#mindofcolcrs
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@mindofcolcrs
The Nephil was quiet as he sat down beside Castiel in the library with two mugs of hot chocolate, one of which he nudged toward the Seraph.
"Um, Gabriel told me you like hot chocolate. And Bernadette told me you need human things when you're stressed. Chocolate makes me feel better."
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DEAN’S GAZE IS intensely pinned towards some particular square of space on the ceiling of the bunker. he’s on his second beer, and as he takes a swig, he is aware of castiel’s presence, but his eyes do not move. instead he speaks in a tone that is both wistful and business-like.
‘ how do you feel about mountains, cas? ’
@mindofcolcrs you thought i was kidding about that Plan(tm)?
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@mindofcolcrs from here
Castiel looks up from the sigil he has double and triple checked, and rescribed, for the fourth time, on the door to Sam’s bedroom. Gabriel’s bedroom door was the last victim of his overworked torment, and Dean’s room … Dean’s room, he can’t even go near without the urge to retch.
His hair is a mess, the haggard appearance of his features–bags under his eyes, stubble littering his jaw– is deepened. But from the core of him, the compulsion to aid stirs, and he throws himself to his feet.
“When? Just now? I’m sorry … I should have already been with you.”
Lured like a fish on the line, he sheds his coat and drapes it clumsily around her shoulders.
“I’m coming.”
“Hey, don’t be sorry-”
But he’s already wearing that anxious face as he wraps his coat around her. That fearful expression that manifested any time he thought he’d failed to be useful. God, it broke her heart.
“You were there for the real thing, Cas, you healed me. You saved my life. You’re not responsible for what my brain does with the memory, okay? Not one bit.”
Bernadette glanced over his frantic work on Sam’s bedroom door. Sam was probably lying awake himself, listening to Castiel’s efforts. She hoped Gabriel at least had found rest, he needed it too. She reached out and took the angel’s hand, tugging him down the hall.
“Come on, blue eyes. You look like hell.”
Although it would have been much faster to reach her room by passing Dean’s, she led them on the scenic route around it instead. Her own room was surprisingly neat, Bern had taken effort to dispose of the most useless of her scavenged relics. It was tedious work, but it was time.
“If you don’t want to sleep in the suit, you left your pajamas in here from last time. They’re clean.” She nodded toward her dresser, where a t-shirt and soft cotton pants were folded on top, as she hung his trench on the hook behind her door. The alarm clock on the nightstand flashed 4:13 am.
#mindofcolcrs#ic#blue eyes.#(everything gets corrupted.) | supernatural#cas u make my heart hurt#protect this birb
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@mindofcolcrs
The Seraph turns toward the being that reeks of pagan energies
so slowly, like a crow examining a mouse between its talons and
deciding which long slender strip of bloody flesh to peck at first.
Fortunately for them both, his motions are gradual enough for him
to rein in a keen flare of irritation.
Stiff logic clashes with wan playfulness; it’s largely because he
can guess at this Norse deity’s identity–one that his favorite
older brother borrowed for a time–that he remains patient.
For now.
“I think you’ll find, heathen god, that you’re making an enormous
assumption. I’m not trying to blend in. This guise has served
me well with humans, and one of my own kind would know
me whether or not I slouch.”
A pause.
“Are you eager to join those among the rigid, or can I help
you with something specific?”
The Trickster makes a show of being offended, though he clearly was neither deterred nor unamused.
“I begin a simple conversation, you threaten my life, and yet I’m the heathen? And no, nothing specific, I just happen to enjoy flirting with death. And how could I not, when it appears to me in so handsome a package?”
The Norse god towered over the smaller brunette with his beaten trench coat, though Loki held no illusion as to which being could destroy the other with a thought.
“Angel, right? Forgive me, I’m not versed on rank and such. To my knowledge, there are those few who could destroy this realm, and those with... decidedly less raw, destructive power. I’ve encountered the former, so I would guess you’re the latter.”
Razor-sharp features cut into a Cheshire grin, a pale hand reaching out to be shook.
