#he already corrupted Castiel once

[thefableddestiel]

Because the very touch of him corrupts.

Do you ever think about the way Dean touches Cas like he's not allowed to

[lordstormageddidnt]

(already regretting this) (heavy sigh) of course Dean is hunting things that's his job how can that be a theory

Omg Ceejay I am so glad you asked 💀 the first time I talked about this, it took me 2.5k words and 7 discord messages so I will take pity on you and give you the abridged version:

"Dean is hunting things" is a nickname. The full name of the theory is "sam is saving people, dean is hunting things, and cas is the family business". The basic premise is that when you look at the character arcs and internal struggles across Supernatural, said arcs/struggles each of the three main guys revolve around a different phrase in the motto "saving people, hunting things, the family business".

Sam is "saving people" because although there's a ton of stress placed on "normal life vs hunting life", with seasons like S8 giving us arcs where Sam tries to go back to having a normal life with Amelia, Sam doesnt really like hunting, he likes saving people. That comes out a lot in episodes that discuss how Sam is willing to let monsters go (like Amy Pond the kitsune in S7) while Dean isn't, and it especially comes out during the demon blood in S4, where "I can save more people like this" is how Sam justifies drinking demon blood. Although Sam wants to have a normal life, being a freak is the price he chooses to pay in order to save people, especially in the earlier seasons.

Dean is "hunting things" because although he is a very protective character who saves people, there is a lot of violence and anger in him that gets explored. Obvious examples include Dean fighting against the violent urges of the Mark of Cain, but even without the Mark corrupting him, it's made clear throughout the show that when it comes to hunting, the act of hunting monsters itself is appealing to Dean. Unlike Sam, Dean doesn't let monsters go free (most times) including when he goes back to kill Amy Pond in S7 after Sam agrees to let her live. After Cas and Dean get sent to Purgatory at the very end of S7, it's made clear that there was part of Dean that enjoyed being in Purgatory, where all he had to do was hunt monsters, and he's ashamed of that part of himself.

Importantly, I think it would be wrong to call Dean "the family business" because although protecting his family is a core part of Dean's motivations, it's also never a *choice* to him. He will always save Sam, no matter what, so its not really an arc or internal struggle.

Finally, Cas is "the family business". The meaning of this phrase in context is basically that Dean is telling Sam that because they are Winchesters, they have a duty to be save people and hunt things. Similarly, Cas is a character with a strong sense of duty because he is an angel. In seasons 7-9 we get this really dramatic cycle of Castiel trying and failing to fix Heaven, and when he breaks Heaven, he feels a sense of duty to try and fix it, but trying to fix it leads to making everything worse (like when he works with Metatron at the end of S8). He does a similar thing with Jack in seasons 12+, where once he latches onto protecting Jack as his duty, there is nothing he wouldnt do, including sacrificing himself and his happiness. One quote that springs to mind is Cas's "I'm always happy to bleed for the Winchesters" in,,,,,,s7? Im like 90% sure I was watching season 7 while I came up with this bc of the amount of evidence I pull from that era 💀

TLDR: Im very normal about Supernatural 🥰🥰

[astermacguffin]

What if the Mark of Cain manifests differently when it's imprisoning God and not the Darkness? If the Darkness makes the Mark bearer go insane with unbridled want for destruction, then what does sealing God make you do?

An obsessive desire for creation? Creation to the point of corruption? (Think of the Shimmer from the film Annihilation. Continuous reproduction to the point of begetting alien, cancer-like entities. A refracted, distorted notion of creation.)

Okay, so canon divergence from The Trap. They successfully seal away Chuck, then Castiel bears the Mark. (Jack won't be back until later episodes, so he's not here yet.)

At first, they think he's fine. Cas says he's not feeling any bloodlust just yet. (He does feel a certain itch under his skin. Not a desire to murder, but a desire to do...something. He doesn't tell this to anyone.)

His grace is getting stronger, almost archangel-like (if not more). It's incredibly helpful for hunts, and Cas is happy to feel his wings healthy again after a long time. Sam is happy for him, but Dean is suspicious of things (especially since he's a previous Mark bearer).

After a while, Cas starts feeling...burdened, almost bloated by grace. (After all, he does have access to an infinite supply of it.) He needs to have an outlet for it.

Cas tells them so and Sam suggests healing people. Dean gives the green light on the condition that he remains invisible and he doesn't go Godstiel on them again.

It's a great outlet, and for the first few weeks they start feeling normal again. But unfortunately, healing stops being enough to relieve Cas of his excess grace anymore. The mass healings start to pile up all across the globe and it catches everyone's attention. Some think it's a blessed miracle, some think it's a sign of the end times. They make him slow down on the healings after that.

Without an outlet, however, Cas starts feeling antsy and pained. They brainstorm on possible alternatives. Cas suggests going to Heaven and saving it from collapse by healing his brethren's wings and creating more angels out of consenting souls in Heaven.

He explains Heaven's endangered and dwindling numbers. Sam agrees that it would hit two birds in one stone: relieve Cas from excess grace and prevent the extinction of angels. Dean doesn't like the idea of more winged dicks so he shoots down the idea. Eileen says that since Cas is the one in pain, he should be the one to decide.

Ultimately, Cas defers to Dean's judgment (as always). Sam protests, arguing that he can't just shoulder that pain. Cas replies: "I've suffered worse, Sam."

Cas doesn't complain about the pain for about a week, so for a while, everyone believes him when he said he can shoulder the pain. One day, Dean finds him outside the bunker, groaning in pain as he bleeds himself out, his grace pouring into the ground and sprouting plants. Dean sees this and is finally convinced to allow Cas to make more angels.

What follows then is a series of escalating events:

While Sam and Eileen are practicing their witchcraft for spell they need in a hunt, Cas suggests to enhance Sam's physical and magical abilities using his grace. "It will make the process faster and safer," he reasons. He agrees, but Dean eyes this suspiciously.

During one of their hunts, they encounter a young and freshly-turned vampire. The boy begs them not to kill him, and Cas gives him a proposal. "Promise not to feed on humans ever again and I shall cure you of your hungers and your pains. Pledge your allegiance to me and you shall never be afraid of yourself ever again." The boy agrees, and before Dean could even protest, Cas slices his palm and feeds the vampire his grace.

They argue about the grace-feeding in the Impala. Dean notices Sam's pointed lack of complaints and figures it out. "You're in on this, aren't you? How long has Cas been doing this? He's going Michael behind our backs and you're letting him?"

Sam argues that it's different because Cas isn't making super monsters; he's making them less "monstrous" (whatever that means). Sam's obsession with his own "purity" is key to understanding him here.

One time, Dean catches Cas in his "garden" ("forest" seems more apt with how lush the greens already are) creating butterflies and bees out of thin air using his grace alone.

Reports of the miraculously healed people suddenly gaining new abilities like increased strength, heightened senses, and prophecy start popping up. Some are experiencing phantom limbs, talking about their sprouting "wings."

Sam is becoming addicted to Cas' grace to the point that he willingly lets himself be hurt in hunts just so Cas can cure him. Dean confronts him about this, but Sam just argues that he's "never felt this pure before." Eileenn shares the same concern as Dean.

Hunts are becoming less frequent the more monsters are being "cleansed" by Cas. The world is becoming disconcertingly quiet.

Cas' "garden" is starting to emit this strange aura. The plants and creatures growing inside it are starting to look more...alien.

One of the original angels goes to Dean and tells him of Heaven's affairs. The Host is stable again, but the angels he created are...not exactly angels. They're graced up and they sustain Heaven, but their true forms are "horrifying and incomprehensible, even to an angel." The angel adds that more than 60% of Earth's creatures have already been touched by Cas' grace.

The final nail in the coffin is when Dean catches Cas in the garden fiddling with his angel blade. It's emitting a strange glow, vibrating a subtle hum and looking as if it's liquid, flowing and distorting here and there.

Dean asks him what he's holding. "Oh, this?" Cas responds. "This is the Last Blade. Last, not in terms of time but in concept, for no other blade shall ever compare to it. The spark of creation. Fiat lux."

Dean's heart sinks. Of course. The First and the Last, Alpha and Omega. "Cas...the Mark, I think i-it's scrambling your brain, man."

"I know," he replies, eyes wet and apologetic. It's a small moment of lucidity amidst weeks and months of...whatever that was.

"Okay, okay, so you're still you, that's... that's good. Okay." Dean doesn't know how to approach this. Give him a fight and he'll know what to do, but this? Watching his best friend, the love of his life, be distorted into something incomprehensible? Yeah, this is totally beyond him.

"You know, I used to hate Chuck," Cas says. "How could the Father of All Creation be this angry, petulant child? But," he continues, "knowing what I know now, it's either regressing into a petty child or being reduced to insanity."

"Cas...what are you talking about, man?"

"No mind should bear this burden, Dean. No matter how infinite they are," he says, voice trembling in exhaustion.

(more below the cut)

He continues. "The awareness of everything is the awareness of nothing at all. Imagine perceiving every possible piece of information about the world all at once. Seeing light in all its forms all at once: ultraviolet, infrared, etc. Sensing all the neutrinos zip by, sensing gravitational waves, sensing the slighest bit of seismic activity."

Dean doesn't know how to respond, so he lets him go on.

"Knowledge can only ever be a slice of the Totality of Truth. Truth is absolute chaos, and Knowledge is the partial ordering of this chaos. One can sanely approach Truth only through organized paritions of Totality. Why do you think Chuck is so obsessed with stories? Stories are linear and finite; they're sensible snippets of the endless sea of possible worlds."

"So, what? Are you trying to—"

"I'm not trying to justify Chuck's actions, Dean," he interrupts. "I just want to contextualize them. Chuck's simplistic and repetitive narratives are what they are: manifestations of a chaotic Totality, gone insane trying to understand itself. Looking for simple things to hold on to."

Cas takes a deep breath. He speaks with a shaky voice. "I'm barely holding myself together, Dean. I can feel the universe beneath my skin."

He doesn't know what possesses him to ask, but he does it anyway. "What are you holding on to?"

Cas smiles at that. "You."

They stare at each other for a while, frozen where they stand. Cas, with unrestrained affection in his face. Dean, struck by shock and indecision. It's Cas who first breaks the silence.

"I think we both know what needs to be done, while I'm still lucid enough." Cas slices his palm and lets his blood drip down the soil. He then thrusts the Last Blade into the ground, lifting it when the soil glows.

Dean stared in awe as the ground erupts and a familiar shape rises from the hollow. "Is that.."

"The Ma'Lak box, yes. I also enhanced it with the Blade to be able to house things as powerful as me."

"Cas, wait, maybe we can think of another way to—"

"Dean," he says, calmly. "You know there's no other way. I wouldn't ask this of you if there was."

In any other scenario, Dean would've kept arguing, but even he knows that they're running out of time. Sam's grace addiction is getting worse and all the creatures touched by Cas' grace are slowly mutating into eldritch horrors. Dean offers a shaky nod. "Okay."

Tension visibly releases from Cas' body. "Thank you, Dean." He opens the box and enters it with ease. "When you lock this, bury me with the garden's graced soil. Once I'm under, my influence over the world should dampen."

Dean gives a wordless nod. For a while, they just stared at each other, Cas lying down and Dean trying to memorize every inch of his face while he can.

Cas presses his hand into Dean's left shoulder where his mark used to dwell. "My untainted grace," he whisper gently. "Some of it is still inside you. That's probably why you're not as affected by me."

Dean wants to say, I'll always be affected by you, but he holds himself back.

He takes his hand back, a bloody handprint now on Dean's jacket. "I love you, Dean," he says, breathless.

"Cas..."

"I probably would've built up to that if we had more time but," he makes a surprised laugh, "I am, as you would say, already 'losing my marbles', so."

The air quotes would've been funny and endearing in any other scenario, but it just makes Dean's vision blur up with tears.

"Thank you for everything, Dean. I know we've done nothing but repeatedly hurt each other these past few years, but I don't want to spend a deathless eternity with that as my memory of you. I forgive you, even for the things you haven't forgiven yourself for yet. And I'm sorry for everything, especially for ending things like this."

He should probably wipe away his tears to clear his vision, but Dean can do nothing but stare at Cas in awe, in fear, in grief, in reverence. They're both fully crying now.

