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mlobsters · 3 months

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supernatural s14e7 unhuman nature (w. eugenie ross-leming, brad buckner)

finally getting back to nick bashing someone's skull in i gather

sam the only one that apparently knows how to interact with a healthcare establishment. are they going to try to make me cry? because i really don't want to deal with that today

thought this diner looked familiar and like something in x-files, well. this super cool site has shows and episodes with pictures from things that filmed there! the magicians, the x-files and i, robot - relevant to my viewing history. need to get spn listed in there too. and i got to that info because the wiki has the also super cool maps with locations for every episode

SAM I mean, this place, we tried, but they've never seen anything like Jack, and we can't exactly tell them what he is. DEAN Then let's get him out of here. Let's bring him home. Let's do what we do. Let's find a way. Hell, I was even thinkin' maybe Rowena… SAM Already called her.

sammy's on the ball. there's always one parent who's best at dealing with the medical stuff

SAM Somebody is sick, all right, but… Listen, I-I don't know how well you got to know our friend Jack with everything that was going on when you were here, but we've sort of been taking care of him, and, uh, he's, um… Lucifer's son. ROWENA Goodbye. SAM No, no, no. Stop, stop. He's a great kid. His mother was a fantastic human being, a-a-and he wanted nothing to do with Lucifer, w-who is dead, as you know. ROWENA I hope he's rotting.

i'm not on board with her characterization flip flop but i can appreciate this dynamic she has with sam now

ROWENA It's as I suspected. A Nephilim, for all its power, is an unnatural presence. Part human, part angel… It -- It doesn't quite fit. It's delicate. Its grace is what holds it in balance, and when Jack's grace was taken from him, his being fell into chaos. The -- The cells are gobbling each other up.

reminds me of what i mentioned in recap of 12x19

if the kid is half grace wouldn’t you end up with a half a kid :p

variation on the theme. supernatural or mental illness: panic attack edition

i thought i was gonna get through this without it pushing on my dead parents buttons but no such luck. i've been on the receiving end of that conversation with a doctor that their bodies are shutting down. and all told that was 28 and 12 years ago respectively but it can still reduce me to a sobbing wreck pretty damned fast with the right prompts.

being a good dad with this driving lesson. i am not looking forward to those days, it's gonna stress me the fuck out and you gotta play it cool so you don't stress them the fuck out. double whammy

SAM Yo, Cass, wait. Are you sure you wanna handle this alone? CASS I, uh… I feel the need to do something. And I think Dean's right. We can't afford to overlook any possibility. He seems to be taking this particularly hard. SAM Yeah, yeah. Yeah, he -- he, uh, was pretty rough on Jack at the beginning, and...I don't think he's forgotten. And I know he hasn't forgiven himself. You know, he's lost people, we've all lost people, but, um… CASS This feels different. Losing, um...a son...feels different.

like sam can't even look at him after that. almost want sam to go with him just so that neither one is alone.

i'm reminded of 11x23 where they pushed hard on this dean going to sacrifice himself and saying goodbye at their parents graves and all and. how i knew, we knew, this was going to be walked back. that he wasn't actually dying. now i don't know how long alexander calvert is in the show, how many more episodes, etc. but i do have a very vague idea of where jack is at the end of the series. and i don't want them to kill him off and not have his actor back, but i also really don't want an episode that's making me break down sobbing when it's gonna be magically fixed at the last minute or whatever either. i'm trying to just push through the episode so i don't drag this out another day. not to mention i'm sure i'm going to have a fucking awful headache tomorrow

JACK You once told me you and your father did the exact same thing. It was your happiest memory of him. DEAN I didn't say that. JACK It was how you said it. I could tell. I guess my point is that… if I don't make it… The stuff I'd miss -- it wouldn't be things like Tahiti. Or the Taj Mahal. I'd miss more time with you. I'm getting that life isn't all these big, amazing moments. It's time together that matters. Like this. DEAN Well, who'd have thought hanging out with me would make you sentimental? JACK I've had a good life, Dean.

dean deflecting, per usual. but yeah. full-on "you're gonna cry" mode.

look at that. rando man we've never heard of happens to have some of gabriel's grace and a special spell. sure. at least it didn't work, i guess. not going for that cheap of an out

s14e7 / terminator 2: judgement day

pellegrino always delivers but i am so tired of lucifer. the effects were pretty okay until they decided to do this lucifer-empty!terminator skull situation. they gonna end up getting jack-via-lucifer's grace back this way?

#supernatural #spnwatch #spn 14x07 #spnwhinge #i guess #spnsob more like it #eugenie ross leming #brad buckner

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bluekeygames · 2 years

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"I could hear the chants as I entered an arena that Polyphemus would have found overwhelming. Those that once sought my purging as a heretical invader were now my audience. At least that is what I had assumed, until I saw it, and all hope sank into the swamp of iron coils beneath my feet as I realized the priests and the nephilim in attendance, who allowed me passage in their sudden fits of uncharacteristic passivity, were not my audience. The chant wasn't a declaration, nor was it even a simple prayer of some kind. It was a name.

The carvings and murals, the caricatures carved into their coffins and tombstones, their doorways and other places of passage both literal and metaphorical did not do justice to the hideously unnatural thing of their singular worship: snaking steel roots that led to the massive metal sequoia trunks standing in for its many legs... or were they arms? The elongated body was too immensely sized to comprehend a clear image; iron plates segmenting its back, a hint of something cybernetic beneath before flowing into what was recognizably skeletal. The only clear focus could be on the enormous dome that must have been its head, shifting and rotating as if examining its surroundings.

A violent intelligence shifted its gaze to me, as a man might to the presence of an unwanted insect. Dozens of glassy eyes dotted the dome, giving sight to raging flames held within; a funnel in the center of the dome spun furiously, allowing those furious flames of xenophobic hatred a means of emission. The off key rusted whine of a threatening whale song thundered from the thing as it squared itself toward my insignificant presence in the face of what legends and cosmic ignorance know only as a God... and its bloodlusting audience cheered and continued their zealous chant in fundamentalist fervor."

#indie games #gamedev #horror games #lovecraft #retro fps #fps #indiedev #vg music #vgm #video game music

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mittensmorgul · 2 years

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Heeyy!

You’re like my “fandom veteran” :) and I wanted to ask you something:

I’m sure, there was a looot of speculation about Cas’ empty deal while it was hanging over there, but I couldn’t really find specific speculations…

So, do you feel like writing a bit about what the theories were, how you thought that the deal was going to be triggered, (if at all?) and general thoughts?

As I was watching, (binge-watching without much knowledge on the history, BUT knowing that “Destiel was gonna be canon”) I thought that they might trigger the deal by Dean confessing his love or something, but then I thought, they couldn’t be that evil, right??

Also, I thought that there would be a lot of fics with that idea, but I couldn’t find a single one! Are the fic writers just not that evil (to Dean :)) or is this not an idea that was widely spread?

I would love to hear your thoughts! :)

LOL! Hi, and thanks! I've spent the last few hours going through my tag for the episode, and honestly immediate post episode reaction (from my liveblogging notes) was that this could be leading to endgame human!Cas, because having made the deal with the Empty for JACK'S life

i.e., his CHILD, the same way so many people in SPN have sacrificed themselves for their child over the years, starting with John in 2.01 and Dean in 2.22 (because yeah that was the parallel, him carrying on John's Mission assigned to him to Save Sammy), as opposed to for DEAN

it was handing agency over his destiny back to Cas, which could eventually make the choice of relinquishing his grace to become human something tied to true personal choice, and not tied to "because he wanted a ~human~ relationship with Dean"

(under a cut because lol so long)

This was hinted at several times in surrounding episodes, as well, where Cas didn't hesitate to offer his own grace to save Jack's life-- literally in the previous episode 14.07:

Rowena: It's as I suspected. A Nephilim, for all its power, is an unnatural presence. Part human, part angel. It doesn't quite fit. It's delicate. Its grace is what holds it in balance, and when Jack's grace was taken from him, his being fell into chaos. The -- the cells are gobbling each other up. Castiel: Well, if it's grace he needs, he can have mine. Rowena: No, dear, it won't do. Jack is part archangel. He needs a much stronger force and probably some kind of magic, and he needs it quick.

No hesitation AT ALL to give up his grace here if it meant Jack would live. So we were already primed to see his deal in the very next episode being directly tied to that urge. Not to mention Amara's s15 arc as a parallel, of her urging Chuck to actually observe and learn to appreciate his own creation on its level, rather than his constant attempt to control it and force it to his will.

(which, in the end, her being resigned to let Chuck effectively absorb her into his own power, overriding her own love and appreciation for creation in favor of bending to his will three episodes before the series finale only ADDED to my personal feeling that yes, Cas's choice would come down to "his happiness is tied to his own humanity, rejecting his grace as a symbol of Chuck's will, since it had been used to control him since he was created with it for the singular purpose of being an instrument of Chuck's will in the world.")

At the time 14.08 aired, I know loads of us thought at least PART of that happiness would be tied to Dean, but I personally had hoped that it would be about CAS first and foremost. I didn't want his ultimate sacrifice and the choice of humanity to only be motivated by his love for Dean, you know? Dean didn't need that feeling of guilt for Cas choosing humanity *only because of him* and it's felt for YEARS to me that Cas had been slowly learning and understanding that he *would want humanity* for himself at the end of the series.

So that's how I *personally* saw it, and what I *personally* hoped would come of it in the end, but yes... loads of folks thought the true happiness could only be a love confession of some sort for Dean or from Dean. When Dean's confession in 15.09 happened, and Cas stopped him from saying anything else, it was like a hammer between the eyes that holy shit, Dean was about to confess love and that likely would've triggered the Empty deal, and *that was literally the only reason Cas could've had for stopping Dean from saying anything else at that moment.*

It was... mindblowing, honestly, and yet still fit in with everything else I said up there ^^, but if we were supposedly getting a "happy-ish" at least ending of the series, it meant at the very least Cas would need to survive the series IN SOME WAY. It was terrifying to hope for, and thinking back to it from post-finale, also HORRIFYING in retrospect, since we did not get that ending...

*grumbles for five minutes and then goes back to combing through my tag*

(here have some coda fic written in the day or so after 14.08 aired, since this concept was used A LOT after this episode aired, but not necessarily as specific coda fic to this episode... https://mittensmorgul.tumblr.com/tagged/spn%2014.08%20coda%20fic )

Because if the end of 14.08, with the four of them sitting around the kitchen table with burgers (and even Cas had one!) it felt like if this wasn't the setup for this being a happy family engaged in happy human family wasn't enough to trigger Cas's deal on the spot, then *there was still something missing from what Cas would consider "letting himself be truly happy."*

What could that missing element be? This was a HUGE win! He'd saved his child! He had secured his place in the family with Sam and Dean, too (which he would desperately struggle to maintain, leading to the troubles by the end of s14, and his falling out with Dean in early s15... but all of that was precipitated by Chuck's manipulations... blah blah blah... Cas rejecting "fate" and Chuck's will while Dean had a crisis of questioning whether he'd ever made any of his own choices at all... they were very clearly setting their relationship up as one of the core elements of their character arcs for s15-- and what they would CHOOSE for themselves. But as long as Cas's deal with the Empty hung over them, he couldn't make that choice. Tying all of Cas's character arc to that Moment of Choice when the deal was triggered.

I still never thought they would make it *about his love for Dean,* at least not in plain text on the surface level. I assumed they'd leave that part of it in the subtext after doing so much work in s15 to put it there, and ultimately make it about Cas's choice to choose a happiness that would automatically render his deal null, sacrificing his grace in fulfillment of the deal while remaining alive, human, and happy on earth... lol what the hell did I know.

