queen, Dean is a rogue Knight of Hell, most of his friends are demons, and surprisingly, none of these are the biggest problem Sam has right now. Masterpost here. The sequel to Essays in Demonic Politics, which takes place after Sunshine After Rain. Reading those first is recommended.

I don’t have an excuse, I really don’t. It’s been over 2 years. I’m so sorry. I thought the muses would come back sooner...

Sam is actually somewhat impressed at how seriously everyone on his estate takes the appearance of an intruder on the grounds. Balaam has him and Jess secured within seconds, and there are suddenly demons (loyal ones, chosen by Abaddon and approved by Balaam and Asmodeus) on every door. He doesn’t bother to tell Balaam that he knows who it is, can sense his presence a mile away. Locking down the manor is good procedure, and it’s good for everyone to have a surprise drill every now and then.

Dean can wait until they’re done.

By the time Balaam and Abaddon are satisfied they’re not under immediate attack, they’re talking about throwing Dean into one of Belphegor’s dungeons for a while. Sam pulls them up at that and tells them to wait with Dean in the meeting room, before turning to Jess. She’s been itching to say something ever since she figured out who had tripped the alarm wards.

“Are you ok?” She laces her fingers with his.

“I’m fine, Jess. Dean’s here without back-up. Either he’s a lot stupider than he used to be or he’s here to help. We’ll be fine.”

“Or he’s here to make you think he’s on your side. Sam, I know you love him. I know. But he’s not the brother you grew up with and I don’t want to see you hurt.”

“I know. But whatever it is, we need to go and deal with it anyway.”

Jess reluctantly agrees, and they head downstairs. Balaam opens the meeting room door for them, and throws a surprisingly listless smile at Sam as he passes him.

Dean’s pacing the length of the table when they enter, Abaddon seated on the opposite side with her legs propped up and picking her nails with a knife. Both of them glance up at Sam and Jess, but while Abaddon stands and bows, Dean just carries on pacing. Balaam takes his usual place next to Sam as he surveys his brother.

“Dean. What are you doing here?” The rest of his council files in and takes their places at the table. Sam is still standing next to his seat at the head of the table (he refuses to call it a throne).

Dean sneers at the other demons, but answers Sam’s question readily enough. “I went back to the bunker. Gadreel was waiting.”

Sam’s stomach clenches and he can’t help the frown he knows crosses his face. He’s worked hard to be impassive, except around a chosen few. He hates that his brother overrides that training.

“And?” He makes himself sound nonchalant.

“And he and some of his pals want to throw you back in the Cage.”

There’s a dead silence around the table, but Sam is surprisingly relieved. He can work with this. They’re scared of him and grasping at straws. He can work with this.

“Interesting. How exactly do they think they’re going to do that?”

Jess interrupts Dean before he can speak. “And perhaps more importantly, how do you know that? Cause you sent him on his way, right? The angel that murdered your friend and screwed Sam over?”

Dean scowls. “I don’t answer to you, blondie.”

“Maybe not, but you came here. You made that choice, so answer the damn question.” Jess’ voice rises ever so slightly, and Sam thinks he may as well let her deal with this. She doesn’t have the same history with Dean, doesn’t have the same weaknesses.

“I went with him, ok? I thought it might be good to know what the fuck they were planning.”

“Bullshit.” Abaddon doesn’t look up from her nails. “We all know you don’t think that far ahead, Winchester.”

Balaam smirks slightly.

“Besides, we know you went with them to clear out the angel camp near Boston. What, was that part of your induction to the douchebag angel club? Or was the thought of a spot of light murder too much for you to resist?” Jess is leaning forward over the table, her eyes blazing.

Dean bristles. “I needed them to trust me.”

“So you could what, exactly? What did they say to make you think they were enough of a threat to investigate? You’ve not left the area around the bunker in years. You don’t even pretend to hunt anymore, and you’ve not gotten involved in Heaven’s bullshit in even longer. Why now? What did he say to make you give a shit?”

“He was planning to kill your precious boyfriend, ok? Why the fuck are you pissed at me, I’m trying to help!”

And just like that, Sam knows. It’s a good lie, because it’s not a lie at all. Gadreel didn’t threaten to kill him, he planned it. And Abaddon is right, Dean doesn’t plan long term. If he did, he’d still be human. If he did, this might be believable. As it is, if he wanted to stop Gadreel killing Sam, he’d have come to them immediately after killing Gadreel.

But instead, Gadreel turned up at the bunker and said he was planning to kill Sam, and Dean went with him. Dean went with him.

Dean was planning to kill him.

He’s never quite believed it before now, never believed that his brother hated him so much that he’d try and kill him without some supernatural influence involved.

“Enough.” He cuts through the babble of Balaam and Dean sniping at each other. Jess raises an eyebrow at him, obviously not seeing what he does. Dean looks at him like he’s waiting to be thanked.

“You wanted to kill me.” Sam’s voice leaves no room for argument.

Dean tries anyway. “I wanted to get an idea of what we’re up against, I thought -”

Sam cuts him off. “I know exactly what you thought. How did you justify it to yourself? What lie are you telling yourself to try and turn yourself into the hero of this story? Are you pretending to be the Righteous Man again, ridding the world of evil? Or did you convince yourself I’d be better off dead? Did you think I’d thank you for it?”

Sam knows he’s hit the nail on the head when Dean’s gaze drops.

A furious scream pulls Sam off the path his mind was spiralling down. By the time Abaddon and Balaam pull Jess off Dean, Astaroth and Belphegor restraining Dean as he fights back, eyes pitch black, she’s managed to rip his left arm in half and there’s a hole in his chest the size of her fist. It’s healing quickly, but Dean’s obviously in pain as well as furious. Sam can’t quite bring himself to care. He pulls Jess into his chest, away from Dean and the others, and holds her while her breathing evens from the furious sobs she’s just choking back, to something calmer but no less angry. His brother seems to be calming down as well, eyes back to green and flitting between Sam and the demons still holding him back.

“I don’t care what your reasoning was. You wanted to kill me.” Sam takes a deep breath. “Luckily for you, you’re not currently my biggest problem. You’re going to sit in here and tell Sammael and Asmodeus everything they want to know about Gadreel and his plans.” He nods at the two demons, who bow and re-seat themselves opposite Dean. “Everyone else, go do your jobs.”

“Sam he tried to -” Abaddon protests, but falls silent as Sam raises a hand to cut him off.

“Yes. And I’ll deal with it later. Go.”

And they do.

Sam and Jess are still upstairs a few hours later. Balaam reported the results of Dean’s interrogation to them not too long ago, and the others are scattered throughout the manor, waiting for orders. They won’t be long in coming: one of the things Astaroth likes most about their King is his decisiveness. He sips the scotch he poured for himself and considers the demon sitting opposite him.

“Why now?”

“Why not? The opportunity is as good as it’s going to get.” Mephistopheles answers, smiling slightly. “You were as unsure as I was. Sam is a good King, I grant you. A great one, perhaps. But he is not my King.”

He smirks at her. “How sentimental of you.”

“Sentiment has nothing to do with it. I want a purpose again. I want to be feared as we once were.”

“We still are.”

“By the occasional God-fearing human.” She laughs bitterly. “By insects.”

“And we are respected by the others.” He sips his scotch lazily. “What you propose would require a stupendous amount of luck to succeed. It would also involve allying ourselves with angels, and you know how much I hate angels.”

“Tools, nothing more.”

“Perhaps. But I see no reason to commit treason against our King, who, may I remind you, can literally Speak us out of existence, just to get a different and quite frankly less competent King back.”

Mephistopheles snarls at him. “Lucifer is our true King. He is our God.”

“Don’t be a fool. Even if Gadreel’s plan to trap Sam worked, which it won’t, Lucifer won’t be able to escape, and even if he did, he won’t care about you any more than he ever did.” Astaroth stands and makes his way over to the door. He can sense Tessa approaching the manor. “Give it up, Mephistopheles. We chose Sam. Why ruin it now?” He leaves her sitting opposite the huge bay windows, bathed in the orange light of sunset.

He wonders how soon he will have to kill her.

[dicecast]

The Core Realms of the Outer Planes

-Introduction of the Planes, as written by Sigil Scholar “First Dawn” as punishment for a great crime she committed against nature itself.  She can be found in Sigil University giving extremely grumpy lectures about the multiverse until her community service is entirely over.  

