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castiel-kline · 3 years

Note

cas and balthazar meet again post finale

This one really got away from me, and it got really long. I promise it does answer the prompt but I also made it super plotty for some reason. I hope you don’t mind!

Being taken by the Empty didn’t feel like dying.

Of course, that’s what was happening to him, but it didn’t feel like that. It felt cold, and painful, and vengeful. Lonely and miserable and laced with glittering knives of regret.

It was his damnation. Not the traditional sense of the word, but true nonetheless.

But if facing it meant he’d save his family? Save Jack from being subject to the same fate? He’d damn himself to this a thousand times over, without a single shred of hesitation.

The Empty had him entirely covered in its goo, tendrils snaking under his skin and into his body from every angle. In through the eyes, the nose, snaking down his throat. Under the fingernails, into the ears, scraping through the tattered remnants of his grace and pressing down around his true form.

It was agony.

Eventually it subsided, and some of the inky tendrils retracted, leaving him gasping for air that neither existed in this realm nor was truly necessary. He collapsed in a heap, the Empty bubbling around him. He spared a glance up, wondering if the Shadow were nearby to gloat before sending them both into slumber. What he saw… well. Unexpected didn’t quite cover it.

“Jack?”

“Hmm. Guess again, Castiel.”

“No.” Don’t you dare look like him.

“Oh, yes. Because it hurts you to look at him, doesn’t it?” The Shadow leaned down, condescension clear as day in its every move. So wrong on Jack’s face that it twisted something deep within him. It stared him down, watching him squirm, mania-painted smirk stretching wider. “Good. I want you to suffer, so that’s what you’re going to do.”

“I thought you wanted your peace and quiet,” Cas managed, as more tendrils snaked out over his wrists and ankles. Dragging him a little bit further down, completely at the Empty’s mercy. Somehow he suspected that was the point.

The Shadow straightened, looking down Jack’s nose at him.

“Of course I do,” It said, emulating Jack’s earnestness. Liar. “But I can’t!”

“What?”

“Wonderboy-” the Shadow gesticulated wildly in the direction of its facsimile body “-woke everybody up when he exploded all over me. So I don’t get to sleep, no, and if I don’t get to sleep then you definitely don’t get to sleep. None at all.”

Quicker than a blink, the Shadow had fisted Castiel’s collar in its hands, bringing their faces inches apart.

“At least,” It whispered, eyes wild with an energy Jack had never, and would never, possess. “I get to make you suffer like you’ve made me suffer. So I want you to look at this face, Castiel. Look at it, and know that it’s contorted in tears right now because Papa Bear abandoned him.”

The Shadow threw him down, the goo swallowing him right back up. Submerged in the dark, he scarcely felt its weight. He was too busy drowning in a fresh cascade of guilt.

It yanked him back up, tendrils leaving him suspended in the middle of nothing. Some of them twisted at his feathers, pulling them just enough to be excruciating but not enough to rip them free. He screamed.

“Be quiet!” The Empty released him, and Cas fell back down, every fibre of his being crying out in pain.

The Shadow cackled, everything about it from the pitch to the cadence to the intention screaming wrong, wrong, wrong.

“You’re never going to regret this, are you?”

Cas glared at it, mustering up as much defiance as he could.

“No,” he croaked. “Because saving my family? That’s worth dying a thousand deaths.”

The Shadow doubled over laughing again. Then, quick as a blink, kicked him across the face, sending him reeling backwards.

“‘Die a thousand deaths’? Please. You’re pathetic, you know that?”

Castiel pushed himself back up, following the Shadow’s pacing with his eyes. It walked with one arm tucked behind its back, the other gesticulating as it spoke.

“Death isn’t going to be enough for you, hmm. Oh, you know what you’ve never been able to take?” It spun back around, grinning down at him. “You can’t stand seeing the pain you’ve caused. And since you can’t see what’s left of your precious little family- not that they even care that you died, by the way- how would you feel about seeing the angels again?”

No. He must have looked visibly afraid, because the Shadow only smiled wider.

“Not so pleasant a thought, hmm? Seeing as you killed most of them.” It laughed again, clapping its hands in an expression of glee that would have been endearing coming from Jack, but now simply served to be disturbing. “Oh, yes. It’ll be just like throwing a scrap of meat to a pack of starving dogs.”

Cas shook his head, but the Empty pressed on. It waved its hand, and Castiel was thrown some immeasurable distance away. He pushed himself to a sitting position, and watched in horror as the ground bubbled around him, and his brothers and sisters began to crawl their way out.

He recognized them, of course, because he’d taken care to never forget a single name. He saw Hael first, then Bartholomew, then Jonah and Efram and Ambriel and Samandriel. He saw Raphael, Uriel, Anna, Jophiel. He scrambled to his feet, unable to do anything but watch and wait for their wrath to undoubtedly descend upon him.

Someone grabbed him from behind and pulled, running and dragging Castiel with them. He didn’t fight it, figuring that whoever had him was going to inflict a world of pain and there wasn’t a thing to do but accept it. They’d gone a fair distance, if there was such a thing as distance in nothing, before they stopped and Cas turned to face who had taken him.

“Balthazar?” His voice came out strangled, as scarcely more than a whisper.

“Cas,” Balthazar said, staring at him with something unreadable in his eyes. “Your wings…”

“Balthazar,” Cas repeated, finding himself unable to say anything else, mind swirling in an inescapable vortex of grief and guilt and pain. “I’m sorry, my friend. I’m so sorry.”

“What, for killing me? You weren’t yourself.”

“I was. That’s the problem.”

Balthazar just shook his head. “It’s going to take more than a stab in the back to get rid of me. You do know that, right?”

“If we weren’t already dead I’d offer you my blade to kill me. I deserve nothing more.”

“Castiel.” Cas forced himself to meet Balthazar’s eyes directly. “I know you, and so I forgive you. As I’ve told you before- nothing’s changed.”

Cas smiled bitterly. “Except me.”

“What happened to you?” Balthazar’s fingers traced the air where Castiel’s wings lay mangled and twisted in another dimension. “You look like you’ve been clawed apart by feral house cats.”

“I destroyed everything, Balthazar. So many times.” And he felt like he was being crushed under the weight of all his mistakes. Perhaps this was the torture the Empty preferred for him- giving him back a lost friend, giving him forgiveness- and then ripping it away again. Surely even someone as loyal as Balthazar wouldn’t want to associate with him after learning of the things he’d done.

“You, Cassie? I’ve only ever known you to do what’s right.”

“How can you say that when you saw me make one of my biggest mistakes? When I killed you because of it?”

Balthazar scoffed. “Mistake? Cas, you were trying to stop our control freak of an older brother from letting the other ones out to destroy the world. What about that is a mistake? Sure, Crowley was a bit of a snake, but come on. It can’t have been so long that you’ve forgotten your good intentions.”

Cas didn’t say a word, and Balthazar narrowed his eyes. “How long has it been, Cas?”

Cas sighed. “Nine years.”

“Nine years.” Balthazar’s eyebrows had shot all the way up. “Wow. Not long at all. So what could… no. Tell me you weren’t.”

Castiel frowned. “Weren’t what?”

“Weren’t still kissing the Winchesters’ asses for the whole nine years.”

“They’re my friends, Balthazar.”

“Oh, really?” Balthazar crossed his arms. “If they’re your friends, why did they treat you like one of the guns they keep in the trunk of their wretched car?”

“It’s not like that.”

“Isn’t it, Cas?” Balthazar sighed, backing down a little. Nine years of death wouldn’t stop them from bickering, it seemed, though he did put a hand on Cas’ shoulder. An uncharacteristic attempt to show solidarity through the sarcasm.

“Look,” Balthazar continued. “What you do is your business, but… just tell me there was something good in those years. That it wasn’t just you running around trying to prove yourself to them.”

There was something, in fact, something he’d never expected. Something beautiful.

“I had a son,” he admitted. He’d often wondered what Jack would be like meeting angels that weren’t hell-bent on killing him. He’d imagined Jack meeting Balthazar, or Hannah, or Rachel or Samandriel, but it would never come to fruition. The best he would get was telling them about him, assuming he would be able to escape being choked and stretched and drowned by the depths of the Empty for all eternity.

“Why, Cassie, I’m impressed,” Balthazar said wryly. Oh no. Before Cas could interject and explain, Balthazar continued. “Looks like you really did get that stick out of your ass. And you put it right up-”

“Balthazar! He’s not mine, not like that. He chose me, and his mother was a friend. That’s all.”

Balthazar seemed to enjoy how flustered he was, but his tone was serious. “You adopted a human child?”

“No, he’s a nephilim.”

“Ah,” Balthazar said. “So they changed the rules regarding them in the past nine years, then?”

“No,” Cas said again, getting frustrated. He’d forgotten how much Balthazar loved to hear himself speak. Even if he had missed it, it was still mildly insufferable.

“Well, you rebel Cas, you. But, ah- who was the sire?”

Cas winced. “Lucifer.”

“Oh, my. That is unfortunate.”

“Yeah. Jack’s nothing like him, though. He’s… he’s very much like his mother. And I like to think he’s a little bit like me, too.”

Balthazar looked at him, somehow still reading him like a book after all this time.

“You spoil the poor child, don’t you?”

“I most certainly do not,” Cas huffed.

“Oh, yes you do. You’ve always been soft, but now you’re practically a down pillow.”

Cas’ smile was sadder, again. “I told you I’ve changed.”

“Maybe so. But we haven’t.”

“Thank you.”

Balthazar smiled. “I do have one question though, Cas.”

“Of course.”

“How did you die?”

Well. He supposed it would have had to be asked eventually. Unfortunately his hesitation gave Balthazar another opportunity to talk over him.

“Please don’t tell me it was for the Winchesters.”

“I love them.”

Balthazar rolled his eyes. “Of course you do. And unfortunately I love that about you. Well, go on. Tell me a story.”

Cas shrugged. “I made a deal with the Empty. My life for Jack’s, which- it wasn’t even a question. It said that when I was finally happy, it would take me.”

Balthazar frowned. “What did you in?”

“You know, I’m not really sure. But I managed to save Dean, and that’s all that matters.”

“Oh, Cas,” Balthazar muttered, sounding deeply sad. “Well, at least you were clearly a better father than our dear old absent God. That much is clear.”

Cas’ heart sank. He couldn’t not tell him, though he didn’t necessarily want to break the news.

“Balthazar.”

“What?”

“Um. A lot has happened since I’ve last seen you, and there’s a lot you need to know, but God- God was never on our side.”

--------

They walked aimlessly through the Empty, keeping aware for signs of their siblings or the Shadow, but oddly finding none.

“Well then,” Balthazar said, flippant as ever. Cas was nearly sure he was deflecting.

“That’s all you have to say? You’re not angry?”

“Nope.” Forced cheerfulness. “Never liked him anyway. Frankly, I’m surprised you even met the man.”

Cas paused and stopped moving, feeling something tugging at his grace.

“Cas, what’s wrong? Are you alright?” Balthazar had stopped too, hovering closer.

A pocket of the nothingness in front of them seemed to pull itself inward, caving in like a black hole and then cracking open just a bit. Was this what it looked like when someone died and came to the Empty?

Hopefully not, because the distortion cleared and Jack was standing there. And it was painfully, obviously Jack, clearly indicated by everything from his posture to the grace Cas could feel reaching for his own.

Balthazar stiffened, preparing for a fight, but the minute Jack caught sight of Castiel the angel found himself with an armful of nephilim. He held on tight, feeling Jack trembling slightly.

Having connected the dots, Balthazar caught his eye over Jack’s shoulder and mouthed “down pillow.” Cas shook his head slightly, but turned his attention back to his son.

“Jack? Are you-”

“I’m getting you out, Cas,” Jack said, pulling back. “We’re both getting out of here.”

Balthazar’s stricken expression tugged at Cas’ heart.

“Just me?” Cas asked.

Jack’s brow furrowed. “What do you mean?”

“The other angels are awake, Jack. Can you…”

“I… maybe. But, Cas, I don’t… I don’t know them. Why…”

“It’s alright if you can’t,” Cas assured. “But if we can help them somehow, be that bringing them back or putting them to sleep… I need to try to make things right.”

Jack nodded. “I’ll try to help.”

Cas smiled at him, reaching out to squeeze his shoulder. “Thank you. And thank you for coming to get me.”

“Of course. I missed you,” Jack said, eyes wide. Cas felt something else inside him twisting.

Balthazar cleared his throat, and Cas gently turned Jack around to face the third member of their party.

“Jack, this is Balthazar. He’s a good friend.”

Jack and Balthazar looked at each other, Jack frowning and Balthazar smirking in a horribly misguided attempt to be friendly. The silence stretched on, utterly deafening. Jack broke it first.

“I… I met an alternate universe version of you that was not very nice.”

Balthazar didn’t miss a beat.

“Well, you know what they say. Don’t judge an angel by their alternate universe counterparts, right?”

That got a bit of a smile out of Jack, though he was still wary. Cas couldn’t blame him, so he kept in contact to keep him at ease.

“We need to find the Shadow. Make an arrangement so that we can take a few angels with us and the Empty goes back to peace and quiet,” Jack said. The self-assuredness was clearly a front, but somehow Cas felt as if he’d have time to help Jack through it.

“Okay,” he said, nodding at Jack. Jack nodded back, and the three of them started walking. Into what, they didn’t know.

But Castiel had the strangest feeling that it was all going to turn out alright.

#castiel #balthazar #spn #asks #prompts #napsterofficial #winchester critical #<bc of balthazar lmao #other prompts I am getting to y’all soon I promise!!#kitkat writes

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letsloveimagines · 3 years

Photo

Title: One kiss or your soul

Pairing: Modern AU! Ivar the Boneless x female!demon!reader

Prompt: Where Ivar decides to my a deal with a demon.

Word Count: 4520

Warnings: a little swearing, satanic rituals, mention of monsters and death

Note: The images doesn’t belong to me, all the credits go to the respective creators. I only made the collage. Also,the rituals were based on Supernatural.

♦⋅☆⋅♦

He tried to take a short walk that day, for the first time in months... His skin was now bone white, and Ivar knew he needed at least about ten minutes of vitamin D.

What he did not expect was the huge crowd that was on the street that blessed day; families gathered to talk animatedly, children playing with each other to discuss the disguises they would wear and all the sweets they would eat. The city appeared to be decorated with bats, cobwebs, scarecrows and zombies, lanterns and pumpkins. It was then, while he was surrounded by people everywhere and feeling his heart thundering, that he remembered it was October, Halloween more precisely, and the whole community was getting ready for the fun of that night.

The pain in his legs was already characteristic, his gait was sloppy and lame, and crutches were his longtime companions. But that never failed to attract attention as always, and that happened at that moment. The children who played looked at him laughing and pointing, talking to each other, the adults whispered and looked at him with pity.

Ivar hated pity.

And he hated even more how the attention of those shitty people made him feel, even though he was already used to it.

With a strong desire to vomit, feeling the sweat running down every corner of his body and trying to breathe, Ivar looked for any corner where he could take shelter. The small library across the street that seemed to be the only establishment without the festive theme appeared to be the best option. He was quick to cross the street - as fast as it was possible for him - to enter the establishment, greet the lady with the half-moon glasses behind the counter (who chewed blue bubblegum while filing her nails), and hid in the most distant place possible, among several decrepit shelves almost falling with the weight of dozens of books.

Ivar had sat on the floor, his back against the books and shelves, his head hidden in his arms and knees drawn up just trying to remember how to breathe. He was at the beginning of a panic attack, and being aware of it only made him even more distressed. He hated that it happened because of his useless legs and because of people he didn't care about. Why couldn't he have been born healthy like his brothers? The air did not seem to reach his lungs fast enough, leaving him almost choked and trembling all around, and with the world spinning around him over and over again.

It took a while, but it ended up after a few minutes of breathing exercises. The frustration remained, however, leaving him so enraged with himself and the world, that he punched the bookshelf behind him in an abrupt gesture. This hasty action caused so much noise that he was sure that the children across the street had been able to hear. In silence, swallowing hard and fearing he would be expelled to face the crowd outside, Ivar peered slightly at the librarian trying to see if she had heard it too. This one, however, had her back to him with the phone between her ear and shoulder, talking animatedly while continuing to take care of her nails, without paying attention to what was happening around her.

"No..." she exclaimed, certainly wanting to sound shocked, but looking completely delighted by what she had just heard. "Don't tell me that she really said that to you?"

More relieved, the boy leaned back against the bookshelf perhaps with more force than was necessary, as he immediately felt the wood behind him creak and the piece of furniture rocked from side to side. The dark-haired boy was quick to grab it, managing to keep it from tipping over, but not without a few books falling to the floor raising so much dust that it left his black pants almost gray. One of those books, due to fate, had not joined the others on the wooden floor eaten by the termites immediately, but had fallen on top of him, the hardcover hitting his head hard. Thankfully, the boy had been born with a head full of rich black hair capable of supporting the impact, or he could now have a bruise to take care of later.

Curiously, still rubbing his head with the free hand of his clutch, he looked at the cursed object. It was a book with a brown cover and black insignia and broken in the corners. In large and dark letters, in a font that looked like a victorian one he could read 'Monsters in the Darkness'. Interesting title, Ivar thought, quickly putting the other books on the shelf and flipping through the one that had caught his eye.

Looking at the watch on his phone that said it was still 2PM, and listening to the conversations outside, he thought why not.

He found himself a chair, shook off the dust with the back of his hand and began to read. The pages were turned quickly while Ivar, frowning, realized what the book was really about.

"What the fuck?" He asked in a low voice, amazed.

His hands held the book tightly, his eyes skimming over the yellowed and gnawed pages. Or maybe it was the mice, this place seems to be full of them, Ivar thought. It was true. That library was old, smelled of mold and looked like it hadn't been cleaned in years. But that was a good thing, at least for him, because it meant it was almost always empty. Whoever wrote this must be on drugs.

But he still didn't stop.

The more he read the more confused he became. The names and notes changed as well as the images, but they were all on the same theme: dark creatures and reports of sightings. Vampires, werewolves, spirits... creatures with claws and fangs, ferocious and with the ability to kill as easily as breathing.

The younger Lothbrok was confused but immensely interested. He didn't believe any of that, but it helped to pass the time. The boy always liked scary things, but he liked the real ones better, and those creatures that the book addressed had no way of being real. However, he was unable to drop the book.

His fingerprints passed smoothly through the written words and the drawn figures, feeling the depth of the ink on the paper. The words registered in his mind quickly as he read page by page, practically devouring the book in what seemed to him mere minutes, but in fact it was already three hours straight sitting in a corner of the moldy library, with a weak lamp beside him illuminating his reading.

He read so much until his blue eyes got tired and he was forced to rest for a few minutes, and until he was at the end of the book. The last theme was demons, but as soon as he turned the page to continue reading, he found… nothing, just the back cover of the book indicating that it was over.

Strange, he thought absently. And that page was even stranger, a few millimeters thicker than the others... almost as if it were glued.

He should? Looking again at the librarian who, admirably, was still distracted on the phone after three hours, Ivar grabbed the knife he always carried with him, opened it and carefully took it to the paper, making a small cut. As he suspected, the previous page was actually many more, and Ivar was eager to find out what it was about and why those pages seemed to be a secret.

> Of all the inhuman creatures that walk the earth, demons are the most evil. They desire nothing more than death and destruction, and not out of desperation or need as is the case with vampires who need blood to survive ... Demons kill and torture simply because they want and can, because they love the pleasure that the chaos of humanity brings them. There are those who say that they were also mortal once, but that their souls were corrupted so perversely in the depths of hell that they ended up becoming what tortured them. Blood, pain and death are all that are left behind when they pass.

> They are faster, more beautiful and stronger than should be possible. They are attractive and charming, in a way that hypnotizes a human. But they are evil, above all. Demons are separated into different sections depending on their personal power, or at least that is what we think. They are able to make a deal with a mortal, give us what we want for a while, but take away something they want afterwards. They are deadly dangerous… She, above all.

Ivar didn't even realize he was reading aloud until his voice started to crack, and he had to clear his throat so much that it looked like his throat was scratched. He wanted water, but he didn't have it, and he was not going to stop reading his interesting book now to fetch it. Frowning, he looked back at the page.

> It is not really known who she is or when she was created. Some say that she is Lilith, the first demon known by men and the mother of monsters... Others say that she is even older and her real name is lost, or forgotten by those who fear her. Now, she is known as Y/N, and as her there is no equal. Dark and deadly, she is Lucifer's right hand. But she is the most qualified to make a deal with, if they are brave enough to do so, and if they have something she wants.

Deal? What kind of deal? Ivar asked himself, and at that moment his cell phone vibrated in his pants pocket. When he pulled it out and unlocked it, a message from Alfred appeared on the display.

Alfred: Hey man, are you sure you don't want to join a horror movie marathon? It was going to be fun.

Oh, Ivar had completely forgotten about that. Alfred had already invited him a few days ago, but the long-haired boy hadn't given him the right answer since he was working on one of the chapters in his new book. He made a point of ignoring his family's thousands of missed messages and calls, however.

Ivar: Nah bro, I still haven't finished the chapter and I have until Thursday to deliver. I will probably be busy working on it for the next few hours. Sorry…

That was what I had to do as soon as I got home. It didn't take long to receive an answer.

Alfred: There is no problem, but you will have to compensate me. The marathon is next Saturday, okay?

Ivar: Yeah, sounds good to me!

He received a "Cool" as an answer and returned the phone to his pocket.

> Generally summoning a demon requires several ingredients: a devil's trap, fire (white, black or red candles), bowl with red-hot charcoal, salt, summoner's blood and the summoning words.

Ivar then proceeded to read what the ritual was like, along with the necessary Latin words.

> However, it is not advisable to do this. Once a demon is summoned and on the human floor, they are freed from the restrictions of hell. There is nothing to stop them from doing what they want. And if you try to summon her... Well, may God have mercy on your soul.

