#spn continuity errors

[soulmates-for-real]

05x12

[drfrankensteinvsthequeerborgs]

PLEASE tell me they didn’t really put his cast on OVER his jeans, that has to just be a camera angle right? right??

[trekkiedean]

while I'm being earnest: the thing is, this show is not consistent about most things. I've talked in the past about how, for instance, there are arcs that just don't make sense when viewed through a purely watsonian lens, or episodes that are a lot more effective out of context. the writers' room was not particularly cohesive. continuity is a joke. characterization changes from one episode to the next. (I've heard that they didn't have a writers' bible, and I have no idea whether that's true, but frankly I think I'd be more surprised if it wasn't true.) and that's before we get into how actors' and directors' choices can bring new layers to the episodes as written, or even seem to say something completely different from the episodes as written!

I think that's a big reason why this fandom is so huge and rich and has lasted so long: there's room for so many interpretations. not only is it possible to pick and choose which parts of canon to keep, I'd argue that to some extent it's actually necessary to do so; there are so many inconsistencies and continuity errors and internal contradictions that you'll just never be able to come up with a grand unified theory of supernatural. fandom lives in the inconsistencies and the continuity errors and the internal contradictions! and with spn, there are so many of them, and so much of the show, that there are very few theories and headcanons and interpretations that can't be justified in some way. yes, there are some I like more than others, and yes, there are some I think are better justified than others! but in general, even if I completely disagree with someone's take, I can also see where they're getting it from. I may think, and point out, that there are things that contradict their take, but they'll have some examples of things that support it. which one of us is right? both of us! neither of us! two supernatural fans, three opinions, baby!

but the downside of the fact that there are very few interpretations that can't be justified is that…there are very few interpretations that can't be justified. like, I'm sorry to break this to everyone, but no voice is ever going to ring out from the heavens and declare conclusively that one of us is the winner of fandom. (and even if it did, my people don't generally put much stock in that kind of thing.) someone's interpretation being different from yours, even wildly different, even different in a way you don't like, is not necessarily a sign that they haven't watched the show, or that they don't enjoy it, or that they're stupid, or that you're coming from a place of cool logic and rationality and they're just making shit up and projecting, or that they want to spite you personally. I think all of us (and I totally include myself in this) could stand to get a little more comfortable with that. because at the end of the day what matters a lot more than whether you think someone is right or not is how the two of you treat each other. publicly mocking and belittling someone because you don't like their take on a fictional character is just not the way to keep a fandom going.

[spnsabrielbang]

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[itsclydebitches]

So how exactly is RWBY supposed to end? The fandom seems to think that Ruby's "Simple Soul" will unite humanity against Salem when the relics are brought together, but it feels like the protagonists are kinda just faffing about through the plot without actively developing to that end...or any end really. I'm almost certain the show's end will involve an 11th hour asspull...or a cancellation by WB.

Yeah, at this point given the lack of development all we can get is an unsatisfying resolution handed to our protagonists. We're entering end-game territory with Salem having accumulated so much power/sowed so much destruction, and yet our heroes have made zero progress towards finding a way to defeat her. So I figure:

RWBY is cancelled before it can officially end and fans are left to come up with a resolution for themselves. Either that, or something ambiguous is tweeted by RT, allowing everyone to picture up the perfect ending that they were definitely implying.

This trip to Not Wonderland results in finding some magical artifact that's precisely the thing they need. AKA, here's the Magical Staff of Removing Immortality.

The show straight up ignores Salem's immortality. I know that sounds really uncharitable, but given the number of retcons we've had I honestly wouldn't be surprised if Ruby silver eyed Salem in the final fight and oh, look at that, she's dead! Though I've always been interested in Ruby's eyes being their best weapon against Salem, the fact that a) the characters have yet to realize (or at least acknowledge) that it's harming everyone associated with the grimm (like Cinder), b) the ability to damage Salem is not the same thing as permanently removing her (think about her reforming after Ozpin blasts her into a puddle in the flashback), and c) despite having this ability, Ruby hasn't even seen Salem yet (outside of Emerald's exaggerated copy) and thus hasn't undergone an arc of learning to use it against her... yeah, the lack of setup has ruined things.

Salem gathers all the Relics, summons the Gods, and they just get rid of her for the heroes. Why? Ruby makes a speech to them about how they all need to work together. AKA, do what we want, never mind that you're the ones who punished Salem with immortality in the first place.

Similarly, Ruby (and maybe Ozpin too if the series is feeling really magnanimous) makes a speech to Salem that has her suddenly--after thousands of years immersed in destruction, likely due to the literal destruction pool she dove into--see the error of her ways, resulting in the curse lifting.

Another option is the opposite of #1. RWBY manages to continue on Supernatural style for another 10+ seasons, resulting in so many new plot points that it would be impossible to predict now how things turn out. Just like SPN moved from "Okay, we've trapped the devil again yay" to "The nephilim we adopted successfully became the next God and all of us died, finding peace in Heaven," RWBY might beat the dead horse until it's not even recognizable as a horse anymore.

[spnfanficpond]

Rewatching SPN: Fanfic Edition - The Archives

Last weekend, a bunch of us got together and had a long (very long) chat about the first two episodes of Supernatural! The conversation was lively, and a lot of people had a lot to say.

