oh ye knights errant

between the wish and the thing the world lies waiting

[errantsouls]

PERMANENT HIATUS !

hi hello! i’m rowan. he/they pronouns and i’m over 30 and this is my stress-free happy place to write, so welcome aboard ! 

this is a small dual-muse with muses from the CW's Supernatural. most muses are canon divergent to some degree. see portrayal notes on their carrd pages.

important: general blog-wide content warning for religious themes and interpretations of religious figures. all of these are fictional representations that fit within the lore provided in a television show and is not meant to reflect, criticize, or otherwise comment upon real world religion. it will be treated respectfully, but this is a fictional representation.

carrd’s still a work in progress, so feel free to ask for details on muses. for a quick and dirty muse roster:

balthazar - muse status: primary / default muse. lucifer - muse status: open.

all muses are open for interaction at this time. please specify muse when interacting !

a note for sideblogs: i’m crap at keeping track of sideblogs and such and remembering to follow them but if i’m following your main blog and you have rp sideblog(s), i’ll happily interact with any of your sideblogs. don’t take me not following them as disinterest, i probably just literally missed them or forgot to follow them when i saw them.

i’m slow. i work from home as a technical writer and i also have a kindergartener and a small zoo of pets, so my writing time varies wildly. please feel free to send a meme or two to get things started with me!

other blogs: @oathwilled

[errantsouls]

‘ you're talking like a teenager. ‘ from aubrey to lucifer @carnagebled

He's sullen, sulking, dour — only interrupted with sharp and dangerously pointed moments of clarity and intent. He's still wounded, a caged bird that has been needled far too often. ( She's not wrong, is she? Bitter, bitter. The apple you bite into is rotten, Dawnbringer: bitter and spoiled to the core. )

" Hello? " A twirl of fingers, a gesture towards himself with exaggerated flair: " Sort of the founding father of daddy issues? " Oh, there's a ripple of annoyance, and it ripples unsteady before resettling into a cool simmer; the Morningstar regards her with a curious indifference. " Please. Teenagers act like me. Let's get it straight. "

[qapsiel]

@errantsouls " Cas." Wan, tight-lipped, reflexively wary; a far cry from old. But so, too, have situations changed, and the last they saw of each other wasn't on pleasant terms. " However did you find me? "

                                 "BALTHAZAR." Castiel stops, hands loosely at his side. There's a lot he wants to tell his brother, but finding the right words is hard. "I have heard — rumors. I decided to see if they are true." His eyes flicker to the massive double door and the sigils that keep him out; him and every other angel who would want to pay Balthazar a visit. In a way, they're both loners from their own species. "May I come in?"

[errantsouls]

Oh, not only is he alive, but: oh, he is still whole. Those angels who suffered so during the Fall, wings scorched to cinders, crashing, falling, burning to Earth — he's still entire. Oh, he's cut off from Heaven, but hasn't he been since his rumored death, anyway?

" Ah. Yes, well. I do seem to be still alive, now don't I. " Still: he's wary, for however he leans ever casual, ever devil-may-care, ever so lackadaisical. There's a pain there, too — deep, digging, desperate, angry and bitter and hurt, parts of him wanting things to fall back the way they were and other parts of him afraid they never can.

" Which, Cassie, may I add: the last we saw of each other, you, " and long fingers twirl towards his chest, and his own blade manifests between his fingers, but it's not in threat; he palms it, arms folded loosely, shoulder inclined against doorway, casual as you please: " tried to kill me. So tell me, Cas: why should I? Why are you here? "

[mcflymemes]

PROMPTS FROM THE TRUMAN SHOW (1998) *  assorted dialogue, adjust as necessary.

it isn't always shakespeare, but it's genuine.

i'm not going to make it. you're going to have to go on without me.

you're crazy, you know that?

well, for me, there is no difference between a private life and a public life.

it's all true. it's all real. nothing here is fake.

i have love handles?

in case i don't see you! good afternoon, good evening, and goodnight!

what the hell is wrong with your job?

can't get any further away before you start coming back.

it's not that simple. it takes money. planning. can't just up and go.

i don't like the look of that weather. i think we should head back.

you're talking like a teenager.

we need adventure.

i thought we were going to try for a baby.