"Goodbye, Dean."

"Wait, Cas."

Cas looks at him, waiting.

"Can you...can you say it again?"

He doesn't need to clarify what 'it' means. They both know.

With one last mournful smile, Cas says: "I love you, Dean."

And with that, Dean finally gathers all the strength he needs to shut the lid and lock the box. He stares at it for a while, unblinking. He forgot to ask, Can you hear my prayers down there? But it's too late now to ask.

The box automatically lowers itself into the hole it arose from. Now all that's left to do is to cover it again with soil.

Dean doesn't bother with a shovel. He gently buries the box with his hands deep in the soil, some of it getting trapped under his nails. He continues the mindless task, whispering a tireless series of I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry I hope you're okay I'm sorry, over and over between his quiet sobs. Cas is quiet inside the box. No screaming or crying. Dean doesn't know if that's better or worse.

When the final clump of soil is pressed into the mound, he suddenly feels it: a visceral shift that echoes throughout the world. The alien glimmer of the garden dims, and the world corrects its axis. Dean screams his agony into the air.

That's how Sam finds him: sprawled over a mound of soil, crying his heart out. Dean doesn't need to say anything: he knows what happened. He pulls his brother off the ground and brings him inside the bunker.

For the first two weeks, Dean cycles through drinking and passing out in various places in the bunker. If he's not wearing the jacket, he's holding it with close to him. Sam gives him a considerable space to grieve while he monitors the world grace problem with Eileen. The grace mutations have significantly dropped since then and everyone's going back to normal.

Unfortunately, that means monsters are getting hungry again. Sam doesn't want to leave his brother alone after going nonverbal with grief and dysfunctional due to alcohol. Eileen assures him that she can handle hunts on their own and that the hunter network that they're building will lessen the workload.

Sam's attempts to sober Dean up finally work, mostly due to the latter having very little strength to protest. Dean remains sober an entire day for the first time in weeks, and all he can think about is: I haven't prayed to Cas in a while. The longing might have reached him, but never a coherent prayer.

The first time he goes out of the bunker in a while, he heads straight to Cas' garden. Sam's glad that he's finally going out because "the sun is good for you" or something, but he's really only here for Cas. He kneels in front of the burial mound (where a patch of an unknown species of flowers is already growing).

The first prayer he says to him in a while is: I love you, Cas. I should've said it while you were still here. Not saying it out loud and just strongly thinking about the words somehow bolsters him to get the words through.

He's crying again, and he knows he's losing coherency. In his mind, he's explaining about his hangups and his regrets and his continuous denial of his own joy, but one constant remains: he's beaming all his love and affection into this prayer.

He's halfway through explaining all the traits that he finds endearing in Cas when suddenly, he feels it like a snap. If the glimmer dimmed when he buried Cas, now it's as if it was never there in the first place. With an unsettling amount of certainty, Dean just knows that Cas is gone. For real, this time.

"C-cas...?" It's the first thing he's said in a while and it sounds rough in his long unused voice.

"CAS! CAS!!! " He's now screaming, ripping away the flowerbed with his bare hands and scratching the soil away. Tears are obstructing his vision, but he has no time to wipe them away. He needs to make sure that is really gone. His hands are bleeding and he doesn't give a damn.

Eventually, Sam comes running towards him. "Dean! Dean, stop!"

He tries to hold his brother back, but Dean just keeps on clawing away soil. "Sammy, Sammy he's gone, he's not there anymore, Sammy I have to see, please, let me see Cas again, I need—" he breaks into sobs again, and like a puppet with its strings cut off, he slumps into Sam.

"Dean, it's okay, it's okay..." he says softly to his shaking brother.

Eventually, when Dean calms down, he looks at the carnage he's done and starts sobbing again. The flowers, his last evidence of Cas being here, are all destroyed. Now Cas truly is gone.

. . .

When Cas first heard Dean's confession prayer, he was overcome with joy. When he realized what that means, however, his stomach suddenly sinks.

He hears before he sees the Empty arrive, slithering like black goo.

"Wow, were you excited enough for eternal slumber that you wanted a preview?" The Shadow teases in Meg's voice.

At first, he was dreading the Empty, but now that he thinks of it, it's actually the perfect prison for him: a vast, endless nothingness for him to fill with his creations.

And if Jack wasn't in Heaven, that only means that he's in the Empty, and he can't wait to see his son again. Even when blinded by the madness of the universe, he can never forget the joy of being a father.

"Yes," he replies, "I'm actually glad you're here now."

. . .

Somewhere around the globe, Billie drops Jack back.

"Don't worry, kid. You'l reunite with your father very soon."

(to be continued)

[georgiapeach30513]

Chase has no redeeming qualities. He has eaten too many apples. Lance could be redeemed. Between Aurelia and Branwen, his body won’t accept a full corruption. Plus he doesn’t eat apples.

There is a faerie law that will not allow him to make a deal with Branwen. He’s saying once she’s of age, he’ll find a way to manipulate her to do his bidding with a deal.

This is Rumplestiltskin. Bucky and Dove are from Snow White. Sy/Goldie/Ari are from Goldilocks. Dean/Sam/Castiel make appearances but don’t have their own story. Castiel is Lance and Chase’s brother. He’s never eaten apples.

Arthur already has a crush (and Raven is grown, he was only 11 with this encounter.) Arthur’s crush is none other than Sadie Barnes. His first time changing into a bear was because a faerie was taunting her.

Rumplestiltskin, Branwen Barber

Summary:  Branwen is growing up

Pairings:  Branwen/Lance X Chase, Branwen X Dove, Branwen X the Bears

Rating:  🥺🥺

Warnings:  none, 18+ ONLY

Word Count:  2.4K

Series Masterlist

*dividers created by @firefly-graphics​

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[eddiemunsonsmiddlefingers]

I just had this thought about Castiel and the Empty and I'm hoping I can make my words work to explain it sufficiently.

What if the Empty is outside space and time, in that what happens there is always happening (sort of like that one Doctor Who episode arc where the TARDIS explodes) / has always been. Thus, if an angel has been there once, then they have always been there, which means that's actually where all angels are, all the time. It's the source of their power/divinity/otherness.

They aren't supposed to wake up there because very few people (loosely defined, and perhaps originally restricted only to Death) can handle seeing between the threads of reality. Even God/Chuck isn't supposed to see into that place: as Death said in an earlier season, he will reap God eventually. He knew this because he knows God is already in the Empty. (He knows he is already there, as well, which means Billie knew what was going to happen in that dungeon. She did what she did on purpose, to re-establish balance.)

That thought led to this one:

What if when Jack woke Castiel up, Castiel's consciousness created the physical form of the Empty, and the entity within it. He couldn't fathom the space he was in, so he built something moderately understandable. If this is the case, then everything about the entity is shaped around Castiel - His desire to simply exist, his self worth issues, his anger at the betrayal of his maker, his understanding of the world in general, his fear of being alone, helpless, and unloved.

When Lucifer wakes, the entity's sense of betrayal becomes sharp. Its anger becomes vindictive and bitter. The blank canvas upon which the entity could exist without pain becomes, instead, a prison. It gains shards of Lucifer and Chuck's hatred of Castiel.

What has been, is, and always will be; Castiel may have created the entity, but once it exists, then it has always existed. Once Lucifer corrupts, then it has always been corrupted. This culminates in a single, universal truth:

The reason for the entity's existence, for its pain, for all the rage and frustration it has endured, is enduring, and will continue to endure, clearly boils down to Castiel. It has been betrayed by its maker. It will always be betrayed by its maker.

So of course it wants revenge.

[mandoalorian]

I Believe In Love [Maxwell Lord x F!Reader] — One: Direction

Summary: When you find your calling to leave Themyscira, you venture out to the World of Man with intentions of helping and healing a very specific person's relationship with his son. You've heard his voice before, but only in dreams. You've felt his pain and anguish and you've never been able to relate to anything more. But things don't come easy for you, and they certainly don't come easy for him either. [This series contains spoilers for WW84 and is my interpretation of what happens after the movie ends].

Taglists (let me know if you wish to be added!)—

Permanent: @supernaturalgirl @phoenixhalliwell @ah-callie @luvzoria @stardust-galaxies @wickedfrsgrl @goth-topic @nerdypinupcrystal @wonderfulfluffer @kiwi-the-first @pedroepascal @castiel-barnes @honeymandos @rocketqueen @ladycumberbatchofcamelot @dybalalover10 @girl-obsessed-with-things @elena-myth

I Believe In Love: @mrschiltoncat @thebloodrobin @greatvaluedazzler @bxxbxy @marydjarin @the-feckless-wonder @typicalnerd98 @biharryjames @thwiso

Rating: 15+

Word count: 4,700>

Masterlist

Previous - One - Next

"I wish to travel to the world of man," you announced with a deep breath and a confident smile. Hippolyta looked at you and laughed. Her Amazonian guards copied the actions of their queen and burst into a fit of giggles that made you feel like a silly small child.

"And where has this outburst come from?" Hippolyta asked with a quirked eyebrow as she folded her arms across her chest. The laughing slowly quietened down as she waited for a response.

"I've been having these dreams," you began to explain hesitantly. Hippolyta leaned forward in her throne and looked at you quizzically, making a small gesture with her hand that urged you to continue. "I've been seeing death and destruction, I've been watching the world of man crumble…"

"You want to travel to a collapsing society? Don't be foolish, that doesn't sound safe. Why leave the beautiful walls of Themyscira to travel to the world of man?" You had heard stories about the world of man and how it was filled with greed and corruption. Themyscira was peaceful. It wasn't that you wanted to leave, it was that you knew deep in your heart that your time had come.

Hippolyta was right. You looked around the palace that you had stepped foot in, the marble floor under your toes and the gold intricate details that patterned across the walls. "You let Diana." you mumbled under your breath, turning away from the queen and beginning to walk towards the double doors that you had entered through, ready to leave the palace.

"What was that?" Hippolyta asked, rising to her feet. You opened your mouth to answer but an excruciating pain shot through your head— and that's when you heard him. You heard his voice again. His pain. It wasn't just in your dreams anymore… you could feel him like he was there, with you, like he was part of you. You screamed and fell to your knees as tears spilled from your eyes, your fingers clenching into a fist so hard your knuckles turned white. The pain was so intense and you heard his words over and over again. Hippolyta ran over to you, sinking down to your level and cradling your weeping body in her arms. She called your name. "What is it?"

"He's calling for me," you choked back a sob. "The world of man is in grave danger."

"From who?" Hippolyta questioned, wiping your tears away as you tried to regulate your own erratic breathing.

"I don't know, but I must help." you gasped. "I must help him. Please allow me to go." you grabbed Hippolyta's arms and looked at her with pleading eyes. "You allowed Diana."

"Diana was a fighter, our best one," Hippolyta said slowly, shaking her head at the memory of her daughter. "You are not a fighter." She said the four words matter of factory but her denial made your anger rifle through your body.

"Maybe I can win this without fighting," you sobbed. "Yes, I have no training. I do not use a sword or a shield, but my mother taught me that battles can be won if we just use our heart. If we love." you felt like you were begging as you recalled Hestia's words to you. Your Themysciran tribe were of a peaceful nature, and although small, your leader, Aphrodite, preached about the power of love.

"Olympus and Eurydice loved and what happened to them?" Hippolyta scolded, her question rhetorical. You recalled the story in the back of your mind and winced, knowing their fate. "We are Amazonians. If the world of men needs saving, then Diana will save them. Go home my child, I forbid you from leaving Themyscira."

Your heart broke. You couldn't believe that Hippolyta was confining you to the walls of Themyscira. She didn't understand. She couldn't understand. It was only once in a turn of centuries did an Amazonian connect with someone from the outside world— and now, you had. You had made that connection, but Hippolyta forbade you from acting upon it. You composed yourself as you stormed out of the palace and hurried down the stone steps. Tightening the buckles on your gladiator sandals, you wiped your furious tears away and took a deep breath as the anger consumed you.

It wasn't fair. You had spent your childhood studying the world of man, learning about them and their ways. Nobody had cared more about helping others than you. Your desire to care for those around you came from your very own purpose. When Zeus sculpted you in his own image, he made you goddess of home and hearth. He gave you your abilities for a reason. Amazonian's outside your tribe shamed you for your kind and compassionate heart— telling you it was a weakness more than a strength. They belittled you and made you feel unworthy. As you remembered your childhood trauma, you pulled out your hair from your tiara. You lived on Themyscira your whole life but it never truly felt like home. You always craved for something more.