We know that not everyone can make it to the chats every time, so we're looking for ways to include those who may miss them. Just because you can't be in our discord server at a specific time doesn't mean we don't want to hear your ideas!

To that end, we've created The Archives.

The Archives will be a Google drive full of Google docs, one doc for each episode. We want everyone who has an interest to be able to go into these docs, read the notes for ideas, and add their own notes!

That's right. This is not just going to be a place for the admins to leave recaps of the chat. We want YOU to be able to add notes, too!

Every time we watch, we'll be looking for the same things. Fanfic gaps, plotholes, consistency errors, jumping-off points, meta ideas, and more. We want you to be able to deposit your suggestions right into the doc while you watch if you want. These will be living documents that we can all add to! We will still try to put in anything mentioned during the chats that isn't already there, so if you're uncomfortable adding your ideas yourself, we've got you covered.

Click here to access the Archives masterlist.

The masterlist is in View-only mode, but you can click on the links to the episode docs. The episode docs are in Suggest mode, so anything you add will be accepted by the admins, and no one can delete your additions accidentally.

As we continue with this, some things may change and we will make changes to the docs as needed. If there is a change that you want to see us make, please let us know!

The format of the docs is pretty self-explanatory, but if you have any questions, feel free to ask in the rewatch channel of the Discord server, send us an ask, or send a private message to one of the Admins or Manta Rays!

[sarishim]

Ah, crap. I really hate continuity errors. / for @qapsiel (spn! gabe quotes starter call.)

[arazialotis]

Gabriel(a)? - Part 5

Characters: DeanxReader, Sam, Jack

Word Count: Around 5860

Warnings: Season 14 Spoilers (Does not follow plot exactly, but takes from main ideas), Swearing, Typical SPN Violence/Gore

Summary: Team free will seems to be out of answers and hopeless as one of their own falls sick. Yet a micheavous and annoying mystery girl pops up out of nowhere and may be able to offer a solution, if not more.

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4

This is purely for a hobby and my enjoyment. Maybe some of you will enjoy it too. I am by no means a writer so I apologize in advance for any mistakes or grammatical/spelling errors. I appreciate any feedback or suggestions!

----

“Yeah, yeah. The motel just up there.” You pointed and leaned over the front bench, guiding Dean to the near-empty lot.

It was a crappy estate, but hopefully cheap to host the lot of you. Shutters hung askew, tiles were missing from the roof, and paint was peeling off the plastic siding. The current state of the place had nothing to do with the string of tornados earlier this month. You had viewed the damage of one driving into town. The roads were clear, but only a few fallen trees had been sawed up. Debris was piled high, electric wires were down, and homes were unsalvagable. Whatever the demons were up to, it was some heavy shit.

The Impala shuttered to a halt in the parking life. Even as Dean turned her off, the engine rattled from the mere exhaustion of the non-stop drive. Heat radiated off the hood as you made your way to the room. Dean said he was instantly ready for action, but the dark circles under his eyes proved otherwise. Sam was in better shape, but not by much. So you convinced them a quick clean-up would do them well with the hopes that sleep would find them once they sat down and were no longer in motion.

“Room numbers?” Sam asked.

“Six.”

They both stopped when you didn’t continue.

“Y/N.” Dean’s eyes were closed. “There’s five of us.”

“And three of us don’t sleep or need to, at least. I still enjoy the occasional unconscious jaunt so long as colorful hallucinations are present.” You rambled.

“And I enjoy my privacy.” Dean snipped back.

Sam sighed. “I’ll check in and get us another room.”

“God,” You complained as you neared room number six. “Are you ever going to learn to trust me?” You opened the door and waited.

Dean analyzed you and took the first step forward. Sam stayed put as Dean turned the corner and eagerly crossed the threshold.

Dean sighed in astonishment or relief, or a little of both. “Where have you been all my life?”

You still held the door open, staring down Sam like a lioness would her prey. It was clear that you had won over his brother, won over Jack. Would he and Castiel fall? Would he betray his instincts so easily as Dean had? Or was he wrong?

Sam adjusted the shoulder strap of his duffle and followed his older brother. The expression on his face changed like the stages of tasting a complex whiskey, first from shock, to amusement, to confusion at the possibility.

“Waiting for the Doctor Who moment.” You looked at an imaginary watch.

Sam stepped back outside, glimpsing the length of the motel. “It’s bigger on the inside.”

“There it is.” You held out your hand for a fist bump.

He shook his head and let out a huff with laughter as if to let you know; no, he couldn’t be won over, but he would be taking full advantage of the accommodations while he had to bear your presence. And surprisingly, he didn’t leave you hanging.

The door behind you closed with a soft click, and Sam still stood at the entrance. The duffle bag fell to his feet. The entryway led into a sunken living room with a wrap-around couch large enough for twelve people. Jack watched Harry Potter The Chamber of Secrets on the big screen TV over a white brick fireplace. The fire within crackled and popped. The open space included a dining room with a farmhouse-style table and matching benches.

Further back was a reading nook with an emerald barrel chair and a bookshelf. It was sectioned off from the kitchen by two rooms. The reading nook was separated from the kitchen by two rooms. The kitchen contained an island, modern appliances, and a gas stove. Aside from the entrance, each wall had two doors leading into bedrooms. Everyone's name was posted in silver lettering, assigning each one a room. The sixth said spa.