The Empty had been a DEPRESSION METAPHOR for Cas, though. So making the deal about him choosing HIMSELF, and his own HAPPINESS over this "destiny" to be eternally depressed, seemed to be where the show was heading. All that remained would be for him to do the work of accepting "I am worthy as myself" and the choices tied to that.

but pretty much everyone was muttering and/or yelling about the possibility almost immediately... this is just me going through my tag in chronological order pulling out random pain to throw at you...

https://mittensmorgul.tumblr.com/post/180880541470/umm-lets-not-miss-the-bigger-picture-here-that

https://mittensmorgul.tumblr.com/post/180894193605

https://mittensmorgul.tumblr.com/post/180898487575/random-thought-mittensmorgul-heck-what-if-cas-is

https://mittensmorgul.tumblr.com/post/180899636270/simple-happiness-and-14x8

https://mittensmorgul.tumblr.com/post/180900332265/michael-kills-cas-empty-i-said-when-you-are

https://elizabethrobertajones.tumblr.com/post/180890226793/14x08-watching-notes-this-episode-is-the-worst-i

https://mittensmorgul.tumblr.com/post/180905751360/postmodernmulticoloredcloak-formidablepassion

https://mittensmorgul.tumblr.com/post/180909975635/byzantium-14x08

https://mittensmorgul.tumblr.com/post/180927140860/thoughts-about-spn-14x08

https://mittensmorgul.tumblr.com/post/180938021165/i-havent-seen-anyone-else-mention-this-but-when

https://mittensmorgul.tumblr.com/post/180957708550/deans-gonna-be-so-upset-when-he-finds-out-about

https://mittensmorgul.tumblr.com/post/180963086550/flyingfish1-bluestar86-you-were-asking-for

https://mittensmorgul.tumblr.com/post/180963360800/naruhearts-x-dean-if-he-needs-his-space-were

https://mittensmorgul.tumblr.com/post/180963973050/tinkdw-margarittet-11x19-vs-14x08-director

https://mittensmorgul.tumblr.com/post/181016502905/okay-sooooooo-wait-i-think-the-empty-played

https://mittensmorgul.tumblr.com/post/181018647985/im-watching-609-and-this-exchange-sam-yeah

https://mittensmorgul.tumblr.com/post/181021666570/hello-i-was-wondering-is-cas-for-now

https://mittensmorgul.tumblr.com/post/181054387920/so-the-empty-wants-cas-to-suffer-right-and-then

https://mittensmorgul.tumblr.com/post/181084354750/ive-seen-only-the-first-two-episodes-of-the

https://mittensmorgul.tumblr.com/post/181234880040/14x08-cas-and-his-shadow

at this point I'm basically linking half my tag here lol... but yeah, at the time this episode aired, we largely were looking at this through the lens of what it would mean for Cas as a character first, and what it would mean for his relationship with Dean second. But we were also not expecting the show to just ~not bring it up at all~ for the most part until the very end of the series. We were also deeply traumatized by the previous decade of canon, and while we all recognized the destiel of it all, and while we avidly pointed it out at every opportunity and discussed what it would mean regardless of how explicitly it was portrayed in canon versus being heavily implied in the subtext, etc., we didn't realistically expect textual canon confirmation of romantic love between Dean and Cas, you know? So in meta, we were optimistic, hopeful, but also realistic knowing how canon was.

https://mittensmorgul.tumblr.com/post/182034936705/the-empty-says-hell-come-for-cas-when-hes-happy

That said, YES, there is TONS of fic written about it... Writers in this fandom are *absolutely* that evil lol! Sadly I don't have a specific tag where I filed fic with this specific theme, but there is an awful lot of it...

I wrote one... https://archiveofourown.org/works/17481536

but you might want to search AO3 for fics tagged with The Shadow as a character and destiel as the ship... I found 630 fics and at least some of them will likely fit the bill for you! Yes a lot of these are post 15.18, too, but here have the sort order by date posted. The first page of these results are from pre-14.08. Coda fic and Cas's Deal begins at the top of page two of this search. :)

(eta: this fic link that for some reason tumblr ate when I posted, and i only just noticed it hours later. This is the “sorted by date” version, the top of page 2 is fic posted after 14.08 aired)

#spn 14.08 #spn 15.18 #destiel #the scheherazade of supernatural

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deans-baby-momma · 3 years

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Forbidden

Chapter 23

Set in season 14 and follows Y/N, a young girl from the Apocalypse world as she tries to navigate this new place that she was thrust in after being rescued and the feelings she begins to have for someone she really shoudln’t be having them for.

Warnings: There’s a bit of angst, smut and fluff in each chapter. I will tag the smut chapters appropriately but if you’re following me and reading any of my stories, you know it’s gonna be there. LOL

WC: 1145

Dean, Sam and I are once again standing in the hallway outside the infirmary but this time Cas has joined us. We all listen intently for any sign of scuffle or conflict on the other side of the closed door.

Only a few moments after leaving the witch alone with the nephilim does that door open and Rowena steps out.

“And?” I ask, stepping forward in front of the three men.

“It's as I suspected. A Nephilim, for all its power, is an unnatural presence,” the red-headed witch explains. “Part human, part angel… It -- It doesn't quite fit. It's delicate. Its grace is what holds it in balance, and when Jack's grace was taken from him, his being fell into chaos. The -- The cells are gobbling each other up.”

“If it's grace he needs, he can have mine,” Castiel offers.

“No, dear, it won't do. Jack is part archangel. He needs a much stronger force and probably some kind of magic, and he needs it quick.”

“How quick?” Dean asks from his spot leaning against the wall, his arms crossed over his torso.

“I don't...I don't exactly know, but he's enterin' a critical phase. Sometimes he'll look just fine, but then his body will give way and...it'll be the end of him.”

I feel my heart breaking as I think of that sweet, gentle boy just fading away. I like Jack; I have always liked Jack. He could empathize and understand our predicament when we were first rescued. He helped a lot of the refugees, like me, acclimate to our new world. He made us laugh at the audacity of some of the things we went through. I can’t bear to think of life without him. I refuse to. He has to be okay. He just has to be.

I leave Rowena with the Winchesters and the angel as I step past the witch and join Jack in the infirmary.

“Hey Jack,” I say quietly as I approach the bed Jack is sitting on. “How’re you feeling?”

“Could be better,” he answers, despondently. “I’m dying, aren’t I?”

“We don’t know,” I answer truthfully, tears gathering up in my eyes. “We don’t know what is happening but I can promise you this; the Winchesters will do everything in their power to try and save you. People might think they are cold-hearted killers but they both have hearts of gold. They fight for the ones they care about and buddy, they care about you.”

“You think so?” Jack asks, looking at me with weak eyes. “Think Dean is fighting for you?”

“Wha-?”

“It’s okay Y/N,” Jack tells me, a feeble smile on his face. “I know. I know there is something between you and Dean. I can feel it and I can see it when you two are together. You love him-”

I open my mouth to object but Jack ignores me as he continues. “-and he feels something for you too. I might be young and naive but I’m also a very powerful being, although right now I��m feeling pretty impotent, I can sense things. I can sense your love for the oldest Winchester. I can sense the way your heart beat picks up and your breathing almost halts when he is near.”

“Okay,” I whisper, deciding to quit trying to deny it any longer. It wouldn’t matter anyway; Jack knows. “I do love him. But we just found out some discerning news and it’s made me reconsider everything.”

Jack’s whole demeanor changes. In one moment he is this weak and feeble person sitting on the bed, looking as though he can barely hold himself up to the next minute he is full of life and energy and jumping off the bed like he doesn’t have a care in the world.

“Let’s go on a trip!”

He grabs my hand and we practically run out of the infirmary together, heading to his room. I notice as we leave that neither the Winchesters, the witch or the angel are anywhere in sight.

Not long after we drag a suitcase from Jack’s closet and begin packing it up, Dean walks in with a glass of milk and a sandwich on a plate.

“Hey, pal. I brought you some carbs,” Dean says and then stops as he notices the half-filled luggage on the bed. “You, uh...You goin' somewhere?”

“Thought I'd go to Vegas,” Jack tells him, that big bright smile on his face. “Or maybe Tahiti.”

I wait with bated breath for the Winchester to thwart the idea completely. I understand the need to protect Jack and keep him safe, especially now since he is ailing for some unknown cause, but I want Jack to be able to do what he wants…and if he wants to go on a road trip, I will do everything in my power to make it happen. Even go up against Dean Winchester.

“Okay. Nice,” Dean says and I can’t help to stare at him, flabbergasted. He isn’t going to try to talk Jack out of it? “You think this is the best time?”

Oh, there it is. Now here comes the ‘we got to keep you here in the Bunker so you can die miserable and never see the world for what it really is’. Stupid!

“Pretty sure it is,” Jack says as he continues packing.

Dean sets the plate and glass on the table and steps toward the Nephilim. “Listen, Jack –“

Jack cuts him off though. “Since I've been alive, everyone assumed I would be this special "person" who goes on forever. Only now it looks like forever might be a couple of weeks, so -- We don't know that. What I do know is I'm done being special. Before my life is over, I want to live it. I-I just want a chance to… get a tan...to see a hockey game...get a parking ticket......get bored... and when it's all over...die.”

“So that's your plan, huh?” Dean asks and if I didn’t know better, I’d think I heard some awe and admiration in his voice.

“I don't want to waste time arguing,” Jack says with a shake of his head and goes back to packing. “I know you disagree.”

“Did I say I disagree?”

Both Jack and I turn and look at him like he’s grown a second head. “What? You-you-you….” I couldn't even get the words out.

“I’m what?” Dean asks. “Agreeing with him? Yea. Let’s take a road trip Jack!”

Jack smiles and looks at me then back to Dean. “Can Y/N come too?”

Dean takes a deep breath and exhales slowly. He looks at me for the first time since his mother told us about her pact with my father. There is a small trace of a smile on his lips when he says, “Sure. Go get packed Y/N.”

@lostinaseaoffictionalbliss @spnbaby-67 @tftumblin @sea040561 @delightfullykrispypeach @larajadeschmidt13 @atc74 @vicariouslythruspn @squirrelnotsam @sandlee44 @blacktithe7 @hoboal87 @mogaruke @deanwanddamons @supraveng @deandreamernp @akshi8278 @lyarr24 @wintersoldierwinchester @we-are-all-a-bunch-of-idjits @nancymcl @kazsrm67 @lostdarksoul6

#supernatural #spn #season 14 #dean winchester #sam winchester #mary winchester #y/n winchester #jack kline #bobby singer #angst #fluff #smut #dean x y/n

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carryonmywaywardcaptain · 4 years

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What’s in a Name?

CarryOnCap’s Masterlist

Pairing: Michael!Dean x reader, Dean x reader

WC: 2,135

Summary: Weeks after Michael disappeared with Dean as his vessel, you decide to take some time away from the bunker. Nothing could have prepared you for the talk you have (or the tearful goodbye) when he pays you an unexpected visit.

Square Filled: Midnight Snack

Warnings: Season 14 spoilers if you haven’t seen it. Some angst. Sort of sappy fluff. Revelation of feelings and implied mutual pining. Minor mentions of injuries. Kind of a corny, abrupt ending. Also this gif by @teamfreewillbettertogether (I mean LOOK AT HIM.)

A/N: This is my first submission for #spndeanbingo challenge round 1 hosted by @spndeanbingo Inspired by this 14x01 gif and the end dialogue of 14x09. (I do not claim to own the dialogue from those episodes, I just paraphrased for this fic.) This was supposed to be a drabble but it got away from me. lol

You had just finished a case up north-- nothing big, just a few werewolves preying on teenagers who were exploring the woods on the outskirts of town at night for “something to do.” You had tracked down the last of the pack just in time to save a young girl from becoming an unfortunate midnight snack. After driving her home and observing a tear-filled reunion with her parents, you returned to the motel you’d been staying at.

You were exhausted, covered head to toe in cuts and bruises from the hunt, and you knew you needed some rest. But sleep didn’t come easily these days and, when it did, you often found yourself dreaming of Dean. It kept you up at night knowing he was out there somewhere locked away under Michael’s control, and dreaming about him only seemed to make you miss him more.

