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mammon-sama · 4 years

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Breakpoint (Fanfiction) Part 3/6 | Asmodeus

I wrote this back in February, but I keep forgetting to post things on Tumblr, so here it is super late. Thank you to the anon who reminded me to do it! Chapter 4 (Levi’s chapter) has been in the works since February, too ... fret not, it’s coming ... slowly.

As per the usual, you can read this chapter on AO3 here.

Title:

Breakpoint

Summary:

These are the tales of when Belphegor, Beelzebub, Asmodeus, Leviathan, Mammon, and Lucifer each decided to actively rebel against their Father and together incite the Great Celestial War.

Genre:

Backstory/Lore

Rating:

Word Count:

3263

Additional Note:

This chapter chronicles the breaking point of Asmodeus!

Previous Chapter:

Read Chapter 2 | Beelzebub here!

“The Nephilim were on the earth in those days—and also afterward—when the [angels] went to the daughters of humans and had children by them. They were the heroes of old, men of renown.” — Genesis 6:4

If there was one fact that was surer than the truth that the skies would always be blue, that the mountains would never move, that the sun would keep on shining, it was the certainty that Asmodeus would forever adore his job.

There was nothing about it that he would change, and as far as he was concerned, titular angels, seraphim, cherubim, and archangels, could keep their prestige and fame. They could cherish the fact that there wasn’t an angel that didn’t know their name, and they could revel in the knowledge that the powers they possessed were unlike any other creature before them.

It didn’t matter to him, for he knew, deep in his heart, that there was no career more fulfilling than being a Guardian Angel.

Living for several hundred years already, Asmodeus had been assigned to guard dozens of humans in his lifetime, keeping them out of harm’s way and ensuring that their safety was prioritized above all else. He was friendly with his charges—as all of his kind were instructed to do—but his gregariousness was merely part of the job; it was his responsibility to protect and become close to his human.

However, this all changed with his current charge. He had been assigned to her when she had turned thirteen. The only daughter in a family of seven sons, her mother and her long-since-deceased grandmother had prayed to God for several months to send her a protector, for she was often alone when her brothers and father went to tend the field.

Asmodeus didn’t think much of her when he had first made himself known to her, and she wasn’t particularly interested in him, either. Their initial meeting had been on the day her mother had died, and she hadn’t been in the mood to see visitors as she mourned.

After several weeks, though, the two had slowly become friends. Her mother’s death had left her in charge of the domestic affairs of the household, and she was forced to look after the eight men—nine, including Asmodeus—that shared their cramped tent.

He helped when he could, for it was obvious to him that she was struggling in the initial months. Her brothers occasionally wondered if she was superhuman, because due to Asmodeus’ aid, she was able to get the job done of two people (no one could see a Guardian Angel save for their charges).

It was from her that he learned to appreciate the orgasmic fragrance of flowers and the importance of maintaining an aesthetic, considering in a tent of mostly unruly boys, she was the one who kept things clean and free from disease.

This was all well and good for the first six years. Unfortunately, when his charge had graced the age of nineteen years and four moons, Asmodeus felt something stirring within him.

It was unusual. He realized it was a different feeling than the elation he felt when he went out into the plains and found a lone lily or the way his heart had filled the one time he realized that pinching his cheeks made them the most becoming shade of red.

This type of feeling was strange; it was reserved solely for his charge.

The way her smile was just a bit crooked; the brown, unmarred frontier that was her neck; the attentiveness that she showed her brothers after their long days of labor out in the sun; the fact that her plush lips dripped beeswax colored with beetroot; the ardor with which she maintained a sterile tent; the intensity that her full chest heaved with as she hoisted a bucket of water up from the family well to satiate the animals.

There was no part of her that he didn’t envelop in this feeling.

She was the sun, the moon, the stars.

He couldn’t place his finger on what to call this emotion—it couldn’t be love, could it? As far as he knew, love for an angel was the love their Father felt toward them, a stern disciplinary affection, while what they reciprocated was an unbroken devotion that was ever so slightly tinged with terror.

