#i am willing to bet at least one person was like “wait. ca. can i do that. i wanna do that.” and then they did.

[mattzerella-sticks]

Desperation, Baby! (coda to 15x19 “Inherit the Earth”, Dean & Lucifer, Dean/Cas, 2.3k, T)

ao3 link

Death took her sweet time parsing through Chuck's book, meaning Lucifer spent longer than he'd like surrounded by his former vessel, his brother, his son, and a man whose obvious longing made him want to vomit. Instead of returning with his prize, Chuck welcoming him back, he must waste his valuable time playing 'nice; with those he can't stand.

Not that it matters. They don't trust him, each member of this ragtag group of survivors watching Lucifer in shifts. Never leaving him alone.

It's Dean's turn now, and he's driving Lucifer up a wall by doing nothing at all save for broadcasting a never-ending supply of feeling. Can he cut the signal without showing his hand, or put Dean's heart to good use?

           It’s pathetic, truly. Lucifer huffs, deflating, sinking further into his seat. Weighed down by obscene amounts of longing that poured freely off Dean like a broken hydrant. Funneled into his awareness because its usual drain was cordoned forever. It flooded these now silent angelic air waves, Lucifer growing more annoyed with each, excruciating second. Until, finally, “Holy hell, can you please quit it?”

           Dean startles from where he stood, jaw tensing. Mouth flattening in a thin line as he glares, “What?”

           “Quit. It. Quitit!” He hisses, leaning forward. Stretches his arms across the table, reaching for Dean. Fingers twitching, Lucifer imagines Dean’s neck between them. “Seriously, you’re giving me a migraine with all your feelings.”

           “Good.” Dean surprises Lucifer with his response. No attempted denial, nor misdirection. His gaze unflinchingly pierced through Lucifer’s vessel, pride bolstering its blow. Lucifer cannot detect any shame that usually clings to his soul, none of that smell lingering. He’s grown since they’ve last seen each other. Stunning character development. “Deserve it, after that dick move you pulled earlier.”

           “You still upset about that?” Scoffing, Lucifer rises. Meanders across the room towards Dean, gaze never straying. Easy since it’s only them. “I thought my gift would have more than made up for that.” He grins, rocking on his heels. A breadth of space separates them now. “How else was I supposed to get in, anyway?” he continues, “Not like if I called as myself you’d’ve rolled out the welcome mat.”

           “But… Cas?” Lucifer savors the taste of his brother’s name, drenched in sadness. Ripped from Dean’s heart in a barely controlled sob.

           “Nasty habit,” he giggles, “Though the results speak for themselves. I mean – you know how easy it was smooth-talking little Sammy when I looked like his ol’ flame, Jess?” Dean doesn’t laugh, snarled lip suffocating Lucifer’s airy mirth. “You’re no fun.”

           “Sorry,” Dean growls, “why don’t you try later when the world’s not ending.”

           “It’s always ending. In one way or another.” Lucifer waves his hand and a chair drags itself over. He straddles it, gazing up at Dean. “If we waited for peace to enjoy life, there’d be no time. Better to… say what’s in your heart, even if it kills you.” He frowns, mockingly, “Or in Castiel’s case… did kill him.”

           Dean slams his fist against the wall. “You have no right –“

           “Timeout there,” Lucifer smirks, eyes glowing red. Reflection of Dean’s entire face, blood rapidly swelling his cheeks. “Don’t want to do anything you’ll regret…” He holds Dean there, frozen, waits until the other man seems calm. Dips his head, tries catching Dean’s gaze. “If I let you go, will you behave?” Dean remains silent, yet Lucifer hears him. Tunes into his frequency, actively sifting through his frenzied emotions. “Seriously,” he lets Dean go, hunter falling on his ass, “how are we supposed to work as a team if you’re not willing to cooperate?”

           “This… isn’t a team,” Dean spits, “you’re working… with the Empty.”

           “And the Empty’s trying to take Chuck out!” he argues, “So, enemy of my enemy is my friend or all that nonsense –“

           “Go to hell.”

           “I wish I could, but I’m kinda on a short leash.” Bored with Dean’s resistance, Lucifer threads his next few words with seriousness. “Listen, once Betty’s done with the book I’ll flit on out of here and one, two, three – humanity is saved from dear, ol’ dad! We can make this all painless if you’d just trust me, or we can keep doing what we’re doing. I, personally, am tired of this bullshit. Rather be napping back in the Empty, but no…”

           “You should be.”

           “Beg pardon?”

           Dean bares his teeth, roiling hatred knocking Lucifer back a few inches. “You should still be sleeping, back there,” he says, “if anyone were supposed to come back, it’d be Cas. Not… you…”

           “Ah, Castiel, yes…” Lucifer sighs, “that would make sense, wouldn’t it? Of course, he lacks my raw power and charm, but… yes, you’d trust anything that he said.” Hand on his throat, he affects his vocal cords. Mimicking the other angel’s gravelly tone again, “Dean, please go along with Lucifer’s wishes and help him –“

           “Enough!” Dean kicks at a chair leg, interrupting Lucifer. Tears threaten to pour, dangling from his lashes like morning dew. “If you really wanna play nice, you’d stop doing that.”

           “This is nice, buddy.” Lucifer pokes at Dean’s leg with the toe of his boot. “Why don’t you grow some thick skin, huh? Where’s the real Dean Winchester? That tough guy with endless bravado instead of this sad, sorry piece of shit that’s pining after some dead guy?”

           Dean turns, Adam’s apple bobbing. “That isn’t me. I… he never was.” An intimate confession whispered into ancient brickwork. Meaningful for a different crowd. Except Lucifer shows little care, sarcastic clapping shattering Dean’s moment.

           “Wow, Dean… really fantastic. Amazing!” He climbs off the chair, crouching closer. Tongue dragged over his lips, smile wide. “Your verbose diction astounds me… did you whip that together after my brother got dragged into super hell? Are you still workshopping it – okay if I give you a few notes?” Lucifer pinches Dean’s cheek, poking this rabid grizzly. “At least you’ve got that face. Clearly Cas didn’t fall for your emotional maturity, your observational prowess or timing…”

           He weakly bats Lucifer off him, “You don’t know anything…”

           “I think I know quite a lot,” Lucifer challenges him, “Between the both of us, only I managed to slip inside my tight-ass little brother. Probably why I knew all his little… perversions, although it was clear as day how he felt about you to everyone – well… almost everyone.” His hand settles on Dean’s chest, atop his heart. “Do you know amazing it was, when I slipped my blade through him? You were a buffet that night… fear, relief, hope… despair. I could’ve ended him in that other dimension, but I waited until he crossed back. Knew how much more painful it’d be.”

           “Monster,” Dean says, “Fucking psychopath.”

           “The old me, maybe.” Lucifer teleports, sitting on a nearby table. Legs absentmindedly pedaling, stirring confusion within Dean. “But I’ve been reborn on the right side, Dean. Nobler. I’ve got purpose.”

           “You’ve got a load of shit,” he accuses, standing on shaky legs, “that you’re trying to sell me. Us.”

           “Come on!” Lucifer groans, hands flying skyward, “Isn’t this supposed to be your eleventh hour? How can you be so stubborn? Here I come, with a Hail Mary, and you’re turning your nose up at me like some snob. Like you have better options waiting. All because you won’t work with the Empty –“

           “It’s not just that,” Dean corrects him, “I also don’t want to work with you.”

           He crosses his arms, pouting. “You’re gonna have to suck that up. So the Empty wouldn’t send your boytoy, do you blame them? For a broken, little thing he sure is popular. Who’s to say Cas’d come back once this all wraps up? At least the Empty trusts me.”

           “I guess something has to.”

           “You can, too, if you want.” Lucifer casts his reel wide, waiting. Eyebrows waggling like baited worms. “It’d be a hell lot easier than what you’re doing now. Come on…” he needles, “why is it so hard to believe in miracles?”

           “Please…” Dean says, hiding his face behind his knees. Arms circled around his legs, curled into a ball. “Stop talking.”

           He relents for the time being. Proud of what cracks in Dean’s armor he made. When Chuck sent him, he asked Lucifer to ruffle a few feathers. Mess with their heads, ensure this ragtag group of losers would stay down. Accept their fate, end this miserable experiment called humanity in sadness. “Don’t provoke them too much, though,” Chuck warned, fists curled along his jacket’s lapels, “Betrayals only work when the other side doesn’t expect them. Plot’s stretched thin as it is, bringing you back doesn’t really make sense –“

           “I love you too, dad.”

           “That’s why you need to lay it on thick,” he said, “steer them away from why, keep the action moving.”

           Lucifer stared down at his father, frowning. “Anything else you need?”

           “No,” Chuck clapped Lucifer’s shoulder, nodding. “Just be yourself.”

           Except none of them wanted him. Especially Dean. He wanted… Castiel.

           It’s a little off-script, but Lucifer bets Chuck will enjoy what he plans. Even if it’ll involve his least favorite character. Lucifer hops off the table, grace burning across his body. Razing this vessel’s form, stealing its characteristics and distinguishability. A tall mound of clay left that he molds into a new body. Darker hair, sturdier frame, and bluer eyes. “Dean,” he says, swallowing his laughter. “Dean…” He tries again, sounding exactly like him.

           Like Castiel.

           Dean tenses, “Cas?” Barely audible, Lucifer strained to hear his prayer. That hope, sweetness quickly bittering as Dean digests the scene. “No…” he sighs, mumbling into his legs. “Lucifer, thought I told you to quit it.”

           “Lucifer is gone, Dean,” he lies, kneeling. “I’m here… please, Dean, look at me.” Lucifer grabs at Dean’s head, thankful the other man lets him. Green finds masked-blue, their ‘reunion’ drawing a pained breath.

           “What?” Dean asks, a single tear slipping free. Trails along his cheek until it falls off his chin. “How – how is this happening?”

           “Because of you, Dean.” Lucifer’s hands shift, a thumb smearing that tearstain while he runs fingers through Dean’s hair. “You refused Lucifer’s help, even though what he said was true. The Empty saw and decided, if we were to truly end Chuck, the risk of sending me will be worth it.” Expression darkening, Lucifer leans into dramatics. Lips quivering as he recites his next line, “Though not without conditions, Dean – I… you know I can’t stay, right?”

           “You will,” he says, “Cas – we will… if this book really can end Chuck, and we take him out, what can the Empty do –“

           “Take you,” Lucifer cuts him off. “Take you… Sam, and Jack. I step even an inch out of line and we all get sucked into their being, with no hope of actually defeating my father.” He nearly breaks character, watching how the light in Dean’s eyes flickered before being snuffed. Lucifer regains composure, growling his next words. “You understand this, then? What it means?”

           Dean nods, snaking his hands across Lucifer’s wrists. “Means we don’t have long,” he barks, squeezing tight. “I have to set it right, right now.”

           “Dean –“

           “No, Cas,” Dean talks over him, guiding Lucifer’s hands off where they rested. Silences the disguised archangel by chaining him, making Lucifer a helpless victim. Awe real as he waits for Dean, cowed by longing powerful than his earlier annoyance. “I… I need to get through this because – well, the last time you didn’t let me get a word in edgewise and I, there was a lot left unsaid that I don’t want to stay that way. If we can’t have a future, then at least… at least we have here.” He laughs, choking on it. More tears dance their way down.

           “When you told me you loved me, I couldn’t believe it,” Dean confesses, “and then, when you told me why I – I was… I believed that less. I mean, you… you’ve listened to your heart more than I have. Even if a few of those times it was wrong, everything you did was for love. Knowing you was – that was my happiness. Having you, in whatever way you’d let me. Because there you were, this shining beacon, and for some reason you kept on letting me bask in your glow. I felt I… I didn’t deserve it. That I didn’t deserve you.”

