#really happy with this one even though I'm chuckling at Misha

[valleydean]

Heavyweight chapter 12 preview (Misha Collins learn how to throw a punch challenge 2k23 I mean my god man)

[verobatto]

Destiel Chronicles

Vol. LXX

It was a love story from the very beginning.

Cas, Cas, Cas

(11x18)

Hi! We just reached one of my favorite episodes, I'm talking about "Hell's Angel" or… Dean's desperate quest to rescue his angel.

Joshua's Horn

Just a few words about the Hand of God chosen in this chapter: Joshua's Horn.

One of the books that compose the Bible from the Old Testament is Joshua, if you read chapter 6, it talks about how the Jewish people, more exactly seven priests, broke down Jericho's walls using seven  horns. Jericho was a strong city, that had closed it's walls, and it was blocking the path through the promised land.

So, the symbology of all of this is… with faith, you can destroy any wall that stands between you and your dreams.

What this has to do with Destiel and this episode? I would say, everything.

Dean will remain firm in his decision to get Cas back, he doesn't care about Amara or any end of the world, he wants Cas. As we will see later, his plan in how to do it, is reckless and illogical if you think about war.

But let's come back to analogy I made before about making the walls to collapse, to defeat the fears, depression, repression, to reach our treasurer once for all: Wasn't Dean trying to do this when he summoned Casifer? Trying to reach Castiel? To break down those walls between vessel and Lucifer and get to his angel? 

Wasn't Cas sinked inside his own walls of sadness, depression and guilt? 

Isn't Dean true love for Castiel surrounded by walls of shame? (recalling here the Qareen speech).

Priorities

Let's speak now about a canon fact here, I'm not gonna say something new, but because I was pointing the clues in previous episodes, I have to talk about it.

When Dean and Sam went to see Crowley, it was very blatant the difference between Sam's priorities and Dean's. 

Sam: Dean's right. Priority is to put the Horn in Lucifer's hands and set him loose on Amara.

Dean: After we exorcise Lucifer out of Cas and put him into a new vessel.

Sam: What? Really?

Dean: Yes, really. We're not gonna send Lucifer into battle inside Cas. What if he doesn't make it?

Here is something you all already know: WAR DECISION vs HEART DECISION. Sam thinks war strategy, his plan is pure logic, in every war there's collateral damage. Cas is the one that had chosen that path, he is willing to be the collateral damage, self sacrifice for the greatest good. But Dean is following his heart (thank you Mildred) he loves Castiel, the angel is the love of his life and he doesn't want to see him die. Because there's not normal after that. (Thanks Michelle).

Sam: Dean, it's a strong vessel. It's held Cas for years, and we know what he's been through. I'm guessing it can hold Lucifer.

Dean: "It"? It's not an "it," Sam. It's Cas.

Sam is strategic, he tries to separate the vessel from the angel. Trying to make his brother to see, the vessel is strong. But Dean is in love with him, so he doesn't see that logic. Cas is not a vessel, is family.

Sam: And Cas wanted to do this.

Dean: Yeah, well, there's times I want to get slapped during sex by a girl wearing a Zorro mask. That don't make it a good idea.

Sam keeps trying to make his brother understand. Sam loves Cas too, but in a different way, they are truly friends, truly brothers. They respect each other, they think alike. Sam understands why Cas took that decision, and he respects it. He respects his friend so much, he wants to fulfill his desire of being useful to the fight. But Dean doesn't see it like this, because Castiel doesn't represents a friend or a brother to him, Castiel represents the love of his life.

Sam: Dean, this is exactly how we screw ourselves. W-We make the... the heart choice instead of the smart choice.

Sam knows Cas is strategic like him, Cas is a smart Commander. He respects him. And he is seeing with his own eyes how Dean is the one thinking with his heart here. He can plenty see why is that.

Dean: Oh, okay. Thank you, Dr. Phil. Cas is family.

Sam: Yes, and his choice deserves to be respected.

Dean: Even if it kills him?

Sam has a point, is like a friend respecting his best friend decision. Even if that will take him to the death. Sam saw Cas for  a brief  moment and talked with him. He knows exactly what Castiel wants. But Dean can't let Cas to go through that, and die. His worst fears is to lose Castiel as Michelle lost her husband.