Whenever Asmodeus looked at her, he felt his cheeks bloom and heart soar; he came to realize that unlike his other humans, this one was one who he chose to guard not out of obligation, but rather due to his care and concern for her wellbeing.

Duplicitous men who approached her in the streets would find themselves suddenly covered in animal excrement, flung upon them by some “unseen hand.” Owners of shops in the marketplace who dared attempt to swindle her, “mysteriously” discovered that some of their wares had gone missing. Even her own father, who once reprimanded her for cutting her long, back-length hair up to her shoulders, was not exempt from Asmodeus’ retribution: the man’s painstakingly plowed fields had been ravaged and his crops uprooted by what he assumed to be “evil spirits.”

He was content not to act upon the feeling in regards to the girl herself—and besides, it wasn’t as if action would get him anywhere. Any interaction between a Guardian Angel and their charges that wasn’t strictly platonic was forbidden, and no angel had been brave enough to even toe the line in that realm of disobedience.

Which made the fact that late one night, Asmodeus found himself completely nude—his sweaty chest heaving from exhaustion and exhilaration—lying on a mat next to his equally drenched and unclothed charge, all the more surprising.

His charge drummed her fingers up and down his arms. “You did so good, Asmo,” she encouraged.

Considering he’d never done that before made the compliment all the more poignant as he turned toward her, propping a hand under his head. “Do you really think so?” He shifted so he wouldn’t be putting all his body weight on his tender wings.

“Yes,” she breathed, sighing happily. She pulled his hand from under his head and nestled it under hers. The woman moved her tapping fingers to his chest, which was lean from doing chores around the tent. “You’re so beautiful.”

He could feel his face flush. He’d never been called that. All his life, he had been conditioned to believe his own appearance wasn’t especially radiant, for he lived in a world where another angel set the standard of beauty. “You wouldn’t say that if you knew Lucifer.”

“Mm,” she mumbled, kissing his face and running her fingertips along the bridge of his nose. “Does Lucifer have as beguiling eyes as you do?”

“I’m not really sure,” Asmodeus admitted. It was rumored that the Archangel of Music had eyes of obsidian, but few had seen him with his eyes opened. Lucifer was an angel that was always engrossed in his music—completely focused on the sound alone—with no need to give heed to what happened around him.

His charge planted a kiss on his cheek, moving her lips down his face until she reached the nape of his neck. “Surely he can’t be as enchanting as you. You, Asmo, are the most beautiful being ever created.”

With every touch, with every word, his blush grew deeper, and he wished that this moment could last forever.

“I lay there, wishing that the moment could last forever,” Asmodeus recited.

It was the next day, and his head hung low to avoid even his peripheral vision from grazing his Father’s glorious light. He found his attention nervously wavering as admired the Calacatta marble flooring of the Throne Room and the soft notes of the flute that Lucifer played from the Almighty’s left side.

His thoughts jumped back to yesterday’s conversation with his charge; he glanced again at the Archangel of Music, trying to catch a glimpse of his eyes, but as usual, they were closed in peaceful concentration as the master flutist opened and closed the keys of his instrument to create the most rapturous tune.

Lucifer’s confidence in playing the perfect note every time encouraged Asmodeus to stand a little taller. He stared at his fellow angel and tried to compare their appearances, an insidious thought creeping into his head: was he truly more beautiful than Lucifer?

His musings were interrupted by his Father’s voice, which rivaled a volcanic boom in volume. “Asmodeus, Guardian Angel—what have you done, child?”

His Lucifer-like aplomb melted instantly. He knew his Father wouldn’t ask such a question lightly. He had just finished reciting the prior day’s events, after being called into the Celestial Realm to come before the Throne Room of God. Although he knew that the information he relayed would get him in trouble, he hadn’t expected such a livid reaction.

His Father continued, His glory flashing in and out with blinding brightness, “You have broken the cardinal laws of the Guardian Angels with this lust that consumed you yesterday. The very laws that I created—the very same laws that you chose to defy!”