And so the book ended, with a phrase that at that moment seemed so scary.

His throat was dry, his hands were shaking again and for some strange reason he felt the sweat on his forehead and neck, the fat drops escaping the hairline running down his neck and back.

Should I? He thought, confused, it's freaking stupid, I know.

Ivar was a man of science, he believed in the real facts. Yes, he liked scary stories and mythologies - after all, one of his books dealt with Norse mythology - but he didn't really believe in it. And everything in that accursed book that had fallen on his head addressed unreal things, fictional things... Monsters created by the human imagination, by humans who wanted to blame their own evil on creatures that could not exist.

He was already closing the book and getting up to replace it, when he stopped and looked at his left hand, opened his palm and saw the half-moon wounds he had done with his nails in one of his attacks of anger.

He sat down again, staring at the yellowed pages. The dark, sharp letters and monstrous figures, with horns and cat-like eyes were everything he could see... that and his hands, always injured.

The earlier panic attack came back to him, his mind working at full speed. Frustrated, he ran his hands through his dark hair making a mess of locks fall onto his forehead and into his eyes, and he felt like pulling out each one.

The librarian was still talking on the phone, the children outside were playing, but all Ivar could think about was how hard it had been to breathe, and how much the walls felt like they were going to close and crush him in that moment when he was curled up on the floor hours ago, with useless legs at his side and that characteristic pain.

Why couldn't he just be normal?

"Fuck it." He grunted then, tearing up the page that contained the details of the ritual while making sure he was not seen, folding the paper and putting it in his pocket. He closed the book, got up, grabbed his crutch and went to put the book in a random place on the shelf where it belonged.

Without further ado, he passed the librarian who looked at him strangely again, still in that conversation (what kind of work allowed her to be on the phone for hours with no end?), And left the place that had been his hiding place in the last hours.

It was night when he returned home. The full moon shone overhead, and the children and their companions were already spotted in all kinds of disguises ringing the bells and knocking on the doors.

Upon entering his practically empty apartment, with only the minimalist decor here and there, he placed the bag from the convenience store on the couch, and pushed it away. The feet of the couch squeaked as they were dragged across the wooden floor and left a prominent mark.

He turned on the TV on a random channel and turned the sound down, just to feel a presence and have a light to illuminate, and closed the curtains on the window that was always closed too. He would never again make the mistake of leaving it open, the last time that Mrs.Rose's cat on the third floor entered the house in search of food, and left a mess of scratched furniture and broken cushions.

Taking a deep breath he took the materials he bought, and prepared himself.

Even though Ivar didn't believe it was going to work, he was still willing to try it, at this point he was desperate… The prices of medicines were high, the hospital bills were even higher, and even with his writing career going well, he continued to lose hundreds of dollars a month. Ivar was too proud to join his father's company, contrary to what his brothers had done. He wanted a job that was his own, and guaranteed on his own merit and not because it was in the family.

And he wanted to go outside and not worry about people seeing him because of his disability and dragging legs... he wanted to be able to live, not just survive.

For once in his life Ivar wanted normalcy.

He opened the box of chalk, took the page he still had in his pocket, and with the red chalk he drew the pentagram shown on the paper on the floor. The lines were more crooked than they were supposed to, but it should be enough to work.

He took the black candles, placed one on each of the five ends of the star, and lit them with a lighter. Then he put the charcoal in a bowl, lit it and watched it burn for a while.

He took the knife in his pocket, took the sharp blade to the index finger of his left hand and pressed hard, breaking the skin. Ivar saw the red drops begin to fall into the bowl, the blood sizzling as it came in contact with the burning coal.

And then he did nothing more than take a deep breath for a few good minutes.

Before being too afraid to continue - he wasted too much time and energy to stop now - he spoke, pronouncing each word slowly and correctly, in a calm tone.

"Daemon, esto subjecto voluntati maea. Te invoco apro funus inferni, Y/N."

For a moment nothing happened it was just him there, in the middle of the living room, with a number of absurd things around him that if anyone saw him, he would be immediately sent to a hospital.

But suddenly he shivered. The floor shook, the walls shook, everything shook. TV and appliances, furniture, lamps, everything. The plates and glass bottles on the kitchen table rattled, toppled and broke into a thousand pieces as it fell to the floor. The windows seemed to want to open with the force of the wind outside that wanted to enter, whistling furiously. Ivar had to hold on to something when the earthquake suddenly got stronger.

And then…

The flames went out, leaving the wax to melt and hit the floor, he wasn't sure how he was going to explain it to the owner, the shaking stopped and the wind calmed down.

Ivar was left in darkness and silence, with blood dripping from his index finger to his pants, and breathing so fast that he had to open his mouth and inhale as deeply as his lungs could take to try to breathe.

Blood was pumping through his veins and hitting his ears, preventing him from hearing.

"You are such an idiot." The man said frustrated with himself. It was just an earthquake, which came just in time to almost make me believe. Later, when I turn on the TV, I’m going to see that all over the news.

He shook his head, and looked once again at the destruction in the kitchen and confusion in the living room. He was getting ready to go clean up the mess when the candles lit again - alone this time - they went up so high that they looked like they were going to reach the ceiling, beautiful dancers in red, orange, and yellow dresses. The firelight created strange shadows in every corner, tall and small, thin and wide.

And there, in the middle of the chalk-drawn pentagram, was a woman.

Ivar gasped in shock, stepping back several steps, almost falling into the sack of coal left there. The woman looked at him and he looked at the mysterious woman.

"Mortals." She almost spat, full of disdain. "Always so bold and wishing for more than they are due."

He didn't know what to say or how to react. He had hoped it would work but at the same time he didn't really expect it to actually work!

"So what do you want, human?" She said disinterestedly, looking at the chalk-drawn pentagram that held her in disgust.

"I want to make a deal."

"Oh really?" The way she spoke suggested that she thought the boy was stupid. "What is your name, mortal?"

"Ivar Lothbrok." He replied proudly, because as much as he hated his life, he could not hate his name.

"Cute." Y/N commented with an eyebrow raised in clear disdain. "Now tell me what you really want."

Ivar tried to swallow his anger, tried not to let it show on his face and mannerisms, but he couldn't. His eyes and jaw narrowed, his nostrils flared in fury, and his hands gripped the clutch so tightly that for a moment he was afraid to break it. "Look at me and tell me what you think I want!"

And she looked. She looked from head to toe, passing through his long dark hair, blue eyes and facial features, over his body and legs... those damn legs.

"I don't see anything too much."

If it were possible, Ivar would now be smoking his ears. The veins in his neck swelled and bulged, and his cheeks flushed with anger.

“All my life I have always been different from everyone else. If we still lived in ancient times, my parents would leave me in the forest for the wolves when I was born. My whole life has been a struggle, I am the youngest son and the one who had the misfortune of being like this. I'm not normal, I'm not like my brothers, and as much as everyone tells me that it doesn't matter… I can't help being angry all the time.” Ivar confessed, forcing his grip on his clutch. “I was born with broken legs, I spent my entire life in hospitals and being inspected by the doctors. And now they said they think that I will get worse and stop walking completely. Being healthy is what I want.”

There was silence for a long time, while the human and demon looked at each other.

"Yes, that is possible."

"Then give it to me!"

The demon's laugh was loud, hoarse and cold, and her face was full of disdain. But then it changed in front of him, becoming something out of a horror movie. The beautiful woman was gone and now there was something much worse. It was an almost grotesque sight in his human eyes. A dark and without beauty female figure. A pale face and half cadaverous; black lips and sharp teeth like a dagger blade. Completely red eyes shining with hunger and malice. Two long horns protruded from between the hair with something sticky like blood.

Ivar's extremely blue eyes widened, he backed away almost falling again in that damn night.

“Honey, this is not how it works. Do you really know who you are talking to? Do you think you can boss me around? Do you expect me to do something to you without giving me something in return?” She said in an ugly, guttural and chilling voice, smiling devilishly revealing a long, almost snake-like tongue.

"As long as you're in that trap, you'll have to do what I want." He tried as hard as possible not to let his voice falter, but he still couldn't.

"Oh really?"

And as if just to prove her point, she took a step forward, approaching and crossing the crooked lines that formed the pentagram leaving the trap completely.

“Deary, you should have done your research better. With a normal demon, perhaps this lowly trap could have worked, but with me? I am something much worse than a simple demon, and by invoking me you have left me completely free to do what I want. ”

"I'm not afraid of you."

"You should be."

Ivar's heart was pounding in his chest, almost as if it was about to explode at any moment, and his fragile legs were shaking so much that he didn't even know how he was still standing.

"I want to be able to walk freely, run, jump... Do everything I can't right now. Please..." She seemed to want him to beg, but Ivar didn't. He could put aside some of his pride, but not that much.

They stayed close to each other, he deathly pale looking in amazement at the bottomless red pits that were her eyes, her sharp teeth, her black lips full of darkness... Until she opened a toothy and devilish smile, and little by little her demonic features retreated, disappearing into her skin again and making her look like a human woman again… and a beautiful one.

She walked away still smiling amused, letting out a little laugh. "Usually I give you what you want and you have ten years to enjoy it."

Ivar's heart gave a huge leap in his chest. "What happens at the end of the ten years?"

"I keep your soul…” Y/N shrugged, assessing her sharp nails before looking at him and raising her left eyebrow, still with the crooked smile on her lips. “Which means that at the end of these years, you die. "

Ten years, thought Ivar. I always knew that I wouldn't live long, anyway. But...

"Usually?" He gave voice to his thoughts.

“I liked you, you seem to have courage... You were brave in trying to challenge me, stupid, but brave. I'll give you what you want, in exchange for... ”The woman seemed to think for a while. “… a kiss.”

"A kiss?" The young man thought surprised and in other words, extremely incredulous. With everything she could ask of him, she just wanted a kiss? The book should have been mistaken, it was impossible for this demon to be so dangerous if Ivar is the one that actually wins with the agreement between them.

"A simple and small kiss." She repeated, seeing his puzzled expression. "It's one kiss or your soul, you choose."

"We have an agreement, then." Ivar said.

"Great." Y/N smiled, making her eyes blood-red again.

She came over, put her hand on his neck and pulled him forward until their lips were timidly shocking at first, but quickly turning into a fleeting and toothy kiss, with their lips moving in sync and their tongues caressing one another. She tasted like danger... And it was a good taste.

When they pulled away, Y/N still had the smirk on her mouth when she snapped her fingers, causing him to make a huge cry.

He felt excruciating pain like never before, his legs seemed to be on fire, they burned so much, the pain was horrible. It felt like all of his fragile bones were breaking and growing, only to break again. Ivar fell to the ground screaming so loudly that his neighbors probably thought he was being murdered and would be ready to call the police at any moment.

It hurt, but it passed. Sweat ran down his face, his hands were shaking, his body was shaking. But when he got up again without the help of a crutch, he had never felt better, his legs were… healthy, normal, complete… healed.

"I- I can't believe this..."

"You have what you want, and I got what I want. "

Something about her facial expression seemed wrong, Y/N seemed too delighted just for the simple reward she had won.

"The kiss wasn't the only thing you wanted, was it?"

"No, it was not."

"We had an agreement! What do you-"

"Has anyone ever told you not to mess with things you don't understand?" She stroked his face, with a smirk on her lips. "Honey, you belong to me now."

#ivar lothbrok #ivar the boneless #ivar ragnarsson #ivar x reader #ivar x y/n #vikings imagines #vikings #son of ragnar #ivar imagines #ivar the boneless imagines #vikings fanfic #fanfiction #imagines #one-shots #female demon reader #demon reader #ivar ragnarsson x female reader #ivar x you

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magaprima · 3 years

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Okay, maybe it’s my knowledge of history, maybe it’s the fact I did studies years ago into human trafficking where similar instances happened, maybe it’s knowing people in my family’s countries have had to do similar things throughout history, maybe it’s the fact I remember my lit tutor saying ‘how a person reacts to a fictional character’s plight is revealing of how they would behave in reality’, but I am getting so fed up of people condemning Lilith for what happened to Adam, or worse, mocking and belittling it like ‘omg she straight up murdered her kid lmao wtf’ which was actually a real comment I just fucking deleted off a GIF set I made. See, this is why I’m seeing these idiots, because they feel the need to comment on a GIF they’re NOT EVEN REBLOGGING. But whatever, I digress. My point of this post is:

LILITH DID NOT MURDER ADAM. SHE DID NOT KILL HIM IN PETTY REVENGE. SHE DID A HEARTBREAKING THING THAT MADE HER WANT TO DIE WHEN IT WAS DONE IN ORDER TO SAVE HIM FROM THE HORRENDOUS CRUELTY AND ABUSE SHE HAD SUFFERED FOR THOUSANDS OF YEARS. And this is without the added consideration that the trauma of such a painful, unnatural birth and post-natal exhaustion and other hormone/chemical issues would have effected decision making and problem processing.

Okay, so listen; mothers killing their children to spare them from horrors is not an invented concept. It is horrendously true and has happened throughout history. Primarily, to stop their children being taken into slavery, being raped by invaders, saved from sex rings or taken for whatever miscellaneous yet horrendous situation they’re in, which has included abusive fathers. I am speaking as someone who is Irish, where Cromwell swept the land throwing children into slavery (my great-great-so-on Uncle was a child who was taken, but he survived, and we have relatives out in the Caribbean due to this, which is also how a great-great.great-grandparent met his wife. But again, I digress) and knows there were instances where those, unable to hide their children, killed them rather than submit them to the absolute horrors Cromwell’s men were inflicting (they raped a lot of women, murdered the men, raped and/or stole the children. Whole villages were decimated) and as someone with Mexican grandparents and knows how ancestors were treated so violently and cruelly by invaders that killing children to spare them was by no means an uncommon reaction (and an entirely understandable one).

The most famous incident of this happening, possibly because she was already a slave and therefore considered ‘property’ rather than an unnamed native person being dragged from their home, and it was recent enough for official news reports, was Margaret Garner. She was a runaway slave, and, when surrounded by slavers to take her back, she cut the throat of her 2 year old daughter, and planned to kill her other three children and then herself, but the slavers got to her first. They then told her she was property and not a mother at all, and they weren’t her children, but the slaver’s property and therefore she’d damaged property. The horror of that story is undeniable and Margaret’s actions undeniably understandable and cry for sympathy and empathy....and YET, there are still people who condemn her today. Really. So it shouldn’t surprise me there are people condemning a woman in a fictional story too.

More recently, there have been cases/stories coming forward of human trafficking victims, getting pregnant through no fault of their own, and, knowing the child would be trafficked too, have smothered them in their sleep before they could be taken.

Lilith is an abuse victim. Severely abused. She is treated as a slave, Lucifer even says ‘you belong to me and only me’ considering her to be his property, ‘Lilith knows her place; to serve’, ‘there is no escape to Tibet or anywhere else’. Lilith, really, in part 1 and half of part 2 has fucking Stockholm Syndrome; she has no reason to be loyal to Lucifer, we see how afraid she is of him, yet she sticks by him and is grateful for the scraps of approval he gives her. She has suffered so much abuse for thousands of years and lived through it that she had been entirely mentally conditioned by it. It took a huge amount of inner strength, and developing relationships with others (namely Sabrina and Adam 2.0, but also the likes of Theo Putnam, Mrs Meeks) for her to break free of that mindset.

But Lucifer is her abuser. There are countless instances of where we see her absolute terror; look how she begs for mercy after Sabrina’s failed Dark Baptism, how she flinches and covers her face when he comes near her, think of the terror in her eyes when he says ‘and you know what I’m like when I’m bored’, think of her sickening fear in part 3 when she realises the Dark Lord is free, how full of panic and fear she is trying to find out where he’s hiding, of how she desperately tries to hide at fucking Mary’s to get away from him, how she’s dragged out by her hair, think of the fear she has on her face when she chooses to face him and watch the horror on her face as she realises what he’ll do to Adam, and look at the fear and broken spirit of her when she realises she can’t stop him.

Lucifer has abused Lilith for millennia and convinced her that it was love that he was ‘lifting her up’ and ‘making her worthy’, classic abuser language. He even used her own freaking familiar against her. She was treated as property, treated however he chose in that particular moment, and by her own claim she’s done ‘unspeakable things’ to help him, believing she loved him. THOUSANDS of years of abuse and she’s only recently broken free of that, before she’s forced back into his arms, metaphorically-speaking. She is now, however, aware it’s abuse, and she knows what she’s suffered, and how cruel he is, and how he made her into something else, how he used that abuse and cruelty to mould her into what he wanted (think how differently she behaves when she’s his ‘loyal servant’ to how she behaves when she’s free from him and independent. We see a very different Lilith). She knows what Adam will suffer, because she’s suffered it herself. When Lucifer says he’ll suckle on a hell hound and ‘toughen him up and all that’, the expression on Lilith’s face is heartbreaking; she knows exactly what he means by toughen him up. It’s the same as ‘make you worthy’. And the thought of her son going through everything she went through, and then constantly having to fight for his life, fighting against Caliban or Caliban’s children, suffering everything Lilith has, but never having known anything else, never having anyone who loves him truly, no one who could help him escape...it fills Lilith with fear.

And, she’s seen the Dark Lord get his way over and over again. She’s seen how even Sabrina accepts him as her Father now. She knows the Aunts offered to protect her, but even Hilda is only suggesting they leave, like they can’t actually physically fight him, only do their best to keep Lilith safe. And Lilith knows he’ll find her eventually; her experiences and her severe abuse mean she sees it as inevitable, because she’s ‘learned’ it’s inevitable. Lilith cannot see a possible way to keep baby Adam safe. She knows the only way she can protect him from the Dark Lord is to kill him, and destroy the body (or devour the body, however you wish to interpret the bloody scene) so he can’t resurrect him after he’s killed her. Because, yes, Lilith intends to die. Like Margaret Garner, her plan was to die WITH her child, but she was stopped. Lucifer knew that was her intent, that that was what she wanted (she does openly beg him to kill her) and that is exactly why he makes her immortal, so she can never be with her son, but by cursing her with humanity-- to age and rot etc-- he’s making sure she will only get weaker and not have the power to get back her son by any means.

Lilith continues to try to join her son throughout the next episode, to the point of getting a hold of the only blade that can kill an immortal, and it’s only when Marie gives her her son’s spirit, placing it in something solid, meaning-- with magic-- Lilith does have a chance to bring her son back, that instead of wanting to die, she decides to destroy Lucifer instead, as she has nothing to lose. Either, she destroys Lucifer and takes all her power back and gets her son back, or she fails and she dies. She essentially becomes a woman with nothing to lose, and they’re the most dangerous people, because there’s nothing to make them hesitate. As Lucifer learned in a very hard way.