You ran home. You ran as fast as your feet could carry you, letting your tears fall and your screams of anguish echo through the Themsycrian forests. It wasn't fair. What did Hippolyta expect you to do? Deal with this for the rest of your life. How could you not help the man who's pain was destroying his very soul? The Gods had connected you and him for a reason. You had to go. You had to.

As soon as you arrived home you broke down. Your mother heard your cries and found you in the garden, picking at the native Themysciran flowers as your salty tears dropped on the lilac coloured petals. "Hippolyta denied your request?" Hestia asked, sitting on the wall next to you. You nodded sadly. "Sweet child, tell me more about these dreams. About this...man."

You didn't see the point now that you knew you wouldn't be able to leave Themyscira. But Hestia was your mother and you loved her dearly, and so you took a shaky exhale and done your very best to explain. "It feels like I've known him forever, like he's always been a part of me," you admitted. "But— I don't even know his name." you shrugged helplessly and cracked a small smile, listening to how pathetic you must've sounded. Maybe Hippolyta had a point. "I don't even know how he looks. Even if I did venture to the world of man, how could I possibly find him?"

Hestia sighed, unclipping her lasso from her tunic and wrapping it carefully around your wrist. You looked up at your mother, your eyes comically wide as the lasso glowed yellow. "Close your eyes, my child," Hestia whispered. "See him. See the truth."

You closed your eyes and let your soul space away as the lasso transported your mind to elsewhere. To him— the man of your dreams.

"Alistair?" Maxwell cleared his throat, his son's head snapping in the direction of his father. "That was your mother. She wants you home." Maxwell pointed aimlessly back at the telephone.

"But daddy, you promised the whole weekend together!" Alistair's eyes began to well up with tears. Maxwell ran to his son's side, his heart aching at the sight of disappointment and he pulled Alistair into his chest.

"I know, and I will keep my word," he hushed Alistair, smoothing out his hair. "Don't worry." Alistair nuzzled his face into Maxwell's dress shirt, sniffing in fear of losing his father again. There was a few beats of silence as Maxwell's brain ticked like clockwork, trying to work out what his ex wife's intentions were. "Does your mother… does she ever talk about me?" Maxwell asked hesitantly, unsure if he was about to regret the question.

"I hear her, sometimes. I hear her talk about you to Ted," Alistair admitted, referencing his mother's new boyfriend. Maxwell hummed, still stroking his son's hair. He wondered whether or not he should ask Alistair what exactly she said, but decided against it, not wanting to hurt his son anymore than he already had. He knew that Juliana had nothing good to say about Maxwell.

"Ted? I thought he liked to be called Theodore," Maxwell chuckled, rolling his eyes and Alistair giggled back. Max and Alistair would often joke about how pretentious Ted could be.

"Well now he wants me to call him dad," Alistair sighed, too young to understand the implications of that revelation. Maxwell's heart broke. Of course Juliana wanted her son to call her new boyfriend 'dad'. She got Alistair on the weekdays and Maxwell got him on the weekends, it was more than likely he saw Ted more than he saw Max, and Max knew for certain that Juliana's hatred was fueled further with his every breath. The prolonged silence urged Alistair to speak up. "But I told mom I won't."

"You did?" Maxwell smiled sadly. "Why?"

"Because you're my dad!" Alistair grinned. "And you'll always be my dad, no matter what."

Maxwell couldn't bring himself to reply. His stomach twisted into knots as he thought about Julianna's words over the phone. "You do not deserve him. I don't want you anywhere near my son ever again."

He knew the level of determination his ex wife possessed and if this meant she wanted sole custody of Alistair then Maxwell knew there would be very little that would stop her. He had messed up bad this time. Alistair felt tiny in Max's arms, but Max knew his son's heart was huge and filled with unconditional love. But the worry and guilt consumed him. How could Max possibly fight and win this case— after everything that had happened? He didn't even have the money for good lawyers. Maxwell whispered an incoherent 'I love you' into the crook of Alistair's neck, his shutting as a tear slipped down his cheek.

Your own eyes snapped open, your chest heaving and panting as the lasso of truth unravelled itself from your wrist. "What did you see?" Hestia asked, her eyes gleaming with curiosity. "Did you see the man of your dreams?"

You tried to process everything. "I didn't see him," you whispered feeling defeated. "But I heard his voice. And I learned his name. He's a father and he's afraid of losing his son," you explained, taking in everything you had learned. "And his son is afraid of losing his father."

"When you awoke last night, what did you hear?" Hestia asked.

"He was crying. He said he renounced his wish. I've been struggling to understand what exactly that means but…" you closed your eyes, remembering the dream like it was a perfect painting illustrating the patterns of your memory.

Hestia smiled wearily. "I always prayed to the Gods that you would not be chosen. My dear child, I love you so much, but it's clear that this man needs your help. You're the goddess of home and hearth, and Zeus blessed you with the ability to bring families together and that is your purpose. To live a life without serving your purpose— who would you be?"

"It doesn't matter," you sighed sadly, rubbing your eyes. "Hippolyta won't allow me to leave." you reminded your mother.

"I can help you leave Themyscira," Hestia cupped the side of your face with your hand, her thumb brushing over the height of your cheekbone. "But if you are to help this man there is something you must know."

"What is it?" you asked your mother, your eyes beckoning for answers.

"There were once two brothers; Romulus and Dolos. Their entities combined were a force of pure evil, but the brothers left Olympus to go to the world of man. When they left, Zeus gave them two magical citrine stones, and the brothers practiced their powers on the stones. Dolos went to a place called Greece, where Romulus travelled to Italy and built the city of Rome. Not much is known about the stones, but now, only one remains. We don't know which one or where it is, but it's dangerous."

"Why are you telling me this?" you furrowed your eyebrows together in bewilderment.

"The stones are indestructible, unless the power of the stone is harnessed by a person themselves. Then, the entity of the stone vanishes but the power lives in the person. The power of wish granting. If he has renounced his wish, that means…"

"...he's had a wish granted," you clicked on to what your mother was saying. "How do I find out which stone has been destroyed?"

"You need to find the man of your dreams and ask him who granted his wish," Hestia explained. "You must destroy the final dreamstone."

"But why?" You quizzed, your shoulders falling limp as you took in this abundance of information.

"Because Romulus and Dolos are the God of Lies." Hestia whispered, her hands falling from your shoulders as she clipped the lasso back to her tunic.

Your heart sank into your chest as the revelation hit you. "The God of Lies?" you repeated.

"If you go to the world of man then your purpose must be more than just helping this man and his son," Hestia told you. "You must find the final dreamstone and destroy it."

"How can I destroy the God of Lies?" you shook your head furiously. "No, nuh-uh, not happening. I can't even fight. I don't have any weapons— never trained. I can't do it. I can't." you scowled, standing up and brushing down your Amazonian dress, turning away from your mother. You felt her hand grab your shoulder.

"Remember what I taught you, my child. Battles can be won through the power of love," Hestia smiled. "If I didn't think you were worthy, then I wouldn't be allowing my only daughter to travel to the world of man. But I am because I believe in you. And I believe in love."

***

Maxwell couldn't focus on the video game anymore, shuffling around uncomfortably at the mere thought that Juliana and Ted could be on their way to collect Alistair for themselves. "Hey, how about we get some fresh air?" Maxwell asked, nudging Alistair playfully. "I think there are still some 4th of July celebrations happening in the park."

Alistair grinned ecstatically. "Really daddy? We haven't been to the park since… since… you were still with mommy!"

Maxwell scrunched up his nose and brushed off his sons comment. "Go grab your coat, okay?" he urged and Alistair bolted out the living room and into his bedroom.

Maxwell caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror. No amount of biotin was going to rid the dark circles from under his eyes. At least he had his health restored, but he hadn't thought of the implications of utilizing the government's multinational broadcasting service.

Every single citizen of the world had seen Maxwell. Knew him by name, by face. Maxwell had no idea how people were going to react upon seeing him again. He contemplated a disguise, but figured the best he could do was roll up his shirt sleeves to his elbows and brush out any hair product from his dark blonde locks. At least he wasn't wearing his signature tailored suit and ties. On the surface, he could just be mistaken for an ordinary guy. Maxwell Lord had never wanted to blend into society this much in his life.

The memory of how power corrupt he had become before Diana had saved him struck his heart like a dagger of guilt. But he couldn't regret. He had to think forward and think to the future if he wanted to change his errors.

Maxwell jumped when Alistair took hold of his father's hand and pulled him to the door. "Hey, let me help you zip your coat up." Maxwell smiled, kneeling down and making sure Alistair would be warm enough.

By the time they arrived at the park, it was as if nothing had happened. It was like the world had returned back to the way it was before all the death and destruction. Children squealed merrily as they played on the swing sets, families sat on the grassy fields eating picnics and vendors were serving hot dogs, burgers and cotton candy.

"Why don't you go play with the kids over there?" Maxwell pointed towards a group of children standing by the slide. "Daddy just needs a moment to himself, but then I'll come play. I promise." Max kissed Alistair on the forehead and Alistair nodded understandingly before racing off into the playpark.

Maxwell scratched the back of his head and took in the cool Summer air as evening began to dawn. He looked around at the happy families and figured it was something he could get used to. He imagined living a peaceful life outside of the spotlight. No fame, no money, just him and Alistair. But things didn't come easy for Maxwell Lord.

You woke up in a muddy puddle under a tree, groaning as the brown dirt stuck to your arms and legs. You looked down at your dress and tunic, thankful that the leather material could be washed easily. You smelt something unfamiliar yet distinct, your nostrils twitching as the scent of burgers and hotdogs from the vending vans engulfed you.

The screams of children alerted you and you looked over at the playpark, watching intently as the kids laughed and danced around. There wasn't many children back on Themyscira, but being the goddess of home and hearth; it filled your heart with joy and happiness.

You slowly walked over to the playpark, looking around at your awe inspiring surroundings. So this was the world of man? You beamed upon seeing the swans in the duck pond and the beautiful flowers that grew around the stone path you walked upon.

It was mesmerising, but your delight was cut short when you heard a thud followed by a child's cry. You looked over to see that, not too far away, a group of children had pushed a young boy to the ground. The boy fumbled to get to his feet but the children circled around him, pointing and calling him names. You walked over to the crowd of children and placed your hands on your hips. "Excuse me?" you called out and watched as the kids stiffened up and their circle disbanded. They ran away, shooting you a strange look before you could even say anything else. You extended your arm and helped the little boy to his feet. "Are you okay?" you asked, kneeling down to mirror his short height. The boy nodded sadly, his dark eyes glazed with tears. "What's your name?"

"Alistair." the boy mumbled, his cheeks heating up with embarrassment.

"That's a beautiful name," you gleamed before introducing yourself. Alistair smiled at the compliment.

"I like your costume," he pointed excitedly. "Are you a princess?" he pointed at your tiara which held back your hair.

"Something like that," you shrugged with a small laugh. "Are you here alone?"

"No, I came with my daddy." Alistair informed you, looking around as he tried to locate his father. Your gaze followed his and you watched the young child begin to panic as he couldn't find him anywhere.

"You can't see him?" you asked with an empathetic frown. Alistair burst into tears, holding his head in his hands. "Hey don't cry!" You pulled the child into you and hugged him tightly. "He won't be far. Come on, let me help you look for him."

"He-, he always leaves," Alistair sobbed and your eyes widened slightly. "But this time- this time he promised. No more leaving."

"You must believe in your father, okay?" you whispered, pulling Alistair's hands away from his face and wiping his tears. "Tell me, what does he look like?"

Alistair sniffed and grabbed onto your hand for support. "Strong," Alistair smiled. "Really really cool. Best dad in the world." you chuckled at Alistar's words, and how he had described his father's personality rather than his physical appearance.

"Do you remember what he was wearing?" you quizzed as you and Alistair exited the playpark and back down the stone path.

"Umm, a white shirt and grey pants," Alistair recalled. "He's on the television sometimes."

You furrowed your eyebrows together. "Television?" you asked curiously and Alistair nodded before gasping.