It was late, but you decided to venture to the gas station up the street to grab a midnight snack of your own, hoping the cool evening air and a little food might help ease your mind. After cleaning up a little, you slipped out of your room and back into the night.

It had been weeks and there'd still been no sign of Dean or Michael. Sam had been working tirelessly trying to find him, but so far he still hadn’t had any leads. In an effort to help with the search, you packed a bag and set out to connect with some of your old contacts.

...At least that’s what you told Sam.

Truthfully, you had decided to leave because you needed a break from it all. The bunker had begun to feel crowded with all of the new inhabitants from Apocalypse World. Sam, Mary, Cas, and Jack checked on you at all hours of the day because they all seemed to know about the feelings you harbored for Dean. You appreciated their concern, but the lack of alone time and space left you feeling suffocated and on edge.

On top of it all, the bunker somehow also felt eerily empty without your favorite green eyed hunter. Reminders and memories of him seemed to haunt every inch of the place. With how overwhelming everything had become, it was liberating to work a case or two while you took some time to grieve and process everything in peace.

After buying a sandwich, a six pack, and a mini pie, you thanked the cashier and began the short trek back to your motel. Still lost in thought, you had taken a shortcut down an alley when a noise from behind stopped you in your tracks. It was subtle and if you hadn’t recognized it immediately, it might’ve gone unnoticed-- drowned out by the bustle of cars, sirens, and drunken bar-goers still enjoying what was left of their night.

The familiar rustle of angel wings.

Realizing you’d left your angel blade in the duffel bag beside your bed, you tried to remain calm. Cas had no way of knowing where you were and you knew the few angels left in existence were doing all they could to keep heaven running. Grappling with the fear and hope you could feel rising in your chest, you wracked your brain for any other possible explanation for who could be behind you. But even before he spoke, you knew it was him.

“Hello Y/N.”

It wasn’t his voice-- not really. Even so, the sound was oddly comforting after so many weeks without it. If you’d kept your back to him, you might’ve been able to let yourself pretend it really was him. That he had managed to break free from the archangel somehow and track you down.

But it was the way he said your name that let you know who it really was. His voice was hollow. Almost formal.

One thing you’d always loved about Dean--whether he was angry or worried or teasing--was the way he said your name. There was always so much emotion behind it. Always a trace of the unconditional love he gave to everyone he cared about. When he spoke your name, there was always a deeper implication: no matter what he was feeling or what you had done, you knew he would always protect you and have your back. There was never a need for him to say those things outright, because somehow you’d always understood.

But this wasn’t him and those weren’t the feelings you had when your name rolled off of his tongue. Taking a deep breath, you slowly turned to face the man behind you.

“Michael.”

The corner of his mouth tilted into a smirk. He wore a gray three piece suit, a long coat, and a newsboy style cap. His head was slightly bowed, casting a dark shadow over his eyes. Instead of the relaxed, bow-legged stance you were accustomed to, his posture was stiff and typical of the angels you’d grown familiar with over the years.

“It’s nice to be able to skip the introductions.”

He raised his head and the motion seemed almost robotic. His jade eyes briefly flashed a bright electric blue and the longer you looked at his emotionless face, the more unsettled you began to feel. Everything about him seemed detached and unnatural-- a stark contrast to the man you knew.

“What do you want?”

“What do I want? It’s a little...ironic.” His lips stretched into a wry grin, but there was still an emptiness behind it. “That’s what I’ve been traveling all around this world asking people. ‘What do you want?’ Their answers are always the same: Peace. Power. Revenge. Love.”

You exhaled upon hearing the final word--recalling the countless number of fantasies you’d had about Dean confessing something similar to you.

“They say the things they think I expect to hear. Give answers they hope will ensure their survival. It’s all so very...weak. Pathetic. Human. But I will admit free will does keep things marginally interesting...how these ‘wants’ seem to motivate you. To give you a cause to fight for.”

You stood motionless, soaking in every bit of the speech he was delivering. The way he spoke was flat and unhurried. You reminded yourself over and over that it wasn’t him, but as his voice washed over you...the hold he had on you was undeniable.

He took a few steps forward, hands behind his back as he began circling you like a predator stalking its prey.

“He’s still in here, you know.” He tapped a finger on his temple when he circled in front of you again. “Resisting me. Squirming and trying to claw his way out. To get back to all of you.”

“Is there a point to this monologue?” Your voice wavered, sounding feeble instead of assertive.

“I can sense how vulnerable you are in my presence because of this pretty face. Haven’t you ever wondered what it is that Dean wants most?” He began slowly pacing back and forth in front of you. “I know his thoughts. His desires. His reasons for fighting. I know all that you’ve been through together...”

“He wants the same thing we all do. To take out as many of you douchebags as we can until--”

“You are what he wants.”

You tried to swallow, but your throat had gone dry.

“...what?”

“Why do you think he said yes to me? Why do all of you sacrifice yourselves for each other? Again and again...and again.” He paused and met your eyes when you didn’t say anything. “For love. For the fear of having to live without each other. For the ‘family business’ or whatever. Now, Sam? Mary? His angel pal and even the nephilim-- sure, he loves them. He would die for them. But you…well, there aren’t words for how devastated he would be if anything ever happened to you.”

“You’re...lying,” you whispered.

“I’m just a messenger, sweetheart.”

He spun on his heel and held his hands out to his sides, chuckling as he shook his head. You wanted to believe everything he was saying, but you had no reason to. Michael had lied to Dean-- why wouldn’t he do the same to you?

“Why are you telling me any of this? Why bother finding me at all?”

“Because his squirming is like an incessant gnat that simply won’t go away. So, as a small attempt to put his floundering to rest, I decided to pay you a visit. To say the things he never could. To put an end to his doubts...the worry and the fear and the anger that keeps him fighting. To show him there’s no need to resist me any longer. Lucifer is dead and all of you survived.”

“So you’re pretending to care about his well-being now?” you scoffed. “That’s your play?”

“He’s angry with himself for saying ‘yes’--but he wanted to save his brother and the boy. To beat Lucifer and, together, that’s what we did. He’s so worried about his family’s safety but, with my help, you were all spared from Lucifer’s wrath. Now, after everything I’ve told you...do you have any idea what Dean’s greatest fear is? His reason for continuing to resist me?”

As the gears turned and every fiber of your being seemed to have a hunch about what he meant, your mind refused to even consider the possibility. There was no way he could possibly mean--

“You,” Michael sighed impatiently. “You’re the one he’s most attached to. The source of his deepest fear and regret. Because what if something happened to his beloved Y/N? What if he never had the chance to tell you that he loves you? That he’s always been too much of a coward to admit it.”

Feeling like the air had been knocked from your lungs, tears began to well in your eyes at his admission. You weren’t sure if he was telling the truth, but if there was any way to reach him...you had to try.

“Dean? If you can hear me--”

“Dean’s not home right now. He’s served his purpose and his mission is complete. Now it’s time for mine.”

You knew you should ask what he meant, but right now you couldn’t care less about Michael’s mission. Taking a measured step forward, you gazed into his eyes and hoped he could hear you, no matter how deep he was buried.

“I love you too, Dean. More than you could ever know… And no matter what happens, none of this is your fault.”

Michael scoffed at your attempt before suddenly hunching over to stare at the ground. His expression quickly grew irritated and he shook his head as he rolled his shoulders back.

“So...very...pathetic,” he mumbled angrily.

“...Dean?”

He stood abruptly, jaw clenched and nostrils flaring as he closed the distance between the two of you. You watched as he curled his lip in disgust and placed two fingers on your forehead. When his pupils flash blue once again, your body went rigid as a warm energy spread from your head to your toes.

As he withdrew his hand, you breathed heavily and rolled your sleeves up to discover the wounds from your hunt had been healed. You glanced back at him with a puzzled expression and let out a small gasp when you noticed how drastically his demeanor had changed.

Instead of blank, dead eyes, you were met with tender emerald ones. He reached a hand out and lightly traced his fingertips along the edge of your jaw.

“Y/N…”

It was nothing more than a whisper; a silent plea for you to hear everything he didn’t have time to say. When the word escaped his lips, he drew his eyebrows together-- all of the raw emotion Michael had kept locked away painted clearly on his face.

You understood completely, hearing it all in the way he said your name.

“I know, Dean. We’re gonna find a way to get you back. Just hold on.”

He cupped your cheek and a sad, longing smile graced his lips when you leaned into his touch. Without warning, his eyes flashed blue once more.

In the blink of an eye he was gone.

Clenching the bag of food and beer in one hand, you wiped away a few stray tears and fished your phone from your pocket. After selecting a number from your favorite contacts, you began jogging toward the motel. The line rang several times before going to voicemail, but you quickly hung up and dialed again.

Arriving at your room, you unlocked the door and began frantically packing your bag. You huffed in frustration when the call went to voicemail again but, on your third attempt, you finally heard Sam’s groggy voice.

“Hello?”

“Sam? It’s Y/N. So, get this--”

CarryOnCap Crew (Forevers):

@abswritesfandoms @amanda-teaches @cosicas-cuquis @crist1216 @droidyouseek @emoryhemsworth @ericaprice2008 @flawless-disaster @janeyboo @jenn0755 @ksgeekgirl @maresmiley @memyselfandmaddox @notyourtypicalrose @randomparanoid @rynabarnesrogers @sandlee44 @scarletsoldierrr @shann-the-artist-moon @sheerioasteroidpanda @shynara51 @someday-when-you-leave-me @star-spangled-man-with-a-plan @thisismysecrethappyplace @torntaltos @waywardbaby @waywardrose13 @weebid @whimsicalrobots @wintersoldierbaby @wintersoldierissucharide @yesfanficsaremylife

Cap’s SPN Crew:

@adoptdontshoppets @akshi8278 @alexwinchester23 @deangirl7695 @dean-winchesters-bacon @fandomoniumflurry @pisces-cutie @supernaturalenchanted @superromijn @waywardnerd67 @x-waywardaf-x

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angelfishofthelord · 3 years

Text

good tidings of great joy

“And the angel said unto them, Fear not: for, behold, I bring you good tidings of great joy, which shall be to all people.” --Luke 2:10, KJV

--A Christmas SPN fic--

Angels from the realm of glory

Wing your flight o’er all the earth

There’s very little glory remaining, either above or below. The absence has become a part of you, aching between the bone and marrow of this vessel. You walk this earth on feet strapped in the confines of shoes, with back bent carrying the remains of extinguished brilliance. Few can tell the difference between you and any of the other burdened mortals crossing the sidewalk; the aurora that used to halo you is less than a dull sheen.

You don’t mind the invisibility; the seamless stitches that hide you allow you to move unnoticed among humanity, like the air between the falling snowflakes. Humans have always been terrified of your kind anyways. Fear not is the most repeated command in the Bible. It appears 365 times; one sixth of those times is spoken by an angel.

Angels we have heard on high

Sweetly singing o’er the plains

The sweetness was never there in the first place, but you stop to listen to sidewalk carolers singing the lie, their upturned faces flushed with cold and joy. Humans have always written their own narratives about angels, from inventing their own version of your powers to restructuring your appearance and mannerisms. The fairy tales that shroud your essence would do well to remain instead of the nightmare of the truth.

You weren’t part of the flight who first appeared to the shepherds, but you’ve heard the story passed from battalion to battalion. How they were only half-shielded by the night to dim the inferno of their forms; how burnt wool and charred grass had the shepherds crying out in voiceless fear, had the captain begging for them not to be afraid. As if the human heart could anymore contain the palpitations towards the unknown than the heavens could not thunder in its every breath.

One caroler offers you a candy cane and you hesitate to take it.

“I have nothing to give you,” you inform the young woman. Receiving requires something like in kind, this you know. Nothing is free; a cost lies behind every extended hand or smile or place to belong.

“You don’t need to,” she beams. Snowflakes gather around her, glittering in her wool cap. “It’s Christmas.”

The shepherds ran to the village to spread the news, but not out of belief in the lore of a savior. They took one look at the distortion of celestial bodies and immediately vowed to spend their lives in devotion to whatever command was given in exchange for having their lives spared. Their declaration was one of warning, their faith born of terror.