Dean had to see it with his own eyes

When they summon Casifer, the expression in Dean face is DISGUST, ANGER. Is canon in the fandom too the whole scene in which Castiel appears in front of him. The amazing change of facial expression is priceless, Dean went from disgust, to desperation, heart eyes and pleading. (An Oscar for Mr. Ackles).

He runs towards his angel, calling him, but Cas seemed confused. And in just one seconds, Casifer is back, even so, Dean kept calling him, he kept trying to brake the Jericho's walls.

Gif set credit @some-people-call-it-tragic 👇

Dean: Cas, expel him! You got to kick Lucifer out! Do you hear me?!

Lucifer: Honestly, I think he's happy with the arrangement. I mean, he did invite me in and all, Dean.

Gif set credit @thejabberwock 👇

Dean [yelling, desperate]: Cas!

Lucifer [mockingly]: Cas!

Dean glares at Lucifer, in frustration and anger.

This scene, THIS ONE HERE, showing us again that Lucy knows. He knows about the strong bond between these two love birds. But he's a little done of it. That's why he mocks, annoyed. And Dean's face again, surprise and anger.

But that last quote coming from Lucifer, saying Cas is happy with their arrangement is what breaks Dean's heart again.

That's the thing Sam was saying, not exactly, but the painful words CAS WANTS THIS. CAS WANTS TO STAY IN PURGATORY. CAS WANTS TO BE POSSESSED AND GIVE HIS LIFE FOR THE GREATEST GOOD.  Castiel's hard decision that keeps him away from Dean. Dean can't handle this. Cas doesn't want to be saved. 

Another confirmation of this is when Crowley enters inside the Castiel's vessel. And he finds Cas sitting in the Bunker's kitchen, is his safe place, he doesn't want to be disturbed, he doesn't want to be moved from there.

Castiel: Wait. That was Dean I saw a minute ago, wasn't it?

Crowley: Yes.

Castiel: And he wants me to expel Lucifer?

Crowley: Yes!

Castiel [laughing]: Ha, ha, ha! Well... he may have a more objective view of the situation. Maybe I should.

Dean may have a more objective view of the situation, because he saw he wants him back. But why Cas says 'Maybe I should' ? Is because he is thinking too he wants to be with Dean. He wants to be with him. Because he loves him too. He has to fight against his own love for Dean, and be useful to the fight. War decision against Heart decision.

So when Crowley comes back, his words went straight to Dean's ears …

Crowley: Useless. Lucifer's hold on him is too strong.

So, Dean should give up? He won't. Because when Amara irrumped and kidnaps Casifer, (another Canon fact) our hunter in love, bonded for eternity to his angel, calls his name again… in that amazing scene in which Amara put that face of WHAT??? IS HE CALLING THAT ANGEL IN MY PRESENCE???? I'M HERE!!!! YOU SHOULDN'T BE CALLING ANOTHER NAME THAN MINE! And Casifer showed us a… OH SHOOT… THEY'RE SO STUBBORN, AREN'T THEY? EVEN WITH ANTIE HERE… HE CALLS FOR HIS NAME.

Gif credit @yourfavoritedirector 👇

Dean's longing, calling Castiel's name, even with Amara there, is the perfect proof of the Profound Bond is intact, and that Dean won't never give up on getting Cas back alive.

Gif credit @laoih

Gif credit @subcas

At the end of the episode we had a very sad Dean, learning the lesson, a hard one…

Sam: Listen, um... I know I came down on the side of wanting Cas to deal with Amara, so...

Dean: Well, that's what he wanted, though, right? Besides, didn't we say that we were gonna swear off getting in the way when one person makes a choice the other doesn't agree with?

Sam: Yeah, um... Yeah, we did say that.

Dean: So...

Sam: Okay. So, that's our policy.

Gif credit @some-people-call-it-tragic

Dean: Which sounds damn good. [Sam chuckles.] Well, let's go find that idiot and bring him home.

It was hard for him, but he understood. Cas wants this, but he won't give up on him. Even so, Dean's heart breaks at this, and he will show it from now on, feeling he was rejected by Castiel, one more time, he will begin to use the WE vs the I, and to call him BROTHER, in the last episode from this season.

To Conclude

'Hell's Angel' talks about breaking walls to reach what you really want. Dean wants Cas back and safe, over any other Apocalypse. He understood Cas took his decision, and is the angel's will to be in that situation. But even so, he will try to save him.