“Father, I defied Your laws, yes,” Asmodeus admitted. He didn’t know if his defense would be seen as insolence, but considering his Father hadn’t reprimanded him yet, he barreled on. “But, believe me, lust is not the true emotion that overcame me that night.”

His Father’s voice was filled with malice as He hissed, “And what, child, feeling do you determine to have filled you as you made love to that woman?”

“You already said it, Father.” He gulped, once again drawing from Lucifer’s serenity to grant him an iota of confidence. “ Love .” If he could get his Father to believe that lust—what He considered to be the most carnal of sins—did not even remotely influence his actions last night, perhaps His anger would be assuaged.

“Love?” the Almighty thundered. “Child, you cannot love a human. It was I who created them; all their love belongs to Me.”

“It was love, Father,” Asmodeus insisted. He then realized that he wasn’t even lying. The feeling which he possessed for his charge truly was love.

A record was set in the Celestial Realm that day—a record for how bright and furious the Almighty glowed as his Son said those words.

Lucifer’s music was all Asmodeus was aware of as he crumpled to the floor. His hands covered his eyes in desperation, but it was to no avail; he could already feel them burning from the flashing light that surrounded him. Sparks flew in every direction and he could feel embers of fire lick the tips of his sandals.

Despite the sudden torridness of the Throne Room, Asmodeus could feel the ice of dread filling his veins. A terrified, frozen paralysis took over his bones.

He had never seen his Father this incensed—in fact, most angels took great care in not even trying to imagine it.

His Father then spoke, His voice dangerously calm, as if His livid glory wasn’t already in full display. “Look up, foolish child.”

Asmodeus tried to raise his head, but the closer his face inched toward God’s radiance, his shut eyes burned with the blaze of a thousand suns.

God repeated His command, a ravine of heat threading through His otherwise cool tone, which somehow made it all the more frightening. “Look up, foolish child.”

He again covered his eyes with his hands, and even though it did little to prevent the brightness of His Father’s ire from peeking through, he was able to at least tilt his face toward the direction of the Throne.

“Remove your hands and open your eyes,” His Father demanded.

Asmodeus took a deep breath. Was that it? Was his Father going to punish him with blindness for his sin? Because that was what he was sure would happen if he dared take his hands off his eyes. Nevertheless, he did what was asked of him.

He choked as he opened his eyes and saw that instead of only his Father’s bright form standing before him, there was his charge, as well. “But how?” He reached out his hand, gasping when his fingertips went right through her body without her saying so much as a word.

A vision, he realized. Normally, visions were dreams filled with premonitions sent by the Almighty. Often they told of future happenings, but there were times when they would show the viewer what was the current status of events if they were not there to witness them themselves. A typical vision was usually rendered in the mind, but here, in the direct presence of his Father, Asmodeus saw the apparition with his very own eyes.

The Almighty pointed the form of His finger toward a spot on the human’s body, right below her stomach. There in her womb rested a glowing yellow orb.

“Your ‘love,’” his Father spat, “has brought you the responsibility of a child.”

Asmodeus’ heart stopped. A child? His frigid blood thawed, and he couldn’t explain the sudden warm flush that overcame his body. “I’m … going to be a father?”

“Of a child that is half-angel and half-human, yes. I shall call this brand of creature, 'Nephilim',” his Father glowered. “In any case, this cannot stand.”

The warmth in his body immediately cooled. “Come again, Father?”

“I created humans to populate the Earth. Angels were never part of My plan.” God waved the part of His glory that formed a hand, and the vision of the human turned to ash, which dusted the tile floor. “The child will not survive.”

“No, Father, You can’t—” he began, cringing as he heard the defiance in his voice.

“—Consider it the consequence of your lust, Asmodeus.” His Father’s tone was decided. “I will be merciful—even though you deserve justice, instead—and tomorrow, you will return to your charge. She will know nothing of this incident but be forewarned—if this ever occurs again, there will be no grace. Your erasure from the Celestial Realm will be permanent.”

Another vision of his charge appeared before Asmodeus. This time, he was standing next to her as her Guardian Angel, as she wove threads of yarn on a loom. The two figures laughed as if all was well.