#this was essentially a frustrated rant #but it's also #random thoughts #observations #and #headcanons #it's all the things #i don't normally do tw but this is quite in depth so #tw suicide #tw abuse #tw rape

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nicocoooo · 3 years

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Obey Me: Part 5: Inhibition

As Nico took a seat on one of the crates, he immediately sensed something was off. Thousands of words spiraled through his mind. Most of them were aggressive and directed towards his deepest insecurities. Something was terribly wrong, he could feel it in his gut. Only a few seconds had passed by as he started to hyperventilate. The atmosphere was getting heavier and heavier, like there was something pressing against his lungs. It was difficult to breathe. Suddenly, his surroundings started to spin and spin. This left a malicious presence lingering in the room. This was all too much, this was impossible to deal with on his own. He couldn't take it anymore. He stood up and walked around the room, trying to calm himself down. He realized he was violently shaking. Taking a brief stroll around the attic clearly wasn't helping him. It was like the walls were closing in on him. He lets out soft wheezes, holding the sides of his head. His throat felt dry and his eyes moistened as a tear jerked itself out. He was alone with no one to help him. No matter how much he tried to squeeze out a few words, nothing made their way out of his mouth. He strongly believed he was going to die. He thought this was the end of him. He patiently waited for death's cold embrace. He collapsed onto his knees and after some time, passed out. Daniel and Mammon heard the loud thud and headed upstairs to check it out. He entered the attic and looked around with a frown, "Helloooo..?" Mammon shrugged, scratching his head in confusion before pointing towards Nico's unconscious body, "I think there's nothin' here... oh, wait-- look over there!" Daniel gasped and ran forward, "My baby!" Daniel gazed at his unconscious child without uttering a single word. The concerned father slapped him across the face, awaiting for a reaction. Nothing. Daniel forced a weak smile, then sighed and set his palms over Nico's head, "I see... little, tiny demons, huh..." he pulled out a black, gooey substance from his Nico's ear, "I took it out.. c'mon, wake up." Nico furrowed his eyebrows, making small movements. He looked to the side, clenching his teeth. The pain was unbearable. His head was pounding ceaselessly while his muscles ached. He really didn't want to get up. Fortunately, his recent symptoms moderately disappeared after a few minutes. All he wanted to do right now was sleep, he wanted to feel the comfort of his own bed again. He's sick and tired of fighting through the pain. Peace was all he needed right now. Daniel gently poured soothing energies into his son, producing a small hum while he stroked his hair. Not even a few seconds passed by as Lucifer barged into the room without warning, disrupting the quiet environment with his yelling, "What's going on?!" Usually, he always remained calm during situations like these. But, now he seemed more worried than usual. Lucifer stared attentively at the two humans who were on the floor. He didn't understand what was going on. Lucifer exclaimed, "What happened here?!" Daniel presented the small, wriggling demon in his palm, "This little fucker got into my baby's brain.. I pulled it out," he said. He didn't seem in the least concerned about what happened. In fact, he seemed confident. Lucifer's eyes darted between the two. He was unable to do anything about it, he arrived too late. Although, it's not like he could do anything. He held a strong belief that he was totally irrelevant to the crisis. Truth is, he's afraid he might make things even worse than they already are. It's like his entire mindset had changed since these humans arrived here as exchange students. Avatar of Pride? What a load of bullshit. Maybe he is a coward after all. Lucifer asks with a slight tremble in his tone, "Well, is h-he going to be alright..?" Daniel raised a brow, "I can't say for sure, I don't know anything about demons. Lucifer, what do you think?" Even though there was only four people in the room, it felt like everyone's eyes were on Lucifer. He was crumbling underneath the pressure as he tried to find the right words. He's already

made a fool out of himself. He wanted to run away. Lucifer's lips began to form vowels but his words only came out in stammers, "I-I.. w-well.. my.. I-I.. b-believe..?" Daniel sighed, frowning, "Do you think Barbatos will know a good doctor?" he asked, worried for his baby boy. Mammon rubbed the back of his neck, "So.. once I pulled a prank on Levi using one of those little fuckers. It.. it really isn't serious but since Nico's.. well, human -- maybe we should take him to Satan or Barbatos.. one of them will know how to help him... or Simeon," he didn't like the angel very much, still, he knew he can be useful once in a while. Daniel nodded, smiling as he looked up, "We'll start with Satan, and call Barbatos," he said while stroking his son's hair. Lucifer didn't have anything important to add so he just silently left the room. There was no point of him staying in there any longer, he was utterly useless. He needed to calm himself down, so, he went to his room. He listened to the incessant ticking of the clock, echoing throughout the halls. Only his own footsteps would accompany him in the lonesome ambience of the room. Daniel took out his phone with a huff, "I have Satan's phone number... but not Barbatos... Mammon." Mammon nodded, petting Daniel's head, "Eeh.. Barbatos scares me a little.. but, I'ma call him," he took a seat on the floor just so he could dial his number. Daniel leaned against the demon, clearly worried. Mammon embraced his little human, slowly kissing their shoulders, "He will be fine... it's okay, bunny," he starts to get frustrated over the fact that Barbatos isn't picking up, "Why isn't this bitch answering the phone?" he whispered. Daniel sniffled, "I'm scared.." Mammon decided to put his D.D.D away for now. Comforting Danny was his number #1 priority at the moment. Mammon pulled Danny into a tight hug, "He will be fine, bunny... nothing bad will happen to him, those things are just little tricksters. Nico will wake up very soon," he didn't sound too certain but it was evident he wanted his lover to calm down. Daniel tightened the hug, nuzzling him as he gently held Nico, "O-Okay..." After a while, Mammon chose to text Barbatos since it was way easier than calling him over the phone, "We will stay here and take care of him, don't worry." Daniel sniffled, nodding, "Okay," he murmured. 0nce again, Mammon put his D.D.D away, going back to comforting Danny while caressing Nico's hair with his free hand, "He will be here very soon." Daniel sniffled and eventually burst into tears, softly crying into Mammon's shoulder. Mammon remained silent, slowly lulling them, "It's okay... you can cry." Daniel sobbed and shook, "I-I just want him to be okay!" he wailed. Mammon whispered, making a effort to try and comfort you, "I know.. I know." Finally, Barbatos walked into the room and took a bow, "Hello, Daniel. Hello, Mammon." Daniel sniffled, holding his son in his arms. Barbatos sighed, bending down to reach him, "Let's see what we have here.. do you still have the little devil with you?" Daniel sniffled, "I.. thought I pulled it out..." Barbatos nodded, "That's great, you can just.. squish it, they don't normally attack humans... now," he starts to gently press Nico's ear canal with his finger, trying to unclog it, he performs the mechanism a few times before pulling out another small, wiggly demon. He handed it over to Daniel for him to squish, "Squish that one too.. those annoying, little things like to do this. I, myself, had couple inside my head once, they like to attack when the creature/human is quite.. vulnerable. Since Nico was drunk at the time, they had a easy target and couldn't help but try to get in. Sort of like bad thoughts." Daniel sniffled once again and angrily squeezed the life out of those fuckers. They lit up like fire as they were squished to death, "W-Will he be okay..?" he asked quietly before wiping his tears. Barbatos smiled sweetly, "Of course he will. He just needs a little rest while someone else keeps an eye on him. He can be a little confused, slow, or perturbated for a few

days but it's nothing fatal. Those little things like to mess with people's heads. In two or three days, he will regain his memory as if nothing ever happened. Maybe check once in a while to see if any of those demons came back for vengeance. Just be patient with him during the next few days." Daniel nods, sniffling as he kissed Nico's head, "Thank you, Barbatos," he murmured, rubbing his eyes. Barbatos smiled, "No problem," he got up and leaned forth to bow, "I will be leaving now. Lord Diavolo asked me to check up on Lucifer. Also, your other son is waiting at the door," he said before he left the room. Daniel sniffled and stood up, "Okay.. th-thank you!" Kauffee ran into the room, running to Nico's side, "How is he?! He's going to be fine, right? What happened?!" Daniel sniffled, wiping the tears that seem to trail down his face without a single stop, "H-He's going to be okay.. Barbatos helped." Kauffee sighs and nodded, hugging Nico tightly, "O-Okay..." Daniel smiled and leaned on Mammon as he held him close. Mammon whispered, holding Danny close while scooting even closer to Nico so they could be together.. like a family. Daniel sniffled, then smiled, "Well, you were very brave..." Mammon kissed Daniel's cheek, "You were braver..." Daniel laughed, "No way, I was crying!" Mammon smiled, chuckling, "So what? You were brave as hell." Daniel smiled, leaning against him with a sigh, "Alright, we better get Nico to bed..." Mammon nuzzled him a bit more, he didn't want get up just yet. Daniel sighed, kissing his forehead, "Nico, to bed. Kauffee, to his room. Then, we'll go to your room, Mammie." Kauffee shook his head, getting off the ground, "No way, I'm staying with Nico." Mammon nodded and got off the ground as well, holding Nico in his arms as he left the room. Daniel only smiled, following close behind. . . .

#obey me #obey me shall we date #fanfic #fanfiction #obey me fanfic #obey me fanfiction

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nanoland · 3 years

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title: Pro Patria

fandom: Lucifer (TV)

summary: In which Mazikeen and Michael rally their respective troops. (Big spoilers for the end of season 5.)

Also on AO3!

Heaven is afraid and Michael?

Michael is thriving.

“How could Father leave? Did we disappoint him?” gentle Sachiel wails, sitting on the tiles in the middle of the marble atrium with his elaborate white and gold robes puddled around him. He looks, Michael thinks, like a melted wedding cake.

Not that the rest of Michael’s family look much better, all red-faced or tearful or in shock, all either arguing ferociously or having retreated into themselves.

Sighing, Michael wanders over and places a hand on his brother’s pale grey wing; pats it, comfortingly. Conceals the riotous joy in his heart as he says, “It’s very disturbing, yes. How will we ever get by without him?”

Sachiel looks up at him, stricken. “Heaven is doomed, Michael. We are doomed.”

It takes every ounce of willpower Michael possesses not to dance an impromptu jig or, perhaps, emit a villainous cackle.

“Oh, stop moaning,” snaps eagle-winged Muriel, pacing back and forth, her boots cracking like thunder. “Father has always been unpredictable. Frivolous. He’ll probably wander home in a few days having designed a new tree frog or something. What we need to focus on is finding our little sister.”

“It’s certainly very unlike Remiel to disappear for this long,” Michael murmurs, biting his lip. “I do hope she isn’t hurt. Or worse.”

Jophiel spreads his wings angrily. “Of course she isn’t! Remi’s tough as nails, she couldn’t… she’s not…”

As he trails off, Muriel shudders and wraps her arms tight around herself, unable to even countenance her sister’s demise. Someone whimpers. Fear pours off them all like the stench of a corpse left out in the sun.

Michael is living his best goddamn life.

Shaking his head as if trying hard to suppress inner turmoil, Michael says, “You’re right, of course. Beloved Remiel is wily and powerful – though, alas, I do recall once thinking much the same of poor, poor Uriel.”

Half of them moan with soul-deep pain at the reminder of the loss that, until recently, they thought would define this millennium. The other half are too busy cursing the Morningstar and all who serve him, for if Remiel has met her end then surely he is to blame.

As the debate as to what in an absent God’s name they’re supposed to do now rolls on, Michael glides through the crowd like a wraith, poking at grief and fanning the flames of anxiety.

Yes, Heaven is afraid, so, so afraid, and for once in his cruddy, inadequate existence, the Angel of Dread feels fucking invincible.

“Michael wants to be the next God. The boss is challenging him for the throne,” Mazikeen tells them, standing atop the black boulder that serves as a meeting point on the rare occasions their large and fractious family is willing to endure reunions, her hands on her hips.

The demons assembled around her, perched on rocks or slouched against walls or cross-legged on the ground, say nothing.

“To do that, he needs an army,” she continues.

Silence.

She clears her throat. “If we fight – if we win – then Lucifer will become the most powerful entity in all creation. Understand?”

Finally, Dromos sticks his hand up. “Question: Why the fuck should we care?”

It is, unfortunately, a good question.

“He abandoned us, sis,” snarls Arbitratio, tossing his long red hair back. “We served him loyally and diligently for thousands and thousands of years. And he abandoned us.”

“Walked outta Hell and didn’t once look back,” spits Luctus. “Left us here to keep the place up and running while he prances around Earth wearing snappy suits and screwing his way through the population.”

“And it’s not like he was all that great back when he was actually bothering to show up for work!” shouts elderly Caligo, to multiple murmurs of agreement.

Luctus nods. “He always thought he was better than us. Never gave a shit what we thought or wanted.”

“Seriously, Mazikeen, the asshole literally built a mile-high throne just so he wouldn’t have to be anywhere near us,” gold-eyed Obscuritas grumbles.

“He didn’t do anything!” cries her twin, Obscurum. “Really, what was he here for? Someone tell me. How did he contribute to the daily management of Hell? What was his role, besides sitting on his ass and whining about his lousy siblings and his dipshit Dad?”

Arching an eyebrow, Dromos says, “Well, Mazikeen? Tell us why we should care what happens to Lucifer Morningstar, Lady of Pain. We’re listening.”

She speaks loud and slow, so they all hear her. “Because, dummies, if Lucifer takes over the throne of Heaven, someone else will have to take over the throne of Hell, and you will never have to see him again.”

Their eyes widen. A dozen delighted, snaggletoothed grins blossom.

“Okay,” says Dromos. “I’m down with that. But who would we be stuck with next?”

Studying her manicure, she says airily, “Oh, probably me.”

He snorts. “You could have just lead with that, sis. Going to war for Lucifer can kiss all three of my hairy, infernal butts. Going to war for you? C’mon. You even gotta ask?”

“All hail Queen fucking Mazikeen!” someone calls out, and then they’re all shouting it.

Mazikeen smiles. It’s so damn good to be home.

#lucifer #mazikeen #michael #dromos #lucifer morningstar #my fic

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shardminds · 3 years

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okay i know in the grand scheme of things it’s been about 5 minutes since i got into spn and about 4.5 seconds since i started following spn blogs on tumblr but i just want 2 share some stuff re: what i would have liked to happen in my ideal ending. spoilers below.

number 1, sam and eileen endgame. after losing her in 15x18 and trying so hard to hold it together, sam’s quite obviously devvo’d. man’s a mess but he can’t let himself fall apart. 15x19 happens and everyone chuck disintegrated faster than communion wafers comes back and the FIRST thing sam does? calls eileen. high tails it out of there. speed limits who? there’s a heartwarming moment. maybe an ‘i love you’ or maybe not but it’s touching and heart wrenching and everyone cries and it’s nice. there you go, sam winchester. not only did you help save the world, but you got a happy ending in the process. eileen moves into the mol bunker. don’t @ me. she’s also great with miracle. and, in the long run, kids.

number 2, deancas. my whole thing is, if they didn’t want canon deancas ending, why have cas confess? like i get the empty deal and i understand ‘happiness isn’t in the having, it’s in just being. it’s in just saying it’ but... if u didn’t want people to swarm on the possibility of deancas... why include it at all? especially for it to never be mentioned again. for cas, a man/angel/being of celestial intent that had spent like... 12(?) years at this point in sam and dean’s lives. you’re gonna tell me they just... let him sacrifice himself and then dip? ok. seems we have been watching different shows. or the same show from different perspectives. so, hear me out. dean says it back. maybe not in as many words or he pulls a hans solo ‘i know’. okay so they beat the shit out of The Literal Abrahamic God later to supercharge jack faster than shotgunning three monster energy mango locos ever could and leave chuck belly up in the mud like the invertebrate he proved himself to be and jack is Thee God now and dean just straight up asks. give that to me. give me the “please, jack.” and dean, so close to breaking, holding himself together with nothing but pure strength of will and residual adrenaline. give me jack’s reluctance, give me his admission of not wanting to mutate into the same megalomaniac chuck proved himself to be,using the winchesters as chess pieces in his own game. give me his humanity. the parts he inherited from kelly. give me his humanity and his grief and his loss and—castiel was his father, for fucks sake! he lost a father and a mother and he’s about to lose the only family he ever had. yes, he’ll be omnipresent—a perk of the job—but he’ll never be there in the way they want. so let him do this. there’s like a whole genesis parallel, you know all ‘the lord said let there be light, and there was light’ only not as on the nose as that. jack’s one selfish act before he himself, combined with amara, ascends. he does his whole speech. i’ll be in every drop of falling rain etc etc and then he dips. only, he’s gone and when dean turns around. cas is there. boom.

there’s no kiss. no explicit ‘hello look at this confirmed gay angel and his human hunter ??sexual friend making out’ because that too much too fast. dean has spent the past 15 seasons trying to unfuck himself from the damage john winchester left behind (the nun hunt on his 17th birthday? lebanon? i will meet john winchester in the pit.) and as close as he is to finally just allowing himself to be himself, he’s not quite there yet. but the relief on his face. the—i’m gonna say it—love in his expression. cas’s confession clearly affected him, just look at 15x18. maybe dean doesn’t know what that means yet. maybe he does. but there’s a hug. an embrace. one of those that says ‘i don’t know why or how i like you, fruity little angel man, but i do and i’m not letting go’. it lasts a beat too long. maybe there’s tears. i’ll leave that up to jackles jacting joices.

number 3, michael sacrifices himself to save adam. OKAY SO THE WHOLE MICHAEL STORYLINE IN 15x19? BULLSHIT. especially with the adamichael scene in 15x08? where it is canonically confirmed that, after spending a real life decade (which is OVER ONE THOUSAND YEARS in hell time. 4 months = 40 years so 10 years or 120 months = 1200 years) trapped in the cage together, they became friends and shared control of the vessel. michael considered adam his guide on earth. michael. MICHAEL. M I C H A E L. seeing how spn painted him as one of, if not, THE most powerful and fearsome angel? man’s whipped. and then he loses adam when chuck has his thanos snap moment. imagine sharing a vessel with someone for twelve. hundred. years. and then being completely alone in a world you don’t know. how maddening for there to be only silence in your head. the fact that they then rammed this bs of him being jealous of lucifer for being ‘daddy’s favourite’ was exactly that. bullshit. no no no, my friends. michael was playing his own game; crossing the winchesters for chuck but actually, crossing chuck for his own gain. he learns of the winchesters plan to utilise the fact that jack is the power hungry equivalent of a shamwow and uses that to his own gain. i haven’t figured out the particulars but when chuck beats the shit out of michael, he kills the angel but leaves the vessel (think like jack at the end of s14). michael the winchesters think michael died a snivelling god fearing soldier. and then, when jack does his whole thing, up wakes adam. the winchesters take him in and explain what went down when he, you know. and adam lets them know that no, michaels not like that etc etc he did it for me etc he did it to save me. michael’s fall was imperative to the destruction of god. and, for that, he will always be remembered. adam’s not a hunter, but he stays at the bunker anyway. he has nowhere else to go.

number 4, episode 15x20. what do you mean dean and sam both die? not in this universe i carry inside my head they don’t! this episode is just a bunch of scenes from throughout the years. you might think it boring but i think it’s great and this is my post so u can’t tell me what 2 do. dean opens up a bar for hunters a la 14x10 and has pictures on all the walls of all the fallen hunters and friends that have helped them throughout the years. you want a picture on the wall for a friend you lost? sure! just bring a photo and tack it on up there. out of sight, kept to the wall of the office, they keep pictures of the non-humans that helped. it’s private. a reminder. sam and eileen stop by a couple times a week if they can. jody and donna make the rounds with the girls too if work allows. or they come on their own. the girls are old enough to take care of themselves now. claire pops in when she can, always bringing a present for cas (despite him reprimanding her for doing so) and dean is always happy to see her. she doesn’t text enough.

sam sets up the bunker as a base for hunters again, trying to get a system up and running like before where hunters can check in and get help and use the weapons and resources they have for cases.

they don’t deal with heaven anymore. they haven’t seen jack since he disappeared but they also haven’t had any angel troubles either. maybe it’s because there are so few. castiel helps a lot as he still has his grace—although he’s still unable to teleport and he seems to be aging, trapped in some kind of space between. not angel and not human and definitely not nephilim. he’s powerful and powerless at the same time. he doesn’t complain about this, knowing what it means. it’s a kindness.

rowena is also on side, mostly, although she has her own gain in mind always. they have the stray demon that pops up every now and again but she– uh... prefers to make an example of them using her own methods. sam has learned not to question it. she teases him incessantly, as usual.

also, stay at home dad sam. eileen jumps back into hunting. they’ve had conversations—arguments—about it before. he doesn’t want to turn into his father, driven mad chasing mary’s ghost if something were to happen. she refuses to even entertain the thought of that. yelling “you are a lot of things, sam winchester. your father is not one of them.” and at the end of the day, there’s a mutual trust there and he knows she won’t put herself in unnecessary risk, and he 100% roped dean in to jumping on as backup if and when she needs it. the kid(s) are raised love and cherished and surrounded by family. sam also learns how to sign one handed with a baby on his hip. it’s adorable.

anyway we never have to find out about heaven because no one dies thank you for coming to my ted talk.

#spn #i don't wanna talk about it but i do #was gonna put this under a cut but am not a pussy #anyway if you can't tell im a dean coded dean girl

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thisextensiveuniverse · 3 years

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I Object Chapter 1

He sits in his Throne, only half listening to the words of his enraged brother, lounging against the right armrest, holding his head up with his fingers, focusing on the young angels kneeling before them, trying to sputter out their story, cut off by his brother every other word, the youths were on the verge of tears, quivering where they knelt, terrified of the repercussions of the events that hung over their shoulders. There was no evidence being displayed, no questions being asked, no witnesses called on. He himself passed judgement on the facts, not on emotion, as he brother was, he wanted evidence of wrong doing, evidence of betrayal, he wanted the story there to be told, he wanted to know everything, before he passed judgement.

It’s when his brother imposes their punishment, that he contributes to the conversation. “I object.” All eyes turn to him, those of the guards standing behind the youths, the youths kneeling before them, his older brother, but he stares ahead at the two kneeling before him, sobs tearing from them, thanking him as best as they could as their sobs overtake them, and he sits up straighter. “I object to your judgement and sentence.”

Everyone knew, everyone, that judgement and sentence could not be passed unless the whole of the Council was unanimous with the declaration. Never, in a thousand years, had anyone ever thought that Raphael would stand opposed to Michael, it never happened before, the Healer always seemingly agreed with his sentences, this was….this was new to them.

“What?” Michael stares at his brother in shock. “You object?” He shakes his head firmly. “You can’t object, I won’t allow you to!”

“Oh, but I can.” Raphael turns away from the two sobbing together before him to look at his brother. “It’s written in the bylaws, the Council must make a unanimous decision when it comes to passing judgement and placing sentence, and I object.” He hums softly. “I don’t know about you, but I’ve read the bylaws very thoroughly, Father wrote them for a purpose, and this, is that purpose, if you attempt to block my vote, the power embedded in the bylaws, written by Father Himself, will strip you of your title and position in the Council, automatically nulling any sentence you’ve imposed on anyone.” He returns his gaze to the two before him. “I object. How can we pass judgement and impose a sentence without knowing the facts?”

Michael seethes. “There is only one fact.”

“There is always more than one fact.” He shakes his head. “And, I will not impose my agreement in your sentence without knowing the facts.” The thirdborn looks over the poor youths heads to one of the guards behind them. “I want to see Barbonah.”

The guard nods and turns to make his leave, to retrieve the messenger that he sought after, and he returns his gaze to the two before him, begging for his mercy between sobs.

“Raphael, this is ridiculous!” The oldest snarls at him. “They allowed the serpent in the Garden! They’re the reason Father left! They’re the reason Lucifer was cast out!”

He heaves an exasperated sigh, this is why he rarely interacted with the others, preferring to stay within his own flock, and pinches the bridge of his nose for a moment. “Michael, my brother, you and I both know, none of us can make Father do anything He doesn’t already want to do.” He lowers his hand, tapping his fingers against the arm of his throne. “Lucifer was cast out because of his actions, not anyone else’s, do you honestly expect that two angels as young as them would be able to overpower the second Archangel in creation when his mind was set on the actions he wanted to take.” He turns to look at the elder once more. “If you believe they would have managed to stop him on their own from doing something he wanted to do, then you’re a fool, and not fit to lead the Host.”

Michael narrows his eyes. “Are you saying you’d usurp the throne?”

