𝕣𝕖𝕟𝕖𝕘𝕒𝕕𝕖 ;; castiel

castiel. by six. about.

[gracebidden]

hey before sinday ends, which is whenever i go to bed, send me dirty asks and hc questions please i am dying to write down some filth about this pure bird

[gracebidden]

lastofmars‌:

“Of course, I do know it can be a lot to take in.” He’s already motioning for the other to follow, walking on the ground despite temptation to float in short strides.

“Do not feel obligated to stay here if you do not wish to, just know that your privacy in said quarters is guaranteed should you require it.” Immediately he launches into a detailed explanation of the facilities, starting with their current location. It’s obvious he has done this sort of orientation before, for other new Leaguers just as lost as Castiel. “This is, of course, the main observation deck. Where the teleporters are located for entry from Earth. Most other members of the League will come and go from here, though we do also have an outer docking bay for any space-faring vehicles to land in. When we have larger meetings of Leaguers they will be held out here, usually for announcements or planning purposes.”

While he didn’t exactly admit it, it was probably obvious how right J’onn was from Castiel’s first step into the Tower. Landing in a space hangar had certainly been a new experience.

“I appreciate your hospitality,” he finally settled on, noting the routine way that he was guided about, the quick rasp of J’onn’s voice. There was a sort of reassurance in routine, the acknowledgment that he was being treated as any new member rather than being humoured or burdensome. “This is quite an area. I take it that you have a very large number of members.” What could this deck hold, a hundred people? Two? It would be challenging not to get lost in the shuffle. 

[gracebidden]

‘ for us, every day is halloween. ’

There was a reason he came to this place, but it escaped as he landed and laid eyes on this human again. The Winchesters had failed their promise, but surprised him in a dozen ways. He could see the way that Samuel flinched when Uriel rebuked him a final time, and something clicked into place that he hadn’t begun to imagine–

This boy was destined to be the vessel of Lucifer, was filthy in a thousand ways, but despite all of the things that Castiel had been told and every mistrust laid out before him, Samuel Winchester was trying to do good. 

So at the end of the day, while the Righteous Man considered the conversation they’d had at the children’s park and Uriel returned to their assigned station watching over the seals, he laid his feet on the worn carpet of a dirty motel room and spoke to Heaven’s rejected.

“For us, every day is Halloween.”

Layered with connotation and contexts that were bitterly unfamiliar, even as a longtime watcher of the earth, he took his time to unpick the threads of his meaning. Humans changed and grew so quickly, developing such a lush culture of understandings that he would never truly grasp.

Castiel’s lips, still alien to senses unused to the buzzing, clashing state of the physical dimension, twitched into a quick pinch, barely there before resigning themselves back into the determined set of his mouth. There was a great mourning in this human that started at his tongue and wound like a throttling ivy deep down into the depths of his soul, one that rang clear like a bell but deep as a gong. Something dug at it now, something he knew in a million ways that had nothing to do with human senses, that gorged on that sadness and sank its thorns in. (That is what the humans call addiction, he reminded himself, and that shadow is the taint of the profane.)

“I have told Dean Winchester that his days are long and his future unenviable,” he finally responded, turning his head to look out the window as if he might find a hint of what that would hold. Only one day after meeting Samuel Winchester and he had so many misgivings already. Wasn’t this what they said of the fallen Morningstar? Was this the reason so many angels fell for a lie? “I am beginning to find that the same is true for you, Samuel. I cannot say how much I wish that were not true.”

What a tragedy, that the world created by their Father might be so horrific. 

@prodigil > meme

[gracebidden]

‘ it’s just an interesting observation. in a, you know, observationally interesting way. ’

Somehow that didn’t sound right. But English was such a complex language, and human to boot…

“I suppose, yes.” 

Actually, Sam had a point. Every one of the victims’ homes had a dog bowl, and none of them a dog. Now that it was mentioned he turned his head to eye a framed photograph of a pretty brunette sitting with what appeared to be a Belgian malinois. His first thought went to that story the brothers told him of the dogmen infiltrating families and turning them, but the victims hadn’t exactly looked like canine victims.

Which raised the question of how Sam had so quickly picked up on an otherwise tiny detail. One of Castiel’s eyebrows arched as he looked across at Sam, measuring his features and considering. 

“Have you been looking at shelter websites again?”