The profound bond is so strong, it brights even with Amara attempts to control Dean's will. Because Dean is in love with Cas, period.

Hope you enjoy this meta, see you in the next one!

Tagging @magnificent-winged-beast @emblue-sparks @weirddorkylittlediana @michyribeiro @whyjm @legendary-destiel @a-bit-of-influence @thatwitchydestielfan @misha-moose-dean-burger-lover @lykanyouko @evvvissticante @savannadarkbaby @dea-stiel @poorreputation @bre95611 @thewolfathedoor @charlottemanchmal @neii3n @deathswaywardson @followyourenergy @dean-is-bi-till-i-die @hekatelilith-blog @avidbkwrm @anarchiana @dickpuncher365 @vampyrosa @foxyroxe-art @authorsararayne @anonymoustitans @mybonsai1976 @love-neve-dies @wildligia @dustythewind @wayward-winchester67 @angelwithashotgunandtrenchcoat @trashblackrainbow @deeutdutdutdoh @destiel-is--endgame @destiel-shipper-11 @larrem88 @charmedbycastiel @ran-savant @little-crazy-misha-minion @samoosetheshipper

@shadows-and-padlocked-hearts @mishtho @dancingtuesdaymorning @nerditoutwithbooks @mikennacac73 @justmeand-myinsight @idontwantpeopletoknowmyname @tenshilover20 @teddybeardoctor @pepevons @helevetica @isthisdestiel @dizzypinwheel @jawnlockwinchester @horsez2 @qanelyytha

@imjustkipping @destielle @agusvedder @spnsmile @shippsblog @robot-feels @superlock-in-the-tardis

If you want to be added or removed from this list, just let me know.

If you want to read the previous metas From season 11, here you have the links.

Vol. LXII, LXIII, LXIV, LXV, LXVI, LXVII, LXVIII, LXIX

Buenos Aires, July 14th 2020, 8:27 PM

[msmarvelouswinchester]

Wrong Universe

Part 4 - Weird and Insane

Summary - When the actor of the show comes face to face with the characters, what can possibly go wrong?

Warnings - Swearing, angst-ish, Rob being an absolute sweetheart, sassy Richard

Characters - Jensen Ackles, Jared Padalecki, Dean Winchester, Sam Winchester, Misha Collins and basically the whole cast and crew of SPN, Carl(OFC), Director Richard.

A/N - It's a filler chapter. But I promise next chapter will have some pretty good surprises. Happy reading!

Catch up here

Series Masterlist

Main Masterlist

"Son of a bitch", he muttered and grabbed the person's collar, "Chuck, you bastard. Get us out of this shit, NOW!"

Jensen turned his head towards Dean to see him towering over a man.

"Je-Jensen? I didn't know we were rehearsing our lines. I-I just arrived on t-the set", the man stuttered.

"Shit, Dean! Hey, hey back off! That's-that's not Chuck", Jensen marched over to Dean where he held the man in a death grip.

"Jensen?" The man kept looking between the look-alikes ,"Two Jensens? D-did I hit my head into a wall while uh-coming to s-set?"

"You are definitely not Chuck", Dean muttered. He looks at the man carefully and then lets him go.

"Yeah no shit. That's Rob, he plays Chuck", Jensen rolled his eyes and looks at the man who had started panicking ,"Look Robbie, there-it's..it definitely sounds nuts but that's Dean".

Rob starts to laugh. "Robbie?" "Wow! You got me. Guys, this is seriously brilliant. This was such a good prank", Rob said and doubled over laughing.

"Prank? Rob this is not"-"How did you manage to bring in your lookalikes? Jensen, you won this round buddy. You really got me".

"Rob! Hey, I'm not pranking you. No one is pranking you. This is real. All of it is real. That's really Dean Winchester". Rob stopped laughing and looked up at the Jensen lookalike who was glaring at him.

".....Dean? The Dean....Winchester? Dean fucking Winchester?"

"That's not my middle name but yeah, I'm Dean Winchester". Rob's mouth hang open.

"Come on you gotta meet Sam", Jensen motioned Rob to follow him. Rob was dumbfounded but followed Jensen to the set nevertheless.

"--Dandelion roots, some leaves of angelica, yarrow roots and," Jared continued to write down the names of the stuff they need for the spell as Sam ranted off the names, "uh-yeah, that's all we need", Sam starts to frown as soon as he saw the group of the three men walking towards them.