Something sunk low in Asmodeus’ stomach. There was nothing more he wanted than to enter in the vision and live his life as it predicted, even if it meant loving the woman from afar.

But his eyes turned glassy as he shook his head. “Father, I beg You. Spare the child.” He breathed deeply, a vow poised on his lips that he, in the next moments, would come to regret. “I’ll do anything. I promise.”

His Father’s glory receded, signaling that the Almighty was on the verge of calming down. “Be careful when you promise ‘anything,’ My son.”

“There is no price I won’t pay.”

“Even your life?”

“Even my life.”

“Your immortal life is worth thousands of human lives.”

“Then my sacrifice should be more than enough.”

The Almighty pondered the statement.

His silence only served to highlight the fact that during this whole encounter, Lucifer had played his flute, not bothering to watch the drama unfold.

Asmodeus had to give the Archangel of Music credit—considering his dedication to his craft, it was no wonder that their Father always yearned to have him by His side. Still, he couldn’t help but find it absurd that Lucifer hadn’t even so much as peeked at the spectacle in the Throne Room; his eyes never opened.

“I will spare your life,” his Father determined. By now, His ire had subsided and it was possible for Asmodeus to face His direction without his eyes watering. “And I will spare your child’s. However, you will never work for your charge, again. You will never see her and she will forget every moment she has spent with you. In her mind, you will never have existed at all.”

Asmodeus gulped and he tasted bile in his mouth. “But what about our child? And the Guardian Angel her mother and grandmother prayed for? Father, You wouldn’t ignore their pleas.”

“No,” his Father boomed. He moved the form of His arm and a third vision materialized.

This time, Asmodeus saw his charge—former charge?—sitting on a bench, again, working on a loom. The bulge on her abdomen was a clear indicator of her pregnancy. On her left stood a man, rugged and muscular with dark skin; his wings proved that he was an angel—her new Guardian Angel. There was another man on her right, who kissed the woman on the lips and rubbed her swollen stomach.

Asmodeus gagged—bodily gagged—repulsion filling his throat, as he realized what was to occur. “You’re allowing that human man to raise mine and her’s child as his own?” He didn’t want to mention the fact that his Father had chosen for her a Guardian Angel that was physically his opposite.

“My son, did you truly believe that you were to raise this child?” the Almighty asked, His voice genuinely puzzled. “You are a Guardian Angel; you live to guard humans that have asked for your protection. You were never created to parent them.”

“How will I ever see my child, then, Father?” While he still couldn’t believe that he had aided in the creation of life, he knew for a fact that he wanted to watch it grow and be there for it.

The Almighty was calm as he said, “You won’t.” Asmodeus felt his heart drop to his feet, as his Father warned, “Remember what I said, My son. Angels were not created to raise humans. If you so much as think of interacting with this child, then I will have no choice but to bind you and slice off your wings. Then you will forever remain in the Celestial Realm, doing the menial jobs of the unspecialized angels.”

Asmodeus felt something inside of him grow cold. Whether he returned to his charge and killed his child or let his child live and lose his charge, he would be giving up his entire world.

“If that’s what I have to do to ensure the child lives, then I’ll take that offer.” There was no emotion in his voice except for pure resignation.

“Excellent.” Suddenly, his Father’s voice became as smooth as honey. Knowing from experience, Asmodeus knew that His next words would be as bitter as gall. And he was right. “Now, My son, we have discussed how we are going to deal with you impregnating a human. It is time for your punishment for your original crime: you slept with your human charge. You say it was love, but I cannot see this purely sexual act as anything other than lust. You know the penalty for that has never been implemented, but it is time. However, My son, I will be merciful to you, once again.” Asmodeus simply stared dully as his Father continued, “My son, I will withdraw the original punishment for this crime from you, provided you understand the error of your ways. Answer Me, Asmodeus, do you regret what you did?

It was only then that warmth bloomed inside him once more, the burning embers of his own ire against the Almighty. His Father could call it what He wished, but his passion for his charge was love, no matter how He twisted it. And that love would always remain for that human woman, wherever she was and whomever she reciprocated the love to.