           Dean brings Lucifer’s knuckles to his lips, pressing a light kiss along a patch of skin. The gesture disgusts him. “And you were right about how – I thought of myself so… so poorly, it kept me from saying and – and doing things I wish I’d done sooner. All my life I thought there were things I couldn’t have, rules I had to live by, and I never questioned them until you saved me from hell. Literal and figurative. Because of you, I wanted to be a better person. I wanted to be good. But I never believed I could. Then you tell me you loved me… because I was good. I already was the kind of person I thought seemed impossible. I couldn’t believe it. What’s stranger… I didn’t have to believe it, to know it’s true.” Dean smiles at him, Lucifer mirroring his gesture though it pained him. “I’m the person I always wished I could be, and even when you’re gone I’ll still be that person. I’ll miss you, Cas. Always. I’ll miss you, and I’ll love you. I’ll love you always.”

           It happens before Lucifer realizes. Distracted, nauseated by Dean’s powerful emotions, he missed how a hand snuck its way towards his neck. Pinched there, startling him. In that second, Dean forces Lucifer into an embrace. Lips crashing together, Lucifer stays frozen while Dean attacks his mouth. Mewling, whimpering.

           Disgusting.

           He pulls the curtains back, reverting to his previous form. Delights in how Dean senses the change, peeking with one eye as Castiel’s face vanishes. The other man violently hurls himself to the side, gaping at him. “Why Dean,” Lucifer grins, awkwardness heavy in his tone, “if I had known that’s how you felt about me…”

           Dean sobs, wiping at his lips. “How… what the –“

           “You really thought I was Cas, didn’t you?” Laughing, Lucifer towers over him. “I figured you’d catch on but… I underestimated you. And for that I’m sorry.” He devours these new emotions radiating from Dean, eagerly lapping them up. “I’m also sorry that you’ve convinced you deserve a happy ending,” he twists the knife further. Dean flinches, turning. Fleeing. Lucifer shouts at his retreating figure. “That’s not your story, Dean! Don’t ask for more, be happy with what you have!”

           Then, as he waits for his next babysitter, Lucifer’s eyes glow red. “Because soon enough… you won’t even have that.”

[theholycovenantrpg]

CONGRATULATIONS, MAI! YOU’VE BEEN ACCEPTED FOR THE ROLE OF ABADDON.

Admin Cas: Where to begin with this firecracker of an app, Mai? Abaddon is full of complexities, but that didn’t pose a problem for you: you captured every single one of them to perfection. The way you described how she clung to her divinity in Hell, even as she felt it rotting inside of her, was truly *chef’s kiss*. There was so much to admire about your application — the clear development you have planned for Abaddon, the way you expanded on her relationship to her pseudo-family of demons without diminishing any other part of her, the balance of her divinity and her profanity — but I think the standout for me were your writing samples. She’s so level-headed, so elegant, and I’m completely in love with her and this whole application. I’m so excited to see what you do with her! Your faceclaim change to Nazanin Boniadi has been approved. Please create and send in your account, review the information on our CHECKLIST, and follow everyone on the FOLLOW LIST. Welcome to the Holy Land!

OUT OF CHARACTER

Alias | mai.

Age | twenty-four.

Personal Pronouns | she/her.

Activity Level | 6/10. i work and am in grad school full time, so my activity varies depending on my workload for the week, with end of fiscal quarter and midterms/ finals being the busiest, though i try to post a reply every 2-3 days. i’m pretty much always on my phone though, so i respond to messages quickly!

Timezone | est.

Triggers | REMOVED.

How did you find the group?  | rosey!

Current/Past RP Accounts | kenna

IN CHARACTER

CHARACTER | abaddon. & i would like to change her fc to nazanin boniadi! 

WHAT DREW YOU TO THIS CHARACTER? | 

my libra ass saw the light/ dark conflict and said BET. but actually — i’ve always been obsessed with the concept of DUALITY and the fragility of the line that exists between two extremes (a line that is very much jagged, drawn with shaky hands into the sand; too easily, too inevitably erased by the violence of the tides). this quote i especially love: 

“the distinction between holy & heresy was always

a question of fire: the distinction between whore & saint lies

in who’s burned for it — the distinction between martyr & false

god lies in whose testimony is set ablaze”

with abaddon, there is the obvious light and dark conflict: the war between her angel and demon sides. but there are also more subtle dualities: her roles as a mother and jailer (and even within this, guard and executioner); her loyalty to God and affection for the great betrayer; the righteousness she brandished against raphael yet acceptance of soul’s damnation. she’s a mess of contradictions, a wildfire contained in a matchstick; a rose flooded with blood.

abaddon’s biography also reminded me of a conversation i had with rosey. i asked how she chooses her characters, and rosey said it was easy: she likes to take characters that live behind the curtain and polish them until they shine. this was a revelation for me, as most of my characters are larger than life: with the precision and heat of a single beam of light or the ferocity and tragedy of a monster who eats their own heart. always in the forefront. it was why abaddon captured my attention. not because she is a background character, but because she chooses to be. she is the maternal figure; the one who quietly deigns to pass judgement with nothing more than a cool flash of her eyes. at least, outwardly. i view her as the margaery tyrell type — subtly calculating, biding her time and moving pieces behind the scenes when no one’s watching. tugging strings gently. 

doubtless, she carries love in her heart. love and tenderness — and she wields them like a finely crafted weapon. (gotta love that #range). it is very much an exchange, though the vulnerability comes from a real place. as does the manipulation. 

PLOT IDEAS

THE SELF.

i like to call myself wound

but i will answer to knife.

keeper of the black cells | many millennia spent in hell and still shining gold. bloodstained gold, perhaps. but gold nonetheless. and how did she do it? i struggle not to sigh as i type, she followed god. but really, that’s the answer. because even as she rose within the ranks of the demons; even as hell easily latched onto her soul, a beast with all claws and no shape, a beast that looked like her; that tried to eat its way out from the inside, abaddon clung to her divinity. she accepted the punishment given to her; she became her own executioner. and within the abyss then the black cells, even as she is able to walk through without chains, abaddon is the oldest prisoner of them all. because even as she doles out torture with nothing more than indifferent press of her lips, she allows herself to feel. there is the guilt, resting upon the rust of the chains that tear apart limb. there is the recoil, the violent churn of her stomach as blood mingles with air until her vision is spilt wine. and then there is the pain — her own pain — as if it is her flesh she is slicing apart. as if it is her joints being separated from limb. 

but as with everything for abaddon, there is a duality. for as much as she is a prisoner, she is a KING. she owns the black cells. she’s its keeper; its protector. its mother. the black cells are her territory, and i think it is very much on purpose. i think abaddon gives out punishments as often as she gives out scraps of tenderness. it is she who paints the darkness, but it is also she who gives light, with the knowledge that a man dying from thirst will close his eyes in reverence as a single drop of water lands upon his tongue. the prisoners bend to the sound of her steps prowling the stone halls, equal parts devotion and fear within their black hearts (hearts that they are all too willing to carve out of their chests at her will). i love entertaining the idea of abaddon using the  cells for her own purposes, whether it is seeking out information to stay in the loop with what is happening in every corner of the land, to an insurance policy, if anyone were to catch her ire (looking at you, judas). 

dmitri | her heart is half darkened, half rotten. yet whenever her gaze meets with his, the drumming in her pulse turns to something tidal. and in the waves: potential. i think dmitri is the key to the reconciliation between the two opposing sides of abaddon. after all, they are a creature wrought from calamity, yet they still shine molten gold, and she can’t help the comfort and exhilaration she feels in their presence, as if discovering her reflection for the first time, awed by the glory yet frightened by the carnage. 

maybe, in another world, this could have been a love story. but it’s not. more likely, i see the potential for abaddon dragging dmitri further into the darkness — judas has plans for them, after all, and abaddon’s loyalty rests with her makeshift family. (but that begs the question: is she then choosing to damn herself along with him? is she choosing to forsake the light within her — the balance within her — for the only love she has ever known? for family? and is that not another sort of light? a different sort of divinity?)

THE DEMONS.

“you can turn around in the dark, 

with the man who wants your heart looming so big, 

so big over you, and you can give it to him, 

so bright and red and pure that it destroys him.”

the mother | i think it is very possible that the demons seek out abaddon before judas or damien. she is more gentle, more kind, more approachable. and less likely to slit their throats in one move (though let’s hope they remember to guard their hearts, too). and for her part, abaddon plays into this image. she listens to their concerns, often abstaining from comment; but there is something to be said for the steadfast gaze in which she regards them, the way the smoke clears from their lungs as she fixes them with her serene, though cool, eyes. it’s not love. but there’s a tenderness all the same, a mother’s sweetness; honey given to an ailing child — even if the honey is dripping off a knife. even if the mother has her own plans. 

judas |

it’s something like a waltz. 

loyalty to the great betrayer. the irony is not at all lost on her. 

he had been there, when she fell. and some days, she wonders if he had not been waiting, for how quickly she had taken to him, even when their companionship felt too much like holding onto a switchblade that cuts before it opens — but this, she reasons, is different sort of knife; terrible and beautiful and coated with poison at the hilt. abaddon is, after all, too accustomed to the spill of her own blood; to the moments when she stitched herself back together with nothing more than the fevered faith of a child looking up at the moon every night, even when its face is turned away in indifference — maybe especially then. 

let him cut me then, she reasons, as she walks with judas hand-in-hand through the cells. let him try. i will give him tenderness; i will give him devotion. i will be the lamb at his altar, all delicate flesh and wide eyes. and i will wound as i am wounded; twist PRAYER into PREY. 

the child waits. the moon blooms blood red. 

many thoughts… head full. at first glance, one might be tempted to label abaddon as the antithesis to judas. he betrayed god. she clings to her devotion. he destroys. she nurtures. he is the snake within the tall grasses. and abaddon? nowhere to be found (and maybe that’s because she is the grass — ever present and plainly within sight, swaying to the wind, both everywhere and nowhere at once; a place of sanctuary until it becomes the unfurled curtain). i would argue, however, that they’re more alike than you might think. 

when she had first been hurled into hell, she’d grieved. she’d fallen, and the faces that stared back at her wore smiles that she couldn’t discern from snarls, lips pulled back and teeth gleaming white against the shadows that clung to their frames (the same shadows she would come to wear like glorified battle scars). yet, for as far as she had fallen, ABADDON WOULD ASCEND. and judas played no small part. of course, she had known exactly who he was. still, she followed him, pulled towards him with the same inevitability as an apple to a bruise. from judas, she learned to tear apart skin with a tongue sharper than teeth. and then later on, that she didn’t need to open her mouth at all, for what weapon is more powerful than the hands that bear the skin? 

but he is still judas; there’s no division between where his name ends and his person begins — something abaddon has never forgotten. and as much as she learned from him, she kept her eyes wide open, just as she had when watching raphael’s ease in cruelty. and this, i think, is where abaddon sets herself apart — why it is she who is considered judas’s equal and confidant. she sees and understands exactly who he is, what he is. still, she stands beside him. (she would not kiss the ring, as so many had before her. abaddon, instead, kisses the flesh beneath.) still, she extends to him her tenderness, baring the delicate skin of her throat for him to kiss. for him to slit. it’s almost like a game — a balancing act, as everything in her life is, turning herself into a sacrifice filled with poison. and if he were to bite? (to betray her, as is etched into his nature?) he would find that it is a poison of his own making.

personally, i find the idea of judas getting betrayed by the one being he considers his confidant very sexy. the most obvious way is if he questions her loyalties and throws her into her own black cells (as mentioned in the judas app) — in which case, he has a wicked surprise coming his way. the second, more likely way, is if he harms damien or azazel (though damien is more likely). abaddon holds their makeshift family very close to her heart, for they had been the ones who made hell feel like home for her. but family doesn’t mean stability, and abaddon has long accepted the possibility of a conflict between judas and damien. i don’t even think it’s a matter of loving damien and azazel more than judas. it’s not the betrayal of the person; it’s the betrayal of their family. it’s the betrayal of her last whisper of hope for some semblance of peace and happiness within the punishment she has accepted for herself. and for that, he will not be forgiven.

THE ANGELS. 