"Not Chuck", Dean told as Sam raised one eyebrow at him.

"Woah! I still don't know what to believe. Sam and Dean exist in real life. That is insane y'all. That's incredible...amazing", Rob chuckles as he extends his hand towards towards Sam. The younger Winchester eyes Rob suspiciously and hesitantly shakes his hand.

Rob noticed Sam's sceptical look. "I know it won't really help you two but I'm sorry for everything you guys are going through right now. Knowing that you guys are real, I-it-I feel really bad. You are both good men. Chuck...he-I don't know what his problem is", Dean scoffs, "Seriously, you boys don't deserve so much shit. If anything, I'm sorry that my doppelgänger is throwing a temper tantrum right now".

Sam pursed his lips and nodded. "I appreciate your speech Robert even though it was weird to hear it in the same voice in which Chuck tries to intimidate us", Dean rolled his eyes.

"Okay, since the whole 'hi, nice to meet you' moment is over now, Jared give me the list", Richard snatched the list from Jared and gives to one of the set PAs, "Carl, there is a herbal shop just down the road. Go, buy the stuffs and come back as soon as you can as if your life depends on it. And for the rest of the folks, we gotta continue filming since we got a scheduled release date so chop chop", Richard smiled at the people on the set.

Jared, Jensen and Misha groaned when they got pulled into the makeup and hair trailer.

"Sam, Dean, we'll inform you brothers when Carl comes back with all those voodoo stuff, until then you can stay here, watch Jared and Jensen being you guys or can roam around the set. Just don't stray too far or touch anything. Especially you Dean Winchester", Richard said while going through the day's notes.

"Yeah right, not-Gabriel", Dean mumbled.

"I will watch your every move, not-Jensen", Richard sassed back.

"We'll be here. You can do your filming but we need to get those ingredients as fast as possible. Clock's ticking in our universe too", Sam replied while Dean muttered, "We will get to see ourselves. How weirder can it get?" under his breath.

The actors come back to the set in full costume.

"Ooh, look at you boys, all handsome and glammed up. Padaleski, buddy your hair is as magnificent as Sammy's", Dean goes to touch Jared's hair.

"Lecki-Padalecki", Jared grimaced.

"Winchester or not, if you mess with Jared's hair, I swear I'm going to kick your ass!" Jeannie yells while she approached the set.

"Who's she?" Dean points at Jeannie.

"That's Jeannie, our hair stylist", Misha answers.

"Okay boys?" Four of them looked at Richard, "No! The actors boys, not the Winchester boys, for God's sake! This is going to be one hell of a day".

.

.

.

Forever taglist - @donnaintx @devil-in-my-boots

Wrong Universe taglist - @mrswhozeewhatsis @squirrelnotsam @lostlittlenerd

If anyone wants to be added to the Wrong Universe taglist or forever taglist, send me an ask or a mesage and I will add you.

[hazel-writes]

Summary: After a brief encounter with the mysterious Kylo Ren, you find yourself caught in a moral dilemma - one that gets you in trouble with a certain notorious General onboard the Finalizer. As you find out more about your internship and its conditions, you start to regret your decision to leave home more and more.

Word Count: 1,900

Warnings: minor canon-typical violence, blood

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

Images of broken light

Which dance before me like a million eyes

They call me on and on

Across the universe

• Across the Universe - The Beatles •

He was tall, really tall, and wore an all-black ensemble of expertly-fitted linens. His robes, like an ebony waterfall, fell down below his feet. His cape billowed behind him dramatically, almost like a prince. Your eyes drifted up to his face, or rather where his face should’ve been, as he was wearing a mask. You recognized his visor; you would be surprised if there was a single soul in the galaxy who didn’t.

You immediately knew the face that lied behind it:

Commander Kylo Ren.

As if you had said his name out loud, the Commander, who had previously been reprimanding a stormtrooper, snapped his head to the side to meet your eyes.

You froze, panic starting to build in your gut. He cocked his head to the side. You were finding it difficult to avert your eyes from the metallic twilight of his mask. After a moment, you realized that you were still staring and quickly turned your head back to the map.

