#tfw youre subjected to the horrors

[lillylunala]

Anyways, yall stop whatever you're doing and go watch The Amazing Digital Circus right now

[brrnedoutbrrista]

((alright I’m ill but I’m feeling a bit spooky, who wants a starter where Agni is seeing the Horrors (and no one else can see them) ))

[fairyysoup]

the devil i know

chapter one: god you've got the blackest eyes

(repost)

fic tag | fic playlist | fic masterlist

pairing(s): crossroads demon!eddie munson x fem!reader

summary: To summon a demon at a crossroads, simply cast a circle, make an offering, and recite an incantation. What happens from that point on is subject to your desire… and the demon’s.

cw: explicit, smut, dubcon elements, making a deal with a demon, inspired by american and european folklore, sacrilegious themes, horror, witch!reader, reader is 21+ in modern day, eddie is immortal, coercion (a bit), sex pact, marking, possessive behavior, animal death, trauma, reader is ostracized by her very religious hometown, dark comedy, tfw your accidental boyfriend is a demon who is obsessed with you bc he doesn’t know how to be normal about anything ever, dead dove: do not eat

please check masterlist and individual parts for content warnings before reading. this fic contains dark themes. your media consumption is your own responsibility.

a/n: Hi folks, for the month of October this year I'm going to be reuploading all the chapters of this fic onto tumblr, this time hopefully for good. I apologize for the time that it's been taken down. Genuinely, this fic has garnered so much kindness and support and I think of it as one of my biggest accomplishments. I hope you all enjoy it just as much the second time around as the first.

ALL OF MY WORKS ARE 18+ MINORS DNI

Through me you pass into the city of woe, Through me you pass into eternal pain, Through me you pass among forsaken people. Justice moved my exalted creator; I was wrought by divine power, Supreme wisdom, and primal love. Before me all things created were eternal, And eternal I endure. Abandon all hope, ye who enter here. -Dante Alighieri, The Inferno, Canto III

The book you’ve used for ages now, since late in your junior year of high school, has only one page in it that you haven’t utilized. You don’t know how much faith to put in it– you’re a little short on faith, these days– but, the spellbook lays it out simply, so you follow its directions to the letter. 

To summon a demon at a crossroads, go to a place where two paths meet on the dark moon. You find peace and quiet in the woods, deep where you know no one walks at night but two paths cross in a small clearing banked with trees. It’s your favorite place to go when you want to do a spell– ritual– and you don’t want to be bothered. The whole thing can’t be more than twenty feet across. Above the overhang of trees, there’s no moon in the sky, only stars.

Cast a circle of protection. That took more research than just the book in your hands, but years of collecting information have given you learned knowledge– there are a million ways to cast a circle, and different circles for different purposes. You do your best to create one for protection. You draw a literal circle in the dirt with a stick, fill it with salt, and walk around the circle three times clockwise to cast it. You light candles to give yourself some light, and to free up your hands of the flashlight you carried to see your way through the woods. 

Make an offering of copper. Your hand pauses on the copper dog tag in your hand. You’d thought of just offering a penny, but you remembered reading somewhere that pennies barely contain copper anymore, and you didn’t have anything else that was entirely made of the one metal. 

You run your finger over the embossed name on it. Lacey. Your pet’s old collar feels heavy in your hand as you remove the tag from the leather strap and bury it in the earth, you guess, to reach the… Underworld? Hell? You can’t honestly say, considering the text you’re referencing only calls it the Otherworld.

It’s a big sacrifice. It’s personal. But, you guess, that gives it more meaning. Making a deal is personal business, and you have your reasons.

Recite the summoning incantation. A stanza of words you don’t understand. You don’t think it’s in Latin, but you try your best, all the same. You read them from the book before you, and feel your blood rushing in your veins as you do.

State your desire out loud in a clear voice. Well, that’s a little more difficult. What is it that you want?

You take a breath, go to speak, and then stop. You don’t know how to start. You don’t know exactly how to describe your pain. You don’t know how to voice your anger well enough, you just know you need to… you need to get it out, somehow. This is a very crucial step in the ritual, you have to do it.

“I came here to make a deal,” you speak frankly, clearly. “I’m prepared to do anything. I’ve run out of options. I’ve been hurt too many times, by too many people who didn’t care what they did to me. I’ve lost everything I genuinely loved. I’m… I’m angry, and desperate, and I’m frightened. And I feel so alone. It’s eating me alive, and I just… I just want the ability to make things go my way, for once.” Good enough, you hope.

Wait for an answer.

You do. You listen intently, to the song of the leaves in the trees rustling in the slight breeze, to the crickets chirping in the grass. You wait long enough that you start to rethink your approach. 

It could be that things will turn around if you just wait another month, or another month after that. Maybe you’ll get the car back. Maybe you’ll get the promotion that was given to the newbie that you trained. Maybe your ex will stop coming around your work to intimidate you. Maybe you’ll get a new dog to take the place of the one that he killed. Maybe the evangelical town you live in will stop shunning you and calling you a witch, like something out of the middle ages.

Unlikely, that last one.

Just when you swear it’s a failure, that you should just pack up and leave, that’s when a strong gust of wind rips through the clearing out of nowhere. The candles blow out– and then, oddly enough, relight themselves. There’s a slight scent of smoke on the breeze, and you look around to make sure none of the candles fell over in the wind.

They’re all perfectly fine. There’s nothing amiss, it seems, until you hear a cough and movement across the clearing. You look forward, and see a pair of black combat boots in the stream of light from your flashlight. You follow the boots up to a pair of legs, clad in dark jeans, and then further up, to a torso, and a head, and a pair of sparkling eyes.

“Hi.”

You stare at him, probably looking like a fish out of water with the way your mouth opens and closes. You’d fully expected the traditional scary depiction of a demon– maybe horns, goat hooves, et cetera. But the man that answered your call is… just a man. A pretty one. He has long, curly hair, which falls over his broad shoulders and stirs in the wind. His plush lips curve up in a relaxed, cocky smile, as he takes in the sight of you in return. 

He quirks an eyebrow at you. “Are you just gonna stare at me all night?” 

“Sorry, hi. Hello.” You shake your head. “Can you believe I honestly thought I’ve been doing it wrong this whole time?” 

“I can believe a lot of things. You know, there’s a reason why the demon summoning ritual is first in that book.” His voice is soft and resonant. You get a mental image of heat waves radiating from tar-black and glowing magma, rolling slowly over lava beds. The image disappears just as soon as it flashes into your mind.

“Well, to be completely honest, I wasn’t sure how I felt about making a deal with a demon first thing,” you explain, looking away shyly. “But I’ve tried all the spells in this book and not a single one of them worked. Just seems like everything is getting worse all the time.”

He doesn’t look away– rather, he keeps staring at you, unblinkingly. Like you’re the most fascinating creature he’s ever seen. He leans up against the tree that he appeared beside, his leather jacket falling open to reveal a shirt with a demon’s head on it. Fitting. He takes a pack of cigarettes out of his jacket pocket. 

“So, now you wanna make a deal with little ol’ me, huh?” He grins, a gorgeous smile that flashes bright, sharp teeth at you. He lifts a cigarette to his mouth and bites it gently between his teeth. He doesn’t pull out a lighter. Instead, you watch him light up with a small flame that erupts from the tip of his thumb. 

“Depends on who you are,” you retort, eyes following the movement of his hands. They’re weighed down by large, silver rings that reflect the light of the flame before it snuffs out. “What’s your name?”

He makes a short noise in his throat, shaking his head abruptly. He doesn’t look nearly as intimidating as you feel he should– more like he’s trying to warn you against something you don’t want. He peers at you from beneath his wavy bangs as he pulls the cigarette from his mouth and uses it to point at you. “Names are really powerful things where I come from, babydoll. Best not to bite off more than you can chew yet. Once we cut a deal– that’s when you get my name.”

You make a face as you mull that over. “So what do I call you, in the meantime? Demon daddy?” 

“You could,” he chuckles. The demon rocks to the side, crossing his legs at the ankles. “If you really wanted to. I wouldn’t mind, it’s flattering.” 

You grunt. “I think I’ll pass on that, actually.” He tilts his head with a sicker, watching you with an amused smile while you shift in place. “So, do I– I mean, you need to know what I want, right? Is that how this starts?”

“No, I know what you want.” He exhales a stream of smoke from his nostrils. “You want power. To get a fair shake, find your place, change your life. Defend yourself against the assholes making that life, well. A living hell.” As he spits out the words, his voice rings sharp through the trees, like the strike of a hammer on glowing metal, shooting sparks off into the air. 

“I want to take all this pain and just… return to sender. Give it back to them, y’know? I never wanted any of it,” you justify. Your voice is too small in comparison with his. “Maybe then I’ll be able to fucking breathe.”

For how little space you allow yourself to take up, he seems to consume the rest of it. He nods slowly. “That’s a fair request, sweetheart.”

“It’s selfish, I know.”

“Making a deal for power is inherently a selfish thing,” he shrugs. “Own it. I’m certainly not judging.”

You let out a shaky breath. You’re still so nervous, being so near him– ten feet away and growing closer every second, it seems, even though neither of you have moved. You feel like, no matter how far you pull back, the flow of fiery lava he seems to embody will keep creeping towards you until you’re burned alive.

His dark eyes glow like coals in the night as he looks you up and down, and then he quickly pushes himself away from the tree. You startle at the abrupt movement, and watch as he swings around it like Gene Kelly on a lamp post. 

When he rounds the tree, he uses the momentum to throw himself toward your circle. You flinch, and he frowns, but continues moving toward you at a slower pace, holding his hands out innocently. “Wanna know a secret? About how all this,” he twirls a finger in the air, indicating the ritual you’re in the middle of, “works?”

You nod, gazing up at him shyly. If you felt at all powerful while casting the circle and starting the ritual, he’s managed to take the wind out of your sails. You can feel the power radiating off of him in waves.

He smirks at you. “You make your petition– when you say the words in that little book,” he points at the volume at your feet, “and that petition is answered by whichever demon caters most to that desire.” He points at himself emphatically, his eyebrows raised. “Me? Infernal majesty of freaks and misfits. I’m your demon daddy.”

You finally giggle, and it makes him smile fondly, like that’s what he’d been gunning for all along. He backs up a step and puffs his cigarette. 

“I’m here to help you, sweetheart.” He regards you for a second, like he’s thinking things over. “That is, as long as you agree to my terms.”

“Terms?” You echo, but you were sort of expecting that. Nothing for nothing, right? “What are the terms?”

“Ah, they’re simple. Very traditional,” he waves his hand like it’s frivolous. He holds his hand out in midair, and just like how he’d conjured the flames, he produces a weathered book. It looks like a composition book that has scribbles and doodles all over the front of it– the same demon head that adorns his shirt. “You sign your name with your blood in my little black book, you hop on one foot with your hand on your head and pledge your undying fealty to the dark lord Kthulu, and then you meet me on the sabbath to kill a child and make them into soup.” 

He smiles, fluttering his eyelashes at you innocently. 

“Are you fucking serious?” You blurt. 

“Of course I’m not fucking serious– what is this, the dark ages?” He snorts as he lowers the composition book. “Nah, we don’t do human sacrifice on the sabbath anymore, it was getting too difficult to evade the witch hunters.”

“What?”

“Nothing.” He flashes you a disarming grin. You can feel yourself halfway smirking as well, incredulous but somehow enjoying his humor. Then he shakes his head and says, seriously, “No, you do have to sign my book, though. And then meet me back here on the full moon to fuck.”

You blink at him, reeling from the whiplash of that. “You… I’m sorry?”