“Loki. Heathen god of mischief and lies. And before you act like you’re too pure to mingle with the likes of me, may I remind you which of us is wearing a mortal’s body like a suit of armor?"
Irises the color of pale water met deep, ocean blue. Fitting, given their difference in age and power.
“Nothing is pure, not down here. In your home, perhaps, but on the ground? It’s messy. It’s raw. It’s rife with mistakes and regret. The harder you look for clear answers, the more you lose yourself trying to find them. The harder you cling to what you had hoped them to be, what your ancestors hoped them to be...”
A faint, bemused shake of the head.
“The more cynical you become. Until you hate them. Until you dismiss them as dull, backwater beings incapable of instruction and determined to rip themselves apart. To forget the very gods they once revered. But then, then you realize, they were never yours to begin with. They were meant to make their own decisions, their own mistakes. They were meant to learn from themselves, not your people. And in many ways, they are far better off. Because your people are not so pure as you were led to believe.”
A sideways glance at the pedestrians passing by, oblivious to the ancient entities beside them.
“They still believe in you. Pray to you... I honestly can’t remember what that feels like.”
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@mindofcolcrs
Lemuel flinches as he tries to push himself up from the bed. It's stiff, the sheets musty and coarse, having probably never been used, but it beats the old way he used to sleep.
Everything aches. From disuse. From abuse. He doesn't want to move. He feels stiffer than the bed he lays on. But his stomach is twisting inside him, acid churning, telling him he needs food. So, he tries to push himself up again.
Fire shoots along his wings and deep down into his shoulders. He grits his teeth against the pain, shakily bringing himself to his hands and knees. He glares at the bloody bandages wrapped tight around tops of his wings. Beneath them are holes. One hole in each joint where the meat hooks had been. He knows the wounds haven't healed yet. They won't heal if he doesn't get some food in him, some fuel for his weakened grace.
Hissing quick breaths through his teeth, Lemuel slowly gets off the bed. The floor is cold under his feet. It’s a nice distraction. The shakiness of his legs as he stumbles to the dresser, the chair, the door frame of his room? Not so much.
Too-long nails scratch at the wood beneath his hand. They dig into his palms as he forms a fist.
'I hate this,' he seethes, stomach roiling with both fury and hunger. 'I hate this. I hate this.' The words are a silent mantra as he continues down the hall, hand never once leaving the wall for fear of falling. The pain of his feathers dragging across the floor is nothing compared to what he's used to.
He just needs to get to the kitchen. He'll figure out his next move once he gets there.
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@mindofcolcrs
“ … oh.”
Castiel stares at his doppleganger with a mingling of subtle
awe and … not so subtle despair.
His rueful expression would give the infamous Eeyore a
contender in all things woeful. But curiosity wins over weariness,
and he cautiously steps toward … himself … extending a
hand. He rests it, with an unceremonious clumsiness, on
the other Seraph’s chest. He blinks, only once, and cocks
his head in that unsettlingly avian way.
“It would seem that the internal mechanisms of our vessels
are identical. Down to the molecules that comprise us.”
He sighs.
“Perhaps a temporal anomaly? What’s the last thing you remember
doing with … well …that is to say, what’s the latest Winchester
Crisis where you’re from?”
Confusion, and no small degree of fear darkened the angel’s face. Time was a complicated mess, and it was… unwise to meet yourself on any terms. His own head cocked in return, at almost the precise angle of his counterpart, as a broad hand settled against his chest.
He gleaned from that touch what the other learned from him. They were the same. And Grace was a fickle thing to replicate, not many could manage it. Let alone well enough to fool the being that owned it.
Blue eyes settled over his mirror, head tilting just so as he scrutinized his own features.
“… You’re older. I can tell.”
Not an accusation or a demonstration of superior knowledge. Just a fact. Castiel wondered how ‘young’ he seemed in return.
“The latest… crisis… was our brother deeming it fit to trap the Winchesters in an alternate ‘television’ dimension. He dropped me into a parallel universe, in which I spent a great deal of the duration running for my life.”