“No!” It’s rare for the thirdborn to lose his temper, but it does happen, and he rises from his throne quickly, turning on the other Archangel. “That is not what I’m saying! What I’m saying, is that you are a fool, if you think these two young angels, their power nothing close to being compared to ours, could stop an Archangel from doing anything!” He takes a step forward, electricity sparking off his fingers as he jabs a finger at the older Archangel. “What I’m saying, is that we taught them all that they can trust us beyond measure, Lucifer has turned himself into a deceiver, he would not be above using the trust they have in us to his advantage!” He steps closer, closing the distance between them slowly but surely, and jabs a finger into the older Archangel’s chest. “What I’m saying, is that you are blinded by your emotions, you’re not placing them on trial, you’re placing yourself on trial, you’re blaming them for your mistakes! You’re the one who turned Lucifer into who he is now! You’re the one who betrayed us! You’re the one who let him in the Garden! There were warning signs, he wasn’t subtle about his intentions, and you were the one who chose to ignore them! You were warned on multiple occasions of what Lucifer was intending to do, and you were the one who blew them off! It’s not them you’re angry with, it’s you, you’re angry at yourself, because you know you made a fatal error in judgement! You’re taking your fury out on them, you’re not righting a wrong, you’re placing blame, shifting your shortcomings onto someone else, these two young angels did nothing wrong, and you know it!” Raphael glares at him heatedly, daring him to say a word, but Michael remains silent. “And, if it came down to you or them, I would pick them, always them, because that is what a good leader does! You are no leader, Michael, you are a dictator, you see enemies where there are friends, you see evil where there is good, you see betrayal where there is loyalty. And, since you asked, I’ll be kind and inform you, if the safety of our family meant removing you from power, I would do so, in a heartbeat, because they come first, every time!” He jabs him in the chest one last time. “So, yes, I object.”

And he turns to return to his throne, waiting in silence for the guard to return with who he’d sent him for, aggravated, his brother was one of the few who can always manage to aggravate him, and he closes his eyes, inhaling deeply, to calm himself, and takes a moment to collect himself, opening his eyes at the sound of the doors to the throne room opening.

The guard escorts the messenger in, Barbonah is nervous, his hands shaking as he’s guided to stand before them, in front of the accused, and he smiles at him, in an attempt to alleviate his nerves. “Hello, Barbonah.”

The messenger licks his lips nervously, turning his gaze from his fuming brother over to him, and he waves slightly in greeting. “H—Hi, sir.”

“Please, there’s no need to be so formal, call me Raph, everyone does.” Barbonah nods faintly. “I just have one question for you, can you try your best to answer it, I know it’s been a few days since the…incident.” The younger angel nods slightly. “Barbonah, you were sent to inform Gadreel and Abner to not allow Lucifer to enter the Garden, were you not?”

He nods lightly. “Y—Yes, I was, s—Raph.”

The Healer nods lightly. “Barbonah, did you ever make it there to inform them?” He gulps softly as his face pales. “It’s alright, little one, please answer my question.”

Barbonah jerks his head slightly, indicating he had not informed them. “N—No.”

Michael snarls at the messenger. “You—”

He holds a hand up to silence him. “Barbonah, why didn’t you make it there to inform them?”

The Messenger licks his lips again. “One of the fallen, I was flying over, on my way to inform them, and they threw a javelin, it pierced my wing and I fell…I tried to get back up to get to them to inform them, I swear, but I couldn’t, they grounded me.”

He frowns in concern. “Did you ever get your wing tended to?” Barbonah shakes his head slightly. “Very well, you’re free to go, I want you to go straight to my Infirmary and get your wing tended to, and I will be there shortly to see to it myself as well, alright?” The young messenger looks over to the fuming Archangel. “It’s alright, little one,” the youths gaze turns back to him and he nods lightly. “You can go, as I said, straight to my Infirmary, wing injuries are a very serious matter.”

The messenger bows, breathing an exhale of relief, thanking him softly, and turns quickly, making his leave as quick as he can manage.

Raphael nods. “I object to this sentence, I clear you both of all charges, you’re free to go.”

Michael glares at him, he knows he is, he can feel it.

But he ignores it, rising from his throne when it appears they’re unable to move on their own, rubbing his robes down as he does, and steps forward, making his way down the short incline to the floor below, and squats in front of the two sentries, still sobbing, thanking him as best as they can through the force of their sobs. “It’s alright, little ones.” He curls his arms around them, pulling them into an embrace, and they sob against his shoulders. “It’s alright, come, lets stand.” He rises slowly, pulling them up with him, and guides them around gently. “Come with me, little ones, it’s alright.”

Gadreel and Abner clutch at him, as though if they let go, he’ll rescind his objection, or Michael will attempt to override him, moving with him as best as they can.

It’s a slow walk to his Infirmary, as they still struggle with their cries, slowly calming the farther away they get from the throne room and his blinded older brother. Guiding them up the stairs, he enters his Infirmary with them pressed against his sides, eyes searching for the messenger he’d told to come here, and nods when he spots him, getting his wing tended to just as he had ordered.

“Come, little ones.” He guides them to two empty beds, closest to his desk, so he can keep his eye on them after this traumatic experience. “Let’s get you two in bed, you both could do with a good sleep.”

Raphael guides one down in one bed and the other down in the second, carefully pulling their boots off, and pulls the blankets over them. “You get a good sleep, I’ll be right there,” he gestures to the desk on Abner’s other side. “If you need me, just call out, alright?”

The both of them nod at him, and he gives them both a smile, patting them on the belly as he stands from the chair he’d sat himself in. “Very good, and tomorrow we’ll work on those stunning smiles you both have, you could both do with a good laugh.”

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storysofmyown · 4 years

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Obey me! You shine brighter A Diavolo x Asmodeous fan fic

Plot: The first time Diavolo and Asmodeous saw each other was on the Celestial Realm, the next, was in the Devildom, where both were now demons. As the years went by, their relationship slowly shifted from that adoration they have felt the first time they saw each other.

Trigger warning: None

Word count: 4362

It was a hectic day for the two realms. The Celestial realm was left and right, up and down, packed with angels preparing everything for the arrival of the visits. Everything had to be perfect...that way if anything happen, they could easily blame The Devildom, saying they were at fault. Of course, Diavolo knew that. Being the Prince, he was thought about the hate between the realms and the way their interactions have been since millions of years. But today was different. The Demon Lord had been asleep for a few centuries, and it had made the Celestial Realm quite uneasy. Thinking they were planning something against them, so as it was his duty, he had to go up to their Realm and explain the situation. Everything to avoid a war. Being quite honest, Diavolo was both excited and nervous. He would be going with nothing more than his trusty butler Barbatos, unarmed and ready to talk, it was nerve-wracking thinking the Celestial Realm may think this was a trap and attack him. The lower angels would not be able to get them both but if the high-ranking angels, such as a group of siblings that represented virtues were to attack him, then he might be doomed, and a war would take place. So, he hoped that the Celestial Realm saw sincerity in his words.

On the other hand, he was excited. Not even his father had set foot on the Celestial Realm, whenever the two worlds needed to discuss they would meet on neutral ground. The Human World. It had only happened maybe three times, so, being one of the only ever demons to visit The Celestial Realm, he was quite excited. Once there, he had been absolutely stunned at the sight of the realm. The whole place looked like one fancy castle, covered every corner in beautiful intricate designs of gold and silver, a blinding white representing the purity of it all. And in the middle of it. The group of angels meant to keep him company (or, as Barbatos had said on the way, the angels meant to kill him if he misbehaved. While that was probably an exaggeration, he did want to make a good impression. So, the moment he stepped into the Celestial Realm, and all the angels starred at him, he only smiled politely and started to walk towards the group of angels who, as he like to think of them, would become his future friends. As he approached the group of angels, he noticed the glistening armor of one of the angels under the eternal sun. He would give it to the Celestial Realm, they knew how to make something look pretty. Diavolo extended his hand at who must be the one known as the Morningstar. Who did not seem to pay any mind, for he only started walking in a direction, having only muttered "follow me". Diavolo noticed how two angels immediately followed Lucifer, as one of them had called him. He looked back at the remaining 4 angels and his eyes fell on one in particular.

Diavolo had heard before about those 7 angels. The oldest, being one of the most powerful beings to ever existed, 3 siblings that were made by the hands of God at the same time, with them the only female angel in the family. And an angel so beautiful it had been given onto him the nickname The Jewel of the Celestial Realm. Diavolo was sure there were others, but the moment his eyes fell on the so called "Jewel of the Celestial Realm" his entire train of thought stopped. He could not help but stare at the angel for just a couple more instances. In the briefest moment he had ever experienced, his eyes had melted into the angels. And for a moment he forgot what he was meant to do, for he had no other need than to take in the beauty of the angel. Upon their eyes meeting, Diavolo smiled, ever so slightly for he knew the angel was scared of him, for some reason, the angel also smiled at him before turning away, and before a second had pass they were in their way to whatever place he needed to be. He was going to give it to the celestial realm, they really knew how to make beauty. Meanwhile, a certain angel was filled with dread ever since the day had started. The moment they were told a few days ago that the literal Prince of the Devildom will be visiting Asmodeous felt this fear inside of him for some reason. He knew he shouldn't be worried, as Lucifer had said "if they are smart, they will explain what is happening and go on their merry way. Nothing bad needs to happen..." And he was probably right...but then again...who knew how demons acted. And then the day had arrived. Every single angel had been assigned a role just in case. There were angels behind every door and all the windows, flying around and some inspecting rooms. Everyone had halted what they were supposed to do just to make sure those demons did not try anything. Everyone was so focused on what might go wrong at their arrival, already writing them as dangerous that no one showed any type of hospitality. It made Asmodeous feel a little...unease. But then they arrived. The Prince of the Devildom and his trusty manservant. And fear consumed every inch of Asmodeous being, so much that the moment they were announced he instinctively hid behind Beelzebub, who gave him a reassuring look. Asmodeous felt himself shrink as the demon spoke. He had a beautiful voice, even if he did not want to admit it, it captivated him the way this demon could work his way with words, before he could even realize it, he was staring at a demon.

No, not just any demon. He was staring at the Prince of the Devildom. The future king. The demon exchanged pleasantries while Lucifer totally ignored him. Lucifer started walking, the brothers following close behind him, Asmodeous was going to say something to Beelzebulb, but as he did, his eyes were caught by those of the prince. There was something about that demon. Demons were supposed to be those creatures full of nightmares, dark, and terror in them, but that one…that one had inviting eyes and a welcoming smile shot in his direction. Asmodeous could feel himself blush slightly, being under the gaze of such being. He also smiled, he wasn’t sure if it was out of politeness or something else.

After an eternity comprehended in a second, Asmodeous moved with his brothers and sister. The Prince was following him with what Asmodeous had assumed to be his manservant. While Beelzebub and Mammon were behind them, making sure there was nothing he could try. Asmodeous felt the gaze of the demon on himself, he felt awkward while walking, wanting to glance behind but being unable too. He was following close behind Leviathan, but he was paying no attention to anything at all, his mind was still replaying that one second in Asmodeous head.

The whole meeting had gone without any problems, The Prince had explained why there were no knews of his father, the king, and presented proof of his fathers state. The angels had believed them, or maybe they just wanted to cut this meeting short. They were about to leave, waiting for some angels to escort him and Barbatos, meanwhile, the Prince was trying his best to avoid looking at the angel with such an ethereal beauty that it had taken his breath away. And so was Asmodeous. Neither of them dared to glance at each other, it was weird. Diavolo had seen such wonders toda, yet his mind could not care about that. He had been captivated by the angel’s beauty and all he wanted to do was keep staring at him.

The angel on the other hand, felt this immense sense on dread set in his stomach, he wasn’t sure why. But every time he closed his eyes, all he could see was the face of the demon. And it made him feel all kinds of wrong, was it wrong? Asmodeous didn’t knew, and he wouldn’t know for hundreds of years, because the angels that were meant to escort the demons out had arrived. They bid farewell, and as the demons walked away, Asmodeous dared to glance one final time, only to be meet by the prince doing the exact same thing. Their eyes locked for less than a second. The butterflies in Asmodeous stomach revolting, absent every single logical idea he could have. Asmodeous saw the demon smirk slightly, and he turned around, forcing himself not to look back at the demon.

Diavolo was satisfied, he was not going to tell anyone but even if the whole trip had ended up being a waste of time, he had been able to see what the celestial realm looked like, and not only that, he saw that angel. Later on, he would learn that that angels name was Asmodeous, and it rolled in his mouth like the purest nectar made out of the holiest of foods. Hundreds if not thousands of years passed since that the one and only time Diavolo and Asmodeous saw one another.

From time to time, both of them found themselves thinking about the other. It was on quiet nights, when Diavolo glanced and the stars around and wondered what that angel was up to, or if he even remembered him. His mind replayed the image of the beautiful eyes the angel had. Diavolo wondered if he would ever see him again.

It was during the busiest meetings, where Asmodeous stopped paying attention to whatever details his father was speaking, and his mind fell on that memory, it had been only one second. But it had been enough for that smile to stick with him for so long. He ignored the feelings that memory evoked on him and prayed to never encounter the demon again. Sadly, his wish was not to become true.

Diavolo found out about the war, a war between some angels and God. At first, he didn’t know the details. Later on, he learned that the war was between the seven siblings he had meet that time in The Celestial realm and God, they were fighting to keep their sister alive. Diavolo admired how much care those siblings had for each other. He didn’t know what their fate was going to be, but it would not end well, after all, no angel that rebelled agaisnt God ended in good terms.

The night came, where the angels fell, and one had died. He found Lucifer, the oldest of the brothers beside the dying body of his sister. He wanted to help, to offer aid, but he knew the ex-angel’s pride was too big for him to just receive help. So, he made a deal with Lucifer. Surprisingly the ex-angel accepted. He offered the family shelter for the night, assuring them soon enough they would have their own place to stay.

Asmodeous was staying in one of the rooms with Beel and Belphie. The ex-angel had woken up from a nightmare, the memories of how his wings burned and the pressure of the fall, the way he felt his father’s love banished, and the memories of Lilith, he woke up, crying and breathing rapidly. He refused to wake up any of his brothers, they had gone trough enough as well. So, he opted to walk around and try to clear his head. Asmodeous walked aimlessly. Not knowing where he was or where he was standing, the total darkness only being barely illuminated by the dim light of the moon. He was lost in his own thought, so far that he hadn’t even realized that he was also lost in the Demons Lord Castle.

He wasn’t sure where he was, nor where he had come from. So, he opted to keep walking, after all he was bound to find an exit of sorts. And one could argue he did, just not the exist he wanted. Turning right, he noticed a figure standing in front of a window. The curtains of the window had been pushed to the side, so it was the only part that was better illuminated in the whole castle. Asmodeous noticed that the man starring out the window was Lord Diavolo, the prince. The way the moonlight interacted with The Prince red hair and his eyes were illuminated by the parking lights made Asmodeous stop in his tracks. He wondered if he should turn around. But, part of him knew that if anyone could take him back to his room was the prince.

“Um…Lord Diavolo, was it?” The prince turned around immediately, confused at a voice he had never heard before, the moment his eyes fell on the obscured figure of the ex-angel his features changed to a softer look. The angels voice was just as beautiful as he was, it was fitting. The Prince smiled tenderly at Asmodeous, fully facing him now, he knew what the ex-angel had gone through and it broke his heart that anyone in the family was feeling hurt. But there was something in the features of the ex-angel that made Diavolo not want to see him this sad ever again.

“Yes. You can call me Diavolo. You are Asmodeous, right?” The ex-angel nodded; he was standing still, not knowing what to do. This was the first time he and a demon had ever interacted. And that demon was no other than the Prince of the Devildom. He was avoiding at the demon in front of him. But the tension of the room and the dread he felt made him look, just a glance, to make sure the demon was not going to attack him. But the moment he did, he couldn’t stop starring. That was partly because of Diavolos extended hand, inviting Asmodeous to stand beside him. And so, Asmodeous did.

Asmodeous stepped closer to the demon, who had a warm smile on his lips. But still, Asmodeous felt like a prey, the demon was watching his every move. Asmodeous got as close as he dared to, close enough to be able to also look out the windows. Diavolo felt bad for this, but the moment Asmodeous was bathed in the light of the mood, the demon could not help but feel his breath leave. The way the moonlight made the ex-angels skin look like it was glowing was the moment Diavolo realized that his mind had lied to him.

His memories did no justice to the person that was standing no more than a few feet away from him. He knew the ex-angel was in pain, but he couldn’t help but admire his beauty. He cursed himself and forced his eyes to look out the window, in the same direction the ex-angel was looking.

“How…how are you feeling?” Diavolo asked, after several minutes of silence. Asmodeous felt his chest tighten, and he wanted more than anything to scream and cry. But he needed to be strong. He sighed.

“I...don’t know.” He answered, as quietly as possible. Perhaps that way the demon would not hear him. “I had a…a nightmare. That is all.” Asmodeous had his eyes glued at the night sky. It was covered in stars and the moon…it was beautiful. In the Celestial Realm there is never night, only day. In here it was the other way around. This was the first time in all his life he saw the stars and the moon, and he thought that perhaps in the Devildom there was also beauty. But it was hard for him to appreciate, because in his mind all he could hear was the voice of his little sister screaming for help.

Diavolo noticed the sadness in the ex-angels eyes. It was hard to see him that way, even if they had only seen each other once before he wanted to help. So, he did what he thought could keep the ex-angel get distracted. Offered a tour of the castle. Asmodeous was hesitant about it, but he agreed. Even if the prince was a demon there was a sincere lack off evil in his eyes. And Asmodeous thought it will be good to look around the place. So, they did, they walked around and talked, not much, but enough from time to time so that neither of them felt that awkward.

They reached the garden, Asmodeous was shocked to say the least. How come so many beautiful flowers of so many colors grow in such a place? His eyes were full of wonder, and for a moment he forgot the pain he felt. The smell of the flowers perfume was enough to put him at peace if even for a second. Asmodeous took a deep breath, feeling himself being washed by the moonlight. His eyes were closed as he took deep breaths. A small smile plastered on his lips as for a second he forgot everything that had happened and where he was.

Diavolo stood close by. He didn’t want to step so close to the ex-angel as not to make him feel uncomfortable. But seeing Asmodeous have a sense of peace made the demon smile as he watched the ex-angel. He wondered what it had been like. Having fallen and losing every bit of self that he had, and on top of that, lose family. Diavolo smile fell from his lips as he watched Asmodeous eyes open. It was a quiet night, and cold as well.

Asmodeous opened his eyes, awakening from the trance he had been on moments ago. He looked at the garden in front of him, the smile that was on his face asecond ago disappeared for a more serious expressiion. It downed on him, all this time he had been trying not to think about it, but this was their home now. No more light and sun, just an eternal darkness and the absence of their sister while trying to build themselves up. For the first time ever Asmodeous cried. It started slow, he felt the tears accumulated and tried to hold them on, his vision getting blurry, but he couldn’t hide them forever.

The tears started falling, they were consistent and Asmodeous started to feel a lack of air in his lungs. He felt a hand on his shoulder, which made him look at it. It was Diavolo. The demon had a sympathetic look on his face. Asmodeous started crying even harder, full on sobs, and at some point, he was entrapped in the larger demons arms. Being hugged and supported. One would even dare and say…safe.

After that night, Asmodeous found himself trusting the Prince. And as the years went by that trust became into a friendship. Diavolo saw Asmodeous change, from this innocent lamb to this confident guy who loved attention. He not only saw Asmodeous change personality wise, he also saw the struggles the young demon had gone through. Because Asmodeous trusted him with them, and as years went by, and they only became closer, it was clear to Diavolo, that he had fallen in love with the once angel.

And Asmodeous had fallen in love with the Prince as well. If you looked closely, it was evident. The way both always starred at the other, the jokes, the smiles, the closeness in which they would always stand beside each other, almost holding hands. But still, they weren’t together. Even if they knew about each other’s feelings, and how could they not?

Asmodeous would often make an excuse about a party he would be going to, only to sneak into Diavolos castle and the prince and the younger demon would have a movie night. It was full of cuddles and laughs. How could they not fall in love? There were times in which the movie was only on for noise, for they were too busy starring at one another. Diavolo was usually the one who would start the starring. His eyes would just slowly move from the movie to Asmodeous, and simply stay there.

Asmo would notice, sooner or later, a small pink blush appears on his cheeks as he smiled at the demon. Diavolo would scoot over and hug the younger demon as they just gazed at each other and talked about nothing for many hours until it was time for Asmodeous to leave.

One specific night, Asmodeous was the one doing the starring. He watched as the face of the man changed from laughter to serious and so on. The room was only illuminated by the soft blue glow coming from the movie. Diavolo glanced at Asmodeous, to find the younger demon staring at him, and his heart started to beat faster than it already was. Diavolo took Asmodeous hand on his own. Intertwining their fingers, they got close, foreheads touching. Asmodeous was the first one to close his eyes as the demon prince starred into his delicate features.

“What do I have to do for a kiss of your lips?” Diavolos voice was a mere whisper, one that if Asmodeous had been a few more inches apart he wouldn’t have heard. His heart yearned for it. But his head knew better.

“We can’t.” Asmodeous responded in the same tone. He thought of his family, specifically of Lucifer. The man had lost a sister and immediately had been forced into a loyalty by Diavolos side. And although Diavolo had never been anything but kind to the brothers, to the point where Lucifer considered Diavolo a friend, he wasn’t sure how his brother would take it.

“I know.” They stayed like that for a few minutes. Their lips aching for the sensation of one another. Diavolo inched closer, and Asmodeous thought his heart would give out for how fast it was running. A wrong movement and they would be kissing. But they didn’t, Diavolo moved his head towards Asmodeous shoulder, resting it there, while Asmo passed his hand trough the older demon’s hair.

Their relationship stayed like that for a while. The yearn and the longing, the tenderness of touches. The ache to finally be allowed to love one another grew. At some point it hurt. It hurt to stand so close to one another. It hurt Diavolo being able to smell Asmodeous hair yet not being able to taste his lips. It hurt feeling Diavolos hand take his own, and not being able for them to run trough his body as they kissed. It hurt not being together. But that is how it had to be. And they were getting tired of those rules.