“I find it best not to sugarcoat it, y’know.” He shrugs, “Think of this as a marriage, of sorts. I give you the power to smite thine enemies, live deliciously, blah blah blah, and then you meet me at the crossroads every full moon to be my whore and we fuck like bunnies all night. Simple as that.”

“That’s far from simple.”

“It doesn’t have to be monogamous, if that’s what you’re worried about,” he continues frankly, “except on the full moon. I won’t compromise about that– you’ll be all mine, and I’m all yours. No takesies backsies.”

“No– that’s not–” You exhale, holding your hands over your eyes. “I’m just… not promiscuous like that…”

“Sweetheart.” He waits until you’ve lowered your hands to look at him, and he hums, with a saccharine smile that reminds you of the power you’d felt sweep through the clearing when he arrived. “You won’t be the first good girl I’ve broken, and you won’t be the last. If you’re worried about promiscuity, well… I answered your petition. I know what goes on in that pretty head, and it barely scratches the surface of what I’ve seen and done.” 

The toe of his boot barely nudges the edge of your circle, and a spark crackles in the dark from the impact. The light dances in his eyes longer than it remains in the air, like they caught the spark and ignited. 

“Trust me,” he says, drawing you in with the low register of his voice. “I can give you more than power. I can give you protection. I can give you real happiness. Karma’s a fucking bitch, so I can be, too. This is just such a little thing in return. And who knows… you may even like it.”

You shiver at that, even though his presence feels hot, like his stream of lava is surrounding you, crowding you in, boiling you where you stand. He’s right– you absolutely might like it. 

Because there’s just something magnetic between you, isn’t there? You can sense it, more than any heat and any sort of primal fear you might have instinctively at his presence. There’s a certain pull you feel toward him, emanating even through the salt barrier on the ground. 

You want to wrap yourself in him. Boil you alive, burn you to a crisp, destroy you– you don’t care.

“Or… is it that you don’t like this body?” He wonders aloud, striding backward two steps. He turns, his hand lifting his seemingly ever-burning cigarette to his lips. “Figures– y’know, I can be anything you want me to be, babydoll.”

Confused, you watch as he transforms in front of you. In the length of two steps while he paces across the clearing, his face and body stretches and contorts, until you’re not staring at the same visage anymore. He stops, and he turns to you with his palms up, like he’s waiting for your approval. 

You’re looking at Tom fucking Cruise. 

“Oh, no, absolutely not,” you shake your head vehemently, scowling. You wave your hands demandingly, “Put it back. You were so hot before– please, please go back to the way you were.”

The demon grins and turns his head, throwing the cigarette away. His hair grows back to its previous length, his face morphing as if made of clay until you meet the same pretty smile you’ve come to enjoy looking at. 

He chuckles, grabbing a lock of his hair and drawing it across his lips. “You think I’m hot?”

“Of course,” you murmur, but you know beyond a shadow of a doubt that he can hear it. His eyes are embers, blazing at you from beneath his bangs. “Is that what you normally look like? Is that your true form?”

He makes an iffy sound. “It’s what I looked like when I was human. My true form has more horns and unhinged jaws and claws and all that. You wouldn’t like it.”

“I thought you said you could read my mind. Do you know how much monster porn I’ve consumed? That’s hot as shit to me,” you argue, and he snaps his head towards you in surprise. You point at yourself. “Freak and misfit.”

He laughs, and it sounds like the roaring of an out of control fire, burning up everything in its path. He kicks his heel on the ground and steps up to your circle again. “I like you, baby. I really do. What do you say?”

“How do I know that I can trust you?” you ask, an annoying lump forming in your throat with the question. You’ve been burned before by people far less powerful than this demon, yet who still hold so much power over you. However much they have.

“You can’t,” he answers, more honestly than most would. He tilts his head with a crooked smile. “Not to get all preachy on you, but even if I wasn’t a demon… trust is built, not a given. ‘The devil you know,’ right? Better than the one that you don’t.”

“Yeah,” you agree, your voice coming out breathy and winded the longer you gaze up into his eyes.

“Trust me to be… intense, I guess,” he shrugs. “And probably impulsive. But I’ll always deliver on our deal. Be my witch, my wife, my whore– whatever you want to call it, but be mine. I think we’ll have so much fun together.”

“Yeah, I think– I think I will.” You’re nodding, and his smile grows with yours. “I want to.”

“Let me in, sweetheart.”

Your toe scuffs the boundary on the ground, breaking the circle. Immediately, your senses are assaulted by smoke, not just the tobacco he’s been smoking but the scent of a wildfire, of cities burned to ashes, of desolation and destruction and pyroclastic flow and roaring, exploding volcanoes. 

Your demon crosses the line you’d drawn on the ground with ease, producing the worn composition book in his hand again. The cover reads Hellfire Club in chicken scratch handwriting. 

“Are there others?” You ask, prompted by the word Club on the front as he flips open the book to a middle page. An agreement is already written out in red ink. “Do you have more than one, um…”

“Consort?” He whispers in your ear. Goosebumps rise on your skin, and your stomach flutters. “Not for a long time. I’m very picky about my partners. They have to be just as much of a freak as I am.”

Your heart thumps loudly in your chest, although the admission makes you feel… better, in a way. You squint in the dark, but with the exception of the candles around your circle, there’s nothing to allow you to properly read what’s written on the page. 

He sighs, shifting on his feet beside you. “Are you one of those people who’ll read the whole contract?”

“Absolutely I am,” you hum. The book feels heavier in your hands than it should. “Can you give me a light?”

“Jesus Christ.” He produces a flame from his forefinger just as you turn to give him a confused look. 

“Shouldn’t you, like… evaporate after saying that?”

In the yellow glow of the flame, he just blinks at you, looking amused. “Things aren’t as black and white as you think they are, believe me.”

You snatch his wrist and yank his arm closer to the page. His body collides with yours, and he grunts in your ear as he wraps his other arm around you, embracing you from behind. You’re engulfed in the scent of smoke and the heat of his flames, impossibly hot and comforting all the same. 

His hair brushes your shoulder as you read his contract. It’s just a few lines, but the weight they hold will seal your fate. 

The agreement made this night of the dark moon shall henceforth be enacted from the signing of this document, that hereby renders the human party’s soul bound to the infernal party. Witness that the first party must appear before the second party each full moon to lay in matrimonial fashion, and that in return the first party shall be protected and given the powers of the second from here until the human’s mortal passing. 

“Aww, that’s sweet,” you coo, tracing the red ink with your fingers. 

The demon over your shoulder rolls his eyes. “It’s a fucking pre-nup.”

“Doesn’t seem like a fair trade, though, does it?” You murmur. “I mean, I get the power to change my circumstances and you get– what– sex once a month?”

His hand tightens on your waist, and you pause. You turn your head to look at him, and his eyes flicker dangerously, so close to yours. They aren’t just glowing coals- this close, you can see the small details. You can see the swirling, the churning of lava within them.

“It’s not just sex, is it?”

“What do you think making a deal with a demon entails, sweetheart? Read the fine print.”

You look back at the page. There are no other words on it, save for the ones you’ve already read. “I don’t…?”

“It’s your soul, honey,” he mutters, pointing at the word. His mouth is muffled against your shoulder as he peers over it. “I won’t ask anything of you other than the sex, as long as you live. But right now, you’re offering up your soul. And once your life is up, you get to be just like me. Understand?”

“I… yeah. I understand.” You let go of his wrist, but pause over the pages of the book. “I don’t have anything to sign with.”

Wordlessly, the demon takes your hand. You let him caress your wrist, feeling your pulse with his thumb. Then, before you realize what’s happening, a sharp sting makes you yelp as he cuts your skin with his pointed thumbnail. 

He shushes you, letting the blood well up on your skin. “I did say you needed to sign with blood.”

Your voice shakes when you hold your dripping wrist over the page. “I thought you said you were joking.”

“Not about the book. Rules of the trade, I can’t change it.” Your blood splatters the notebook, dripping into the crease of the page. Once he’s satisfied, he lifts your wrist to his mouth and closes his lips around the small wound. It heals in a heartbeat. 

“Is that it, then?” You ask, mesmerized by the sight and feeling of his mouth on your skin. “Don’t you have to sign?”

Your demon kisses your wrist gently, his lips soft, inviting. “This is going to hurt,” he warns, and you nod. The heat of his breath makes your skin tingle, all your nerves on high alert. 

But then that tingling turns into a burn, that turns into a searing pain. You feel like your skin is on fire, an invisible hot brand held against your wrist. You cry out as he holds you close, letting you bury your face into his neck, holding you up as your knees threaten to buckle. 

“Such a good girl,” he murmurs to you as you whimper. He holds your arm as the pain fades into a throbbing ache, cradles your hand against his cheek as he coos into your hair. “You’re so strong. Not many people can handle my mark, you know. Fate works in funny ways.”

Your demon holds you until you can stand on your own, until your breathing evens out and you can compose yourself. He shushes you quietly, rocking you from side-to-side with a soothing hand stroking your head. Then he holds your face, and kisses your tear stained cheeks. The touch of his lips stokes at flames beneath your skin.

“I’ll look forward to our time together, little witch,” he whispers. And with a quick, chaste kiss to your lips, he disappears entirely. 

You stay in the circle for a while, clutching your throbbing wrist and crying frustrated tears. You wonder if you made the right decision, and yet, you don’t understand why you just want him to come back. You miss the comfort of his presence, even if you don’t know enough about him to justify it. All he did was hurt your arm and take your blood and kiss away your tears and make you a witch. 

It’s too late to go back on your decision now. There’s an all-encompassing fire you can feel burning in your veins, emitting from the pulsating wound on your wrist. His power. His fire. 

You pull your hand away from your wrist to finally inspect the mark that he branded you with, declaring you his in the same chicken scratch that had been on the cover of his book. It’s small enough that a well placed bracelet would cover it, but you don’t know that you’ll want to.

Eddie.

Your demon’s name is Eddie.

[yarnnerdally]

Hehe! It's short but I like it a lot. Enjoy @violettduchess and everyone else following me and this challenge!

Title: TFW Things Go Wrong™️

Characters: Clavis Lelouch, Emma, Yves Kloss, Licht Klein (mentioned)

Prompt: Water

Rating: G

Word Count: 281

Tags: pranks, pranks gone wrong, one suitor one prompt content creation challenge

Classic. Brilliant. A supreme feat of engineering and stealth. There were many more adjectives Clavis could think of for this most recent plot against his brothers but he settled for these more humble terms. The dining room door was closed before breakfast and thus, from the outside, none would be the wiser. Inside, to the left and above the door frame sat a bucket of water. This bucket of water sat precariously on a slightly tilted platform and was tied to the door. Once the door was opened, the frigid water would douse an unsuspecting Yves, and maybe even Licht as well if he was lucky. Now all he had to do was wait and enjoy the show. However, the best laid plans of mice and men often go awry. The scene happened in slow motion, unfurling before him as a rare look of horror appeared over his handsome features. He miscalculated. How could he have miscalculated? What had he missed? Emma seemed to be a variable in everything that skewed his data. Her look of confusion was only there for a moment before running through a gamut of other emotions. Namely shock giving way to anger. The bucket, thankfully, had stopped a good seven or so inches above her head, but the water inside had not been contained. Behind her stood an equally angered Yves. Whatever berating Clavis was subjected to from the fifth prince was going in one ear and out the other as he watched Emma stalk up to him, eyes fierce despite looking like a drowned bunny. She held a hand up towards Yves and he quieted. "Clavis Lelouch, I suggest you choose your next words wisely."