"Look! There he is!" Alistair screamed, pointing across the road into a store window, at a man with golden coloured hair and chocolate brown eyes. You swallowed the lump in your throat as you took in his appearance. The man shook his fists and nodded his head, grinning enthusiastically.

"That man on the screen over there?" you tilted your head as Allistair squeezed your hand and dragged you out of the park, across the road, and over to the shop.

"Yep, that's daddy!"

"Welcome to the future, life is good, but it can be better. And why shouldn't it be? Everything you've ever dreamed of is right at our fingertips. But are you reaping the awards? Do you have it all? Welcome to Black Gold Cooperative, the first oil company run for the people, by the people. Think about finally having everything you've always wished for. For a low monthly fee, you can own a piece of the most lucrative industry in the world. And everytime we strike gold, you strike gold! No matter who you are, no matter what you do, you deserve to have it all. Do you have everything you've always wanted? Aren't you tired of wishing you had more? Join me today. You don't need a pile of money or some business degree to get started. You don't even have to work hard for it. At Black Gold Cooperative all you need is to want it."

You were so hypnotized by the man's business scheme, you didn't even notice Alistair disappear. Your eyes widened as you looked around, desperately trying to find him. You called his name a few times, hoping he wasn't far.

Maxwell tugged on Alistair's arm and dragged him around a corner. "What are you doing?" Max hissed and Alistair looked away from his father nervously. "You don't talk to strangers, do you understand me?"

"I couldn't find you in the park, she was helping me look for you." Alistair explained, his voice timid.

"So why were you out of the park, huh? Standing outside a television store watching one of my-" Maxwell sighed. "-one of my infomercials?"

"I wanted to show her what you looked like," Alistair frowned. "I'm sorry daddy."

Maxwell leaned down and kissed his son's forehead. "It's okay, just please don't do that again, alright? This world is full of bad, dangerous people. You need to be careful." Maxwell said and Alistair nodded his head. Max slid his hand into Alistair's and walked him back into the park. "So, who was that woman anyway?" Maxwell asked, quirking his eyebrow.

Maxwell had barely managed to get a glimpse of you, but if your short warrior tunic was anything to go off, he figured you were someone hired to be in costume for one of the 4th of July celebrations. He didn't see your face, only the back of your head, but in the split second he saw you, he admired the way your hair gleamed under the amber setting sunlight and the shape of your body, how your dress sculpted it perfectly. He shook away the thoughts, reaching into his pocket and taking out his wallet as he approached an ice cream vendor.

"She was nice," Alistair smiled as he looked at the ice cream menu painting on the side of the van. "She told me she was a princess and she helped me." Alistair recalled the way his bullies ran away when you had come over.

"Helped you how?" Maxwell quizzed, pulling out a few dollar bills.

Alistair stiffened up, not wanting to tell his father about the bullies. He was afraid Max would be ashamed of him for not sticking up for himself. "Can I get a raspberry sundae?" Alistair asked his dad, brushing off his initial question. Maxwell nodded his head and slid the cash over to the vendor who began to prepare the ice cream.

"Hey, I'm looking for my friend Alistair?" you were asking plenty of people wandering the streets of DC the same question. "Do you know where Alistair is?"

Some people would reply with, "Alistair who?", but most people would look you up and down with disdain and hurry away. You wondered why nobody else was dressed like you, and why nobody knew who Alistair was. Back on Themyscira, everyone had their own individual, unique name and everyone knew who everyone was. You frowned. It clearly wasn't like that in the world of man. You needed a different tactic. You thought back to Alistair's description of his father and tried to remember the words he spoke on the television. "Welcome to Black Gold Cooperative."

"Do you know where Black Gold Cooperative is?" you asked an aging lady who was walking along the sidewalk.

She, like everyone else, looked you up and down in bewilderment. "The headquarters?" she asked. "East Avenue, about a ten minute walk away."

"Which direction?" you prodded further.

The woman blinked. "East." she repeated.

"Thank you." you smiled, curtseying politely before setting off to find this mysterious place that the man on the television spoke so highly of. If he was really Alistair's father, then maybe you could find Alistair there and ensure his safety. That's what really mattered.

You found it difficult to walk in your gladiator sandals, and the quality of the air made leather tunic chafe against your thighs. Nevertheless, you preserved, ignoring all the sky comments that were being made by passers by regarding your appearance.

Finally, you found yourself standing outside Black Gold Cooperative headquarters; the large building looming over you as a cold shadow hung above your head. Attempting to go through the revolving doors proved to be a challenge in itself, as there was no such creation back on Themyscira. After a few attempts of trying to push through you finally found yourself in the deserted lobby. "Welcome to the future," your head snapped up to the television on the wall, where the same infomercial you had seen in the store window was playing in the reception area. "Life is good, but it can be better."

You slid behind the main desk and placed your hand on the television screen, allowing your fingers to trace the man's face. It was that same charming smile and honeyed brown eyes you remembered. His hair was golden and styled perfectly, curling at the nape of his neck, like a fairytale prince you had read about in the storybooks of your youth. He was fitted in colourful patterned suits which accentuated his broad shoulders and every word glided off his tongue so sweetly. That's when it hit you— his voice. That was the feature that had attracted you to him. It was what brought you to him. It was the voice you had dreamt of, the voice you had heard over and over again. The voice that had brought you to the world of men. It was fate that had brought you to Alistair, something that could've only been written by the Gods. That man was the first man you had ever seen, and my oh my, he was something else.

[fandom-hoarder]

Suddenly thinking about the idea that Cas was maliciously out for Sam from the start. Thinking about powers!Sam and 'you didn't need the feather to fly, Dumbo.' About the early seasons implication that the special kids had, or were already predicted to have, psychic powers before they were fed demon blood. My headcanon that the blood was a way to mark them and taint them, not to give them the powers.

Thinking about Ruby convincing Sam he needed demon blood and getting him addicted, reliant on her and easily fooled. Thinking about the sacrifice of Lilith for the final seal.

Thinking about how no one else ever has been shown to need to drink demon blood before housing a powerful being, angel or demon.

Thinking about how much blood castiel said Sam needed to drink... it would've involved sacrifices, basically.

If I read this with dark intent, this could be Cas manipulating Sam so he would be corrupted, weak against Lucifer once he was possessed.

If I take it a step further, these things could be signs of early machinations by Chuck to try to get the apocalypse going.

[vampireinterview]

It has come to my attention that some of you have not been made aware of the fact that Plato was well known for being a Destiel shipper, in addition to the fact that he also wrote some philosophical works on the side. Let me explain.

Plato was an Athenian thinker whose real name was Aristocles (Plato most likely comes from the Greek word for ‘broad”, he might have been so jacked that people nicknamed him for his wide shoulders, which is irrelevant to the topic at hand but I’m collecting receipts on my hypothesis that all hellers are physical beheamoths). His work regarding the philosophy of love can be interpreted through the lens of the Deancas love story, which can potentially lead us to discover the very essence of what makes Destiel so impactful and universal, so bear with me, I’ll make it as introductory as possible.

Plato’s Symposium is a dialogue which contains the philosopher’s basic view on what love can be. The influence of the aforementioned text has been so strong that even those of us who are blissfully unaware of its contents have heard of the concept of “platonic love”. It is with great disappointment that I have to inform you about the fact that the way in which the term is colloquially used can be considered quite removed from the core idea of what Plato’s love is supposed to be about. Commonly people utilize it to refer to a non-romantic and non-sexual emotion towards an individual. However, even though the extrasensory love was the end goal, it was never too far distanced from the earthly, carnal desire that was supposed to lay the foundation for greater experiences.

One of the most illustrative elements of the Symposium is no doubt the Love Ladder metaphor (also known as Diotima’s Ladder of Love, the Scala Amoris); Plato believes the act of loving to be a part of the process of initiation into the non-material world of ideas. Every step of the ladder helps one approach the transcendence of one’s soul, and so we can single out six steps to immortal absolutes:

1. The first step is developing an appreciation for a particular person. It’s a very much carnal (though not necessarily conventionally sexual) desire for beauty of a specific individual. According to Plato only through the love of the physical can one love the non material. The visceral infatuation with another’s body is often strongly rooted with the self-hatred of one’s own aesthetical poverty: within the carnal love we seek to find that which our own body lacks. The desire between Dean and Cas doesn’t have to be seen as strictly sexual, as the appreciation of beauty does not warrant a conventionally erotic subtext. This sort of fascination with the flesh is most noticeably highlighted in the many “eye sex” scenes in seasons 4-5, and is later brought up by Hester:

The very touch of you corrupts. When Castiel first laid a hand on you in Hell, he was lost. 

2. The second step stems from the appreciation for all physicality derived directly from the love one has for the lover’s form. It’s fleshed out any time Dean finds beauty in the dark times, where he would have never found it before or when Cas sees humanity through the lens of the love he has for the beauty within Dean Winchester. This step is all about finding the allure in everybody, not in spite of but rather because of having fallen for a specific person’s material form.

3. The next step is a love which transcends the physical and teaches an individual to feel affection towards the souls. The attraction one can experience in relation to that which is non material is precisely what takes the function of the driving force behind both Castiel’s and Dean’s decisions in season 6 and onward (arguably even much earlier for Cas? or even Dean? Maybe we’re talking about season 4?). As evidenced by the apparent lack of attraction Dean experiences towards Jimmy himself, he must have already moved on to this stage (the Cas he loves is not just the vessel he inhabits). Castiel on the other hand feels heavily infatueted with Dean’s spiritual allure (even when he’s physically on the verge of a breakdown, he’s still beautiful, still Dean Winchester). 

4. It is only then that one can find love for the institution. If one worships souls, then one also has to worship the product of those souls: and, sure enough, loving humanity led Castiel to love its structures and ethical systems and be willing to die fighting for them. In the later seasons he exhibits fascination over all the little rules that guide an average human’s life (which is especially fleshed out in his season 7 dialogues, where he contemplates all the small details of the societal structure, ie: how important is lipstick to you?, maybe the human institutions should ban its production). Same can be said of Dean: the customs and traditions of other people are subject to his affectionate protection in the later seasons, which sets s6 and onwards Dean apart from the early seasons Dean who cared mostly about his blood relatives. The found family arc was for him a process of growing attached to the order of life which was previously foreign to him, and him learning to navigate functioning within a big family structure and an organization (the last one is physically manifested by his move from a chaotic life spent at random motels to living at the bunker, property of the institution of Men Of Letters).

5. Then comes the deep appreciation of knowledge. Now, it is widely disputed whether what Plato meant should be strictly narrowed down to just one kind of knowledge (in many English translations you might encounter the word ‘science’, though used in the ancient sense). The process of gaining knowledge is often equated with the understanding of ideas in Plato’s work, therefore we’re going to stick with that. The act of loving the process of discovering both the external and the internal world is a strong factor which pushes Dean to self examination, or the examination of the inner psyche. It is that pursuit of knowledge that is the very coronation of his entire character arc: the realization of his role within the story (”I’m not the ultimate killer”) which was directly derived from the act of loving Cas.

6. The final stage of platonic love is reaching the love of the very concept of Love. Once again, interpretations vary, but for the sake of the argument, I’ll clarify that: the discussed kind of love transcends both the body and the soul. An individual is in love with Beauty, not just one of it’s physical or spiritual manifestations. In my opinion, this stage is extremely well depicted during the 15x18 confession scene, for it is a kind of love achieved by Castiel. He is no longer just in love with the body or soul of Dean, he’s also in love with the sole idea of loving him. He quite literally states that he’s fallen in love with the idea of just being, just saying it, just falling in love. 

Upon achieving this state, he transcends his material conditions both by leaving the human world (his move to another dimension - the Empty - could be just an illustrative manifestation of the transcendental move of his essence) and giving birth to a new world order. The way in which he later on goes to rebuild Heaven and give birth to a completely new, structure of the universe is in line with a concept that Plato ties into the finale step of the Ladder - pregnancy of the soul. At one point in Symposium he describes Diotima saying that:

That in that life alone, when he looks at Beauty in the only way that Beauty can be seen--only then will it become possible for him to give birth not to images or virtue (Because he’s in touch with no images), but to true virtue (Because he is in touch with the true Beauty).