“who am I? […] a monster among angels or angel among monsters,”

raphael | i think it’s funny that the raphael app casted him as cersei, because from the beginning i described abaddon as margaery (though i also have not watched game of thrones, so we may both be bobo the clown on this part). raphael and abaddon’s dynamic really does make me a clown, though, if not bobo. for as much as they are antagonistic to each other, circling each other like hawks, elegant and watchful, they are foils. raphael is the healer; abaddon is the punisher. yet it is he who revels in pain and she who recoils. it was he who god favored, sending the ill-fated angel with the justice to strike at him into the depths of hell. yet it was she who mourned the loss of their creator; she who desperately clung to the shreds of her divinity, of Him, while raphael sat back and watched mutiny unfold. 

but they are also similar. because it is in perfect synchronization that circle each other, as if guided by an invisible hymn for which no words exist. they are both patient — too patient, with their clever little machinations while watching the other players make their moves. poised to strike. lightning in a bottle. so what if we were to smash that bottle? 

arael | it would be too easy, to use arael as a pawn. the angel does nothing to hide the pain and desperation in her eyes as she drags another being to the cells, and even if she looks away (she doesn’t), abaddon can hear the rage that thunders in her throat as she tells her to keep going. and of course, she does. and of course, the idea artfully arranges itself on the slight arch of her brow: how natural it would feel, to create leverage. to plant false information, use arael’s wrath for her purposes? and it would be no one’s fault but her own, for letting rage blind her to the monster in front of her. yet, as quickly as the seed plants itself, the ground dries up at its feet, barren of any notion of willingness, and abaddon isn’t stomach carving arael into a weapon, as she does with her own prisoners. even as the grief melded bars that encase the angel are thicker than any within the cells. 

why? because she’s soft!! abaddon knows vulnerability well; so used is she to wielding it like a weapon. she knows the dance, the game, the exchange. yet arael had shown vulnerability without abaddon giving any at all. TO BE SEEN ALLOWS YOU TO BE HUNTED and arael had exposed herself without asking for anything in return. so as much as it is easy; as much as the possibly calls to the darkness within her heart like siren’s song, the other part, the part that loves, that understands, simply can’t get herself to manipulate arael. 

overall | i’m interested to see how abaddon interactions with all the angels, honestly. i think she definitely feels a spark of anger whenever she sees them, for their betrayal of god, and it’s ironic how the being that mourns Him most is the one He casted out of His domain. and i’m hoping that the angels try to use her as a pawn. she is, after all, within the hearts of judas and the anti-christ. and within her own heart: light. wouldn’t it be all too easy, then, to try to get her on their side? to coax information from her under the guise of her first family? 

ARE YOU COMFORTABLE KILLING OFF YOUR CHARACTER? | yes.

DRIVING MOTIVATION 

peace. stillness. she never thought she’d find it, after her descent from heaven, and she’d spent most of her days yearning for it, using the little light she had left inside of her like a candle against the darkness of hell, never recoiling from the pain as the wax melted and burned her flesh, for she deserved it — had god not decreed it so? yet somewhere along the line she’d found family. precarious, fickle family. but one she cherished all the same. it was in the companionship of judas, the intensity of damien, and the bright glow of azazel had she found a love she had never know within the ranks of the angels, even as she had called them her brethren while their creator looked down upon them with the cool judgement of a father. within the ferocity of the demons, she had found love. and i think that’s what abaddon would claim her driving motivation to be. 

i think it’s cute. fanciful. but no. 

i suppose it could be called love. or peace. but more precisely, it is labeled as CONTROL. she had sliced raphael down with her own definition of justice, despite the consequences she had known would be enacted upon her. i do think some part of it is rooted in morality and what she thinks is right and wrong, but morality only serves as the thin veneer for the control of the world around her and the sight before her eyes. 

when god had punished her, it was with acceptance that abaddon had descended, giving up control for her creator, as she views His will above her own, trusting in His judgement and the notion of balance. but had she not wrestled back that same control, as soon as her wings touched hell? had she not gripped onto the light within her, the divinity within her, with claws sprouted from her determination? she had refused to give up her agency, her identity, even as hell tried to chew her up and dismantle her heart brick by brick with all its rotten teeth. even the black cells serve as a mechanism for control — abaddon is its sole ruler, and it is with her will that punishments and tortures are enacted. even when it’s upon herself. 

so my long haul pitch is this: TAKE IT AWAY. threaten her sense of control. abaddon is too content watching behind the curtain, moving chess pieces discreetly, balancing power and molding it into her definition of peace. while that is a very fun and sexy time, i would love for her to be forced into the light she cherishes so much. to make big, impactful moves. to rise into her full power and call in the favors she gift wraps as tenderness. i want her to be driven to choose, to forsake balance. TO SMASH THE SCALES ALTOGETHER. 

CHARACTER TRAITS

(+) empathetic, diplomatic, loyal

(-) indulgent, obsessive, manipulative

I / 

She searches for Him. 

In the folds of dawn. In the hallowed darkness. 

For years she wanders during the brief moments of respite; in the space between silences while the world is made anew, taking every chance she can to escape the gazes that dance over her form, tenderness and devotion briefly landing upon her before they flit away to the other demons within her family. And for once, she wishes they would overlook her altogether — such is her desperation to find Him. Such is the love and loss that seizes what remains of her soul, grief so acute that she wonders how the others haven’t heard its echoes within the empty chambers of her heart. 

She will find Him. 

And she will hold Him within her arms, bestowing upon Him the divinity and light she has so stubbornly held onto. (The traitorous, infested part of her heart can’t help but grin at the thought; Heavenly Father casted down from his throne, just as he had done to her. Spat from above with all the care of a rotten seed of faith.) 

He will not ask for forgiveness, but She will give it anyway. 

II /

How many years has it taken for violence to become sweet? Once metallic and revolting, now familiar, comforting; like a poem known by heart, and Abaddon gives herself a moment to savor the taste, swirling it in her mouth before she knows is the time to spit it back out, lest it transform into an addiction of her own making (sometimes she wonders if it hasn’t already). Such is the price of balance. 

But the moment is interrupted, her back slammed against vibrant cobblestone, ridges pressing onto tender flesh (this, too, does not hurt as much as it thrills — as much as it comforts). 

“You were gone.” Level. Casual. Elegant, even, and her lips curve upwards as she meets the gaze of Judas, though elegance gives way to a quiet sort of rage lined within his dark eyes. It’s a warning as much as it is a privilege, his rare show of genuine emotion. 

“I was.” She waits, and she can feel the wearing of his patience. 

“Where?” A demand decorated in politeness, ever the gentleman. 

It only takes a moment’s shifting of expression; her subtle mocking of his empty decorum shifting into a confirmation of his suspicion that there is a detection in movement, Judas’s arm moving to unsheath a dagger and hold it to the base of her throat. Warmth trickles from where divine metal meets skin, but she doesn’t move away. For a moment Abaddon simply closes her eyes, wondering how it would feel to be enveloped in such warmth — even if it tastes too much like self-destruction. 

It is at the same time that she opens her eyes does her head tilt towards the dagger, lips ever so gently caressing its blade and coming away stained pomegranate. A tender kiss, not unlike any of his own. 

And she smiles before she moves, a lightning strike to match his own, wrenching the dagger from her confidant’s hand and plunging into her chest without so much as a wince of pain, her gaze never leaving his. 

“Do you doubt my loyalty, dear Judas?” 

He doesn’t answer, and she merely listens to the echoes of his retreating steps.

[panticwritten]

Unbind Me? (for whoever you want)

OKAY I FINALLY DID IT!! Sorry it took so long, and thank you so much for sending this!

This takes place August 2017. There’s not a lot of context here, but tbh it would take more than 1500 words to give anywhere near enough context to make some things in this make sense.

Content warnings: Unreality, implied memory loss, implied suicidal ideation.

—//—

I know Connor will have a great big I told you so waiting for me when we get back. I told you, he’ll say, that you can’t just ignore trauma. There’ll be a whole thing, and everyone is gonna agree with him even though no one else deals with their bullshit either.

“What’ll you do with him when we get back?” Jarie tugs at the rope between the two of us. She walks a step behind me, but I still feel the pointed look she aims at Jordan.

I tighten my grip on his wrist. Some might say it’s unnecessary, considering he’s also tied to me. I don’t trust him not to use the memories to wiggle away. Not for the reasons the Master thinks, but because of one trait I know he shares with Connor.

He doesn’t think he deserves forgiveness for crimes he never even committed.

“Figure out what’s really going on.”

“We know!” she snaps. “Do you think I’ve been running around with someone else in my head for fun?”

Guilt throbs from Jordan. He doesn’t say anything, still, and I wonder why. I wonder why he doesn’t defend himself, why he doesn’t tell her the truth. Doesn’t tell me the truth. He obviously thinks I think he did this if his insistence he stay out here means anything. 

The lonely boy trapped in the memories, stuck in a hole in the darkness and surrounded by both my nightmares and his own. Jarie led me right to him, only a trace of what really controlled her left in her head by the time I tracked them both down.

Still. There’s something else.

Something, something, something doesn’t taste right around here.

“It’s just like you to stop with the easy answer,” I mutter around the buttery feeling in my mouth. “It’s all horses to you.”

A bolt of confusion lances through her irritation, through her anger. She doesn’t have to ask her question. Not here, not in a place as personal as the memories.

“I’m on a zebra hunt.”

Really, it’s so familiar. I’ve felt this before. The quality of those remnants in Jarie’s head, the vague taste of late nights and this feeling. It’s right on the tip of my tongue. It’s there, and whatever it is makes me much more nervous than the idea that Connor’s missing half might be secretly evil.

“Oh, great.”

The blank slate of the Memories shifts. A baby blue wall slams down in front of us, the floor now a ratty green carpet. The single window only shows inky darkness, no sign of what really would have been outside my room in…

What year would this have been?

I ignore both Jarie’s demand for an explanation and Jordan’s nervous protest when I drop his hand and twist around to assess the room.

Pictures up on the walls, a camping mat instead of a bed. Most of the furniture against the one wall, but that desk… next to the door…

“2013? No, no.” I snap around again, only limited by the rope still tight around my waist. Laptop on the dresser, the old one, the one I kept stealing from the living room. “2012. That summer, the good one.”

Jarie immediately stops her complaining. “That summer? What are we doing in 2012?”

“I was thinking, trying to remember.” I tilt my head and look out the window. Sharp, shifting red and blue. An easy assumption, but it wasn’t a real-life thing. No sirens, nothing out of the ordinary in the real world. “I’m so close, what is that taste?”

“What taste?” Jarie demands. “You’ve been weird since we picked him up.”

“Ugh, shut up!” I groan. “There’s a taste, like��like—“

I stop because we’re not alone in the room anymore. Based on how close Jarie shuffles to me, I’d say she feels it too. The memory itself isn’t tampered with, it’s normal even with the red and the blue that I only really saw through someone else’s eyes.

The lights! That red and blue wasn’t even here, I was trying to do something at—and that taste! It’s like—

“You would expect memories to be different, wouldn’t you?” a voice, a familiar voice, muses. I don’t need to look to see those eyes, for the growl of a smile to sink into my skin and root me to the floor. “But, then, you never go-ot the o-opportunity to really feel it, did you?”

Blank, blank, my brain turns to nothing but faint static and false clarity.

Jarie lunges toward the voice, still behind me. The rope keeps her from actually attacking. That’s good. Even a memory of Tchaikovsky could ruin us if we let it.

Jordan, on the other hand, stumbles in the opposite direction, away from the threat. He ends up where I can see him, red eyes wide and scared and anything but an enemy. He focuses on me, a plea.

It takes the purr of a laugh from behind me to really shake me out of it. It rubs the situation wrong, a thorn in the fabric. It’s just a memory, but this doesn’t fit.

I turn, too stiff, too mechanical. This fear, nothing more than the remnants of a horror movie. The big, bad monster stands in the middle of my old room and I know he can’t do a single thing to hurt me.

The victorious, smug glint is right. The line of the shoulders, the hungry touch in the air. The confidence. All of that’s right. The chuckle fits what I’m being told.

I narrow my eyes. That’s not a memory. That’s something else, and it’s lying to me.