“I can give it to my son,” you say finally. If you are not claiming it for yourself then perhaps the price can be waived.

She gives you two candy canes “so you can enjoy them together.”

The angels knew what was to come

The reason God had sent his son

They knew that it was a test to humanity, to determine how to proceed with future involvement judging by mankind’s reaction to him. You don’t know which archangel came up with the plan; you were still under the delusion at the time that instructions were coming from your Father. The word spread among the hosts was that they should convince mortals that their Father had a single son; not thousands upon thousands cloistered in heaven, misshapen and deformed to the human eye. No, people needed to believe that God’s child looked like them and bled like them, not the other way around. Not the way angels made the earth bleed and burned brighter than the sun.

You pause under the awning of a closed church to check your phone. Dean wants to know when you’ll be back so they can start decorating the tree. “The kid’s impatient,” says the text. “We can only make so many cookies.” You think of Jack half covered in iced sugar and flour, licking the batter off his fingers and taking the tray out of the oven before they’re done. When the boy had called earlier that afternoon to ask if you could pick up some decorations on the way home the word “rainbow lights” had burst from his lips with such delight that you could almost see his smile, the way his eyes crinkled when he was happy.

Your son is happy. The thought is enough to move you out from under the shadow of the wooden cross above and continue on your way home.

Hark the herald angels sing

Glory to the newborn king

There never was any singing among the hosts. Choirs were the measurement term for the size of a flight one commanded. The strength of angel’s voices were used to contact each other midst battle, to send for help or reinforcements, and, on occasion when other weapons were exhausted, as a weapon against the enemy. You remember your own voice when you first spoke to Dean, how the pale faces of windows screamed and the parched throats of radios split. Your Father created you to be a creature that needed to be contained in order to be heard or seen; an anomaly suppressed in borrowed bodies that would remain forever incomprehensible by those you were charged to protect.

You can wrap yourself in cells and hair like them and still remain alien to them. Even as long as you’ve been on earth there are still words in your language this body’s tongue cannot pronounce, and colors you cannot find paints that come close to, and sounds no instrument can come close to mimicking.

There is still you, bundled beneath clothes and tissue and skeleton. You are the unknowable.

Sam brushes snow off your coat shoulders as you step into the bunker and he smiles at the face of the knowable you. Dean looks up from a tangle of evergreen boughs and welcomes you, the you that can fit in the door frame of this structure.

Jack. Jack looks at you, the entire visage of you in every increment of decaying glory.

And says your name like a song.

Sing choirs of angels

Sing in exultation

There hasn’t been any exaltation among your siblings for centuries now. Sorrow and greed and chaos have been the sole harmony they have sung, and not just since the averted apocalypse. Even in the earliest days when the presence of your Father blessed the halls of heaven strife still wrestled among the purity, staining it with betrayal and rejection that bled into Lucifer’s fall.

But here, in the warm womb of the earth with two humans and one child, there are notes of that wondrous jubilation the writers imagined in their seasonal songs.

Jack wraps himself up in the Christmas lights and Sam turns them on before he realizes it. When the boy laughs, unfazed by the buzzing bulbs braided around his arms, the panic disappears from Dean’s eyes. They open up boxes of decorations and scrape glitter from their fingertips, grumbling when it smears onto their clothes. Dean throws tinsel at Sam to put on the higher branches and his brother protests that he’s not a ladder. Jack picks up a small figurine and bends his small mouth into a frown.

“Angels don’t look like this,” Jack says and you look over at the small white fluffy statue in his palm.

Fear not. Humans have always sought to transform that which appeared unseemly. They have sanded down every possible edge and muted the scars of what it means to be angelic, turning an enormous and terrible being into something diminutive and fragile so even a child could smile at it.

“I think if I put a tiny trench coat on that Cas would kick my ass,” Dean remarks from under the handful of silver strands that a disgruntled Sam has dumped back on his head.

“No,” Jack repeats, holding the figurine between two fingers, “I mean, they don’t only have two wings. Or even one head.”

Sam bends back one unruly branch that is determined to attack him. “Do you…do you have more than one head?”

You shake your head. “Jack is a child, but more than that he's half human. He doesn’t have a true form like--” you push a finger against your chest “--we do, and he’s not in a vessel. He might get more wings later,” you add thoughtfully. There’s no archetype for nephilim growth, but when you look at Jack you see the strands of his soul and how the blend of hues there are unlike any other humans. You see the shiver of his two wings, full and bristling against the edges of space and time.

“We’ve seen your wings, Cas--well, shadowy thingies.” Dean stands up and squints as if straining his retina can enable him to better glimpse your frightening truth.

“That’s not how he really looks,” Jack beams and before you can put out a hand to stop him he pushes a finger against either brother’s forehead. “Let me show you.”

“Don’t.” The request escapes your lips too late, trailing after a plane that’s already left the runaway. Jack’s eyes are halos of gold and Sam and Dean stand awash in the tremors of his light, staring at you with speechlessly. You close your eyes, a very human habit that will shield you from nothing at all. Terror can slip through the seal of eyelashes as easily as a shadow under the door.

Fall on your knees

O hear the angel’s voices

There were very few who didn’t bow at the sight of your arrival. You wanted to tell them that they didn’t need to drop to the ground; you wanted to tell them you had no choice over the shape of your being. Eventually you let yourself believe that their reaction was because of the uniform you wore; soldiers are always greeted with trepidation, even human soldiers. They only appear in times of war and death; so you could reason that the hidden faces were because of that and not because of the horror of you.

But Sam and Dean are your family. They should not have to associate you with something as unnatural and ghastly as your mutilated true form. You know how the mind of humans work, how it loves the familiar and loathes the foreign. They see you as one of them because you look like them, and act much like them now, a comfort that will be erased now that they are seeing the difference of you.

Especially this you. Cut off from Heaven for years and eroded by the rivers of poison and possession that have ravaged your form, there remains nothing but mangled remains of monstrosity to see.

“Oh.” The breath swells from Sam, followed by an extended version of the vowel from his older brother.

When Jack pulls his fingers away and the illumination fades you open your eyes but keep your gaze to the floor. It won’t hurt any less but you want to delay being witness to the restrained revulsion in their eyes.

“I didn’t always look like that,” you say, as if it offers any excuse. “I had more…” you try to capture an appropriate English word to describe it “…fingers.”

“Where?” Dean sounds… curious. He sounds curious. Excited.

“On the..ah..faces.” You lift your head a little, waiting for their unease to fall like unannounced snow.

“Ah, the arches,” Sam says with pride, only to be contradicted by Dean.

“Wouldn’t that make them eyelids? Or eyebrows?”

“The faces aren’t structured like that; they could be arches or even parallel lines.”

“Okay, well, I know what I saw, and it was definitely eye-ish. I mean, that face was a leopard right? Leopards have eyes.”

“Cheetah,” Sam returns. “The spots are different, dude.”

“Those aren’t spots, those are the eyes,” Jack interrupts.

“So then the fingers do go on the eyebrow-y things. Like this.” Dean grabs a pencil and paper off the stack of books on the table and starts scrawling hurried lines. “And then the five and a half wings go there--and there---and I think one was there.”

“No, you’re getting the angles wrong, it came out of the elbow there.” Sam snatches a pen and scribbles out a corner of his brother’s drawing and adds something else.

Jack peers over their shoulders. “You’re forgetting the wheels.”

“They’re broken,” you point out shamefully, but no one hears you. Dean is swinging the pencil around the white sheet and Sam is accusing him of not knowing how to draw a circle and then Jack disappears and reappears with a box of crayons.

“Pink? I thought it was purple.”

“More like magenta.”

“Don’t get smart with me, Sammy. Jack, back me up here.”

They cluster around, crayon crumbs smearing into the white and elbows nudging each other for space to draw, and you stand there with a growing lump in your throat because they're not afraid.

Because Dean goes and grabs that little plush figurine and a white board marker and starts dotting the lace wings with spots for eyes. Because Sam gets toothpicks to stab the paper cut heads he’s drawn into the styrofoam body and Jack is twisting pipe cleaners into the bent lines of your wings. Because they fight over which side of the figurine to put two or three wings, and whether or not the rotating ram head should be in the front or back.

When they finally turn around and ask you if the bottle-cap wheel should be taped below or above the waist you try to answer without crying and it doesn’t work.

Fear not then said the angel

Let nothing you affright

There isn’t anyone else awake when Christmas morning first dawns. You leave behind the warmth of your room and go towards the center of this place you’ve christened home. Behind the staircase you find the plug and switch on the lights for the tree. They blink in a rainbow flutter against the synthetic branches, throwing tiny halos across the dangling snowmen and reindeer. Sitting on the table atop a stack of books is the angel figurine, now sporting a variety of hand-made appendages and hand-drawn additions to create some kind of composite creature.

It looks absolutely nothing like you.

You’ve never seen anything more beautiful.

Your hand slides into your coat pocket and you find the two candy canes from the caroler the day before. You find a branch to hang the red and white striped hooks on, somewhere between the mismatching socks that have definitely been put there without either brother’s knowledge and the actual baked gingerbread man that has Jack’s distinctive wiggly smile drawn on it in red frosting.

Before the sounds of your waking family come drifting down the hall you pause, fingers hesitating over the newly-crafted angel. You pick it up and move it to the top of the tree, wiggling it back and forth until it stands proud with all three crayoned faces to the sky.

You weren’t there for the first Christmas. And angels don’t sing or rejoice.

But you are here now, in this moment of Christmas.

Later Dean will be humming off-key when he pops marshmallows in the mugs of hot chocolate and Jack’s little squeal will ring out when Sam tries to stop him from opening the presents first. Later Jack will come tuck his arms around you for a sleepy hug and Dean will flash you a grin while he surreptitiously witches his mug for Sam’s. You will sit on the sofa cradling your own mug of hot chocolate and Sam will lean against your knees as he sits cross-legged on the floor flipping through the dictionary of dead languages you wrote for him. Later Jack will be wearing his new gloves and shadow boxing with Dean, both moving dangerously close to the tree. You will whisper “Merry Christmas” right before Dean’s leg twists around one of the lower branches and the six foot evergreen bows to the ground, sending the composite angel flying away on the wings of your laughter.

And ever o’er its Babel sounds

The blessed angels sing

Songs mentioned, in order of appearance: Angels From the Realms of Glory//Angles We Have Heard on High//The Angels Cried//Hark the Herald Angels Sing//O Come All Ye Faithful//O Holy Night//God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen//It Came Upon A Midnight Clear

#my fic #my fanfic #castiel #sam winchester #dean winchester #jack kline #tfw 2.0 #christmas #merry christmas #christmas fanfic #christmas songs #christmastime #holiday spirit #holiday mood #angst and feels #feels #fluff #spn #spn fanfic

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erchommai-a · 4 years

Text

demon blood.

trigger warning: abuse mention, gross, scars, etc.

origin.

Lilith, Mother of Demons, was not an easy creature to summon, even with Valentine Morgenstern’s talents and determination. His earlier experimentation had attracted the demon’s attention. And had manipulated certain events to inspire the man to consider her blood for his experiments, hoping that through him, she may finally bear that son that she could never have.

With it came an agreement ─ an alliance that while Valentine had no plans or means to keep, he made regardless. Should his Uprising ( or any others in the future prove victorious ) it would not only be his Nephilim that should benefit but her included. And the added clause that she would get to watch over Jonathan while Valentine ensured that it could and cannot happen without his direct permission.

Contracts after all are binding intricate dances. Especially when done with the mother of all demons.

childhood.

His birth, for the most part, was normal. He only cried once, on that very night, and then never again. He never smiled. And often, had this knowing expression in his eyes as if he could comprehend the whole world around him, as if he could see the disgust written all over his mother’s eyes everytime she held him. It was the pregnancy with him that was difficult. Jocelyn suffered nightmares ; she suffered deep and unsettling exhaustion mixed with depression. An anxiety that wouldn’t leave her until that night Jonathan was born. A feeling that would only be replaced by disgust and almost fear for the first half of her first born’s life.