i might as well pick one of these up while i'm at it.

i almost hugged a perfect stranger in the salon last thursday.

you're just feeling bad because of what happened.

i've never blamed you. and i don't blame you now.

i made macaroni!

i've been such a klutz all day!

you're a better person than i am.

you know, [name], i'm not allowed to talk to you.

i can understand that. i'm a pretty dangerous character.

would you wanna, maybe, possibly... sometime go out for some pizza or something?

if we don't go now, it won't happen. do you understand?

we have so little time.

they don't want me talking to you.

i've never seen you before today.

if you don't tell me what's happening, i'll report you!

i think i'm mixed up in something.

you're going to get both of our asses fired, you know that?

just between you and me, i'm going away for a while.

i need to talk to you, but let's go outside.

can you pass along a message?

i'm sorry to keep you.

i guess i'm being spontaneous.

you're blaming me for the traffic?

i'm sorry. i don't know what got into me.

you want to destroy yourself? do it on your own.

why do you want to have a baby with me?

what the hell are you talking about?

you're having a nervous breakdown.

you're part of this, aren't you?

whatever the answer was, we were right together, and we were wrong together.

you're the closest thing i ever had to a brother.

i'd gladly walk in front of traffic for you.

the last thing i'd ever do is lie to you.

i never stopped believing.

let's get some champagne up here!

don't you ever feel guilty?

look at what you've done to him!

give me the phone.

was nothing real?

you never had a camera in my head.

i know you better than you know yourself.

[errantsouls]

so i think i might revamp this multi a lil and make it a dual-muse instead with luci & balthazar !

also hi hello is this thing still on

[errantsouls]

cleared inbox, cut muse roster down to these two, and dropped most drafts. HI I EXIST

[errantsouls]

so i think i might revamp this multi a lil and make it a dual-muse instead with luci & balthazar !

also hi hello is this thing still on

[loyaltymoved]

He swallows, blue eyes meeting blue as the angel gets closer and closer. There’s a chill that surrounds the Morningstar. One that the blonde has become quite familiar with. It’s a stark contrast to Michael’s fire. But even with Lucifer’s threats… he knew- he’d just be put back together.

He’d seen what had happened to Sam.

There’s that moment when it grips him. It wasn’t painful- not yet. But he knows. He knows the power held. And he knows he does not want to be on the receiving end. He is a toy here, a plaything, a pawn. He is nothing to Lucifer, and he knows this.

But he is something to Michael.

“You and I both know I’ll just be put back together…”

[errantsouls]

He’s not nothing, and that’s the terrifying part. Being nothing would be to be ignored. To be nothing would be to be —— nothing. He’s not nothing to Lucifer, and it’s because he’s something to Michael — and the Morningstar himself is unable to say whether it’s love, jealousy, pride, petty revenge, or something else entirely that has him like an angry child wanting to break his brother’s toys. 

Billions of years, and yet ——

His head tilts, and though he wears a human face —— oh, it’s an inhuman, sharp gesture. ❝ But how many times, ❞ he wonders, ❝ Can the mind be taken apart to atoms and feel every moment of its unmaking? How many times can that happen, and still stay sane? How —— ❞ And a little twirl of the fingers, ❝ many times can atoms, electrons, nerves, cells, organs —— how many times can they be broken apart and rebuilt and still say they are you? We could find out. ❞

That grin is dangerous. Utterly. It’s one that is straddling a line between sanity and madness, and for that long breath, he may just do it. And then —— just as abruptly, it —— fades. Goes away. Humanity seeps back into him, and he smiles — and it’s harmless, benign. ❝ True. Waste of effort. Besides. You keep him — distracted. ❞

[proinsiascassidy]

So much power.

[errantsouls]

LOOK. PUT OUR PASTS ASIDE AND JUST HELP ME, WOULD YOU? / BALTHAZAR ↳ you're the only one i can turn to ( accepting ) / @ruinedmyself

❝ Oh, yes, I’m sorry. It’s just so easy to move past the last time I stuck out my neck for you two buffoons, I was knifed in the back for my troubles. ❞ Not —— that it was the Winchester’s fault, exactly, and it’s not like he doesn’t carry his own guilt in all of that. His own stubborn faith and blindness as to what was truly going on led him down the wrong path until it was too late, to be certain. 