The Seraph’s jaw was set in anger. There was no need to relive the conversation that followed.
“And what of your latest… Winchester crisis? Tell me they did not accept Michael and Lucifer.”
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Listen
Fewer things brought swifter retribution than messing with Bernadette’s things, but that hadn’t stopped the Graceless Nephil from combing through her bunker stash of... well, relics stolen from the people she killed. Usually she took weapons, sometimes articles of clothing, though Sam and Dean finally managed to discourage that, seeing how earth wasn’t like purgatory and walking around in a dead man’s coat was a great way to get ID’d.
Jack wasn’t interested in guns, knives or broken jewelry. Wasn’t interested in the spare needles for the vials strapped to her gauntlets, wasn’t interested in an alarming number of angel blades, wasn’t interested in a faded picture of a little girl that looked like her with a different name scrawled across the back.
He found what he came for, what he’d overheard Bernadette and Gabriel discussing a while back. Vials upon vials of Grace. At least 30, if not more. All glowing in a box tucked in the back of her closet.
Jack yelped as a hand materialized in a plume of red smoke and clamped over his mouth while a dangerous voice whispered in his ear.
“What part of stay out of my space was too hard to understand.”
The Nephil scrambled away as deft hands reclaimed the box of stolen Grace. Pale blue eyes locked with brown and his jaw set with anger before holding out his hand.
“Give them to me. Castiel doesn’t need them, and Gabriel will recover on his own. You said it yourself, they’re just going to rot in here with the rest of your shit.”
Rarely did Jack swear, and it did nothing to defuse the situation.
“Don’t you fucking judge me, you have no IDEA what I’ve BEEN THROUGH. If I wanted even a hint of the real world, I had to SCAVENGE IT off a dead man’s BODY. I had to KILL to catch a glimpse of life on earth!”
“YOU’RE ON EARTH! YOU DON’T NEED A N Y - OF THIS. NOT ANYMORE.”
Jack turned and clasped both hands over the back of his head, eerily similar to Cas. It was like looking through a mirror sometimes, but he still wasn’t Cas, who would be immensely disappointed in both of them right now. Her especially.
“Look,” she breathed, putting the box back on the shelf, “you don’t need it. You’re still you, or did you not listen to a word Gabriel said?”
“I listened,” he muttered, swiping at his eyes, “but what if it doesn’t have to be like this. Castiel stole an angel’s Grace when he lost his, and he’s fine.”
“Is that...?” Bernadette tilted her head back with disbelief before steepled hands pressed against her chin. “Oh my sweet summer child. He’s fine because he managed to recover some of his own Grace. When all he had was Theo’s, it had a shelf life. It wasn’t his, and it was dying, and he was dying with it. That’s why I stole from all those angels. I thought... I thought the variety would buy him time. But you have to understand, he wouldn’t have needed that time if he hadn’t stolen Theo’s Grace. He would have just stayed human. He would have aged like Sam and Dean, but he wouldn’t have been on such a short clock. He gave up decades for a few months of being an angel again. I don’t know if he knew that would happen, but still.”
Jack looked horribly frightened and torn, and he pushed back more tears as they threatened to break free.
“But maybe you’re right, maybe with variety-”
“Jack, you’re so preoccupied with whether or not you could, you didn’t stop to think if you should.”
His face pinched in at that, yet another eerie echo of Cas.
“What does... Dr. Ian Malcolm’s issue with genetically engineered dinosaurs have to do with this?”
Bernadette’s eyes slid shut, and she raised both hands emphatically.
“I am, so proud of you for knowing that. But ignore the dinosaurs and think about what he said. Think what Gabe would say.”
Jack swallowed hard, but he was always eager to show he could listen.
“He said I’m still me. I’m... the son of Kelly Kline, and I have three dads and what happened to me isn’t my fault.”
“It’s not. You’re still you. But Jack, if you do this? You might end up living on borrowed time. You might feel like you don’t have enough Grace and want more.”
He rounded on her then, and made as if to grab her arm.