Jonathan for the most part was privy to these little things. Memories deeply ingrained in him but never really had full comprehension for it. More like vague nonsensical sequences, no matter how vivid the scenario is inside his head. Jocelyn crying. Green eyes looking down into his. Fingers in his hair. His fingers in her clasped hand. Valentine proudly called him his son. Stories of a grandmother and grandfather. Grand tales of a future to come.

Except for his eyes, by all appearance he looked normal. A quiet boy with advanced motor skills and seemingly quick and adaptive cognitive abilities. But he didn’t speak until he was around two and it was only one word, “Mom.” And he wouldn’t speak again until that fateful night his Father scoops him out of his bed and takes him away.

relationships.

In his youth he wasn’t as volatile or violent towards new people. He found them fascinating and could just stare at them for hours. It was for that very reason that people tend to react to him differently. This child with deep empty soulless eyes just looking up at you, trying to understand what you’re thinking, could be unnerving with his almost complete silence and obvious lack of affect. But generally it was the adults that could pick up on his almost other-worldliness.

Children paid no mind to it. Alec, among the few children of the circle, was considerably his most constant friend due to how close Jocelyn and Maryse had been then. And they often had no issue playing around with each other. So long as Alec doesn't push Jonathan when he doesn’t want to do anything or doesn’t take anything Joanthan considers to be his. Oftentimes, Jon would just sit there and play with his own toys right next to the other kids.

Quiet and contnet with his own company.

Of course, this changed as he grew older. Restricted and practically trapped in solitude, save for the company of his dismissive father ─ his idea of people was easily twisted by Valentine’s Dogma. And his lack of opportunity for actual social practice or basic social understanding forged instead into weaponry and spycraft. Because for the most part, he can be very intuitive in the nature of people. But his childhood has made him very much a cynic towards people. Or humanity as a whole. He doesn’t think anyone or anything is worth saving. He finds chaos to be more fascinating. Morality is muddled whether you lean towards good or bad.

Chaos, to him, could almost be his religion.

physical traits.

The most obvious and significant effect of the demon blood in his system was the black eyes. And by that I literally just mean black pupils. He does not do the whole black eyes thing in my canon verses. It is just deep soulless black eyes that are quite freakishly inhuman but also human. He’s a cryptid.

There’s also a general sharpness to his whole countenance that he wouldn’t have if the demon blood wasn’t there. Although it’s not really something completely noticeable, or something that ruins the aesthetic of his features, in fact it enhances his looks a lot more. Accentuating the beauty to his features that almost make it unnatural. Cause again, he’s kind of a cryptid.

The best way to picture it is how it's such a direct and obvious contrast to Jace’s beauty. Jace is golden, the sun, absolutely angelic. Jon is raw, sharp, ethereal like the night, absolutely hellish.

nature of the demon blood.

Please take note of this, cause this is such a crucial part to how I play him.

The general philosophy regarding demon blood is plain and simple, it’s a cancer to his soul. It’s not something that had any serious instantaneous effect on him so much that he is inhuman ─ or that he was born demonic or anything like that. He is different. But he isn’t entirely all demon or entirely all human because he has angel blood. He is still Nephilim.

So with it came this effect of diminishing humanity ─ the hell fire inside of him was burning it up in a waythat it wasn’t just purely dependent on how he was raised but the demon blood itself was isolating him from his human traits. The good emotions, empathy, compassion, etc. And influencing him in a way that his aggression and general affinity for violence is louder. So it just amplifies deep dark baser urges that are already within him ─ like his impulse control and fascination with violence and blood lust. They were all only heightened. And you match that with Valentine Morgenstern’s school of learning ─ it builds inside of him a clashing.

Demon versus Human.

A conflict of demon and angel fighting within himself in such a profound way that him, being the one with it, can not tell the difference of how abnormal his physical constitution is. He neither feels it, nor comprehends it. To him it’s a natural state of being. That feeling of conflict inside of him that never goes away. That unbearable loneliness. That insufferable hunger or feeling of emptiness. That absolute soul sucking encompassing black hole that is never sated, never satisfied, never content. It never goes away. It just is. It’s just him.

He has been burning ─ rotting ─ from the inside out since he was born.

With that said ─ at no point does it take away his agency ( because please stop doing that ) to the point that it’s easy to assume that he would be different without demon blood. No, it won’t. The anger in him is something he was born with. That loneliness, he was born with it. He was given as much choice as anyone ─ he could have killed his Father but he didn’t. He could have killed Jace first, without hesitation or second judgement in City of Glass, he didn’t. He didn’t have to kill Max, but he did.

One could argue that he didn’t make the choices with the best capacity or capability to make those decisions, yes, But it doesn’t take away the fact that he made those choices of his own volition. He chose to follow the path that leads to his death.

The demon blood or his demonic nature is not the sole instigator.

But he has done and will do evil things.

morality.

This is just a quick thing because I stand by the notion that he isn’t evil. Not inherently. He has done despicable, heinous, evil things. He has nearly accomplished more devious and horrible crimes. And had he won ─ he could have continued to try to raise the stakes until that deep hole inside of him was filled and satisfied.

Which cruelly would never be sated.

But his intent had never been directly for absolutely malicious intent.

He was built and cultivated towards this prospect because after his first death. It is the only clear and obvious direction for him. Because without his Father’s purpose, he has nothing. Without that legacy to latch onto ─ he has nothing. That and Family has only been the two things Valentine had allowed him to strive for. So in truth, he wouldn’t really know any better.

And if you let him loose, absolutely and purely, on his own whim and want. Things would have ended differently. He would have thrived more beautifully in chaos.

It could have still led to a war. But a fun war. For him anyway.

Quick summary, he isn’t evil for evil sake. Kind of in the same vein, Valentine isn’t inherently evil. He was a villain who thought he was doing what was right, if a little bit over-zealously and like a megalomaniac. But I guess, the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree. There’s a method to both their madness.

effects and abilities.

infertile. This isn’t really something he knows or directly thinks about. Children, to him, for the most part aren’t like a big deal. But no, he can’t have kids. None of his own anyway. The demon blood has taken that away. demon connection. Although his connection to Lilith is both in part because it’s her blood specifically that flows through him, it does extend quite a bit to others within the demonic hierarchy. With Lilith, it’s a very specific sort of connection. She can contact him, although with limitations, but she can make her presence very well known to him. In his childhood, she could only maintain it in short instances. Soft reassuring voices in his ears. Little visions. Little dreams. Nothing that could alert Valentine to her presence because of their contract that she is not allowed to see Jon without his permission / supervision. But this connection extends to all other demonic creatures specifically. It doesn’t only offer itself up as a sort of dowsing rod that works both ways ( he can sense them and they can sense him like he’s a beacon ). With that, also comes this understanding. He can speak in demon tongue that is also not just exclusively phonetically but emphatically or telepathically as well in the most natural sense. It was never something he had to study. demon manipulation. This is just an extension of the effects of Lilith’s blood in him. He can influence, to some degree lower tier demons. Order them around based on his blood connection to Lilith. Something that works almost similarly like light hypnotism. But is not overly powerful or overt that he can use it for very long or very often. And only works on the unintelligent breed of demons. blood magic / blood sorcery. There is, inherently, a lot of use for his blood in terms of magic and rituals. His blood being a unique combination of demon and nephilim make it a very powerful conduit or power source for dark magic. And not only that, his blood is a good supplement to other things like summoning rituals and binding rituals. Summoning circles lined with his blood has a stronger binding energy against demons and may not be exclusive to just demons. ( He has yet to find out, although theoretically can be applied to anyone that falls within the confines of summoning circles. ) It also has corrosive properties when interacting with objects heavenly by nature. Or some enchanted objects. ( e.g. deactivating the wards. ) demonic blood empowerment. Physically, this technically makes him stronger than jace to a certain degree. Partnered with his training, this makes him absolutely lethal. And both fast and stronger than the majority of shadowhunters. Along with it, is a sense of physical self reliance. The more the influence of the demon blood becomes stronger, the less he has a need for human things. It destroys him spiritually and mentally but it builds him up physically to the point that a lot of what is essential to another person may not be as essential to him. Like physical sustenance is less of a necessity to him which in turn makes him eat less, sleep less, basically do so little of the human things that most people absolutely need. ( e.g. dreaming art, little enjoyments, those sort of things. ) This is also where the advanced nature of his progress in childhood also comes in effect. It helped him adapt to the physicallity of growing up or maturity much faster than a normal child would have. pain supression / resistance. Mostly before LIlith's resurrection, pain to him was a normal affliction. He felt as much as anyone physically could. But again through Valentine Morgenstern school of how to be a monster, he was taught to make himself numb to it through training and with physical abuse, he did. Post Lilith’s resurrection, he was gifted with almost unnatural invincibility. He is more likely to feel the pain now unless it was directly imbued with heavenly fire. This also meant there was no scarring and that he could get stabbed as many times as he liked. Cutting his head off could also work though. If you were fast enough. limitations. For the most part, there are only three things that can effectively hurt / bruise him in a sense. First and foremost is Demon metal, weapons made from these are rare but can leave significant scars on his skin after. And nothing that any known magic or angelic rune had been able to remove. Electrum, can also have similar effects but not as aggravating or as long lasting as demon metal. In pain level, electrum is a lot more tolerable for him than demon metal. And the scars, no matter how deep, are not as permanent as weapons infused with demon metal. Sanctified objects or holy ground can make him feel kind of an allergic reaction. There’s definitely a different energy around them that makes him uncomfortable. Not to the point that it weakens and not even to any significant degree that it hurts him. But they do make him feel weird and kind of aggravate the hell fire in his veins so it’s almost like a fever that’s just there. Or an itch that he cannot scratch. Anything imbued with heavenly fire directly however can be excruciating to him. magic. To some degree, he has an affinity for it. He can be very talented with magic. It’s something innate and he can be very intuitive with. More so than his own father, from whom he learned nearly all the spells that are within his arsenal. However, he isn’t as in tune with it so to speak, spiritually, as he is with his weapons. It’s why even when he has the ability for most things like basic healing spells, tracking spells, etc, he still prefers to use his shadowhunter training and weapons. But he does have a working understanding of how to use and conjure magic for himself. He just doesn’t. edom magic. I thought I should separate this just to emphasize that edom was gifted to him by lilith. Edom is his and hers domain. There is nothing he or she can not build or unravel or undo or make or destroy within the confines of that universe. He is, within its world, by all means a god. It does not however mean he is omniscient or omnipotent within it. It just means every grain of sand and every single atom within the confine of said universe is his to control. wings. This is absolutely just me indulging myself because I live for the aesthetic. This comes about after the bond between him and Jace is broken in COLS. A part of Lilith’s gift. To expound on the image or her goal for her son too to be hell’s knight so to speak. An absolute bastardization of angels with his demon blood and angel blood, so voila, wings. They are dark and sharp, the wings fade from white to gray to black, right at his shoulder blades, where they connect to his skin. Blood red vains stretch from his skin to the arch of his wings. They are retractable and can be easily hidden within his skin or just through plain glamour magic. ( Cause you know, still kind of a cryptid. Just a pretty cryptid. ) Outside of some ability for flight, they don’t offer him much protection. They work more like an extra appendage. And something that stays with him in post-cohf verses although they appear more withered then and scarred. They also appear as fresh new scars, that cover over a small part of his shoulder blade as well as over the lines of scars from his whipping across his back.