There was a ball at the Demon Lord Castle. The celebration of Diavolos birthday, a big party with all the demons from all across the Devildom invited. There was dance, food, gifts, people cheering for him and asking him to dance. Diavolo tried to be polite, but none of this mattered to him. If it was up to him, Diavolo would have preferred a more private party with his closest friends…and with Asmodeous. He was extremely bored, as his eyes scanned the room and then…he found Asmodeous. Entering the big room in the most beautiful clothes he had ever seen him wear.

Diavolo could come up with a thousand words to describe how Asmodeous looked that night. Bewitching, enchanting, ethereal, alluring, haunting, entrancing, otherworldly, and much more, but none of them would make justice of the way Asmodeous looked. And all of that could be ignored by just a glance at the younger demon’s smile. Diavolo wanted to get away from everyone and just dance all night with Asmodeous. And they did dance, but just one piece to keep the appearance up, and by all the previous kings, if Asmodeous looked absolutely stunning from a far, up close Diavolo could barely even resist the urge to express the demon how in love he was.

But he waited, and waited, and waited. The gifts had been exchanged and the demons were already leaving. When everyone was distracted Diavolo took Asmodeous hand and they ran trough the halls of the Castle, until they found that very same window in which they had talked that night so many years ago. The music was a distant sound in the background, and with no one around, they danced again. Slower, closer, even more in love than a few minutes ago. Illuminated by the stars and the moon light.

“You look simply, absolutely, totally gorgeous.”

“Thank you. You look almost as good as me.” Asmodeous joked, and they both stopped dancing for a moment as Asmodeous got even closer to Diavolo. He sighed. “No. You look even better than me.” Diavolo saw the blush on the younger demon’s face. Against all logical thought in his body, he put a hand on Asmodeous face. Asmodeous looked up at Diavolo, lips slightly apart, and he inched closer.

At this point none of them cared at all about whether it was right or wrong, didn’t care about the repercussions or the reaction of anyone. They just cared about each other’s feelings. Foreheads touching, barely one inch apart. Diavolos nerves were betraying him. Was Asmodeous okay with this? So many times, before Asmodeous had been the one to say no, it wasn’t the time, it wasn’t okay, but now, he was waiting for Asmodeous to back down and leave once more. They are looked at each other’s eyes once more, Asmodeous put his hand on top of Diavolos. Giving the larger demon a reassuring smile. That was all Diavolo needed.

They kissed. It was soft and it tasted sweet and it was completely intoxicating. Neither of them wanted the kiss to end as they got lost on the others lips. After who knows how much time had passed, they finally parted, just slightly to be able to breath. Diavolo still had Asmodeous face cupped in his hands and Asmo still had his hand resting on Diavolos hand. Diavolo laughed, the most heart felt laugh Asmodeous had ever heard the demon emit, they were both happy. They didn’t care what anyone had to say, they were in love, and as the kissed during the night, and moon illuminated their love, it was just evident how much they loved one another.

Aight...so...i wrote this, i took a small brake from writing my other fic and this was born. This is kind of like the long version of that one headcanon thingy I wrote a while ago. I am, for one, absolutely in love with this ship so...nonetheless, i hope the five people who read this rare pairing fic enjoy it and yeah, see y’all on my next work lmao.

#obey me!#obey me #obey me shall we date #obey me! shall we date?#obey me! asmodeus #obey me asmo #obey me asmodeus #obey me! diavolo #obey me diavolo #diavolo x asmodeous #is this a thing?#lmao #it is now

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tarysande · 6 years

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I was curious do you think Cain was a sociopath I read an article about how a sociopath 'loves' and it reminded me of him do you think this is what the writers were going for or am I way off?

I think there’s a lot of evidence to support that read on his character and I feel with at least some small amount of confidence that his character description probably included the word. In fact, I think Pierce may even have been a psychopath. (Pysch researchers tend to think psychopaths are born, while sociopathy results from childhood trauma. More on this later!)

Sociopaths and psychopaths fall under the shared umbrella of antisocial personality disorder.

According to the DSM V (psychiatry’s diagnostic bible), the following criteria is listed for antisocial personality disorder:

Persistent patterns of disregard and violation of the rights of others, present since the age of 15 and consisting of at least three of the following resulting in hurting, mistreating, and/or stealing from someone:

Disrespect and failure to conform to lawful behavior resulting in repeated arrests.

Persistent deceitfulness, using aliases, and lying to con others for personal gain.

Impulsive and unable to plan.

Easily irritated, aggressive and prone to repeated physical altercations and assaults.

Reckless, disregarding the safety of others and one’s self.

Persistently irresponsible, inability to maintain consistent work behavior and/or honor financial obligations.

Indifferent rationalization without remorse.

I don’t know about you, but I see a lot of Cain/Pierce/Sinnerman there, no?

So, let’s try to parse Cain a little given what we know because we were told and what we can infer by observation or reading between the lines.

Biblically, we know Cain killed his brother Abel because he was angry that God liked Abel’s sacrifice better. Cain then lied about it (to God; ballsy, but ultimately a bad choice). I want to talk about something, though, that people who didn’t once win Sunday School Jeopardy! (it’s true) might not know: Cain wasn’t marked and punished because he killed his brother. Because Cain was a farmer (and proud of it), God punished him by cursing him so the soil would no longer give him strength. He could no longer do what made him happiest and brought him the most satisfaction. Dying is easy; living without being able to fulfill your purpose is harsh. To this, Cain replied, “Well then, I’ll just hide from your presence and wander until someone kills me; life’s not worth living without farming,” and God said, “Y’think it’s that easy, do you? Have this mark so everyone’ll know that, in killing you, they bring My vengeance upon them sevenfold.”

Murder is bad. Trying to wriggle out of what God deems to be appropriate punishment for it is far worse. Defying God’s judgment is the crime for which Cain is punished with the mark.

(Where have we seen that before? But that’s the subject for a different essay.)

So, if we assume that Lucifer’s writers were pulling from Biblical ‘canon,’ we’ve already got a little sociopathy happening. Cain kills his brother because Abel got a better report card from God and he can’t stand that (he’s the elder brother, after all). He feels no remorse, no guilt (and Pierce says as much to Lucifer; it’s a driving part of his personality from the beginning), and no empathy. He lies to protect himself. His response to being punished is not “I’m sorry for what I did,” it’s “How dare you take my things away from me.” It’s selfish and self-centered.

Also from the DSM V:

Persistent pathological personality traits:

Antagonism

Manipulative - frequent use of deceit, subterfuge, charm, seduction, and ingratiation to achieve personal goals.

Deceit - lies and fraudulent representation of self, embellishment and lying when relating events.

Callous - cold, uncaring, and indifferent to the feelings of others, lack of remorse for the hurt they cause to others, aggressive and sadistic.

Hostile - aggressive and angry at perceived slights and insults, vengeful and mean.

Disinhibition

Irresponsible - failure to honor obligations, lack of respect for promises made and agreements.

Impulsive - acts on momentary stimulus, no planning, inability to plan.

Risk Behavior - denies personal danger, engages in dangerous activity to one’s self and others, engages in risk behaviors to stave off boredom.

Now, here’s where Pierce appears psychopathic: psychopaths plan. They engage in criminal behavior in a way that minimizes personal risk. They have plans and contingency plans to ensure they are not caught. (SINNERMAN.) A psychopath is better able to dissociate from their actions (”It was an accident. He deserved it. He was an asshat.”) ((Sidebar: that Abel’s in Hell proves Abel felt guilt and remorse, unlike his brother. It’s not that Abel ‘deserved it’–he just had deeper feelings than Cain.)

I don’t think it takes much to see these actions and responses paralleled in Pierce’s behavior, right from the beginning of the season when he doesn’t care about anyone in the precinct; he only knows about them in the context of what they can do for him. He lies constantly and always to protect himself. He throws Chloe (multiple times) into danger to test his theories. He shows no empathy for anyone at at any point (remember, if any of the post-Abel grief was real, it was because he still thought Abel was going to help him get what he wanted; it wasn’t about loving his brother). He rejects Chloe until he witnesses the moment between Chloe and Lucifer at Lux. Pierce had several opportunities to start a relationship with Chloe earlier but he didn’t take them because a relationship wasn’t necessary for his plans.

Cain is utterly and entirely focused on himself. When he does enter into a relationship with Chloe, it’s for selfish reasons; he says as much to the waitress. To a sociopath, true love is focused on the self, power (seen in the Sinnerman), and playing/winning his game of life. When Pierce decided to “woo” Chloe, he relied on every cliche in the book: romantic dinner, roses, declarations of love. It was like he looked up “romance” in the dictionary and awkwardly followed the steps laid out. Or, in this case, asked Ella and she told him what Chloe liked, what Chloe wanted, and what Chloe felt was missing from her life (especially vis a vis the heartbreak with Lucifer). And Chloe, because of said heartbreak and because she has some serious love-related self-esteem issues (different essay!!) fell for it. Because she wanted to feel loved, wanted to feel lovable.

Several of Pierce’s behaviors in “love” often occur with sociopaths and one of them is moving quickly: declaring “love,” wanting to get married very fast. Another is resenting time spent with family and friends (or, I suppose, wearing a bullet necklace); sociopaths are often possessive and demanding. Did he ever love Chloe? I don’t think so, personally. I saw no indication he was capable of real love, sacrificial love, love that puts someone else first sometimes. I think he loved feeling like he’d “won” the game of stealing Chloe from Lucifer (Cain is often shown emulating Lucifer, such as with providing favors, but I don’t think he ever cares about what he’s giving to the other person: he’s entirely focused on how beholden the person will have to feel to him. It’s about power. Chloe is about power. Being a Lieutenant with friends in high places is about power. Being the Sinnerman is about power). Perhaps, yes, that moment he lost his mark was the first time in thousands of years he felt bad, a pang of momentary guilt. It did not, however, take him long to return to manipulating Chloe and improvising a plan so he could “win” again.

Finally: look guys, that rock collection was serial killer creepy AF. Okay? The rock he killed his brother with was definitely there. Those were trophies. He took them with him to his creepy sewer/warehouse hidey-hole.

So, before I leave you, here’s something interesting for people to think about: the Lucifer we meet in Season 1? Go look at that list of pathological personality traits again. Lucifer’s a walking checklist for sociopathy/APD (the Cain & Lucifer parallels are definitely material for more thought!). As the show goes on, we start to realize that a lot of Lucifer’s issues are rooted in early (and extremely extended) trauma (which is what psych researchers believe is the root of sociopathy; Lucifer wasn’t born that way, while it’s implied Cain was). Only, Lucifer changes. He learns. It’s slow and he takes steps backward as often as he steps forward. Only his active choices and steps toward change, only the fact that he slowly begins to see things from a little outside himself, only the fact that he is willing to admit he makes mistakes or doesn’t actually know everything and work with an actual therapist, and that he is doggedly devoted to not lying is what sets him apart and allows him to be someone sympathetic and capable of change—it’s why Chloe, and the audience, can love him and hope the best for him. Though they may seem small, that Lucifer is making changes at all is monumental. Psychologically speaking, the deck is really stacked against him.

What I’m saying here is that Dr. Linda Martin is going to write the most epic case study in the history of psychology at some point. She’s gonna make millions. And she deserves it!

(Speaking of different essays, someone remind me to talk about the parallels between Amenadiel & Lucifer and Cain & Abel at some point because they’re fascinating… and also they illuminate why Amenadiel can be redeemed but Cain couldn’t.)

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renegadesrpg · 3 years

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Dark Angels: Creation. Part 18, Accountability. Sin, Sean, Zav, Bryn, and Adrian.

Sin: ‘Report.’ *The words are spoken mentally, but curtly nonetheless. I am not pleased by last night’s encounters, though my displeasure is not that they occurred so much as that I was not enlisted to help dispatch them.* Adrian: *Sin’s tone of voice snaps me to the Spartan version of attention and I can’t help wincing. Even mentally, his power is such that it causes a frisson of electricity to run down my spine when he’s angry. And today he’s angry.* ‘Sean and I were attacked by four demons as we prepared the holding location. We’d just completed the warding and Sean used the seal to spring the trap on them. We didn’t want one getting away and alerting Lucifer. They told us that they’d heard we were touring the corps. I swear, we did not ask any questions which should have aroused suspicions, but we did speak of you and the old days to gauge reactions. It must have been enough. Someone with loose lips tried to broker an advantage with the demons directly. It came out before we killed the last one that not only had Zav been followed by demons in Miami, demons had been tailing Sean as well. They’d traced him to his female’s home in New York State, although they were unable to penetrate it’s defenses. So they partnered with some of the Horseman’s boys -- DeAndre and his bunch-- to penetrate the mhis, *my brow furrows angrily* the reapers attacked Sean’s female, the Chosen Layla. We called for Bryn and Zav’s help, had Bryn remove Layla to the Brazil safe house, and dispatched the reapers. Sean’s there now with Bryn and Layla. Zav and I split up, with him warding Layla’s home and me resetting the seal. But we are abiding the pair’s directive. Zav called up a pair of reapers he’d just finished tattooing, Kojo and Aniel. Kojo’s with Zav and Aniel’s with me.’ Sin: *They had done their jobs, efficiently, I might add, but I was still unhappy.* ‘Why was I not called? And why am I just learning of this from Declan?’ Bryn: The call Sin put out had come to all of us. Adrian had just been the first to answer, but now I chime in… ‘You weren’t called because we can’t afford for you to lose you. You are the only one who can take on the Horseman. The.Only.One. The rest of us are expendable. You aren’t.’ Sin: ‘NONE OF YOU ARE EXPENDABLE!’ *it may have been mental, but it was a shout, none the less.’ Bryn: ‘Shhhh! Sean and Layla are sleeping. They needed it.’ Sean: ‘Well, I was…’ groggily. I’d been spooned around Layla, walking in her dreams. It was of the future she hoped to have with me and I wasn’t happy being awakened but as I register its Sin doing the yelling, I gently disengage from her and slip from bed to walk into the bathroom and shut the door. There won’t be any noise, but when I’d realized it was Sin, my body had automatically become alert and I didn’t want to disturb her. ‘Mo Chaptaen, we /are/expendable if it comes down to it. That’s the way it has to be because even combined we can’t do what you can. None of us are looking to die, but we knew what we signed up for with this. And besides, if we can’t handle a few demons and bad seed reapers, what the hell are you doing with us as your lieutenants?’ Zav: ‘You know he’s right, Sin. You taught me long ago that you don’t risk your biggest asset on minor skirmishes. And that’s all this was.’ *I’d been listening as I finished the warding and now spoke with the surety of more than a lieutenant. Though we were all family, I spoke as an old friend as well. I’d known Sin when he was human and I was still a living angel. I’d once taught the art of governance as Gregori teacher to his mortal king. In death he’d taught the art of war to my reaper.* Sin: *That Zav turns back the very thing I had taught him as a reaper I feel the urge to tear my hair out. But I refrain, because he /is/right. They are all right. I just do not like it. They are my family and I do not consider them “expendable” under any circumstances. However, his words serve their purpose and calm my irritation.* ‘What of the disposition of the slain?’ Adrian: ‘The demon souls have been dispatched for Sheol. What goes to Sheol, stays in Sheol. Lucifer won’t miss them for a while, and if he does, he’ll assume we caught them tailing us. That’s enough reason for us to kill them. He won’t look for further reason.’ Zav: ‘Kojo’s got custody of the reaper souls, but I’m not sure what to do with them. They belong in Hell where they should have been sent in the first place, but if he takes them there, the first thing Lucifer will do is tell the Horseman and you know as well as I do that Lucifer will just give them back to him. Or at least the information on Layla and our preparations.’ Bryn: ‘Don’t worry, I’ve got this,’ chiming into the mental conversation. ‘You need a Dybbuk box. Have Kojo bring them here…No, not here…’ Somehow, I don’t want their eternally damned and permanently deceased souls anywhere near my workshop or this safe house even if they are secured. ‘Ask Kojo to take them to Death Valley,’ chuckling mentally, because, hey, I can make a joke. ‘I’ll meet him there with a Dybbuk box big enough for 4 souls and bury it in the salt flats until this is over. Nothing will get them out of that.’ Sin: *Huffing a mental sigh at them all* ‘It seems you are quite capable of running things without me. I needn’t worry.’ Sean: ‘Sin…we’ve had to. You left the reaper corps to us a thousand years ago. We were capable lieutenants then and we’ve learned even more. We had to. We always knew we were just the caretakers and we wanted you to have something to return to when you were ready. Sin: *Softening a bit, because, he is right. I left them and they grew into their responsibility. I cannot fault them* ‘It is well you have done so. And I will be leaving you to shoulder the burdens again for a bit. I need to speak with Freya. As Celia and Declan have me under what is popularly known as “house arrest”, I am going to attempt a vision quest. Though my body and soul will remain under guard in my Hawaiian retreat, my consciousness will contact Freya to gain her help in removing the Inguz rune. I shall not be available during this process. Though you are all capable, Sean shall serve as first among equals during my absence. Be alert. Be wary. And most of all be safe.’ Zav: ‘Sin, I have a request before you go incommunicado.’ Sin: *In our long history Zav has rarely made requests. Occasionally he has negotiated, but asking for something without prelude tells me it is important.* ‘What troubles you Zav?’ Zav: ‘Sean is not the only one who has found his other half. I found Kalare‘s soul just as this was all beginning. She’s human again and just walked into my tattoo shop. It was later that a day I had to torch it. After this incident with Layla I’m worried about her. They could have put a tail on her since she was the last one seen coming into and going out of the shop. I’d like permission to go see her and to install Celia in her household, if possible. I know Celia and Declan are watchdogging you, but if you’re planning on doing your business with Freya metaphysically from your home, it should be safe enough to have Declan there alone with you.’ Sin: *So Zav has finally found the soul of his late wife. I am a bit envious at it. My Eve has long since ascended, I am quite sure. I will never see her again. But I cannot begrudge my oldest friend his good fortune, and in any case, I will not put a mortal’s life at risk.* ‘I do not require two bodyguards even if I do choose to leave my sanctuary. Declan would still be sufficient. I will have a discussion with Celia and help her see that this re-assignment is a gesture of trust on both our parts. She has not reaper powers, but I am sure she is more than equal to handling a demon or two should the need arise. I shall ask her to meet you in Brazil for further instructions.’ Zav: I breathe a physical sigh of relief at his easy acquiescence. It’s a long shot that Truely could be traced to me, but not one I’m willing to take. ‘Thank you Sin.’ Sin: ‘You are quite welcome my old friend.’ *Cutting off the mental communication, I find myself feeling some pride. There is a reassurance in knowing that, should this war end in my death, all will still be well. These four will restore the balance between death and the mortal worlds. Squaring myself off for an argument with my ever vigilant female bodyguard, I speak aloud,* Celia, would you attend me? I have a request. #TBC

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thewhiterabbit42 · 7 years

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Full Circle: Part 5

Full Circle Masterlist

Pairings: Gabriel x Reader

Warnings/Tags: Winchester sister!reader, angst, sarcasm, and a whole lot of ways to call someone a dick (among other things), violence

Word Count: 7,826

Summary: Gabriel isn’t the only thing from the past being brought back to life, and, once again, you find yourself smack dab in the middle of everything.

Author’s note: This chapter is tied with The Best Laid Plans as the favorite thing I’ve ever written. I had so much fun when I originally wrote it and, at the time, really got into the mind set. I actually didn’t end up changing much except for adding more names for Gabe to call Raphael, the conversations around which have made this chapter that much more precious to me.

All tags are at the end. If you have a line through your name, the tumblr Gods won’t let me tag you.

Special thanks to @sumara62, my wonderful beta who made it through 15 pages of dick references before being like, “Really?” and @blondecoffeecake for helping add to my repertoire of dick. You guys are the best.

***Please do not repost or copy my work to any other site without my written permission. Giving credit does NOT count. Reblogging is ok.***

<<Prev Chapter Part 5 Next Chapter>>

If Gabriel’s life were an autobiography, it would be called The Reason We Can't Have Nice Things: A Study in Daddy Issues or Why I Hope I’m Adopted. Because right now? There wasn't a single one of his family members he wasn't considering shanking, his father most of all.

Great. Fine. Wonderful. The man had brought him back. Gabriel would be sure to send Him an edible fruit arrangement the next time He was in town. Laced with the plague and made entirely of zombie fruit aka durian (aka what had his father been smoking when he decided anything consumable should naturally smell like rotting flesh?).

Why was Gabriel displeased one might ask?

It might have had something to do with being turned into shish kebab so his brothers could compare dick sizes. (If anything he should be the winner in that department since he was the only one with the cojones to stand up to them).

It might have had something to do with his father being unable to do anything other than stand around, dick in hand, while shit went sideways because He was, in fact, just standing around, dick in hand.

Maybe it was because the only being who gave a damn about Gabriel was a mother loving human who should hate his very existence after what he did to you and your brothers. (The father loather in both of you, however, had created quite the bonding experience).

Or maybe, just maybe, he couldn’t help but suspect there was some underlying motive to his sudden and fortuitous resurrection… like the fact that the heaven bus was on fire again and a fair number of his divine family was ready to drive it into the side of the earth.

Because it had worked out so well for the God squad the first time around.

When he found the earth was not, in fact, one giant smoking battlefield or a rage infested zombie land, he was impressed. He assumed your family had managed to put Lucifer back in time out, though he never would have guessed the how.

He also never would have guessed who Luce would end up with for roommates. He had been impressed with the creativity until he caught the look on your face. Heaviness clung to the darks of your eyes making them seem endless. He knew how cleverness could be a burden and it was like staring at his own reflection, enduring loneliness included.

He had initially hoped one of you had gotten a few good sac taps in on his behalf, but now he simply hoped you had for your own closure. Preferably before his brother was wearing yours, but it wasn’t like the sasquatch was going to feel much other than suffocating in his own body.

Gabriel made a mental note to avoid ever explaining that perk of being a vessel to you.