There was only one word he could answer with.

“No.”

#obey me #obey me shall we date #omswd #obey me swd #obey me asmo #obey me asmodeus #obey me fanfic #obey me fanfiction #adverbslut_writes #fanfiction #fanfic

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why-this-kolaveri-machi · 6 years

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Notes on SPN 14.02

So! I saw 14.01 yesterday, which was for the most part, surprisingly, a blast, and since I have a bit of free time today I thought I’d keep a hold of the momentum and watch and liveblog 14.02 as well. I’ve heard it’s one of those Buckleming plot-a-paloozas, but I’ll try my best to provide semi-reasonable commentary instead of incoherent ranting.

Right. As always, typing this post up as I watch. SPOILERS for the episode ahead.

1. We start with a recap of last season’s finale, and Show, do you really want to remind us this many times about that wire-fight?

1.25. Show’s lore regarding possession has been dizzyingly inconsistent, but the more I think about it, the less sense it makes to me that Nick is alive? Because Nick couldn’t actually house Lucifer for very long in s5—he was deteriorating, which was why Lucifer needed Sam so urgently. The last we saw of Nick, he was dead/dying in a dingy room in Detroit, when Lucifer jumped ship to Sam. Even if Lucifer assumed Nick’s visage in the Cage and afterwards when he was brought back, Nick-the-person with Nick-memories and Nick-feelings isn’t there anymore.

1.255. So what does this mean? Like, if this was explained away sometime over the last two seasons--I’m very sorry, I really wasn’t paying a lot of attention to large chunks of them—please let me know. If there’s no explanation, then has Lucifer disappeared inside a Nick-construct? Did he use a loophole to escape the worst of the Archangel Blade right at the moment Dean plunged it into his side? Lucifer was “human” for a while in s13, iirc. Did he have enough “human” to hide behind and recover? And has he filled that human with the memories/personality of one of the humans he knew best? Is it because he spent centuries assuming Nick’s body in the Cage that he’s most comfortable being him here?

… I don’t know. Maybe I’m missing something obvious, but, hey, it’s fun to speculate.

2. We start off with people artfully tied up in an artfully derelict church illuminated artfully by artful lightning.

… *groans* I hope we aren’t getting a torture scene already.

2.25. Well, Michael’s certainly chirpier than he was last episode.

2.5. Is he trying to make new angel minions, is that it, by feeding them blood and his grace? Leaving aside the lack of creativity in the mechanism, the whole thing kind of makes a weird sense. Michael is looking for those with purity of purpose—among religious leaders (and refugees, apparently), angels, and then finally monsters—and rejecting those ‘poisoned’ by nuance and experience and supposed sin. After all, no being whose wants are even slightly more complex than ‘food’ is going to be a perfect follower.

It also plays into his assholey, self-righteous personality and, well, god-complex.

(Dean would’ve appreciated this quest for pure purpose.)

3. There’s a kind of sitcom-y vibe to this little expository scene: Bobby talks shit about angels only for Castiel to walk in with a quirked eyebrow; the group talks about Jack and Lucifer only for Jack to walk in and go, “hey, you talkin bout my father again?”

(these are the tiny ways I feel SPN is at cross-purposes with its own theme of ‘found family’. Everybody’s obsessed with blood relations, to the point that Lucifer and Jack are constantly referred to as ‘father and son’ when there is no need to bring that relationship up. Last year, even Castiel referred to Jack while talking to Lucifer as ‘your son’ without any prompting from Satan. Words are so powerful, and so revealing.)

3.45. Castiel “as you know, Bob”-ing is hilarious. Oh, Buckleming.

3.5. Um, not to dismiss or compare Castiel’s considerable trauma at the hands of Lucifer, but is anybody going to acknowledge even once that Sam, who appears to have taken the brunt of caring for Nick so far, is also going to have trouble looking into his abuser’s face??

4. Nick continues to make no sense to me.

(I like little touches like Castiel telling him that he needs to remind himself to eat.)