Part 1: The Core Planes

The most famous Planes are of course, the Outer Planes, so much so that they are quite frankly, over done, and I find this assignment to be entirely beneath my time and dignity to have to explain.  The popularity of these monuments to limited imagination isn’t surprising, after all each of them represent a facade of a simplistic, reductive, and all together uninspired morality that shackles this world to the corpse of absolutes.  Each of them is dramatic and superficially excited, and for the average prime I imagine it must be quite exciting to discover that not only is Hell real, but that it is build upon metaphorical representations of Lawful Sins. But for those of us wordly enough not only see the larger framework but also to challenge base assumption, the unimpatnative nature of these 9 planes isn’t just uninteresting, it is actively detrimental to true planar study. These 9 planes are so overly studied so that all other fields of Planar examination are left woefully understaffed, with more and more time and effort being dedicated to 9 realms which frankly weren’t very interesting to begin with.  This is similar to how the four “Classical” Elements (Earth, Wind, Fire, Water) have become popular that there are more scholars dedicated to the Plane of Water than their are to all of the other 17 elemental planes combined.  This planar brain drain is not just frustrating and tedious, it’s also dangerous as the denizens of say, the Middle Planes are actually just as threatening as Demons but lack the symbolic residence to have people make the proper preparations.  There are more paladin demon hunting orders than I can caught, but the designs of the PLane of Dreams can evidently walk freely, as their machinations are not laced in the mask of objective morality.  Even within the Outer Planes, the vast majority of scholarship goes to the Lower Planes, the realms of Evil, likely because of how ultimately simplistic they are.  Discarding cultists, nobody likes demons, and so there are book upon tedious book written about their evil, their depravity, and their lack of complexity, all of which boil down to “Demons are bad, we should kill them.”  The Upper Planes, far more challenging in their conceptions, have little in the way of scholar, because defining what is evil is easy, defining what is good is challenging.  Seriously can I write about anything other than this, I mean god, this is child’s play stuff?  

Ok Fine

   There are 9 “Core” Planes, which embody, as you might imagine, personify one of the Night Alignments.  I might as well mention now, the Outer Planes have a creepy obsessive fetish with symmetry, which will get tiring very very quickly I assure you.  These nine planes can be subdivided into the “Upper” “Lower” and “Central”  Planes, personifying Good, Evil, and Neutrality respectively, and it’s all very nice and neat and infantile.  Let’s do the Lower Planes First, which as the personification of evil, are utterly overdone in terms of the popular imagination.  There is nothing more tedious than the many many texts on the Lower PLanes, so I will try to sum them up as quickly as possible. One thing first, these planes are the largest infinite planes in the multiverse ,because evil is the most powerful force in the multiverse, luckily they are always fighting each other in The Blood War so we don’t have to deal with it, and I’m sure you know this already.  

   The most overrated of them all are The Nine Hells of Baator, Home of the Devils, Beings of Law and Evil, and every layer of it has been so particularly scrutinized that I suspect many of the scholars (such as those who wrote the Gates of Hell manuals) are actually in the pay of the Nine.  Hell is a land of rigid unyielding law, but I want it duly noted it is not in fact, fascist.  It isn’t absolute, mindless dehumanizing law, instead it is the most evil aspect law can possibly have, namely Feudalism.  The Law of Baator is strict, unyielding, and inhuman, but above all it is unfair and arbitrary.  The laws are contradictory, inconsistent, and utterly self destructive but they are literal law, even if they make no sense.  This is law to such a demented degree that they don’t make any sense, a hypocritical system which is absolute in its incompetence and inhumanity and yet stills frustrate continues to exist.  The Hells are not realms of absolute obedience and conformity to an absolute law, they are an incomprehensible set of rules and obligations that pretends to be a realm of absolute obedience and conformity, which is even worse.  The Hells are ruled by the “Lords of the Nine”, 9 freakishly powerful Devils who serve as Feudal Lords, lead by the “Lord of the Nine” the enigmatic and entirely overplayed Asmodeus, who if you read his news briefs, is the most clever, intelligent, funny and sexy entity in the world, but everybody else sees him as a prat.  

        The opposition to the Nine Hells is the realm of Chaos and Evil, The 666 Infinite Layers of the Abyss, is a realm of absolute paradox, staying with the fact that it supposedly has infinite layers but in fact has 666 (scholars have counted 667).  Populated by the Demons, this realm is crawling with every horrific evil imaginable and is the largest plane in existence, for every one Devil, there are at least a million demon, likely more.  A single Lawful Evil Mortal soul can create 9 devils, while a single Chaotic Evil soul can create a huge amounts of demons.  This is fundamentally and explicitly unfair...and that’s the point.  The Abyss is a realm where rules don’t work, in fact any attempt to even conceive of rules are folly, and trying to put it into a box is futile in itself.  All generalizations are proven wrong and all trends fail because the Abyss actively rejects it, and the plane itself almost seems to delight in thumbing its nose at conventional understanding, occasionally producing good demons just to confuse everybody else.  As a rule demons are sadistic, cruel, and anarchistic but of course...that’s a rule.  The Abyss is forever in a war against themselves, each layer has a Demon Lord who wishes to claim the title of “Demon Prince” but only three really have a shot and they have fought for millenia, Grazz’t Lord of Lust and the Triple Realms, Orcus the master of Undeath and Divnity, and of course Demogorgon, the Prince of Demons.  However combat is tedious and so is the Abyss, so let’s move one.

   The least appreciate Lower Plane is Abaddon, the realm of the Daemons, who are in many ways the more moderate evils and thus less focus is paid to them, which I think is largely unfair, because that makes them the most human.  Daemons are oriented around 4 principles of evil, Hypocrisy, Bigotry, Vindictiveness, and Ignorance, and individual Daemons will drift between these as if they were wearing hats. It is very hard to sum up Daemons because they are evil in a very relatable way, they are most famous for their vast corporations of soulless bureaucracy, but Daemons also can have a great deal of personality individually, though almost always in as needlessly dickish a way that they can.  Daemons are all hypocrites who lack any core or foundation other than circumstances, and so what type of viciousness they represent varies from moment to moment, and unlike their extreme counterparts, it’s never ideological.  Daemons are at their core nihilists, and are evil without justification, logic, intention, or even knowledge, they are the random everyday evil of your average man.  Which is why I find them superfluous and am going to move one.  

Editor's Note: I have to also mention they are ruled by The Four Horsemen. There, moving on.  

Moving on to the perpetually overlooked “Central Planes”, these are the realms of neutrality and really don’t have the scholarship they deserve.  They are not in constant war, while Law and Chaos disagree, each mostly acknowledges the necessity of the other, but instead try to find a balance, which is of course, extremely difficult.  

    First are The Outlands, the great patchwork that connects the Outer Plane, and at the center of this infinite plane is the Spire, on top which lies Sigil.  Every square mile of the Outlands is different, almost a patchwork of aspects of other planes, and you could walk through a forest into a desert into a great mechanical wasteland in the span of three minutes.  This plane has the largest mortal population, and is responsible for many of the fundamental rules of reality, and keeping the Balance of the Planes intated.  Ruling over this are The Aeons, mysterious cosmic entities who keep the illusion of the world intact, or possible weave a new one, enematic and unknown.  Their ruler the Monad has as far as I can tell, never been seen and likely doesn’t exist.   

   Next to the Outlands is The Maelstrom, supposedly the origin of life, and an ever shifting realm in its own right, but this is a realm of creativity, language, and the senses, things that fundamentally reject any limitations placed upon them.  The realm is one of potential good and bad, independence and free will, and the native Proteans, strange snake like creatures who seem to wish to push against all restrictions, and offer up radical visions of what could yet be.

      Next one is Mechanus, the realm of Gears, which maintains the universe itself.  This gigantic endless system of  gears and systems is the realm of math, shapes, physics, and systems, consistency and understanding. It has little interest in societal rules, which it finds all together too inconsistent and self serving, but instead cosmic rules, like the notion that 1+1=2 unless you can prove otherwise mathematically.  The natives are known as Modrons, and each resemble different forms of law, most look like shapes (Cubes, Pyramids, squares) but other are equations, and the greatest resemble strangely enough different forms of dice.  

Next are the Upper Planes, where the forces of good dwell, and are some of the smallest realms in the world, for here dwell the forces of absolute good.  And as much as the edgelords out there like to claim otherwise, they aren’t well intended extremists, they cannot be anything other than absolutely good, they are defined by their very good nature on a fundamental level incomprehensible to a mortal.  These planes are on the verge of destruction, barely holding their own against the vast hordes of evil, but despite this, they stayed strong and part of that is through their unity, these planes have difference but they work together and help each other, their differences make them stronger and allow them to prevail over the forces of evil.  Also i want to make this clear, they are not ruled by Gods, Gods are entirely different things, these are secular realms.  Just assholes.  

