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Because FedCon is upon us… :)

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         She didn't belong here, not with the scent of smoke in the air, not with the dark and reeling sound of music. Something jazzy, classy enough, but miserable. It was cold, and quiet, and the band was too loud- Naomi tossed her drink back. She didn't know it's name. It had been given to her by someone whose name didn't matter. Something human. It tasted human.              Her grace was fuzzy at her senses, depleted and half struck out- but she could taste the shape of the ethanol, even supposed there might have been a coil of some pharmaceutical, but her staggering grace burnt it out, and she set the glass down, stalking away from the bar for air. Not fresh, as she struggled to light her cigarette. It was raining, and she struggled to cup the lighter's flame protectively, always seemed to expose it, and snuff it out, but finally she had it lit. Swirled the taste of it in her mouth, but didn't inhale into her lungs. Left them cold and her grace wringing haplessly as she simply held the smoke in her mouth, let it out again. 

Her cigarette turned to ash readily enough, as she hastily pulled air through it. Tapping the ash away, she tossed the stub to the pavement. Stamping on it with her short - annoyingly painful heels - and whirled back into the building with a brief flash of her hair.

Perhaps she had yet to make a demon, lead some crusade against mankind, but frankly - she took a seat at the bar again, ignored the clamour of music, and ordered another drink - falling sucked ass. 

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wingedxwarrior:

- castiel fought with as much force as he could muster, though it wasn’t enough. he still ambled toward dean, blade raised, overwhelmed with a horrible mix of confusion and horror. - 

           Naomi, please —

- however mere willpower wouldn’t help him. his blade met the skin of his friend’s neck once again, ceasing any pleading that he had attempted to make. the seraph stared in terror at the crumbled bodies, turning to naomi desperately. -

          — Enough. 

- there was struggle in the angel yet,                   the desire to spare, to protect- naomi watched the jagged slide of blade into throat and the scent of blood filled the air. wrinkling her nose, naomi watched castiel. Castiel, she reminded him, You are of God, not of Earth. - nevertheless, she approached, pressing a single hand to castiel's shoulder -                   I understand it is hard to oppose that which you were once charged to protect, but things change, again. This time bring him pain, not peace. Slowly. Amputate something first. - her instructions were clear, and unquestionable, and she leaned away, grace stretching. she expected it would take awhile to break this strange bond of castiel's. you face an apocalypse with two humans, and their extended human family, and it brings strange, strange dysfunctional loyalty into an angel. hard to remove, difficult to deal with, impossible to allow to fester. and fester it had, for years.

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finiis:

▒▓█————⌠۞⌡

        To be called upon with such short notice was an act truly out of norm          with regards to the common practices of angels often ridden with        GRIEF in the purest form [ opalescence hidden within the m i n d]        and the leader of this faction— a warrior whose wings were lined with        silver feathers that had since been rusted along the edges due to a          constant barrage of duty and h o n o r concerning her occupation,       had sent no echoing call of vibrating tones against stilled air between          the cosmos[ now SILENT with the friction of particles and matter].        The entity had arrived to a room seeping with s p e c i o u s n e s s       — every corner a nest of finely adjusted items surrounded by auras       and radiation emitting every possible language of strict cerebration      [bribery for the mind as billboards dotted this never ending highway]       though to see such a thing demanded nothing more than a response, tone and delivery of the utmost importance to this sense of speaking.         Yet here sat an angel like a fly to a lamp, a porcelain DOLL whose           facade could crack following the briefest of impacts, whether by        sheer physical force or the indisputablepower of the cognitive mind        now spinning about as a single face passed behind frozen eyes all      but paralyzed [ the hardened stone that was stiff joints and muscles ]         body subject to the command of none other than grace bestowed upon         a figure once modeled from clay and the essence of stars alike——         a f o s s i l whose bones were embedded in rock above his own.

❝You desired to speak with me.❞

Where God was a dynamic force that set an angel quivering with awe and love, Death was still - something static and perpetual in its defiance of time. Angels were no strangers to great powers, to time shifted and pressed into new shapes, to the feel of something that could unknit the universe. But Death was different. Anathemic to their nature. Where their Father was harsh, Death was simply absolute, and where God had shifted, Death held fast and Naomi's spine straightened, entire body snapping with the force of Death's presence.         But where mankind might be dull and stupid when dealing with angels and gods and powers that bring universes to their knees- angels were aware. Certainly not comparable, and Naomi took a steady breath and shifted her grace, before standing- She wasn't shaking, something she had practiced at in her time. The first she had laid her eyes on death, her grace had quailed, wings snapping to the ground in abject...          Not worship, that would blasphemous.  Want and admiration and shakey- -yes, worship. Nobody could remained unmoved by the force of Death. His voice set her teeth on edge, her feathers into spikes, and yes, there. There a tremor caught in her vessel, the barest shiver of her hand. But she held as fast as she could, and approached her door, shutting it neatly- -glancing back at Death- and locking it with a twist of her wrist. "Yes," She said as curtly as she could, her voice small but steady enough. She retook her seat, sliding the paper across her desk, "These are the issues at hand," She gestured towards the seat, wordlessly suggesting he might take it, "As you can see there are several matters at hand, not least the matter of our recent losses," Castiel the Blasphemous had ravaged Heaven, spat out the primordial leviathans, and disappeared without further notice, "And," Naomi's lip curled, "Rogue reapers," Where she had every respect for Death, she had none for the Reapers, particularly the disloyal troublesome type. 

                  Were she in his forces, she could have rewritten such things. No reaper would pursue their own matters. They would be ruled through love and obedience and, yet, where Death walked, the Reapers flocked. There was something to be said for clean, untortured respect. Bloodless respect.