What is the christian equivalent and personification of the true idea of Virtue if not the abstract concept of Heaven? The moment Cas creates a new portrayal of Virtue he finishes the Ladder. It could also be argued that the true pregnancy of the soul was actually finished when Jack ascended to the status of God: an entity which belongs to the realm of ideas and is perfect by its very nature is birthed through Castiel’s love (which can be traced back to the feelings he has for Dean Winchester).

And it is the fact that Dean’s arc got stuck on the fifth stage of the Ladder that causes me so much pain. He dies before transcending and experiencing the non-temporal and non-relative feeling of love that one can gain only through the admiration of beauty itself. His life was cut short and his soul has already left the mortal, physical world, therefore he is forever unable to experience the feeling of loving Love and Virtue so much that his soul gives birth to an unbreakable idea.

In conclusion: if you ever see somebody say that Dean and Castiel’s relationship is platonic, just agree. It is very much so platonic in the sense that through their carnal and spiritual desires they’ve manged to (nearly, in Dean’s case) transcend their material conditions and reached the divine aspect of ideal Beauty and Virtue, rooted in a love that’s so deep that it’s perfectly able to redefine the structure of one’s existence.

tagging some people who have vaguely expressed interest in acquiring the third eye:

@cryptcas​ @futureheadnerd​ @doctorprofessorsong​ @sinnabonka​ @theangelwiththewormstache​ @absoluteheller​ @fivefeetfangirl​ 

[clairenatural]

destiel, 2k. mafia!Cas/Kingergarten teacher!Dean from an anon prompt for mafia!dean or Cas protecting the other at all costs. I’m not entirely sure what this turned into but it was fun to write so I hope it’s also fun to read :) it references stuff that happens in 12x10, Lily Sunder Has Some Regrets.

“Sir, we have a problem.”

Castiel sighs. His five least favorite words. He glances up, frowning at Inias. “What kind of problem?” He doesn’t add that it had better be important to justify the younger man barging into his office like this, but it’s implied.

Inias takes a deep breath before stepping fully into the room, letting Castiel’s glass office door shut behind him. “The DA’s office is refusing to back down on the Ishim case.”

“And you paid them the standard amount?”

“Yes, sir. But one of the DDAs refused it.”

“Refused it.”

“He’s new. He doesn’t understand our arrangement.”

“Hm.” Castiel closes his laptop and leans back in his chair, considering both the situation and the man in front of him. They hadn’t had a problem with the DA in years—at least, not since Castiel had taken over. Their messes were less messy and they paid more generously for silence. “How much does he need to understand?”

“That’s the problem, sir. I don’t think he will.”

Castiel scoffs. “Anyone in power can be bought off,” he replies, because in all his years he’d never met someone who couldn’t be. Power corrupts, after all.

Inias shifts uneasily, and Castiel can tell he isn’t going to like how this ends.

“We’ve received word that he’s begun investigating independently.”

Castiel groans at this, closing his eyes and pinching the bridge of his nose.

“But don’t worry!” Inias continues quickly, hurridly. “We can put our best men on the assignment, have him taken care of by tonight—”

“Wait,” Castiel cuts him off with a sigh. He forces his eyes back open. “I’m not mad,” he says before anything else, because Inias looks like a deer in the headlights and even after all this time his employees still need occasional reminding that he is not his brothers.

When he’d taken over for Michael he’d promised himself—he’d promised everyone—less bloodshed. He swore to defend his family, business, and territory from Crowley and his cronies, but he’d been determined to stop ending innocent lives. For some reason, though, innocents just love getting in the way. He sighs again. “What’s his name?”

“Sam Winchester.”

And, well. That certainly complicates things. He’d known when Sam announced he was going into criminal law that this was a possibility—in some ways, he thinks he should have expected this.

“Sir?” Inias asks, and Castiel realizes he doesn’t know how long he’s been staring at him. “Are you…do you know him?”

Castiel blinks back to reality and glares at him. “Call them off,” he orders, and cuts Inias off when he tries to protest. “Call them all off, Inias. Now.”

“But, sir, what about—”

“I’ll deal with Sam Winchester myself. Nobody else is to touch him.” Then, just for emphasis, “Until I say otherwise, consider him under my protection.”

Inias is still staring at him, baffled, but after a moment he nods, and Castiel is thankful that he’s decided not to argue. “Alright, I—yes. Understood.” He nods again before leaving the office and Castiel sinks deep into his chair, pressing the heels of his hands into both eyes.

His phone buzzes and Castiel watches as a text message lights up the screen, revealing the photo from his wedding he has set as his background. It’s a message from Dean, because of course it is, asking him what he wants for dinner and if he wants wine with it.

Castiel looks around his office, awarded to him based on his surname but paid for in blood, and he’s never hated it more.  

————————————————————-

They get half an hour into the low-budget western Dean had insisted in watching before his husband sighs, pauses the movie, and sets his wine glass down on the coffee table.  “What’s going on with you?”

Castiel frowns up at him from where he’s lying on the couch, cheek against Dean’s thigh, his own wine glass barely touched. All things considered, Castiel thinks he’s been doing a great job acting like everything is fine. He forgets, sometimes, how easily Dean can read him.

“Work was…long,” he answers, and it isn’t a lie. Then, because Dean is looking at him like he doesn’t believe him, he follows up with “How’s Sam?”

It’s both a deflection and an answer to Dean’s question, but Dean doesn’t know that. Dean thinks he manages a hedge fund. Which he does. Technically. Legally, at least.

Dean knows he’s changing the subject but he doesn’t press it, and his face lights up the way it always does when someone asks about his brother. Castiel loves him for it. Dean starts on about Sam, how he’s doing with Eileen, how they just moved into a bigger house because they want to start a family. Castiel isn’t paying attention, not really, because Dean’s fingers are playing with his hair and he doesn’t really want to think about anything else.

“—I said I’d help him out, though.”

That catches his attention. “What? Why?” he asks, a bit too quickly, because even though he’s missed most of the context he can’t help the sinking feeling in his stomach.

Dean raises an eyebrow. “Come on, babe. I never get to use my degree anymore.” He shrugs. “And it sounds fun, you know? Helping my baby brother take down a corrupt criminal justice system. I feel like Serpico.”

“No.” It comes out more forcefully than he had intended and he sits up, turning fully to face Dean. “No, Dean, you need to stay out of it.”

Dean blinks at his husband, and Castiel immediately backtracks. “I mean, um. You don’t—you don’t have any evidence.”

“That’s the point of me helping,” Dean rolls his eyes. “I know I chose teaching five-year-olds over working in cybersecurity, but I still know my way around.”

“You’re going to hack into the DA’s office?”

“It sounds bad when you put it like that.”

“It is bad.” Castiel knows he’s being too insistent, is pushing too hard, but Dean can’t get involved, too. He can’t. “It’s dangerous. You don’t know who else could be involved.”

“I don’t care about that.”

“You should. You just don’t understand—”

“Understand what, Cas?” Dean snaps, and now it’s the fight Castiel didn’t want to have. “What could I possibly not understand that you do? A kid is dead and the DA is trying to cover it up and just maybe I can help figure out why.”

“There are things you don’t—” Castiel is already halfway through his next argument when the second half of Dean’s sentence catches up with him, and he stops. “Did you say a kid?”

Dean scoffs. “You weren’t even listening, right? Great. Yeah, some asshole killed his ex-girlfriend’s new boyfriend and her kid and the DA is refusing to press charges. Says there isn’t enough evidence. Sam thinks they were paid off.”

“No,” he says, quietly, because no. The daughter was never supposed to—that’s not what happened. He had been told that’s not what happened.

“What do you mean, no?” There’s less heat in Dean’s words, and Castiel thinks it’s because he himself has completely deflated.

He stares at his husband—the love of his life, the beautiful, generous, selfless man he doesn’t deserve—and realizes he’s never going to be able to talk Dean down from this. If he could, he wouldn’t be Dean.

He thinks about all he’s done to keep this part of his life safely tucked away. He cultivated a reclusive public image to keep Dean safe from being the husband of Castiel Novak, manager of the Novak Group. He expanded their territory to encompass the school Dean works at, something his family still holds against him as a waste of resources, to protect him from being the husband of Castiel Novak, leader of the crime syndacate. He’s hidden his marriage from nearly the entire family, labeling anything to do with Dean as the most privileged of information.

The only reason he’s still doing this at all, really, is Dean. He could have jumped ship when Michael died, when Gabriel left, when Lucifer took the fall and was sentenced to life, but that meant giving everything to Raphael, who promised to hunt both him and Dean down if he left. So he took the reins instead and he’s tried his best to keep his family safe while managing the business—both the above and underground aspects.

And now, despite all that, both Dean and his brother have somehow gotten themselves involved.

Dean is still staring at him, brows furrowed, and he doesn’t move away when Castiel reaches out to take both of his hands into his own. “I’m sorry,” he starts, and Dean looks taken aback but he doesn’t break the eye contact. “I love you. I don’t want you to end up in trouble.”

Something in Dean’s eyes softens. “Hey,” He squeezes Castiel’s hands lightly. “Come on. Have a little faith in me.”

And all Castiel can do, just like any time Dean looks at him like that, is smile back. And nod. And lean forward to kiss him, just once, softly.

“I do, Dean. I always do.”

Dean leans their foreheads together and Castiel can tell he’s still concerned, but he doesn’t want there to be any more yelling tonight, so instead he pulls back to lie down in Dean’s lap again. He hears Dean sigh before picking up the remote with the hand not still intertwined with Castiel’s, and then he restarts the movie, and Castiel tries not to think for the rest of the night.

 ————————————————————-

The next morning, though, he’s storming into his office, ready to lay into anyone involved with lying to him. He doesn’t get far—Naomi is sitting in his chair. At his desk. For a brief moment, he sees red.

“That’s my chair.”

His aunt regards him, cool as ever. “Is it?” she asks, and she stands, but only to walk around the desk and into his space. “And who gave it to you?” In her heels she’s taller than him but he glares anyway, refusing to be intimidated. He doesn’t respond.

“Why are you protecting Sam Winchester?” she asks after a moment of silence, still standing just as close.

“Why did you lie to me about the incident with Ishim?”

Naomi’s expression doesn’t change, but something close to surprise flickers across her eyes and she backs off to lean against his desk. “I suspect the answer to both of those questions is the same.”

“May Sunder was never supposed to die,” he presses, not backing down, and Naomi looks at him as if he’s being an unruly child.

“Yes, but her mother threatened to go to the police. Come now, Castiel, you’re old enough to understand these things.”

“I never authorized that.”

Naomi stands again. “You think you have to?”

This, of all things, catches him off-guard. “I—yes?”

His aunt steps forward, crowding him again, and he hates himself for taking a step back. “You’re a figurehead, Castiel. You’re in power because you’re Michael’s brother, people like you, and we thought you’d at least be loyal.”

“I am loyal,” he retorts, and she sighs.

“I’m not the only one who’s begun to question your sympathies, Castiel. Who are you loyal to?”

“My family.”

“Does that mean us? Or Dean Winchester?”

Castiel freezes, stunned. “How—”

Naomi cuts him off with a smile. “You think we don’t know? We’ve been letting you play house because it kept you distracted. Now, it seems, it’s making you weak. If you don’t fix this, I’ll have no choice but to cure you of that weakness.”

At last she steps away and turns towards the door. “You have an army here, Castiel. Don’t lose it for one man.”

And then she leaves.

And then, Castiel makes a decision.

In the next few hours, he makes several more—and then he’s driving home with all his family’s secrets copied onto a hard drive, the few items from his office that he actually cares about, and a plan forming on how to take the whole system down.

It’s almost funny, he thinks, the decision Naomi expected him to make—that she’d expected him to choose the family over Dean. That she’d expected him to choose anything over Dean.

She has no idea what’s coming. 

[castiels-majestic-wings]

You Abandoned Me

Paring: Castiel x Female!Reader

Word Count: 1,337

Warnings: Implied sex, mentions of war/violence

Posted: 25/01/2021

It had been 7 months and 13 days. Over 7 months and she hadn't heard a word from her boyfriend, Castiel. The Angel of the Lord, that can hear every prayer she directs to him. But he never bothered to make contact. She wondered if something had gone wrong. Had he died? Was he kidnapped and tortured? Or did he just abandon her? She paced around the Library, her only place of peace and quiet when the boys were in the Bunker. The only time they came in was to get some lore books to find a way to kill whatever they were hunting. But when they saw how pissed she was, they didn't dare enter the same room as her. They had known her for years, taught her everything they know. And now, she had had enough. She had one last resort to get Castiel's attention, she didn't like it. But it was the only way.