“Can’t spare any power for Jack, huh?” He questioned.

“Come on, Sammy.” You challenged him. “Grace is more complex than that… It's like heat. Well, that’s my running theory anyways. I assume you’re familiar with thermodynamics?" He nodded his head, and you contained an eye roll. "Naturally. Nephilim, from what I can tell, granted, there are only two of us (that we know of), are some of the most powerful beings in existence, but that translates to requiring more grace to heat us. There’s also the dynamic of specific heat, how well we store grace. Nephilim are like water, and angels like aluminum. Water has a higher specific heat; thus, more heat is required to change the temperature. And then there are the phase changes… Are you following? I’d happily pull out a chalkboard and review the specific physics with you.”

Sam couldn’t deny it; he was impressed. “No, the theory makes sense. For Jack to get to his full potential, he would need a massive amount of grace. To use your example, what you can give him without compromising your own is like melting ice on a stove. You can get him from a solid to a liquid, but you’re never going to be able to reach a boil without an external source of energy to keep yourself powered. It was enough to heal him but not sustain his power."

Dean, who had explored the space a little, was now near asleep as the two of you debated biology and mathematics.

"Honestly, I'm just making it up and hoping for the best." You confessed. "There isn't exactly a handbook on this shit. Heaven having wiped out my kind, and I suspect most of any recorded history about it."

Sam bent down, reached inside his bag, pulled out his laptop, and wandered to the dining room table. "You're absolutely right; we should start recording some of this down."

“We watched a YouTube video!” Jack called from his seat. “But I still don’t understand the math. I guess that is why I'm not a Ravenclaw."

“My money’s on Hufflepuff.” You commented.

“So long as it’s not Slytherin,” Jack mumbled.

“Hey,” You snipped. “We talked about this. Not all Slytherins are evil.”

“Yeah, but Ron said there isn’t a bad wizard who didn’t come from Slytherin, and no one here is either,” Jack argued back. “Sam’s a Ravenclaw, Cas is a Hufflepuff, Dean’s a Gryffindor, and you….” He furrowed his brows and tilted his head, trying to piece a puzzle together.

You only winked at him, wondering if he could settle on the right house. “I guess we will just have to keep watching the movies to see if Ron is right, won’t we.”

Dean rolled his eyes. “We didn’t drive all the way here for a movie marathon. We can paint each other’s toes and put on the sorting hat later; right now, we have a case to work.”

“Dean, you need to rest.” You tried to hold the lecturing tone out of your voice, but a small hint broke through.

Of course, he was defiant. “I need twenty minutes to freshen up, and I’ll be good to go.”

He paused, his eyes glazed over like he was staring at something far away. He put his hand against the wall to steady himself. This wasn’t the first time you noticed that look. He was here physically but not mentally.

“You’re exhausted.” Sam agreed. “We can get a head start and catch you up in the afternoon.”

Dean shook his head. “No, I’m good. I’m good.”

“Well, if you are certain you are good, freshen up and join Jack and me for the Prisoner of Azkaban.” You near ordered. “I’ve already got the day scheduled out. Going in as press, you and Cas have an appointment with the sheriff at 3:00. They wouldn’t let you speak with the coroner. My fault, yes, should have gone in hot with FBI, but I’m sure you can find a way around that. At the same time, Sam and Jack have an interview with the first victim's family and then at 4:00 with the second.”

“And what will you be up to?” Sam asked.

At the same time, Dean asked. “Where is Cas, anyways?”

You addressed Sam first. “Our miraculously revived coma patient has gone missing. I bet you can guess why with the amount of sulfur in this town. I’ll start sweeping the town for her and any potential buddies. We’ll regroup for dinner and discuss any potential leads. As for Cas…”

The room labeled spa opened, and Castiel emerged from a cloud of steam in nothing but a tan bathrobe. Sam and Dean’s mouths parted.

“I would highly suggest scheduling to see Helga for a deep tissue massage before our time here ends,” Castiel advised.

Dean took a deep breath and sighed. His eyes snapped to yours. “God, I love you.”

Those weren’t the words you expected. He didn’t mean it like that, and you knew it. Despite that, bubbles rose in your stomach, and heat ignited in your core. Yet, somewhere deeper and darker, something twisted. Guilt, shame, fear. You couldn’t let them see any of it. Any part of you, the good or the bad. Especially with Sam’s unmistakable scoff. So you did your best and channel a neutral reply.

You examined your nails, “I know, right? I’ve honed in pretty well on the Alps and Cancun packages. The Shiatsu massage is still a work in progress, but my contacts in Shizuoka are closing in on a deal.”

“If there is anything I can do to be of assistance.” Castiel eagerly offered.

“We may need to roll our sleeves up for a minor miracle, but I’ll keep you posted.” You responded.

Sam couldn’t believe it. He was the one to invite you in. To trust you enough in the beginning, solely for Jack’s sake. But something about this didn’t settle right. Surrounding them with comfort so they would stay compliant and placid. Like you were fattening up a calf before slaughter. He dropped the conversation earlier with Dean but had to get this feeling off his chest. The problem was, finding the opportunity to do so privately. Even as he jotted down notes from your conversation, he took everything with a grain of salt, knowing you may be intentionally misleading him.