At any rate it was conjecture, Reapers were - Naomi licked her lips at the thought, nervous - off-limits.

"I also require Purgatorial Access," Naomi added, "Still, this visit need not be entirely cold business," She indicated the food and drink on her desk, "Refreshment?" She smiled cautiously at Death; drank in the overpowering scent of power, the way entropy cleaved to him, the burn along her senses at being in the presence of one of the higher powers. A heady feeling in her grace as it bubbled warily and delightedly. She did so enjoy his visits.

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   Angels were not inherently fearful; Naomi rarely saw it flourish in amongst the burn of grace. But she saw it more often in her chair than anywhere else, and Gabriel was not an exception. His grace glinted. Vessel tensed. Hands fisted.

                 "Not to be disrespectful," Naomi reached a hand out to grasp Gabriel by the chin, gazing into his eyes thoughtfully, "But this is what I do - I know well what I can and will do to you," Her grin drained to a musing smile, "What could you possibly offer me to forsake my duty - do you even understand that sort of loyalty?"

For the first time in centuries, Gabriel felt fear. Errors? Tearing memories out? He wasn’t about to let that happen. He couldn’t part with his memories of the pagans, or the courage he finally found to stand up to Lucifer, or the raw humanity he felt in being able to hide among them for so long. He couldn’t go back to what he was. Not after everything that had happened. The thought of becoming like Raphael or Michael sent absolute terror into his mind. Becoming like his brothers with complete disregard for the humans was the last thing he wanted.

He balled his hands into fists, grace shining as he tried to pull himself free of his restraints. “Naomi, you don’t know what that would do to me,” he said, more urgently. “I will beg if I have to. Please don’t do this.”

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Monsters are born of pain and grief and loss and anger.

Jim Butcher, The Dresden Files (via theselfmadehero)

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♔;;——I’m honestly speechless, because I didn’t even think I’d get 50 followers, let alone the 200+ that I’ve managed to gain in the past (almost) two months. Each and every one of my followers are so lovely, and I’d just like to take a moment to point out the batch that I don’t think I could handle not seeing on my dash each and every day~

garrison

notsocuteandcuddly ღ notyourjudas ღ raisedcain ღ driverpicksthexmusic ღ thebrokenboyking ღ hunter-by-birth ღ oertheland

heaven

fallingstrength ☄ lionessofthelord ☄ xmerifri ☄ stillcas ☄ la-iad ☄ heavenlyxjustice ☄ astrifer-ous ☄ incognitomessenger ☄ na-hath ☄ notamailman ☄ haelthefallen ☄ divxnus ☄ creatoromnium ☄ beatenhalo

earth

pulledfromhell ✝ therebetterbepie ✝ dontscratchthewalls ✝ croodzi ✝ thenovakmartyr ✝ isxwhim ✝ xxphantom ✝ fxmilybusiness ✝ greeneyesgreenring ✝ decanuslocusta ✝ servinglies ✝ supernxvaa ✝ justaburger ✝ throatrippinghale ✝ bxmbastic ✝ motherhxgger ✝ madxman ✝ galaxyxdoctor ✝ fragilebxne ✝ edhelernil ✝ royallybradbury ✝ pie-of-thetiger ✝ demonic—blood

hell

mastxrs ☣ hairlikehellfire ☣ ilaughedicriedipukedinmymouth ☣ alwaysenduphere ☣ coccinoregina ☣ heaven-clarence ☣ findacauseandserveit

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I owe starters to:

illyria3955 petulantangel indie-rper-blackbird

Like this post if I owed you a starter and haven't mentioned you just yet!

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dear mun, I hope you won't see this as rude because I quite enjoy your blogs, but what appeals to you about Naomi? I feel like I'm missing something when it comes to her character and I don't have any strong like or dislike for her.

Hey there anon! 

And that's not rude at all, she's not exactly the most obvious character c:

Well, I started this blog because someone I knew wanted to make a Bartholomew that is now inactive, and I offered to make a Naomi since I wanted to pick up another angel - specifically a female one - but then I started researching her character a bit. Or rather speculating since there's a solid lack of canon.

Either way, what appeals to me about Naomi is well, for starters Amanda Tapping. I'd always loved her, especially in Stargate SG1, and she was a huge role model, both as a character and an actress. Also her hair!

Anyway moving on, Naomi is portrayed as quite confident until she's put on the spot, giving orders, in an emergency and she panics. There are scenes where she seems... uncertain, and worried about how to proceed. This sort of shows that she's been recently promoted higher than she's comfortable - simply because the higher-ups are dead and she could. She's the ultimate reluctant, but determined leader. Stressed, worried and 100% done with Castiel.

On top of this, she's ruthless - like very very ruthless. The two opposing sides of a vulnerable and out of depth leader, combined with an almost fatal pride in herself and her work, as well as that ruthless edge? It makes for an oddly complicated character who deserved more on the show. She's also one of the few intelligent chess masters around, since up until Castiel breaks free (something that is not her fault, reasonably, I mean how do you predict that kinda' thing) she has it all vaguely under control. It's messy but it's working alright. And even when Metatron is obviously gonna' be a problem and she has few options, she tries to heel-face-turn.

I have a thing for intelligent characters with healthy survival instincts who are willing to compromise to achieve an outcome.

I also see her as quite tragic since any character that slices people open - and hell we see this with Ion - have it a bit rough in the emotional department. All the angst draws me in like blood to a taxxon, and animorph references aside, it makes for a character I've really become fond of despite making her for someone else. 

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Because everyone needs more of this woman in their life.

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Naomi ↳to destroy is always the first step in any creation