You continued to feel his piercing gaze for a few more seconds as you attempted to slow your breathing back to a semi-normal rate. After what seemed like an eternity, he focused his attention back onto the anxiety-ridden stormtrooper who stood before him. With a casual flick of his hand, the Commander threw him against the nearest wall, where he crumpled down to the floor, unmoving.

Oh stars. Oh stars. Oh stars.

You bore your eyes into the piece of paper in your hands with an extreme ferocity, not daring to look up. You released a breath you hadn't realized you were holding when he finally turned on his heel and walked away, leaving the unfortunate trooper unconscious on the floor.

Now you faced a dire moral dilemma: help the injured trooper and risk being late to your meeting, or walk away and arrive on time. After going over the options in your head, you started to realize how selfish and inconsiderate you sounded. Is this what working on the Finalizer did to people, scare them into a self-preservational mindset, prioritizing duty over empathy?

You remembered something your dad used to tell you: Nothing bad can ever come from helping those in need.

Though you were aware the same may not be true for life on the Finalizer, you hadn’t lost your Lothalian morality.

Not yet.

With a newfound confidence, you made your way over to the fallen stormtrooper, proud of yourself for honoring your father’s advice. You bent down until you were on your knees in front of him. Everyone else in the hallway continued to go about their business as if nothing had happened. After carefully removing his helmet, you found he was seemingly unscathed and breathing steadily. The man who lied before you looked young, maybe only a little older than you were.

He looks so… normal.

You gently shifted his head so that he would be more comfortable, and after doing so, found your hand covered in blood. Your eyebrows furrowed in concern and you peered down to view the source of the fluid, finding a large gash at the back of his scalp.

Oh stars.

You were saying that a lot today.

You looked around frantically, hoping that someone else would see the predicament you were in and offer their help.

No one did.

You started to become angry; angry at the normalization of violence within the First Order. But you weren’t naive — you understood that violence was always going to be present, no matter where you were. You were more frustrated by the reactions, or lack thereof, to that violence. You found yourself becoming more and more uncomfortable with the idea of working on the Finalizer, surrounded by people who seemed to lack every empathetic bone in their bodies.

You decided to channel that anger and frustration into making sure the stormtrooper would be okay — a fate you knew wasn’t shared by other victims of Kylo Ren and the First Order.

I need to stop the bleeding.

After one more desperate look around the hallway, which was still crowded with troopers, various lieutenants, and droids, you spotted a man wearing a long coat that could definitely help stem some of the bleeding. You heard yourself calling out to him:

“Sir! Excuse me, sir!”

He glanced down at you as he approached, seemingly confused and irritated at the sight before him.

“I’m sorry, but I- I need to borrow this!” You gestured towards his long overcoat.

His mouth opened in protest but before he knew what was happening, you had grabbed the coat off of his shoulders and placed it at the back of the stormtrooper’s head. The man’s startled expression evolved to one of anger as he roughly grabbed your arm, bringing you up to a standing position. Not letting go of your arm, he snarled in your face.

“What is the meaning of this?” He growled.

Is he serious right now? you thought, incredulous to the man's behavior.

“I was just trying to save his life!” You pleaded, before adding, “Sir”.

“General,” he seethed.

“Right, sorry, General,” you repeated.

The unnamed General loosened his grip on your arm slightly. You stood there in a silent panic, not knowing what was coming next.

“Who are you? Where are you stationed?” the General spat.

Great, you thought, I'm gonna get fired and I haven't even started working. Mother will be real happy about that.

“Uhh… I’m a - an intern. In the Office of Imperial Promotion, Galactic Truth, and Fact Correction.” You shrugged nervously and gave a sheepish smile. “It’s my first day.”

“Obviously,” the General frustratedly sighed. He slowly looked you up and down, considering something. “You don’t happen to be from that dreaded planet Lothal, are you?”

Surprised at his knowledge of this, you replied with a twinge of shock and confusion in your voice.

“Yeah, yeah I am. How did you-”

“It seems you are late for our meeting.”

Kriff.

“You’re General Hux?” you asked, already knowing the answer.

“That is correct,” he replied slowly through clenched teeth.

“Oh.” You didn���t know what else to say. There was no way this was going to end well.

Gently extricating yourself from his grasp, you knelt again by the stormtrooper, checking on his wound. It was still bleeding, but much less than before. Your eyes drifted to his face, a deep brown color, accentuated by kind features and lips that were downturned in a slight frown.