“Well, since we have a while, I guess a few hours of shut-eye wouldn’t hurt,” Dean announced before heading to his room, playing it off as casual as if he hadn’t almost fainted moments before.

You and Jack shared a look. More than a look, a conversation, a language that only you two could understand, that was privy to only you.

Jack nodded his head slightly and then put on an act again. “So, I can keep watching Harry Potter, right? There are still six movies to go. And I need to finish so I can decide if I should be a Jedi or a wizard.”

“That’s the best part, Jacky.” You hopped over the couch and joined him, summoning a bowl of popcorn and a Hogwarts blanket. “So long as the stories stay in our head, we can be a part of them. All of them.”

Sam eyed you a while longer, but you simply explained what movie details were missed during the conversation. Until Cas joined you on the couch and asked what a Hufflepuff was, you paused the movie so you and Jack could catch him up on the lore. Finally, Sam decided to surrender his reservations, and after saving his Word document, he headed to his room to freshen up.

With Jack present, you knew he could sense a split. The look you had shared had been concern over Dean. This spell he had was not from pure exhaustion alone. You had noticed one or two other occurrences, and Jack had noticed separate occasions as well. He agreed that you should check on him while a projection of you remained here not to alarm the others.

The bedrooms were not extravagant by any means. But they each consisted of a king-sized memory foam bed, a 4k tv, floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the same lake that showed in the kitchen window, and a private bathroom with a jacuzzi tub. Okay, so maybe you had overdone it a little. But why stay in a shitty motel when you could manifest a more pleasurable experience.

Dean came out of the bathroom; his face splashed with water. You stood inside the room at the closed door and rapped your knuckle on it, signaling your presence.

His eyes traveled over your body, and he sighed. “Not now, Y/N. I’m exhausted.”

The brave front he had plastered on for the boys had dropped. It stung a little bit, him assuming what you were here for.

There was concern in your voice as you spoke. “Are you okay, Dean?”

“I’m fine.”

The bed dipped under his weight as he sat on the edge and began to unlace his boots.

“Dean…” You whispered.

“Please. Y/N. I’m just so tired.” He stated plainly.

You pushed off the wall and stalked towards him. His weary eyes followed you across the room until you landed beside him. You cupped his cheek in your hand, and he leaned into it, fully resting and closing his eyes. Prying wasn’t what he needed right now; he just needed support, somebody to hold him.

“Trust me.” You pleaded as if saying the words would make it so. What you have been begging him since the very beginning.

You guided him with you as you leaned back on the bed, half reclining and half sitting against the headboard. When he realized you weren’t asking anything of him, Dean relaxed. He wrapped his arms tightly around your torso and nuzzled his head against your chest. You hummed a soft tune and ran your fingers gently through his hair. His breath slowed and deepened as sleep quickly took him. Were you being overly sappy and romantic, humming Can’t Help Falling in Love? Yes, but he didn’t seem to mind. Did you mean it? Again, yes. With all your heart. Even if you weren’t ready to say the words. Even though he had said them to you, but didn’t mean it. He didn’t understand. A tear broke free from the corner of your eye.

*****

Dean and Cas had just finished their fruitless interview with the sheriff and took a purposeful wrong turn to head to the county office’s morgue instead of the exit. Dean wore green flannel, a beige cardigan, dark-rimmed glasses, and a press badge. Castiel didn’t take to looking the part too seriously. He was back in his trenchcoat and blue tie, but at least it wasn’t the bathrobe. Dean looked over his shoulder once, twice, and again as he reached the door, trying the handle. It only jiggled slightly but wouldn't budge.

Dean reached inside his cardigan for the concealed pocket. A case slowly zipped open as Dean went for his lock-picking set. Cas eyed him with disbelief, took the handle, and popped the door open. With raised eyebrows, Dean huffed and placed the kit back in his pocket.

The morgue was empty, and a chill deeper than air conditioning ran up Dean’s spine. The silence was heavy as their footsteps echoed. There was currently a body covered on the main examination table. Dean snapped on latex gloves and checked the toe tag. It wasn’t one of the victims they were looking for. Papers rustled as Castiel began reading through reports, and Dean went to check the lockers.

“Ah, here we go,” Dean said.

The latch clicked open, and Dean rolled out the sliding metal table, snapping at the end. Castiel kept the notes flipped open in his hands but wandered over, the body able to reveal more than the corner’s observations ever could. Dean carefully pulled back the sheet and instinctively stepped back.

"What the hell?" He asked.

Castiel peered in closer. Dean regained composure and took a better look. The eyes were burned out alright, taking with it half the face. It had to be chemical, acid, or some sort. Dean took a deep breath to calm his racing heart.

"That is no angel." So he concluded, starting a thorough exam to seek further clues.

"Or." Castiel hypothesized. "An angel covering their tracks."

They stared each other down, sharing an unspoken conversation, questions more than answers. What was Michael up to that needed covering up? If Michael was here, was he connected to the demonic activity? Weren’t demons beneath him? Was it even Michael to begin with? If not him, then who? The same person came to mind.

“Dean…” Cas began in a lecturing tone.

“Cas.” Dean interrupted. “We are treating this as any other case, and all evidence so far points to demons until we have something contrary….”