The most famous are the Seven Heavens, where Law and Good come together as one, ruled by the Archons.  Built around a Celestial Mountain, the seven layers are all built around the theme of betterment of the self, souls come here and improve steadily, ascending the layers.  The natives here believe strongly in goodness as the result of governance, and hope to build institutions, orders, and structures to allow good to flourish.  Militarily, they are armies, which is why they get the most attention, the Archons go forth in hoards to try to stymie the forces of evil where they can, and when they do show up, it is indeed magnificent.  

Next is the Realm is the Blessed Fields of Elysium, ruled by the kind Aasimons, creatures of love, relationships, and community.  This realm is idealism, understanding, and goodness as the result of personal happiness.  The souls here try to find joy in themselves and those around them, for those who are happy will turn away from cruelty.  The Aasimons are the least known of the Good Exemplars, for they focus not on dramatic heroism whenever possible, but instead on the smaller acts to try to make good have a chance.  Childcare, helping broken homes, providing medical aid or psychological care, first responders to disasters, grief counselors, or simply a mysterious women in a bar who is willing to lend a sympathetic ear, Aasimons go often in secret the Material Plane to help keep the spark of hope alive in what little way they can.  To them, depression is where evil emerges, and joy is what allows the goodness within you to come forth.  

The Transcendent Glades of Arborea is where Chaos and Goodness come together, with the Azatas serving as its manifestation.  Aborea is a vast wilderland except more wonderful and magical than any that exists, colors, sensations, and pleasures exist as no mortal co comprehend them, and seriously they throw the best fucking parties you have no idea.  This is a realm where man’s base nature is good, and without limitations and restrictions placed upon it, they can come forth and enjoy the morality that lies within us, and Azatas hope to tear down the institutions and systems to force mortals to choose selfishness rather than compassion.  Azatas, like Archons, go forth and fight evil ,but they do so as individuals or small bands, of scouts and infiltrators.  Many times a force of evil has suddenly fallen apart due to the secret machinations of the Azatas, and more than a few times villians have found they prefer getting really high in Arborea than taking over the world.  

Once these 9 realms were balanced equally but ever since the actions of mortals have determined their power, evil has been winning, and so much so that Good as a force is no longer a factor.  If the legends are to be believed, this new circumstances was created by the Upper Planes themselves as the price to give mortals true choice of their actions, thus condemning themselves to their own destructions.  The Upper Planes by all right should have been wiped out long ago, destroyed by the forces of evil, and yet they prevail, because in a world seemingly resigned to darkness, there is just enough kindness that the light stubbornly refuses to go out.  

There you go, 9 overdone, over analyzed, over handled bullshit system which isn’t worth any respect, and I think that the whole thing is a colossal waste of time.  

[guildwarsstartrekskyrim]

Shades of Grey

Oh boy, let’s talk more about this.  This thing about villains that seems to grip people more than the actions of the hero.  Before we begin, here’s a list of villainous topics that I’ve commented on and discussed before.

Let’s talk more about villains

Villains and Power Fantasy

Discussion with @houseleours​ on villainy!

PSA - Villains are villains

The Case for Villains at GW2RP Forums

And a bit about the shades of grey in games.

Something I’ve noticed about Skyrim 

That thing that happens in games

This will look at villainy, but will also look more closely at the shadowy aspect that we call shades of grey (no, not the 50 kinds!).

It’s obvious that in video games we often are given the opportunity to have choices that may reflect later in the story.  This is often done way better and easier in single player games than in an MMO, because choices are often presented to everyone and to have the world reflect the choices that hundreds or thousands (or even millions) of people make in a video game world would be absolute chaos for the developers.  For that reason, a single player game is more often than not able to reflect choices from the player with greater ease.

I’m going to focus on Skyrim for this as it’s one of the best examples and also the one I’ve been playing a lot recently.  I’ll also toss in some bits from Guild Wars and Guild Wars 2 as there are some relevant examples there and Star Trek, because this is obviously a Star Trek blog.

Please note: when it comes to world building, both Bethesda and ArenaNet are incredible in that they can build these expansive, multifaceted worlds that players can explore. Each franchise in the Elder Scrolls and Guild Wars has rich histories, interesting people and incredible regions.  When it comes to writing, however, I think most people are aware that Bethesda and ArenaNet ain’t Shakespeare.  This is one of those cases where the players love the properties but are completely understanding that the story might not be the greatest ever written.

Having said that...

When we play a game or read a book or watch a movie, there’s always a want to find out who the good guys are and who the bad guys are.  The classic hero/villain dynamic.  Each and every Batman movie has created it, each and ever movie in the MCU has done so as well, and each Star Trek movie has given us the villain to combat against our heroes (with the exception of Star Trek the Motion Picture and Star Trek: Voyage Home... ya know, the one with the whales).

The Elder Scrolls, Guild Wars and even Star Trek Online are no different when it comes to creating conflict.  However, there is a place that Skyrim does exceptionally well, Guild Wars sometimes gets and Star Trek only managed to do during Deep Space Nine and again with Discovery.  That thing I speak of is the shade of grey, where things aren’t easily identifiable as good or evil but lay somewhere in between.  Where the choices we make as the player (or the hero of the story might make) are arguably questionable but we can make a justification for doing them.

In Skyrim, the gods are everywhere.  There are the Eight Divines (or Nine, if you aren’t an Altimer and worship Talos), there is the daedra and there’s even the Aedra.  The daedra are seen as inherently evil, with the only exception being Azura, whom you can aid and lay claim to Azura’s Star at one point in the game.  The dunmer worship Azura and the khajiit believe that Azura was directly responsible for the creation of the races of cat folk.  Throughout all of Skyrim there are few factions which stick out as being inherently lawful good.  The only exceptions would be the Vigilants of Stendar who claim that mercy, charity and kindness are most important above all and the Dawnguard who hunt and destroy vampires.  I’ll have a discussion later that sort of pokes holes in the good nature of those two factions (as well as destroying Starfleet’s Prime Directive) in another discussion.  For now, back to the shades of grey.

When the player encounters all of these different scenarios, the choices that need to be made are at best questionable.  Reforming Dagon’s Razor, exploring the haunted house in Markarth, encountering Boethia’s Shrine and dealing with the cannibals in Markarth all end up with the player committing questionable, yet strangely justifiable actions.  For Boethia, she demands you bring a willing victim to sacrifice.  Easy enough, pick a scumbag that is quite nefarious and deserves to die.  But hang on, you’re still sacrificing him to an evil daedric being.  There’s no cancellation here, you’re not offing one bad dude by satiating the desires of an evil entity.

While not nearly as bad as sacrificing someone to an evil entity, there’s still murder being committed when you deal with the cannibals of Markarth.  When first meeting them you talk to Eola, the leader of these cannibals.  And you discover that a lot of the people involved in this cannibal cult were actually really nice to deal with (except for the butcher, ‘cause fuck that guy and his “bloodiest meat in the Reach”).  However, they demand that you trick one man into coming to their “feast.” As it turns out, you have the option of killing Eola outright, or bringing the man to the crypt where the cannibals are located and then letting him bare witness as you go on a murder spree.

We see this stuff in Guild Wars as well.  Questionable actions done for “the greater good.” One of the most questionable is asking aid from Palawa Joko himself, which later screws everything over in Elona by the time of Guild Wars 2.  Sure, we need to defeat Abaddon, but do we need to do it by enlisting the aid of an evil lich who is all about revisionist history just to make him look good?  Apparently we do.

While we don’t encounter many decisions like that in Guild Wars, there’s a lot of people who act in questionable ways.  Key to all of this has to be Adlebern, King of Ascalon.  Yes, he is fighting a war against the charr and attempting to protect his people, but the charr just want their land back.  But he oversteps the line when he decides to use the Foefire.  Sure, it kills the advancing charr army.  It also kills every single on of his people, civilians and military alike, along with himself.  Oh, but they get to live on as vengeful ghosts for all enternity! Yay! That’s fun!

Going back to Skyrim and Markarth once more, when you learn a bit more of the history of the city you begin to see that the Nords aren’t actually the most benevolent of people.  They kicked the indigenous people, the Foresworn, to the curb in the Reach (lead by none other than Ulfric Stormcloak).  But before we get all sympathetic towards the Foresworn, they aren’t exactly the most upstanding group of people either.  They embrace dark magic, are advised and aided by Hagravens, and their leaders are the Briarhearts who have their human hearts removed and replaced with a briarheart that gives them great power (side note: you can actually pickpocket the heart off of the Briarhearts and they die... just die, no fighting involved, so build up that sneak and pick pocket skill).