[ellcrys]

tfw your office mate is like, 'did you go to that meeting this morning?' and your first reaction is offense bc why was there was a meeting on subject x without you and your second reaction is abject horror bc it dawns on you that not only were you 100% invited to this meeting but you were SUPPOSED TO BE THERE... you just completely fucking forgot about it

[athys-obelia]

search history exposé: anastacius

(ch. 57 | tfw your niece catches u being fake ✌️😌)

am i a good person

buzzfeed am i a good person quiz

what to do if you're 90% toxic

how to manipulate my secret daughter into trusting me

lucas magician

lucas tower magician icons

how to know if my friend is gay

how to know if i'm gay

is the dead undead guy possessing me gay

why does my empire's name mean needle

can i still be emperor if i have trypanophobia

wikihow fratricide

fratricide in 3 steps

why is roger hot lowkey

why is alpheus such a dumb bitch

online chess for me and the guy in my head

chess cheats

horror movie date recommendations

wikihow confessing to your crush

wikihow confessing to your crush while trying to murder his crush

google if i'm being possessed by a ghost and am considered legally dead am i really LIVING or am i just existing

existential crises cure

why did the chicken cross the road

how to make my subjects like me when they think i'm dead + i was kind of an ass as a living person

is wearing 30+ layers out of fashion

a/n: some anastacius vs. aeternitas confusion 👀 also lily's up next!!

fratricide: the killing of one's brother/sister | trypanophobia: the fear of needles

more: claude | athy | felix | lucas | diana

[qwertyfingers]

there is a heavy ache in the edges of you, and all you can say is ‘i’m sorry / so sorry’

one track mind tfw and jack posting got me thinking about like. the special kind of Fear that CPTSD leaves you with because like. inherent to cptsd is this kind of emptiness that just. gets filled up with fear. this bone-deep terror that lives in you and lives on, and is so resistant to change. and its not that fear necessarily controls you, or rules your life, but it defines you. it is the barometer by which you measure yourself; it is the shape of yourself in your memories; it is the eternal companion you cannot outgrow

you are afraid. every minute of every day you are Afraid. you are afraid in the phobic way, in the system-shock adrenaline way, in the ‘makes your nervous system breaks down if you stay there for too long’ way.

but cptsd also involves a bizarre kind of dissociation where you just learn. to not feel. you dont feel until you have to, until you cant stop it, because if you felt, acutely, every moment of that fear inside you it would break you and break you and break you. it would tear you apart in ways we don’t have words for. so you go through life mostly aware of everything that’s happening but utterly disconnected from it. and you aren’t disaffected, you still have emotions, you still see horrors that get lodged in your psyche but you feel none of it; you process none of it. everything goes into a little intray in your brain and theres no file clerk to make sure it gets seen to. youre empty and utterly full of terror

i think about this quote a lot; a poem embedded in a fiction piece by catherine lacey

and the only way to live with it is to learn how to fill the empty spaces of yourself. and there are no shortcuts or tricks or spells. there is no orchestration or alchemy to it.  sorry to reference my own poetry but ‘seeking shade from the fathoms of yourself / still trying to take your emptiness and turn it into love / through transubstantiation // aware it doesn’t work like that’ is the only way i know how to say what this feels like. you have to build a city inside of yourself and populate it with new loves, new interests, things to care about, things to be tended to. goals, plans. places to go, places you have been. find the things that make you care again. find things that make you feel again. and the thing is feeling is SCARY. because feeling means you have to confront the fear again. but also because you aren’t used to emotions; they burn and sting and ache and you always always want to push them away. and you feel like such a child for so long, because it hurts and it hurts and you just want to let it all go

but you have to you have to. you have to start connecting to the world again. you have to lay down roots and open up and learn to exist. in various storms and saints,  a song that is inseparable from this aspect of complex ptsd for me, florence welch sings ‘people just untie themselves / uncurling like flowers / if you could just forgive yourself / but still you stumble / outside the world seems a violent place / some things you let go in order to live’ 

i’ve been talking to people a lot recently about how. complex ptsd isn’t a disorder that you heal from, its a break in the connection of your life between birth and now. and after the break you rebuild. but fundamentally cptsd alienates you from your natural self so severely that you have to start again. it’s all new and it all feels fake; like your personality is an affectation and you aren’t real, you have nothing of yourself, nothing to give. you just become a vessel for everybody else.

i don’t have answers for this. i’m still stuck. i think everybody with CPTSD gets stuck. it’s never really clear if you have anywhere to go. life is a road but your path has diverged and youre furiously paving tracks in front of you to stop yourself from backsliding. you’re always trying to stop yourself from backsliding

suddenly feeling very bad for everyone who was subjected to me during group therapy because i am, unfortunately, literally always like this

[mittensmorgul]

Hey there! Well, one thing that really makes me so irritated and curious is the fact that in the prophecy Sam was the one who would kill Rowena permanently. But like why tf? Who even write the death books? Chuck? Billie herself? Fate? But why Sam? Why did he have to kill her? Like uhhhhh she was immortal, they were getting closer, being friends, i even see her as part of tfw and them BOOM, she finds out Sam is gonna kill her? Like what's the sense? Do you have a theory about it? 👀

Hi hi!

And oh, golly do I have theories. Too many theories, probably. Mostly because we just don’t know who “writes” Billie’s books. Actually the one thing I’m relatively certain of-- it’s not Billie doing the writing.

Of everything we know about how death and Death and fate work, and how those books themselves work, it’s been a fair assumption up to a point that the books are simply generated by a culmination of an individual’s choices throughout their lifetime. But I still have so many questions about those books.

For example, why is it implied that most people only have one book that rewrites itself if a person’s circumstances drastically change, and yet Dean has an entire shelf of books? Is it because of how much Chuck has directly interfered with his life? Or the fact he’s died and been resurrected so many times? If that’s the case, then why didn’t his “previous life” books disappear to be replaced by a new one? He may have died many times, but he’s still just one person. Why so many books?

That’s not what you asked, but I still think it’s important to understand the full picture of information we do know in order to attempt the best guess possible here. So in that spirit, I’m gonna take another slight detour on my way to attempting to answer.

I’ll start by point to this very, very long post I made about Rowena’s entire character arc on the show, posted December 1, 2019, so before we saw her back in 15.08. It’s on AO3, because it’s far too long for tumblr:

https://archiveofourown.org/works/21641770

I go into a lot of detail on her overall character arc, as well as this very specific storyline. But before I delve into Rowena’s side of this conundrum, I also need to delve into Sam’s...

In a really creepy way, the result of 13.19 was Sam getting to experience a version of “you either have to save him or kill him” that was John’s final declaration to Dean about Sam. Because at the end of 13.19, Rowena took a strange comfort from the entire experience. Knowing that no version of her own death would be at Lucifer’s hand actually helped her deal with her biggest personal fear and horror. It had haunted her, and ruled every choice she’d made up to that point. But here was Sam... kind, understanding Sam who’d given her that page of the spell book to free her power to protect herself... offering her a hand of friendship and help to potentially change her fate? And not just an automatic death sentence? Well, that was something.

Like she told Michael in 14.14:

Rowena: Fate says Sam Winchester's going to off me, which makes dinners a bit awkward, but does give one a certain sense of security.

In a weird way, she trusts Sam. She knows he’s not lurking in the shadows just waiting to kill her, you know? She knows he wouldn’t kill her without a very good reason. And she knows that she’s been doing everything in her power not to deserve killing. To have Sam and Dean Winchester welcome you into the family, and believe you can change your fate is their universe’s equivalent of being blessed. And Rowena has treated it as such.

So... that said, what does it take to actually change one’s fate? What does it take to redeem oneself?

We’ve already seen those books of fate shift over time. I mean, the most blatantly obvious example is from Dean’s books (all of them! well... except for that one Billie gave him) that changed after 14.10. And then we have to assume they all changed AGAIN after 14.14... because Michael was dead and couldn’t use Dean’s vessel to destroy the world anymore.

We also know from another agent associated with death that it’s our human choices that can change our fate, thanks to Lily Sunder in 14.08:

SAM: Fine. Then change it. Let her into Heaven.ANUBIS: I'm an accountant. I don't have that kind of power.SAM: Yeah, right. Like you or-- or God has never made an exception?ANUBIS: That's right. Because God doesn't decide. I don't decide. You do, each of you, your individual choices all tallied up at the precise moment of your death. Keep me here. Try and kill me. It is not going to change Lily Sunder's fate. But it might change yours.

Except... knowing this, knowing her choices had the power to change her fate, gave Lily the power to choose a different fate for herself. Of course she couldn’t know for sure if it would be enough, if her last Good Deed would be enough to tip the scales, but she hoped. And it had changed everything.

LILY: I don't understand. Why am I here?ANUBIS: Hm. Care to try your luck again? [Anubis brings out his abacus again, and measures Lily’s soul. Most of the beads are now white, and rise to the top]ANUBIS: I'm curious. Did you know what doing the spell would cost you? Say hello to your daughter for me.

Doing the spell cost her life, but she had already begun to let go of her very long life. She’d had time to get her revenge and make her peace, and her last act, as her own free choice, had been enough to save her soul. It’s more than she ever could’ve hoped for when she’d set the course of her life more than a hundred years earlier.

And yet, for Rowena, performing the spell that had saved the world from the hell rift caused by Chuck’s temper tantrum hadn’t been enough to redeem her. She’d been just as hopelessly trapped in hell as if she’d never consciously chosen to become better in the first place. Her redemption failed. And I gotta wonder... why?

Rowena’s goal was pure-- save the world with the one spell she knew would work, but that would cost her everything. She didn’t even hesitate. She didn’t stop to wonder if performing this spell and making this sacrifice could redeem her soul. She only cared that Sam would be saved (well... and the world...).

And yet, in working the spell, she literally needed Sam to do the deed, because it wouldn’t have worked without him. She didn’t believe in love enough to sacrifice herself, her love for anything or even the world itself. The only thing she truly believed in enough was the power of the prophecy of her own fate in Billie’s book, which is just nine levels of pain to understand.

This is why her taking the throne of Hell is just... literally the Worst Possible Outcome if it was indeed her final fate on the show. And for the details on why, because I’ve already typed 13k words on the subject and typing them again here feels kinda frustratingly pointless, I’m gonna point back to the very long post on AO3 again. :’D

Does Chuck have any power over what those books say? We just don’t know.

Had Rowena rewritten her own fate before performing that spell, and despite her belief in her actions in 15.03, had her own fate already been rewritten? We just don’t know.

Had Rowena actually earned her redemption, and like so many others who didn’t deserve it, did Chuck banish her soul to Hell as a punishment for flouting his plans? Did he just need her out of the way because like Billie, she meddles? Or gives the Winchesters too big an advantage in solving their problems? Again, we just don’t know.

But I’m still convinced that we haven’t seen the end of her story yet, and so I’m not really gonna speculate beyond this...

[indigoskves]

tfw when your goth gf says ‘yinz’ 

APP

𝒽𝓊𝓂𝒶𝓃 𝒶𝓅𝓅 ( lyrica okano. woman-aligned nonbinary, they/them or she/her, remember my name + mitski. ) well, would ya’ look at INDIGO WATANABE this year? i’ve heard they’re a full TWENTY SIX years young, and are a PARANORMAL INVESTIGATOR / PODCAST HOST at SELF EMPLOYED, and you can always find them sipping a COFFEE when they WANDER ABANDONED BUILDING LOOKING FOR GHOSTS. during the night, you can always find them going home to BROOKLYN by FOOT. (chris, 18, she/they, est)

STATS

name: indigo watanabe

age: twenty six

species: human

gender & pronouns: woman-aligned nonbinary, they/them or she/her

sexuality: lesbian

birthday: january 18th

profession: paranormal investigator

BIO

Raised close enough to Pittsburgh to call the accent your own but too far away from the city to claim it, you knew the role of being between from the time you were young. Raised by a mother who moved to a town where no one came and no one left only months before your birth, you knew the role of outsider from the time you were young. Raised as much by the whispering wind and the snakes on the forest floor as you were by your mother, you knew the role of the observer from the time you were young. 