He held his open hand towards the corpse. “This is contrary evidence.”

Dean couldn’t deny it. “Well, until we have a solid lead, there is no need to go around pointing fingers.”

The angel scoffed. “Says the man who she has wrapped around her finger.”

Dean did not take kindly to that accusation. “I wasn’t the one fawning over the sauna this morning.”

“Sam sees it too.” Castiel continued to argue. “Everything she has done since her arrival has either caused us to be distracted from hunting Michael or making us so comfortable we forget Michael is even out there, to begin with.”

“She’s being too nice, which equals her murdering two randos in nowhere, Pennsylvania. You forget she literally saved Jack’s life.” He defended.

“As her way in.” He wasn’t going to drop it. “What else has she done to help us?”

Dean thought about it. You were helping Jack with his powers but with a limited grace supply; to say he was lacking was an understatement. The theory you proposed conveniently made sense and let you control the biggest potential threat. Yet the kid adored you. True, he wasn’t the best judge of character. You made really good pie which only played into the comfort aspect, and you were even better at fucking. God, how he wished to be buried inside you instead of entertaining this bullshit conspiracy theory. But it was more than all these things Cas and Sam argued were the cause of docility; it was the way Dean felt about you. The determination, the boldness, the fragility and loneliness underneath it all, the radiating care for team free will that had won Dean’s trust. If there was ill will, those intimate moments shared would feel more sickly, leery, and gated. There was still no good response for Cas, but Dean would try anyway.

“You’re just jealous I have a new friend.” He was already kicking himself as the words came out.

Before he could redeem himself, a flutter of wings cut him off, and you appeared from thin air, bringing with you the reek of sulfur.

You bent over, leaning on your knees and gasping for breath. “We have a major problem.”

They both waited for you to continue, but you were more concerned about steading your heart. When you resumed normal breathing, you looked between them, and the tension was so thick it could but cut with a butter knife.

“Am I interrupting something?” You asked.

“No.” Dean said as Castiel said, “Yes.”

“Great, well, my matter takes precedent.” You ignored Castiel’s honest response. “Do either of you know how to close a gate of hell?”

Dean’s eyes widened. This was bigger than they thought.

“Did you open it?” Castiel immediately accused.

Your voice raised what seemed to be ten octaves. “What in God’s name would I want to open a gate of hell for?”

“That’s what I’m waiting for you to tell us.” Castiel prompted.

“You are this close to losing all sauna privileges.” You threatened.

He faltered for a second but ultimately held his ground. “Answer the question.”

Your eyes darkened, peering at him as you carefully spelled out each syllable. “If I opened a way to Hell, I surely wouldn’t come around announcing to you asshats that it was open in the first place. Furthermore, if I opened it, I would know how to fucking close it!”

“A yes or no will be sufficient.” He practically ordered.

You chuckled. “Forget it. I don’t need this! I will try again to figure it out on my own. And when demon hordes overrun this state, you will have no one to blame but yourself, and don’t think for a second I will help you without copious amounts of groveling.”

Dean saw you fading and rushed, “Start with a devil’s trap to contain it, then come back, and we’ll figure out how to seal it back up.”

Before you completely vanished, you winked and shot him with a finger gun. The tension between Cas and Dean fully resumed. Dean pointed to where you had been.

“Go apologize. And help her close the damn thing.” He barked.

Castiel rolled his eyes but knew Dean was right on more than one count. Maybe he was just being jealous. They could figure out the details and reconvene after the gate was sealed. He sighed and went to find you.

After all this was over, Dean needed a fucking vacation. A real vacation. On a beach, in the sun, and with never-ending bottles of beer in his hand. He pulled out his phone to update Sam, only to see Sam was calling him.

“Yeah?” Dean answered.

“We got one,” Sam informed him.

“One what?” He asked.

“A demon. Inhabiting the girl who was comatose.” Sam said.

Finally, a way to get some proper answers. “Send me your location; I’m on my way. Oh, and Sam, this is bigger than we thought.”

----

Sam, Dean, and Jack stood outside a devil’s trap, the demon tied to a chair in the center. Everyone’s patience was frayed to the edges. The vessel currently inhabited was a girl in her late twenties. She was weak in appearance from the years of lying in a hospital bed and being fed only from a tube. But the monster inside her was any but, like a feral cat caged. Her hair was field mouse brown and unstyled. Her eyes a doe brown when they weren’t shining black. At least the thing had the decency to change from the hospital gown. As for its personality, well, what could you expect from a demon?

Dean checked his phone; they still hadn’t heard from you or Cas.

“Who opened the devil’s gate?” Sam asked through his teeth.

“I already told you, no fucking clue, hot shot.” She spat out.

“Funny how I told your leader….”

That made her laugh. “Hell has no leader. You thought it was chaos down there before. I haven’t seen anything like it—faction against faction—dog eat dog. All power-hungry narcissists clawing for the throne. As soon as that gate opened, I and anyone else with an inkling of self-preservation hightailed it outta there. I’d rather face you Winchesters any day of the week than face what’s down there. You’re not even an ounce as bad as they say you are.”

Dean twirled the demon blade in his hand. “Oh, that’s just because we're just getting started, sweetheart.”