The Foresworn are central to the story that explores the mystery in Markarth that involves a group of murders.  A conspiracy that the city guards themselves are involved in, that the Silver-Blood family is surrounded by, and that ends with the player in Cidna Mine.  The prison of Markarth.  You escape either by joining the King in Rags, who happens to be a Foresworn leader that’s been orchestrating murders from prison, or kill the Foresworn leader.  Neither choice has many long lasting affects, but if you kill the King in Rags (which can be a bear of a fight because you have NOTHING on you except spells and a pick axe) the guards will act a little sheepish toward you for wrongfully imprisoning you (”yeah, you should be sorry, I’m the goddamned DRAGONBORN!”).

While that is only a handful of stories found within the game worlds, it is an example of the shades of grey that we are forced to deal with.  There’s no truly good choices that are made, which is why I firmly believe that if the right (or wrong) choices are made, the greatest villain in those video games is in fact the player.

Next, it’s time to shatter the world of lawful good paladins and destroy the Prime Directive!

[toobusylyintomyself]

Sinister 10

A/N: Part 10, really? Jeez I feel super excited. Sorry y’all have had to wait ages for this I know I’m terrible and I keep getting sidetracked with other things I want to write. Anywho~

Genre: Supernatural!au

Pairing: Taeyong x Reader (at least for a little longer ;))

Masterlist

Taeyong seemed restless after that, suddenly feeling nervous that so many of  your friends believed he would hurt you. He couldn’t stay still, even as you tried to comfort him. He felt genuinely hurt by the idea. He ended up getting out of bed, despite your protesting of wanting to cuddle longer. You got up behind him, following him as he moved around the dorm.

“Taeyong-” You were about to try talking to him when a sharp knock on the door grabbed both of your attention. You looked at each other before he slowly moved toward the door, tucking you protectively behind him.

He glanced back at you when there was another knock on the door. “Stay behind me.” He whispered softly before putting his hand on the door, pulling it open just a crack.

He was met with the frantic looking face of his brother, who seemed to be in a near state of panic. He pulled the door open the rest of the way, carefully keeping you behind him as he stepped back. “Taeil?”

The boy in question looked over Taeyong continuously. “You’re okay?” The words fell from his lips immediately. “God, you’re okay. Where are the others? Are they alright? What about Y/N? How is she doing?”

The onslaught of questions made you peak around Taeyong’s shoulder, surprised to see the face of the man you thought had stabbed you. Even knowing that it wasn’t him, you still felt wary. You caught his eye, making him gasp softly. He didn’t approach you, only took in your appearance from where he stood.

Taeyong nudged you out from behind him, curling an arm around you as he brought you to stand beside him. “Y/N is fine, everyone is. You seemed worked up, what’s going on?” He could feel how rigid you were beside him, clearly nervous in front of Taeil. Even he couldn’t say he was particularly thrilled to see him, but something must have been going on. Taeil wasn’t one to freak out without a reason.

Taeil let out a long breath, looking over the pair of you while he took a moment to gather his thoughts. “Taeyong, do you remember when I left home?” Taeyong nodded slowly, unsure what the question meant. “Okay, but do you know why I left?”

Taeyong shifted uncomfortably. “You didn’t get along with father.” He wore a confused look, suddenly doubting his own beliefs on the situation.

Taeil chuckled humorlessly. “I mean you aren’t wrong, but that isn’t why.” He looked over at you, trying to grasp how overwhelming it would be to put all of this on you right now. “When I left, my mother was plotting to take out the royal court. I went to talk her out of it, I never intended to stay.” He glanced out the window. “But she agreed to stop trying if I stayed.” He winced at the thought. “Sometimes I wish witches were bound to their word the way we are.”

For the first time you felt the need to speak up, too much of this was going over your head and it was clearly something you needed to understand. “Can we slow down for a second? And someone explain what the hell is going on. Christ.” You sounded more exasperated than you had expected, shocking both yourself and the boys.

Taeyong ran his fingers through his hair, stepping away from you for a second. “Right.” He looked between the two of you for some time. “I should get Johnny and Ten before we continue this conversation anyway.”

“They still hate you.”

He pursed his lips tightly. “I know.” He sighed, bringing his hands up to his head. “I’m just hoping they might find this a little more important. Taeil can explain anything you need to know.”

You started to protest, not wanting to be left alone with him, but Taeyong was out the door before you could say anything. You shifted uncomfortably under the gaze of his older brother, unsure how to talk to him. “So you’re Taeil.” You managed to get out, inwardly cursing yourself for being so painfully awkward.

The older boy nodded, just as inept as you were in this situation. “So how long have you and Tae been, you know?”

Your eyes widened. “Been what?” You asked incredulously, shocked he would even bring up such a topic when he had just met you.

He seemed to realize his own mistake, backpedaling quickly. “I didn’t mean- no. I just. How long have you two been bonded?” He coughed from his own stuttering

You nodded, lips forming a slight ‘o’ shape as you realized what he meant. “I guess it’s been almost a month now. I shouldn’t still be this unaware of everything.” You let out a defeated breath, plopping down on the couch.

Taeil seemed to be sympathetic at the statement. “I think it’s pretty normal, it’s a lot to take in.” He felt a pang of guilt as he remembered how carefree you had always seemed as a child. “Taeyong probably hasn’t been much help, knowing him. He’s worried about scaring you or overwhelming you with information, so he just never gives any up until asked.” He instinctively moved to comfort you, being taken aback when you flinched away from him.

You instantly regretted it, seeing the pain in his expression. “I’m sorry, I didn’t-” You cut yourself off, worrying about how to actually word what was going through your head. “The only real association I have with you is getting stabbed, even though that wasn’t you.” Upon seeing his now confused expression you felt the need to elaborate further. “Apparently your younger brother, Mark I think?, was the one who did it.” There was a paused where he seemed to just be taking in your statement, but it continued too long for you to feel comfortable, so you tried to explain more. “He made himself look like you when he did it.”

That, apparently, was the lightbulb moment for Taeil as he scowled at the new information. “He bothers me for a month about how to properly use body transformation and then he uses it defame me. Of course.” He rolled his eyes, annoyed with the new information. “You’re alright now though?” You nodded, and he seemed to settle for that. “So the run down on demonic history. This should be fun. I’ll keep it to the royal family for now, and if you have questions outside of that I can answer them another time, okay?”

“You can skip the part about how knights work because I know that.” You nodded to his statement, deciding to let him tell you the rest.

Taeil took a long breath before launching into the details of how and why things were like this now. “I realize you don’t know most of the princes, so I won’t go into too much detail here, we all have the same father, but different mothers. All seven of us have different strengths, different weaknesses. My mother is a witch, a powerful one at that. She sort of hates my father, and all of my siblings, and just demons in general. I can’t exactly blame her, either. She got screwed over, her only child taken away from her, banished from what she’d known as home for over three years, because of Tae’s mom. She’s not with us anymore, which I guess you can call the first of many offenses my mother has committed against the royal family.” He paused to fidget with his hands.

“She’s killed all of their mothers actually. Anyway, you lived in the castle during this time. I know you don’t remember it, but hear me out. You were maybe six when this happened, but she found out how close you were to Taeyong, and she started to go after you. It happened around the time others were also realizing how valuable you were, you became a target for nearly every higher up demon in hell, and tons of other creatures. That’s why Abaddon sent you away, to grow up as a normal human girl, in hopes that you could be happy that way and not get dragged back into this. Around the time you left, I also did, in an attempt to quell tensions with my mother, which worked for a while. Except about two months ago, she left home, and I hadn’t been able to track her down, until a little more than a month ago, when she decided to make a rather large statement that she had every intention of destroying the demon royalty. I think she made her first goal to take out all the knights and their children, but I suspect she’ll start going for the other princes soon.”

He took a long breath, realizing he hadn’t actually told you what was going on. “She killed Abaddon. She killed the other knights and their children. I think she would’ve come for you if she knew you were still alive. She’s trying to get rid of anyone who could stand up to her.”

You nodded, more or less understanding his rambling. “Are you all in danger?”

Taeil winced slightly at the question. “I’m probably the least so. Though you, if she finds out you’re still here, are most definitely in the most.” He contemplated it for a minute. “But if your powers are manifested, and she doesn’t sneak up on you, you’ll win in a fight, so don’t worry too much.” He watched you carefully, surprised to see how calmly you sat there, just taking the information in. “You aren’t freaking out.”

