#chuck is god

[frostybitchsworld]

Ok. I have a serious conspiracy theory since the end of season 4 that I can’t let go off. I know this show is over so yall will just laugh at how incredibly stupid this is but. I believe chuck is God. I’ve been telling my gf over and over that I will die on this hill that chuck is God. I know it’s crazy and my evidence is like zero but I will die on this hill. Now that I’ve been encouraged to share my spn thoughts, I thought I’d share my stupidest conspiracy theory. Even if by the end chuck isnt god I will forever believe.

[fandom-hoarder]

And on that note I'm once again proclaiming my personal headcanon that Chuck wasn't god until the end of Swan Song when he disappears. So anything Chuck says about that shit is also a lie, to me.

[frumious-bandersnatch-ao3]

Prompt: apocalypse, murder-suicide

The Alpha and the Omega, the First and the Last, the Beginning and the End; the King of Kings, the Light, Lord of Lords, Abba, YHWH, Elohim … Charles Shurley sat down behind His typewriter, and began to draft a set of notes. On the coiling branches of Everything, a universe split off and began to take form. 

His first sketches of first drafts are always messy: bullet-point plot and jumping off points.

Sam’s ‘yes’ assured; as normal

Dean’s ‘yes’: Golden Room, last resort, desperate, Zachariah alive, Castiel dead. Permanent.

Stull Cemetery, both sets of brothers made whole; flesh and grace and soul. Lucifer in white, Michael in something fitted and regal, muted tones, tailored to Dean in the way clothes have never been tailored to him before. 

They love eachother.

Chuck took a pause there, and stared at the words on the page for a few minutes; brow creased and eyes narrowed behind His reading glasses. Of course they loved each other. They were created that way, both pairs; grace calling to grace and soul calling to soul. And of course, if it went how originally designed, like it should have gone in the first place outlined after the Fall, one would kill the other. But He was doing something different here, and… He could see it taking form now.

Lucifer in Sam, dressed in white, and even though it had rained a few days previous, the graveyard mud refused to cling to his brogues. Though it wouldn’t be visible to any man, were any man to actually be blessed with the sight of the final event of the End of Days, his wings (though they would be so intertwined, by this point, Lucifer and Sam, so really-) their wings would be outspread behind them. 

White and glistening like fire opals, the beauty inherent in their design almost masking the fact that they were stained with blood and bent in a million wrong angles and still smoking from the Fall. They would arrive first, waiting, staring down at the grace-formed blade in their hands. It would have been eons since Lucifer last touched his own blade… Chuck imagined that touching it, for him, would have set a pit in his stomach. Knowing that things were final, that he had the full chance and ability to kill his brother laid out before him. Sam would comfort him. Remember, he would murmur, in the shared space of their mind, we can all just walk off. He’s going to listen to you. I know he will. Because Sam would be thinking of his own brother, and Lucifer would know… of course, he would know that Dean Winchester and Saint Michael the Archangel, Viceroy of Heaven, for all their designed similarities, were two different beasts entirely. 

Michael in Dean would arrive with a sound like thunder; eyes shining a brilliant icy blue. Their shoes– pointed oxfords in a deep chocolate brown, with a slight heel– would sink into the mud. Dressed in earth tones; brown, orangey-reds, deep purple, formal wear (the both of them, all four of them, dressed like they were going to a wedding. Chuck wondered for a moment what it meant about him, that he could never imagine Lucifer in anything but pristine, virginal white). They would be holding Michael’s lance in one hand, his blade in another, and their wings like so many swords and spears and daggers fluorescing with the colors of dusk and twilight would flare in a sign of dominance. Dean would fret, of course. Michael, please, they’re our brothers, we don’t have to do this, you know we don’t.

But Michael would know… of course, he would know that he’s a good son. And good sons follow their orders, no matter how much it hurts and no matter how much they love what they’re told to spurn. You know that we do. Is all that he would tell Dean in the frantic silence of their shared mind.

The two, the four would approach, slowly bridging the small gap between them. Not aggressive, not hurried… they would have all the time in the world, after all. Their actions would decide when that hourglass would run out of sand. The fate of everything in the universe decided in a small cemetery in Kansas, on a particularly sunny day after a strong rain a few days before. The air would smell like mud and growing things and the wilted flowers left beside so many graves. 

“Michael,” Lucifer would murmur, voice soft and lilting; silver tongue and Sam’s perfect throat. “It’s good to see you.”