“You think I would hurt people like HE DID-!?” but she teleported out of reach, face tight as she pointed at his livid form with warning.
“Do NOT touch me. You’re looking for a fight and right now this is one you will not win. I’m not saying you’d want to hurt anyone, I just know Satan wasn’t happy unless he was eating Grace. Maybe it’s addicting, I don’t know. What I do know is I’ll never be able to look anyone in this bunker in the eye again if you do this and it goes south.”
“They wouldn’t hate you,” Jack muttered, looking down at his tied shoelaces, “Castiel loves you. I felt it. So does Gabriel. He hides on his bad days because he doesn’t want you to think he isn’t happy to see you when he can’t keep up. They’ve both been mad at each other, and Sam and Dean, and everyone still loves each other. They’d still love you. I wouldn’t hate you either, even if you don’t like me.”
Bernadette was pale and stricken, though that last statement returned some life to her face.
“I do like you, Jack. I just... I don’t know what I’m supposed to be to you. You picked Cas as your dad, hell you two even look similar. And he thinks of you as his kid, and I’m... fuck, I’m nobody’s mom. I can’t be your sister and date your dad-”
“Are you two finally dating-”
“Shut up, okay, I will destroy you.”
“Is that why you stayed in his room last night and he didn’t come out like he usually does-”
“Okay- OKAY yes, you’re extremely observant, again, shut up. My point is... I don’t know what I need to be to you. And I don’t know what Cas wants me to be to you, and I might as well ask him the meaning of life because that’d probably be just as easy for him to answer.”
Jack’s ice blue eyes narrowed in thought.
“What about... my aunt? Castiel is technically my uncle.”
The corner of Bernadette’s mouth dipped in approving contemplation at that.
“I suppose I could be a crazy aunt. I’ve been worse things. You don’t have to call me that, though.”
Jack smirked, weak as it was, for the first time since he’d entered that room. He chanced a step forward, eyes drifting back to the box.
“Still, it’s... it’s my body. And it’s my life. Why can’t I make this decision on my own?”
She sighed heavily, and scrubbed both hands down her exhausted face.
“Jack, you’re still a kid. You haven’t seen your first birthday. This could be a death sentence when you’ve barely lived. Even if you get your powers back, it won’t be the same. It won’t be like it never happened. If a lack of Grace was killing you, then absolutely, I’d have half of them shoved down your throat already, but we. Don’t. KNOW. Look, nobody here wants to see you hurting. Nobody. But losing you would be so much worse. I’m sorry, okay, I’m sorry, for how awful I was to you in the beginning. I’m sorry I blamed you for Castiel’s death because the guy I should have taken it out on was in another dimension. I’m not... I’m not gonna bury these vials, but I want you to think about it. Really think about it. Talk to Cas and Gabe, maybe they have a better idea of what might go down. I’m not an angel, I’m just-”
“Someone who swallowed a jar full of powers she didn’t fully understand.”
“Injected them, actually, but that’s fair. Okay, that’s fair. I thought I had to get stronger to protect Cas, and I’d be lying if I said the thought of being something more than human in and of itself wasn’t appealing. But there was a WIDE fucking margin of error in purgatory. Nothing stays dead in purgatory. If the ADAM and the plasmids killed me, I would have just woken up somewhere else.”
The Nephil looked back down at his shoes in defeat, and turned as if to leave. She materialized in his path with a cloud of red smoke and caught his gaze.
“Talk to your family. Think about this. Consider every angle. And if the answer is still yes, come find me.”
He swiped at his eyes again and nodded.
“Thank you.”
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ღ //from Cassie
He’d found her, again, off in the woods around the bunker. Something about having prayed to him too much in the past, all she had to do was think too loudly in his general direction and he knew where she was. Claire bitched about that once, too.
But he also knew not to appear silently out here. Always landed at least fifty yards off and stomped his way over. After almost taking a needle to the chest a few years back, he’d learned.