You chuckled softly. “I don’t think that would help the situation.” You were tired, more than anything. Tired and curious about this past you knew nothing of. You wanted to know more, about where you lived, your father, this world that currently had no place in your memories. “Why is she so bitter though?”

A sad smiled crossed his features, you couldn’t help feeling almost guilty for asking. “Heartbreak I guess, having your son ripped away from you and then banished.” He shook his head. “It isn’t anything to dwell on. Taeyong should be back soon.” He offered you a kinder smile this time, letting you notice how handsome he was.

You took a deep breath. “You’re half witch.” Taeil nodded, watching you closely as you contemplated your next sentence. “Can you teach me more about magic?”

He gave you an inquisitive look as he started to respond. “Y/N, I don’t kno-”

He was cut off by the door being opened, Taeyong being followed by a clearly irate Johnny and an oddly silent Ten.

“I just can’t believe you would leave her alone with someone we don’t know if we can trust.” Johnny spat out, glaring at the shorter boy. The two seemed to be engaged in a fairly heated argument, so you chose to motion to Ten, getting him to come over to you.

“What are they fighting about now?” You asked, unaware that Ten had practically frozen in the presence of your other current companion. You snapped your fingers in front of his face, bringing his attention back to you.

He wrapped his arm protectively around your shoulder, dragging your closer to him and a bit further from Taeil. “Why is he here?” Venom laced his voice as he glared at the older prince.

Taeil stood from the spot “Now really isn’t the time for this.” He started making his way over to his brother when a particular statement caught everyone’s attention.

“You all think it was me anyway so why are you even acting like this?” Taeyong finally spat out, silencing everyone else in the room. The two stared at each other for some time, neither seemingly willing to move an inch on the subject. “You think it was me who stabbed her anyway, so why do you care if she’s alone with him?”

There was a soft knock on the door before it opened, barring anyone from responding. Jaehyun, Yuta, and Doyoung all walked through, bringing the group’s attention to the. Jaehyun spoke up first “It wasn’t Taeyong, but it was Taeil either. This isn’t even what we should be talking about right now.”

Yuta bristled as he looked at the other faces in the room, but he stayed quiet, not wanting to create more tension than necessary.

Doyoung scanned the room, thankful for Jaehyun stopping the argument. People were clearly still uncomfortable with the first prince’s presence, but he figured they would get used to it. “Is everyone here that needs to be? I don’t want to get into this conversation until we have everyone who’s going to be involved.”

“Sicheng.” Yuta pointed out, leaving the room to get the other boy.

Doyoung sighed, settling back against the wall as his friend left. He looked over at the first prince, knowing it would be best to be the diplomatic one. He knew his smile looked somewhat forced but it was the best he could do at the moment as he moved over to Taeil. “I don’t think that we’ve met before. I’m Doyoung.” The room slowly started to settle back down, Johnny and Taeyong stepping away from each other.

“Taeil.” He nodded in response, surprised by the change in dynamic.

He nudged Ten, who grumbled in response but still let go of you before introducing himself. “I’m Ten.”

Taeil looked at him curiously, making a note to ask him some questions later. It seemed strange that someone other than Taeyong would act so protective over you. Slowly the rest of the room introduced themselves to the new addition.

Yuta came back alone, shrugging when asked why Sicheng hadn’t come with him. “He said he already knows and that it doesn’t concern him right now.” He mumbled something that resembled a greeting before retreating to a corner where he could watch everyone.

You glanced at Taeyong, noticing that he seemed upset. Instinctively, you maneuvered yourself next to him, thankful that he settled down once you did. An arm slung around your shoulder, tugging you flush against his side. You heard him sigh, his voice softly filling the room. “If we’re talking about this now, everyone should get comfortable. It’s going to be awhile.”

There were some murmurs of agreement throughout the room, people sitting on the couch, floor, and various chairs they dragged into the room to form a small circle. Many of the boys had various drinks in their respective cups, which oddly seemed to help with the atmosphere of the room. It must have been a strange grouping to look at from the outside, but in that moment, it felt complete.

You heard Doyoung clear his throat before speaking up. Of course he would be the first one to speak, you found yourself thinking casually. “I think we all have the same thing on our minds.” He glanced around the room, surveying each person. “Perhaps not, but we should.” His gaze fell pointedly on Johnny, as though he knew something the others didn’t. “We need to talk about the fact Leanne is active again.”

“Leanne?” You questioned, unfamiliar with the name.

Taeil smiled awkwardly. “My mother.”

You nodded, letting Doyoung continue speaking. “I have reasons to believe she’s attempting to raise forces to take over the demon throne.” He looked around the room seeing some faces of agreement and some of confusion. “I’ve been tracking her since Bael was killed, which we know she had to have done herself. He was the first of the knights to go down. A lot of the royal blooded demons have been killed since then, but not by her.”

Many of the others in the room started to stiffen at the news, Taeyong finally being the one to speak up. “How are we supposed to deal with an army when we don’t even know how to deal with her? We have to get the others involved.”

Taeil seemed to bristle at the idea. “We are not putting our brothers at risk over this.” A soft glow seemed to emit from the surface of his skin.

You could sense that Taeyong wanted to argue, but he must have thought better of it. The room sat in a tense silence, making you feel the need to fidget nervously. The hand on you rubbed your arm comfortingly, giving you the courage to finally speak up. “Maybe we don’t need to get anyone else involved.”

You could feel the rest of the eyes in the room fall on you, questioning you silently. Johnny shifted in his seat. “What makes you say that?”

You took a deep breath, reminding yourself that you were stronger than you credited yourself for. If things were really as bad as they were saying, didn’t you have a duty to at least try to stand up to her? You steadied yourself before trying to speak again. “Because of me, right? I’m the only one here who could beat her in a fight.”

[mockmade]

ONE: my blood is singing with your voice, i want to pour it out post-hotel california Abaddon & Cassiel

It’s the closest she’s felt to tears in a long, long while; Abaddon has lived many bitter and tragic eons -- both alone and with a little fleeting, fluttering thing of companionship. It’s a strange feeling, sitting up on the blank floor, her weeping shoulders staining the walls red, the back of her prison jumpsuit torn from where her wings ripped clear through the fabric, the open doorway seemingly miles away.

Gabriel’s just left, looking shaken -- Abaddon would feel smug if she weren’t so completely hollowed out.

Someone should’ve told her that revenge is empty as a pursuit, just a momentary satisfaction before you realize it didn’t solve anything. Her wings lie in front of her, limp and lank, the raven-black feathers losing their luster, soaking in that pool of blood.

She’s never felt so utterly humiliated, so debased and desperate; in a better state of mind, she’d cherish this strange sense of mortality, dissect it with weaponized curiosity and commit it to memory -- it’s everything she’s ever wanted, right? A taste of her vulnerability? The sense that she has something to lose?

She wants to sit in that room forever, but it’s lost its luster as well -- those clinical walls have failed to retain their magic; her blood stains the walls and fails to be absorbed into them, a breeze beckons from the doorway, so she gets up stiffly and forces a laugh every single step she takes.

There’s a faint echo of Lucifer’s voice as she walks toward the door; another of Samyaza’s beckon as she crosses the threshold of the door. She doesn’t look back, because she knows she will see her wings lying there, because the stiff pain of her shoulders isn’t quite enough to push her to tears, but the visual reminder will be. She doesn’t know how she gets into the lobby, but she seeks Kiara out immediately, Kiara who looks bored and unruffled and like a dainty piece of heaven amongst every other sad thing around them.

Abaddon wonders if there’s still a little bit of her coworker left in her, because she just brings her home with minimal teasing, leaves her apathetically to lick her own wounds.

She doesn’t know what possesses her to call Cassiel.

Actually, she does.

She wants to prove to herself some kind of hurt: she watched Lucifer turn his back on her, she endured the stripping of her divinity, she all but begged some ancient apocalyptic being to bring her home. The bruise is there and she wants to sink her fingers in and check how deep the bleeding goes, how much darker it can get, how many more relationships she can snap in as many minutes.

Is it minutes or days or weeks?

Timeless beings have no sense of time.

They meet her outside of White Lies, at the waning of the witching hours, right after her shift has ended.

Her resolve wavers when she comes face to face with them, moonlight glancing off the arch of their cheekbones, tracing over the long, clean lines of their neck and the careful neutrality of their demeanor -- it’s been a relationship she’s coveted through all the years, and she’s not sure she can let go of it, but the scabs beside her shoulder blades feel oppressive and propel her to it.

She smiles -- she’s so accustomed to the motion that it doesn’t even show she’s faking. She says something about Belial, about history, about them; she’s not actually sure what she says, but that seems to be the theme of this century.