#𝒉𝒐𝒘 𝒕𝒐 𝒎𝒂𝒌𝒆 𝒂 𝒎𝒐𝒏𝒔𝒕𝒆𝒓.┋study.#long post for ts #this is definitely a lot more extensive than the last one but i still feel like im forgetting something #BUT ALSO IF PEOPLE HAVE BETTER IDEA FOR terms cos i genuinely cannot think of better terms for some of his gifts right now #i'll have to read through this again tomorrow

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silver-lily-louise · 5 years

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Shoot The Moon (And Miss) – a Shadowhunters fanfic

Summary: ‘The angels. They’re – they’re wiping the slate clean.’ The Shadow World is disappearing, piece by piece. Six people, refusing to let danger pull them apart, make a last-ditch attempt to save it. (Set after the last episode’s time skip, and after Clary rejoins the Shadow World.) Word count: ~2.7k Warnings: Major character deaths, plural. This is not a happy story. It’s an ‘everybody dies’ angsty fic about finding comfort in love at the end of everything.

~oOo~

An angel of the Lord stood before them, and the glory of the Lord shone around them, and they were terrified. (Luke 2:9)

***

They’re together, of course, the six of them half-collapsed on the damp, slimy ground. It could never be any other way. The island they’re on is really more of a tiny, rocky hill, surrounded by choppy waters and far, far away from civilisation. In the distance, an unnatural glow is beginning to light up the storm clouds.

Alec supposes he should be afraid, but he’s just numb. We failed. He feels hollow, and the thought echoes around his head like the words are bouncing off the walls of a cavern. It’s over.

***

Raziel created the Shadowhunters to protect the Mundanes, or so the story goes, and in doing so had forever linked the world with its Shadow. The Nephilim were proof of the bond forged between the mortal and the divine, as Downworlders were proof of the irrevocable, ancient bond between the Mundane and the infernal. So when Clave authorities first started getting reports of the disappearances – entire parts of the Shadow World gone, lifted and erased from remote corners of the planet like a fading dream – they’d been baffled by why the Mundane world in those places seemed totally unaffected. Clary’s connection to the angels provided the answer, when she woke from a nightmare screaming. ‘It’s them,’ she sobbed, shaking as Jace held her in his arms. ‘The angels. They’re – they’re wiping the slate clean.’

It seemed impossible, but when the two of them stood in Alec’s office in Alicante, Clary recounting what she saw, there was no doubt among any of them that it was true. The angels had apparently decided that the Shadow World had become too unruly, growing larger and less controlled than they ever intended, and they were going to cleanse the world of it like fire cleanses a forest. They would sunder any connection between the mortal and the divine, between the Mundane and the infernal – and thus eliminate any who straddled those lines.

Panic washed like a flood throughout the Shadow World, and only through the joint leadership of the Clave and the Downworld was it channelled into action instead of chaos. Defences were put in place, countless ideas of how to avoid or redirect or destroy the onslaught of divine destruction. But as Institute after Institute fell, talks turned from victory to survival, from battle strategy to hiding places; and after countless devastating losses, one solution finally presented itself. The Seelie realm is not a mere border between the infernal and the divine, for those worlds could never meet so simply. Instead, they infuse each other, heightening the call of both magics in the very air, pulling and shifting the veil between all worlds until something entirely separate is born. If anywhere could be safe from the cold Armageddon of the angels, it would be there.

No-one with any experience would call the fair folk kind – but above all else, they value life, and so the Queen agreed to the Shadow World’s plea for help. Alicante was fast becoming their last bastion, the final keep in this siege, and portals from there to the Seelie realm operated almost non-stop to complete the evacuation of as many Nephilim and Downworlders as possible.

But even as the entire Shadow World braced for the worst, in the libraries of Alicante, the search for a miracle continued. It came as no surprise to Alec that Magnus was the one to find it.

‘Here,’ he said, thumping the open book down on Alec’s desk. ‘These records are ancient – even older than I am – and they talk of a diamond altar in the middle of the ocean. Mundanes call it the Bermuda Triangle, and nowadays they blame the odd occurrences there on natural gases, but their previous theories were actually more accurate. It’s where we’ll find the thinnest part of the veil between Earth and the angels, and therefore the only place we have any chance of successfully using this.’ He opened another book – this time, a hand-stitched grimoire – to an intricately illuminated page. ‘I can perform this ritual there, sending a shockwave through the veil. If we’re lucky, it’ll distance us from the angels before they can finish their… clean-up of the Shadow World. It won’t tear us completely away from them, like they’re planning, but it might stop them being able to get through with all their fire and brimstone.’

Alec looked over the books quickly, turning Magnus’ words over in his head. ‘And if we’re unlucky?’ Magnus grimaced. ‘Well, put it this way – it’s not like things can get much worse, right?’ Alec wasn’t so sure about that, but he put it aside. This could be their only option. ‘Alright. At this point, pretty much anything’s worth a shot. What do you need for the ritual?’ ‘I have the herbs and almost all of the magical components – it’s old, old magic, so there’s surprisingly few of each needed. But the preparation of the altar requires a gift from two of the world’s veils – angelic and demonic blood, each mixed with mundane but separate from the other.’ ‘So, warlock and Shadowhunter blood?’ Alec stood, rounding the desk to join his husband. ‘Guess that means I’m joining you.’ ‘That won’t be necessary,’ Magnus said, waving a hand in dismissal. ‘I’ll take a vial of your blood with me, complete the ritual by myself. You can stay here and oversee the evacuation.’ Magnus’ tone was breezy, confident, and Alec reckoned that anyone else would have been fooled. But he wasn’t just anyone. ‘Helen and Aline are handling that,’ he said slowly, not bothering to hide his suspicion. ‘Which you already know. Which means that there’s a reason you don’t want me there, and I’m probably not gonna like it.’

Magnus’ face quirked as he obviously considered maintaining the charade, but apparently he thought better of it, because he dropped the false casual tone and sighed. ‘The altar is a strong source of angelic power,’ he explained, ‘and that can attract a slightly-higher-than-average demonic presence. But I can handle it,’ he said hurriedly, probably in an effort to forestall any objection. ‘You don’t have to be there. I’ll be fine.’

Alec just stared at him for a moment, exasperated. How he loved this man. This beautiful, brave, unfathomably powerful idiot. ‘I’m coming with you, Magnus.’ ‘Alexander-‘ ‘No.’ He took both of Magnus’ hands in his own, stooping down when Magnus tried to avoid his gaze. ‘You’ll have enough to do completing the ritual without fighting off a swarm of demons. You’re my husband, and I love you, and I’m coming with you to watch your back.’

Magnus pulled his hands away, and for a moment Alec thought he was going to argue. But instead, he smiled softly, reaching up to clasp his hands around Alec’s neck. ‘Alright,’ he murmured. ‘Do we bring anyone else?’ Alec hesitated. ‘No,’ he said, trying to sound decisive instead of as unsure as he felt. ‘We’ve lost enough people, and even with your magic expertise, we’re shooting the moon here. It should just be the two of us.’ Magnus opened his mouth to reply, the look on his face suggesting that he rather liked the sound of just the two of us, but he didn’t get a chance to speak before another voice came through the door. ‘Oh, like hell.’

The door opened and Jace strode in, Clary and Izzy at his heels, Simon lurking in the doorway. ‘No way are you two going in alone,’ Jace continued. ‘I’m coming with you.’ ‘So am I,’ Izzy chimed in. Alec frowned, annoyed that he’d forgotten to ask Magnus for a silencing charm before starting this conversation. He drew himself up tall - he’d learned early on to use his height to his advantage when in command – and folded his arms. ‘No,’ he said flatly. ‘You two are to head to the Seelie realm with the other refugees.’ ‘Correction,’ Clary said, meeting Alec’s stare in clear rebellion. ‘Us three are coming with you.’ ‘Four,’ Simon added. ‘I mean, I’m coming too.’

‘Absolutely not,’ Alec said, irritation beginning to show – and the conversation quickly devolved after that, all of them talking over each other. Jace was adamant that he wouldn’t leave his parabatai (besides, I have more angel blood in me, you should use mine for the ritual), Clary wouldn’t leave Jace, Izzy was determined to stand with her brothers (what happened to ‘three go in, three come out?’), and Simon declared that if Clary and Izzy were going, there was no way he was being left behind-

‘Enough.’ Magnus’ voice rang with power, filling the room with an unnatural echo and stunning them all into silence. (Well, almost all of them. Simon turned to Clary and whispered ‘Woah, he’s like Gandalf.’) When he spoke again, his voice had dropped back to normal levels. ‘We don’t have time for this. Clearly we’re all too stubborn for our own good, so I don’t see that we have much of a choice. No-one stays behind. We’ll do this together.’

***

In hindsight, it was a godsend that they hadn’t come alone. ‘Slightly-above-average, my ass,’ Alec muttered, decapitating the nearest threat before returning to his bow.

They’d arrived on the small island to find it absolutely teeming with demons – shax, ravener, every kind Alec had fought before and some he was pretty sure he’d never seen, not even in his textbooks growing up. Thankfully, they all died the same, and Alec launched arrow after arrow while the others fought close-range, trying to keep the space around the gleaming altar clear enough for Magnus to work. He and Jace had fought their way through first, and Jace was already back in the fray, paying no mind to the still-bleeding cut along his forearm. With the blood offering made, Magnus had moved on to the main part of the ritual, closing his eyes and chanting in a deep, guttural language as he threw the spell components into the pool of his and Jace’s blood, weaving the magic from his fingertips. Alec belatedly realised that he should have asked Magnus how long the spell would take, because the tide of demons seemed never-ending, and they were beginning to close in. He wasn’t sure how much longer they could hold them back.

He changed tactics, stowing his bow and drawing his blades again. He leapt forward to stand between Jace and Izzy, weapons arcing in a graceful rhythm, cutting down as many demons in his path as he could. The three of them co-ordinated their attacks effortlessly, a lifetime of training together making itself known. But still, it wasn’t enough, and they were forced backwards, ever closer to the altar. Alec slashed and thrust until his blades were covered in ichor, but he was flagging, and they were pushed back farther, and farther-

‘Down!’ Magnus’ voice rang out in command again, and Alec automatically dropped to his hands and knees – just in time to stop himself being knocked over by a pulse of gold magic that evaporated every demon in front of him. He jumped to his feet, whirling around to face his husband, stomach dropping when he saw him sway on his feet and brace against the altar. ‘Magnus!’ ‘It’s okay,’ Magnus said, gritting his teeth, but he leaned into Alec as soon as he was near enough. ‘Keep an eye out for any others. I should have just enough magic left to finish the ritual.’ He reached into his bag for another component, resuming his chant.

The sky exploded above them.

And suddenly Alec felt himself falling, a tiny patch of ground rushing up towards him, dread running heavy through his veins because even with the runes he had active he knew there was no way he’d survive that fall -

His stomach turned as he felt himself slow down. Looking around in confusion he saw Magnus, arms outstretched and blue-white magic flowing from him to the rest of them. They touched down slowly, the magic flickered out, and Magnus collapsed. ‘Magnus!’ Alec ran to his side, lifting him up and leaning him against his chest. ‘Magnus?’ His husband’s eyes fluttered open, and then Alec’s attention was ripped away to another explosion in the distance. A lightning bolt, bright and furious, slamming into something that glittered like glass as it shattered. Alec knew that power, could recognise it even that far away, his runes singing under his skin at the show of divine strength. ‘No,’ Magnus whispered, and the penny dropped. The altar. The ritual.

We failed. It’s over.

***

‘We have to get out of here,’ Jace says. It’s the first thing to break the silence since their last chance at victory was destroyed right in front of their eyes. ‘Magnus, if we all lend you strength at the same time, can you make us a portal back to Alicante?’ In answer, Magnus just sits up straighter, still in contact with Alec but no longer leaning his entire weight against him. The others converge on them, each laying a hand against Magnus’ shoulder, his back, his arm. He moves his hands slowly in front of him, magic sparking at his fingertips as he tries to conjure a portal. Alec feels himself grow woozy, his strength being sapped for the spell.

He’s on the verge of blacking out when he feels the last shred of his stamina snap back to him. Magnus slumps against his chest again. ‘I can’t,’ he says dully. ‘I can’t do it.’

And that’s it, that’s their escape plan dead in the water. Because Clary can’t portal anymore, the angels took that ability from her when she rejoined the Shadow World. Magnus was their only way home.