Fact check: being a vessel was terrible for the first thousand days or so. After that it just tickled.

However, he did have a lot to explain.

He knew he would end up here sooner or later. Well, not here here. He kind of understood his father having a blast from the past, considering the easiest way to pull his vessel to the present was to find the last place it had existed. Being cockblocked and dropped right where Lucifer iced him, however, was an extra special touch of douchiness, and there was only one being left with that much power (and that much douche).

What he didn’t know is that you would end up here with him and that was what had him close to popping a vessel (literally and figuratively speaking). It hadn’t been his choice to be resurrected in the middle of a shitstorm, but he had been the one to drag you into it. All because he had been impulsive, reckless, and unable to look past his own selfish desires.

There went his argument for being adopted.

He should have stayed away from you. Then again, if it was a cosmic coincidence you both showed up at the same place at the same time, he’d put himself in the cage with Lucifer, Michael, and the youngest Winchester and dance the lambada with all them. The only reason he’d come back to this funhouse of memories was to seal off the doors and windows just in case the rip in the time space continuum was a little more wormy and less like the snapshot he’d initially assessed.

The moment he spotted you, he should have just walked away. He could have. It wasn’t your grief that undid him.

Fact check: seeing your world bend beneath that weight did, however, do things to him he’d rather not think about.

He had only seen you this distraught on one other occasion. Famine had sunk its influence so deep inside you there was nothing other than a blinding need. For what, Gabriel had never found out. The urgency in your prayer (along with the fact it was just his name over and over again) suggested he might want to get his winged ass down there pronto. When he arrived, you’d been so consumed he’d had to put you to sleep before seeing your pain began to consume him.

Pain, though, was a timeless constant he could rationalize. So long as there was life, there would be suffering. What chance did he stand, however, against your guilt? It pushed against the indifference he had tried to maintain, unknowingly slipping within his walls undetected, until it touched against his own guarded feelings of responsibility.

Even then, Gabriel could have patched you up (emotionally), saw you out to your car, and went on to enjoy his limited existence at his own personal, completely conjured bunny ranch equipped with endless supplies of chocolate, whip cream, and other sensual sweets… along with eight different versions of what he called not yous. Those were women who had enough of your features for him to pretend, but not actual carbon copies.

Having no shame and being a super creep were definitely two different things.

Not to mention how creepy they were when he couldn’t get the personality traits down enough to not make a copy seem straight out of Invasion of the Body Snatchers… not that he’d ever tried or anything.

Fact check: Gabriel had tried once. For science.

However any illusion of leaving had been shattered in one simple statement.

Have that drink with me, Sheriff, and I will be.

Green had inked in around his vision and he didn’t have to read your thoughts to know what your plans were. The two of you were kindred spirits, your personalities sharing several different aspects. The main one was you liked pleasure in many forms and you weren’t ashamed to take it. Whether it was ordering every pie in the diner when caught in the time loop (and then watching Dean’s stomach explode when you made a pie eating contest out of it) or distracting yourself by seducing the local sheriff, you used your senses to feel good in the moment.

This moment, however, was wrong. You sought distraction in his absence, only he was standing right there, so close he had accidentally touched you when you stumbled back a bit (though he was still trying to figure out how that fluke had occurred considering he was pretty sure the only thing close enough had been his wing).

Fact check: the left one did tend to get a little handsy.

But that was besides the point. You were looking to get lost in a man from a generation whose idea of a good time was a cup of tea, an episode of Matlock, and a nap.

Despite the sheriff being apprehensive, Gabriel saw the flash of loneliness that pushed through the man’s gaze. It wouldn’t take much to get him to cave. Even if he put up a good fight, you were young, pretty, and way too smart for your own good. He wouldn’t stand a chance.

Neither did Gabriel when he began to imagine all the things the man would do to you, all the things you would let the sheriff do, and it would all be on his conscience, because it was technically his fault you went on grieving.

At least, that’s what he told himself. Admitting the first thing on his mind since getting a reboot was to make you his in every way he’d failed to before was a tad more insightful than he cared to be. The whole thing was enough to drive him to drink.

Fact check: while there was no driving, there was a whole lot of drink. The part about making the sheriff run circles and question his own sanity was just an added bonus.

He needed something to calm the clamor in his head, except it had just made him sloppy if he had missed his brother’s presence slipping into town. Regret and guilt weighed heavy on gold as he took in the mounting dread on your features. His weakness had brought you here, and it was up to him to see it did not take you down with him.

He wanted to tell you as much, but whether it was his own streak of daddy issues or the fact that even the most meaningful relationship he’d managed had ended with a good old-fashioned stabbing (thanks, Kali, always knew you were kind of a bitch), his words fell short as they tended to in these situations.

Touch, however, was something he managed to do well. Tips up knuckles drank in the skin along the side of your face, savoring the feel one last time. He channeled what reassurance he could into the gesture, hoping to calm the panic he felt buzzing through you so you would hear him when he told you to run. The command, however, became lost as his brother made his grand entrance, confirming he did, in fact, have the worst timing in the universe.

“Gabriel,” a deep voice boomed over the lingering echoes of thunder as the the silhouette of a man manifested in the center of fading light.

“Raphael,” Gabriel drawled, looking up at his brother. “This is an awkward surprise.”

“Someone’s clearly never heard of knocking,” you muttered, and he felt your relief in a momentary release of tension before everything tightened again. You slid off his lap, and the absence of your body rang cold as the sudden chill in the room rushed in to take the place of your warmth. He could see the gears in your mind turning, gaze appraising as you took in his brother’s stoic features.

Gabriel stepped forward, subtly placing himself between you and the entity who should henceforth be known as the giant dick for being the the biggest cockblock in creation.

“I am disappointed, brother,” The meter-long man-dong said, eyes flicking to Gabriel in obvious dismissal of your presence. “You must have heard what is happening.”

Oh, Gabriel had heard all right. Angel radio was a complete cluster these days. The last time it had been this chaotic was when he’d tricked Michael and Biggus Dickus into believing there was a demon incursion about to launch on heaven led by rogue angels… because was inciting the Crusades as a test of faith (and act of boredom) really necessary?

“Let me guess. Thing’s not going so well for you, bro?” A glimmer of a sardonic grin flashed across his casual mask, tone pushing the fringe of disdain as he arched a brow.

“No. But you already knew that, and yet your first inclination is to dally with this human.”

Apparently Gabriel wasn't the only one unimpressed with the situation.

“I get we’re a little behind the times right now, but what year are you stuck in? 1905?” He taunted.

“Watch your tone,” Cock McBlockins warned and Gabriel nearly rolled his eyes. He wondered if his father had meant to make all three of his brothers into prideful pricks with their own mini god complexes or if they had just naturally become those without anyone to challenge their authority.

“Or what, you’ll shiv me too?” He demanded. It wasn’t like he was bitter or anything, being put in this position again.

Fact check: he was plenty bitter and uber pissed.

If anyone asked, however, the official story was he just didn’t think Raphael had it in him to be such an ass about it.

“The only reason she continues drawing breath is because I will it,” the monstrous manpole informed him. The older archangel’s wings flared slightly in warning, his presence pushing against Gabriel’s as it wrestled for dominance within the room. The youngest pushed back, his own pride unwilling to back down so easily. To do so would be to show weakness, and his weakness had put you in enough danger already today.

Tips of fingers touched against his lower back, acting as pinpoints of pressure and shifting his focus back to you. If he had to guess, instinct spurred your touch, and perhaps the need for reassurance. There’s no way you could have perceived the pissing contest currently happening, but enough of something skittered across your radar to tip you off to the danger.

Or perhaps you were telling him to quit dicking around already and figure out an escape plan.

“What do you want?” Gabriel asked, backing down. The degenerate disco stick eyed him as if it were a trick a moment before that dark, baleful gaze slipped over his shoulder and landed on you.

“What is she to you?” Dickus Maximus demanded.

“I mean I was trying to have a bit of fun but somebody crashed that party,” he gave a dramatic look skyward as if asking if even his father could believe the nerve. “But really, what are any of them to us in the long run?”

“An incessant nuisance,” the dickasaurus rex said flatly.

“I was thinking more like a beautiful distraction,” Gabriel replied smoothly though it felt like he had a mouth full of sand. “But just a distraction, nonetheless… no offense sweetheart.” He turned, giving you a flashy-and completely false- apologetic smile for good measure.

He didn’t mean it. He might not be ready to admit you were more than a passing obsession, but on a visceral level he was hooked, his stomach suddenly a gymnastics Olympian as it somersaulted its way through a sudden bout of ire-tipped nerves.

If the USS Douche Canoe ruined this for him, everybody’s ship was going down, starting with the dickhead in front of him and heading straight to the top, where all the bullshit started.

“No offense, sweetheart, but I’m not looking to date a giant dick anytime soon,” sarcasm painted your words, streaking across lips in a smile you flashed that was just as insincere.

Gabriel took it as a good sign you hadn’t missed a beat with your response. Mostly because that was one less thing to worry about while he figured out how to get you out of there. There’d be plenty of time for doubt later if he survived. In fact, it was one of his favorite pastimes.

Fact check: it was nobody’s favorite pastime.

“Well, aren’t we just two peas in a pod,” he drawled, brows raising as he dropped his hands to his hips. “Humans, I tell you. Just when you think you’re the one using them, they’re actually using you.”

“I’ve asked myself many times what would I do should you choose deceit over honest discourse,” The dick with a dictionary began, his gaze drifting back to Gabriel’s. “I think I have my answer.”

The look in his eyes remained neutral, pushing beyond the fringes of weary into outright exhaustion, but it was that telltale half lift of lips, smirking smugly, that gave away the game plan. Unfortunately, that plan looked to be you.

With a snap, you disappeared from out of the side of Gabriel’s vision only to reappear in front of the increasingly annoying third wheel to the party. The contrast of the dark fingers wrapped around your pale throat was startling. Or, it could just be the fact his brother was definitely gripping that part of you quite snugly in warning.

“What weaknesses lay beneath, I wonder…” the wondrous one-eyed yogurt slinger mused, thumb dragging slowly across the surface of your throat. The movement was callous, insinuating no more than the danger you were in. Defiance darkened your eyes, your lips pulling back in silent snarl as if he’d touched you in a far different manner and it caught Gabriel off guard.

He looked more closely, peeling back the layers of atoms and energy until gossamer strands of grace glistened ethereal in the dim lighting. You were surrounded by it, wisps of it ghosting over your upper body as if seeking some sort of entrance. Anger crackled hot beneath his skin, causing his energy to spark slightly between the tips of his fingers.

How dare Raphael touch you that way.

He had no right to touch you with his grace. He had no business inside your mind, though by how he was concentrating on the area between your shoulders and waist he was after something much more integral.

Why he’d want a peek at your soul was beyond Gabriel, but it was a whole lot of nothing good for you.

“Stop,” He warned, clenching down hard and doing his best to reign in his temper. He was aware that this might not be anything other than a test (which he was clearly failing). If his brother was prodding for sore spots, boy had he found one, especially when Gabriel watched as the older archangel pushed his energy beneath your skin in a wholly ungentle way.

There was no stopping his fury as your features grew taut with pain, your torment pushing out your throat in a sudden cry as light emanated out from where the grace had entered. The ground beneath his feet began to tremble, tables and chairs beginning to clatter as they bounced around, skittering slowly across the floor.

“I said stop,” he repeated, the rumble growing louder as the entire building began to sway. Windows shattered around the room and Raphael was lucky he didn’t find himself on the receiving end of an incredibly angry smite. His brother exhaled a long, heavy sigh through his nose, withdrawing all his energy in a single instant and letting you drop to the floor.

“Who is she to you?” Disappointment wove through the gigantic pork sword’s words and Gabriel held back a snort. Like the asshat had any right to ask anything about you anymore.

“None of your business,” Gabriel hissed.

It was the wrong answer.

Apparently a good old fashioned ass kicking was next on the list, your body catching some serious air before it came slamming down on the top of the tables. Wood snapped beneath the force and you continued to roll across the floor a few feet from the impact.

Gabriel reached out with his grace, searching for the familiar, chaotic buzz that was often your mind. It was a much dimmer, snarling mass of tangled thoughts at the moment. Stay down he told you, hoping you were conscious enough to hear him.

You were and, as usual, you were intent on doing just the opposite of what you should be. You pushed yourself up, eyes flashing with determination as you appraised the situation. Keep him occupied you prayed, silently pulling yourself to your feet before slowly edging your way toward the back exit.

Good. Maybe you could sneak out while he and his brother got down to business.

“Would you like to gamble on what strike three means for her?”

“All right, all right,” he said, putting his hands up in surrender. “No need to pull a Lucifer and break everyone else’s toys when you don’t get your way. Besides, we all know what happens when you start throwing temper tantrums with the Winchesters around. Well, Michael does, anyway.”

He smiled widely, enjoying the way his remarks were beginning to get under Coitis Interruptis’ skin.

“But if you simply must know… she was the only one that gave two shits about me when everyone was trying to make me choose sides. It wasn’t about tradition or the greater good. It was about me. She believed in me to make the right decision because I was good enough,” he began, past pushing against present as a familiar slow burning anger flared back to life.

“So no. She’s not a distraction. She’s a friend. A good one, and she’s a good person who doesn’t deserve to be caught up in our bullshit again. So I’m asking you, as your brother, to leave her out of this.”

Three things became apparent as Gabriel stopped his rambling.

First, this was probably the most genuine interaction he’d had with cocksmiter number three since his father had left.

Second, because it was sincere, it didn’t even register on his brother’s bullshit detector which, in turn, sent it flying off the charts by the look he received.

Third, and most important, you had stopped. You were now just standing. In the middle of the room. Staring. Mouth parted slightly when really you needed to be moving - why the hell weren’t you still moving?

Gold snapped up to your gaze, flicking toward the door insistently. Keep going he urged when you simply looked conflicted. You hesitated another moment before continuing on.

Humans.

“I mean I know it’s a novel idea, but why don’t we try keeping the crazefest in the family, just this once?” He continued, aware of his brother’s unwavering stare. He was also aware of how close you were to the back door. Your hand reached for the handle, movements silent as you gave a push… only for nothing to happen.

Someone clearly had some control issues to work on.

“I will never understand your loyalty to these creatures,” the disdain dripping from the colossal cockmuffin’s words was palpable. “They are weak and flawed.”

“What did you say?” Gabriel demanded, eyes narrowing. Lucifer had said those very words… how had his brother known?

“Despite our differences, Gabriel, I came here to talk,” the humongous spawn hammer implored. “The rebel has gathered a surprising amount of support, though it is only a matter of time before he is defeated.”

“Well, sounds like you have it all figured out. Best of luck to you,” he said, taking a few steps back toward the front entrance. If he wasn't going to let you go, Gabriel could at least try and move the party. Thunder echoed overhead and the room suddenly leapt to life with a gathering energy just before a bolt of lightning pierced the ceiling. It struck right behind Gabriel’s back, stopping him in his tracks and scorching the floor.

Apparently he wasn't the only one with a penchant for theatrics.

“You’re either with me or against me.”

Gabriel had been wrong. His brother wasn't a giant dick. He was a whole bag of them.

“Well, when you put it that way,” Gabriel jeered, taking a step forward. “So, how do you want to do this? Should I just whip mine out? Do we compare sizes first?”

A familiar smell drifted under his nose, carrying hints of metal and life in its purest form. He glanced up to find you with your back against the door, hand obscured behind you and he had a fairly good idea what you were doing. The problem was if he did, then so did the massive heat-seeking moisture missile.

If you both lived through this, he and you were going to have a long, snarky chat about the limitations of humans, and the nearly limitless power of archangels and why the former didn't need to worry about saving the latter.

“Blood carries a very distinct smell,” Skippy McSexkiller announced, turning your way, dark eyes blazing bright against the insolence you were hastily painting across the door. “Yours especially.”

“It’s a wonder you’re not a hit with the ladies,” Gabriel taunted, trying to draw his attention. It didn’t work. “Hey, Raphie, can I call you Raphie?” That did the trick; the archangel paused momentarily, giving him a baleful look.

“I tire of your games, brother, and theirs.” Boy, did his brother look tired. Not just the soul weary I’ve-been-alive-since-the-dawn-of-time exhaustion that timeless beings tended to get from time to time. This was a whole other ballgame.

Gabriel, tell me how to do this without hurting you.

Apprehension filled your prayer as it floated to the forefront of his consciousness, and from the corner of his eyes he could see you were almost done. He found it awfully touching you didn’t want to blast his hide when he knew that if your brothers were there, he’d have been rocketed halfway to Texas by now.

Unfortunately, Scrote-totes MaGoo continued to designate the hotel as a no fly zone, leaving you both without a lot of options.

At least it would only hurt for a moment.

Fact check: it was only for a moment, but it also was a whole lot of hurt.

Catch you on the flip side, sweetheart.

“Human idioms,” the gigantic tube steak sighed and the easygoing mask Gabriel kept in place began to slip. “I’ll never understand your preference for them. Or why you’d think me fool enough to fall for your little trap.”

Panic sparked in Gabriel’s chest, skating across the thickening tension in the air before slamming into your system. You frantically finished the last symbol on the ward before bringing your hand down in the center. He braced himself, only the blast never came. He looked over to see the sigil had vanished.

Oh sweet bearded man with bad teeth but good religious messages. This was happening. His brother was looking at you like he was going to split every atom in your body no matter what his younger brother wanted and last Gabriel checked, that was not on his agenda.

“Hey douchebag,” he called out, pulling his blade from out of his jacket. “Let’s get this show on the road.”

The other archangel didn’t even bat an eye. He didn’t even give his younger sibling a courtesy snap. The only reason Gabriel felt the smite coming was because the air always tasted like it was burning the moment before it hit.

A bright, blinding light poured down through the ceiling. Every hair stood on edge, stretching upward toward the concentration of energy before everything suddenly released and the blast had his brains pushing down through his nostrils.

Fact check: Gabriel’s brain was not actually being forced out his nose, but it certainly felt like it.

The extreme downward pressure, however, was enough to immobilize his mind and force him down to his knees.

Apparently his brother was done dicking around.

“Was the pain you suffered earlier not tangible enough?” Raphael’s voice managed to push through the mental haze. “Perhaps you need a reminder of your own past.”

Gabriel’s eyes fluttered open, details around him fuzzy as he struggled to bring the world back into focus.

Your pain made for a great motivator.

He heard your cry go up and the visceral response that tore through him was enough to help him gather his wits. Your anguish was tangible even from across the room, tiny cuts and enlarged gashes singing in a discord of physical suffering that clashed with the previous chorus that rang from the very essence in your soul crying out.

He looked over to see you on your knees, red painting your torment in grisly splashes through your clothing. There were streaks across your legs, your right thigh practically saturated. It was harder to tell what was behind your sweater, but by the sheer smell of iron drifting across the room, there was a fair amount that had yet to show through. You cradled your left arm closer to your body, droplets trickling out from beneath the cuff of your coat, sliding steadily off tips of fingers with a steady pat, pat, pat.

“Is that why you brought me here?” Gabriel demanded, trying get the giant phallus turned back in his direction. “Because you want to remind me what happens if I choose the right side?”

Pat, pat, pat.

“There’s a certain symmetry. Beginning where you ended. Ending where you began, should it come to that.”

Pat, pat, pat.

He should have seen it sooner. After helping lock Auntie Amara away, the mammoth meat constrictor had been all about balance, about the universe having some sort of grand plan and synergy to it. After their father left, however, things began to become a little less about cosmic harmony and a little more obsessive-compulsive.

Pat, pat, pat.

“From where I’m standing? More like a certain douchiness,” he turned, spitting out a mouthful of red from the blood that trickled down the back of his throat.

“Enough!” Raphael roared. “I will not stand here and listen to your drivel while our home is under attack.”

Pat, pat, pat.

Your heart began to slow, the change in pace nearly imperceptible at first. For every beat you lost, his seemed to pick it up. You were bleeding out and while you had a little time, you were going to be drier than a fruitcake in February if he couldn’t get to you soon.

Good thing he had a trick or two up his sleeve.

“Heaven is burning, brother. Michael is locked away no different than Lucifer. Doesn’t that mean anything to you?”

“It might if that was what this was really about, but we both know that’s not the case,” Gabriel said, slowly pulling himself to his feet.

“Paradise was within our grasp... until you betrayed us to the Winchesters and told them how to put Lucifer back.”

Fact check: the only betrayal being served was by Lucifer, who couldn’t help but turn everything into an ice cold fuckery of a dish.

“Then kill me,” he said, tossing his blade aside. Rather, his shadow twin did. He wasn’t that stupid… and you were beginning to look awfully pale. He appeared in front of you, crouching down until he was eye level with you. You hadn’t moved. He wasn’t sure you were able to by the number of wounds you had.

“I’d rather have you by my side,” his brother continued from across the room. He was vaguely aware his double had given one of the many pre-selected responses from his repertoire. Besides the fact it made things easier, he’d rather be focusing on you anyway. His hands tended to get a little less smitey when he did.

He had to be careful, though. If he released too much energy, Frodo Douchbaggins would be on him like nazgul on the one ring. He idly wondered if that made him Aragorn in this situation. Probably Eowyn. She did have the most fabulous hair out of all of them.

Fact check: Gabriel did have pretty fabulous hair.

Your eyes met his with something too shrouded for him to read. The pain was too prevalent and he wondered how much you were even able to think beyond it. Your lips parted as if to speak, and he held a finger up for you to be quiet before his gaze dropped down to the pool of blood on the floor.

This mess was as much his fault as the titanic flesh rod’s, and when this was all said and done,

Gabriel was going to go full Lorena Bobbitt and remove him from existence.

“This is your chance, Gabriel, to make up for your past indiscretions…”

The only thing he needed to make amends for was sitting right in front of him. The longer things dragged out, however, the less likely he’d get the chance.