She had left the bunker without a word, the boys expected her to go to the closest bar and get wasted. So when she returned with a man clinging to her body, sharing hungry, sensual kisses, they were confused to say the least. She was faithful to Cas, even when drunk she wouldn't let another man touch her, unless it was the Winchester brothers taking her back to the bunker. They had tried to pry the man off her body, cursing at her stupidity. She was completely sober, yet she was taking another man to bed. They had got the man off you, and threatened him before Dean kicked him out of the bunker. Dean had made his way back to her to scold her actions.

"What is wrong with you? What about Cas?"

"He abandoned me Dean. So I thought it would be nice to feel loved again. To have a man worship my body."

"Cas didn't abandon you-" She interrupted the eldest brother, in a fit of rage.

"Then where is he?! Where has he been all this time. He hasn't contacted me in 7 months Dean! If he cared, he would be here when I called. I've prayed to him. Every damn night. But did he answer me? No! Because he doesn't give a damn about me anymore. He's an angel, I should've known it wouldn't work." At that moment a whooshing sound filled the room. She was glad he arrived, but upset that this is what it took. She turned his direction and he looked mad. He was jealous for sure. But what would he do?

"Oh now he arrives, it's not like you're 7 months late Castiel" She used his full name to show how pissed she actually was. But he wasn't having it.

"Why were you with another man?" His voice was calm, but anyone could hear the anger he tried to suppress. The brothers stepped back, enough to give you space, but could still hear your argument.

"Because you abandoned me Cas, I prayed to you every night for months. You never once answered."

"Because I'm trying to stop a war. Heaven is fighting against each other, they-"

"I don't care Cas! There could be a thousand wars at once, but in every one I would fight my way to you. If you called for me, I would get to you as soon as I could. I couldn't care less about everyone else. I only care about you! But you don't feel the same. So I knew it was over without you even saying anything."

"I don't understand- You would sacrifice everyone for me?"

"In a heartbeat"

"I'm stopping this war for you. To make sure it doesn't affect you here on earth-"

"Earth is- and always has been corrupted. Wars will always take place. No matter where they come from. So us humans, will do what we can to fight for our loved ones." Castiel tilted his head in confusion. He had spent nearly 4 years with the hunters in front of him but in all those years, he had never thought humans could be more emotional than he had already witnessed. Yet the woman in front of him, was displaying emotions he had never witnessed, even in the year they had dated.

It was pure love. A love that will make anyone sacrifice their life for their partners. He knew she loved him, but never to this extent. He exhaled as he held onto her wrist and started walking to her room. She tried to free herself from his grip, even if she knew he was stronger. He let go of her after he closed the door to her room. He needed privacy to voice his thoughts to her. She was the only human who made him feel the way he did. He wasn't even aware angels could love until he met her. She had found her way past his barriers, and into his heart. And even if he knew they loved each other, seeing that man all over her. It made him mad.

"There are many beings after me, angels, demons, even death. I wanted to respond to you so badly but I didn't want to put you in any danger. If they had followed me here, or even if they just saw me talking to you, was a risk. I don't want to risk losing you. So I kept my distance. But hearing your voice every day, it helped me get through the battles I faced. I love you bumblebee, I really do." His hand cupped her cheek as her tears fell. Hearing the nickname he used for her again, after all this time. And his confession. It made her weep. Her knees went weak as they buckled underneath her, making her fall to the ground. But Castiel had held her waist, lowering himself to his knees with her. She cried into his shoulder, clutching his trench coat in her hands. He ran his hands through her hair, as an attempt to soothe her. She raised her head looking into his ocean blue eyes. She held both sides of his face, her thumbs tracing his jawline.

"I missed you so much. But don't worry about your wars. If they end up coming here, then we will fight alongside you. We will do everything together. So don't shut me out again okay" Only then he realised how wrong his actions were. He thought he was doing the right thing, keeping you from danger. But it made things worse.

"Okay, I'm sorry, for everything"

"I'm sorry too, I love you, My Angel" Hearing his pet name again, made a smile appear on his features. He had thought you hated him, but you didn't. And that alone was enough. His hand made it to the back of your neck before his lips made it to yours. The kiss was soft, but passionate. Showing all the hidden feelings between the both of you, the time you missed, the pain of not seeing each other in so long. And his anger of what he saw before he entered the bunker again. She broke the kiss gasping for oxygen, placing her forehead against his. The smile showing on their faces never fading. Until Cas' face fell. He questioned you with a raised eyebrow.

"So, who was that man that was all over you?" She pulled away, removing her hands from his face. She had forgotten about that.

"He- uhm. He was someone I met at the bar, it was the only way I thought I could get your attention." Her face lowered in embarrassment. But he only chuckled in response, causing her to look him in the eye again.

"Never do that again or I will show you who you belong to" His voice darkened, filled with lust. Hearing that tone again made her core quiver.

"Well if you have the time, maybe you could show me." Her voice was sultry, daring him to try. And he was way too eager to accept the challenge.

[absurdthirst]

Can we maybe have some hcs for the boys with an S/O that’s significantly taller than them? pedro is like 5’11, and I am a tall bitch (6’4 - kinda ridiculous), and I’m not afraid to wear heels either. How would they react to being the one looking up for once?

When You are Significantly Taller:

Javier: Wow you are tall. He’s not opposed to this. You are tall, so what? Long legs and a tight ass are his thing. Although he does gripe about the crick in his neck when you wear heels. 

Ezra: Doesn’t give a damn. “This is my Amazonian goddess.” Is how he introduces you. Enjoys the fact that you are taller even. Sometimes being looked at as odd is a great time. 

Mando: Good, just don’t hit your head on the bulkhead. He’s low on bacta.

Catfish: He’s a bit insecure about it, but you will never know that. Benny likes to give him shit, but what’s new on that front. He loves you, so what if you are tall? Just means he’s not responsible for getting shit off the top shelf. 

Tovar: Why does he give a damn how tall you are? Other than the fact that it is an oddity in his era. You must have been well fed as a child to grow so tall. But as far as it bothering him? Nah.....you have the shorter horse anyway. 

Agent Whiskey: If Whiskey is uncomfortable with you, you would never know. You are his statuesque queen and he won't let you forget it. Besides, you can look out for him and spot the target when there’s a crowd. 

Max Phillips: He would be the one with the issue. This boy would pout like crazy when you wear heels. You are already taller than him, do you have to make it worse? At least he as speed and strength on you. 

Marcus: Again, perfect boyfriend. You can’t help how tall you are. And he’s not going to deny he loves you in heels. That ass. You are supposed to be comfortable in whatever you want, and he will be there to support you. 

MasterList

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[coffeeteaitsallfine]

ok.... it’s Vampire Boyfriend, Live Free or TwiHard time

(disclaimer i dont actually really talk about S6x05 live free or twihard, it just sounded catchy)

No, Castiel is not the archetypical vampire boyfriend but he is a very Edward vampire boyfriend-- Seasons 6 - 8 in nice little arc. No, he is not lustful (just in subtext). S6-8 (& a lil before that) Cas is heavily the outcast. He is not impure traditionally (until he gets those leviathans!! sick ahaha sera!!!!!fightme) but he does have a crack in his chassis. Cas doesn’t think about sex the way humans do but it’s not really about that. Human feelings let alone feelings for humans are sinful (hellooo nephillims being abominations) they’re just “mud-monkeys.” To the angels, Castiel’s love for humans is worth giving him lobotomies over and over. Falling in love with one is the worst sin (“the very touch of you corrupts [Castiel]”). He is thus outcasted! (this was all written pre-s12 so go with it)

Now, in twilight the sex subtext isn’t subtext, it’s repressed because this is a good little Christian novel of course. Edward the vampire is constantly repressing his thirst and they’re only able to be together with ease once they’re on equal footing. I’ve reread it just this year. It’s repressed and not just in Eclipse when he won’t have sex with her. Bella CLEARLY has a sex dream and Edward knows about it but they don’t talk about it. Anyway, the text is the whole “I’m a killer bella” not blood drinking though. He is repressing that so it’s under control. NO no Edward is a danger magnet literally just crushing her with strength or luring other people to kill her. Castiel’s violence pre-s6 anyway is framed as holy and because heaven commanded it, but the slaughtering of angels for no good reason? unforgiveable. Cas doesn’t tempt dean in any lustful way but just the fact that he’s Gay and in love is already too obvious subtext as it is thanks to S4-5, bringing sex appeal or tempting imagery here would be too obvious or overdoing it i guess and works for us so it doen’t come off as predatory I don’t think. Meanwhile for the proxy Meg Castiel is the pizza man. (whereas s9′s answer to that is...nah he’s the babysitter apparently lol ? lets not read into it). Note as I’m editing: Eve literally eve is a character is S6? I forgot this but oh my god make it stop.

Then in S7 Cas is all “I deserved to die” because he killed a lot of angels and bad people as Godstiel (hello eddie boy’s serial killer murder streak if you didn’t pick up on this yet). Then, obviously, he is not even deserving of LOVE he’ll just hurt everything and everyone around and probably dean too. Cue the early S8 New Moon subplot culminating in fallen angels because we all know the third ingredient for the spell that would expel angels from societyheaven and lock the door behind them, was an angel falling love with a human. At the same time, his angel grace is taken away from him, making him a human no longer “pure” or without sin in the eyes of heaven like adam. the first to fall causing all the angels to fall with him.

Now this doesn’t quite work the same way for dean from dean’s perspective cause why would it. He’s not the Laura/Lucy to Castiel’s Carmilla/Dracula. (This makes Benny’s placement in Purgatory for the love triangle (literally) so in contrast like Benny IS this story’s Jacob) He’s not scandalized by the prospect of falling love. He’s got complicated emotions & thoughts is scared to for vulnerability reasons plus his own sexuality issues but I beg you to see that as separate and not over think it-- Twilight is very repressed, Dean is extremely repressed, poor Cas. But! Dean feels completely “pure” in purgatory & wants nothing more than to find the angel the entire time. He is Bella Swan thinking the killer/monster is an Angel (see: Twilight Ch. 23 “The Angel”), the only angel. All the other angels (vampires) are evil dicks but not my angel :) Mine is powerful, strong, psychic, and sexy. he’s beautiful and perfect and will never love me the way i love him unless we are the same species, equals if you will. 

Castiel is the vampire boyfriend, but not in the old, traditional way rather in the inevitably “modern” (2000s--early 2010s) take, where the vampire isn’t preying upon your sexual purity but the wholesome family ideal (ie lisa/ben, raking those leaves, the cookouts ah yes how american)....ehh yikes sera gamble? s6 reeks of homophobia thanks, thanks a lot. Except well, also, dean doesn’t really want that life not entirely. Neither did bella either tbh until the end but lets not get into that, except twilight is the “wholesome” ending, the opposite in every way to traditionally evil (lol ykwim...) vampires. The show eventually moves into a middle space, a synthesis of horror and home-- where it should’ve ended as we all know. Anyway, while writing this I remembered the beginning of Season 6, when the modern version of the vampire boyfriend arc kicks in, was also when they had the episode “Live Free or TwiHard.” Is this coincidence? probably, maybe, idk. I started this post just wanting to make casward parallels cause it sounded right and I’m a deancas/bellaedward truther for the Jokes, a Good Time, and the hot takes. 

except no, with Carver finishing up S8 (bookending the arc nicely with the two gay truckers being soulmates), Benny is the old world would be tragic vampire boyfriend and they couldn’t last! Sorry benny it’s been real. Castiel is the modern twilight vampire boyfriend, without predatory vibes and since religion is more of a plot device than a theme, less Mormonism and heteronormativity. Plus this reading is just sexy and cool and I like to have fun 

[astermacguffin]

I know no one asked and no one cares lol but yes I'm still drafting a Priest!Cas AU that is so homoerotic (and blasphemous), but the DeanCas internal conflict for this fic is NOT homophobia (both internalized and directed at them) because there's already SO much works about queerness in relation to religious angst.