There is also the infuriating truth that he would actually be dead if not for them, in some — roundabout way. They had warned him. They had given him the truth, lifted the veil, of sorts. The only reason he’d sent a decoy to be knifed instead of himself, and, well. It’s all so very complicated, and somehow not at all. 

He sighs, and he grimaces like he bit into something sour. ❝ —— what are you needing help with? I am off the game board. Heaven. Hell. Damn them both. So if you’re wanting me for that, well. You’re talking to the wrong bloody angel. ❞

[errantsouls]

TROUBLE? YOU'RE NOT WHAT I'D CALL TROUBLE. / from alt michael to luci oh my god ↳ roman holiday ( accepting ) / @huntersmooned

There’s something sharply dangerous in this one, and he can sense it. Feel it. It hums in his blood, and even so? He can’t help but needling it. ❝ Oh, really. ❞ A tiny smile stretches, and those inhuman ice-blue eyes remain hard, hard, hard. ❝ I suspect we might define trouble differently. ❞ And he leans forward, but there’s — an edge. There’s no trust. ❝ You’re not my brother. You don’t know me. But, oh. I think I know you. ❞

[errantsouls]

@loyaltyhunted — cont.

It’s been a long, long time since the Archangel of Light has stood so openly. Not everything is healed — it won’t be, can’t be, is too broken and cracked to be fixed so quickly — but perhaps there have been steps in that direction taken. There’s something in him that has quieted, at least — something that hums quieter, softer. 

He steps to the edge of the roof, grit grinding underfoot. He regards the stretch ahead of him: the night sky, buildings, lights. An endless sprawl. He hates it in many ways, but he keeps those thoughts to himself — and the observation makes him laugh, short and sudden, like it was punched out of him.

❝ Oh, you have no idea, ❞ he says, wry. ❝ Dysfunctional, more like.❞ The word’s almost sing-song, soft and humming, and then there’s the impression of invisible wings stretching, stretching, stretching, as though freed for the first time. 

He exhales out a hard breath of air, relaxing and letting shoulders sag. ❝ But it’s the price we pay, ❞ he muses. ❝ Family. They drive you crazy. You love them. You hate them. ❞ And there's a pause, a slant of a look down, head tipped slightly to the side. ❝ You rather be alone? ❞

[heavenguided]

The blonde stayed perfectly quiet, barely breathing. She did not want him to dismiss her, to toss her aside like she was nothing. Like she did not understand to some extent. To underestimate like so, so many beings did. So, she gnawed on her lip as she listened. He knew her least out of everyone and she would leave a good impression even if it killed her.

"Yes, he is a terrible father, that is something we can agree on. He is selfish and he only created all of us to do his dirty work, I know. I learned that long ago, Lucifer, and I am sorry. I truly, truly am for what happened to you. I wish..." She paused and looked at him, really looked at him, "I wish I had had a chance to know you better before. Before any of this. When...when Michael said it was nearly a Utopia. How you all lived in peace and comfort."

"I am the archangel of Death, do not think for one more second I do not understand anger and destruction and desires to destroy and chaos and having to fight your instincts and how you can feel your sanity trickling away the longer you try to and how it bloody smolders. It burns so hot, Lucifer and there is nothing to cool it and the thirst to hurt...there is nothing to quench it. There is no serenity or tranquility for the likes of us and in the end we will be reduced to ashes, so we must do what we can with the time that we have. I have chosen to do good. I have chosen to do what is right by them, not a father that has the ego the size of multiple universes and plays us like puppets against each other. If I must flare out it will be my own doing. He doesn't have the right to control me anymore."

"Because there is too much hate and regret and guilt in the world...in your head. Forgiveness, love, understanding...that is what you need far more than anything else. There is no chance of healing if you do not accept neither of you were to blame for what happened. You were both pawns in something so much bigger than both of you. You both deserved better. And maybe I owe you nothing, but I still could have done more. Maybe if I had been braver, maybe if I had listened more, maybe if I had spent time with you more...I don't know. Maybe things could have been different."