@prodigil > meme

[xleafyheartx]

100 Random Character Development Questions

001. When is their birthday? 002. Do they do anything to celebrate their birthday? 003. Does your character like coffee better, or tea? 004. Do they prefer being alone or with others? 005. Are they in good health? 006. What sense do they most rely on? 007. Is your character an optimist or a pessimist? 008. What is their favorite fairy tale? 009. Do they believe in happy endings? 010. Do they believe in love at first sight? 011. How would your character court the person of their dreams? 012. What makes your character embarrassed? 013. Have they ever been bullied or teased? 014. Detail one secret shame your character feels. 015. Are they most likely to fight with their fists or their tongue? 016. What is their choice of weapon? 017. When does your character think that violence is justified or deserved? 018. Your character wakes up to find that war has been declared. What do they do? 019. If they could have a superpower, what would they choose? 020. What are their hobbies? 021. How do they display affection? 022. What is the most beautiful thing they’ve ever seen? 023. What do they consider beautiful in others physically? 024. What do they consider ugly in others physically? 025. What do they consider beautiful in others personality-wise? 026. What do they consider ugly in others personality-wise? 027. What is their idea of perfect happiness? 028. What makes them laugh out loud? 029. What sort of sense of humor does your character have? 030. Do they believe in the afterlife? 031. Are they superstitious about anything? 032. Does your character believe in ghosts? 033. Do they keep their promises? 034. What’s their view of lying? 035. What is the most important rule your character lives by? 036. How honorable is your character? 037. If your character saw someone drop a large sum of money and knew that they could probably take it without anyone noticing, what would they do? 038. What bad habits do they have? 039. What do they think is the worst thing that can be done to a person? 040. What is their obsession? 041. Are they comfortable with technology? 042. What is their greatest achievement? 043. What will they stand up for? 044. What disgusts them? 045. Does your character have any chronic medical conditions? 046. How do they handle getting sick? 047. What was the last medical problem your character had? 048. Do they have any allergies? 049. How does your character feel about growing old? 050. How does your character feel about their own mortality? 051. If they knew they would die tomorrow, what would they do today? 052. What is your character’s worst flaw? 053. What is your character’s greatest strength? 054. Does your character want power or authority of any kind? 055. Is your character an introvert or an extrovert? 056. Has your character ever struck someone in anger? 057. Has your character ever killed anyone? 058. What is your character’s idea of a perfect day? 059. List several phrases your character is fond of uttering. Where did they pick them up? 060. What is your character’s attitude toward education and learning? 061. Does your character prefer adventure or safety and security? 062. What sort of legacy does your character wish to leave behind? 063. How well does your character handle difficult people? 064. In what ways does your character annoy others? 065. Is your character better at leading or following? Which do they prefer? 066. Does your character prefer city life or being out in nature? 067. Does your character believe in fate or destiny? 068. How strong is your character’s sense of responsibility? What kinds of things trigger it? 069. What about your character is heroic? 070. What about your character is cowardly? 071. How kind is your character? 072. In a Dungeons & Dragons game, which class would your character be? (wizard, fighter, bard, priest, ranger, etc.) 073. In a novel, what plot role would your character fill? (hero, anti-hero, sidekick, villain, etc.) 074. What is your character’s favorite game? 075. Is your character ticklish? 076. How do they express anger? 077. How often do they cry? Over what? 078. How emotionally stable is your character? 079. How easy is it for them to read the emotions of others? 080. How easy is it for others to read your character’s emotions? 081. Is your character religious? 082. What are your character’s sleeping preferences? 083. What is the first thing they say and/or do when they wake up? 084. Describe your character in one word. 085. Describe your character in three words. 086. How would your character describe themself in one word? 087. How would your character describe themself in three words? 088. Is your character quiet or loud? 089. How vocally expressive is your character? 090. How bodily expressive is your character? 091. What type of music does your character like? 092. What emotion does your character evoke in others? 093. What is your character’s goal in life? 094. Name three things most would not expect your character to be able to know. 095. Name three things most would not expect your character to be able to do. 096. How do they move and carry themselves? What energy do they project? 097. How well do they adapt to change? 098. Does your character like animals? 099. Do they talk to inanimate objects? 100. Does your character dream? If so, what do they dream about?

[theotreptos]

I am not impressed by your airs, your titles, your possessions, your lineage, your vocabulary, your education; I am floored by ethics, purity, lucidity of soul, compassion, kindness, enthusiasm, wisdom, and brilliance in the midst of affliction.