“Jarie.” I flex my hand and curl my fingers around the newly-arrived map back home. She doesn’t answer with more than a frustrated agreement in the air. Good. “I’ll be right behind you.”

“Don’t be so sure.” The specter shifts on its heels, as if it’s going to take a step forward. It laughs again when Jarie skitters back to stand just barely behind me. “Does your brava-ado hide the sa-ame cowardice?”

Jarie growls at my side and snatches the map from me. It takes less than a thought to reconfigure the ropes. I don’t even have to look away from the boogieman. From the fake.

The door slams shut out of sight, Jarie and Jordan both gone.

This is so familiar, why don’t I remember? That affect to its voice, I know I’ve heard it before!

“Tchaikovsky wasn’t here for this.” Might as well start with what I know for sure. Wary, tired, but at least I can keep a lie of control here. “Who are you, really?”

“I tho-ought you knew everything in your Cube.” It sneers and loses the characteristic poise of the face it wears. It does nothing to dispel the tension in the air. “You certainly believed so o-on this day, my fa-avorite interloper.”

Ah.

I shift, and in a blink I have it backed against a wall. I didn’t expect it to back up on its own, though it certainly makes this easier. White hot sparks fizz over the hand I raise toward the throat it stole from a man I’d love nothing more than to wipe from the Cube’s history.

“You,” I growl, my voice strange under the force of electricity I hold. “Don’t belong here.”

It breathes out a nervous laugh, and it really did choose the wrong face if it didn’t want me to be tempted to crush it like the worm it’s masquerading as. It shouldn’t be here, I haven’t even talked to Brennan in at least a year! It can’t be here!

“If you ever ca-ame to visit, you’d know I’ve been here for nearly five years.” It presses back against the wall, its voice strained and seething. “But then, you a-alwa-ays neglect to fo-ollow up o-on your little ga-ames, don’t you?”

It flinches when I raise my hand and a spark lands on its neck. Tchaikovsky’s milky skin fades there, just for a second, into the scratched plastic that it was hiding.

“You disappeared.” I shift just a little bit closer, close enough that I can really see through the illusion. Just a broken mannequin, full of a thing that doesn’t belong anywhere near my head. “I was thirteen. Why would I even think to look for you?”

“I stole ha-alf a-a summer from you!”

Now that I can see both its illusion and the blankness of its true face, it’s both less intimidating and more disconcerting. So close, though, I see something else. Something that speaks volumes more than anything it could say to me.

I step back, though I don’t take the sparks with me. They hang in the air, a simple enough threat, just beside its throat. It doesn’t relax. In fact, that same something only twists and shakes the air around those sparks.

“AA.” I dip into the voice I try to avoid. The voice of a leader, I suppose, or a commander as Jay’s described it. The voice of someone who expects their orders to be followed. I hate it, though it does get the attentiveness from AA that I’m looking for. “Why reveal yourself now?”

It doesn’t answer. I wait longer than I probably should, and I know what I have to do. I’m gonna get hell when I get back. I hate this slimy little monster, but I can’t feel that and see it in the air and still bring everyone the blood they’re going to want.

I’ll already be getting a trial for Jordan. I may as well get one for the thing that I’d be willing to bet is really behind all of this. Especially when I’m almost ninety percent sure it lured me out here just to kill it.

[fanfic-scribbles]

Win Win

Fandom: Supernatural

Summary: You and Cas need to learn how to be a couple, so you decide to turn it into a game.

Quick facts: Romance – Castiel/Reader – Nondescript Reader

Warnings: Fluff!

Words: 2639

A/N: I feel like ‘this was supposed to be shorter’ is pretty much my life motto now ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ Anyways; fluff! Saccharine! Soft!Cas! All the things I love, basically. Possibly similar in parts to “13 Kisses” but dissimilar enough that idc~

        It’s quiet.

Normally quiet is a nice respite from whatever Sam and Dean are often up to, but right now it’s just eerie. You peek around the corner and scope out the hallway. It’s clear. It’s a long way to your destination though.

You take a deep breath. Quick and brisk, light landing on your feet– you’ve got this. You’ve snuck up on werewolves for goodness’s sake. You can get to the kitchen and put together your sandwich at the table corner with the good sightlines without any disaster.

Someone presses up against your back, wraps their hands around your stomach, and–

–presses a light kiss to your cheek.

All the flight of fight-or-flight leaves you with simmering annoyance when Castiel chuckles. “Another one for me,” he says, sounding quite pleased.

“You didn’t fly in behind me, did you?” you ask but you feel a lot less combative when he presses his face into your neck.

“That’s against the rules. And I do play fair.” He lets you go. “I’ll go mark this on the board,” he says and before you can even say something, let alone turn to face him, he’s gone. Jerk. Adorable, stupid jerk.

To be fair this, as well as most stupid things, is all Dean’s fault. It started a few weeks ago, when Dean and Sam walked in on you and Cas…well…

  “What the hell?!”

Cas jumped back from you immediately and you sighed and rolled your eyes over to glare at the intruders. It was almost midnight and Sam and Dean weren’t even supposed to be home until tomorrow, but there they were, Dean staring in shock and Sam rubbing the back of his head in obvious discomfort. At least one of them looked sorry for the interruption.

Dean looked from you and Cas, back and forth several times, and then to Sam. “Is it April Fool’s Day?”

You scowled at him as Cas flinched further away. “We’re not anywhere near April, Dean. Stop being a jerk. Seeing us kissing shouldn’t be a big shock to you.”

Dean’s overdramatic astonishment faded to a more believable…well…disbelief. Even Sam looked skeptical. “You…um, well, congratulations,” Sam said slowly. “How long have you been dating?”

This time, you shared a confused glance with Castiel. Why was he even asking? “Like, at least a month,” you said.

Cas squeezed your hand. “Thirty-four days, seven hours, and eleven minutes,” he said proudly and you couldn’t help but smile like an idiot.

Speaking of idiots. “Wow,” Dean said. “Well, yeah, congrats, I guess, but why didn’t you say anything?”

“Isn't it obvious?” Cas asked, sitting right next to you, and all you could think was ‘duh’.

“No,” Sam and Dean said in unison. Dean actually gestured at you. “I mean, come on, you were just sucking face your knees aren’t even touching!”

You looked down and, yes, okay, there was a little bit of distance (that Cas quickly closed– only so far as to make your knees touch, which made you smile) but you also weren’t ‘sucking face’. Cas was an angel who was still learning human manners and boundaries and you weren’t exactly pressing him to go farther. “Everybody goes at their own pace. And everybody else should mind their own business,” you said.

Dean put up his hands and took a few steps back. “I’m just saying. It’s been over a month and Sam and I– who hunt with you, live with you, hell, sometimes even share the same damn motel room with you– had no freakin’ clue.”

You let your hand inch towards your knife and Dean finally realized that a strategic retreat was in order and ran out of the room. Sam chuckled and hefted his bag back over his shoulder. “But, seriously, we’re both happy for you guys– it’s been a long time coming,” he said.

“Thank you Sam. Good night,” you said and waited a bit after he left. You heard his door shut and you let out a sigh, eager to get back to what you were doing.

Only, Cas looked deep in thought. “What’s wrong?” you asked.

“Are we not acting as a couple should?” he asked and looked at you with nothing but concern in those bright blue eyes.

“We’re doing just fine. Every couple’s different,” you said.

He frowned, like he was unconvinced. “I don’t mind getting closer to you, I just…” He shrugged helplessly. “I don’t know how.”

“And you’re sure you want to be closer? Because it’s okay if you don’t,” you said.

“I want to,” he said. Stubborn as he was. You resist the urge to curse out Dean in your head and instead you thought for a moment. The whiteboard caught your eye so you went up and grabbed a marker.

“Well, let’s think of ways to make it easier.”

    You both had spent a couple of hours going over what ‘normal’ couples do before you finally (you think) had gotten through to Cas on the fact that a human hunter and an angel are never going to have a ‘normal’ relationship. It had been your idea to make it fun, and so you’ve ended up with a game. A very simple, innocent game– the goal is who can ‘steal’ the most kisses within the span of a week. And since what is a game without a reward, the winner will get to ask something of the loser (with a caveat that the loser can refuse if it makes them too uncomfortable).

The game relies a lot upon the honor system– someone who is snuck up on can’t pretend they know the other person was coming, no flying in, no vanishing– but it’s simple enough to follow and Cas seems to really like the idea, for all that he still seems awkward. Innocent kisses, apparently, make for good training wheels, and you can’t find any reason to be upset with that.

You make your lunch and go back to the library. You plop down on the couch you had to practically reorganize the library to fit. With your back against the wall, it’s hard for Cas to sneak up on you in here, at least.

“You’re losing,” Dean says

“I am n–” You glance at the whiteboard score and note Cas’s new mark. You roll your eyes. “Okay, I’m losing now. But I’ll get him back.”

“I bet you will.” Dean smirks. “Do you get extra points for–”

“Would you like to finish that sentence or would you like to live to see another day?”

“Just curious,” he says, but he grins, you laugh to yourself, and you both fall into comfortable silence.

You’re taking your trash back to the kitchen when you hear Sam and Castiel talking about something. You step softly and peek inside. Sam is explaining something at the counter and Cas is adding something in his deep, low voice. A grin sneaks across your face and you take your chance– you trade some stealth for speed, knowing how they both are when they’re in the zone. You get all the way up to them and plant a big, wet kiss on Cas’s cheek, making both him and Sam jump.

Cas huffs in disappointment. You laugh and toss your trash. “Back to neck and neck!” you tease.

Sam rolls his eyes and takes his hand from the knife block. “This bet of yours is going to give me a heart attack.”

You practically dance all the way back to the library and proudly put a new mark under your name. Dean snorts and you aim your smile at him. “Freaked out Sam too,” you say.

“Excellent.” Dean gives you a high-five. “Team Hunter all the way. You show that angel who’s boss.”

You’re definitely willing to give it your best shot.

    Your next win comes when Cas is in a little shop, getting some ingredients for a spell. He’s standing at the counter, keeping an eye on the beaded door leading to the back and tapping his foot on the ground. He’s actually not half bad at ‘being human’ when he isn’t thinking about it too hard. He occupies his body fairly well, and you take a moment to admire him. Just a moment, though; you move past displays placed too tightly together and narrowly avoid knocking down a stand of jewelry on your way to press a light kiss to the back of his head. Granted, you mostly kiss his soft hair, but the annoyed look he gives you is sign enough of your success.

“Hey,” you say and lean in next to him. He freezes and for a moment you think you’ve gone too far too fast, but he relaxes enough to lean back into you a little.

“Enjoy your lead for the moment. I’ll get you back,” he grumbles but it’s mostly good-natured. Mostly. One thing you’ve learned about Cas is that he is mighty competitive.

“I can’t wait,” you say and stay with him.

    Hunting monsters in daylight is bad enough. Hunting cursed objects, with ghosts attached to them, at night, with no backup is…something else. The EMP reader is like a less-accurate metal detector and you’ve already combed half the place looking for–

You turn a corner and suddenly you’re pressed up against something. For a moment you’re on the verge of a heart attack, but you realize (thankfully before you shoot) that it’s Cas, holding you, and that you have just turned a corner and literally walked into his lips. You swat his shoulder and pull back to catch your breath.

“Cas, you jerk; you scared the shit out of me!” you whisper and laugh quietly out of pure relief. And, okay, that was pretty good too.

Cas raises his eyebrows but doesn’t ask about the turn of phrase, thank goodness. Instead, he smiles smugly. “We are even again.”

“That we are,” you say and gently tug on his tie. “Don’t suppose you have time to help me track down and burn a hexed figurine?”

He leans in and you can feel his breath against your skin. It’s warm, and even though he’s closer to you than you allow most people, it’s nice. Like anyone, he could hurt you. Unlike anyone, you trust him not to. “I think I’m not so busy,” he murmurs and you feel calm for the first time today.

    You’re eating in a diner with Sam and Dean when you catch Dean’s eyes flick for just a brief, brief moment to the side. You take a leap of faith and say, “Hi Cas!”

