ETYMOLOGY : ANCIENT.

₍ ₁ ₎       𝚃𝙷𝙸𝚂 𝙸𝚂 𝙿𝙸𝙻𝙶𝚁𝙸𝙼𝙰𝙶𝙴 𝙰𝙵𝚃𝙴𝚁 𝙰𝙻𝙻, 𝙱𝚄𝚃 𝙸𝙽 𝚁𝙴𝚅𝙴𝚁𝚂𝙴 / 𝚆𝙴 𝙵𝙸𝙽𝙳 𝙴𝚁𝙰𝚂𝚄𝚁𝙴 𝙰𝙽𝙳 𝙳𝙸𝚂𝙷𝙴𝙰𝚁𝚃𝙴𝙽𝙸𝙽𝙶 𝚃𝚁𝚄𝚃𝙷𝚂 𝙰𝚃 𝙴𝚅𝙴𝚁𝚈 𝚂𝚃𝙾𝙿 / 𝙴𝚅𝙸𝙳𝙴𝙽𝙲𝙴 𝙾𝙵 𝚆𝙷𝙾 𝙾𝚁 𝚆𝙷𝙰𝚃 𝙶𝙾𝙳 𝙰𝙱𝙰𝙽𝙳𝙾𝙽𝙴𝙳  —  private multimuse,   cw’s supernatural & mythos based,   as unreliably narrated by doll,    she / her,    18+ 

       𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘣𝘭𝘰𝘨𝘴,    𝘪 . 𝘪𝘪 .   —   𝘥𝘰𝘤𝘴.     —   𝘴𝘪𝘥𝘦𝘣𝘭𝘰𝘨.    —   𝘱𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘵.

₍ ₂ ₎        AN EXPLORATION IN THE THEMES OF:   death of the author.   celestial bureaucracy.   lovecraftian horrors.   grey morality and the corruption of power.   the vilification of women in religion.   theological discussions.   the house as a site of trauma.   the gothic and the sublime.   demonic possession & bodily autonomy.

his arrival barely spurs a gust of wind,    merely upsetting specks of dust and dirt as they’re carried away,    landing at her feet    ...    with a huff,    crowley makes a show of straightening the invisible creases staining meatsuit’s attire,   'fore he’s turning to face the hunter,    (    because,    well,    of course it has to be a hunter.    who else would call outside his business hours ?    )    amused if only out of a morbid intrigue.     ❝  there are more civilized ways to procure a visit nowadays,    love.  ❞    he deadpans,        ❝    you could’ve just rang.    ❞

                        the witching hour draws e’er near,       this little local diner has long cleared out,    all except for one patron.    he cuts such a striking figure towards the back of the establishment,    blazer crumpling in the confines of the booth.   indulging a party of one,    the menu strewn to one side though he’s yet to order anything.   curious gaze merely stalks the steps of the lone waitress,    even as she approaches,    even as they engage in conversation    ...

@festeared​​​​​ says :    i feel things so hard sometimes ... i don’t know why i’m telling you this.

❝    you need to speak with Death why exactly ?    did another of your merry men bite the dust ?   ❞    a gentle pause ,    manicured finger nudging his chest ,    ‘fore she huffs ,     ❝    no ,    no ,     never mind !    i don’t care .    in any case ,     i suppose i could give you the coordinates ,    but  .  .  .    ❞    toying with the end of a cue stick as entity leans against the edge of the pool table ,    she throws him a grin composed off too much teeth ,    and not enough mirth ,     thus framing a neat challenge ,    ❝    only if you’re up for quick game .    ❞

❝    the boss has been on my case about you .    ❞    ah ,    critical thinking ,    ever the dangerous thought for an angel to have ;     culmination creeps ever near ,    and it is to play out in its entirety as per michael’s demand ,    so simply put ,    there is no time for obstacles    /    the fated end of the world ,    [    𝙾𝚁 𝚂𝙾 𝚂𝙾𝙼𝙴 𝙷𝙰𝚅𝙴 𝚃𝙰𝙺𝙴𝙽 𝚃𝙾 𝙲𝙰𝙻𝙻𝙸𝙽𝙶 𝙸𝚃    /    𝙷𝙴 𝚂𝙴𝙴𝚂 𝙸𝚃 𝙰𝚂 𝙿𝙰𝙸𝙳 𝙻𝙴𝙰𝚅𝙴 𝙵𝙾𝚁 𝙷𝙸𝙼𝚂𝙴𝙻𝙵    ]    perhaps not the original plan ,    but why should heaven not take advantage ?    ❝    i assured him its plain ol’ curiosity on your part and not doubt about our orders   .  .  .    i should hope so ,    for your sake .    ❞

❝    hello ,    castiel .    ❞    notes of enochian slip from her lips ,    like lullaby ,    to lull ,    or rather lure ,    one in .    there is no pity nestled within her ,    nor condolence ,    for as there never has been before ,    there will be none now .    she is here to do her job ,    as he ought to do as well .    ❝    tell me about the winchesters .    how fare your darlings ?    ❞

𝙱𝙸𝚁𝙳𝚂 𝙰𝙻𝚆𝙰𝚈𝚂 𝙵𝙸𝙽𝙳 𝚃𝙷𝙴𝙸𝚁 𝚆𝙰𝚈 𝙱𝙰𝙲𝙺 𝙷𝙾𝙼𝙴 ,    𝚃𝙷𝙴𝚈 𝚂𝙰𝚈 ,       but the messenger of God had strayed too far down south ,     it seems ,    for she had never come to seek the sacred nest again .    this little motel where angel meets archangel ,    such a far cry from divinity ,    with its groaning floorboards ,    and peeling wallpapers the slip down to reveal ugly bare walls that have begun to rot at the edges .    outside ,    in the dark like death of the night ,    as the heavy rain crashes against the wet ground ,    a broken sign flashes neon to attract weary cars ,   perhaps like God had lit beacons for righteous pilgrims .    or ,    at least ,    that is the most biblical comparison naomi herself can draw ,    for there is nothing holy here and she does not understand .    she does not want to .     ❝    if every angel decided to leave their designated post on a whim ,    there wouldn’t be much of heaven left ,    don’t you think ?    ❞    the wooden chair she sits atop ,    straddling ,     creaks ,    as hands come to rest neatly atop the backrest .    she looks to gabriella in due reverence ,    for she has always held heaven’s hierarchy in regard ,    but still scoffs gently ,    ❝    i suppose i’ve just never liked the idea of running away from one’s problems .    ❞