Michael would dip his head in a mockery of deference. “Lucifer,” he would reply, Dean’s voice cracking around the second syllable. “It’s been too long.” And he would mean it, desperately. It has been too long since I last saw you, it has been so long since I’ve seen your grace, since it has been so close to mine, do you remember what you threw away?

“Can you believe it’s finally here?” Lucifer would say it as if it were almost amusing, wishing that it were heaven again and they were standing together in Eden, when everything was beautiful and they would twine grace in grace and glory, glory, glory.

“Yeah,” a scoff, “not really. …You ready?” Chuck had written this conversation a hundred million times over. The silence in the graveyard, nothing but the wind whistling. Two brothers who loved eachother bound to duty by the chains of fate; echoes of God and Darkness and Cain and Abel on and on and on forever, glory, glory, glory, Lord God of Hosts, a perfect story… 

“-and why make us fight? I just can’t figure out the point.” Sam’s face wouldn’t be stoic, here. Brow slightly wrinkled, eyes watering just slightly, even Chuck wouldn’t be able to piece out whether it was Sam or Lucifer making the expression, the distress so visceral and needing and painful.

“What’s your point?” 

Chuck closed his eyes. Needed to finalize, before he really put it to words. They love eachother.

They would end up in each other’s arms. Michael’s lance dropped abandoned to the grass, to the mud. Michael in Dean’s face buried in the crook between Lucifer in Sam’s neck and shoulder. Dean would be crying. Lucifer, would, too, resting his hand between his brother’s shoulder blades and hearing the hitch of his breath. “I love you,” both of them, all of them, would say it like a prayer.

“I’m sorry,” both of them, all of them, desperation and horror and finality.

Twin blades into twin backs, twin explosions, supernovas of grace; twin sets of wingprints burned black into the ground.

[heatofthemoment99]

Me waltzing in the fandom not knowing what I was getting into.

[thetoyboxs]

We get up to some fun down in the LU Discord Server (I am so inactive the gods were shocked I was there)

[supernaturalsidepiece]

NOO DONT BE DOOMED BY THE NARRATIVE YOU'RE SO SEXY AHA.

[bigcatbulges]

Source - IG1119

(Artist Patreon and Fanbox)

[lightbulb-warning]

napscallions

[sentientsky]

breaking news: local divorced not-man is having a terrible fucking time

[cubbihue]

You know? You mention about anti-fairy diete, and i suddenly remember one sharacter. Milo Merthy from spin oth of P&F. I know it strange thing to ask, but... Can you draw how anti-Fairy just cherish this optimistick family dinast and even make some plans to be shure that this family countinue to help with theyr diete needs?

(this, or i just wanna see Milo with his Anti-Fairy guard.)

MILO MURPHY?? Yeah, He'd be a Buffet for anti-fairies! They'd absolutely swarm him at any given opportunity!! Although it'd be pretty damaging for the Murphy family in the long run.

When a Fairy eats the emotion, it's taken away forever! Fairies must be careful not to consume too much from their godchildren. After all, if all your hopes keeps getting taken away, then why bother hoping anymore?

If Milo had an anti-fairy companion, they'd mostly be spending their days hissing and clawing away other anti-fairies from his family. And then getting food-coma'd immediately after. Fairies tend to be verrry possessive of who they feed off of.

Bitties Series: [Start] > [Previous] > [Next]

[mischieviem]

This is late for Father's Day but

God and his archangels :)

[rowenathesaint]

I saw a post saying people really need a new monster of the week show, and I 100% agree. And I also believe that Dead Boy Detectives most definitely could be that show. Give that show 22 episodes per season. Add some filler episodes. Some episodes that really doesn’t matter, but that you love anyway. It is the perfect show for it. Stop with the 8 episodes per season where every episode matters, and give us back stupid filler episodes. And as i said before, the show is perfect for it. They are detectives who solve crimes. Perfect. The characters are great, and you want to watch more of them. Everythings aligning. Just give the people what they want.

It’s not just a want for me. It’s a need.

[strawlessandbraless]

Something about how Dean never had any faith in god because he put it all in Cas

[brooklynbbyxc]

the Grants. 2008

[thegoldenappleofdiscord]

i think a lot about that one scene in botl where nico summons theseus and percy's surprised that he doesn't look all buff and strong - that he looks just like them, and not even older in age. he expects theseus to be prepared, to look experienced, but instead he gets someone who's a frightening image of the average demigod, and it's scary. it's a reminder of how things, no matter how shrouded in legend, haven't really changed. it's the same formula, the same pawns, and the same game.