[lastofmars]

@gracebidden liked for a spn au starter

He’s a little bit over-tired, maybe.. More than a little. A lot. Perhaps that’s why he’s slipping–on this case, or maybe just in general. He’s been in a rut for a while, and this should just be an easy case.. a werewolf, obviously–eating the hearts of it’s victims and leaving them staged for anyone to find. Like a serial killer, almost, and the thought of it gave J’onn chills. This wasn’t just for food, it was so obviously sport, and it weighed on J’onn’s mind.

So perhaps, he’s a little bit startled when he hears a flutter of feathers behind him, jolting a little more than he would normally at the sound. He steadies himself quickly, though, putting on that hidden smile he wears at the company, and hides the exhaustion from under his eyes. And then, he turns around.

“Castiel. I wasn’t expecting your company today.”

[gracebidden]

It’s always so nice to not be threatened with violence as soon as he lands. J’onn has gotten more used to Castiel’s entrances in a couple of months of off and on acquaintanceship than the Winchesters have in years of cooperation.

He tilts his head, noting the way that the hunter pauses before turning around, the weight that seems to lay on his shoulders, but exhaustion is a constant companion of any hunter. “The Winchesters are investigating something in the area, and when I recognised your car I thought it best to let you know. I take it you’re also here for the murders.” This could be fortuitous or calamitous--bad things always seem happen to hunters working around the Winchesters.

[lastofmars]

@gracebidden

So an Angel and a Martian walk into a space-station. It sounds exactly like one of Ted’s terrible jokes, and the thought makes J’onn tempted to roll his eyes. He doesn’t, for the other’s benefit, as he most certainly would not be in on the joke.

“It’s good for you to finally join us, Castiel. If you don’t mind–I could give you a more extensive tour of our facilities here. We already have some quarters arranged for you, as well, to use at your disposal.”

[gracebidden]

Quarters? He didn’t expect...quarters. Angels don’t sleep, after all. This is a form of hospitality, isn’t it? Right. They’re supposed to embrace human ideas to better relations. He isn’t sure if wasting a bed would achieve that, but J’onn would know better than he. 

“I...appreciate that.” These soundwaves are so limited. Vocal cords are so mindbendingly small and communicating solely with them has proven to be a frustration. He misses the plane of the logarithmic spiral and its intricacies. “It would be beneficial to learn of the Tower, I am afraid that it is very alien to me.” For lack of a better term. 

[gracebidden]

dc comics verse

(not to be confused with general superhero verse)

Cas is an angel from the Lion host of the Pax Dei. He isn’t the host leader but is close below them, head of a large garrison of angels whose main purpose is as the soldiers of heaven.

He has the background of most of the angels: he was created after the archangels and present for the war of heaven which Lucifer waged at the beginning of Creation. He spent much time close to earth, not in a physical form but as a cosmic sentry and watcher of humanity, always ready to lift a heavenly sword.

While a mighty soldier of heaven’s wrath and retribution, he has always been one of the more merciful of the Pax Dei—but that doesn’t mean he has ever hesitated to shed blood. What he does not know is that he has disobeyed orders several times and had his mind forcibly wiped each one. He hasn’t thought about why he can’t remember the plagues of Egypt or the massacre of Sodom and Gomorrah. It’s never come up, just as designed.

When Zauriel abandoned his post as a guardian angel and gave up his immortality for mortal flesh (JLA 1997 run) Castiel was intrigued. He never quite stopped watching as Zauriel assisted in saving the world, especially when heaven was betrayed by one of its own hosts and had to put down a rebellion from within in which Zauriel was key to victory. Quiet about his curiosity, Castiel waited further, only to be surprised by the imminent threat of Mageddon—and shocked and appalled at his brethren, who immediately began creating another universe to which to flee, prepared to abandon this Creation without a word.

Zauriel pled his case to Heaven only to be shot down, but dozens of angels stepped out of line to go with him to earth to hold off the world-endangering wars rising with Mageddon’s poisoning of the timeline. Castiel was among them. And when Heaven accepted all of these angels back into their ranks, Castiel made a decision. He didn’t go back.