4.5. I kinda like this scene, sue me. It makes sense to me that Nick would obsess over and over again about how he could’ve let himself say yes to Lucifer, although Lucifer is as old as time and had all the power in that situation. The ‘monster’ bit is a little too on-the-nose for me, but I like it. Really drives home what an intimate, horrifying violation possession is and how scarred and twisted it can leave the survivor who spirals down a well of undeserved guilt and self-loathing.

I wish Sam was the one talking to him now, or was at least present. He’d talked in the previous scene about how Nick was only ‘housing’ and deserved a chance to rebuild his life, and that hard-earned generosity of spirit would’ve been a balm to all three of them, I think.

5. ETA on the TOD, Bobby? *sporfle* Seriously though, I love this role-reversal: usually it’s Bobby who’s rolling his eyes at SamnDean’s eff-bee-eye shenanigans.

5.25. Ah, but where this Bobby has become an expert now is in telling the difference between smiting patterns!

5.5. I wonder if trying to appear non-threatening is just Sam’s default whenever he meets with, uh, ‘civilians’.

6. I really, honestly hate that the Bunker just happens to have ‘lore books’ on whatever the hell random question they’re having that day. I just kinda hate the Bunker in general, now that I think about it.

6.25. But doesn’t that ‘human component’ (lol) make a Nephilim strong enough to take down even archangels?

6.5. As pep talks go, that wasn’t bad. A few notes:

a) there’s an earnestness to the words that I’m sure that Castiel learned from Sam.

b) I think this is the first time that Castiel—or anybody—has referred to the events of 8.23 as “The Great Fall”. It’s interesting that it’s already gotten a name among angelkind and that Castiel would call it that, given how close he was to the events that led to it.

c) I want to both laugh and cry at Castiel’s assertion that Sam and Dean were there for him after he lost his grace. He was mostly left to fend for himself, obviously, but there’s no space for that in a pep talk.

d) Sometimes it’s easy to forget that Jack is actually just only a year old. Asking him not to dwell on something so… immediate is a tall ask.

7. Ok, so that was a nice snappy little counterpart to Lucifer-talking-to-Sam-in-the-mirror from the s5 finale. I like how Michael is blunt and matter-of-fact while Lucifer relished in the moment, bragged about how he’d had Sam’s number all his life, and seduced him with violent revenge. This is nice.

I don’t know, guys, I’m really enjoying this episode so far!

8. Sooooo Lucifer is residing in some subconscious layer of Nick’s mind? Is this PTSD shaped by his possession? Is Lucifer bleeding through his own construct? Are we going to find that it was actually Nick who killed his own family? (I think we are.)

8.2. Castiel looking for residual Lucifer in Nick reminds me of when he was doing the same for Sam re: Gadreel, and that reminds me of Dean’s ‘teen mom’ joke from that episode and now I’m pissed off.

8.5. Nick is fascinating, but is he fascinating enough that I care about his little revenge sub-plot? Eh. Jury’s out. Plus I just can’t stand the actor anymore

9. Sam’s just kinda there to move the plot along. Give him some more character moments, episode!

10. Michael reminded me of Dean in the scene with the werewolf. I’m really not getting a capital P personality from Michael, though that may be due to a personal choice. Or maybe because Michael was never a distinct character to begin with, and this is far more noticeable when Ackles plays it and ‘Dean’ threatens to take over any minute.

Or going meta for a second—maybe Michael’s deliberately infusing some Dean into his persona. Possession isn’t simply putting a thing inside a box: both entities are influenced and informed by the other, but only one has all the power.

11. … ok, so my interest in this Nick subplot is rapidly decaying. Nick did it. He killed his family. It’s not a mystery.