Instead, I intend this fic to be partly a character study, partly a meta with a heavy philosophical bend to it.

Castiel's main conflict in this AU is this clash between his core philosophical beliefs and his desires to have Dean (and everything that the word 'have' entails):

Cas strongly believes that no one in this world actually owns anything; this belief basically informs a huge part of his activism. You came into a world already altered by hands and minds that came before you, so how much of what you claim as yours is actually yours, you know? No one is born alone: you are not the body who birthed you, you are not the hands that built your bed and fed you, the hands that built your house, your community, everything.

Cas is obsessed with having a coherent belief system (like how the version of Christianity that he believes in is one that is consistent with his advocacies and projects for protecting the marginalized). Which is why he CANNOT rationalize his desire for Dean.

Like, he's SO horny for Dean (physically, emotionally, and spiritually) that he can't even fathom his own desires. Again, this is NOT because of his internalized homophobia (because, hello, he's a queer activist and liberation theologist), but because he wants to OWN Dean, which goes against the very nature of his core beliefs.

(At some point, he realizes that he wants to consume Dean but like, metaphysically, you know? The same way Catholics wanna vore Jesus. But let's leave the homoerotic blasphemy for a future post.)

There's also the fact that he can't be in a romantic/sexual relationship due to his oath. If it's only up to him, Cas would leave the priesthood in a heartbeat, but here's where his internal conflict bridges with the external: Cas believes he still has some kind of duty towards the community.

You see, I want this fic to be set in some rural place with little to no government support. In areas like this, churches have to fulfill different functions beyond being religious institutions: outreach and charity work for the poor, mental health services, cultural affairs, intra- and inter-community cohesion, etc. There's also a seminary that Cas has to manage, full of mouths to feed using funds that mainly rely on donations.

Cas is not just a religious leader, but a community leader. It's not exactly a job that he can just leave. Cas uses the social, cultural, and political power that his position grants to push his activism. (Of course, given the fact that The Church is not usually fond of such things, he is often met with opposition. I'm planning Zachariah to be someone in the Diocese who's just waiting and scheming for Cas to fail.)

I want Castiel's arc in this fic to be one where he realizes that he's allowed to be selfish sometimes, that the world does not rest on his shoulders alone. I want Dean to be there to teach him that the big fight, the good fight, is not fought alone. That the good fight is a generational struggle, which means passing the baton to those you've raised and trained. That the good fight can be fought even without you being in the frontlines.

I'll probably post something about Dean's arc in this AU sometime in the future. For now, here are the things you need to know about Dean:

Dean and Cas already met when they were 18 and have been hooking up in the church's restrooms for some time until Dean and Sam had to move away.

Dean was helping Sam run away for Stanford. Eventually, John catches up on them. With Sam asleep in the passenger's seat, Dean exits the car and enters a physical struggle with John.

Dean accidentally shoots John in self-defense when the man threatens to harm Sam. Dean calls Bobby and tells him everything, sobbing. Dean pulls the body into the roadside woods, per Bobby's instruction.

Whether or not Sam is actually asleep or pretending to sleep is intentionally left vague. (This factoid will be key to Dean's arc sometime later in the fic.)

Dean continues driving to Stanford while Bobby disposes of the body. This remains a secret between them.

Sam and Dean exchange some warm words and hugs. With Dean finally alone, he thinks of calling Cas, panics, and decides not to. Dean changes his number when he arrives at Bobby's.

He stays there for a while, being an assistant in Bobby's repair shop. Eventually, he becomes too restless to stay in one place and decides to go on the road every few months. He starts writing during these trips and becomes a published essayist and fiction writer.

20 years later, he decides to go back to his hometown to fix their old house from the ground up. Settling down, starting anew.

He meets Cas, now a priest.

Dean confesses to Cas in the confession box about everything: John's death, Sam in Stanford, living with Bobby, the road trips, etc.

Then comes a slow journey of relearning one another.

In this AU, Dean genuinely believes that his very touch corrupts. He sees himself as poison, not because of his queerness (he's openly bisexual in this one, thanks to less exposure to John and more exposure to Bobby), but because of the literal blood on his hands.

What I want is for both of them to learn something important: that Cas deserves to be selfish for once, and for Dean to forgive himself.

[mandoalorian]

Scars [Max Lord x gn!Reader]

Summary: Maxwell Lord is entrapped and scarred by the Lasso of Hestia, and he requests your care to help him heal.

Rating: PG-13 // unprompted angst (I am so sorry.)

Warnings: Details of injury/scars, details of Max’s declining health/illness.

Word count: 1300

Author’s Note: There are depictions in the comic books where Diana’s lasso of truth actually scars it’s victims. We all have scars and marks that we wish weren’t there, but I think it’s important to embrace them and learn to love them. So here is something short and sweet for those who share a similar insecurity.

Masterlist

The second you and Maxwell enter Marine One, he closes all curtains aboard and discards his grey, pinstripe suit jacket. He tugs on his tie, and you see that he’s struggling to take it off. His motions are rough and aggressive and for a split second, you’re afraid he might choke himself. You approach him and gently take his shaky hands. They’re cold, like blocks of ice and you let go of them so they fall by his side. You bring your fingers up to his patterned blue tie and unravel the knot in it. Maxwell’s nose is scrunched up and he’s groaning, rubbing his chest and the side of his torso. It’s like he’s in pain.

“Can you help me take this off?” He asks you, and he’s grabbing at his white shirt like it’s suffocating him. You nod and start with pulling down his black and blue zig-zag suspenders so they drop by his legs. When you unbutton his shirt, you start at his collar and work your way down. Once it’s off and discarded onto the floor, Max breathes a sigh of relief. He’s grateful for the cool air hitting his skin.

He looks down at his body and his expression doesn’t change. In a sense, he expected it. He forgets that you’re with him, standing before him and looking upon his form feeling nothing but fear and concern.

On the exterior, Max Lord has always been confident. He walks around D.C. like he owns the entire city, in his perfectly pressed power suits and designer shoes. He constantly flaunts his power and wealth with every given opportunity. So to see him like this, washed with insecurity over his body image, was unexpected to say the least.

Maxwell watches your expression intently as you take in the sight of his scarred torso, and he swallows a knot in his throat. It was a knot that he didn’t realise he’d been holding back. He desperately searches your face for clues, trying his hardest to figure out what exactly you’re thinking about when you look at him. He prays silently that you aren’t as disgusted as he is. He feels his cheeks flush with warmth and he hopes he doesn’t look as flustered as he imagines. But his embarrassment isn’t lost on you. Your soft lips part and you extend your arm.

“May I?” you request, reaching out, your fingers hovering just above his ribcage. Maxwell silently nods and you gently trace the dark pink lines that mark there. The scars are risen slightly, and radiate heat. You can tell that they’re recent, although Maxwell won’t exactly explain what went on in The White House. You know better than to keep pushing him for answers. “They feel like burns,” you acknowledge, taking your hand away from his skin and biting your fingernails as you ponder. The lines look angry and there are so many of them. “Does it hurt when I touch?”

“No.” he grits out, and your heart breaks for him. You know he’s trying to stay strong for you.

“I-- I’m not really sure how to help,” you confess with a frown, and finally bring your gaze to meet his dark honeyed eyes. For the first time ever, you see a side to Maxwell that you have never seen before. He looks afraid. “Maybe you should go home and rest.” you propose, but already regret the words as soon as they leave your mouth. You know that it’s a silly suggestion and you know that Maxwell will just dismiss your comment like all the other times you’ve requested that he goes home. All the wish-granting has left him with shaky hands and blood shot eyes. His skin is pale and he looks tired; distinctly more tired than usual.

You’re in the air now, flying out to some place you don’t even know. Maxwell won’t tell you where he’s taking you. You want to trust him, but after all of this, it’s difficult. You get the feeling that he’s not thinking straight, and that his motive has been completely corrupted by this newfound power he has gained. You’re frightened for him. He doesn’t listen to you the way he used to and it feels like he doesn’t value your advice.

You’re afraid he doesn’t love you anymore.

And he’s afraid you won’t love him after this.

“Do you hate it?” Max asks, breaking the silence. The question comes as a shock and it snaps you out of your thoughts. It was an unusual question, especially coming from a man like Maxwell.

“What?” you counter, your eyes searching to meet his gaze, but he’s so self-conscious, he can’t even bring himself to look at you. “I-- no Max, of course I don’t hate it.”

Max swallows again. “I don’t think it’ll ever heal, or at least not completely.”

“If you come home now, we can see a doctor. But the longer you wait… the worse it might be,” you explain. “Although, no matter what you decide, I won’t leave you. Not now, not ever. And especially not because of some scars.”

“You know I can’t just come home,” Maxwell whispers. At this point, he feels like he’s forcing himself to complete the mission he’s set himself. He’s forgotten what really matters. However, he does miss the comfort of his bed and the warmth of your body when you wrap your arms and legs around him like a koala bear hugs a tree. “I have to finish what I started…” Maxwell pauses to cup your face, his thumb brushing the height of your cheekbone. You find yourself subconsciously leaning into his touch and you close your eyes as he admires your beauty.

You miss him. You want him to come home. You worry things might never be the same as they once were.

He won’t tell you his plans because he knows you’ll never approve. Max tells himself he’s doing this for the greater good. He wants to help those less fortunate. Just one wish could change so many lives. He could change lives.

But you won’t give up on him.

You choke back tears. He’s shutting you out, and you’re scared. His health is rapidly declining, that much is clear. He can barely walk. He’s wheezing every few minutes and you try your hardest not to think about the black veins that travel up his arm and neck.

He’s dying.

And there’s nothing you can do about it.

It’s a hard pill to swallow, and you can only hope that there is some higher power looking out for him. Someone out there who will help him see the truth.

You sniff and let yourself fall limp into his chest. On impulse, he wraps his arms tight around you and presses a chaste kiss onto the top of your head. 

“I just wish that you’d learn to love yourself.” you whimper, your salty tears dampening his bare skin.

A gust of wind breezes through your hair and Maxwell’s nose bleeds onto your shoulder. In that moment, Max swears that he will never let you go.

-—-—-—♡—-—-—-

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[itsthestutterforme]

Sacrifices (Supernatural)

Summary: Y/N copes after Crowley sacrifices himself// mentions of death and depression

Characters: Crowley x reader, Dean x reader, Angry!Sam x reader

--

"What else is needed for the spell?" Crowley asks me. "Just one thing. The hardest thing. The sacrifice of a soul," you answer. We were in the endgame now. We needed to kill Lucifer before he could corrupt Jack anymore than he already did.

Dean, Sam, Cas and Mary worked to distract Lucifer while you and Crowley worked on the spell. Crowley stares at you a little longer than what you're used to.

Which leads you to think that something went wrong or something is about to go wrong. "What happened?" "Nothing happened," "Then why are you staring at me?" "Because I love you."

You stop doing the spell for a moment and lock eyes with him. "I love you too," he finds a sense of relief in your words. Love isnt something that was reciprocated to him before.

"What is this about, Crowley?" "Just make sure the spell is ready." You eye him skeptically and after a few seconds, you knew what he was going to do.

He stands up to walk away, you hold him back by the hand. You stand up and wrap your arms around him. He slowly wraps his arms around waist and you tighten your grip aroubd him.

"I'm proud of you." He squeezes you and kisses the top of your head before pulling away. You watch with wide eyes when Crowley walks up to Lucifier. "You know you can't beat me, Crowley." "I know," he says.

Crowley looks at you before stabbing himself with the demon blade. "No!" you yell. The light flashes in his face before he falls to the ground. His soul is sucked into the spell you were conducting the spell in.

Tears swell in your eyes and you whisper one last incantation and the rip between worlds was starting the shrink. Cas and Mary continued to fight Lucifer and you rush over to pick up Crowley.

You place his body across your shoulder blades and hold one of his legs and arms to keep him steady. Sam and Dean let me go through first. You walk a few feet before setting Crowley's body down and kneeling down next to him.

"You deserved better," you say to him before putting a hand on his chest. You lean your back against the porch of the shack and you look to the tree line in attempt to calm down.