Cassiel throws a punch because it was some true vitriol that she just managed; Cassiel throws a punch because they expect her to dodge -- they do it because it’s just another logical step in the dance that Abaddon keeps up.

She doesn’t dodge. She doesn’t have the physical ability to dodge it at the speed it comes for her with, now that she’s been stripped of her wings, and even if she did, she wouldn’t have.

She wants to feel every step of this separation, the prying pain of ripping Cassiel from herself.

The force of it causes her to stagger back, but she laughs.

She doesn’t attempt to hit back. She’s not here to try and hurt them.

The second punch is natural, instinctive, rhythmic -- they probably already had prepared it before the first even landed, and her teeth split the inside of her cheek. She spits the blood from her mouth -- it’s bitter and black and metallic and red; huh, so not all of her is completely infected and rotting just yet. It glints in the moonlight; it’s morbidly pretty.

She says something she doesn’t mean about the French Revolution, because that’s the crowning glory of their entire relationship -- whatever it is -- up until now. She says it because she craves the next punch like a high she’s forgotten about, like the smoke of opium dens in old London.

It blends with the fourth hit, because Cassiel is most beautiful in their own tempo, a vicious tango she’s not complying with -- they play their part, she refuses to step to it. She slams into the brick wall from the sheer force and stumbles until she falls and splits the healing wound on her back, burning like a brand on her skin.

She goads them on, because it’s what she was created for. She shoves them back when they come to investigate, snarling, nails glancing across their skin. She stands, swaying, goading. She goads them on until the blood shows on her back and she continues crooning her cruelties.

The scream she lets out at the next hit rips at the back of her throat, when she slides down the bricks and tears up the length of her wounds.

She’s done here, and she says as much; ignores whatever frustration and hurt and confusion and anger -- whatever it is -- is directed to her; her empathy is a little broken and fractured, sue her, and she limps away, back turned as she plans to struggle back to her apartment, equal parts gleeful and heartbroken. Only she forgets the red lines on her uniform that betray the loss of her divinity, and she forgets that they don’t ever miss a beat when it comes to her.

“What happened to your wings?”

It’s the first real thing she’s heard out of them.

“Don’t worry,” she says, coughing up and spitting the welling blood in her mouth. “It’s nothing, it’s a joke,” she says, dry, crackling laughter pulling at her throat.

She thinks she hears them murmur a profanity under their breath, but it’s covered up by the deep breath she takes to steady herself, before her legs give out and she falls.

She’s tired. She just wants to sleep; and as always, there’s a portion of her that craves Cassiel’s reaction and concern, so she rolls over and laughs a wisp of her good humor up to the stars and moon, pressing her shoulder into the gravel so she can surpass even her pain limit and pass out. She sees their face hovering over her own, blurring, the starlight acting as a halo for them in the absence of one in this mortal world.

It’s a good last image to end on, she figures, an image she can remember them by, bitterly and wistfully, she thinks.

Or so she thinks until she wakes, not in her apartment.

Adhesive shifts as she does, and she freezes -- her back is bandaged, she’s in a shirt that doesn’t belong to her, lying on a couch she doesn’t recognize.

Cassiel has to have been monitoring her very closely, because they hear her shift, hear her breathing change, and are looking down at her as she lies there, processing.

Maybe they expect a jibe at being in their apartment, maybe they expect a thanks, maybe they expect nothing at all.

“Why the fuck are you still here?” she cries angrily, instead, because she’s used to succeeding at everything she attempts, even if it’s self-destruction.

They frown, because it’s not customary to swear at your caretaker, but nothing about Abaddon is remotely customary, anyway.

She gets up: her ribs ache in protest, her back burns as it shifts against the soft bandages, but she gets up all the same.

She throws a weak punch. It barely even stirs Cassiel, and that makes her angrier. She keeps going, until she’s just pressed up against them and knocking, pounding, her fist insistently on their stolid frame, vaguely melancholic in their easy acceptance of it. She goes until her arm aches and her back aches and her lungs and heart and-

She cries, shoving off of them and going to curl up in their couch, shame burning high and hard in her cheeks for the first time in her life. She presses the heels of her palms into her eyes in a futile attempt to stem the tears, presses in hard, until the world flashes warped neon.

“Why are you still here?” Abaddon asks, more serious than she has been in a long time. “No one stays,” she states, devoid of any sort of embellishment and emotion, sounding wholly unlike herself. “So why are you? Why can’t you just leave? Let me end it on my own terms. Aren’t angels supposed to be about compassion? Can’t you just give me this one mercy?

“Aren’t angels supposed to be kind?” She cries. “Couldn’t you just let me push you away so I don’t get to thinking that you’ll stay? What do you think you’re achieving here? Do you think this is some kind of kindness? Because let me tell you, it’s not. If you’d just left after that fucking fight, I could comfort myself knowing that you left because I made it so you had no option not to. If you had just left, I would’ve known that it was because I wanted it -- but now- now, I have to face the fact that the next time you leave for real, it’ll be because you tire of me, or you don’t want me. It won’t be because of something I did, it’ll be because of me.

“Couldn’t you have let me have the peaceful end to us, instead of planting some sort of sick hope you’ll always stay for me so that you can rip it out later?

“I’m dying -- of sin, of despair, of rot, of voracitosis, of whatever you want to call it; couldn’t you let me die with one last shred of dignity to my name? Everyone’s taken everything else away from me already; my titles, my divinity, my bottomless pride. What do you want? What are you trying to do here?”

For all that she monologues, it doesn’t actually matter.

The damage is done.

She’s back to hoping that they’ll be the one to stay, like a broken, starved dog licking up at the first kind hand it’s seen.

She wonders if that’ll be what kills her instead of the infection in her blood, instead of the coming end of the world.

Well, she knows it will be, but she wonders if Cassiel has the capacity for that kind of cruelty, to strike her down after so many close calls over the eons, to exploit the one hope she allows herself to have. Maybe that makes her as vapid and shallow as others think her to be, letting hope creep into her heart, as if creatures of despair will ever know anything besides the dark. She’s known since she wormed an insidious brand of arrogance into the war torn corners of Samyaza’s mind, that he could challenge Lucifer, and betrayed him at the last moment, standing beside her father, breaking his confidence as the first fatal blow: she’s known she’ll be her own end, her own betrayal.

She just didn’t know that she’d use Cassiel to send herself back to from whence she came; to banish herself back into ether, back into cognition and thought, alive until the last thought of her faded from their mind -- guaranteed they would be the last to use her name, to remember her, perhaps bitterly, perhaps fondly.

Death would come for her twice: once as she expires of her own machinations and chaos, eventually, then once again as her memory is recalled for the last time, at Cassiel’s whim -- which are law to her, but nothing to them.

It’s cruel, but it’ll be true to how she lived, she supposes -- always at their mercy; she wonders if they know it too, watching her wretched misery at their feet.

[wueyahfantai]

“Planet Cracker”

by @blitztrolls

Generally the act of burning a world to ashes went smoothly.

Generally it could have been over in a matter of minutes, small bits of the planet’s shattered mass drifting through the vacuum in a glorious haze of dirt, stone and fire.

But GENERALLY the aliens down below didn’t overpower the troops sent to deploy their planet crushing payload, and proceed to jam the receiver so that the signal from her ship would be unable to actually set off that bomb.

It had been hours, and so far every effort to reclaim the weapon and disable whatever was jamming it had miraculously failed. Either the troop carriers had been deploying the dregs of their forces to try and get her precious bomb back, or whatever was guarding it was actually that powerful. No reports had filtered back yet as to what exactly was guarding the bomb. Or even what had captured it. All she knew at this point was where it was located.

So, furious, the dreadnaught’s finned Mistress was taking to the surface herself. The overall failing of the rest of the Fleet forces was eating up her time, and patience was proving to not be one of her strongest virtues.

Several hours passed after her planetfall. And in that time, Lulith had managed to break through several of the blockades that had been holding the Fleet troops back. Their freed advance down side points and assaulting new defensive positions would clear up trouble for her while she went forward, more or less alone. She still had shipboard communications filtering in through her earpiece. She could hear the various ship captains relaying orders to troops planet side.

“Idiots don’t even know why I’m here. I swear no one has heard of the Abaddon before.”

The fleet captains in orbit had been far too pleased to see her ship appear on their radar. They had requested her help in quelling the resistance below, as they were here to pacify the planet and make it into a colony. Usual procedure for the fleet.

Except that’s not how she did things. That’s not what she had been trained to do. And when she was done prying her bomb from these Alien’s hands, they’d find out.