[errantsouls]

❝ Oh, it was beautiful, then. We lived as we liked. Flew through the universe and spent thousands of years with the stars. Laid bare in the fields of a newly born planet. It was perfect. ❞ He simmers, goes quiet as she speaks, thoughts wildly percolating —— some brief flicker of his eyes closing at the acknowledgement, and the empathy, at the softness — before he asks, suddenly: ❝ Do you remember what I used to be? ❞ 

His head tilts, and he comes close. Intentionally: his wings unfurl, unfold, spread — those ashen, blackened things, six of them. Not shining and proud, but dim and shedding ash like dust, some of the oldest feathers still looking burned and singed. They are held low, curled slightly inward at their peaks as though they have long gotten used to the inward curve of a cage. ❝ Do you remember? ❞ 

How these wings used to be proud, huge, white with golden-veined feathers. He was vain, but oh, he had a right to be. The Morningstar was beauty, was gleaming and light and proud. The Lightbringer, the Star of Morning, the Angel of Light. Oh, how he gleamed, and now he’s reduced to —— this. ❝ Look at me. Look at me. I have already been reduced to ash. To nothing. Everything that was —— light, and good, and forgiving, and beautiful, has been burned out of me. All I am now —— ❞

The wings shiver, quiver, ripple; old ash and dust cascade, and it smells briefly sharply of sulfur. They fold back into place, first one and then the other. ❝ I spent eons in that cage thinking about how when I got free how I would hurt them. My father. My brother. How I would catch them, how I would pull them apart until they screamed, and when they begged I would end them. How I would make them feel every second of what they did to me ——— ❞ It sounds hard, it sounds angry, it spits bitterness and rage — but when he looks up, there’s tears rolling down his cheeks, his features otherwise emotionless, and his voice is a husk. ❝ But I don’t want to. I don’t think I can. ❞

[fxlegion]

[errantsouls]

She's not looking at him, at least not yet. She's fidgeting where she stands, clenching and unclenching her fists. She takes a few steps to see how it feels, adding pacing seems to be too much, so she stops again. "Lucifer?" As always her voice is quiet, calm, though there is a worried edge to it tonight. "Do you..." Azrael keeps her hands fisted and slowly looks up at her brother. "...Do you think I am a monster? Michael, he..." She pauses, her shoulders sag as she slouches more. "He tries to tell me I am not, but...he-" She creases her brows in concentration. "He is biased, blinded really, when it comes to me. Am...am I a terrible person? Will I...end up in Hell too?" @loyaltyguided

❝ Don’t you —— ❞ And it’s —— almost cautious to a degree, though it’s not out of fear or worry. This is deliberate. ❝ —— think that maybe I’m not the best to ask? I am the monster, Azzie. The big bag scary thing under the bed. The thing that hides in closets and drags the kiddies down into temptation. ❞ Oh, that last word is hissed, given with a flash of a brief and feral grin, and then he sobers just as fast. 

❝ Mm. Monsters. Heroes. Good guys, bad guys. It’s all so —— mortal of a concept, isn't it. ❞ He twirls his fingers and splays his palm; a singular crystal of ice blooms, blossoms, grows into a singular flower. ❝ What do mortals think when they hear our names? Michael. Beautiful. Clad in dresses. Ringlets to his shoulders. Me. The devil. Hideous, curling horns, pointed tail. You, death. The one that robs them of time, of love, of —— everything. If they saw any of us the way we are, truly, which ones of us would they call monster? ❞ 

He sighs. ❝ You reap souls. You are an angel of death. To them, death will always be monstrous. To me, well. ❞ He hands her the crystalline flower. It’s delicate, and will melt in minutes. ❝ When the day comes that I die, I only hope that it’s you that comes in the end. And in the meantime, ❞ his smile is hauntingly enigmatic, ❝ stop letting them define you. ❞

[loyaltyhunted-moved-deactivated]

He doesn’t want to let on how deep the words cut. How painful they are… there’s a flicker in his eyes, a doubt- though of what… well, that’s the question, isn’t it? Is he doubting his father? Or is he doubting the one who raised him?

He loved him from the moment he knew.. he has to take a second to try and take the anger that flares in his chest. Part of him wants to let it loose, let his rage consume him. He wants to scream, to yell.. to show how much pain he was in. But he can’t- he won’t… his anger is a weapon-

“Are you telling me you care about something more than yourself? Telling me you don’t care about your father?” Ethan’s breath shudders slightly as he counts in his head. 1, 2, 3, 4….