There’s silence again for a moment, until Simon lets out a shaky breath. ‘Oh g-god,’ he says. ‘Oh god, oh god…’ Alec feels Izzy turn away, settling with her back against his as she reaches out to Simon, hushing him, starting up the same comforting ramble she developed when Max was a baby.

Max. Alec’s mind flicks to his family, his friends. Mom, Dad and Max, Catarina and Madzie, Helen and Aline – they’re as safe as they can be, taking shelter in the Seelie realm. He spares them a thought, almost prays for their safety before he catches himself. It’s not like the angels are on their side right now.

He looks over at Jace, and his parabatai meets his eyes in understanding. In acceptance. His right hand is in Clary’s left, both of their knuckles white with how tight they’re holding on, and all three of them look back out at the light in the distance – still now, but steadily growing.

Sparks in his peripheral vision draw Alec’s attention back to Magnus, who’s waving his hands with increasing violence, trying again to conjure the portal. But he was already low on magic from taking out those demons, and probably used his last reserves saving them from that fall. Alec reaches out his free hand to still his husband’s, because he doesn’t want Magnus’ last moments to be passing out in frustration and fear from magic depletion. ‘Hey,’ he says gently, and when Magnus looks up at him his eyes are wild like those of a frightened animal, the glamour long gone. Alec finds himself smiling gently, lifts Magnus’ hand and kisses it. ‘Aku cinta kamu,’ he murmurs.

A strangled cry tears itself from Magnus’ throat, and then he’s grabbing Alec’s collar with both hands and pulling him down into a hard, desperate kiss. Alec tastes salt and doesn’t know whether it’s from Magnus’ tears or his own. When they pull apart, it’s just so they can tug each other closer, Magnus’ face buried in the crook of Alec’s neck. ‘Alexander,’ he says, his voice breaking even on a whisper, and Alec holds him even tighter because he knows, he knows what Magnus is saying. I’m afraid. Don’t let go. I love you too.

The light is closer now, and growing brighter, too bright to see, bright even when Alec screws his eyes shut. The last things he feels are Izzy’s back pressed against his, Jace’s heart pounding in time with his own, and Magnus wrapped safely in his arms.

~oOo~

#shadowhunters #shadowhunters fanfic #shtv #malec #clace #sizzy #alec lightwood-bane #magnus lightwood-bane #jace herondale #clary fairchild #isabelle lightwood #simon lewis #shs #mine #im actually super chuffed with this #i rarely write unhappy endings but i was inspired #please let me know what you think!

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shallowseeker · 2 months

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Okay, so. When Cas is desperately on the phone with Sergei after Jack gets worse, you see one of my fave Cast issues in action.

CAS: Jack isn't just another sick kid! This is the son...of an archangel...of the Lord.

MY son is IMPORTANT. The eternal Cas dilemma. I thought I was "more important, more effective than I was" and Jack's Great Big Destiny etc etc

It's different when it's my kid

My kid is comically important

This expectation of Cas's is actually a key component of one of Jack's main neuroses:

JACK (to DEAN): Jack: Since I've been alive, everyone assumed. I would be this special "person" who goes on forever...I'm done being special.

It’s very human.

Parents should think their kids are special and full of hope for their bright futures.

It’s a tightrope every parent has to walk: having firm boundaries and positive expectations versus pushing too hard and having unrealistic expectations. “Hope for a bright future” versus “destiny.”

“We don’t love you because you’re part of some grand plan. We love you because you’re you.”

That’s why Cas is the only character re: Jack that feels (shoddily, crushingly) complete. Sam kinda overcomes his analysis-paralysis riiight at the end. Dean takes on Death and pays lip service to the idea of finishing his arc, but it doesn’t land. They all act too late, though, so I guess technically they’re all in the same boat.

Anyhoo! Their failures are so crunchy. I want season 16 but make it all about this.

#spn unhuman nature #spn bucklemming #14x07 #jack kline #jack + illness #tfw + deaths #jack & dean #rowena macleod #jack + nephilim powers #nephilim + unnatural presence #the loss of the family child

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waywardwilled · 5 years

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something familiar, something mundane

[ tags: castiel/dean winchester, angst, au canon-divergence, major character death ] [ special thanks to: @petrichoravellichor & @zephyrie <3 ] (check out the work on ao3!!)

Dean awoke from his sleep grumbling. His face was too hot, nothing felt comfortable, his head felt like it was being pricked by a dozen needles at once, and somehow his ears could hear both himself and the overwhelming sound of silence.

The bed shifted beside him, and from the weight alone, he could tell it was Cas. Or maybe it was the shifting of the trench coat, or the way he moved around Dean.

“I brought you some water.”

Without opening his eyes, Dean felt for the glass and immediately dismissed it, placing it on the table beside his bed. His hand went to grab Cas’ wrist and needily brought the angel’s hand over his cheek.

Cas let his hand cradle Dean’s face, almost instinctively passing his grace through Dean’s being, healing and ridding him of his pain.

Dean let out a sigh of relief he didn't know he was holding until he felt the cold, refreshing grace course through him. It felt familiar. It felt like Cas.

Cas pulled his hand back just as Dean began to lull and roll into his palm. Immediately missing the warmth of skin-to-skin contact, he peeked open an eye. Cas looked how he always did. A trench coat, a fond look, and a kind expression. Dean could barely suppress the smile that threatened to break out on his face.

“What time is it?” Dean asked.

“Noon,” Cas answered. “Sam found a case, and Jack wants you to teach him how to play golf.”

Dean raised an eyebrow as he reached for Cas’ hand again and pressed it against his hair. “Golf?”

An easy smile slid its way onto Cas’ face, and he began to slowly card his way through Dean’s lovable bed hair. “He heard from Claire that you two had fun playing miniature golf. I suppose you should expect Claire to call you soon about fishing.”

Dean’s lips twitched, and he bit back a grin. It was too early for feelings. He needed at least eight cups of coffee before he was allowed to exist. “The case?”

“Sam thinks it’s a wraith that's found an addictive episode with those who have addictive episodes themselves.”

“A wraith hooked on junkies?”

Cas took a second to consider the rewording before accepting it as a valid one. “Yes.”

Cas dragged his hand down to the small hairs on Dean’s neck before settling his thumb onto Dean’s jawline, drawing circles and patterns into the stubble and the skin he could reach.

Dean didn't have time to repress the shivers that crawled up and down his spine. He gripped Cas’ wrist, pressed a kiss into his palm, and slung himself up. His stomach grumbled as he stretched and leaned forward to press a soft, casual kiss onto Cas’ lips. The morning routine was familiar.

“Burgers first, and then murder.”

Cas wrinkled his nose at the wording. “Then saving people .”

Dean chuckled as he slipped on a new pair of clothes. The cotton t-shirt felt soft and familiar against his skin. “Doing what we do best,” Dean agreed.

The floorboards barely made a creak when he stepped out into the hall, Cas’ barely audible footsteps in tow behind him. The disturbances that echoed in the walls of the old bunker around them were familiar.

When he made his way into the kitchen, Sam and Jack were there, already ready for the road.

“Look who’s finally up,” Sam greeted.

“A man needs his beauty rest,” Dean gestured at himself. “This doesn't come naturally.”

“Can we go to a golf course later? Or maybe even a mini-golf course?” Jack’s eyes were lit up with excitement, his body shaking from barely containable glee.

“Sure, kid. Don't think too much about it when I ultimately take Mini Golf Champion, though. Unfortunately for you, I’ve been playing in that arena for years.”

Sam rolled his eyes but smiled at their light-hearted banter.

Cas’ presence and the warmth of his body was solid beside Dean. The casual exchange of words was familiar. The hearth of his family burned brightly. That was familiar, too.

Baby’s engine rumbled and light vibrations spread throughout the car; a settling feeling Dean appreciated no matter the mood he was in. He gave her dashboard an appreciative pat. As he adjusted the rearview mirror, he spotted Cas in the backseat with Jack, talking to him in a low voice.

Jack nodded intently, and Cas’ mouth graced with a light smile. Soon, Jack was smiling brightly and replying with the cheerful tone in his voice that Dean never got tired of. Sam finished inputting the directions into the GPS, and they headed off down the long road Dean had grown so used to by now. The asphalt that no doubt heated up behind them was familiar. The stature of trees that passed by was familiar. The weight of his family sat stable and heavy in the seats of his car and Dean was grateful for that familiarity.

With ears full of happy chatter and Baby moving underneath his fingertips, he realized he was happy. And he was. He really was. Dean thought he had become a man who needed a constant battle to fight to truly live, but he hadn't, and the relief that hit him was lasting and true. A cheesy and delightful thought flowed happily through him,

Maybe mundane wasn’t so bad after all. But the small things in life made it better. The chatter made it better. Their presences made it better. His family made it better.

Dean awoke from his sleep grumbling. His face was too hot, nothing felt comfortable, his head felt like it was being pricked by a dozen needles at once and somehow his ears could hear both himself and the overwhelming sound of silence.

The material beneath him was hard, and pieces of broken rocks and scattered books dug into his back. It felt nothing like the comfy memory foam mattress of his bed.

He didn’t realize how tired and stuck together his eyes were until he tried to crack them open. He didn’t realize how dry and irritated his throat was until he tried to speak.

“Sammy? Cas?”

With a considerable amount of effort, Dean pulled himself upright. The bunker’s emergency lights were flashing and dust was slowly wafting through the air. Dean squinted through the red alarming backdrops around him.

“Jack?”

His eyes fell on the Ma’lak box. Broken wide open, and the Nephilim supposedly trapped inside was nowhere to be seen. Suddenly, everything came rushing back.

The despair, the grief, the emotions that racked his chest. The ‘accident’ that broke him down to his bare instincts. Protect Sammy. Protect Cas. Protect his family. Protect his familiarity.

On the other side of the room, he spotted a large outline against the dimly lit room.

Sam.

Dean’s heart barely reacted, and he thought it might’ve stopped. His little brother laid unconscious, head propped up against the wall at an odd angle. From his temple, a good stream of blood, once flowing freely, was now preparing to settle in and crust.

“Sam!” Dean croaked out and wobbled over to his little brother as fast as he could.

Just as he came within arms-length, his feet caught and he tripped on nothing. With a glance downwards, he quickly realized that it wasn’t nothing.

On the ground were burned imprints of angel wings. Angel wings that were connected to a body. A body that was wearing a trench coat and a soot-covered blue tie.

No. Weakly fluttered through Dean’s mind, before he swallowed dry nothingness.

He let his body flop onto his knees and gazed around at the mess. Sitting between his angel and his brother, he realized the bunker was shaking and on the brink of collapse. The ceiling spawned more and more cracks by the second and pieces of concrete in the walls crumbled inwards. His heels gave out under him and he didn’t have a single care left about falling on his ass.

He didn’t feel scared. He didn’t feel panicked. Strangely, it felt familiar.

The bunker vibrated and creaked around him. The scorching heat left by Nephilim grace burned in the Ma’lak box behind him. The fabric of his clothes laid the same against his skin.

The knowledge of his family’s end settled rather easily into him. Eerily easily into him, but he wasn’t in the right mind to tell anymore. The coldness of their bodies numbed him until he couldn’t feel, couldn’t think, and couldn’t tell the time ticking away around him.

As the dust filled his lungs to the point he couldn't draw air, and as the ceilings crumbled down on him, he gripped his broken family and thought,

Maybe mundane wasn’t so bad after all. But the small things made it worse. The creaking and groaning made it worse. The sight of their unnaturally contorted bodies made it worse. His family made it--.

(ao3) (fic on ao3)

#supernatural #destiel #angst #deancas #fanfic #destiel fanfic #spn #please reblog #and maybe some feedback #lmao sorry for asking for so much #i'm an amateur

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aizawa-yamada-shinsou · 6 years

Note

What is Maskiplier exactly?