More sobs escaped your mouth and you find yourself leaning your forehead against Crowley's. "I don't care what anybody says. You're a big softie. You were anyway,"

"No!" you look up to see Castiel being faced from behind and killed. Dean was the one who screamed. Castiel's body falls to the ground and the next thing I know, Mary is pushing Lucifier into the rip between worlds and it closed behind here.

It seems that everyone is going to grieve today. Sam looks to you but you transport away to United Kingdom to be buried.

**

Here you are in power surpressing cuffs, staring at a very angry Sam Winchester. Dean was in the very back, standing there quietly with his arms crossed. You haven't Sam this angry or Dean this quiet, it was starting to freak you out.

"What do you mean you can't bring you can't bring her back? I've seen witches revive themselves with different kinds of spells." he says. "Believe me, I tried." you say. Their silence encouraged you to continue.

"I had a best friend once. Someone that I knew for decades. We went to junior high together and we made arrangements to be roommates in college. But then one night, we were coming back from the gym and we were ambushed by a pack of muts. They had her by the throat, and I froze. I didn't utter a word, and they... tore her apart. I brought her corpse to some abandoned warehouse and tried to revive her for hours, and nothing."

"You think that would be the worst part but no. The worst part of all this was when I had to call her mother. I can still hear her screaming," you add as a few tears escape your eyes.

You quickly wipe them away and Sam says, "What you think you can let a few crocodile tears slip and you're off the hook?" "What the hell is wrong with you? I helped all of you out when you needed a witch and couldn't find Rowena anywhere,"

"You're a friend of Crowley's, we don't know you or your moral code." "Watch your mouth. He sacrificed himself for the spell. For you. The Crowley I knew never would have done that." you snap.

"Do you know what it feels like to lose all hope for saving someone because you're scared of breaking your own heart if you fail?" you add. "Yes," Dean finally says.

You and Sam look to him and he adds, "Sammy, I told you that it was best to let Mom go, and you go a kidnap an ally." "She's not an ally," "She helped us keep Lucifier away from Jack. Yes she is," Dean defends.

"You may have given up on Mom, but I won't. I refuse to do that." Sam says before rushing out of the room angrily. Dean walks towards you with the key to the handcuffs. "I understand why he's angry. I don't blame him for that." you say as he unlocks the cuffs and they clatter on the metal table.

Dean doesn't say anything and you stand up to walk out until your feet stops in their tracks. You turn around and grab a chair to sit down. "What are you doing?" "I know that look all too well. You're not doing so good with coping."

"I'm fine," "Look, I know what it's like to have no one. To be alone in a crowded room because you don't want to burden anyone with your emotions." "Bottling things in won't help," you add.

He stares at you but doesn't say a word. "Come on, I know a cheese steak joint that's open 24 hours," you add, holding out your hand. He looks at you hand for a moment before taking your hand into his. You say an incantation and transport yourself to Philadelphia, PA.

Dean's eyes widen as he tries to stabilize himself. "Why does that feel worse than when angels and demons do it?" "I dunno. Different creatures, different abilities." You say with a shrug before walking inside. Dean follows you in and you greet your buddy.

"Long time no see," "I was starting to miss your pretty face in here, pipsqueak," "Keep yappin' and I'll give toss you a knuckle sandwich, ya punk." You tease. "Missed you too, sweetheart." You and Dean sit and you feel his gaze on you when you take a once over of the menu.

"How you holding up?" Dean asks. "I'm holding, but isn't that a question I should be asking you?" You answer. "I'm holding too," "You don't have to open up if you don't want to. But I'm here to listen when you are." You tell him as he meets your gaze. "Hey, Reggy, can I get one of your famous cheesteaks with ex-" "Extra sauce. Of course, baby doll." "Thanks,"

"You seem to have a good relationship with him," Dean says. "Eh, found a loop hole in his cross roads demon deal. Felt indebted to me every since. I just love his cheesteaks. You should try one." You say. "You're different than other witches." "Really? How?" "You know how to appreciate people and make them feel cared for. Crowley, he.. he was better because of you." Dean says.

Your heart sinks when you hear Crowley's name. Reggy comes around with your philly cheesteak and fries. He sets it on the counter and you say thank you. "No problem baby doll," "How's the daughter doin'?" You ask. "Thinking of becoming a lawyer," "Lawyer? Wow," "Yeah, she wants to be where the action is,"

"I can understand that. I'll wish you luck. Tell her I asked for her alright?" "Sure, you want anything buddy?" Reggy asks Dean. "Uh just a coffee, black." Dean answers. "You got it,"

"There a pie joint just down the street if you want to go there instead." "No, I'm okay here. I just.. don't know where to start." Dean says. "Anywhere."

He clasps his hands together and says, "I'm tired, and I'm pissed. I'm pissed that it always has to be me and Sam that has the save the world when it goes to shit." "Why does it have to be you and Sam?"

"Because no one else will. It's always been like that. And there's always another problem after the next and the next and the next. There's no break. It's like we're stuck in a horror movie." Dean runs his hand through his hair and closes his eyes for a moment.

"Things between you and Sam seem pretty tense since.. nevermind. Sorry," you trail off. "Yeah, things are tense. He never got the chance to grow up with Mom. And when she finally came back, he thought he would have the chance, but... She died and he felt like that was stripped from him." "But that only makes more room for pain and grief. You would think I would be used to it by now bu-"

"The day you get used to death, is that day you stop being human. You can't be afraid to love because of the pain. Love and pain are two sides of the same coin." "Sometimes I should I couldn't feel a damn thing." He croaks, trying hard to keep it together.

You reach out and squeeze his hand comfortably. He slowly meets your gaze and you say, "Me neither,"

[cajunquandary]

Title: Perdition

Link: Coming soon to Ao3

Summary: Castiel visits a troublesome soul and bears witness to a story that will fundamentally change him for the rest of eternity. 

Created for @spndarkbingo

Square Filled: Thanatophobia

Rating: Mature

Pairing: None

Tags/Warnings: Torture, blood, death, talk of Hell

Wordcount:1355

Creator’s Note: As told in first person from an autistic victim--one that the Winchesters couldn’t save. Current events happening as she relays the story are italicized. Beta’d by @thinkinghardhardlythinking and @wonder-cole

There’s a point beyond where a human body breaks. A specific point where pain both exists and doesn’t simultaneously. Where the mind is suspended in a haze too thick to see or think through. A mark of time where nothing exists outside of the skin containing the bundle of blood and bones and nerves and, somewhere buried even deeper still, the soul. In that very moment, the soul makes a decision as basic as the conditioned frame holding it to that plane--fight or flight?

I’d like to tell you that this is a story of a fight. Some grand struggle of triumph over tribulation. As much as I believed myself to be strong, to be brave and boundless, the world taught me different. Or the cosmos. Well, no matter the source of the lesson, this is a story of how I became no bigger than an ant. Inconsequential. Nothing. 

But this isn’t really my story. It’s his. We just happened to cross paths, right at that breaking point. This is a story about a boy named Winchester.

There once was a time that I’d had hopes and dreams and faith, but it was stripped from me the night I disappeared. Even now, I don’t know where I was taken--only the details of the room and the unspeakable things that happened there. I’d like to be able to forget them, seeing as I’m in heaven now and the pain is but a distant echo, but my mind has never worked that way and never will.

Castiel lowers his face without breaking his gaze upon her, understanding. He can feel the need for her to share this story with him. For a soul to cry out and pray even once in heaven is a rare thing, a broken thing. A thing he was sent to fix, to erase. But before he does, he reverently listens, intent on carrying her story with the others he’s collected from lost souls over the eons. After all, what better way to understand the incredible creation of humanity than to learn from them first hand, even if he can’t linger on Earth? 

All I remember before that room were colors. Blues and purples and greys and reds and yellows but mostly dark. It felt green. Camping, I think. The night reflected in a shifting cascade of sparkles and swirls and lines and clusters upon the stretch of sky and black waters lapping at my feet. I stepped forward, to feel more of the warmth of the summer breeze through my hair, against my skin. Then the colors faded to nothing. Not even black. Just… emptiness. 

The sounds came to me first. Far away but all encompassing. Scrapes and clanks and drips. Then the smell. The putrid scents of rotten eggs mixed with flesh. Avulsions and burnt bits. The black-gray tastes of iron on my tongue and waves of something that may have been pain twisted into a pleasure, perhaps in my body’s attempt to survive. 

Then the colors returned, no longer performing a beautiful ballet upon the heavens, but sickly hues of despair and what I can only describe still as Hell. Shadows that twisted and jerked and collapsed within themselves before overcoming me in a red-hot cold. Time, like here, no longer existed. Between the too-bright shadowy shifting shapes and sharp screams coming from my own throat but sounding off in the distance, I could only focus one one thing. 

A pair of glowing yellow eyes. 

Within them I could see a version of myself, hung and bleeding and pale. Contorted by inhumanly strong hands and black smoke. Within them, I could see death. I’d never feared death before. Not until yellow and black consumed me. 

Escape was all I wanted, but perhaps I’d already died? This was hell after all. Yellow eyes had told me so. Told me that if I let go, the torment would not only continue, but get worse. And then he laughed. A revolting chaotic symphony of laughter. Pure evil. 

It became my worst fear. A fear I’d never had before then. A fear of death, of dying, of more of this. For forever. More pain, more pain than a body could even contain. More agony than a mind or soul could process. 

To have it all become eternity. Or perhaps it already was? I knew no better. 

But I also couldn't hold on any longer. I tried, I tried, God knows I tried. But when the atmosphere shifted and the colors brightened to a flash of white then nothing, I knew. It was time. My soul be damned or not, I lost myself. I lost hope, identity. I wanted destruction. Non-existence. After all, like they’d said, I was nothing. An ant. Inconsequential. 

But as I started to let go at last, lifting up and out and away from the soiled thing that once housed me, something even stronger ripped me back down into the broken thing. 

Arms. Picking up my pieces and tying me back together. Then legs, running, then driving. I laid in the front seat of some old fuel and leather-scented car, streetlights passing over my vision and casting dancing shadows across a worried face, the starlit starkissed face of an angel. When the lights slowed to a stop, he was holding my face in his hands, begging me to stay. But I was already gone. Well, gone but not. Not yet. I remained just long enough to learn his story. 

Those green eyes housed the soul of a saviour. A righteous man. A man damned like me. A man without abandon fighting for the world and for his family and for good. A man that asked for nothing in return. 

My only regret is not fighting for him. For being another failure, another notch in the bedpost of people he couldn’t save. So now I’ll cry and scream and fight and curse you all until someone finds him. All you supposedly holy beings designed to protect and guide humanity. You so-called angels that ignore a shattered soul’s prayers. And of all heaven’s warriors, they send you. 

So push yourself beyond those limits. Push yourself beyond the bureaucracy and the bullshit I can see right through in this gilded desolate place and prove your worth. 

Go! What are you waiting for? Go and save this man from Hell. By now I’m sure it’s claimed him. What is your name? I will carve it into the walls of this place until Dean Winchester is saved. For my regrets in life, I will have none in the afterwards. 

Castiel nods, seeing through her mind and feeling what she felt. Already he knew. Dean Winchester must be saved. The constellations written upon his face deem it so. The poisonous tendrils of doubt begin to sneak their way into him, but he ignores the invasion. All he can see is his Father’s word written upon the face of this man. A man holier than angels, holier than him. A man lost somewhere within the bowels of Hell. A man worth saving. A man that will save the world. Just a man, but more. Without a word, he wipes her mind, leaving her peacefully drifting in gentle waters of her own heaven. 

Her words echo through his being in a way nothing has ever before. 

Dean Winchester MUST be saved. And by the grace of his Father, Castiel would be the one to do it, with or without the assistance of his brothers and sisters. Orders are to be obeyed, but the Words of God himself etched into the lines of this unassuming man’s face drive him on. Onwards and down, palm outstretched, green eyes a beacon through the depths of Hell. 

A righteous soul saved too late, touched and corrupted by Hell, but still worth salvaging. Worth the sacrifice of hordes of angels, of battles that no one would ever know. And there in true form, Castiel grasps the tattered remains of a Winchester boy. 

A grand celestial explosion, a bond, a change. 

Dean Winchester is saved.

Castiel, Angel of the Lord, is lost. 

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ANGST BABES:

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ALL ABOUT THAT DEAN:

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