She wasn’t far off today, or very well hidden. Her being out here wasn’t the sign of a great day, but it didn’t point toward the worst either. Bernadette didn’t look up from sharpening a knife when Cas took a seat beside her on the fallen log, but her hands finally stilled as an arm wrapped around her shoulders and chapped lips pressed to her temple.
A sigh pushed through her nose as she tossed her tools away and leaned against him, eyes sliding shut.
“’M sorry. The bunker was too small today.”
She sought his free hand and laced it with hers.
“How are you. Really.”
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name : A
nickname : Las, Pamber, Amby, Mama Wolf, many others
age : 35
currently reading : The Muralist by B.A. Shapiro
favorite color : Red
favorite flower : Red roses, orchids
number of muses : Nine >>;
their urls : illusivexemissary, icyxmischief, paterxumbra, shepcrsisted, volvaxmor, isaucyles, mindofcolcrs, masterfulxrhythm, finalprcblem
favorite muse of yours : If I had to pick one , it’d be Gabriel, although I’ve put the most time and effort into Loki (seven years), so he ties.
number of followers : 924.
number of drafts atm : I recently got it down under 15 which is miraculous.
number of starters : All of my current drafts are old.
last movie you saw : A Wrinkle in Time
tagged by : @wienerofthemonth
tagging steal it, I’m too tired to tag lol dfkjlhg
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LITTLE CHARACTER THINGS.
just a fun little character game. fill in the below categories with 3-5 things that your character can be identified by. repost & tag away !
EMOTIONS / FEELINGS:
001. Loyalty
002. Frustration
003. Guilt
004. Self-loathing
005. Self-Indulgent
GREETINGS:
001. ‘Hey’
002. ‘What’s that?/ What are you doing?’
003. ‘Who are you and what do you want’
004. *gunshot*
COLORS:
001. Forest green
002. Dark brown of leather and earth
003. Gold sunlight shining through whiskey
004. Metallic black
005. Hot fire, red and orange
SCENTS:
001. Metal
002. Petroleum
003. Coffee
004. Ethanol
005. Leather
CLOTHING:
001. Dark leather jacket
002. Black t-shirt
003. Plaid shirt
004. Jeans (usually blue)
005. Brown boots that have seen better days
OBJECTS:
001. Various guns and weapons
002. Cassette tapes
003. Old and frayed photographs
004. 67’ Chevy Impala
005. Fake IDs
VICES / BAD HABITS:
001. 'Shoot first ask questions later’
002. Excessive drinking
003. Listening to music too loud
004. Outbursts of violence
005. Pushes people away and fights the monster alone because he thinks that it will keep them safe at the expense of himself
BODY LANGUAGE:
001. Clenched fists
002. Confident walk, puffed out chest
003. Dancing eyebrows
004. Tightens/ thins lips when annoyed
005. Squaring shoulders
AESTHETICS:
001. Long and winding roads
002. Run-down motels in the middle of nowhere
003. Stargazing from the hood of the car
004. The clinking of bottles, and ice in a glass
005. Dried blood under fingernails that can never be washed away
SONGS:
001. My Church- Maren Morris
002. Night Moves- Bob Seger
003. Brother- NEEDTOBREATHE
004. When the stars come out- Chris Stapleton
005. Whatever it takes- Imagine Dragons
tagged by: @mindofcolcrs
tagging: all yall
#ooc#aesthetic#//all five of those songs are on a playlist I'm slowly building up :D#//so uh#//sneak peek I guess#//I'm doing Saman's first tho
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@mindofcolcrs
She wanted to be in the room with them. She wanted to see for herself. But the electrical currents in the air belied two angels, not one. Gabriel was weak, but alive. And bound to her arms were larger versions of the very instrument he feared most, but she couldn’t bring herself to take them off. She needed them. If someone came for her family, she needed them.
Being in there would only make things worse.
The hunter was seated outside Gabriel’s door, legs drawn in, arms wrapped around her aching stomach. Her abdomen was screeching in pain from carving the hex bag out of her body, and a sudden white-hot jolt of pain married her anxiety, causing every light in the bunker to flicker and die. A hand absently pressed against the wall, sending currents of electricity throughout the building to restore the power.