If you mean you don’t understand the character, Maskiplier was an ego I made up in the wake of the Happiness Cult from earlier in this year. He looks like Mark’s icon, black tee shirt, the iconic warfstache, glasses. He seemed like an overly happy younger version of Mark (around early 2014 Mark) whose mere presences made others feel almost unnaturally happy and relaxed unless there he was triggered by words or phrases, and at the beginning of his egohood even being around too many of the other Ipliers. His eyes would be black and the area around him would turn blood red as he laughed a creepy and unnatural laugh that seemed to rip at the sanity from those that heard it.

If you’re asking what he actually is in my universe, I’m haven’t nailed him down yet, but I’m leaning towards either just enhanced human, like Host, or Nephilim. Enhanced human makes sense since he’s very much like a younger Mark when he isn’t reacting to his triggers. His aura just makes others feel happier around him or mentally unstable depending on his mood. Nephilim makes sense because he’s very charismatic, if not overly naive, but his mental state is a bit unstable because of the mortal and deity parts of him trying to find balance within him, and it might be interesting if he ever got angry that his powers overwhelm all the other egos even with all of them working together.

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mittensmorgul · 5 years

Text

14.06

"Jack, I'm already writing. Isn't that crazy? I'm not crazy. But our love is so vivid. I can't wait to find you. You are the first man to ever get me to leave McCook. Now I'm in the world. I'm sorry I have to kill you for what you did to Vance but then I can bring you back so that we can be together again. It's gonna be perfect. See you soon. Love, Harper"

Heck this was so long ago, but here we had Jack vs Zombies, and I still really need to make a complete post of all the Jack vs Zombies references...

At the time, this seemed to foreshadow Jack’s impending sickness and his first death in 14.08. But heck if it didn’t also foreshadow his second “death” (if death of his human soul counts) in 14.14, and his complete death at Chuck’s hand in 14.20. And isn’t it incredible that Death herself looks to be interested in bringing Jack back while Sam, Dean, and Cas are being overrun by literal zombies Chuck set on them in the graveyard. I find it fascinating that, knowing how Chuck has been obsessing over their lives, that all of Jack’s focus on zombies going back to 13.06 seems to have affected Chuck’s chosen end of the world scenario.

(really gotta compile the zombie references)

But in 14.06, while Sam and Charlie are dealing with a Musca who has withdrawn himself from the company of his own kind and made his own nest out of human bodies (and that’s just a different kind of sad right there... isolation is bad, basically, and makes us do awful things to survive), Dean and Jack face an actual necromancer who has isolated herself through her own fear of being abandoned by her high school boyfriend... (flashback to Jody talking about how first love strikes quick regarding Kaia and Claire in 14.03).

Harper’s choice to murder her boyfriend and bring him back as a zombie, because she was the last necromancer in her family line and was effectively alone otherwise, but mostly because she refused to move on.

Kinda sounds like Chuck a lil bit and what he’s done to TFW over and over again because he can’t let go and move on.

Interestingly enough, this is the beginning of Dean and Jack truly bonding, over Jack’s humanity. Jack wants a chance to experience humanity to the fullest, and Dean takes him out driving, for burgers, fishing... just hanging out like people.

I’m watching 14.07 now as I’m typing this, and I feel like I need to make note of when Dean experiences his weird vision issues that we’d attributed to Michael “spying” on him in the past, but heck... the two episodes he’s experienced so far have happened at moments that feel like “minute plot shifts” of the sort we’ve now learned that Chuck had been forcing into their lives, steering their options, leading up to the Big Final Choice he was attempting to force Dean into in 14.20.

Because that wasn’t just forcing Dean to kill Jack, it was forcing Dean to sacrifice himself, to be perfectly willing to sacrifice himself. And in a weird way, those strange visual anomalies almost look like Dean somehow seeing through the matrix at critical moments where Chuck could’ve been steering the plot...

In 14.07, as Jack is driving, he turns to Dean and says, “It’s like I’m you!” And it was interesting as a flashing arrow pointing to Jack being a mirror for Dean, after their conversation at the beginning of 14.06:

JACK - Dean, what happened with Michael, no one blames you. DEAN - Cool, well I blame me, so... [...] JACK - Dean, I need to do something. You don't understand. I could have killed Michael. Here, when I was strong enough, I could have. But there was so much going on and then everything else happened because I was distracted and stupid and DEAN - Hey! You didn't do anything wrong. JACK - And neither did you!! But that doesn't make it any easier does it? So I can't just sit here in the bunker thinking about it all day. What I could have done differently, how I can't do anything about it now. But I can do this. I can hunt. Give me a chance.

And by the end of the episode, both of them have reached this conclusion:

JACK - I was right and you should be letting me go out on hunts. DEAN - okay, alright. It's not about being right. Kay? You're gonna make mistakes, hell, I make them all the time. But it's how you handle yourself once you've made those mistakes and you've learned from them. JACK - and, how to not beat yourself up over them.

Okay, back to my point. The first of Dean’s anomalies happens while Rowena is giving her diagnosis of Jack:

Rowena: It's as I suspected. A Nephilim, for all its power, is an unnatural presence. Part human, part angel… It -- It doesn't quite fit. It's delicate. Its grace is what holds it in balance, and when Jack's grace was taken from him, his being fell into chaos. The -- The cells are gobbling each other up. Castiel: Well, if it's grace he needs, he can have mine. Rowena: No, dear, it won't do. Jack is part archangel. He needs a much stronger force and probably some kind of magic, and he needs it quick. Dean: How quick? Rowena: I don't...I don't exactly know, but he's enterin' a critical phase. Sometimes he'll look just fine, but then his body will give way and...it'll be the end of him.

And... “as I suspected?” Really? How does Rowena know more about nephilim biology than Cas, as an angel? Where is she getting this information, and specifically the info that Cas’s grace wouldn’t help? That sounds like some Chuck-level manipulation going on.

The next anomaly happens here:

Sam: Well, I just got off the phone with Ketch. Um, he's got a line on a shaman. Dean: A shaman? Sam: Yeah, the British Men of Letters used to use him -- as a consultant. Whenever they needed to "solve the unsolvable" -- he was their guy. He's an expert in mysticism -- esoteric divinity. I mean, Ketch says the Brits swore by him. Castiel: Ketch "says." Sam: Yeah. His name is "Sergei," I-I got a location,and Ketch says he'll set up a meeting. Castiel: Okay, I'll go. You and Dean need to stay here with, uh... Sam: Jack, hey. W-What are you, uh --

This was right after Rowena said none of her witch friends knew how to help Jack, but they needed some new angle to research, to push them all where Chuck wanted them. And this convenient shaman appears, who just so happens to have a vial of Gabriel’s grace ready to trade for a favor.

And the cure seems to work for a moment, but then... makes everything even worse, because heck isn’t that just a Chuck sort of thing to do?

Snatching defeat from the jaws of victory yet again.

They thought they were dealing with one problem, when really Chuck’s always been the problem. And they’ve only now seen Chuck’s influence for what it really is, and become fully aware of how little control they’ve ever had of their own lives.

And the zombie story, and Dean and Jack’s intertwined fates, shambles on.

(imma go make the zombie post next)

#spn 14.06 #spn 14.07 #spn 14.20 #spiders georg of the tnt loop #s14 hellatus rewatch #it's spirals all the way down #if you say 'mysterious ways' so help me i will kick your ass

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monkeysatemylastrolo · 6 years

Text

( Part one ) ( Part two ) ( Part four ) ( Epilogue ) (Continuation of a fic based on 13.06- Tombstone)

Jack never intended to go back, as much as he wanted to. The four months he’d spent flitting from location to location, dodging Angels every step along the way, was probably a pretty good indicator of that. He’d seen what he could do now, after all- seen how easy it was for him to reign down destruction on someone’s life with just one little mistake. He couldn’t risk that happening to anyone else.

And especially not his family.

He’d already scared them enough.

So he ran instead- always to the most remote locations he could find- the ones with the least amount of people around he could hurt. The least danger of reaction-causing surprises. Never too long in one place, though- if he had learnt anything from the books and shows Sam had introduced him to, it was that staying put was what got you caught. And that was something he couldn’t risk.

He still trained, though. Even though he hated his powers. Even though the memory of that guard’s unnaturally still body caused nausea to rise up in his throat every single time. Because Sam had said that training his powers would mean less accidents, and accidents just weren’t a risk Jack was willing to take anymore. And because that incident with the knife had taught him that taking himself out of the equation altogether wasn’t actually an option, even if it would make things easier for everyone involved.

Not unless Dean eventually succeeded in finding a way to kill him, anyway.

The Angels caught up in the end, though- two heavenly voices ripping through him in excruciating pulses of electricity, driving him to his knees as shock after shock rolled agonisingly through his head until he was struggling to even hear the words which were spilling out of their human mouths.

It wasn’t until he’d finally managed to send them away- a shaky etching of the symbol Sam had taught him painted in his own blood on the floor next to his still-shaking hand- that his mind finally cleared enough to make sense of their taunting declarations.

“You try anything, Nephilim, and we’ll make sure you never get your precious Winchester back.”

—

He was back in the bunker in an instant, terror coursing through Grace-tainted veins as he flew from room to room, not wanting to believe it. Not daring to believe-

“Dean? Is it true?”

He didn’t expect the sharp, sudden movements or the fists clenching tightly into the front of his shirt, half-hoisting him off of the floor and mere inches away from fury-filled forest-green eyes. He didn’t expect the accusations- hissed, growled and bellowed in turn- that this whole situation was his fault, or the two broken lamps and scattered piles of books which accompanied the allegations. He didn’t expect that, even after saying what he had said before Jack had left, Dean was still capable of sending just as much instinctual fear shooting through his body as the Angels were.

But, even though his hands shook with the continued influx of vitriol, Jack didn’t let his control over his powers slip even once. Not even to run. He deserved this, he knew. Every word. Every threat. Every aborted gesture.

Because Dean was right. This was his fault. Despite all his efforts, Sam was in danger. Because of him.

Which was why, even after Dean all but spat in his face in his adamant declaration that he didn’t need Jack’s help to save his own brother, you sonofabitch, Jack didn’t give up.

He just relocated.

—

He tried to go to Sam first, of course. Just think and fly, the way he had for all of the places he had travelled through in the past months. But when that failed- when, for some reason he couldn’t fathom (and which had his blood freezing under the sudden fear that Sam could already be dead)- the bunker proved to be the next best option. He couldn’t bear to stay in Sam’s room for longer than the second it took to tell that the lack of the Hunter’s presence left the tiny space feeling alien and bare, but his own room served as a decent enough second choice.

He didn’t expect what he found there to leave him spellbound.

—

When he finally emerged, several hours later, Sam’s gift clutched tightly to his chest and heart filled with so many emotions he couldn’t even begin to put names to them all, he made his way determinedly back to Dean, no longer allowing his fear to freeze him. His heart still thundered painfully under the Hunter’s unrelenting glare, but instead of wilting he drew himself up instead and forced himself to look Dean dead in the eye.

“I have an idea.”

—

Castiel (and was it horribly selfish of him that, even with all that was going on, he still felt happy to be back in his father’s presence?) didn’t like it, of course. And wasn’t shy in making that one hundred percent clear, either. But, even though Jack understood his father’s reluctance, he refused to back down. Sam was in this situation because of him, and he would do anything to right that wrong- hell, he would still do it even if it wasn’t his fault. And, faced with such stubbornness (especially after Dean added his own approval of the idea), Castiel was left with no choice but to relent. After all, if anyone understood the necessity of reckless, foolhardy plans every now and then, it was this family.

And so, with everyone finally on board, the plan slowly came together. They would get Sam back.

And Jack would be the bait.

—

Less than twenty-four hours later, the car was loaded up, the location was set, and everyone was ready to head out.

Which was precisely when Dean’s phone rang.

#My fic #SPN fanfic #This should have been the final chapter #And then suddenly it wasn't anymore #Now there will be two more #I really need to stop trying to predict these things #I am notorious for taking much longer than planned to get through plot points of characters I care about #Jack Kline #A little bit of Castiel #Doubting Dean

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