It was always you and your mother, your father long gone by the time memories start to stick in your head. She worked more often than not and tried her best to balance work with being there for you. It stung, sometimes. (Too many birthdays were celebrated with only a cupcake and ten dollars slipped into a card. ) Still, still, you ignored the loneliness that sometimes rose within you. No, you dealt with an empty house with library books and ghost stories.

A house, large and sprawling, sat atop a hill at the edge of town. Even in a town full of hills and old houses, it stood out. Rumors after the house were whispered throughout the town. A family was murdered there, some claimed. The house was haunted by the spirit of murderer, others claimed. A thousand other rumors about the abandoned and decaying house were passed around in hushed whispers. A dare led you to the door of the house with a sleeping bag tucked under your arm. Ghosts were real, you decided that night as fear and excitement mixed within your chest. They were much more than the stories, and you wanted to prove that one day. 

Something, something of an insatiable desire to find out the truth about the house and to find proof of the ghosts that you were sure lived there, settled within you after that night. You poured over records about the house and newspapers clippings, trying to piece together any information you could find. When you knew your mom wouldn’t be home that night, you spent the night in the house, hoping to find some undeniably proof of the supernatural. You never found the truth about the house. You never stopped looking for it. History enticed you in a similar manner, and it quickly became your favorite subject. You learned about civilizations fallen and their myths and cultures. Non-fiction novels about ancient Greece and Rome and Egypt joined the piles of local history and  horror stories you checked out from the library en masse. It only left you more curious about the world around you.

Of course, your peers never thought much of you, other than that you were a bit odd and a bit too much of a nerd before they knew of your obsession with ghosts and your adamant belief in them. You grew used to there whispers and the looks they gave you. None of it ever got to you.

Eighteen and bright-eyed and curious and lovely, you left home. Of course, the University of Pittsburgh main campus was less than an hour away from the town you grew up in. Whatever excitement you felt over being away from home and faced with a new chance in life paled in comparison to the excitement that bubbled in the pit of your stomach at the idea of the library and the knowledge held within it. 

Before winter settled in that year, a passion was born as you poured over tales of possessions and ghastly sights. Indigo Investigations was born then, first a series of research videos about supposedly haunted locations posted to Youtube and an audio version posted as a podcast. Once winter break crept around, a small audience had been cultivated. An idea struck you, and you gave a former classmate twenty dollars to follow you as you explored the house you spent so much time investigating as a child. A pattern emerged, research made while you were at school and posted as a podcast, and more investigation type videos posted when you had the time and money to go to a location and hire a cameraman.  

A degree in anthropology in hand, you set off to the sites of great mysteries and spectres. Indigo Investigations didn’t have a large audience yet. As you grew more  It was then, while you built a name for yourself in the sphere of paranormal investigations, that you first got an inkling that there was something in New York City that wasn’t quite natural. 

It was the murder that finally brought you to the city, ready to unravel the mysteries presented.  You packed your bags and booked a plane ticket to New York, excitement and curiosity humming underneath your skin.

WANTED

supernatural creatures who are trying to keep her from figuring out, someone trying to keep her safe, someone who thinks she could help investigate, someone who thinks this is all hilarious, an assistant, someone who is helping her, ex girlfriends / former flings, fans of her podcast / channel, people who hate her, just about anything

[enigmaticgale]

tagged (sort of) by @cryptidpdf, here is!! a meme. 15 questions About Me

are you named after anyone? yes and no? my first and middle name from my birth name are both taken from People (a close friend of my mom’s and her favourite relative respectively) but I’m Trans so i don’t. use that name. i did not take the name yarrow from anyone! it’s just the plant. though i might change my middle name to youzen in which case yes i will be named after youzen. because i have gay disorder.

when was the last time you cried?   final fantasy fourteen online dark knight level 68 job quest. i don’t remember exactly how many days ago it was but it was relatively recent. made me bawl like a fuckin baby i hate you square enix *mains dark knight*

do you have any kids? l’enfant

do you use sarcasm a lot? not often. i tend to also only use it in situations where it’s obvious i’m using sarcasm also. tfw autisms

what’s the first thing you notice about people? UM......... hm. clothing i guess if it’s irl??? typing/speech patterns if online. if your blog theme is fucken legible

eye colour? mine? blue-gray

scary movie or happy ending? HAPPY ENDING!!!!!!!! i’m baby!!!!! i have hyperempathy and i’m easily scared!!!!!!!! you could not pay me to watch a horror movie!!!!!!!!!!! (well maybe you could depending on how much was being offered and also the movie)

any special talent? um. n. no 

where were you born? atlanta georgia usa

hobbies? playing ffxiv a realm reborn online. i also write and draw sometimes if my hell brain allows me

do you have any pets?

witness her

how tall are you? my height is actually the single greatest thing about my physical form that gives me dysphoria so i don’t give it out. instead i will tell you my favourite colour, which is blue. i also really like greens and teals 

favourite subject in school? lit or art, depending on the year and the teacher. i also liked graphic arts a bunch 

dream job? the answer for this is honestly still changing but like... i think i’d love to go into printing? like. bookmaking and such. not to sound like a capitalist shill but i think the paper ads you get in the mail that are like, uniquely cut or made, are really cool and i want to do stuff like that... not ads specifically but just. creative. 

i ddddon’t want to tag anyone in particular but if you want to do it too please consider yourself tagged from me!!

[themonopolyhat]

tfw you made a tiktok for your buddies and suddenly you’re co-directing a feature length film

i.

there's no room for anything like joy, when they find them.

obi-wan is strapped down and deathly silent, white light sputtering behind his eyes.  he's blinking, not quite gone but not quite himself. helix is braced with his hip against the table, one hand bruised and swollen and carefully tucked around the general's arm, the other clumsily adjusting a hanging IV bag.

hollow cheeks, hollow eyes.  they don't recognize that they are being rescued.

ii.

ghost colonizes the medbay as much as they're permitted.  a rotation is quickly established.  word spreads quickly among the men – they are to maintain a precise distance from the general's bed.  for privacy and for stitch's karking nerves.

helix won't move from the general's side.  he also won't talk, except to deliver flat, halting instructions to needle and stitch.  he tells them the patient has been subjected to experimental procedures and requires a full workup.  

the patient, he says.  not obi-wan. not even the general. his eyes never leave the patient's face.  his fingers tremble gently through the patient's hair, over and over and over.

open liver resection, he says. caudate lobe, check for bleeders.

exsanguination. twice – at least twice.  monitor for shock and peripheral collapse.

IV hydromorphone administered at a rate of –

sometimes he turns his head and retches up pink-tinged bile.  sometimes his dull eyes brim and overflow.  his medics gently blot his mouth, his raw cheeks and nose.  needle finally convinces helix to let them look at his swollen hand, to give him back some fluids intravenously, but he refuses any other treatment or care or kind touch.

he will not answer a single question about what was done to him.  he barely acknowledges anyone except the patient is present at all.

cody asks quietly, privately, about the pink bile.  stitch keeps his fists clenched and still against his thighs, blinking in fluttery too-fast fits.  it's the persistent vomiting, he explains, which has irritated the lining of helix's throat and esophagus.  the irritation might have been compounded by prolonged screaming – they can't tell –

iii.

obi-wan drifts in a twilight, emerging only sometimes to murmur nonsense like it's okay, it's worth it, you're worth it to me, and helix's tears drip down between them and he whispers, cracked and terrible: shh, shh, we said kark the sorries but i am sorry i'm sorry i'm so sorry

iv.

cody is marshal commandering on the bridge when his comm lights up with a priority alert from wooley: cmdr, the gnrl just disappeared – needle says he saw ltng

a battalion-wide message erupts from waxer: ALERT – eyes on the general?

a flurry of fast responses – negative at the mess, negative from the barracks, negative in the drill bays, negative on the observation decks –

cody is already excusing himself from the bridge when he receives another priority blast from ace, the 187th medic.  he reads it twice, cheeks prickling as the color drains from his face.  

helix is on watch – he's not to be alone, or given access to anything he could use to hurt himself – and the timing –

cody has seen the way helix and obi-wan are locked in each other's orbits.  he wasn't decanted yesterday.  he makes a guess, asks a question.

ace confirms that general kenobi is in his office, and so is helix.

general windu replies to the group message, tells cody and stitch to meet him, they'll go to the office together.

cody stands ghost down and runs.

v.

this is not what they meant when they told helix to lie down, please lie down, just for a little while –

vi.

at some point in the future cody will realize that his most immediate reaction was not horror, but relief.

with nothing but ace's message to go on, he was half convinced he was going to find a near-miss.  helix with his veins expertly pried open and frantically knitted back together, or a bruise at his temple shaped like a blaster muzzle –

instead, helix is intact and empty, crumpled across the general's legs and the cold floor.

(lie down, please lie down)

vii.

“little fucking gods,” ace swears under his breath, and stares wide-eyed at the door to his office.  it's bowed outward, struck with a tremendous blow just as general windu slammed it shut.

they wait.  there is no further sound from within.

needle pings stitch and demands an update.  stitch doesn't know what to say except that the general is in the lightning and helix has gone with him –

“is this normal,” ace hisses at cody.  he is not 212th – this kind of shit just does not land on his doorstep every day.

viii.

nobody held out much hope that their voices over the comms would do a karking thing, because the talking is only part of the equation.  it's the closeness, the togetherness, the safety and warmth that call their general back to himself.

general windu finally gives them the go-ahead to pry the door open.

when nothing else is bashed or broken, he allows troopers to begin slipping inside the office.  two and three at a time, until there is no more room and the others can only huddle in the corridor outside, pressing against each other, straining their ears, listening and hoping.

ix.

“are we sure it's safe, general?” cody murmurs to windu when he and stitch step inside, the first to enter.  he will stay even if it isn't, but he has men outside to consider.

(obi-wan had struck so hard before, so fast, and cody had seen nothing in those white-flickering eyes that came close to recognition –

there's nothing in his eyes now, either.  nothing at all.  just the emptiness they usually hold when he goes away from them like this.)

windu remains still, cross-legged, eyes closed, a pillar of tranquility.  “for you, i believe so,” he replies.  one corner of his mouth tugs upward inexplicably.  “we have... help.”

i have been dared by @shootingstarpilot to contribute to the helix whump “what-if” for his fantastic shoulder the sky series on ao3, so here we go.

pilot, you and i had the exact same idea on how to make helix’s life even worse than it already is – namely, we both envisioned him on iwanaga along with obi-wan during dooku’s science project / torture spree.  this brainshare is hilarious all by itself.

(i should probably CONTENT WARN for torture, misery, and major character death right now haha)

Keep reading

[fairyysoup]

the devil i know

♫ series playlist ♫ series tag

pairing(s): crossroads demon!eddie munson x fem!reader

summary: To summon a demon at a crossroads, simply cast a circle, make an offering, and recite an incantation. What happens from that point on is subject to your desire... and the demon's.