He looks sad. You sighed.

“Is there anyone who we can take him to?” You asked helplessly, gesturing to the body next to you.

“I do not concern myself with the business of trivial trooper mishaps,” Hux spat back, irritated.

You chuckled humorously. “This was hardly a misha-”

Hux cut you off. “I know a mere intern wouldn’t dare speak back to a commanding General on their first day of work, now would they?”

If you wanted to keep your job, and probably your life, you knew you had to comply with his orders. Resisting at this point wouldn’t do you, or the trooper, any good.

“No General, they wouldn’t,” you replied solemnly, eyes downcast.

“Good. I will let the fact that you ruined my irreplaceable coat on the account of a replaceable trooper slide for now. But any more trouble of this sort, and I will see to it myself that you are executed.” His eyes narrowed and nose scrunched in a threatening glare.

“Yes, General,” you replied.

“Follow me, and don’t fall behind,” he gestured in the direction of the hallway he initially came from.

With one last look at the trooper, you stood and followed him, thoughts spinning through your head.

You remembered his words: replaceable trooper.

Surely that meant you, a young intern, were far below the status of replaceable.

Yes, that’s right.

You were executional.

———————————

You followed Hux to a medium-sized office. There was a large, sleek desk in the center of the room. On one side of the desk was an uncomfortable-looking chair with a tall, rectangular back. On the other side was another chair, this one smaller, but just as uncomfortable-looking. The lighting in the room was dark, making it difficult to see Hux’s face. His ginger hair, however, stuck out like a sore thumb, and you found yourself wondering if he was ever made fun of for it as a kid.

“Sit,” he demanded.

You did as he told, bringing your hands to your lap to fiddle with your fingers: a nervous habit.

“So…” you started.

Silence.

“Umm…” More silence.

You sighed. “This… chair. It’s nice, ya know. Sturdy. Real sturdy.”

Your nervous babbling was met by yet another bout of silence.

“And those curtains are-”

“You’re an artist,” the General interrupted. Though it was meant as a question, it came out as more of a statement. Maybe a questioning tone was too polite of a gesture for his 'intimidating' persona.

“Yes,” you replied. “Well, mostly. Kind of.” You stumbled over your words, trying to find the best answer.

He rolled his eyes. “Well, which is it? Yes, mostly, or kind of?”

“Yes, General.”

“Were you briefed on your internship duties here on the Finalizer prior to your arrival?”

“A little, General.”

“And?” he questioned impatiently.

“And I am supposed to help in the creation of propaganda posters and flyers in support of the First Order.”

“That is correct,” he replied blandly. “They will then be mass produced and distributed on planets that we are attempting to apprehend. These will hopefully lead neutral parties away from the grasp of the Resistance and into the hands of the First Order.”

“Will I have others working with me?” you asked hesitantly.

“We have assembled a small team to assist you — but should the work produced disappoint us, it will be your head in the trash compactor.”

You shuttered at his words because you knew that what he was saying was true. Thinking back to the fate of the poor stormtrooper you came across earlier, you couldn’t help but imagine what your own fate could be.

Twirling the end of your bracelet, you thought of home. You’d been doing that a lot lately too. Images flashed before your eyes: your mother, an old song whistling through her cracked lips, spiralling hair flying behind her as light whirled and danced over her body. Your father, painting in his makeshift studio, an organized chaos of antiques — rusted paint tins, bristled brushes, and half-finished canvases surrounding him. Your brother, perched on the raggedy wood fence that surrounded your home with one arm rested on his beloved speeder, eyes staring longingly at the marshy horizon, almost as if he was begging it to come just a little closer. And you. Watching everyone else as if it were the last time you would be able to do so…

You blinked and suddenly you were back in the present, however something was now clouding your vision. You hadn’t noticed when the tears had started to fall.

Hux just stared at you, and you stared right back, not knowing what to say.

Finally breaking the tense silence, the General abruptly stood. “I believe that this will be enough information for today. You will start work tomorrow. Directions to your workspace will be posted to your door.” He paused. “That is all, you are dismissed.” He gestured to the door.

Breathing a shaky sigh of relief, you stood and made your way into the hallway, not saying another word.