Fact check: the chances one of you were getting fucked tonight were looking pretty good.

Bonus fact check: it wouldn’t nearly be as fun as either of you had planned.

Fingers drifted along the swollen contour of your cheek, tenderly stroking away the puffiness as he released his energy. He didn’t need to physically touch you in order to heal, but what did he have to lose anymore?

Your gaze drifted sideways, widening slightly in surprise and doubt slipped in through the cracks in his armor. Perhaps he’d been mistaken. Perhaps things were more one sided than he realized. Perhaps you had been the one with too much drink tonight.

He tried to focus on his brother droning on in the background, clamping down on his rising disappointment. Wank, wank, atonement. Wank, wank, duty. It was the same hackneyed setup where humanity became the punchline.

His family really needed to add some new jokes to their lineup.

You released a slow breath and his attention shifted back to you as you tried to move. The hand you raised was shaky, slowed by the damage he was still trying to undo. It was obvious you were struggling to even raise it this far, but it was far enough. Tips of fingers slipped beneath his coat, tentatively tracing along the partially undone line of buttons at the top of his shirt before settling your palm against his chest.

Your eyes settled in the same spot, narrowing intently. He’d seen you enough times to know it was the look you wore when ferreting out an answer in the middle of a clusterfuck of information. What you were seeking and what you found, were simply beyond him in that moment. You did find something, however, and it wasn’t the slow growing heaviness of finality Gabriel overtaking over him.

Despite the snarling mass of emotions he felt within you, your eyes began to brighten, shaking off some of their former weight. The intensity made him take a closer look. A slow burning ire had sparked somewhere along the way, determination causing the edges of your gaze to grow hard, keeping the flames contained. Your anger wasn’t surprising, but the fear that seemed to be fueling it was.

He wanted to reassure you that things would be fine, but what would be the point of lying? Besides, you’d just find something to break on him if he did. Though he imagined with the way things were going there might not be anything left to break by the end of the night.

Your brows drew together suddenly, a frown tugging at your lips. For a moment he thought Raphael might have caught on, but he could hear the prick yammering on while his shadow tossed well placed barbs and used misdirection to keep the conversation going.

Your eyes also never left Gabe’s, making the source of your displeasure rather clear. Or rather unclear, considering he hadn’t a clue what he could have done considering he hadn’t had the chance to open his mouth yet.

Then again, he had dragged you into this mess. Perhaps you were finally getting on the same page as the rest of the world in realizing what a giant fuck up he was.

Your hand clenched around his shirt and while he was surprised at how quickly your strength had returned, he was completely thrown for a loop when you yanked him forward, lips demanding as they moved over his. Passion won out over resignation as energy spiked down from your mouth straight into his chest, sparking outward back into your hand and continuing the loop.

Apparently, you were of the mind set that neither one of you had died yet.

You kept things brief because, unlike previous assumptions, you understood the importance of not dallying. When he looked at you again, the fear had melted away to promise - so much promise for so many, many things burned wickedly in your gaze.

If that wasn’t motivation to survive this disaster of a night, then he deserved to be put out of his misery.

Fact check: he most certainly was not dead already from the waist down.

Show time he decided, giving you a reassuring smirk before taking the place of his double once again. Not that he had a clue what to do still, but he did have a little hope, thanks to you.

“Let’s stop beating around the bush, hmmm?” Gabriel suggested. “I know what you’re really up to. This isn’t about heaven. This isn’t about family or atonement. This is about you just wanting it to be done. No matter the cost.”

“Yes,” his enormous deep-V-diver of a brother admitted. “I am tired, brother. So very tired and I know that you are, too. This is our chance to go back to our real home. If my cold heart still yearns for it, I know yours must as well.”

Ancient sentiments almost forgotten stirred deep beneath the surface and Gabriel’s confidence slipped. If how he looked on the surface mirrored what was going on internally, he would have been running around the room, flailing wildly as he attempted to outrun an imaginary wildfire.

These were not things he wanted to feel again. Not tonight. Not with Raphael. Not ever.

Fact check: he would rather douse himself with holy fire and do the hellfire rumba than go down that road again.

Keep him distracted.

Your prayer rang out as a lifeline, drawing him back from uncertain waters before he became lost in the riptide. He didn’t dare check to see what you were up to with how intently his brother’s stare was fixed upon him.

“Humans have a word for that you know,” he said, pity unknowingly softening his demeanor.

The Herculean skin flute gave a heavy sigh, weariness returning and casting shadows on his face far darker than before. “I am aware of it, and I suppose you’re right. We cannot go back. But we can still end this miserable existence for everyone.”

Every time it seemed like they were about to have a moment, twizzletits had to go and open that big mouth of his.

Gabriel sincerely hoped this wasn’t how everyone felt about him.

Fact check: it kind of was.

I’m going to tell you the same thing I told that big bro of ours,” Gabriel announced. “I love you, Raphael, you are my brother, but you are a great big bag of dicks.” He gave a dramatic pause, watching as fury erupted from his brother’s gaze.

“Actually, I lied. You’re an even bigger one for trivializing all the sacrifices made to stop this madness, mine included, by starting it all over again. What is it with all of you throwing a tantrum if you don’t get your way? For father’s sake, grow a pair! Sac up and move on! The world isn’t as terrible if you’d give it a chance to show you its beauty.”

“This world is no longer beautiful. It is full of ugliness, disappointment, flawed intentions, but most of all, it is filled with suffering. If you love them so much, would you not want their pain to end?”

Gabriel almost winced. The more he listened, the less he was certain his brother was, in fact, a bag of dicks. If anything, it sounded like the archangel needed to go out, drink a liquor store, get laid, then go on a world tour and take in the sights. He knew serving under Michael was no picnic, but he never imagined it would actually suck the soul out of someone.

“To live is to suffer,” Gabriel conceded, “But it’s also so much more than that. Yes, they’re flawed. They can be vicious and bloodthirsty, but how is that any different than us? Why can’t any of you see how much good is also in them? How much they try and more importantly forgive?”

Because forgiveness was not a staple at any of their Sunday dinners.

“I am tired of this life,” Raphael repeated, the lines suddenly evident across his vessel’s face. “And so very tired of all these games. I know where your heart truly lies.”

The part of Gabriel in question gave a stutter, past overlaying present in a terrifying way. It wasn’t so much the echo of Lucifer’s words that disturbed him so much as the fact that you were there, right where he’d been, body crouched low as you slowly crept in for the kill.

“I’m sorry.” The older archangel meant it. It didn’t make him any less of a fuck stick for what he was about to do.

Fact check: Raphael was definitely a big ol’ bag of dicks.

Desperation forced Gabriel’s hand and he leapt forward. Once again, his brother anticipated the move, deftly sidestepping the blade before grabbing him by the arm and throwing him into you. You nearly filleted him by mistake, your weapon catching him across his shoulder as you scrambled to get it out of the way.

So much for plan B.

Gabriel felt the telltale gathering of energy over his head and he had just enough time to throw you back before heaven’s energy came barreling down upon him. It didn't matter how old he got, he would never get used to the feeling of a smite. Though that might have been his brother’s goal by how many were sent down upon him. Wave after wave of energy crashed over him and he was certain this was it… until it suddenly wasn’t.

By the time the world stopped spinning (and ringing… and twisting… and shouting…) Gabriel looked up to see his brother booting you across the floor like a soccer ball.

“What will it take for you to realize how weak and unworthy they are?” Raphael demanded, sending another burst down. Something popped inside his skull, though it was likely just his brain falling in on itself. There seemed to be enough of something leaking out his nose and down the back of his throat again.

There was another loud pop followed by more ringing in his ears, and for a minute he assumed he really had taken one too many smites to the head for his vessel to hold. When the sound continued, he realized the noise wasn’t coming from inside him, but from across the room. You had your gun drawn and trained on his brother as more shots peppered the silence, making the archangel’s vessel shake slightly with each bullet that pierced it.

He’d said it before and he’d say it again: you had the most abysmal sense of self-preservation, even for a Winchester.

Fact check: the above statement was completely true. Though scrambled as Gabriel’s mind was, he had the wherewithal to realize what you were doing was solely to draw fire away from him.

He shook his head, pity pushing through the lingering pain. How could his brother bear witness to this and still not be swayed?

“From where I’m standing? They’re more worthy than we are,” he said, smiling slightly as his eyes met yours. No one else was willing to step this far onto the wrong side of sane for him. Not his family. Not yours. It only reaffirmed his stance that you all deserved better than what his father had originally planned.

“She has ruined you,” Dickbag McFlaccidcock declared, tone insinuating if anyone were to be pitied, it should be Gabriel. Unfortunately, there was a reason for that.

Gabe watched as your hand began to shake, your eyes widening at the realization you were no longer in control of your weapon. Slowly, you began to turn it on yourself, your other hand coming up to try and alter its course without much luck.

He didn’t even get the chance to try and attack his brother before another blinding round of pain echoed through his skull.

“You will watch this,” the patron saint of douchbaggery insisted. “Because your foolishness is the reason she must die.”

A crushing weight bore down upon his shoulders, pinning him in place. Desperation clawed viscerally through his stomach, his wings shooting out to full length as he tried to break free from his brother’s grasp. The uber smiting he’d received, however, had stripped him of most of his strength. He was essentially leashed and there was nothing worse than feeling caged and helpless.

Except maybe watching the one good thing in his life be destroyed because of him.

“You want me to stand with you - fine. I’ll be your right hand man. The heavens will sing of our unstoppable duo - Gabriel and Raphael - or Raphael and Gabriel, whatever you prefer,” he begged, willing to say whatever his brother needed to hear if it meant buying you more time. He could worry about the finer points of how to dig himself out later.

“This is for your own good,” Raphael insisted.

It seemed his brother had half a brain after all, though his heart was clearly still AWOL.

No no no no no. Think, Gabriel, think, think, think...

Fuck, fuck, god damn, fucking fuck - think, y/n, think, think, think…

Your thoughts collided, bursting through the increasingly tense silence. Your mounting panic pushed through his battered mind, allowing him to unintentionally pick up on what was flying through yours. As usual, you were the only two in the room even remotely on the same page.

Fact check: that page was titled Now’s a Good Time to Panic.

The gun reached its destination against your temple, desperation hitting its peak as both your mantras came to a deafening halt.

“It’s not your fault, Gabe,” you told him, doing your best to hide your fear and failing miserably at it.

He nearly broke in that moment. Here you were, about to die because of him, and your final thought was to pardon him. It barely made a dent in his brother’s armor, and that’s when he realized just how lost the archangel had become.

Gabriel renewed his efforts, straining against his ethereal bonds. He clenched down on his jaw, so hard he might have heard a few of his teeth crack. It was the only way to keep his desperation from spilling out over his lips. The last thing you needed to see was him reduced to a babbling mess.

No, no, no, no, please, father, no…

“It’s ok,” you told him.

Fact check: things were so far from ok that Gabriel was certain no one would be leaving this room alive if you died.

You closed your eyes, but he had no choice but to watch. His heart hit a fever pitch, mirroring his own struggles to escape as it hammered away against his chest. There was nothing he could do and he dropped to his knees, everything shattering as reality bore down upon him.

He wasn’t strong enough. He couldn’t save you. You were going to die and it was all his fault.

“I’m sorry,” his voice wavered, thick with emotion.

Gabriel’s world came to a screeching halt as his brother forced you to pull the trigger.

Next Chapter>>

ALL the tags: @girl-next-door-writes @sumara62 @fand0maniac @feelmyroarrrr @omgreganlove @jannalionheart @baritonechick, @deaths-maiden @lucifer-in-leather @stone-met @the-moose-of-baskerville @summer-binging-spn @blondecoffeecake @raspberrypuddle @ourloveisforthelovely @deanxfuckingadorablexwinchester @crowley-you-sinnamon-roll @tistai @christinalibertymikaelson

Gabe Squad: @theblackenedsky @bloodstained-porcelain-doll @pepperwoodatnight @lacqueluster @samikitten @ludwigs-a-monster @a-vast-african-plain @onlyanothersocialcasualty @kazosa @cobrakai--1972

Full Circle: @melodyhiddleston @gabe-crowley-trash

#gabriel x reader #reader insert #Full Circle #Rabbit writes #trigger warning #ha. ha.#see what I did there?#... I'll just see myself out now

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enbysaurus-wrex · 7 years

Text

Find My Bluebird (Ramble On)

Chapter One - Gollum and the Evil One

Leaves are falling all around

It's time I was on my way

Thanks to you I'm much obliged

For such a pleasant stay

But now it's time for me to go

The autumn moon lights my way

For now I smell the rain

And with it pain

And it's headed my way

Ah, sometimes I grow so tired

But I know I've got one thing I got to do

Ramble on

And now's the time, the time is now

To sing my song

I'm goin' 'round the world, I got to find my girl

On my way

I've been this way ten years to the day

Ramble on

Gotta find the queen of all my dreams

Got no time for spreadin' roots

The time has come to be gone

And tho’ our health we drank a thousand times

It's time to ramble on

Ramble on

And now's the time, the time is now

To sing my song

I'm going 'round the world, I got to find my girl

on my way

I've been this way ten years to the day

I gotta ramble on

I gotta find the queen of all my dreams

I ain't tellin' no lie

Mine's a tale that can't be told

My freedom I hold dear

How years ago in days of old

When magic filled the air

T’was in the darkest depths of Mordor

I met a girl so fair

But Gollum, and the evil one

crept up and slipped away with her

Her, her, yeah

Ain't nothing I can do, no

I guess I keep on rambling

I'm gonna, yeah, yeah, yeah

Sing my song (I gotta find my baby)

I'm going 'round the world (I gotta ramble on sing my song, gotta work my way around the world baby, baby)

Ramble on, yeah

Doo, doo, doo, doo, doo, my baby

Doo, doo, doo, doo, doodoo doodoo doodoo doodoo doodoo

I gotta keep searching for my baby (baby, baby, baby, baby, baby, baby)

I gotta keep-a-searchin' for my baby (my, my, my, my, my, my, my baby)

~~~

Dean Winchester

Dean fell to his knees upon the sand. No, this can’t be happening, he thought as he looked into the still face of his friend and companion. No, not Cas.

He looked up to the sky and wondered where Chuck was. Why was the bastard allowing this? After all Dean did for him. How could he simply not care?

Dean sank further to the ground, not caring that the sand was wet beneath the seat of his jeans. No no no no no, he thought as the first tear slipped down his face. Not Cas.

He let a hand reach towards the tan fabric of his coat and gripped at the angel’s arm as more tears clouded his vision. “No,” he rasped out as he leaned forward instinctively. “Cas, please…”

His other hand found it’s way to the angel’s cheek and Dean felt how cold it was beneath is palm. “I need you, dammit! Please Cas… Please don’t leave me,” he said as he began to shake. “I need you.”

“Dean…” came his Sam's voice from behind him. He hadn't heard him approach. He ignored the younger Winchester and simply continued to stare into the lifeless face of his dead companion. “Dean!” his brother said again, more forcefully, yet Dean continued to disregard him.

Only when Dean felt a hand grasp his shoulder did he look up. “He can’t be gone, Sammy. He just can’t,” the hunter cried, unable to make eye contact with the man crouching beside him. He couldn't have stopped the tears if he had wanted to.

“Dean, I-”

“No, I don’t think you understand,” Dean managed to choke out through trembling lips. “He’s gone! He was the best man I ever knew and now he’s…” He couldn’t make himself say it. Hell, he could barely think it. He turned his attention back to his angel, noticing the wing marks seared into the sand. Dean lightly traced a finger along the imprint of a feather and wished it were him. He wished he were the one lying on the ground instead of Cas.

Sam sighed. “Dean, I’m… I’m so sorry. I know what he meant to you…” he said softly.

Dean didn’t bother arguing. What was the point? “I never got to say it back…” he murmured, moving his hand to grip the angel’s coat below his lapel.

Both brothers were quiet for some time as Sam allowed Dean to mourn a while longer before he spoke. “The nephilim disappeared," Sam informed him.

“Huh,” was all Dean managed to say. His attention still glued to the face of the lifeless body in front of him.

“Yeah, um… I went inside and found Kelly… She’s… gone,” Sam explained even though he knew Dean wasn't really listening. “Jack killed her.” When his brother didn’t say anything, Sam continued. “There were these… footprints burnt into the floor and I followed them to the nursery. And there he was, in the corner of the room, fully grown and naked.”

This caught Dean’s attention. “Fully grown?” he asked, still not taking his eyes off the angel.

“Yeah… And then he looked up at me and smiled. It was fucking creepy, dude. His eyes glowed gold.”

“And then what?”

“And then he disappeared, like I told you.”

“Weird,” Dean observed. “So how do we even find him?”

“I don’t know,” Sam admitted.

Dean tore his eyes away from Cas and looked at this brother. “So we don’t know where Rosemary’s not-baby went, we don’t know how to reopen the portal to get Mom back, and we don’t know where angels go when they die… But we’re sure as shit gonna find out,” he said matter-of-factly.

“Excuse me?” Sam asked and Dean gave him a hard look.

“I said we’re gonna figure it out. We’re finding Satan’s hell-spawn, we’re reopening the portal to Bizzaro World, and we’re getting Cas back,” Dean said with such determination all Sam could do was nod.

They wrapped Cas’s body in a white sheet they found in the house and carefully carried him to the Impala.

“He belongs at the bunker not on some beach,” Dean said as they laid him in the backseat. “It always should have been his home.”

“Are you sure you don’t want to give him a hunter’s funeral?” Sam asked as they closed the doors and began walking back towards the beach.

“He’ll need a body to come back to,” Dean shrugged as if were just that simple. “Besides, you didn’t burn me. Cas is family. He deserves Winchester treatment.”

“Okay, but he’s an angel, he could always find another body,” Sam explained.

Dean stopped mid-stride and turned to look at his brother. “Not one that’s unoccupied. Sam, that’s his body. He don’t need another one.” Having made his point, Dean strutted off towards the pyre they had set up for Kelly.

The boys were silent as they salted and burned Kelly, watching the fire licked away at the white sheet covering her body, turning it black as the flames consumed her.

“She didn’t deserve this,” Sam said solemnly as he watched the pyre.

Dean laughed, his chuckle deprived of all humor. “People rarely get what they deserve, Sam.”

“No, I guess not,” Sam admitted. “I just know this isn’t what they wanted.”

“People don’t really know what they want,” Dean said quietly. “Not until it’s too late.”

“Don’t tell me you’re giving up on him,” Sam said, turning to his brother, his face scrunched up in concern.

“Never.”

~~~

The brothers were quiet as they drove the twenty-seven hours down I-90. Dean refused to turn on the radio so they drove in silence, only stopping for gas or food. Although, Dean didn't eat and he barely slept - taking one three hour nap once they hit Montana - and insisted on taking the lion's share of the trip. His bloodshot eyes kept looking back at Cas's body in the rear-view, as if the angel were going to wake up somehow. As if his gaze could somehow will him awake.

Behind the bunker, in a clearing, they held an angelic funeral. Dean didn't say a word as he dug Cas’s grave and lowered his lifeless body into it, alone. When he finished, he stayed by the small dirt mound and cross made out of sticks long after Sam decided it was time to go back inside. He'd begged Dean to go with him, saying that it was cold outside and that Dean needed his rest, but his stubborn brother refused. He just kept staring at Cas's name etched into the wood.

As he sat there, at dawn, in the damp dew-covered grass, he thought of everything he and his angel experienced together over the past nine years. He remembered meeting Cas in the barn and how magnificently terrifying his wings were, though they were just shadows on a wall. He remembered all the times Cas had died and all the times he had come back to him... and how surprised he was each and every time. He remembered Purgatory and how relieved he was to find Cas crouched beside the stream when he’dfinally found him. He remembered how hard he fought to get Cas out, and how he’d chosen to stay. How he thought he deserved it. He remembered Cas’s face when he asked him to leave the bunker and how it felt when he finally saw him again at that Gas-n-Sip months later. He remembered the Mark of Cain and Cas being possessed by Lucifer and just how happy the angel had been when he showed up alive back at the bunker. Most of all, he remembered the past year. All of it, in agonizing detail. Cas stabbing Billie because he… they meant too much to him. Castiel, an angel of the lord, told him… them he loved them as he thought he was dying.

‘I love you… I love all of you…’ he’d said. Dean was pretty sure the first one was meant for him. He was more than sure. He knew it. The way Cas had made eye contact with him…

Dean’s throat constricted and he felt the tears well in his eyes for the hundredth time. “Cas… I’m so sorry. I… I never got to say it back…” he cried.

He'd thought the mix tape he’d given Cas might let him know how he felt, but the idiot had tried to give it back. ‘It’s a gift. You keep those,’ he’d told him, thinking there’d be time. But he was all out of time. Castiel was dead. But he'd be damned if he let him stay that way.