Sam ducks his head to muffle some unholy cross of noise that has ended with him choking. Cas sits next to you, his bitter scowl a great contrast to the smile you feel covering your own face. “You gave me away,” he says resentfully. Dean rolls his eyes and slams his hand on Sam’s back.

“Such a shame,” you tease and kiss the angel’s cheek.

“That doesn’t count,” Cas is quick to say.

“I don’t need a game to want to kiss you,” you say and go back to your meal.

Cas is quiet for a moment and you look at him to see him studying you. You’re chewing so you doubt you come across as all that alluring, yet Cas slowly smiles. “Right,” he says and leans in to give you a very gentle, light kiss.

Across the table, Dean chews a too big bite, cheeks inflated like a chipmunk. “You two are disgusting.”

    It has been…a long day. To say the least. A long week. You don’t know what’s dragging you down, specifically; it feels like everything, and you’re leaning on a morgue table over a blanketed body, just trying to keep yourself upright. You hear Cas’s wings and you wait for him to approach. He doesn’t come right away, so you turn your head.

“You okay?” you ask. You don’t look far enough to see him completely, but he walks up behind you, occupying the space without touching.

“I was going to ask you,” he says and moves closer.

“I’m fine. Just…tired,” you say. You stay as you are and Cas leans against you, not putting any weight but slotting in like he’s a part of your body that just takes off on occasion. He is…like a blanket. A semi-constant comfort.

“This is nice,” you murmur.

“Mmm.” Cas presses his head next to yours. You can hear him lick his lips. “I was…afraid to get close to you, at first,” he says lowly, barely breaking the silence. “Sometimes I didn’t even want to touch you, afraid that the power of what I feel would somehow come out of me and shatter you.” He breathes. “Still sometimes I want to hold you so close and never let go. Sometimes I want you to hold me close and never let go. I swing from one extreme to the other, and it’s hard to find the place in the middle, the place where you are when you pull me in for a kiss, or a hug, or that feeling when you grip my shoulder and squeeze and I know I am here, in flesh, on earth, at this one moment in time.”

You shut your eyes and allow yourself to feel that. The air he exhales, the warmth of his body lining yours, the way his hands shift from touching your waist to wrapping around your stomach, barely alighting either way. You open your eyes, grab his hands, and wrap them firmly around you, so that he stays holding you even as you turn in his hold and wrap your own arms behind him.

“I’m not glass,” you say. “And I won't shatter you either.”

Cas’s smile is almost rueful. He licks his lips, drawing your attention, just before he leans in, his mouth breaking apart on yours. You return the force, all too eager to do more than just weather the storm.

    “Oh– what the hell!”

You and Cas break apart for air and to shoot a dirty look at Dean, waving his arm at you like…something. You can’t really be bothered to translate Dean-ese, so you pull your hair back with one hand and sit up on Cas’s lap. He looks quite nice, laid out on the couch, hair mussed and shirt unbuttoned.

“As glad as I am to see you two…uh…getting along…” Sam coughs and you turn your head up away from your ravished (and ravishing) angel. “Don’t you think you’re overdoing it?”

“I can answer that,” Dean says sourly and gives you both a dirty look. You stifle laughter and Cas smirks. Dean rolls his eyes and looks over at the whiteboard which has long been wiped clean. He jerks his thumb at it. “So who won?”

Cas sighs. You share the sentiment. However with the way Dean is tensed up and Sam is shuffling on his feet… You smile at your friends. Something that feels a little sharp. “If you stick around for a few minutes, you’re going to find out,” you say and lean back in to kiss Cas senseless. You hear Dean and Sam scramble out of the room and out of the bunker, but you’re in no hurry to part and from the way Cas’s fingers dig into your sides, he feels the same way.

When you do break (because, unfortunately, humans do need to breathe), Cas says, “I thought you said the couch was too small?”

“Yeah, well, I also had no intention of letting them watch.” You press your nose to Cas’s. “Guess what couple has free rein of the entire bunker?”

His smirk turns to a wicked grin, and when he pulls you back down you adjust only slightly, your body fitting together perfectly with his.

[nerdylittleshit]

Thoughts about Spn 13x12

SPOILERS! SPOILERS! SPOILERS!

Great Episode. Many things to love. And also very meta-ish? Like, there were several moments where I looked at my screen and just thought “I see what you did there”. Definitely lot of things worth a second look, discussion and speculation. So, without further rambling, let’s get to it.

There is no I in Team

Especially if there is no team to begin with. I bet these are the moments where Cas admitted to himself that Crowley wasn’t that bad after all. I love that Cas didn’t even consider for a single moment to work together with Lucifer, that he only used him to break out (and only after he learned that Mary was in danger) and stabbed him at the first opportunity he got. Also, apparently Cas’s new superpower is to sit and wait and annoy everyone around him long enough until he gets where he wants to (I mean this worked for me as a teenager as well).

What this episode proved is that Lucifer without his power is a useless character. His one defining characteristic is that he is one of the most powerful and therefore dangerous beings, who just looks down on everyone. Take his power away there is not much left besides a man who hates everyone, and that is just pathetic. And to contrast this, we have Cas, who is a fully flashed character, who is above all things kind, and loyal and devoted. What is so special about Cas is not his powers or the fact that he is an angel, but who he is, as a person. Lucifer is not a person. And to further contrast this Cas tells him about Jack, about the things he likes, about the good in him. He never mentions Jack’s powers, the only thing he has in common with his father. Only time will tell how Jack will react to his father however. Still, all Lucifer talked about was the absence of his powers and the only time Cas talked for a longer time it was about Jack, the person, not the Nephilim.

I have seen a few complains about the Casmodeus-plot or rather people feeling like it had no use, now that Cas is free and will be reunited with the brothers. I have to admit I wasn’t invested in the Casmodeus-plot and had no real desire to see him further interacting with Sam and Dean. We already had this storyline with Casifer. If anything it is about time they set up a safe-word to make sure Cas is really Cas in the future. I think the purpose of Casmodeus was to explain Cas’s absence and at the same time to find a reason why Sam and Dean are not worried about him. It is possible though Yockey simply thought it was a stupid idea to begin with. I mean Lucifer says that shapeshifting wasn’t one of the powers he gave to Asmodeus, which might be Yockey’s way of saying it was entirely Bucklemming’s idea. And really, they could have explained Cas’s absence with him actually looking for Jack. The random demon says they have plans for Cas however, so there might be a reason why he had to be Asmodeus’s prisoner. I also thought that it was odd that Sam and Dean hadn’t filled in Cas at this point. Why wouldn’t they tell Cas that Jack is missing, especially when Cas(modeus) called every day and asked about him?

There were also a few shout-outs to the audience: Cas being called a pretty boy, Lucifer bringing up the nurture vs nature debate and Cas saying that Jack looks nothing like Lucifer (because he looks like Cas).

The queen is dead, long live the queen

Y’ALL, ROWENA IS BACK! I know I said that before, but ever since her storyline is no longer tied to Crowley’s she has become such an interesting, layered, complex character. She has been around for such a long time and every time we see her we learn a bit more about her, but there is still so much left to explore.

Speaking of Crowley though, Rowena of course greets the Winchesters the same way her son did (“Hello boys”), which might mean she is gonna replace his role in the narrative. And to be honest she is the only character that I would allow to do that. Also, we finally see someone mourn Crowley. For all the hate between Rowena and her son, I always doubted they actually wanted to see each other dead, even though they tried to kill each other. Crowley was the only link left to Rowena’s past, to the woman she was before she became a witch, to her humanity. She doesn’t care that he died as a hero, because it means he is still dead, still not with her, because the only way she can love is in a selfish way. (I wonder if she tries to bring him back from the dead?)

The biggest emotional depth about this episode was that it acknowledged Rowena’s abuse at the hands off Lucifer and with that Sam’s shared trauma as well. Which was such a huge thing, and honestly the conversation between Sam and Rowena in the car was the best part of the episode for me. 11x10 was the turning point in Rowena’s story, because it was back then when she revealed to Crowley why she hated him, because her son was a constant reminder of his father using her and that love was nothing more than a weakness. And then moments later Lucifer killed her and I remember how angry I was after the episode because just as Rowena’s was revealed as a victim of abuse she died of the hands of yet another abuser. And not only once, but twice, admitting that Lucifer showed her his true face. Rowena is scared and she is scared all the time, which is paralyzing for someone as powerful and powerhungry as her. She believes the only way to end this fear is to kill Lucifer, once and for all.

Sam of course can relate. He has seen Lucifer’s real face as well, which creates a certain kind of intimacy between these two. And just as Rowena Sam can’t outrun his abuser. After his time in hell Lucifer first returned as Hallucifer in season 7 and later from the cage wearing one of his best friends and invading his home in season 11 (and next week he will learn that Lucifer is back once again). And yet Sam knows that nothing they will do to Lucifer will make the fear and the feeling of being helpless ever disappear. And despite Sam caring around this trauma for eight years, I don’t remember it has ever been addressed so directly. In the end Sam gives Rowena the page to unlock her power nevertheless, hoping she (and maybe he as well) will find some peace with it (also glad they didn’t keep that a secret for too long).  

So what does that mean for the future? For one thing I am sure Lucifer has to die. Either through Rowena or Rowena and Sam together or Lucifer sacrifices himself as part of a redemption arc. Honestly though, after this episode and the painful reminder who Lucifer truly is I doubt he will get a redemption arc (another “no, thank you” from Yockey to Bucklemming?). Also, we learned that all this time Rowena wasn’t even operating on full power. With Rowena having all her magic back she could become the real big bad in the end. Though I would rather have it if after she kills Lucifer she realizes that all that power doesn’t bring her happiness and lets her magic go and becomes human again.  Also, that whole scene where she gets her powers back? Kudos to both Ruth and Amanda Tapping. That was such a huge powerful feminist scene. And were her eyes blue in the end or purple? Her magic has always been purple, so that would make sense, and so far we have only seen blue eyes with angels. Hmmm.

Sibling mirrors

Say what you want about Jamie and Jennie but I really liked their clothes/style. Anyway, they were meant as one big dark mirror for the Winchesters, trying to bring back their dead mother, and willing to kill everyone around them for it (at least flower guy died smiling). This is the same as Sam releasing the Darkness in order to save Dean from the MoC or Dean threating Kaia in order to save Mary. None of these things have been portrayed as positive however and in the end the sisters kill each other, which is enough of a statement for the brother’s codepency.

So, let’s talk about the love spell a bit, because Yockey did manage to sneak in a lot of Destiel stuff. First they mention that a true love’s kiss can wake you up, and obviously fandom has been giddy about the idea of Cas saving Dean from the spell through a kiss. Then we have Dean coming back, telling Sam it is time to call Cas, and the very next thing he says is that he is in love. Ahem. Dean wants Jaime to move in, because this is big time, and well who already has a room in the bunker? Cas of course. Dean calls Jaime his soulmate and talks about cosmic fate, both terms that have been used in a million fan fiction. Dean acting under a love spell is basically how most people imagine Dean to act once Destiel finally becomes canon. And isn’t it great that the only time we see Dean kissing a women this season is through a love spell, resulting in literary false love? Like the only way Dean is even remotely interested in anyway is through a spell. Because he is of course already in love. Also bless Rowena for asking about the fifth base (I had to look this up though, poor sheltered girl that I am).

So let’s talk a moment about Sam. I love that they continue to address his depression, that they have finally fully acknowledged his trauma caused by Lucifer and him opening up to Dean. For as much as the first half the season focussed on Dean’s grief I hope we get the same attention for Sam now. Despite being around for 12,5 years Sam at times still feels like a blank page and in some ways to fault is with the writers who seem to focus more on Dean than Sam. So, I’m all in for more of Sam’s struggle. Here he admits that his way of coping was to come up with a plan: helping Jack and through that being able to save Mary. Now both Jack and Mary are gone, there is no plan B and the MoL library is as useless as usual (seriously the only helpful book in there is the Grimoire and seeing that AU!Kevin used a spell to open the rift I wonder of Rowena could help them saving Mary and Jack). Without his plan Sam has nothing left to distract him, to shield him from the pain he is going through. Sam looked at a horrible situation and tried to make the best out of it, looking at the options he still had. Dean mourned different; he was in no state to even begin to hope or to form a plan. Dean drowned in his pain until Cas come back, until he had his win, and only after he was able to function again. Sam however had ignored said pain until Jack was gone as well, and now it is crushing him. Obviously I want Sam to get better as well, but for now I love that the show explores his emotional journey and I hope we see a bit more of it in the upcoming episodes.