Shoved into a tiny form vibrating at the right frequency for the human three-dimensional plane, it’s taking time for him to adapt to the ways of humanity and their dimension. He has approached the JLA as an ally, mostly J’onn J’onnz as a telepath who might better understand some of the things he’s struggling with in order to avoid misunderstandings. He has misgivings about just how much he can do and quietly wrestles with his faith and the loss of everything he knew in his convictions, but he’s relatively certain that heaven was gone astray and he is here to protect humanity as the angels were originally designed. Kind of.

(His main hangup is that the League so vehemently forbids execution or lethal force. What is a soldier of God if he cannot deal divine retribution? The issue remains one of confusion.)

[gracebidden]

prodigil‌:

THERE  WAS  NOTHING  MORE  HARROWING.  

a  thousand  to  one.  a  billion  to  one.  ten.  a  hundred.  hell–sam  would  take  the  crawling  claws  of  hell  and  it’s  rank  denizens  over  this,  meg’s  silky  black  fingers  brusquely  smothering  his  airways  over  this  doesn’t  have  to  be  a  bad  thing.  at  least  she  didn’t  pretend  when  she  wanted  to  crawl  into  his  flesh  and  live  in  his  bones  that  it  would  be  good,  that  it  would  feel  righteous.  the  likelihood  of  this..  whatever  this  was ..  it  was  immeasurable. 

he  can  still  feel  the  bridge  of  dean’s  throat  under  his  heel,  straining,  blue  to  purple  to  black,  the  hearty  snap  of  his  spinal  column.  his  hands,  heavy  and  itching,  feel  like  useless  weights  hanging  off  the  roots  of  his  wrists,  like  they  mean  to  get  away  from  him.  it  wouldn’t  surprise  him.  they  had  stopped  being  his  after  a  time.  any  inch  of  untouched  flesh  deserved  nothing  more  than  to  be  freed  of  the  sins  wrought  from  his  body.  to  be  purified  of  the  inherent  evil  etched  into  him  like  the  permanent  staining  of  a  tattoo,  only  it  reached  deeper  than  any  surface  of  the  skin.  

sam  hasn’t  eaten  in  years.  his  stomach  flares  with  a  vicious  pain,  vertigo  tingling  at  his  skull  and  rising  across  the  back  of  his  neck.  he  follows  the  trodden  path,  the  white  of  the  suit  he’d  been  puppeteered  into  blurring  at  the  bottom  of  his  vision  like  some  heavenly  light.  

sickening.  he  almost  vomits  right  there.  his  intestines  clench  ineffectually,  muscles  twining  with  an  ache  both  famished  and  repulsed.

someone  was  dragging  something  of  size  through  this  path.  out  of  commission  as  he  was,  a  hunters  instincts  never  really  leave—the  physical  disturbances  are  enough.  like  something  newly  born,  sam  follows  blind,  sinking  his  arms  over  his  abdomen.  the  thought  of  a  threat  hardly  passes  his  mind.  

after  all.  wouldn’t  it  be  a  mercy  to  die  now?  

dean’s  body  is  slack  and  pale,  colorless.  sam  hardly  recognizes  him  through  his  bleary  peripherals,  and  thinks  if  he  maintains  focus,  it  will  suck  any  remaining  flame  of  life  from  his  body.  

he  looks  away,  screwing  his  eyes  shut.  castiel’s  voice  draws  him  back.  you.  lucifer.  

castiel.  

cas—

he  was  alive?  

he  opens  his  eyes,  and  dares  to  look.  he  was  mottled,  and..  tired.  but..  distinguishably  castiel.  sam’s  voice  comes  out  hoarse  when  he  uses  it.  he  palms  at  the  side  of  his  skull,  his  hair  loosening  and  matting  at  his  temple.

‘  ... cas?  ‘

Oh, God above.

It can’t be a trick. There's no point to it, nothing to gain but a few moments of cruel pleasure (so of course it can be a trick, what else would Lucifer do in the wake of another horrible victory?)

In a snap moment he decides that he doesn’t care. If Lucifer is pretending to be Sam again, well, he can have Castiel’s neck. There isn’t much left to breathe for anyway.

“Samuel.”

Something breaks the word in half, cracking his voice between syllables, emotion or fatigue he doesn’t know. Is he even feeling emotion? He is...tired. The world is dirty and he feels heavy and the air spins and twists around him like so many entangling vines seeking to turn his direction inside out until he loses all sense of space. (That’s the amphetamines, remember?)