In which the reader makes a pact with Eddie, a crossroads demon, for power and protection. He takes it a little too seriously.

cw: explicit, smut, dubcon elements, monsterfucking!!, making a deal with a demon, inspired by american and european folklore, way more plot than you'd expect, sacrilegious themes, horror, witch!reader, reader is 21+ in modern day, eddie is immortal, coercion (a bit), sex pact, marking, possessive behavior, demonic possession, murder, there are MANY minor character deaths, animal death, trauma, depictions of physical and emotional abuse, graphic depictions of violence, bullying/harassment, reader is ostracized by her very religious hometown, dark comedy, tfw your accidental boyfriend is a demon who is obsessed with you bc he doesn't know how to be normal about anything ever, dead dove: do not eat

please check individual parts for content warnings before reading. this fic contains dark themes. your media consumption is your own responsibility.

ALL OF MY WORKS ARE 18+ MINORS DNI

CHAPTER ONE: GOD YOU'VE GOT THE BLACKEST EYES

CHAPTER TWO: LOOK HERE ALL YOU WANT

CHAPTER THREE: I SMOKE OUT YOUR DARKEST SIDE

CHAPTER FOUR: CAN'T TURN WATER INTO WINE NEVER ASKED YOU TO

CHAPTER FIVE: SO IS IT YOUR PLACE OR MINE

CHAPTER SIX: I DON'T NEED TO FEEL THE SUN, LET ME TOUCH YOUR SKIN

CHAPTER SEVEN: FILL MY MIND WITH DIRTINESS, I'LL INVADE YOUR DREAMS

CHAPTER EIGHT: BACK IN HELL AT LEAST IT'S COMFORTABLE

CHAPTER NINE: NEED YOUR BODY WHEN MY FIRE'S COLD

CHAPTER TEN: I'M GONNA STAY FAITHFUL TO THE DEVIL I KNOW

[elizabethrobertajones]

As a Cas-girl, I am so tired of all the Cas-related alarmism. Anyone who's worried about his place in the show needs a refresher course on what things were like late S6 early S7. We are so far from that atmosphere right now it's not even funny, no matter how many parallels there may be to that period in the story itself. Like, come on guys, give Dabb the credit he deserves here. So thank you for your reasonable words on the subject.

Thanks, although I wish you didn’t have to say that in the first place >.>

I guess people get jumpy online and ideas spread like wildfire. One of the anons mentioned the comments section although they didn’t say where, “comments section” to me immediately conjures the worst of humanity. :P I assume in fandom contexts that’s where people voice their wildest thoughts and fears unfiltered… Though I know some people in tumblr fandom were pretty worked up about Cas because of all the anons we got after he died, and all the fears that he would be AU Cas or all sorts of things about not getting Cas back. I think people are just tuned to dread and expect the worst…

But yeah it feels like Dabb is trying for positive development so hard. I mean case in point we’d never get a grief counsellor episode if there wasn’t the thought that maybe it’s time to start working through their feelings towards a better end. And of course being a horror show soaked in tragedy a good way to get them really addressing and confronting their feelings is to kill off those closest to them because being a horror show they can come up with ways to bring back Cas or make it only look like Mary is lost. Things which make drama or physically hurt or incapacitate the characters don’t actually convey the writers’ feelings about them. 

And I mean you can tell in season 6/7 the overall feeling was not pro-Cas just from the way it was written, and that the writers who did like Cas had to do what they could to send him off and memorialise him, whereas now we’ve been working on a Cas-rehabilitation from narrative neglect in season 10 (where he was only having a single off-season after 8 and 9 focused a lot on him and gave him powerful arcs) because he got more personal arcs and the “mention Cas in every episode” initiative began a shaky start. Season 12 was better than season 11, and ended up mirroring season 8′s structure for Cas/Destiel in some ways, which is considered one of the big Destiel seasons, and then in season 13 the writing has been absolutely lavishing Cas with attention and care. 

I mean I can’t really tell people how to react but I feel like I’m fairly chill about the actual show, and all my histrionics are entirely me being OTT for comedy purposes… which, tbh, with the wide tumblr audience it’s kind of worrying that I think people don’t actually get when I’m being ridiculous for attention because who are you without some sort of nonsense people associate you with, and I’ve chosen the concept of Nonsense Itself… :P 

I’ve had some enormous misunderstandings about things I’ve said about Cas from sensitive Cas fans who don’t understand that nothing I say is real and I’m basically emotionally blogging from a large claw-footed bubble bath with a glass of champagne in one hand and maybe some macaroons or something in the other… Obviously there are a whole bunch of candles around me… Anyway it’s weird getting vagueblogged at, recognising your post from the description, but seeing someone misinterpret your raucous joy as essentially betraying a massive Cas-hating conspiracy about how we’re squawking with delight about him being written out and killed off for good just to make Destiel canon - again, I don’t think this person actually TRUSTED the show to bring Cas back even though 99.99999999999% of hiatus we KNEW he was going to be back and fine and his normal self eventually. So my post probably looked like a tasteless vulture to them instead of utter glee knowing from the moment Cas exploded into white grace out of his eyes and mouth that we were getting this incredible development for him and Destiel in season 13.

So, idk. Every side of the fandom has its own weird hangups and feeling of injustice from the show. I try and save mine for being weary about them killing off characters like Charlie, Eileen, Kevin, Billie(!) etc and less about getting very protective of a favourite character. TFW each mean an ENORMOUS amount to me on a deep personal level, but as a meta blog I try to be as rational as I can while still harpy-screeching for comic effect about them, and actually pay attention to the writing. I can see a decided quality increase in recent years, especially in paying attention to that fans want good emotional arcs, less contrived or pointlessly dragged out bro drama and better communication, more Cas or at least Cas in a central role to prove he’s well and truly an indelible part of the story… Billie back… :P (KEVIN BACK!?! WHAAAAT). In NO way is the show perfect but I can give points for effort, and for utterly pandering to me when it comes to the TFW emotional arcs :P

And I have stopped watching the show out of boredom in early season 9 and been salvaged only by a strong start to season 11 where I had the show on very bitter thin ice after season 10. So I know what it’s like to not care or to feel the show is awful garbage, but because I knew I was hooked I gave it a CHANCE to get better, and it proved itself to me, and has been on an upward path ever since. I think that shaped my expectations and feelings about the show to make me this chill, that I went right through all those horrible feelings from the end of season 10, but decided to give it another go. But some people can’t extend that hand when they’re clinging to their favourite character or dynamic or whatever, and feeling the show is ruining the one thing they love. Sometimes bitterness and complaining is a way to process having to stop watching the show. Sometimes people cling on and become vengeful ghosts powered by fear or anger :P 

I think the Cas side of fandom has a lot of these in particular who are loud and feeling justifiably hurt, who lost all love for the other characters through various things they did to Cas, and now only care about Cas at all, which is a bad place to be in when you don’t want to humour the narrative or to give the show a chance to explain itself. And the people who aren’t angry are perpetually scared something like season 6/7 will happen again and no matter what people say they just don’t trust anything, so they cling on waiting for the horrible news. I don’t think reassuring messages to anons really help all that much but I still take the time to do it in case it helps anyone who is maybe not as lost as the anon but still upset enough it catches their thoughts at the right time :/

[punk-is-notdead]

Fic title: Vampires Suck (Literally!) by goodlivin2u and tfw_cas

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Tags: Castiel (Supernatural) Dean Winchester Sam Winchester Claire Novak 

Halloween Fluff Established Castiel/Dean Winchester Action Sam is a Sweetheart Case Fic

Summary: Dean Winchester does not do Halloween - after all why would he, what with the REAL monsters he has to deal with? But after discovering a Spirit store, Castiel really wants to celebrate it. Hopefully Dean will understand all the decorations...

However, when Claire runs into trouble at a Halloween party, the night does not go as anyone had planned.

AO3

Team Free Will had just finished a nasty case involving a vengeful spirit. For once, they didn’t have any pressing matters to attend to, so Dean, Sam, and Cas headed back to the bunker. There wasn’t a looming Apocalypse, The Darkness had been defeated, and most monsters went into hiding upon hearing of TFW’s free schedule.

The boys were getting used to domesticity. Sam had a stable wifi connection (but let’s be honest – when hadn’t he been able to use the internet?), Cas was learning the art of binge-watching Netflix, and Dean….well, Dean found out that he liked to cook. Their lives were as normal as they’d ever be, but they didn’t give up hunting for good. They sought out easy enough cases that would keep them in fighting shape, but wouldn’t leave them broken and unable to move for a few days.

It was on the way back into town when Sam noticed a Spirit Halloween store that popped up downtown.

“Must be that time of year,” he said. Cas looked to where Sam’s attention was, but didn’t know what to make of the store.

“What exactly is it –“ Cas was cut off as Dean almost instantaneously replied “It’s stupid, is what it is.” Both Sam and Cas were a bit surprised at Dean’s outburst, but then again, he had been through a lot with this last case.

Sam waited a moment before answering Cas.

“Cas, as you may know, Halloween is celebrated on October 31 st which is in a couple weeks. Over the years, it has become a holiday that glorifies monsters. Kids dress up in costumes and go to houses asking for candy. Though costumes used to be homemade and unique, technology can now mass-produce the same costume in different sizes for kids all over the world. The Spirit store sells these costumes, along with other Halloween decorations for your yard or home.”

“I don’t understand. Why would you –“ Once again, Dean cut in. “It’s a stupid holiday and we don’t celebrate it. End of story.”

Sam intentionally directed his next sentence to the angel in the backseat. “Cas, if you want, I can tell you more about it later. I have some books in my room that explore the origins of the holiday and how it’s evolved over time.”

“I’d like that very much, Sam. Thank you.”

After that, the remaining ride home was silent. Sam let Dean be, but he gave him a look that said ‘we’re going to talk about this later.’

As they were pulling up to the bunker Cas’s phone rang. “It’s Claire.” He climbed out of the car and moved a small distance away where he could talk to her without being disturbed by the brothers.

Sam instantly turned to Dean with a frown on his face. “Dude, what is your problem? It’s just a bit of fun. You need to lighten up.”

“Sam. We fight monsters every day. Why the hell would we want to celebrate them? Jeez, I can’t believe I even have to explain this crap.” Dean stomped away, leaving Sam feeling frustrated. This wasn’t the first time they had argued over Halloween, and it probably wouldn’t be the last.

Cas ended his call, and walked back over to Sam. “Claire is going to a Halloween party, and wanted to borrow some potion bottles for her costume… Is Dean okay?”

“He’s still pissed about the whole Halloween thing. Don’t worry about it Cas, he’ll get over it.”

Cas looked a little annoyed at hearing of Dean’s continued bad mood, and decided to stay out of his way for the moment. “I am just going to collect these things for Claire, but I would like to know more about the history of Halloween.”

Cas always felt awkward when Sam and Dean started fighting; despite feeling that he really should be on the side of the man he loved, sometimes Dean’s stubbornness was infuriating, and Sam was his friend too.

They went into the bunker, not seeing any sign of Dean, so Cas went to the supply closet to get the bottles for Claire. When he was done he went back to find Sam again.

Sam handed Cas a book, which he looked through with fascination. It was good to know what sort of party Claire would be attending, and also, he had come up with a plan.

A few hours later Cas drove to meet with Claire, to give her the bottles. The smile on her face when she saw him made him very happy - he still felt somewhat guilty for what had happened to Jimmy, and he found the fact that she didn’t hate him kind of miraculous. They hugged each other, and Cas kissed the top of her head affectionately, before handing her the bag.

“Hiya Castiel. Thanks.” Claire looked puzzled for a moment. “Your nerd of a boyfriend not with you? I thought he would be all ‘you behave yourself young lady’.” Claire’s impersonation of Dean was hilarious, and Cas couldn’t help but laugh out loud.