Castiel must have decided to investigate the brief plunge into darkness, for Gabriel’s door opened and he was suddenly kneeling beside her. Bernadette couldn’t quite hear his words, or meet his gaze. But a cold, unsteady hand, mindful of the gauntlet, weakly sought a callused palm and held it.
He doesn’t even know you’re gone.
Her face pinched and her frame shook in a desperate fight for composure. Billie lied, she had to have lied. And what right did Bern have to be a mess right now? She wasn’t the one who spent years in hell. She wasn’t the one frightened of her own shadow. But that shame didn’t stop her hand from tightening over his.
“... I’m sorry...”
It felt like swallowing nails before she willed herself to speak again, though her voice hadn’t gained any strength.
“Gabe needs you. I’m okay.”
#mindofcolcrs#ic#Cas#(everything gets corrupted.) | supernatural#smol i said#i am a lying liar face and i am Sorry(tm)
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//I’m sorry I never lifted my hiatus and I probably won’t until this summer. We are moving house, dealing with my mom’s potentially fatal illness, and I am working two jobs this semester on top of which I am looking for employment where I am moving. And I am finding it difficult to center myself in the joy which is essential to the portrayal of this character. I’m sorry for failing everyone. It’s no secret that to the majority of my close mutuals this is the muse they value most. I wish I could deliver because I know it makes so many of you sad that I can’t.
Again you can still find me regularly at @masterfulxrhythm and semi-regularly at @icyxmischief
I also have a Diana Prince at @shepcrsisted but frankly I’m having the same trouble with her as I am with Gabe.
If more than the usual grand total of two people are interested in my Castiel muse over at @mindofcolcrs I can try to whip him up too.
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"Sister." Castiel greets Seraphina with the usual borderline-comical gravitas. "Blessed Solstice to you. I couldn't, uh. Find anything, from runes to the," he employs air quotes, " 'internets', about the appropriate rituals in observing this holiday. So. Have an excellent briefest-turning-of-your-planet." He, very awkwardly, hugs her. (mindofcolcrs)
winter solstice asks!
FOR ONCE IN her life, when seraphina hugs her brother-in-law back, it is actually a good hug. one that supports the back, and braces the frame. perhaps it is because it is the end of the night, and gabriel has lit the yule log, and the babies have crowned her in holly and eagerly placed evergreen sprigs all over the house for her to find in a delightful little scavenger hunt. and gabriel has also hung mistletoe in essentially every square inch of space he could find, including his front pocket, which means his wife is well-kissed, and thus made dizzy by affection. how shockingly and terribly simple it is to make seraphina’s ragged soul blossom. she just needs love.
‘ thank you, castiel. you really do not know how much your sentiment means to me. i have been alone for a very long, and i am grateful to even been considered part of your sacred sibling-hood. ’
#( V: I AM BOUNDED TO ENDURE. )#MINDOFCOLCRS#`` sldkfjsldkfj theyre so formal oh my go d#|| ⚘ THERE IS NONE WHO CAN HIDE FROM THE SKY. ( anonymous )#|| ⚘ SEND THY PRAYERS UPON A SPRIG OF EVERGREEN. ( ask )
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mamawxlf replied to your post: “continued from here with @mindofcolcrs He knows more or less...”:
Hea,totally misapprehended cas though that's not hard to do. Don't worry, he's too tired to lash out too.
i love that when loki’s tired he lets himself be angry & when cas is tired he lets himself not be angry
and by ‘i love that’ i of course mean ‘when will death come relieve me of this Torment’
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also, i owe... 3-4 people starters tomorrow. namely, i believe, @redeyesgreeneyes, @illusivexemissary / @mindofcolcrs, @watchingthedetective, and @omniacumprecio. i’m not hopping off yet, but i’m going to be taking off my splints for my fingers to have resting time for a bit and focus on a couple things.
those starters will get done asap tomorrow and then drafts, again, through the weekend. don’t have much next week, either! exciting! :D
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