He almost loses his grip on the body he’s lugging over his shoulder; it tumbles, and he barely manages to lower it to the ground rather than let it hit the dirt like the dead sack of flesh that it is. Don’t think of it, he can’t think of Dean as any other of the thousands of bodies. 

Instead he focuses his sight on Sam, loses the bleariness in his peripherals. He’s gone too long on the drugs again, is going to crash, maybe he’s hallucinating, maybe he’s imagining Sam Winchester standing there looking every bit the mess of an archangel’s vessel. Maybe Sam is still Lucifer’s body. Maybe...

A rock clatters under his toe, making him aware for the first time that he’s walking, almost falling against Sam, arms raised and hands shaking with so many things but especially the drugs and the awe and the fear that spikes down his spine like ice, Sam, Sam, Sam, please be Sam--

He lays his palms on those familiar cheeks, eyes wide and a little too glazed. “Samuel, how could you be...?”

[spnwhenever]

[spnwhenever]

[sleepeatspn-deactivated20250109]

#angel with a shotgun

[thelordsoftherings]

4.07 // It’s the Great Pumpkin, Sam Winchester

[mooseleys]

for you sastiel shippers <3

[prokopetz]

Honestly, if you see an angel that’s all eyes and wings and wheels of fire, you should be worried. Like, not because it’s going to hurt you or anything, but because scripturally, angels invariably appear to ordinary people in human form. In general, they only show their inhuman true forms to prophets – which means if you’re seeing them like that, they come bearing responsibility.

[domina-honoribila]

I woke up today with the phrase “spooky scary seraphim” in my head today, looks like we’re on the same wavelength.

[gracebidden]

@prodigil

Dean thought that he didn’t realise the plan hidden beneath their orders.

He always did underestimate Castiel, divine or profane. Why he thought that a being that had watched humanity from its conception wouldn’t see through the bravado with which he shielded his desperation, the snarl of a leader’s final pep talk he’d seen again and again army to army, Castiel wasn’t sure. Maybe he just needed to believe it himself.

Either way, he was entirely willing to do what Dean had intended, unspoken or not. For this he could die. For Dean. For the last hope they had, what little that it was, consumed in the yawning maw of the Beast and all that he would devour. It wasn’t really hope anymore, of course, more the drive of the knowledge that if they stopped fighting it they would succumb to it and they would rather die bloody than asleep. 

So why didn’t he fucking die?

Why was he sitting here covered in the blood of everyone else who had gone into that fucking warehouse like Dean had directed, all knowing full well they were entering their slaughterhouse, on his knees with a gun with an empty clip, staring down at a twisted hunk of dead flesh he could barely recognise as the only goddamned thing he’d been living for? 

How dare he die while Castiel was alive? After all that Castiel had given for him. All that he had lost. He dug his fingers into the dirt till the beds of his nails bled and he wailed and hissed and cursed until the tears ran dry because there was no other body in the garden to join them. Lucifer was walking, and that was the end. But it wasn’t his death, and wasn’t that the real joke.

(They’d left a couple of people at camp. Right. He wasn’t alone, not entirely, not yet. Not yet. Not unless Lucifer had gone to wipe them out as a reply to this failed attempt. Not unless...)

So he wiped his face on his grimy jacket, eyes red-rimmed, and left his gun where it was. He could carry Dean to the vehicle they’d brought if he put his back into it. He’d have to be burned. Of all the bodies left today, it was Dean’s he didn’t want to see returned. 

Shuffle.

Castiel whirled around so quickly he overbalanced, nearly losing his footing, and he didn’t really care enough to correct. If a Croat grabbed him now, it was welcome to him. He caught a glimpse of a white coat and gasped aloud, tipping till his knee went out and he crashed down onto it, yowling a curse as he drew back and stared with the wide, suspicious eyes of a wounded cat. A thorn dragged across the back of his neck, but that wasn’t what made him shudder.

“You.”

There was no point protecting a corpse, but still he stepped forward between the figure that had crept towards them and the crumpled form of Dean Winchester. Sweat and dirt scratched under his collar, skin prickled with a fear he was ashamed to feel rocketing into his bones. “Lucifer.” All white, bright Morningstar, he was relieved for once to have lost his grace, to be blind to the way that Lucifer shone starkly across the world like a thousand burning suns and bled his mutilated sanctity into the oceans.

Something was wrong. He was too pale, was...shaking, eyes heavy-lidded, breath loud. It might have been a trick. 

“Or...”

Sam?