“No, I didn’t tell Dean about the party. He doesn’t ‘do’ Halloween.” Cas used air quotes for emphasis.

“No way. I thought he’d be into that hardcore.”

“I guess it’s a little too much like real life to him. It’s a shame though, I would like to celebrate it with him and Sam.”

“Well, you should just do it then. Dress up, get some decorations, and show him what he’s missing.”

“I was thinking about maybe… doing something like that. But Dean-”

“C’mon Castiel, are you a man or a mouse? Do it.” With these words Claire hugged Cas goodbye, then got back into her car and drove away.

Cas stood in the middle of the road and watched her disappear into the distance, with his head tilted in a way that made him look adorable, according to Dean.

When Cas got back to the bunker, he found Sam in the library organizing some archives. As Cas went down the hall, he saw that Dean’s door was open a crack. Cas didn’t want to pry, but he could easily see that Dean was propped up on his bed, watching a Netflix show with his headphones on, and already nursing a bottle of beer. Dean was the one who originally taught Cas the wonders of online entertainment, so Cas could now understand why Dean turned to it in times of relaxation. Cas smiled a little, knowing that this was Dean’s way of coping and things would be back to normal in no time.

A little while later, Sam dug his way out of the mass of books surrounding him and found Cas.

“Hey Cas, are you busy? I was wondering if you’d like to go for a drive?”

“Where are we going on this ‘drive?’”

“I was thinking we could go into town and you could see some Halloween decorations, since you seemed interested in that earlier.”

“Will Dean be joining us?”

“No, I thought you and I could just go. We never hang out by ourselves anyway.”

“Well, Dean and I do share a more profound bond.” At this, Sam gave Cas his Bitchface #259.

“Are you coming or not?”

“I thought we already established my curiosity in the subject. Honestly Sam, for a smart guy, you ask a lot of irrelevant questions.”

Sam tried to not appear annoyed, as this was just one of Cas’ quirks. He had never really ‘clicked’ with Cas, but nevertheless, Sam kept trying. As they made their way down the hall, Sam stuck his head in Dean’s doorway.

“Cas and I are going out. We’ll be back after dinner.” Dean grunted in acknowledgement, but didn’t look up from his computer. Sam closed the door gently and started to leave the bunker with Cas. Five seconds later, Dean called out “bring me some pie! Pie!”

“So…” Sam really wasn’t good at starting conversations with Cas unless there was a direct purpose. He used to be good at small talk, back when he was a normal kid in college with friends. But over the years, hunting made him more direct and concise.

“Could we go to that store we passed yesterday?” Sam breathed a sigh of relief, as this was a question he could easily answer and converse about.

“Spirit? Sure. We can go there.”

Cas smiled excitedly, and Sam could swear that he was almost bouncing up and down in his seat. At times like this Sam could kind of see why Dean thought Cas was adorable - he was like a cute little puppy.

The first thing Cas noticed when they went into the store was how much orange there was. He had never seen so much orange. Black was quite prominent too, but not quite as noticeable. There were pumpkins. Well... plastic pumpkin shaped lanterns and banners covered in pumpkins.

Other banners had witch shapes on them - although Cas had never met a witch that wore a pointy hat and flew on a broomstick - black cats, skeletons, bats, cauldrons, the word Halloween written in red, seemingly dripping in blood.

There were models of all sorts of horror-type figures, and costumes too. Cas was particularly interested in the vampire teeth and cloak, and werewolf costume.

This obsession with the macabre was truly mind-blowing to Cas; uninitiated to the tradition as he was, but he was utterly fascinated. He really wanted to purchase some of this stuff to decorate his room.

He turned to Sam with wide eyes that were practically sparkling with wonder. “Sam. Can I buy some things?”

“Yeah sure, Cas. Go for it.” Sam was still pretty ticked off with his brother, and he knew that letting Cas buy a shitload of Halloween goodies would be one way to get back at him. He waited as the angel went around the store picking up items until his arms were overflowing, then went over to the cashier. He hadn’t really registered exactly what Cas was buying, but it made him happy, so he gave Cas one of their many credit cards and went to the car.

Sam was driving back to the bunker when all of a sudden Cas exclaimed, “Pie! We forgot Dean’s pie!” They had just passed a Gas n’ Sip a mile back, so Sam swerved and made a U-turn. As Cas was inside buying food, Sam decided to fill Baby up with gas as a courtesy to Dean. It was a small favor that usually went unnoticed, but it helped the boys get along.

Just as Sam was finishing up, he heard yelling from inside. He grabbed his gun in case of an emergency, and rushed inside. He found Cas holding the cashier by his collar, demanding “What do you mean you don’t have pie. I need pie!” Sam thought now was a good time to intervene, so he slowly approached Cas and said “Cas, put the man down. We can get pie somewhere else.”

It was as if Cas hadn’t registered Sam’s presence prior to him speaking. Cas quickly realized where he was and how his behavior wasn’t necessary. He lowered the cashier and mumbled an apology before leaving.

They found a diner close to town, but Sam told Cas to stay inside the car this time. He bought a slice of apple pie for Dean, and two burgers for him and Cas. The rest of the ride was mostly silent, save for the music playing from Baby’s speakers.

When they got back, Cas decided to deliver Dean’s pie by himself. He found Dean in the same position as he left him. Cas put the pie on the dresser and had a hand on the doorknob ready to leave when Dean took off his headphones and said “Thanks, Cas.” To Cas, that was enough of an apology. He smiled at Dean and went to his own room, ready to see what he had bought earlier.

Cas pulled out a banner from a bag and hung it on one side of the room, securing it to the wall with a couple of thumbtacks. When he was done he stepped back to admire his work. Delighted with how good it looked, he began to remove more things from the bags, and started to create the look he wanted. More banners, fake blood, cobwebs, little rubber spiders, as well as skulls, a couple of plastic skeletons, a remote control operated coffin. By the time he had finished this was going to look “awesome” - to borrow one of Dean’s favorite words.

A few hours later - Cas had lost all sense of time because he was enjoying himself so much - he stopped to survey the scene. Oh . He had gotten so carried away, without thinking, he had decorated most of the bunker. The hallways, library, and war room were all festooned to some degree; Cas wondered if he could remove them before Dean awoke. Nope, too late. He could hear the older Winchester approaching, footsteps slowing, as he was obviously taking in the horror of what Cas had done.

“Cas? What the-?” Dean’s annoyed voice echoed through the hallways.

“Hello Dean.” Cas greeted as Dean rounded the corner with a frown firmly in place. “Happy Halloween...?”

“First of all it’s not Halloween yet, and B, what the hell? Why have you covered everything with… I don’t even know what most of this stuff is?” Dean gestured wildly about, arms flailing in confusion.

“Er, I wanted to make the bunker look festive.” Cas smiled brightly, hoping that he could use his charm on Dean. It didn’t seem to work this time, however, as Dean still wore a frown.

“Hmm. I don’t think festive is the right word, Cas.” Dean looked around him again, and sighed as he touched a spot of fake blood. “Y’know, this is gonna be a pain in the ass to clean off.”

“I know, but I promise I’ll do all the cleaning. If…” Cas trailed off, giving Dean an expectant look. He wasn’t sure if Dean was suggesting that it had to be done right now, or if he could leave it as it was.

“Yeah, you can leave it up. It looks kinda ridiculous, but I don’t wanna spoil all your fun. Just, don’t expect me to join in whatever you have planned.” Dean grimaced at Cas, as the angel pulled him into a heartfelt kiss. Later, Cas would show him just how grateful he was at being allowed to leave the decorations up.

When Sam appeared a few minutes later and found Dean and Cas sitting surrounded by what looked like the entire contents of the Spirit store, he was taken aback. Not least by the fact that Dean hadn’t demanded that it all be removed immediately. Well, whaddya know? His brother really had grown.

By the time Halloween arrived, Dean had mostly accepted the state the bunker was in. He complained when he got fake cobwebs on his clothes, and threatened to confiscate the remote control from Cas if he opened the lid of the coffin without warning one more time. He also refused to drink any of the concoction Cas had made, which he described as ‘witches’ brew’.

“It’s not really witches’ brew, Dean. It’s spiced punch. I found the recipe ‘online’.”

“Cas, you don’t need to do air quotes everytime you say online.” Dean made a grumpy face, which drew an adorable chuckle from Cas.

“I know.” With another laugh Cas went to find Sam, to see if he could persuade the younger Winchester to try some of the drink.

Dean’s phone rang; the screen lit up with the name Claire. “Hey.” Dean answered with fondness in his voice.

“Dean?” Claire sounded panicked, and Dean was immediately on alert. “There are some creepy guys at this party. Not normal level creepy; I could handle that on my own, but I don’t like the look of these dudes. I think they might actually be vampires.”

“What party? Where are you? We’ll come get you.” Dean was already searching for Sam and Cas while they talked.

“I… didn’t Cas tell you?”

“No. Where the hell are you, Claire?” Dean was getting more concerned by the second, so he would have to leave talking to Cas about neglecting to mention the party for the moment.

“It’s at 360 North Wolf Avenue in Oberlin. Could you hurry? Please Dean?”

Godammit. “We’re leaving now. Should be there in a couple of hours.” Dean ended the call, and quickly found his brother and boyfriend, sitting in the kitchen, talking.

“Sam, Cas, we need to go right now. Claire’s in danger.” The two men sat and processed this information for a few seconds, and Dean grew impatient. “C’mon. We have to go.”

They both jumped up then, and started to move towards the garage. Dean held Cas back, and fixed him with a glare.

“What the hell were you thinking letting Claire go to a Halloween party? Do you know what kind of douchebags go to those things?” So, it seems they were going to discuss it now.

Cas looked hurt, and Dean instantly felt bad. “I didn’t ‘let Claire go,’ Dean. She simply told me she was going. I only helped her with her costume.” He went to walk away, and Dean stopped him again.

“I’m sorry Cas, I’m not mad at you. I’m just worried, okay.”

Cas lifted his hand to stroke Dean’s cheek. “I know. I’m worried too. Let’s go and save the closest thing I have to a daughter.”

As they made their way to the Impala, Dean thought, not for the first time, how lucky he was to have Cas; to keep him grounded, and to stop him from going off half-cocked.

The car journey was tense - not least because Dean drove so fast that what should have taken around two hours actually took slightly less than one.

Sam got out of the car first, reeling a little. “Thanks for the white-knuckle ride, Dean. We wouldn’t have been much use to Claire if you killed us.”

Dean glared at his brother as he and Cas came to stand next to him. “I got us here, didn’t I?”

Sam thought it best to say no more about it, so the three of them made their way up to the front door quietly. Dean was the first to reach the door, and on pushing it, he found that it swung open easily. He motioned to the others to get behind him as he silently went inside, surveying the scene as he moved. There seemed to be very little happening, apart from a small group of teenagers standing in the middle of the living room looking scared.

“Hey!” They all jumped when Dean shouted at them. “What’s going on here? Have any of you seen Claire Novak? Blonde hair, about this tall… big attitude.”

A boy about the same age as Claire, with a fearful expression on his face, spoke up. “They took her… and the others, too. It-”

“What do you mean? Who took her?” Cas cut him off as his usually mild demeanour changed instantly to dangerous. Dean would never not find smite-y Cas hot as hell.

“The guys… with the vamp costumes. Man, I didn’t like the look of them. Grabbed her and a few others. Said they were going to have a party of their own.”  

“How long ago did this happen? Did you see which way they went?” Sam was trying to keep a cool head, but even Dean could see that he was worried.