“Whatever gets you off, Dean,” She teased. “I was on your rack before.” Her smile spread at his reaction. “Don’t you remember? You’re not as bad as you think you are. I can take anything you throw at me.”

Sam looked Dean up and down, realizing how strained Dean was at trying to keep it together. He stepped forward, protectively of Dean.

“Was it Michael who opened the gate?” Sam asked, this time, more kindness apparent in his voice, trying to coax out any drop of empathy this creature might have left.

She leaned forward, doubling over in laughter, her body falling as far as the restraints granted her. “I’m sorry, I’m… I didn’t realize how stupid you were. Must be hard to make space for a brain when you're filled up with all that muscle.”

“Tell us what you know!” Jack snapped, power radiating off him.

That got her quiet. “All I’m saying is why would an angel open up the gate when it’s their very job to wave about their moral superiority and keep us locked up in the first place?”

Sam rested a hand on Jack’s shoulder, hoping to help calm him down. The energy around him still hummed but was no longer on full display.

“Who here on earth then would help you escape?” Jack breathed out, trying to remain steady.

“Could be a number of my kind,” She acted dumbfounded. “I’ll make ya a deal; let me go, and I’ll help you find out who.” A smirk grew across her lips.

A flutter of wings announced the arrival of you and Cas. An angel blade fell from Castiel’s hand, clattering on the ground beneath, as he slid down the wall, resting with his head between his knees. The clothes that garbed you both were dirty and ragged. You leaned your head against the wall, taking deep shallow breaths, trying to keep your head from spinning. Imagine hiking up Mount Kilimanjaro (a five to nine-day trek to the summit) without any endurance or cardio training; that is what closing the gate felt like without a proper team or the necessary equipment.

Castiel looked up at the concerned faces. “It’s done.” He announced.

“Glad I got out when I had the chance.” The demon smirked.

“About how many of your friends joined you?” Dean demanded.

“It’s hard to say. Once we saw it, it was like a Black Friday rush; people were trampled, others clawed their way through the crowd. I’m just lucky to have gotten the prize.”

Sam was through. They were not going to get anything further from her. They had caught themselves a demon who was only looking out for themselves, not part of some grand scheme.

“I hope the short bout of freedom was worth it.” He raised a hand and began the incantation. He had long since had it memorized. “Exorcizamus te, omnis immundus spiritus…”

“Sam, let’s gank her.” Dean stopped his brother. “There’s no one in that meat suit.”

Sam sighed. He didn’t like it, but his brother was right. The girl had been like this since she was a teenager. No one was coming back after an exorcism. It would just be one less demon to deal with. Dean twirled the blade in his hand once more and approached the circle.

“Want me to beg, pretty boy?” The demon taunted. “That was one of your favorite parts in the underworld, as I recall.” She licked her lips.

Dean's fist tightened, and he raised the blade.

“Wait!” You called out and pushed off the wall. “Wait.”

Dean almost didn’t. If he was being honest, he wanted to. But regardless, he took a step back and deferred to you. You crossed the circle, unafraid, knowing she held no power over you. You crouched before her, looking her up and down. She could sense you were the same as Jack, and it made her sweat. Finally, you settled on her eyes.

“Do you know why you were sent to hell?” You asked, your brows furrowing.

She scoffed a laugh, but her eyes pricked with tears, and her lips pinched together. “I can’t say I recall. It’s not if you get a trial. You just wake up there one day on a rack.”

“Do you think you deserved it?” You asked.

“Deserved what? To be tortured for all eternity? To burn in a lake of fire? To not know mercy and love from a God who is said to abound in it simply because I was born human, because I was born imperfect because I didn’t have the chance of knowing him in my mortal life.” Her eyes snapped towards Castiel. “Tell me, angel, how is your God omnibenevolent when being born surrounded by circumstances of generational religion, geological location, violence, and trauma, keeps one from his saving grace, and yet he is omnipotent and omniscient, thus condemning his very creation to hell from the beginning. He cannot be all three, so tell me, which is he? What did I do that was so bad to be condemned to hell? What did any of us do?”

You swallowed a lump in your throat. You looked past her, past the vessel, past the anger, past the trauma, into the very depths of her soul. It was so tormented, so twisted. Her pain was cascading in violent waves against you. And at the very center, she was alone and lost. You tuned the world out, and it was just you and her.

“Let me help you.” You whispered.

The others watched as your eyes glazed over and emitted a glowing gold light. Then, your hand extended forward, your fingers blurring into the space that was her heart. At that, the demon started screaming, straining against the binds, desperate for an escape.

“What is she doing?!” It howled. “Make it stop, make it stop!”

Tears spilled out, and she opened her mouth, trying to flee, but you had the soul held in the palm of your hand, picking the tangled mess apart like a necklace chain that was wound up together.

“Y/N,” Dean whispered. “Let her go.”

But he couldn’t reach you.

You did your best to console the terrified girl lost in the center. The words were only spoken to her. “It’ll be over quickly, I promise.”

The demon wailed in pain. Dean recognized her now. He squinted his eyes shut and shook his head, reminding himself he wasn’t there.

“Y/N.” He ordered more forcefully. “Stop.”