Until next week, when my review will look like this: DANNEEL! DANNEEL! DANNEEL!!!!!

[gabriellamontoya-blog1]

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[bronzeflower]

Who The Fuck Writes A Ten-Page Rant?????

Also on ao3

-----

Chapter 8: Get In Loser. We’re Going Shopping.

-- carcinoGeneticist [CG] began pestering caligulasAquarium [CA] --

CG: ERIDAN. I’M OUTSIDE YOUR HIVE. CG: OPEN THE FUCK UP SO I CAN TAKE YOU SHOPPING FOR CLOTHES SUITABLE FOR A FUNCTIONING PERSON.

CA: all right all right CA: theres no need to yell kar

CG: THERE IS ALWAYS A NEED TO YELL. CG: NOW GET YOUR BUTT OUT HERE.

“Finally! It took you long enough!” You yell as soon as Eridan manages to get his ass out of his hive.

“You didn’t even have to wait for that fuckin long, Kar.”

“I know. I just like complaining. Now get in the fucking car, loser. We’re going shopping.”

“Who’s that friend of yours who’s comin with us anyway?” Eridan asked. “I certainly hope he has a better fashion sense than you.”

“Eridan, if you get your head out of your ass for a single moment, then you would be able to inform me of how much of a fashion disaster you are. At least I know something about how to look good because of Kanaya. All you do is throw on shit and hope you look rich.”

“I am rich.”

“I know! That’s why it’s even worse! Half the shit they sell to rich people you can get for two bucks at the thrift store. If you have money, at least make good use of it.”

“I do make good use of it though.”

“Buying a different high-quality cape for every day of the week is not a good use of your money. And before you go on for fuck knows how long about it is fashionable, you can, at the very least, make proper outfits that go with the capes. Or maybe, just maybe, wear a color other than purple for once. I know you’re all about doing that hemospectrum thing, but seriously dude. At least add some white or gray to your repertoire of outfits.”

“I cannot believe that you are insulting the royalness that is the color purple. It is clearly the superior color.”

“Hey! I’m not shitting on purple. I’m just saying that you don’t have to wear it all the time.”

“Says the person who wears gray all the time.”

“I wear black too!” You argue. “Anyway, we’re here.”

“I thought you said we were going shopping.”

“Yeah. And I am absolutely sure that I also mentioned that we were going to eat as well. It’s a lot easier to meet up with someone at a specific location than to just tell them to go to them mall and hope we find each other. Now you get to meet the douchebag I met at Rosemary.”

“Oh my god. Kar.” Eridan suddenly stopped and put one arm in front of you and one on his chest. “That’s Cogsinthegodshead! I’m absolutely certain of it!”

“Why do you watch his trashy as fuck videos?” You roll your eyes. “And that’s the guy who’s going shopping with us.”

“What! I can’t go over there looking like a mess!”

“You look fine. Now stop being a baby and just let me introduce the two of you.” You get closer towards Dave before shouting at him. “Hey! Dave!”

“Karkat!” Dave went from looking kind of bored to lighting up. “Nice to see you again. And I know you said you were bringing a friend, but you have yet to actually tell me who he is or what his name is or whatever.”

“Dave. Eridan. Eridan. Dave.” You say.

“Sup, Eridan. Nice to meet you.” Dave held out his hand for a handshake.

“Hi.” Eridan nervously reached out and grabbed Dave’s hand.

“Eridan, you’re starting to look like Equius with how much you’re sweating.” You comment.

“Shut up, Kar.”

“You know he’s right. You are sweating a lot, dude. Are you like nervous or something? I guess that’s understandable. A lot of people get super nervous about meeting new people and such and such. Or is it because I’m just intimidating? Karkat, am I intimidating? I’m pretty sure I’m like one of the least threatening people you could meet.” Dave rambled.

“No. He’s just nervous because he watches your fucking GrubTube channel for whatever reason.” You answer. “I can’t possibly imagine why. Your channel is a pile of trash that even raccoons refuse to go near.”

“I’m surprised you can come up with new insults about my channel even after writing a ten-page rant about it.” Dave said.

“Wait, wait, wait. Hold on a moment.” Eridan pointed at you. “You wrote that entire fuckin thing? I knew the tone of that rant sounded familiar.”

“So I wrote a long ass rant. Sue me! Maybe I could ask Terezi to be my lawyer! Heck! Just make her the prosecution, why not? I’ll probably lose either way!”

“I’m sure TZ’s a better lawyer than that.”

“She is, but she would purposely lose just to spite me.”

“I can not believe you two are arguing about Rezi bein a good lawyer or not.” Eridan interrupted. “We could be havin food right now.”

“Okay, that’s actually a fair point. Let’s mosey on down towards whatever place Karkat here has chosen for us to grace with our glorious presence.”

“At least someone here acknowledges the glorious person that I am.” Eridan looked pointedly towards you.

“Stop being an asshole, and go into the fucking restaurant already.”

The three of you finally manage to get your butts into the restaurant and in a chair at a table.

“Finally.” You say, picking up the menu. “I’m fucking starving.”

The three of you spend a minute deciding on what to eat.

“Okay, so I think I’m gonna get the bacon cheeseburger and, of course, I’m going to get an apple juice as well.” Dave declared.

“What is with your obsession with apple juice? You mention it in so many of your fucking videos on your abominable, distasteful channel.”

“Dude. Apple juice is a fucking elixir for the gods. There is no drink that is more heavenly or holy than apple juice. It is an ambrosia that surpasses even the most Gordan Ramsey approved drinks. It is a fucking gift to the world, and I thank the gods every day that it is even allowed to exist, not even mentioning the fact that we as lowly mortals are permitted to drink this beautiful liquid apple. In fact, I even thank Eve for taking a bite out of the first apple, which may have been tainted and full of sin, but that singular bite enabled us to have this drink to which I hold to the highest degree of beauty. It is gorgeous and ethereal.”

“Yeah, Kar. Apple juice is clearly the superior drink. Much better than that disgusting swill your ex-moirail used to drink.”

“Literally everything is better than Faygo, Eridan. And stop ass-kissing Dave and chose something to eat.”

“I am not ass-kissing.”

“Eridan, I’m not sure if you realized it, but ass-kissing is a phrase used to describe the action of using flattery to gain favor from someone, which is exactly what you are doing.”

“Well, excuse me for bein polite instead of being a sack of shit all the goddamn time.”

“Well shit, Eridan. Excuse me for not realizing that you actually had the capability of being polite.”

“Wow, rude.”

“Excuse me, but what would you like to drink?” The waitress asked.

“I’ll take apple juice.” Dave said.

“I’ll take the same.” Eridan stated.

“I’ll just have some water.” You say.

The waitress wrote all that down and left.

“You’re just going to get water? Really?” Dave asked.

“Well, yeah. Soda is fucking disgusting, and I absolutely refuse to get some sort of juice to appease your bizarre juice kink.”

“Woah there. Only apple juice gets the god treatment. Every other kind of juice is simply okay in comparison to the god-like properties of apple juice. The rest of the juices are mortals like the rest of us. They practically worship apple juice, and that is a fucking fact, my man.”

“You are lowering the importance of other fruit juices in order to lift apple juice higher than the fucking sun. Other fruit juices are equally as important and as good as apple juice, and they should be treated as such.” You argue.

“But have you considered that apple juice tastes way better than all these other juices, and is therefore considerably better.”

“I’m willing to bet that apple juice was the first drink you’ve ever had because of the bias you have. In fact, apple juice was given a significant advantage of being the best compared to the juices that had just as much potential to become great but didn’t have access to the resources that you bestowed upon apple juice.”

“This is a meritocracy, Karkat! Apple juice got to the top because it had the skills to get to the top.”

“And apple juice only had the skills to get to the top because it was given the resources to enable it to get to the top.”

“And yet, you acknowledge that apple juice is at the top.”

“Eridan, can you tell this douche muffin to shut his fucking pie hole.”

“Kar, is this your way of telling me that you feel ashen towards me?”

“Oh my fucking god. No. Fuck no. Get your ashen quadrant ten thousand feet away from me, as well as what that comment implied. Just. No.”

“A simple no would have sufficed.” Eridan said.

“What exactly did that comment imply?” Dave questioned.

“...Are you seriously asking me that? Have you lost every single one of your brain cells to not be able to recognize what Eridan is implying with his questioning of my ashen intentions?”

“I am seriously asking you this, dude. I’ve never really understood the whole thing going on with troll romance, so I’m afraid you’re going to have to explain it to me in big block letters in all caps at the top of the page.”

"Where the shit do I even start? You didn't seem to have a problem when I rambled on forever about the romance in Etiquette and Espionage."

"To be fair, I do only know the most basic of basic things about troll romance. I would appreciate a brief rundown."

"Really? You're givin Kar over here permission to go on for fuckin ages about something he fucks up all the time? Good luck with that." Eridan scoffed.

"Excuse me, but have all of you figured out what you want to order?" The waitress appeared.

"Yeah, I'll have a bacon cheeseburger with fries, please."

"I'll have a ham and cheese sandwich." Eridan said.

"And I guess I'll have the turkey sandwich."

She wrote down your orders and left, leaving the three of you alone to bicker.

"Why would it matter if he fucks it up? Everyone fucks up romance at some point or another because it's all confusing, whether you are a human, troll, carapace, or leprechaun." Dave defended.

"Thank you. Now, do you want a brief run down of the quadrants or not?"

"I would."

"I would not." Eridan interrupted.

"Nobody asked you, Eridan." You clear your throat. "Anyway, the basics of troll romance starts with the quadrants being divided into redrom and blackrom, as well as concupiscent and conciliatory. They are represented by four different symbols. The heart is concupiscent redrom, and it is the most similar to human romance, so I'm not going to explain it that much. The diamond is conciliatory redrom, and it's similar to a best friend except more intimate and serious. Its purpose is to placate one another. The spade is concupiscent blackrom, and it is a quadrant based on a mutual feeling of both hate and respect. It's a rivalry in that respect. And then the club is conciliatory blackrom. This quadrant has three people, two of whom are a concupiscent blackrom relationship. The other person is there to make sure that the rivalry doesn't get so out of hand that they start killing each other. The third person tries to prevent this from happening. Do you understand?"

“I think so, but I don’t really know what ashen means?”

“Ashen is for the clubs. When someone feels ashen for someone else, it means that they feel the need to either placate those in the spades quadrant, or those in the spades quadrant feel the need to be placated by another.”

“So when Eridan asked if you felt ashen for him…”

“He was implying that we had a rivalry going on.”

“Oh.” Dave turned extremely red.

“Dave, are you okay? You almost look like you're choking.” You inquire.

“Oh my god!” Eridan shouted. “I really fuckin hope that you didn’t just invite me as a third wheel on some weird kind of date.”

“Eridan! Holy shit! I cannot believe that you think that Dave and I of all people in the entire world are dating. We are not dating.” You turn towards Dave. “Right?”

“Yep.” Dave confirmed. “One hundred percent not dating over here. We’re just two dudes being pals. Just some guys being bros. Best fucking bros for life, my man. The bestest of bros. The dudest of pals. The most hetero goddamned mates in all of existence.”

“If you say so.” Eridan rolled his eyes. “Anyway, I’m lookin to get a new shirt. Maybe purple. I hear that the color is all the rage right now.”

“You say that every single time we go shopping. I know for a fact that it is only all the rage because your favorite color is purple, which is fine, I guess, but you really don’t have to justify liking the color by saying that it’s popular.”