——————

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[mishaelle-starsong]

A Tuneless Requiem

Scarred, callused fingers played over the harp strings with little direction, lofting gentle disharmonies into the air. She could have made something from them, could have chosen a piece to play, but why? There was no audience to please, no events worth praising. Something for Elune, perhaps? No, nothing for the goddess. The Moon received her worship in the aspect of the Night Warrior now, and Star had left offerings all over Darkshore.

The coincidental unsong continued unabated, doing little but providing a focusing outlet. Her mind was… not what it once was, she supposed. Not a deterioration of function; rather she felt the edges sharpening again. She'd been mostly feral in the past. As the remnants of "civilizing" fell away, she knew she was becoming so again. I shouldn't let myself go. It was a thought she acknowledged without necessarily agreeing to. There were reasons to be wary, yes, but they were few.

A sudden confluence of notes produced a chord she thought she recognized, sliding her play into a learned pattern before she noticed what was happening. The song was an old one, full of meaning, though she couldn't recall the proper name anymore. The words escaped her as well, though they felt on the edge of her consciousness. She couldn't blame them for being evasive: most of her mind was being drawn back through years of memory.

Most of what she saw was painful. Vae was there, her quiet strength filling the space in her mind that was now vacant in her heart. A decade wasn't much in the span of a Kaldorei lifetime, but their decade had meant more to her than any other. It hurt, but she let the memories in anyway. A little suffering was fine; what was a life without it?

"Do you remember how we met?" The voice was clear in her mind, a perfect crystallization of Vae's gentleness. "You arrived in Shattrath such a mess, covered in blood and mostly incoherent. Your friend was there, too, though she seemed in much better shape. You said you'd jumped out a window, using your own body to cushion her landing. None of us knew why you'd done it, and you never did explain…"

The story went on, flowing over and through her, narrated by the most important voice in her life and one she expected to never hear again. There had been some flirting, of course; back then Star had done so regularly and one's options became extremely limited while recovering from a broken leg. It had become more than that, of course. The drift from joking to hesitant to serious had taken nearly a year. She'd told Vae her real name shortly after that, providing a clear demarcation of the change in status.

"Misha," said the voice, laughter clear in the way the name was formed, "aren't we such a pair? Both too stubborn for our own good, intent on keeping even the worst promises we make, no matter how they hurt us. Oh, mush'al, we're the most perfect fools, aren't we?"

Star nodded slowly, a tear escaping her good eye. How long since she'd been called mush'al, beloved, in their shared tongue? How long since she'd heard it without the heartache caused by her actions? How long since--

She twitched aside, the arrow burying itself in the thick wood of the harp. Others were coming, she knew, but this was nothing to her. Star was rolling, turning, evading, even as she calculated the source.

"Very rude of you," she said, loud enough to be heard, "to interrupt a private performance with violence. I suppose undeath shouldn't be expected to improve manners, should it?"

Another arrow missed, narrowly; the next deflected from her blade.

"Come now, sister, surely you have something to say. I would like to hear it before I kill you. Believe it or not, I do care about our fallen." She paused to deal with a barrage of projectiles, weapons blurring with the speed of her movement. "I wouldn't be here if I didn't."

"You left us to die," came the accusation, twisted and hollowed out by the cruelties of undeath. "Keep your lies."

Under the hatred was something recognizable, something she'd heard years before. Familiarity. Where? When? She let her memory range as she continued her circuitous trek.

"Is that you, Myrastra? No, you don't have to answer, I know it is. Do you recognize my voice? It's understandable if not, we've both been through so much since then." Incongruously, she found herself laughing. "I guess we could say the same for the stronghold, too. Just a washed out ruin off the coast now. Rebuilt or not, it's not the same. The new one isn't really home for us, is it?"

The growl was quiet, off to one side, not as distant as before. It preceded the creak of a bow being drawn, also barely audible, providing better direction. Star dove from the ruined building in the opposite direction, fractional seconds ahead of the next volley.

"Shandris spoke highly of you. I should have been more open with my praise, too. I wasn't good at it then." Another chuckle. "Not that I'm any better now, but I sometimes manage to recognize when someone deserves to be told something clearly rather than assuming they know. I was never a good leader like that."

"Then shut up," the risen Sentinel hissed, an arrow accompanying her words. "Shut up and die."

Star ignored the request. "I can help you, you know. Not give back your old life, but at least free you from this one. It's bad enough to find yourself enslaved by the foolish descendants of the Highborne who fled rather than be reasonable. I can only imagine what it must be like to have them be undead as well. The levels of abomination are striking, no?"