He went to grab you by the shoulder to shake you out of this, but he was greeted by a bolt of electricity that shot him back, falling on his ass. Everyone’s eyes widened with shock as they saw tendrils of black leaking out of her heart, slithering up your arm and into yours. Dean’s concern was no longer for the screams to stop but for your safety.

“Cas, Jack.” He barked. “Get her out of there!”

Hold, on. You slowed time around them as you continued to work. Just a few more seconds. There! Momentarily the gold in your eyes showed black, but you blinked it away.

“What did you do to me?” She sobbed.

You stood up, dusted off your jeans, and undid her bindings. Dean and Sam stood on defense, ready for any trickery. But she only fell out of the chair and curled into herself, inconsolable.

You leaned over and brushed her hair out of her face, the ends damp from tears. “It’ll take some time, but you’ll be okay.”

Castiel, who had since gotten up himself, came over to inspect her as well. As he did, you broke the devil’s trap with the heel of your shoe. Castiel’s brow was furrowed; he pressed two fingers to her forehead, and instead of pooling with darkness, her eyes filled with white light.

“What did you do?” He looked at you, bewildered.

You stepped staggered, and Dean caught you by your elbow. He gazed into your eyes, assessing your state. Your pupils were wider than before as if you were a cat in the darkness. You weren’t concerned. They should recede after a few hours. A raspy breath drew your attention. The girls sobbing was softening, but she still shook. Castiel draped his trenchcoat over her, his hand resting on her shoulder.

“Y/N?” Dean asked.

“I showed her she wasn’t alone. I took her pain as my own. I healed her soul.” You gulped, forcing tears from spilling out. “She has a second chance now.”

Sam was calculating it out. “She not human again, is she?”

“No.” You and Cas answered in unison.

“But she’s not a demon either.” You clarified. “She’s something new.”

A pounding split your head, and your knees gave out. Jack raced to your side, supporting you with the help of Dean. You caged the swirling in your head and stood again. The world was spinning, and off balance, you thought you would faint. Could you even faint? That didn’t seem like a very nephilim thing to do.

“I need some air.” You steadied yourself in their grasp and started off, but Dean didn’t let you go. “I’ll be okay.” You assured him and nodded back to her. “Once she’s calm, you might have a decent chance at questioning her this time ‘round.”

Dean stayed put either by you forcing your will onto him or him simply respecting your need for space; you weren’t sure. The barn was one of several rundown outbuildings in the area. It must have been a big farming operation at one point, managing both livestock and crops. Now tall grass grew between them. There were no discernible paths. Concrete that used to be parking areas for tractors and trucks was now cracked and angled from the push of the earth. An old, forgotten wood pile was stacked and rotting against one of the buildings, probably once used to keep warm during winter months.

You closed your eyes as the breeze carried the smell of wheat and sweet grass. The air was helping, yet a nauseous feeling was growing in the pit of your stomach. You heaved over as pools of liquid obsidian spilled out of you. Three or four heaves, and it was done. You spit several times to clean your mouth. Creating distance from your sickness, you found a red barn and sat down against it.

A sniffle caught in your nose, and the feeling of liquid running down caused you to wipe at it with the back of your hand, revealing further obsidian that smelled of sulfur. Clearly, your body was trying to purge you of the pain and evil you had taken on.

Heavy footsteps crunched the gravel and dry grass underneath. You sighed; you weren’t ready for this. You needed a few more moments alone to process, to grief, to heal yourself. You weren’t ready to face one of them, to convince them that this wasn’t some twisted plan, that they could trust you. Breaths shook out of you as you tried to steady yourself and build strength.

The sun was bright as the looming figure approached you. Relief flooded you as Dean’s outline, not one of the others approached. But as he blocked the sun, outlining him like a halo, the alleviation turned to terror. His posture, stance, and how he oozed arrogance clued you into who it really was. You pushed up against the wall to meet him head-on. He had already discovered you in a vulnerable state, and you wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of prolonging that experience.

“Michael.” You gritted your teeth together.

He adjusted the cuffs on Dean’s flannel. You could tell it bothered him to be clothed in anything less than an Armani suit. Hopefully, it itched.

“Care to fill me in on that little stunt you pulled back there, Gabriela?”

[drfrankensteinvsthequeerborgs]

OBSESSED with the fact Fitchburg/Fitchberg is spelled two different ways IN THE SAME SHOT

[dotthings]

These "spn stans" making nuisances of themselves over the holy water and vampires thing self-appointing themselves the self-righteous holy keepers of the sacred canon and attacking TW as an inferior series as if it doesn't know spn canon...over stuff that isn't actually mistakes but whatever, the mothership had some actual continuity errors and mistakes or even a few retcons. And these stans have whined and complained about it for years (I recognize some of the handles) and Everything Is Ruined oh Noes A Mistake. The longer you've been around the fandom, the more silly blow-ups on twitter you'll remember where stans lost it because of some continuity error or other and declared the whole thing ruined.

And now they're pretending they have this big gotcha at the new series TW.

Which they're wrong about.

And trying to manufacture drama over a minor thing that is perfectly reasonable based on inference.

Which they did to og spn about 563628284642 times.

Ironic much?

They're trying to use this as proof that TW is an inferior product But this is how they behaved towards the mothership.

They're not fans. They're antis. Nitpicking, aggressive, arrogant, self-righteous, loud-mouthed antis who think they and they alone care about spn canon.