Speaking of which, Rivers was speaking to her. Something about being close to where the bomb had been last seen. It was getting hard to make out, whatever was causing the interference seemed to be close too.

Quite literally kicking a larger double door down, Lulith stormed into the ensuing chamber and right into the nose of the biggest worm she had ever seen. The only thing she could say at the sight of it was a simple ‘Oh.’.

The thing reared up, it’s maw opening before it physically lunged at her. Lulith almost got caught as it surged forward but she managed to catch herself on the edge and shove away to the side. She brought her boot up and slammed the heel into the side of the thing. Making a hole that immediately began to bleed. At least it was fleshy enough for her to be able to tear the thing apart. Which was seeming like her only option if she wanted to disable whatever it was the creature was doing to disable her bomb.

“Fucking giant worms. Going to be glad to see this place blow up if there’s more of these fucking things.” The worm let out some kind of…. Noise in protest to her puinching a first through it’s squishy ‘head’, trying to reach for whatever passed for it’s brain so she could kill it quickly. She didn’t want to have to beat her way through it’s insides and take out all of it’s hearts one by one. That would just be stupid, and potentially dangerous and-

“Get the fuck back down here!” The squirming monster was trying to get away, attempting to lift it’s head, and her with it. So, she took hold of the meaty inside of it and yanked the thing back down to the floor, earning another squeal of protest.

It wasn’t too much longer before she had reduced the thing’s head into a bloody mess. The moment it stopped squirming her earpiece was once more filled with noise from Rivers and the rest of her tactical support onboard the ship.

“Eradictator! Can you hear me? I’m getting a signal from the device again, recommend you return to the ship before they get it blocked again.”

“Yes, thank you Rivers. I’m aware. Bring me back aboard, I’m sick of the planet and it’s fucking worms.” Lulith shook some of the gore from her gloves, grimacing at the blood stains.

“... Pardon?”

“Just get me back on board so I can watch the fireworks.”

“Ye ma’am.”

Lulith could almost immediately feel the effects of the Abaddon’s teleportation systems bringing her back aboard. An incredibly uncomfortable feeling, but welcome given the fact she was about to reduce this planet into a scorched wreck.

Back aboard the ship Lulith stomped from the teleportation array to the bridge. She pulled her gloves off as she went, tossing them to a crew member as she stormed through the halls. Rivers was waiting when she reached the bridge. She was talking before Lulith even reached her command console. Something about issuing the retreat order to the forces down planet side and giving them a time until detonation.

Now, generally she would have waited a few minutes. Given the Fleet troops time to evacuate and the ships time to move away.

But her patience for this engagement was gone. Unlocking the safety on the activation switch once more, Lulith slammed her hand onto the button. Living up to her title as she wiped the planet and all those upon it from the face of the galaxy.

The coms went haywire as the Fleet ships around them began to panic, attempting to avoid the debris radiating from the explosion that was cracking the surface of the planet apart. The detonation itself was visible from orbit, spreading like a bloom.

“Get us out of here.” Lulith ordered her helmsmen. Beside her, Rivers stood somewhat stunned at the act of violence her commander had just committed but quickly steeled herself so she could attempt to deal with the backlash that was guaranteed to ensue.

[themegalosaurus]

Ok so here's a random question for you - I'm rewatching season 9, and I get to the end of "The Purge". Now I'm a Dean!girl and I love him, but I'm still so mad at him about the whole fallout from Gadreel. I don't feel like he ever really understood where Sam was coming from. Why do you think he just never got it? I know you're a Sam!girl and I love your meta/analysis so I was just wondering if you had any thoughts :-)

Oh gosh, this issue has in the past proven to be a bit of a minefield so let me try and pick my way across it with some caution. I’ll put it under a cut so those members of fandom who get war flashbacks at the very mention of S9 can scroll on by, haha. 

I definitely agree with you that during the fallout from Gadreel, Dean doesn’t ever really admit the grounds for Sam’s anger and unhappiness. He (sort of) addresses the fact that Kevin dies, and that Sam feels responsible - at least, he addresses it insofar as he tells Sam that Sam wasn’t responsible and shouldn’t feel guilty and ‘that’s on me’, although of course to stop feeling guilty about something is much easier said than done (and as Sam reveals at the end of the season, Dean labelling himself as the guilty party for Kevin’s death doesn’t help Sam with his intrusive dreams about murdering his friend). But apart from that he more-or-less frames the issue as Sam being angry with Dean BECAUSE DEAN SAVED HIS LIFE and beyond that perhaps that Dean lied to Sam IN ORDER TO SAVE HIS LIFE. In fact, of course, the reason that Sam is deeply upset by the Gadreel scenario is quite other than that. Sam has a history of having his reality manipulated by external forces which take hostile control of his body: the demon blood Azazel put in his mouth and the psychic powers it facilitated; his position as Lucifer’s vessel and the related knowledge that demons were possessing key figures in his life, throughout his life, as per 5x22; sort-of the soullessness of S6 and the fact that Sam’s body was making decisions and taking actions that Sam would not have carried out himself; certainly the hallucinatory mess of S7. As such it is not surprising that he should be extremely hurt by what happened in S9, where Dean (‘stone number one’, supposedly) not only allowed a foreign being INTO SAM’S BODY but also colluded with that being in deceiving Sam over several months, such that Sam was driven to question his own physical and mental health (he’s losing time, he feels exhausted and sort of emotionally thin, he despairs that he’ll be this way for ever, ‘maybe this is just me’ [9x08]). That he should find out the truth of this is bad enough but that he should do so through an extraordinarily traumatic series of events that includes his body being used for repeated acts of bloody murder, his skull being penetrated with huge great needles so that Crowley can access the angel inside him, and a double possession in which Crowley enters his body to help him expel Gadreel, is just… it’s so horrible. It’s horrific. 

So the fact that Dean can look at all of that and come out the other end with ‘Sam is unreasonably angry that I didn’t let him die, which was actually the Right Thing To Do because Sam is important to me and I wouldn’t be without him’ is… interesting and I think you’re right to question it. That’s particularly the case given that on one level Dean clearly DOES know what it is that has upset Sam, because it’s the reason he was reluctant to agree to Gadreel’s plan in the first place. In the hospital room he says quite clearly that Sam would never consent to being possessed and that he’d ‘rather die’. And then during the period where Gadreel is possessing Sam and Sam doesn’t know about it, again, Dean’s shown as being conscious on several occasions that there’s something very sinister in having an occupying power inside your own body. But at the same time, at that point he’s already committed himself to Gadreel’s plan, and I suppose to have let the angel into Sam’s body and then for it not to have been worthwhile anyway might feel a little like the worst of both worlds. Either way, it’s definitely clear that Dean does understand the issue with the idea of possession (leaving aside of course all the context from earlier in the show, all the stuff in S5 about not wanting to be Michael’s vessel, just look at his face in 9x02 when Abaddon is threatening to possess him). 

So when, in the Purge, Sam tells Dean that he wouldn’t 'save’ Dean under the circumstances of 9x01 (and god, there’s a whole other meta to be written on ‘saved’, especially (tho not exclusively) in relation to Sam’n’Dean, and all the messy uncomfortable meanings that the word takes on), anyway when Sam says ‘same circumstances, I wouldn’t’ and Dean takes that as meaning that Sam wouldn’t save Dean’s life at all under any conditions, I think it’s difficult to argue that that’s a genuine mistake on Dean’s part. At least part of Dean’s brain knows what that means. But I think the reason he responds the way he does is a lot to do with Dean’s fears and insecurities and about the unhealthy patterns that have developed in their relationship as a result of the fundamental tension between what Dean wants – Sam, beside him, enjoying the hunting lifestyle – and what Sam wants, which does often seem to be something else (and crucially, I think, DEAN thinks deep in his heart of hearts that Sam wants something else). Specifically, it’s clear that Dean is afraid a lot of the time that Sam will leave him. Like, that’s quite evident from S1 onwards (‘There’s got to be something you would want for yourself –‘ ‘Yeah, I don’t want you to leave the second this thing’s over, Sam’ [1x16]) and it carries on being true throughout the show. He says so, even, right then in 9x13 when Sam asks what the point is, 'what’s the upside of me being alive?’ (!!!! ugh my heart breaks): 'You and me, fighting the good fight, together.’ He says the same thing in 11x11, when Sam is apologising for the umpteen billionth time over the fact that he briefly settled down with Amelia: 'All that matters now, all that’s ever mattered, is that we’re together.’ So I think if we see that as a primary motivating factor then it helps to make a lot of sense about why Dean sort of wilfully fails to recognise Sam’s feelings about the Gadreel incident in season 9 and thereafter. 