A snarl, filled with words. "You're hardly one to talk, Illidari. How you even found time to betray us is-"

"Shut your fool mouth, Astra." Even she was surprised at the anger in her voice. "I'm as Illidari as you are Azshari."

Conversation paused briefly, arrows providing their own input.

"These runes," Star continued, "are not a sign that I follow the Betrayer. I helped recapture him, you know, and would have gladly removed his head given the chance. My tattoos exist because, like you, I would do anything to save our people and this world. Others fought the Legion. With these markings? I destroyed the Legion."

The fallen Sentinel was silent then, though her bowstring continued to sing. She was nearly in position. Star decided to delay her death, hoping to get through first. She owed one of Shandris's troops that much.

"You died for our home, as did so many before you. I sacrificed the only happiness I've known since the Sundering to keep this world whole. We share the same commitment, Astra, the same goal. I just haven't been twisted to serve the Blighter."

"I serve no one!" The cry of denial would have been more believable if the accompanying shot had been remotely steady.

"You're doing what Sylvanas wants," Star went on, "even after she burned Teldrassil. She poisoned our lands and murdered our families, and now you help her make it even worse. You can't blame this on being 'betrayed', Myrastra. Every one of us knows we may have to give our lives in defense of our people. I'm sorry you died like that, but don't make it worse."

She found shelter in the moonshadow of a great tree, waiting. No sound from her opponent for a minute, then another and another. Nothing at all until the keening wail split the darkness, standing every hair on Star's body on end. Hardened as she was, it still put a shiver down her spine. Beneath the cry, though, she heard something else and something more: the latter was regret, the former a bowstave snapping.

The one-eyed warrior rushed over to the risen Kaldorei, ready to kill at the slightest hint of deception. Myrastra was on her knees, staring into the sky without seeing, clutching at her eyes. Bloodless furrows had been gouged into the flesh of her face; the curls of skin were still stuck under her fingernails.

"Astra," she said as gently as she knew, "it's not your fault."

The blank gaze lowered to her, the undead expression still one of shock. "I… let her make me one of them," she whispered, horrified. "I became one of them. A tool, a… a traitor. Goddess help me, I…"

She trailed off, leaving it to Star to put more words between them. "You're not the only one. But you're not a traitor. You didn't get a choice. What she did to you is… irredeemable, but that doesn't mean you are."

Myrastra shook her head, unfocused once more. "I can't. I don't know what's happening anymore, I'm losing it all suddenly, I… who are you?" Her voice lowered further. "Who am I?"

"You're Sentinel Captain Myrastra Duskarbor, one of General Shandris Feathermoon's officers. You're a skilled archer, a good leader, someone your troops can look up to."

"No, I… I don't think that's right. I'm… I'm fairly certain, actually, that I… that I… that-"

A softer heart would have been caught offguard then, but Star had never been one of those. Whatever cruel magic Astra had broken free of reasserted itself, contorting her features once more into a mask of hate. She ignored the undead Kaldorei's dagger entirely, twisting so as to let it get buried and stuck in the part of her side where it would do the least damage. That left her free to cleanly separate the head and body with a quick stroke of her sword.

She cleaned her blades and sheathed them before removing the dagger, grunting as it pulled free. Star held it out without looking, knowing her constant companion was nearly there. "I don't think it's poisoned, Ora, but you should check to be sure. There's no burning indicating it, and most of the time they only apply it to arrows anyway, but assumptions get people killed."

The young druid resumed her elven form to take the weapon, turning her focus toward its bloody blade. "I sense no toxins on this or in your blood upon it. What about your wound, Shan'do? Shall I heal it?"

Star glanced down then back to her peculiar apprentice. "No, I don't think so. The runes would likely interfere and it won't slow me down while it heals."

"But it may leave blood that would allow us to be followed."

"Very true. Excellent thinking." She didn't smile but her eye reflected the approval. "No healing, though, we'll just burn it closed."

Orellanine nodded. "Will we also burn her?" She pointed to the decapitated remains.

Star shook her head, sighing. "No. We'll… I'll carry her with us and we'll make sure she's properly dedicated to Elune. Myrastra deserves that much for breaking through. I almost regret killing her."

Ora didn't ask why. Star didn't elaborate.