Plenty of us know better.

[italwayshadtobeyou]

"The good SPN that lives in my head" isn't any happier or gayer. It's just a big-ass folder of ways they could've avoided continuity errors.

[dyed-red]

23 and 65!

23. how do you deal with writers block?

just starting right out the gate with the hardest question on the list, huh 😂 the honest answer is "a lot of ways" and "it depends on where i'm at in the story".

but some of those ways are:

finding a song that fits the vibe and listening to it on repeat for hours while trying to write

going back and reading what i've already written. this one works best if i start from like... the beginning, or very early in the story. i'll pick back up all the story beats and threads i was laying down and going back over them will help me untangle whatever mess i've made and figure out where i need to go next to make it build right.

writing down scene titles / story events on physical flash cards and rearranging them in different orders in front of me (sitting on the floor and shoo'ing away my cat) to find if i'm missing pieces or what order makes the most sense

stepping away from it for a while so it can percolate in the back of my brain

forcing myself to sit in front of it and get words out

the rubber duck debugging system (talk to someone about it, ideally someone not even in the fandom, and in the process figure out what the issue is or what i need to write next, typically before they even have a chance to chime in)

read something with a somewhat related trope that either inspires me or leaves me so pissed off that i just have to go and continue my story

one piece of advice i've never seen elsewhere: be clear / have solid lines between stories you have no intention to finish vs. ones that are still breathing, even if you're not making much progress on them or doing it quickly. give your mental energy, even if it's just percolation in the back of your mind (yes, percolate like a coffee maker), to the stories you are committed to completing

65. what is your favourite title for a fic you’ve written?

ooh okay so i'm both pretentious af and lazy af about titles. i sort of get stuck on the first one that comes to mind or gels with the story and then don't overthink it.

my runner up would be Architecture of Choice. it's only an honorable mention because, outside the fic itself, it makes me think of where it came from, which is choice architecture within behavioral decision theory, and that's way more technical and related to my day job than i want to be thinking about when writing fic.

so my actual favourite fic title i've written for spn is this pretentious monstrosity: Rusted H(u)e(w)

Like... who the fuck writes a title like that? I do, apparently. because the words came to me somewhat spontaneously like they always do for a title, but then when i went to write them i had "error 404 file not found" for if my brain was supplying "rusted hew" or "rusted hue". so i had to make it both. which fits the the story - not just each of the two readings but also the choppy, inelegant way in which they're spliced together. so i'm pleased with it anyway.

[flyingfish1]

*the piece of chalk with which I have been writing “I will not get sucked into spn speculation again” over and over and over and over for the past two years snaps in half* *before I can pick up another piece of chalk -- *

Did you see what Jared Padalecki just said at JIBcon a few days ago?:

JP: Jensen and I have talked about a great way to see some more of Sam and Dean Winchester – um – and without giving too much detail, and nothing’s been written! – but I think we’d like to see what would happen if somehow or another,* Sam and Dean ended up back on earth, somehow? Um. Yeah. Unfortunately, these last two years since we wrapped Supernatural, neither of us has aged well, and it would be too expensive to cover up in visual effects and makeup, so we’re gonna have to do it like thirty years in the future. [laughs]

*I've seen a tweet or two reporting that he said, “another Sam and Dean” – as in, AU Sam and Dean, from an AU world – but that’s an error: he's saying the phrase “somehow or another.” Referring to our Sam and Dean.

I don’t want to get ahead of myself – as he says, nothing’s been written. A continuation is not imminent! A continuation might not happen at all! Even if it did, there’s no guarantee that it would follow that plot!

But I can’t help going “augh” over him saying more or less the same thing that Jensen Ackles was saying a year and a half ago, last March:

JA: Uh, well, I think we caught a glimpse of what Dean does in Heaven. I think he drives around in Baby and he pops tops on the front porch of Harvelle’s and he probably goes over to Mom and Dad’s and gets some lasagna, and then he goes for a drive and, you know, he’s – I think he’s just trying to live his best life. I think at a certain point, he’s, uh, he’s gonna miss the life – and he’s probably gonna – probably get with Sam and tell Jack, “Hey. Put us in, Coach.” And that’s the Netflix, or the Amazon, or the Apple, or the, uh, whatever streaming (uh, Hulu) type of subscription you subscribe to – that’s the reboot. JP: Or maybe we just like grab a few GoPros and get in the Impalas and roll camera. JA: [laughs] And then just sell it to everybody! Hey, I know a production company that would actually do that. JP: Can we call them? Do you know their number? JA: I have their number. Yeah.

(video should start at 27 min 32 seconds)

I’m just kind of struck by, you know… It just seems like this is a concept that Jensen Ackles, in particular, is very into. First suggesting the “Put us in, Coach,” thing, and now (still? Again?), a year and a half later, reportedly talking with JP about “Sam and Dean ending up back on earth.” He’s been holding onto this idea. Or at least, so it seems.

(Dare I hope?)

Okay. Okay. *picks up chalk* I will n

*puts down chalk* It's just. The idea of the "Congratulations! Your reward and happy ending is that you get to be dead!" ending being negated in some way. The idea of them getting to live. I can't emotionally afford to be super optimistic about this anymore, lolol, but. I can't help but yearn. I'm yearning.