Another teenage boy came forward and gestured towards the front door. “About ten minutes ago… they headed North.”

“Thanks.” Dean spoke to the kid, then turned back to Sam and Cas. “We need to catch up to them. Quick.”

“Already on it.” Sam left first, leading the way to the Impala.

Dean stopped suddenly in the doorway and spoke to the group of teenagers. “Lock the door behind me. And next time you have a party... be more careful.”

As they got in the car, Sam pulled up Google Maps.

“It looks like there’s an abandoned building up ahead on the left. Must be an old factory of some kind.”

“Alright. Now when we get there, I’m gonna go find Claire. Sam, you take Cas and slash any vamps you come across.”

“Shouldn’t I be with you, Dean?” Cas asked.

“Cas, you and I both know monsters prey on our emotions. It’s too risky for you to be there.”

“I understand. But Dean -”

“I know! She’ll be fine, Cas. I’ll make sure of it.” Dean slightly doubted the truth of his words, but nevertheless held eye contact with his angel. Oh, if anything happened to Claire…

As they got out of the Impala, Dean motioned for the other two to canvas the right side of the building. Dean slipped through the front, silently cursing the squeaky door. He hoped the vampires were too distracted to notice.

Dean came upon the scene of four teenagers in a circle on the ground, tied together with rope. He could only assume the vamps were smart enough to tie their wrists, too. Hopefully Claire had her switchblade on her. If he could keep them talking, it would give her time to escape.

Thankfully, the real fun hadn’t started yet. Dean counted maybe 7 vamps. Only three of them were surrounding the kids. The rest were hanging back, appearing bored. Strange, Dean thought.

“Can we kill them yet? I’m growing tired of this game.” One of the younger vamps pouted.

“NO! Once we have drained their blood, then we’ll kill them. In fact, I’ll let you kill them all yourself. How does that sound, princess?” Dean guessed this was the nest leader talking.

The younger vamp stood up and joined the crowd. She circled around the teenagers, trying to decide who would be her first victim. She stopped in front of a pre-pubescent boy who was shaking in terror.

“There’s no need to be afraid, honey. I can smell your fear. We just want to have fun. Don’t you?”

The boy went wide-eyed and mute.

“Pick on someone your own size, lady!” Claire snarled. The vamp’s head snapped up to meet Claire.

“Ooh, looks like she got a mouth on her. I’ll enjoy killing you. Nice and slowly, too. I’ll rip out your tongue and then your throat, making sure you eat your words. That way, when I finally do kill you, you won’t be able to scream.”

“Yeah? Well, I might be dead but you’ll still be ugly. No amount of makeup will fix that.” Claire smirked. Dean watched, temporarily proud. That was short-lived, however, because the vamp delivered a back-handed slap to Claire’s face, yelling, “You bitch!!”

Dean decided to step in. As much as he loved to watch a girl-fight (What? It was the best kind of premise for a porn video!), this was his daughter with real danger involved. Dean stole one of Cas’ lines and yelled “Hey, assbutt!” from across the room.

Suddenly, the vampires were no longer interested in the teenagers. Good, Dean thought. Maybe they’ll want me instead.

“How about we do a little exchange, huh? Let the kids go free, and you can have me. Wouldn’t it be great to deliver me to your Alpha? That’s all he’s ever wanted, anyway.”

The leader of the nest made his way over to Dean and shook his hand. “Well well well, if it isn’t the great Dean Winchester. Ladies and gentlemen, let’s give him a warm welcome. So Dean, what brings you to our neck of the woods?”

“Saving people, hunting things. You know, the family business?”

“Ah, yes. Well, we have our family, too, and our business is just as important. There’s not many of us left, seeing as you’ve killed them all. Letting us repopulate is only the right thing to do...wouldn’t you agree?”

“Afraid not. I can’t let you do that in good conscience.”

“Dean. I thought we could approach this civilly. I guess I was wrong. Wouldn’t be the first time, though,” the vamp sighed.

“Yeah, but it will be your last,” Dean muttered as he charged towards the vamp, knife ready.

Before the knife could connect with the vamp, it dodged smoothly out of the way, then delivered a blow to the side of Dean’s head, knocking him sideways. He crashed into the pillar beside him, but managed to stay upright, despite seeing stars. After taking a few breaths and steadying himself, Dean ran at the vamp again. This time the creature lunged first, and flung him across the room, making sure the hunter landed in a pile of discarded wooden pallets.

Dean was severely winded, and struggled to get back up, but when he lifted his head he could see Claire cutting through her ropes with the switchblade. He was so grateful in that moment that he had taught her how to conceal weapons. More distraction was needed to ensure her escape, so he pushed himself back to his feet and challenged the vamps yet again.

“That all you got? Daddy wouldn’t be very impressed.” Dean could see that his words had an effect as the entire nest began to circle him.

Shit.

The leader sneered and laughed cruelly. “Well well, Winchester, I don’t much like your odds. I do hope you fight back though - it’s always more fun when there’s a struggle.”

By now Claire had freed herself, and was releasing the other captives from their ropes. Once they were all free one of the other teenagers spotted a way out and pointed it out to Claire. They made their way towards it quietly, but one of the vamps spotted the movement, and in a flash appeared in front of them, blocking their escape. One of the teenage girls screamed, and as if this had opened the floodgates, all hell broke loose.

More of the creatures moved to stop the teenagers from getting away, but they fought back, pushing towards the door until they could get out. Claire held back, shouting “Run! Save yourself!” She could see Sam outside waiting by the Impala; engine running for a quick getaway.

Once she was satisfied that the teenagers were clear of the building, Claire turned her attention back to the scene in front of her; grabbing a saw that was lying on the ground. Wondering where Cas was and why he wasn’t helping, she sprinted back outside to Sam. She noticed the freed teenagers huddling in the back seat of the Impala, obviously overwhelmed by what they had just witnessed, and felt a wave of sympathy for them. Life was easier when you didn’t know about the existence of monsters.

“Claire? You’re okay.” Sam looked like he was about to give her a big moose hug.

“Yeah yeah, where’s Cas? Dean’s on his own in there.” Claire couldn’t help the annoyed tone - she didn’t want anything to happen to Dean.

“What? I thought he was with you.”

Claire had to stop herself from panicking at the thought that Cas might also be in danger - or hurt - and rushed back inside the building before Sam could stop her.

Meanwhile, the remaining vamps had started their assault on Dean, with a flurry of fists and kicks. He fell to his knees as he heard a sickening crack from his leg; pain shooting through his body. The vamp who was about to deal him the killer blow suddenly went flying to the side as Claire tackled him from behind. What the hell?

Dean was about to yell at Claire for not getting away when she had the chance, when he watched her lift the saw in her hand and smoothly remove the vamp’s head from its body. Impressive, he thought, as he hobbled to his feet. Claire had obviously spotted something on a balcony above them, as she had moved away again, and run up the staircase. Dean looked up and saw Cas, standing and doing something with his hands.

When Claire reached the angel she glared at him. “Castiel. Why are you just standing here? Why aren’t you helping your boyfriend?”

Cas glanced fleetingly at Claire, but didn’t answer - instead he stepped forward and spoke. “My name is Castiel Winchester. Prepare to die.” His voice projected around the walls, making the whole building shake, then he threw what was in his hand to the floor below him.

As soon as it landed on the ground, the remaining vampires were enveloped by a pall of smoke. They dropped to the ground one by one, as Dean stared up at him in awe.

“Jeez, Castiel. Dramatic much?” Claire shook her head at Cas. “You coulda just come down and helped out. Or told me you were okay. What was that anyway?”

“It was an anti-vamp device. It seems that the British Men of Letters were not entirely without their uses.” Cas ignored the huff from Claire, knowing she was relieved that he was unhurt.

They made their way back down to Dean, who was grinning from ear to ear. “Nice going Cas. You got the bad guys.” He yanked his boyfriend forward by the tie, and kissed him tenderly.

“Ugh. You’re gross. I’m gonna be sick.” Claire made gagging noises, while Dean and Cas tried not to laugh.

Cas healed Dean with his grace as they kissed, letting pulses of it into his body. Dean felt the warmth flow through him, and thought that it was probably lucky Claire was standing next to them, stopping this from becoming inappropriate.

Pulling back a little, then moving his mouth so that it was over Cas’s ear, Dean whispered to him. “Thanks Cas, for always saving me. For healing me. I’ll show you how thankful I am later.”

He felt a shiver go through Cas, and decided that Claire had had enough; it was definitely time to leave.

When they got outside, Sam heaved a visible sigh of relief. “Thank Chuck. Let’s drop these guys off, then get back to the bunker. You’re staying with us tonight, Claire.” This was not a question, and Claire didn’t have the energy to argue anyway.

“Yeah, okay. I’ll ring Jody.” Before Claire could get into the car, Dean pulled her into a hug.

“I’m so glad you’re okay, kid. You scared the crap outta me. We’re gonna have a talk… in the morning, though.”

Claire smiled and hugged back, and tried not to squeal when she felt Cas’s arms come around the two of them.

Dean dropped the kids off where the original party was located, making sure the house was safe again before leaving. He gave each of the kids a card with his name and number on it in case they ran into any monsters in the future.

Once he was back on the road with Sam, Cas, and Claire, exhaustion set in. These types of cases didn’t really hurt his head in the thinking way - there were no lack of bones to burn or shifters changing bodies. However, his head was hurting in the very real, human-punching-bag way from getting attacked by the vamps. Dean was getting old, and couldn’t recover as fast as he used to. Thankfully, he had Cas to heal his wounds now.

Speaking of him, where was that nerdy little angel? After they got back home, Cas all but said “I need to show you something” and ran down the hall. What could be that important after finishing a case?

A few minutes later, Cas emerged from their room donning a cape, fake fangs, and a headband with furry ears attached. Dean tried to look annoyed, but couldn’t help the small smile that appeared on his face.

“Cas, don’t you think we’ve had enough of vampires for today? Or like, the next century?”

“But Dean, I’m not a true vampire. I’m a werepire. Remember when you came up with that name? I thought you’d enjoy this.”

“I...I do, Cas. I do.” Dean wanted to say more, but upon seeing the light in Cas’ eyes, thought better of it. Let Cas have his fun, Dean thought. If Cas is happy, I’m happy.

“So...Cas, I gather you didn’t just decorate the bunker for nothing. How about we celebrate?”

Sam looked warily at Dean, and they had a silent conversation with their eyes. Apparently, the thought of enjoying Halloween was okay if Cas suggested it, but not Sam. Yet, Sam was okay with that. The angel got special privileges around here, but he damn well earned them - seeing as how Cas had saved Dean and Sam more times than they could count.

Sam went to go grab tumblers from the bunker’s kitchen. Cas poured them all some of his  ‘witches’ brew’ and waited to see what they thought. Dean took a long drink of it, face twisting in a grimace as he swallowed. Cas looked at him expectantly, as Sam and Claire carefully sipped at theirs.

“Oh man, Cas. That was rank. What did you put in it?” Dean laughed and sputtered as Cas’s face fell.

“I followed the recipe. All the ingredients were correct.”

Claire choked and ran out of the room, while Sam tried to be diplomatic. “It’s not very.... tasty.”

With a crestfallen expression on his face, Cas removed the fake plastic teeth he was wearing, then put the tumbler to his mouth and tasted the liquid concoction. The noise he made caused Dean to laugh even harder.

“Nasty, huh?”

“I have to admit that it isn’t as delicious as I had hoped for.”

Dean pulled the angel towards him, smiling. “No, it isn’t. But you are.” He closed the distance between them, and planted a kiss firmly on Cas’s lips.