“You’re the one who’s always telling me to wear a color that isn’t purple.”

“Okay! Fine! I’m completely one hundred percent guilty of doing that. What a fucking surprise.”

That was when your food came, and the waitress filled up your water glasses.

"Holy shit. This looks absolutely fantastic." Dave commented before digging into his food. "I was right. It is absolutely fantastic. And I also have this glorious beverage of the gods, regardless of what some people say."

"You sound like you're vague blogging, and that is honestly the most idiotic thing you could possibly do. If you have something to say to me, say it to my goddamned face with no semblance of subtlety. Forget vague blogging. Do attack blogging. Call me out in front of me. Risk a punch to the face, you fucking pansy."

"Are you really calling me a pansy for vague blogging in real life?"

"Yes. Are you going to fight me or not?"

"Wow, Kar. Way to be subtle."

"Shut your fucking mouth before I slice you in half with a chainsaw."

"Way to bring back memories."

"It's not my fault you pissed off Kanaya."

"Wait, wait, wait. I need to know what happened here." Dave interjected. "Kanaya is the one who owns Rosemary and is dating my sister, right? She seems like she wouldn't hurt a fly. What even happened to have Kanaya pissed at you? And what does it have to do with being sliced in half with a fucking chainsaw?"

"You would be surprised by how volatile Kanaya really is. She is very much into getting revenge from people, which is part of the reason I'm her moirail." You explain. "Anyway, the short version of the story is that Kanaya almost cut Eridan in half with a chainsaw because of reasons that are better left unsaid."

"Why a chainsaw?"

"That's the weapon Kan uses." Eridan said. "It transforms into lipstick, so she's more easily able to carry it around. It's fuckin terrifyin to see her use it."

"Never piss her off. Got it."

"It's more than just that. You have to make sure not to hurt the people she cares about either. Even if it is my job to take care of her and make sure that she doesn't kill anyone, I would like you to know in order to make my job at least a little bit easier."

"That is a reasonable thing to warn people about. I do not want to be cut in half by a chainsaw."

"At least one person sees reason."

"Who doesn't have the common sense not to make Kanaya angry if she tried to cut Eridan here in half?"

"Eridan."

"Excuse me, Kar, but I didn't know that she would actually try to cut me in half."

"Literally an hour before she cut off someone's legs in order to replace them with prosthetics."

"What the fuck." Dave's face was completely blank. "Why?"

"He was paralyzed from the waist down. Don't worry though. He did consent to it beforehand. Signed a legal document and everything. It wasn't like she just cut off his legs while he was asleep and unknowing of what she would be doing."

"Eridan. I have a question for you. How the fuck did you manage to think that Kanaya would not cut you in half if you made her mad?" Dave questioned.

Eridan ignored the question by eating his food.

"You can't avoid the question forever." Dave said.

"He can, and he will." You said. "I know this for a fact. I'm still trying to figure what the flying fuck happened between him and Sollux at the party last year."

"He's kept it from you for an entire fucking year?"

"I know, right? Unbelievable. That, or he forgot what happened at some point."

"You know that I'm right fuckin here, right? I'm not just an invisible block for you to talk about in any way you please?"

"Oh, shit. Sorry." Dave apologized. "Wait, what were we even talking about before this entire mess?"

"We were talkin about what clothes to get while at the store."

"Oh, yeah. Right. Okay, so, you said you wanted a shirt of some sort."

"Can we also get you some pants, too? I'm tired of seeing you in pinstripe pants all the fucking time."

"What's wrong with pinstripe pants?"

"Nothing. However, wearing them as often as you do kind of lessens how stylish they are."

"If you think they're so stylish, why are you on my case all the time about getting some new pants?"

"I literally just told you, but, since you need to hear my reason once again, I'm so fucking tired of seeing them on your body. You've beaten a dead horse with those pants, and it is time to move on."

"Maybe I'll just get another pair of pinstripe pants just to spite you."

"It pisses me off that you would actually do something that petty."

"Of course. What kind of friend would I be if I didn't do something at least that petty at any given time?"

"An actual good friend."

"It's not like you're yelling at Sollux for doing shit like that."

"I do that all the fucking time. God, Eridan. It's like you're as observant as a brick fucking wall. Every social interaction that occurs goes right over your head. I swear to god you wouldn't even notice if someone was blatantly flirting with you, and you blatantly flirt with anyone that you think might be interested in you."

"Hey! I don't flirt with everyone!"

"You flirted with me of all people, and that is saying something."

"How is that saying anything?" Dave interrupted. "You're cute as hell. Anyone who says you're not is very clearly lacking in proper eyesight. And I know you're a pretty angry person, but you're pretty fun to hang out with and talk to. So, I just don't understand why you would think that someone flirting with you was some sort of bizarre happening that occurs once for every ten hundred flying pigs created."

Eridan just kind of stared at Dave for a brief moment before finding his wits and speaking.

"Dave, are you saying that you have flirted with Kar before?"

"What? No, no. I have not flirted with Karkat over here before, I swear. I just stated the fact that he is cute. Nothing wrong with that."

Eridan looked over to you with a questioning look.

"He definitely flirted with me."

"Lies. Lies and slander." Dave proclaimed, his face red.

"You most certainly flirted with me. I'm just stating a fact." You probably look super smug right now.

"What did he say?" Eridan questioned.

"He really just said I was cute, and he seems to mention it every time we talk to each other."

"That doesn't seem to be a clear reason to be defensive about you saying nobody flirts with you."

"Hey! Excuse me!" Dave yelled at the waitress for their table. "Could we have the check, please? I'll pay for everyone here."

The waitress nodded and left to go get their check.

"Eridan, don't you find it strange that Dave chose that moment to ask for the check?"

"Yeah, Kar. It was very strange."

"Could you two maybe shut the fuck up. We are not in psychology here. It doesn't go any deeper than the fact that Karkat is cute, so could we go back to talking about clothes or something?"

"I guess." You drop the subject. "I don't really know what to get, but I might get a new sweater."

"You do not need a new sweater." Eridan said.

"Says who?"

"Says me. You have enough sweaters to choke someone!"

"I only need one sweater to choke someone." You respond.

"Edgy." Dave commented. "How many sweaters do you even have? It can't be that many."

"Dave. I don't think you understand. Kar over here has an entire closet just dedicated to his sweaters. I'm not even joking. He has plenty of sweaters."

"I will not be satisfied until every orifice of my household is sweaters. I need enough sweaters to be able to chock ten hundred men, each with a different sweater. I need enough sweaters to be able to wear a different one every single day for the rest of my life, and that still won't be enough. You cannot just tell me that I have an absurd amount of sweaters when I clearly will never have enough."

"I see." Dave said. "So, what I'm getting from this is that you have way too many sweaters for a singular person to have, and Eridan has way too many pinstripe pants. Fantastic."

"Okay, so we all have a clothing item we have way too many of. Big fucking surprise. What clothing item do you have way too much of?" You interrogate.

"Here's the check. I'll be back for it later." The waitress came up and gave them the check, which Dave immediately grabbed.

"I'm paying, and there's nothing you guys can do about it."

"What? No. I'm going to be paying, you douche muffin." You argue. "I'm the one who chose the restaurant and brought us out here."

"Dave, just let Kar pay. He won't rest until he does."

"Nope. Look at that. My credit card is all snug and cozy up in this check. There is no way that you can convince me that you're going to pay. And would you look at that? It's gone now. All ready to pay for our meal and shit. Should have been faster."

And there went the check with the waitress. Goddamn it.

"Fine, you reeking pile of shit. But I swear that I am going to be the one paying next time."

"Deal."

"Wow. I don't think anyone has ever successfully stolen the check from Karkat. Then again, most people just let him pay."

"It was a one-time thing. This is the one and only time anyone, and I do mean anyone is paying for a meal that I had with them."

"Is that a challenge?" Dave questioned.

"No. It was not a challenge. It is not a challenge at fucking all. Instead, it is a guarantee that I am going to be the one paying for future meals that I have with you, you sack of public school cafeteria food."

"Scathing. Are you sure that you are not the ruler of the insult kingdom? Because you are fantastic at coming up with those on the fly."

"Insults aren't a literary device, fuckass." You say. "Besides, your literary device kingdoms are dumb and idiotic."

"You only think that because you haven't decided on a literary device kingdom to rule."

"That's because I don't give a singular fuck about it." You look around. "Do you see any fucks? I am seeing a severe lack of fucks. Do you know if that's bad for the economy or environment or something? Is my inability to give a fuck a hazard to the world? I look around, and I see nothing. Nothing has changed from me not giving a fuck. Clearly, the amount of fucks I give doesn't change the state of the universe. It is still just as shitty as the last time I didn’t give a fuck."

"I don't understand. What's this about literary device kingdoms?" Eridan questioned.

"It's this dumb thing that Dave randomly asked me at some point, and now he won't stop pestering me about it."

"It is not dumb. It is very important to figure out what literary device kingdom you would rule. You just have to choose the literary device that you most use or the one you feel embodies you as an individual."

"That's actually pretty interesting."

"Eridan! I can't believe you are on his side!" You shout.

"What! It is interesting! And it's a perfectly fine thing to ask, you know. It's not hurtin anybody."

"Except my think pan from listening to this douchebag over and over."

"And yet, you still refuse to give me an answer. At this rate, I'm going to have to choose something for you."

"Fine! I'll rule the kingdom of metaphors! Are you happy now?"

"What, no. I rule the kingdom of metaphors. There's only room for one ruler in this town. Or kingdom as the case may be."

The waitress had returned Dave's credit card, and the three of you were soon out of the restaurant and making your way towards the mall.

"What about me?" Eridan whined. "What literary device kingdom am I going to rule?"

"Who the fuck knows? Do some research yourself if you're going to be so insistent on it." You say.

"The more pressing issue here is that Karkat is trying to take my throne in my metaphor kingdom."

"I don't want the throne. I just said metaphor so that you might shut up, but, clearly, it just made you even more talkative. And every single word that comes out of your mouth is a polluted waterfall that has killed every fish in it and has corroded away the rocks. Whatever issue you have is now deemed null due to how little I care. Congratulations. Now, if you would, please turn your attention on the subject to Eridan, who is very clearly more interested in this topic than I am."

"Alright, Eridan. You have been chosen to be the next in line in deciding what literary device you want to rule over. Pick anything."

"Hmmm." Eridan thought. "What even constitutes as a literary device?"

"Let's see. According to Google, it is a technique used to produce a special effect in writing. However, that seems like a super broad definition, so just go wild. Or maybe you can go with a genre or whatever."

"Then I guess I'll rule the kingdom of dystopia." Eridan nodded. "Yeah, that sounds cool."

"Eridan, you are such a fucking hipster." You comment.

"Oh, shut up, Kar."

The three of you entered the mall.

"Where are we going to go first?" Eridan asked.

"I was planning on just wandering around until I find something cool." Dave suggested.

"That's actually not a completely repulsive idea." You say. "Now we actually have a plan of some sort."

It didn't actually take long before Eridan was dragging you and Dave into some store that looked as if only the richest of people shopped there. Then again, Eridan was one of the richest of people, so it would make sense he wouldn't give a shit to how expensive things were.

"Look at this shirt! It's absolutely perfect!" Eridan declared. It was a purple, long-sleeved, collared shirt. He zoomed off to the dressing room to make sure that it fit.

"Okay, so I know that we established that Eridan is rich, but exactly how rich is he?" Dave whispered to you.

"Super fucking rich. Why do you think he dragged us into this rhinestone infested place?"

"Point taken. But still. None of the stuff in this place is really my style."

"What do you think?" Eridan dramatically opened the curtain he was behind.

"Looking good." Dave gave him a thumbs up.

"You look less horrible than usual."

"Thanks, Kar. I'll be getting this then."

Once Eridan had paid for his shirt, you all went to a more affordable place.

"Karkat." Dave said after a few minutes of searching. "I found the most perfect thing."

"What is it?"

Dave pulled a pair of pastel pink jeans off the rack.