“He cares about me. If he didn’t, I would be dead.” His voice is cold- though there’s pain that winds it’s way into the undertones of his voice. Is he even talking to Lucifer anymore…?

Would he… would he kill Lilith? Would he take the life of his sisters, if Michael asked…? There’s an obvious pause at the question, ocean hues flashing a fiery red.

“You’re lying…” and yet there’s doubt laced in his words. Almost like- he knows there’s a shred of truth.

[errantsouls]

Frustration abruptly burns hot, hot, hot. ❝ I have always cared. I have always —— ❞ And the surge of emotion comes fierce, cold consuming him, and he can feel Nick fighting inside him, screaming, warring against the all-consuming flood of grace. His features contort, grimace, and he forcibly shoves it all back, locks him back away in that place in his mind. 

When he looks up again, tears swell hot and crawl down on features that are swiftly made neutral aside from the barely-there quiver at the corner of his eye, and his head tilts just scarcely, just barely —— a tumultuous tide of everything boiling under the skin, scarcely held.

❝ I loved my father. I loved my brother. I loved them, I would have laid down every part of who I was for them. I would have died for them. For every, every thing they asked me to do. We were happy. ❞ He leans in, close. ❝ But when our father commanded it, he branded me monster, struck me down, and threw me in that cage to be forgotten. ❞

There’s a quiver in his voice, and he doesn’t even bother to hide it, but he meets the flash of those red eyes with a simple regard. ❝ What would I gain from lying to you? You know what I’ve done. ❞ He doesn’t blink — his eye contact is utterly unerring. ❝ Ask him. Ask him about that day. Get him to show it to you. Watch him as he threw the one he claimed to love into a pit because our father said so. ❞

[errantsouls]

i don't know what it says about me that i love to write the assholes and villains and then humanize them until they give me emotions

[loyaltyhunted-moved-deactivated]

“It’s because I’m not meant to exist..” his voice cracks, just barely noticeable. But it still hurts. There’s this ache, this void inside of him that so desperately wants to prove them all wrong. To show that he’s not the monster, that he’s not the villain. He’s done so much to try to be a hero…

Yet all they see is an abomination.

And not just any abomination. No… he is that which is made of betrayal, and anger, and fear. Made of what heaven believes to be evil, blasphemous, untrustworthy. Even if nephilim were permitted to live… he would still be hunted. He is everything they fear..

He could be what brings heaven to its knees.

The hand on his shoulder catches him off guard. He’s not really the touchy feely sort… but this- this feels different. Almost right. Like it’s something he didn’t know he needed.. that he didn’t know was missing.

“What am I supposed to do? All I’ve ever wanted was to show that I’m a hero… that I’m capable of good…”

A pause…

“Dad… what the hell did I do to deserve this?”

[errantsouls]

Lucifer's views on family and fatherhood are ill-defined and tumultuous at best, and the decision to even create a nephilim was spontaneous, as much of his decisions often are. His impulsivity is a thing of legend.

But it doesn't mean he doesn't care. So many think of the devil as heartless, cold, emotionless, soulless. The reality is that he burns wildly with them, and that's always been part of what gets him in trouble. ( For his distaste of humanity, he probably shares more in common with them than most of his siblings. )

Dad. The word spins wildly in his head, rattles around with almost a panicked flood of emotion, but then it settles into something more warm. Proud. Accepting. And a pesky, wriggling guilt that he doesn't like one bit, either.

❝ To deserve it? Nothing. You bear the weight of my name. Your father's name. ❞ And his sins, but — no matter the shaky ground tentative truce that he and his brother have extended, he is yet too proud to name it thus. ❝ Just like all sons and daughters do. ❞ God's secondborn with the loftiest expectations, trusted with everything, fallen so far.

❝ But your power is not something to be feared. It is primal, it is ancient, it is beautiful. You can be anything you want. They are scared of you because you are free. You are not chained to my father's ideals. ❞ Like him, but this he doesn't say. ❝ They name you abomination because they can't control you. You can still be anything you want. Anything. ❞