“Cas… I don’t know where you are or if you can even hear me but… I’m coming for you. I swear it.”

~~~

Castiel

He opens his eyes but all he can see is whiteness. He can no longer feel his body nor does he know what is up or down. All there is is nothing. It’s eerily empty.

But then he remembers dying. He remembers the pain shooting through his body as the blade pierced his chest. But most of all, he remembers Dean’s face. It was the last thing he saw before waking up to nothingness.

He doesn’t know how long he’s been here. It could have been centuries or only a few seconds, there’s no way of knowing. All he can do is float. And think. He thinks of Dean.

Dean Winchester. The Righteous Man. The man who ended the apocalypse and survived Purgatory at his side. The man who has been more of a family to him than his own ever was. The man he loved despite the fact that he could never love him back. His Dean.

And then, suddenly, he can feel him. He can feel his longing. “No.. Cas, please… I need you, dammit! Please Cas… Please don’t leave me… I NEED you,” Dean voice says inside his head.

“Dean!” Cas tries to shout but nothing comes out. His words have no air to carry them. There is only empty. If he could still cry he would, but he can’t. So he simply floats. For hours or maybe seconds. There is no time.

“Cas… I’m so sorry. I… I never got to say it back…” Dean’s voice says after some time. Say what back? Cas wonders. He can’t mean… “Cas… I don’t know where you are or if you can even hear me but… I’m coming for you. I swear it.”

And because it’s all he has left, Cas allows himself to hope. He allows himself to believe that his human will come for him and that maybe just maybe he might just love him back.

To be continued...

http://archiveofourown.org/works/11535201/chapters/25897560

#destiel #supernatural #fanfiction #fanfic #season 13 #season 13 coda #season 13 wishlist #spn #castiel #dean winchester #slash fiction

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agameofsouls · 5 years

Text

✧ houses of the holy ✧

the ability to instill doubt in someone was a powerful weapon, one lucifer frequently relied upon to move things along. the one person he could never crack, however, was his dearest brother. he was nothing if not the loyal and faithful son he was created to be. their father’s guard dog and hit man, wrapped into one holy package and given a great flaming sword.

lucifer couldn’t remember a time when his brother had ever questioned their father’s orders, even when it exhausted him. even when the aftermath left him in a state of anguish over what he had done, he still bent the knee to their father and fulfilled his every command. he never strayed, never asked why. and for that, he hated michael.

fighting beside him for all those years to bring peace and order to a blood stained earth only filled him with questions. why were they forced to clean up their father’s mistakes? how could he, an infallible god, make mistakes to begin with if he could see and know all? why did he decimate legions of his own children for questioning his rule and his vision?

there was no honor in this. that was something he could see almost from the beginning, but michael was blind to any alternative other than remaining faithful and pure. but lucifer could see the truth and the light, and it didn’t come from god -- it came from himself. he was created to free his siblings from a fate such as this -- blind obedience, a lack of free will, an eternity of servitude to an angry and merciless god.

he was not the villain that he was made out to be. he was the savior, the one that would rid them all of their chains, if only they would see the truth. some of his siblings did, and they paid a price for it. when he was cast out, so were they. together, they fell from heaven, down to the earth below. he watched from his crater as they came crashing down, like shooting stars exploding in the night sky.

he cried for them and for himself. he wept for the ones that still remained. he screamed for the injustices he had faced, and he vowed his vengeance. and now, he was so close to it that he knew michael could sense it. change was coming, and he was just months away from what he had waited a millennia for.

yet still, before he would conquer heaven itself, he longed to save his brother -- if instilling doubt in him and causing him to fall meant saving. surely it did. michael would join the winning side, and he wouldn’t have to unnecessarily perish in his battle for the ultimate crown.

this was a small mercy he could grant him, despite everything that transpired. because, when it came down to it, they were just that -- brothers. they had been created together in the same breath. their father intended for them to be his best generals, the leaders of his host and the protectors of his human creations.

but didn’t he see everything that would transpire? was he so short sighted that he didn’t know that lucifer would rebel ad rise against him? or perhaps it was in his plan all along, and he was still following his father’s orders. in that case, didn’t that make him just as blameless as michael? it was a dizzying thought.

“ i can sense your weakness, brother.” his voice is chilling, and it coils around michael’s throat like an icy tendril. he can see him shift uncomfortably. it’s so slight that others would have missed it, but he knows his brother just as well as he knows himself. he knows exactly how to make him squirm. “ it consumes you.”

michael stood in silence at the accusation. this wasn’t the first time he would hear it, and it wouldn’t be the last. dark eyes remain focused on a fixed point, refusing to meet his brother’s golden stare. to his right, he can sense anger and frustration radiating off of gadiel, and he knows she’s itching to drive her blade through lucifer.

a single outstretched hand in her direction has her scoffing and stepping back three paces, but her eyes never leave lucifer’s face, as if challenging him to give her a reason to run him through. michael finally lifts his gaze to meet his brother’s and sighs.

he’s so tired, evident by the bags beginning to form under his eyes, and the light that had slowly been dimming around him. he wants peace, and he is so tired of fighting, but he didn’t think that made him weak. perhaps it did, to want to rest. every possible action and the consequences of them rushed through his mind, already weighing down overburdened shoulders. “ what do you want from me?”

“ you know exactly what i want.” lucifer paces to the left. gadiel moves in time with him, her hand never leaving the hilt of her blade. it’s amusing to him, that such a young angel would think herself strong or powerful enough to go up against him, but he could admire the fire within her spirit. “ fall with me. be free with me.”

michael knew this was a trick. he knew that lucifer was waiting for the opportunity to strike him down. this wasn’t a peace meeting. there would never be peace when it came to him. as cold and collected as he appeared, conflict burned hot as a star beneath his skin, and there was no calming him. there was no putting that out. “ i will not. ”

this refusal did not hurt the great serpent one bit. he had anticipated such a thing, and was prepared for it. so he asked again, taking one step closer.“ fall with me. be free with me.”

harsher, louder, this time,“ i will not.”

another step closer, closing the gap between the two of them. the hiss of gadiel’s sword being pulled from its sheath cuts through the silence as his hand rests on the back of michael’s neck, forcing his brother to meet his eyes.“ fall with me. be free with me.”

the prince of heaven remains firm. his faith is unshakable, as was always expected. the hesitation in his voice does not come from a place of doubt, but rather longing. begging. he wants his brother to return home, to be part of the host again. their bond had been legendary, but now their rivalry overshadowed it. he can see in his eyes that offering mercy would only result in the same standstill they were in now.

again, he refuses, “ i will not.”

three times asked, three times denied. such was the nature of these things. it mirrored the day he had been cast out. michael had tried three times to make him stay. three times lucifer denied, saying he would not. his punishment for such a crime had been severance from his family, from his home.

even before he was locked away, michael had offered him mercy -- a chance to come home, to be restored. but this was offered only once, and he had not accepted it. with a sigh, he lets go of michael and turns away, returning back to where he started. gadiel lowers her blade, and steps again to her commander’s side.

“ if you are so loyal,” he turns slowly, regarding the two warriors with a curious head tilt, no longer wishing to hide his motivations behind civility. “ then why do you keep a rebel as your right hand?”

gadiel’s heart races at the accusation, and michael’s eyes close with a sigh. he had hoped it wouldn’t come to this, and he already knew exactly where this path would lead. it was more than an ache that he felt now -- it was a cold burn right in his soul, adding yet another burden to his already heavy load. shaking hands come to rest at his sides, and he waits for the other shoe to drop.

this reaction only makes the devil smirk. he had already won, and the both of them knew it. there was no turning back, no do overs. and he knew that this would be a most painful experience for his unwavering brother. “ not everyone knows you as well as i do. they would believe you to doubt father’s will because of your attachment to her. ”

“ what is he talking about?” panic is evident in gadiel’s voice as she directs her question to michael, who has yet to move, yet to open his eyes. her eyes flicker over to lucifer, regarding him with hatred and rage behind an expression almost as cold as his own. “ what are you talking about?”

“ your faith may be strong, but it is not in our father, is it?” his smirk widens and he steps forward. any moment now, his true reason for coming here would be revealed to the terrified angel, and his will would be done. “ you have strayed too far from the light.”

a shaky gasp passes from her lips and she rests a hand on michael’s shoulder. “ please, i do not understand.”

she is begging for an explanation, for guidance. anything, just to make him look at her, to tell her it would be alright and that they would fix it, hand in hand. this wasn’t the first time her faith had come under fire, but michael had always been there to defend her and to bring her back into the fold of heaven, and she had faith that he would now. wouldn’t he?

tears stream down michael’s face as he opens his eyes. you would make me do this? his expression says. yes, a thousand times, screams lucifer’s grin. michael turns to gadiel, silent tears still flowing, and he rests a hand on her shoulder. his voice is barely above a whisper as he says, “ i am so sorry.”

that’s when it hits her -- this was the end. there were no more chances. she had burned those bridges to ash in the past, and now there was nothing left to keep her from falling. hot, angry tears well up in her eyes and she shakes her head, unable to move from her brother’s powerful grip. “ no. no. do not do this because he tells you to! do not be manipulated. please.”

he knew very well that this was a manipulation, but he had been painted in the corner with no exit. this was the only choice left available to him, or else he would risk damning his own soul and tainting his own grace. but always with one wing dipped in blood, as the saying went.

“ gadiel, ” sorrow is overshadowed by authority. “ guardian of the south wind gates. for your faithlessness, i cast you out.”

light radiates from his hand, growing brighter as gadiel screams. it becomes blinding, and he can hear the sizzling sound of her grace being burnt away, just enough to sever her connection to heaven. her anguished cries echo in his ears long after she is gone, and he is left standing there, bitterly alone and empty handed.

the first thing gadiel notices is the cold. never before had anything like that bothered her when the warmth of her father’s light was within her. there’s a soreness, too, in her entire body. she had crashed down to the earth below, bot with a bang but with a whisper, and stood in the crater that she had made.

she was as naked as the day she had been created, covered in ash and soot. every muscle burned to move it, and where michael had gripped her shoulder remained a blackened hand print -- a permanent reminder of her disgrace. upon her back were bright red scars, the charred remains of what had once been her wings. she feels off balance and uncomfortable without them to cover herself in, and instead wraps her arms around herself.

footsteps from behind make her jump nearly out of her burnt and bruised flesh. she turns her head and sees lucifer standing there. in one hand, he holds his sword, glistening and golden under the sunlight. in the other, a blood red cloak. he stares down at her, a curious look in his eyes. is this what he looked like? she wonders as silence sits between them.

“ i am truly sorry for what you have suffered,” he has no reason to lie. he knows far too well what this felt like. he had seen it happen to so many of his other siblings as well. it was never pleasant for him to witness, but she had to fulfill a purpose.

“ go back to hell,” gadiel practically spat at him. she resented him for this, and wished that she could have her blade back, if only to die fighting him. she had been humiliated in front of the eyes of god because he couldn’t keep his mouth shut. “ this is your fault! you made him do this.”

“ i did not make him do anything. our brother could have refused. who exists to stop him? you know just as well as i do that our father has abandoned us. you know just as well as michael does that he is in charge. yet he still cast you out. and for what? to appease someone who is not even listening? that hardly seems fair, does it?” he jumped down into the crater with her.

she took a step back, away from him. this had to be a trick. there was no way he was seriously here to apologize to her. he had never been sorry for anything, as far as michael had ever told her. but then again, every command she had ever been given had been from michael. that didn’t make sense if their father really was gone.

it was as if lucifer could sense her beginning to question things and he smiled, lowering his sword ever so slightly. “ i can promise you this, sister -- if you serve me, i will never lie to you. i will never hide my agenda from you. if you serve me, i will never cast you out or abandon you. you will always have a home with me. ”

his words made her eyes well up again. of course he knew exactly how she felt. he had once been in this exact place, but he had done it alone. there was no one to come greeting him and offering him a home. the feeling of being truly alone and severed from heaven was just now starting to hit, and a sob escaped.

he stepped closer again, leaving his sword stuck in the ground behind him. his eyes stayed fixed on her face as he wrapped the cloak around her shoulders. she grabbed it and held it firmly around her aching body, and felt warm again. with a single finger, lucifer reached out and dried her tears. “ will you serve me?”

silence hangs heavy in the air, but he knows he’s already won. her voice is as quiet as the south winds. “ yes.”

he fights a smile as he rests a hand on her shoulder, opposite from her humiliation, and asks again. “ will you serve me?”

this time, she is able to meet his eyes. her voice still shakes as she agrees again. “ yes.”

a soft kiss is pressed against her forehead, and he pulls her into an embrace. half of him is overjoyed to have won a decisive victory against michael. the other half is genuine in welcoming his sister into his army. but he must ask her one more time, if only to satisfy his own fall.“ will you serve me?”

she embraces him just as tightly as she used to embrace michael, and she suddenly feels more at home here than she ever did there. there’s a strange warmth in this devil’s frozen embrace that she never felt in heaven, and she begins to wonder exactly who the bad guy is. one final word seals the deal on her soul, and lucifer swears he can hear michael screaming in agony when she says it.

“ yes. ”

#( muse ) lucifer #( muse ) michael #( muse ) gadiel #( headcanon ) gadiel #( headcanon ) lucifer #( headcanon ) michael #this is 2760 words but kind of an important turning point #( writing )

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lynffles · 7 years

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Actual smut didn't happen, unfortunately, but I'm giving myself a tiny pat on the back for successfully writing Kuroro's dirty imagination, anyway. Also on AO3.

There was a dildo on top of his pillow.

He had no idea how he missed it when he first entered the room, but then again, it was a black dildo, and he’d put on his favorite midnight blue bedsheets over the weekend. It—blended into the background, somewhat, at least until he decided to focus on it, and then he’d frozen in the act of setting his laptop bag down on his desk as his thoughts whirred with who and why and what the fuck.

Of course, this being a dormitory, the idea that someone he’d pissed off or humiliated in class might have broken into his room to drop off what was very clearly a juvenile taunt wasn’t that farfetched. He was slightly surprised that it hadn’t happened before now, actually, considering the number of drunken parties and depraved orgies that tended to crop up within the residential halls after hours, in spite of the best efforts of their resident assistants, but, still.

Someone had broken into his room, only to leave a sex toy on his bed. None of his belongings were missing, his books were all where he’d left them, the door had been—picked, most likely, since there was no visible damage that he’d noticed, so the dildo on his pillow was the purpose of the break-in. He just couldn’t tell if it was a simple prank, or an insult, or the most roundabout proposition he’d ever received—there was no packaging, no message, not a single identifying mark to help him track the culprit down.

And that was another thing: he had twelve suspects. Or rather, twelve people with possible motives and enough familiarity with him to dare pull something that could only turn very awkward very quickly if it had come from a complete stranger instead. And depending on which among the twelve it turned out to be, he was going to have pretend it never happened, or laugh it off and plot a fitting revenge for a later date, or run screaming for the hills.

Kuroro really hoped that it wouldn’t come down to the last one.

Actually, he didn’t want it to be anyone from the first group of suspects, either—the ones he was sure felt mostly affection for him, because, if there was more to it—if this turned out to be some kind of weird—confession, he would have to find a way to… refuse. Gently.

… No, it couldn’t be anyone from that first group. Coltopi and Shizuku wouldn’t prank him, he was almost one hundred percent certain; Coltopi was a sweet kid (and too short to effectively pick the locks on their dorms) and Shizuku was nearly asexual with her single-minded fixation on books. Franklin… wouldn’t take part in something so asinine. Nobunaga was too much of a prude—he’d probably spontaneously combust if he got within sighting distance of a sex toy. And Pakunoda had already come out to him—and even if she did find him physically attractive, she’d say it outright.

The same with Machi, who hated crude displays of interest and was notorious for terrorizing any man caught staring too long at Paku and Shizuku. And that left Bonorenolf… who was obsessed with developing a dance-based martial art for his graduate thesis and hadn’t been seen since he disappeared into the performing arts building three weeks ago.

And then there was Hisoka, who would have been his primary suspect, but he’d come to the conclusion that this was actually too subtle for the pervert. Hisoka would have stayed in the room, and he’d have thought the gift of the dildo incomplete without his presence in all its deviant glory.

So, it couldn’t be Hisoka.

Hopefully it’s not Hisoka, Kuroro thought as he gingerly wrapped his fingers around the sizeable… girth… of the toy… and… he frowned in bewilderment. It was actually a good quality dildo—not that he’d held many to really say, but—the soft silicone was far from the tacky plastic he’d been expecting, and it had the tantalizing give of an erect cock. The void-black color was alarming at first glance, but nothing he couldn’t get used to, and he could. Get used to it.

(It was veined.)

Maybe.

(And it was larger than average.)

Definitely.

Kuroro shuddered, fascinated horror and curiosity and warmth flaring low in his gut—because now that he’d all but dismissed any possibility of this being just an elaborate prank, it was all too easy to imagine slicking it up with the lube he kept in his bedside drawer, stretching himself open with his own fingers, slowly working the flared head in, or better yet—pushing it past pale, toned thighs, watching golden blond hair fan out over his sheets, drinking in the cries as he fed the toy in, inch by agonizingly sweet inch, and—fuck.

He was getting hard.

It couldn’t be the guys, no way they’d spend extra money to get him an actual serviceable dildo just to troll him when there were less convoluted ways to go about it. Shalnark was definitely too stingy, Uvogin wouldn’t start shit on his own, and if Phinx and Feitan wanted to screw with him for whatever reason, they’d do it where they could see and get a laugh out of, not break in and drop off something designed to slowly drive him mad with sexual frustration in the privacy of his dorm room.

“Hey, Franklin, just curious, but would you happen to know of any good sex shops nearby…”

“For the love of—Nobu, stop yelling, there’s nothing shameful about shopping in an adult toy store—”

“You recognize the—Feitan got it for you in gold? Wait, what, you and Fei—”

“Look, Shal—I know these websites get thousands of orders every day and it’d be impossible to track down a single purchase without a receipt, but couldn’t you, I dunno, triangulate based on merchandise specifications…? No?”

“—I’m gonna cut your dick off if you touch my ass one more time, you Pogo reject—”

“So, just confirming, you’re still into girls, right?”

“—wait, Machi, no, I swear I’m not trying to hit on you or Shizuku—”

-----

“I heard something funny in the common room today.” Pairo flopped down at the bottom of his bed, leaned back on his arms, and waited for his cousin to acknowledge him—and Kurapika made a wordless, querying noise, but didn’t move from where he was squinting at his laptop screen. He was obviously busy with an assignment, but could be distracted depending on the extent of his personal investment in the rumor…

Pairo grinned.

“Kuroro Lucifer.”

His cousin’s reaction was immediate and obvious: Kurapika stilled, fingers stuttering to a stop on top of various keys, and Pairo was almost irresistibly reminded of a dog sitting up at attention in response to a whistle. “He has a secret admirer, apparently,” he continued. “He’s been trying to find out who it could be.”

Kurapika scoffed, and the stiff set of his shoulders relaxed somewhat. “He has girls trying to ask him out at least once every week. That’s nothing new.”

“He’s never shown interest before, though,” Pairo mused, unable to resist putting on a bit of theatrical puzzlement. “If I’m hearing things correctly, this person broke into his room and left a dildo on his bed. It’s brazen. And different enough from all the other confessions that he can’t resist wanting to figure out who did it.”

“… A confession? That’s how he’s seeing it?”

Kurapika’s voice sounded strange and tight, like rope forced into taut stillness by hands pulling in opposite directions. “It’s what I heard.” Pairo kept his own voice nonchalant, even as he began dropping his pretenses and openly stared at Kurapika so as not to miss a single tic—and the blond still had his back turned to the room, which, really, did nothing to assuage Pairo’s suspicions.

“It’s been days and none of his friends have owned up to it,” he added. “They couldn’t have held out that long, so it’s not a prank from any one of them.”

He got a noncommittal hum in reply, and the careful clicking of keys as Kurapika slowly resumed typing his stalled sentence from earlier. Pairo narrowed his eyes.

“Hey, aren’t you and Killua the only ones outside of Kuroro’s group who know how to pick these dorm locks?”

“Leorio, too,” Kurapika corrected, finally turning his head to look at Pairo over his shoulder. “I taught him in an afternoon—it’s not a difficult skill to learn.”

Pairo raised an eyebrow at that honestly pathetic attempt at deflection. Just for that, he was going to stop acting like he wasn’t here to confirm that Kurapika was the one who’d dropped off that dildo. “You signed off on an unmarked package last week. It looked exactly like one of those discreet deliveries you get from an online sex toy store.”

It would have been easy to deny, seriously; it wasn’t as if Pairo had started hurling accusations already, but, for all that Kurapika could poker face like the best of their most disillusioned, world-weary seniors, he never could make himself lie to his family. The blond folded like wet tissue paper, and Pairo watched with fond exasperation as Kurapika jerked his gaze back to his laptop, the blush rising up the back of his neck the most damning evidence of guilt he could have presented.

“Kurapika.”

A garbled mumble; Pairo couldn’t hear very clearly, but there was maybe a belligerent “piss off” in there somewhere. “Does it matter?” Kurapika rallied after another moment, throwing his head up and mulishly kicking at the floor, pushing his swivel chair into a gentle rotation. “He’s not going to find out, anyway.”

“That’s not how confessions work,” Pairo chided.

“It’s not a confession!”

“What’s it supposed to be, then?”

“It’s a—you know—” Kurapika grasped at the air, hands making vague waving motions as if trying to form the shape of an abstract sculpture, “Fuck you for challenging my rationale in class last week Tuesday just because you didn’t agree with the predicate I used.”

“Uh huh.” Pairo’s drawl was now infinitely more amused than exasperated. He was trying not to be a dick about it, really, but his cousin was setting himself up to be a terribly easy mark for relentless teasing, and it would be remiss of him not to seize advantage. “So you’re not acting out on your repressed crush, then?”

Kurapika’s denial was gunfire-quick, voice rising into a near-yelp. “I do not have a crush on that asshole!”

“So you say,” Pairo soothed, as he held his empty palms up in a placating gesture. “It still looks like you have one, I mean, buying your academic rival a dildo because you lost an argument to him in class? A bit juvenile, if you ask me.”

“Pairo!” Kurapika gasped, the downturned twist of his lips dismayed and betrayed in equal measure. “You’re supposed to be on my side!”

“I am, I am!” He couldn’t help the laugh that escaped at seeing his cousin so flustered. A few seconds passed where he tried and failed to contain a shit-eating grin. “I’m trying to help you out here. As your brother in all but name and blood, it’s my duty to see you get laid before we graduate, and if you’re legit crushing on the man—”

“For the last time, it’s not a crush!”

#hxh #kuroro/kurapika #university AU #no nen obviously #everybody's normal here and nobody dies #why am i physically incapable of writing smut omg

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