"Look at this shit. Beautiful. I'm going to look for my size, and then I'm going to try it on."

"Alright. To the dressing room we go, I guess. Eridan! Dave is going to try something on! We're going to go judge his decision like good friends!"

"Okay, Kar. You don't have to yell."

"I always have to yell."

"Why do you two like this store anyway? It's all cheap clothing that isn't very good quality." Eridan complained.

"We like it because it is cheap. Not everyone can be rich like you, Eridan."

"Check it." Dave showed off his pastel pink jeans, which actually looked really good on him.

"I'm not mad at it." You say. Eridan looks at you in awe.

"You actually said something that wasn't completely negative about the clothing."

"Huh. I suppose he did just tell you that you didn't look as bad in your purple shirt. I feel like this is at least the second time something like this has happened in terms of my interactions with Karkat."

"What was the first?" Eridan questioned.

"I made him laugh when I first met him, and Kanaya came running, saying how Karkat laughing was such a rare occurrence."

"You did what?" Eridan looked absolutely flabbergasted. "He never laughs! At least, I have no memory of him laughing."

"Shut up and buy the pants already." You yell at Dave.

"Are we not going to look around for more items of clothing to be worn by one of us?"

"I guess if you really want to."

"Fantastic. Let's find a sweater for you." Dave said.

"He does not need another sweater." Eridan claimed.

"Well, based on Karkat's eloquent speech earlier about how he could not possibly ever have enough sweaters, he clearly does need another sweater."

"At least there is one person here who understands the necessity of a shit ton of sweaters."

You and Dave search for more clothes while Eridan grumbled, and soon you found several clothing items you and Dave wanted to try on.

"What do you think of this?" You were wearing an oversized white sweater with a family of crabs on the front. Dave was wearing a pair of lime green jeans.

"That is the cutest goddamned sweater I have ever seen."

"Thanks. Your pants are awful and way too fucking bright."

"I agree with Karkat on this one." Eridan piped in. "Those pants make you look like a hot mess."

"That's fair, but I do have more things to show y'all."

You and Dave go back into the dressing rooms and continue to get each other's opinions on clothes you picked out. By the time you were done trying on clothes, you had at least three items you really wanted to purchase.

"I guess we can go to the cashier and buy all this sweet loot now." Dave said.

"After you guys buy your shit, could we go to a store that doesn't have the lowest quality shit I have ever seen in my life?"

"Why not? Karkat and I are pretty happy with what we're buying, right?"

"I guess you can go to your hipster stores.”

Eridan lit up and allowed you and Dave to go purchase your clothing items before dragging you off into another expensive looking store.

In the end, Eridan ended up with the most clothing items purchased. Bit surprise. He was, after all, the richest of the three of you.

"Well, I had a great time." Dave said once you all had gotten to the parking lot. "Maybe we could do it again sometime."

"It wouldn't be the worst way to spend my time. Just pester me or whatever if you want to do something." You respond, and you and Eridan get into your car.

"Kar, that was a whole lot of flirtin that was going on there." Eridan said. "And you never act that nice to people. At the very least, I've never seen you act that nicely to anyone."

"Eridan, I have no idea what you're talking about." You claim.

"No idea what I'm talkin about? I say that's a whole load of bull. I mean, yeah, you insulted him once in awhile, but those insult didn't hold nearly as much fire as your usual insults do."

"Eridan, I already have a moirail."

"What! I know that! I'm merely questioning if you have any feelings for Cogsinthegodshead."

"Are you seriously going to use his Grubtube name while talking to me?"

"It's a significant thing, Kar. He's practically famous after the video where he reviewed your rant."

"That's because of the memes."

"I still don't know what memes you're talkin about, and I have a feeling you will refuse to tell me."

"You would be completely right about that."

"But I would at least like to know if you're feelings for him are red or black because I really can't tell. Then again, I’m in a similar boat myself."

"Oh, yeah. That's right. You never did tell me who you had feelings for. Or even if you figured out if they were red or black."

"That's because I'm still trying to figure it out, but I think it might be more red. I still don't want to tell you who it is though."

"That's fair. And, Eridan? As much as I platonically hate you, I wish you luck in your romantic endeavors. Just don't come to me when you are going to talk about how much sex you had."

"Kar!"

"What? It's not something I want to hear about." You frown. "And I don't have any feelings for Dave."

"Really?"

"Really. Now get the fuck out of the car before I remove you myself, you festering pile of ten-year-old fish."

"Alright. Alright. I'm leaving."

Once Eridan had removed himself from your car, you drove back home. You went to your computer and saw that someone was trolling you.

-- grimAuxiliatrix [GA] began trolling carcinoGeneticist [CG] --

GA: Karkat I Recently Had The Most Lovely Date With Rose GA: We Went To The Art Museum And Talked About The Various Outfits And Scenery Of The Paintings GA: In Addition We Went To A Coffee Shop And Spoke About Several Books We Both Happened To Take An Interest In

CG: IT SOUNDS LIKE YOU HAD A NICE DAY.

GA: It Was Very Pleasant

CG: DID YOU TWO DO ANYTHING ELSE?

GA: We Did Kiss At The End Of The Date Which Was Really Quite Nice

CG: I’M GLAD YOU HAD A GOOD DATE. CG: AND YOU MANAGED NOT TO KILL SOMEONE DUE TO THEM SAYING SHIT?

GA: I Opted To Restrain Myself GA: Not That Anyone Actually Said Anything GA: The Lack Of Negative Phrases Certainly Made The Date More Enjoyable GA: Why About You GA: Did You Do Anything Of Interest Today GA: Or Did You Decide That It Was Best To Stay Inside All Day On Your Day Off GA: I Know That Is What You Usually Do But It Does Not Hurt To Ask

CG: I ACTUALLY DID DO SOMETHING OTHER THAN FONDLE MY SHAME GLOBES INDOORS ALL DAY.

GA: Do Tell

CG: I WENT OUT TO A RESTAURANT WITH DAVE AND ERIDAN. CG: AND THEN WE WENT SHOPPING AT THE MALL.

GA: Did You Buy Anything That Was Not A Sweater

CG: YES. CG: I BOUGHT FOOD.

GA: Karkat You Need More Than Just Sweaters In Your Closet

CG: I DO HAVE MORE THAT JUST SWEATERS IN MY CLOSET! CG: I HAVE JEANS, SWEATPANTS, AND A SUIT.

GA: Having Enough Sweaters To Choke A Man While Having Only Having Enough Pants To Last A Week Does Not Constitute A Proper Wardrobe

CG: AS LONG AS I HAVE CLOTHES ON MY BODY, I WON’T GET ARRESTED FOR PUBLIC INDECENCY.

GA: I GA: I Guess So GA: But My Statement Still Stands GA: And You Really Went With Eridan Of All People

CG: I KNOW YOU HATE HIM, BUT I CAN STILL HANG OUT WITH WHO I WANT TO.

GA: I Am Fully Aware Of That And My Platonic Hatred Towards Him Should Not Affect Whether Or Not You Make The Decision To Speak With Him In A Friendly Manner GA: I Am Merely Questioning Your Choice To Go Shopping With Him GA: As Far As I Know He Still Wears Those Horrible Capes And Pinstripe Pants Everywhere He Goes

CG: I WAS MOSTLY TRYING TO HELP HIM WITH HIS FASHION SENSE BECAUSE HE’S APPARENTLY FLUSHED FOR SOMEONE.

GA: That Is Certainly Something That Most Definitely Took Me Off Guard And I Did Not Expect At All GA: That Was Sarcasm In Case You Could Not Tell GA: Who Is It

CG: FUCK IF I KNOW. CG: HE DIDN’T TELL ME.

GA: That Is A Shame GA: You Know How I Love Talking And Learning About What Others Are Up To GA: Even If That Other Person Seems To Have A Different Crush On Someone Every Month

CG: YEAH, BUT THIS TIME WAS DIFFERENT BECAUSE HE PREVIOUSLY TOLD ME THAT HE DIDN’T KNOW IF HE FELT RED OR BLACK FOR THE PERSON.

GA: Really

CG: YEAH, REALLY.

GA: That Is Unusual GA: He Typically Figures It Out Almost Immediately

CG: THAT’S WHY IT’S WEIRD. CG: IT’S POSSIBLE THAT THE CRUSH MAY LAST A LONGER PERIOD OF TIME THAN USUAL.

GA: That Is Something To Gossip About GA: I Would Appreciate It If You Could Keep Me Updated On How That Goes

CG: I’LL BE SURE TO DO THAT.

GA: You Also Mentioned Going Out With Dave GA: How Was That

CG: IT WAS FINE.

GA: Only Fine GA: You Appeared To Get Along With Him A Little Better Than Your Outing Merely Being Fine

CG: IT WAS ENJOYABLE. CG: ARE YOU HAPPY NOW?

GA: Quite GA: Also I Would Appreciate It If You Informed Dave That His Suit Will Be Ready For Fitting Soon GA: Tell Him To Come To The Shop At Two Pm For It GA: I Have Already Informed Rose But I Do Not Have Daves Contact Information And I Would Very Much Like To Make Sure That He Has Been Notified

CG: ALRIGHT. CG: I’LL GO DO THAT NOW.

-- carcinoGeneticist [CG] ceased trolling grimAuxiliatrix [GA] --

-- carcinoGeneticist [CG] began trolling turntechGodhead [TG] --

CG: HEY. CG: DUDE WHO RUNS THE MOST INSUFFERABLE CHANNEL KNOWN TO HUMANS AND ALIENS ALIKE. CG: DAVE. CG: IT STANDS FOR DOUCHE, ASSHOLE, VAIN, AND ENRAGING.

TG: no actually it stands for delightful amazing vain and enchanting

CG: YOU LEFT VAIN IN THERE.

TG: no shit my dude sometimes youve just gotta accept what life has given to you TG: and i know im absolutely fucking gorgeous and am therefore vain TG: not going to deny that shit

CG: THAT’S FAIR.

TG: should i try to do it with your name

CG: I HAVE A FEELING YOU’RE STILL GOING TO DO IT EVEN IF I PROTEST AGAINST IT. CG: GO AHEAD. CG: GIVE ME YOUR WORST.

TG: kranky arousing radical kranky aggravating and traitor TG: *arduous

CG: … CG: I DON’T KNOW WHETHER TO START WITH THE TWO “KRANKYS” OR THE FACT YOU PUT AROUSING THERE FIRST BEFORE CORRECTING IT TO ARDUOUS.

TG: you could just tell me what you were going to tell me

CG: I GUESS I COULD SET ASIDE MY QUESTIONING FOR LATER. CG: KANAYA WANTED ME TO TELL YOU THAT YOU SHOULD COME TO ROSEMARY ON WEDNESDAY AT TWO IN ORDER TO GET YOUR FITTING DONE FOR YOUR SUIT.

TG: oh shit the suit is done already TG: its been like two weeks

CG: IT’S NOT DONE YET. CG: YOU HAVE TO GET IT FITTED FIRST, AND THEN YOU GET TO WAIT FOR ANOTHER TWO WEEKS IN ORDER FOR YOUR CUSTOM SUIT TO ACTUALLY FIT YOU.

TG: righty tighty sounds alrighty

CG: THAT WAS THE WORST SENTENCE I HAVE EVER HAD THE DISPLEASURE OF LOOKING AT.

TG: wait until you hear it in person

CG: THAT WOULD BE THE SECOND WORST THING I COULD EVER LISTEN TO.

TG: what about the first

CG: YOUR CHANNEL.

TG: ouch TG: anyway ive got to go now TG: my videos dont make themselves after all

-- turntechGodhead [TG] ceased pestering carcinoGeneticist [CG] --

-- carcinoGeneticist [CG] began trolling grimAuxiliatrix [GA] --

CG: I HAVE DONE THE DEED.

GA: Thank You But Do You Really Have To Sound Like You Just Killed Someone When In Fact You Did Not And Likely Never Will

CG: YES.

GA: Carry On Then GA: <>

CG: <>

-- carcinoGeneticist [CG] ceased trolling grimAuxiliatrix [GA] --