Basically as I see it, Dean feels (at whatever level of consciousness) like if he admits that he really, seriously fucked up in inviting Gadreel into Sam’s body on Sam’s behalf - if he even partly concedes what an awful, fundamental violation it was - then surely Sam will go ahead and leave him. Right? He deserves to be left for it (which… we could discuss, I guess, but I think it’s not unreasonable for Dean to think that). If Sam feels righteously angry at Dean, if he sees Dean for the piece of crap that Dean so often declares himself to be, then what’s keeping him with Dean? Nothing. 

On the other hand - as Dean has just had opportunity to observe in S8 - something that is very GOOD at keeping Sam attached to Dean is guilt. If Sam feels guilty then he can be easily persuaded into changing his behaviour in ways that pay off well for Dean’s vision of Sam-n-Dean on the road together. He gets Sam back into hunting at the start of the season by guilting him about abandoning Kevin (‘He was our responsibility. And you couldn’t answer the damn phone.’), and when Sam makes the decision to choose Dean over Amelia in 8x10 it’s couched in terms of obligation: ‘She does make me happy, and she could be waiting for me if I went back… But… with everything staring down at us, with all that’s left to be done… I don’t know.’ It’s not hard to see therefore why Dean should think that the main way to keep Sam engaged in hunting is by creating something about or for which he can feel responsible. Obviously the crisis in ‘Sacrifice’ – which ironically is what precipitated the whole Gadreel mess in the first place - shows the dangers of pushing this strategy too far (Sam feels so guilty that he’s actually willing to die) but I can see why Dean would fall back onto it as a tried-and-tested method of keeping Sam at his side. That is not to say that I think this is a totally cold, conscious decision, but I think part of Dean’s mind understands this and that you can see this madeevident in the way that he reacts to Sam’s anger about Gadreel. As per 8x23 , Sam is enormously worried by the suggestion that he is not a good enough brother to Dean – that he doesn’t love Dean enough. It’s not true, of course. If he didn’t love Dean as much as he did then the suggestion wouldn’t really hurt; if he didn’t love Dean then we wouldn’t get that moment in 5x16 where Dean drops the amulet in the trash and Sam’s heart sort of gently chunks in two before our very eyes. But (I guess since Stanford?? at least since Stanford) it’s easy for Dean to point at something and go ‘you don’t love me as much as I love you, BECAUSE,’ and to have Sam drop whatever argument they might be having and bend over backwards to make up for it (for Stanford, for Ruby, for leaving Dean with Lisa while he was “running around with no soul”). And that guilt’s a good way to keep Sam in the kind of apologetic, frantic frame of mind that (Dean thinks, for his own messed up reasons but perhaps not without some element of truth) is his best bet for keeping Sam at his side. 

So what is Dean’s reaction to the events of 9x10? A) He tells Sam not to feel guilty about Kevin because that’s Dean’s fault, Dean is ‘poison’; b) he leaves Sam to deal with the trauma alone (or, with Castiel’s support, but then alone after that when Cas leaves to re-engage in his heavenly business); and c) he goes off with Crowley on a job which culminates in him taking on the Mark of Cain whilst deliberately turning down Cain’s offer to explain what precisely he’s getting himself into. The effect of which is a) to evade responsibility for what happened (this goes alongside the ‘it’s not something you’re doing, it’s what you are’ of 4x21 I think – if Dean ‘is poison’ then the bad things he does are somehow outside his agency, he can’t help them because that is just How He Is); b) to avoid having to confront the reality of how Sam is now feeling (this is about self-preservation mostly I think, and about Dean’s sort of inner need to feel like he’s more or less a righteous person – it’s a lot easier to feel like what he did was justified if he’s not been confronted, as Cas was, with the unpleasant hard reality of a newly suicidal Sam); and c) – this is a biggie – to push the onus of responsibility back onto Sam by making himself (Dean) a problem to be dealt with again. That is, by taking on the Mark of Cain (something that Dean repeatedly throughout S10 in particular will frame as a burden that he is nobly struggling to bear), Dean puts himself in a position where HE NEEDS SAM’S SUPPORT and Sam has shown again and again that he’s unable to resist that demand. 

Again, I am not saying that Dean like sat down fully calm and plotted this all out as the best strategy to ‘get away’ with what he did to Sam with Gadreel. I don’t think it’s as conscious or deliberate as that. But equally I don’t think that the fact he has (HEEEEUUUUGE) abandonment issues and that it panics him to think of Sam leaving him is sufficient excuse for him to behave in a way that leaves Sam feeling guilty for being as upset as he is about what happens in S9. He was fully justified to be very very angry. Dean might have massive issues but Sam is a separate person and he doesn’t owe Dean support to the extent of sacrificing his own autonomy to keep Dean happy. That’s particularly the case given that Dean had so recently been directly confronted with the result of the assault that his behaviour had enacted on Sam’s self-esteem (yes, I’m talking about 8x23 again). So. Yeah. I certainly don’t agree with (for example) the meta that crossed my dash a few days ago that described Sam’s behaviour to Dean in S9, post-Gadreel, as ‘downright abusive’. Absolutely not. 

Anyway. I think you can see a lot of the dynamic that I’m talking about in operation in episode 10x18, ‘Book of the Damned’. Here for example is the moment where Dean’s telling Sam and Charlie that they need to burn the book: 

SAM: Look, just let us translate the book, okay? If there’s a cure, we’ll do it and deal with the consequences later. I can’t lose you.

DEAN: Really?

SAM: Yeah, really.

DEAN: You change your mind on that, cause that’s not what you said last time.

SAM: Oh, come on, man. You know I didn’t mean that.

DEAN: This is my cross to bear, Sam! Mine! And that book is not the answer! Now we got to destroy it before it falls into the wrong hands, and that includes me! I’m gonna go for a drive.

Here we get ‘Dean with the Mark-as-a-burden’ (‘This is my cross to bear, Sam!’) (conveniently ignoring the fact that four episodes earlier Cain’s suggested that it may also be Sam’s cross to bear, when Dean eventually MURDERS him, haha) and also ‘Dean guilting Sam about being a bad brother in order to win an argument’ (‘Really?’). Sam switches straight into defensiveness and Dean’s able to move the conversation the way that he wants it (and like… come on. By this point Dean should be pretty clear on the fact that Sam wouldn’t just let him die. Sam’s saved his life more than a handful of times between 9x13 and 10x18). 

And then later that same episode, we also get to see the effect that this has had on Sam’s perception of the Gadreel incident. He’s talking to Charlie about that line of Dean’s, ‘that’s not what you said last time’, and they get onto Gadreel – but couched in terms that made me like… choke on my own tongue with outrage, aahahahaha 

SAM: So, awhile back, we had a chance to, um…close the gates of Hell. And in order to do that, I would’ve had to die. And, I was okay with that, and I am okay with that, but Dean was not. And so, he uh…

CHARLIE: He saved you.

SAM: Yeah, he saved me.

CHARLIE: And let me guess, in doing so, he did something you didn’t want, and that pissed you off. And you said something that hurt him?

SAM: Yeah, that sounds about right.

CHARLIE: Brothers.

Like… hooooooooboy. There’s that ambiguous ‘saved’ again but what I’m really interested in is the way that Sam ‘saying something that hurt Dean’ – which in this context specifically is, ‘Same circumstances, I wouldn’t’ has somehow become equivalent to ‘he did something you didn’t want’ -  that is, let another being possess your body, wipe your memories, commit murder with your very hands and then lie to you about it for several months. What do we learn from this? I guess, that Dean’s strategy of downplaying his own bad behaviour by making it an issue of LOVE, and who loves each other more (’brothers!’), has been pretty fricking successful. So I suppose I think that’s why he never ‘got it’ about Gadreel: he chose not to, and Sam (who does love his brother, and whose brief moment of assertiveness was built on a foundation of seriously shaky self-esteem) fell back into the pattern that they typically operate in, and here they are. 

One last time. I am not saying that Dean rationalised this all out in his head and behaved on that basis. It’s more like… he’s learned through doing that this is an effective strategy to deal with Sam, or to keep things ticking over more or less the way he wants, and he’s scared enough about what his life would be like if Sam did leave him to resort to this tried-and-tested behaviour even though he’s smart enough and EMOTIONALLY smart enough that if he actually acknowledged what’s going on here then I think he would be able to realise how very fucked up it is.

So. Apologies for the enormous length of this answer, and for its slowness in arriving, but I’ve been thinking about it for a long time and I wanted to have it written out in full.