11.5. The emotional dynamics of this scene… checks out, actually. Of course Nick is projecting all his rage on Castiel. And of course Castiel regrets destroying Jimmy Novak’s life the most. More than toeing the party line and being instrumental in almost bringing the Apocalypse about in s4; more than releasing the Leviathan; more than trusting Metatron in s8; more than killing his brethren, who’ve tortured him back and tried to kill him on more than one occasion. But Castiel has been both angel and human—both possessing and being possessed—long enough that he’s intimately aware of the devastation it leaves both within and without. And there are no excuses for the way he and other angels have done that damage—so carelessly, so casually. Even the most well-intentioned angels are deceptive and manipulative and give not a second thought about their hapless vessels. It’s a sign of Castiel’s growth and compassion that he recognises his responsibility in this and that he invokes Jimmy’s name with both reverence and regret. In all this shouting and crying that Show doesn’t acknowledge the deep-seated trauma of possession survivors, this is actually a great moment.

12. That werewolf leader looks familiar. Has the actor been on SPN before? He kinda reminds me of one of the leads on Suits.

12.5. That’s a lot of clunky dialogue, but Michael is basically confirming what I speculated in point 2. Cool.

13. How Jack managed to get away and find his grandparents is never explained, but that’s a familiar Buckleming trope—characters are put together in a scene without any regard to how it might connect to other scenes or how/why those characters might’ve gotten there.

13.2. That said, it’s kinda poignant that Jack, having lost his angelic powers, is now trying to understand the human side of his heritage. He’s trying his best to adapt to his situation; this one year old kid is more well-adjusted than most of the adults on this show.

13.5. Well, holy shit, Jack talking about Kelly to his grandparents is just… making me feel emotional in a way this show hasn’t made me feel in a long, long time. This Calvert kid is good.

13.6. It is bizarre that Kelly’s parents are mostly ok with not knowing Kelly’s whereabouts for over a year—I don’t think we ever found out what position exactly Kelly held in the President’s office, and I can picture them in a bit of denial by telling themselves the reason they haven’t heard from Kelly is because she is in the middle of super-secret government work. I don’t know! But it’s just about handwave-able though, and their scene with Jack is worth it.

14. Honestly, Castiel, how did he travel so far and for so long without you noticing? So much for “Don’t worry, Sam, I will babysit this defenceless creature.”

(Speaking of Sam, wheeeerrreee’s Saaaaammmm)

“I suppose there are worse ways to be human than to be kind.”

“Have you heard from Sam?”

I LOVE YOU, JACK.

14.5. No, actually, Dean wouldn’t want it any other way. He said as much when Gadreel took over Sam completely back in s9.

15. Shoo, Nick.

16. FINALLY MORE SAM. With only like 4 minutes of episode left. What, Show, did you think you spoiled us too much last episode with all that glorious, glorious Sam content?

16.25. And finally a bit of action! The rapid-fire editing is making my head hurt, though.

16.5. Soooooooooooooo Dean’s back? Obviously Michael is playing a long game here, but it says something about the show that they can’t keep Dean away for more than two episodes without getting the shakes. I honestly miss Sera Gamble and her desire to rattle the status quo: in s6, she kept the so-called ‘real’ Sam away for half the season, which gave us imo some of the best storytelling, characterisation and acting from both Padalecki and Ackles in the entire show. In s7 she took away all the Winchester markers: the Impala, weird motel rooms, Bobby’s house. Of course, after she left the show settled back into a familiar rut (substituting Bobby’s house with that thrice-damned Bunker). I wish the show would take risks with these two again. s9 and the beginning of s10 were so very promising but there was no follow-through.

I guess they want to MotW fillers for a few episodes and that would be weird without SamnDean SamnDeaning it in the Impala, but Show, why don’t you just say ‘fuck it’ and try weird on for size? What do you have to lose? I mean, seriously?

17. Nick’s the murderer—called it!

18. This wasn’t terrible, you guys. 95% of the episode was just people sitting around having conversations, the dialogue was clunky, ideas derivative, scenes progressed without any rational links between them, the pacing was wonky, and there was too much exposition. But the emotional beats were solid and the set up is reasonably intriguing. I’ve seen far, far worse BuckLeming episodes.

Pacing is a real issue in this season, though. And Michael is not remotely intimidating as a threat.

#supernatural #season 14 #spn spoilers #sam winchester #castiel #michael #jack kline #meta #unpopular opinion: this ep was... pretty ok

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