“Excuse me.” Sam jumped up from his seat and made a dash for the door. Whether it was because of the drink or the very public display of affection, they neither knew nor cared.

It was quite spooky how quickly Sam disappeared, though.

[garden-ghoul]

two blogs, part 8

“feeling pleased with myself because I own multiple vegetables AND a jam right now”

Just like me, the hobbits are thinking of their next meal:

OF HERBS AND STEWED RABBIT

I’m jazzed because I think my boy Faramir is gonna be in this one. The Shigeo to Boromir’s Ritsu. Anyway, there is supposed to be food and water for the scavenging in the place where our heroes are going! They have to go through Ithilien to get to Cirith Ungol, which we all must agree has a much more pleasant and scavenge-able sound than blasted hell-plains of ultra-despair. So they set off on their way! It says "a single red light burned high up in the Towers of the Teeth,” which is kind of ominous considering I don’t remember those being mentioned, ever. Maybe it’s because I was practically asleep last chapter.

Our heroes find their hearts much lightened to see trees again, and they realize that they’ve come so far south that it’s already spring here. Mm I want to figure out what the actual latitude difference is between the Shire and Cirith Ungol. Hold on a sec. It’s a north-south distance of about 800 miles (nice going guys!!), which is about the same as Boston to Charleston, SC, or from London to Madrid. In ANY case, it’s spring in Ithilien, and “Ithilien, the garden of Gondor now desolate kept still a dishevelled dryad loveliness.” What a great phrase!  really good aesthetic. Tolkien goes in an amazing amount of detail about exactly which kinds of plants there are--one assumes this is Sam POV again, because Frodo probably knows the names of about 12 kinds of plants. Gollum breathes in the strong perfume of the flowers and chokes, which is another relateable Gollum feeling. 

We also observe that even in this beautiful land there are signs of the Enemy; apparently orcs just go around carving random shit on trees, which is kinda endearing. The text describes it as “evil runes,” but come on it’s probably mostly “Yalbakh is a wanker.” “7th company rulez.”

Sam had been giving earnest thought to food as they marched. Now that the despair of the impassable Gate was behind him, he did not feel so inclined as his master to take no thought for their livelihood beyond the end of their errand; and anyway it seemed wiser to him to save the waybread of the Elves for worse times ahead.

My logistics son. He asks Gollum very politely to catch something hobbits can eat; while Gollum is out hunting, Sam just stares at Frodo’s Beautiful Chiselled Sleeping Face and mutters “I love him.” Gaaaaayyyy. Then he starts thinking of how to cook the rabbits Gollum has brought back. Hobbits learn to cook before they learn to read! This delights me greatly. I want to live in a culture that prioritizes having everyone able to cook! Gollum comes back with water and realizes Sam is going to cook the rabbits. Horror of horrors!! This is one of the cute... ish.... Sam and Smeagol interactions, because there’s barely any threats of maiming at all! Just good old fashioned cultural misunderstandings. Sam tries to get Smeagol to find him some herbs or root vegetables, by which Smeagol is Bewildered. What the fuck is taters, precious?? He huffs himself away into the forest somewhere, indignant.

Sam and his master sat just within the fern-brake and ate their stew from the pans, sharing the old fork and spoon. They allowed themselves half a piece of the Elvish waybread each. It seemed a feast.

::3

A little later Sam realizes his fire is smoking, and that someone in the forest is sloppily imitating bird calls. He hurries to Frodo’s side, and they hear some people who sound like they’re discussing Gollum. You’d think Gollum would be the stealthiest, the least likely to be spotted, but I’m guessing the Gondorians (Gondorrim?) have seen him before.

‘Nay! Not Elves,' said the fourth, the tallest, and as it appeared the chief among them. 'Elves do not walk in Ithilien in these days. And Elves are wondrous fair to look upon, or so 'tis said.'

'Meaning we're not, I take you,' said Sam. 'Thank you kindly. And when you've finished discussing us, perhaps you'll say who you are, and why you can't let two tired travellers rest.'

At least we still have Sam to be passive-aggressive to gently bewildered humans who may or may not be about to kill him. But Captain Faramir has no choice to believe that they’re from his brother’s company when they share his own prophetic dream with him. Faramir goes, I guess, somewhere, leaving two men to guard the hobbits. The guards turn out to know some kind of elven language! How exciting! Frodo realizes they must be Dunedain. Awww haha and one of them is named Mablung. Faramir’s men are here to harass a company of Haradrim who apparently serve Sauron. It’s a good thing Faramir is captain, Mablung intimates; he leads a charmed life! Nothing unlucky can possibly happen to him! ...well, depending on whether you count his brother dying unlucky. But I guess Frodo and Sam don’t actually know Boromir is dead. Faramir... might, actually? Just now, Faramir is coming back in pursuit of some guy, and--yep--he’s shot him dead full of arrows.

It was Sam's first view of a battle of Men against Men, and he did not like it much. He was glad that he could not see the dead face. He wondered what the man's name was and where he came from; and if he was really evil of heart, or what lies or threats had led him on the long march from his home; and if he would not really rather have stayed there in peace.

::( Same. Nobody wonders whether orcs are really evil at heart, though. Wonder, damn you! The battle ends and Sam goes to sleep immediately. Okay.

THE WINDOW ON THE WEST

When Sam wakes up, everyone is sitting in a circle for story time, I mean, watching Faramir interrogate Frodo. Faramir is like, trying to trick Frodo into... admitting he killed Boromir? Maybe? Frodo is just shocked to find out that Boromir is dead, but Sam is having none of this rudeness.

'See here, Captain! ' He planted himself squarely in front of Faramir his hands on his hips, and a look on his face as if he was addressing a young hobbit who had offered him what he called ‘sauce' when questioned about visits to the orchard.

SAUCE. FARAMIR, YOUNG HOBBIT. No I’ll bet Sam is actually a good bit older than Faramir. Also Faramir’s men are kind of delighted to see him being told off by this 3-foot-tall super indignant guy. But Faramir tells Sam off right back and then goes right on, though he’s marginally more polite to Frodo. He tells about finding Boromir’s body in the funeral boat. Frodo fears that this means everyone else is dead too ::( ::( “Will you not put aside your doubt of me and let me go?” says Frodo. “I am weary, and full of grief, and afraid. But I have a deed to do, or to attempt, before I too am slain.” TFW honestly. Our heroes walk with Faramir to a safehouse nearby (actually ten miles away, a long distance for short legs!) and he makes an incredibly good guess at why it sounds like Frodo and Boromir weren’t BFFs. He totally understands that Frodo can’t say any more:

'Alas! it is a crooked fate that seals your lips who saw him last, and holds from me that which I long to know: what was in his heart and thought in his latest hours.’

I love that thing where... there is something someone Absolutely Cannot Say, and everyone knows they’re talking in code and they’re in trouble over that thing. It’s not that common? Right now I can only remember it happening in Full Metal “hostage situations everywhere” Alchemist. Anyway it’s my jam. Faramir talks wistfully about how warlike Boromir always was, and how Faramir just wants to see the White Tree bloom and to see Minas Tirith at peace. I am just CONSTANTLY thinking to myself “Faramir is going to die!” and then I remember he actually survives and is happy and I’m just, utterly astonished. This happens like 3 times a minute. It’s incredibly stupid.

They get to the safehouse, which is Very Beautiful. Faramir’s men prepare some food. “Sam, not used to being waited on, looked with some surprise at the tall man who bowed, holding a basin of water before him.” [begins chanting] Wait on Sam! Wait on Sam! After eating Faramir comes to question Frodo some more, but, like, friendly. Frodo wants to please him so he talks about how Valiant Boromir was. For some reason this is kind of heartbreaking to me. That feel when you are trying hard to remind yourself that you are not safe and never will be again, that you cannot trust anyone... Also when Faramir is talking there’s this sense that Gondor is slowly dying. Maybe that’s why I absolutely can’t believe Faramir survives this trilogy. Rohan is still young and strong though, so that’s good! Gondor’s history is just too long. It’s tired. The civilization is too old and is overdue to crumble. 

‘As the Rohirrim do, we now love war and valour as things good in themselves, both a sport and an end; and though we still hold that a warrior should have more skills and knowledge than only the craft of weapons and slaying, we esteem a warrior, nonetheless, above men of other crafts.’

Faramir does not love war, and he doesn’t want to be a warrior. He’s a good man and I like him. These harsh days make everyone wary and sharp. Sam accidentally gets going on the subject of Galadriel and reveals that Isildur’s Bane is the Ring, and Faramir gets a Weird Look on his face. “A chance for Faramir, Captain of Gondor, to show his quality! Ha!” But don’t worry, my dears, he’s only quoting some nasty thing his father said to him, I think. He doesn’t want to even see the Ring. He’s a stronger man than his brother. Go to sleep, my good friends, and have no fear he’ll try to take it from you. Frodo suddenly blurts out exactly what their errand is... and then faints. Faramir carries him gently to bed.

[gurguliare]

simaethae replied to your post “numenor replies”

sorry, this is a great discussion i'm just busy having a weird reaction to it because not wanting to die and not wanting to take "lol that's how it is we don't make the rules" as an answer are so very inherently sympathetic to me? and like, caught up with all that entitlement, yes, but :/

simaethae replied to your post “simaethae replied to your post:                    numenor replies   ...”

                   yes, totally - "have we not become mighty among the people of Arda" is right there from the beginning. i think honestly it's just super tempting for me to draw in all the general Problems with the valar and the treatment of numenor and also my own sympathy for "ok but having to die is bad" and like, infer a more sympathetic position than the text gives us.

YEAH, no, i really get that. i think i have what is in itself a pretty extracanonical headcanony read on the way entitlement and, um---the black fear underpinning every human life, tfw---interact here? like, to me it depends a bit on whether you think ar-pharazon (and all his supporters) wholeheartedly believe that aman will cure death. so this is me reading against the text, if anything: but the combination of the valar having previously warned them that aman doesn’t make anyone immortal + sauron’s overt shadiness + the independent, somewhat contradictory line of reasoning that melkor will set them free from death, because he’s the only power in the world---to me, all that doesn’t add up to a crusade powered by fanaticism, so much as people taking an excuse to grab what, in their heart of hearts, they still conceive of as worldly power. not, “how do i become as the gods,” but “the gods are like us, so i can subjugate them”---hence also thinking of it as an extension of their activities in middle earth. not that in that model there would be no religious element, it’s just more like, “fuck, if we’re going to make a major doctrinal break with the powerful aliens who also live on this planet, we’d better pre-empt reprisals”---if aman turns out to make them elves, so much the better, but if it doesn’t they can always keep burning people who disagree with them alive, and hope that works?

i think that... you know, in tolkien as everywhere the horror and rejection of death is very much two-sided: there’s one aspect of it that leads almost instantly to compassion, that involves anger on the behalf of everyone subjected to such an injustice and such an evil; and there’s another which translates equally easily into perfect solipsism, out of that good old bargaining-stage desperation. but the latter thing, the thing that flourishes in numenor at the end, is basically not---i don’t know. hmm. i mean, it’s unappealing. i’m trying to decide whether i think it’s 1) not a feasible shared cause, because you can’t share it meaningfully without it flipping back to compassion, which spells regime problems---but that’s not really true, conveniently limited ingroup compassion is certainly a thing---or 2) that it’s more like... wow, i’m going to ask for a raincheck on this because i’m going down some weird lines of thought. i do absolutely get the ... ... urge to defend and vindicate anyone who just like, SUPER doesn’t want to disappear into endless nothingness.