paterelohim: (Default)
Chuck Shurley | God ([personal profile] paterelohim) wrote2011-01-01 04:10 pm

app for [ profile] silentjersey

Username/Nickname: Amy
AIM/IM/EMAIL: AIM: socksaresocky, EMAIL:

Character Name: Chuck Shurley, also not known as but still nonetheless God, Yahweh, Allah, I-Am, Alpha, Omega, Creator, the Father, the Man Upstairs, your Godliness, Big Guy, the Head Honcho, El Jefe.
Series/Movie: Supernatural
Age: Ahahaha. Older than the universe, claims to be thirty five.
Duplicate: N/A
AU: Does it count if it’s a canon AU? Chuck’s from the alternate future presented in the episode “The End,” where Sam said yes and the world plunged into an apocalyptic darkness.

Timeline: Seven months after the events of "The End"- ie, when Cas, Dean, and some others from the camp went on a raid and never came back.

Personality: Chuck is a bit of a nervous guy- it comes from having spontaneous prophetic headaches and a life as filled with nonsense as his is. An insane fan base, characters who routinely knock angrily on his door demanding spoilers, and a vastly inadequate supply of beer and clean underwear plague his life like so many white-trash locusts. When confronted with these and other such insurmountable obstacles as dropping his toothbrush or answering the door twice in one hour, Chuck's usual response is to blink a few times and stare in frustration. But please don't be fooled by his veneer of flailing incompetence; he's actually very smart in certain ways, and that intellect shines through in his rare moments of mental clarity between drunk spells or crippling frustration with the stupidity around him. When he isn't watching Maury or abusing his brain with whiskey, Chuck has a perverse, witty, often self-deprecating sense of humor. He knows when he's messed up and isn't afraid to call himself on it- to a point.

Not to say that he's a complete genius. Some would call him a creative genius, surely, but Chuck at times has a startling lack of common sense and a tendency to jump to conclusions. The pizza guy's late? Oh god, he probably ran his truck off the road. Jesus Christ, there’s no toilet paper- the camp is gonna dissolve into infighting and civil war within hours, and we’ll all be dead by nightfall. He won't worry too much about those terrible doomsday conclusions, of course, just call up Domino's instead of Pizza Hut; what's certain death (or certain inconvenience) when there's laziness to be had? Anything you or I could do, Chuck can do slower, later, and in his boxers.

There’s some evidence, of course, of the toll that the Apocalypse has taken on him.

Okay, a lot of evidence.

He’s a little bit harder, a little bit tougher, and a lot more capable- but in many ways is way the hell more of a hot mess than he used to be. The world is freaking ending, guys, what the hell! And yeah, he had to get his shit together in order to be head of inventory and essentially in charge of managing the camp’s day-to-day- both organizationally and emotionally, at least in terms of pretending to have his ducks in a row. Key word there: PRETENDING. Now, when put into high-stress or high-stakes situations, he can go into what he forgot to keep thinking of as Croat Mode, where he just snaps into competence and short-lived leadership skills- but that lasts for all of five minutes. Inevitably he has to hand over the reins or take a powder so he can put his head between his knees and breathe. The Apocalypse was stressful, bro.

His veneer cracks pretty easily - you know, the veneer of emotional stability, happiness, and having even the slightest shred of self confidence - but mostly around people he trusts. Or doesn’t trust. Or everybody. Look, he tries his best, okay? He’s not gonna go around being the alpha male any time soon, brimming with confidence and fucking bitchez left and right while shooting Croats and holding a knife in his teeth. It’s just not him. But he gets by, and he does his best to help other people get by, too, because he cares about them.

All of them. That’s the biggest secret, the deepest layer to his onion- how much he cares. Because he isn’t just him, he’s Him. And He cares about every single one of His creations. Castiel once called them all works of art- God sees them as perfection incarnate, every last of them. Not that it stops Him from having His share of criticisms, of course- on a fundamentally deep level He knows that His plan is just, and that comfortable confidence used to give Him the emotional freedom to criticize and alter over the course of history- just look at the ancient Israelites.

Lately He doesn’t meddle, at all, and He fucking hates himself for it. Underneath the alcoholic prophet and the basket case is a deadbeat father who’s haunted every single day of His life by massive, consuming guilt. Why the hell shouldn’t He? The way the Apocalypse played out and the way that the people in it (Sam, Dean, the angels) made the wrong decisions every single time just proved that everything He worked for and pinned His hopes and plans to was a failure. He was a failure as a father, and as an architect of destiny- at least in the timeline he comes from. These days He’s been able to disengage somewhat, though- and in the process, that’s meant disengaging from most of his power- He doesn’t use his power but rarely, and has narrowed his already limited so-called "omniscience" so as to know try to preclude the existence of free will. It’s reflective of a very strange quality for the Almighty to have- humility. His ego quieted after the Jesus thing.

Then there’s the constant riot of prayers and deaths parading through his head, that he’s managed to lock away in a corner of the unimaginable vastness that is his mind. Some he can’t lock out- the visions come by (contrived) order of the angels, and sometimes he manages to hear snippets of angel radio in His mind. But He always knew most of what was going on, and- and fuck, it broke His heart. God plays favorites, and blatantly. Nothing hurts him more than the suffering of certain of the angels- on the whole, he sees them as falling far short of expectations, but some... the four archangels and Castiel, largely, can motivate Him to rare action, and it’s during those moments that one can find more raw love in Him than a human mind is capable of comprehending. Nothing horrifies him more than the thought of one of His children needing him, and being genuinely unable to help- unless it’s seeing all of His children in that same situation. He lived for the human race, he killed for the human race, he exiled his formerly most beloved son and killed his only begotten son for the human race. Of course, His definition of “needing” is different than anybody else’s, and usually requires that things be far more dire than the others involved would prefer. Chuck is happy to help people out in human ways, but He still believes firmly in the power of human choices.

History: In the beginning He created the Heavens and the Earth and it was good, blah blah blah, see Genesis for details. There’s a lot of hubbub over the “seven days” nonsense, even though in Chuck’s humble opinion any feces-flinging monkey can see that it’s a metaphor for longer spans of time. Each one of those days represents untold aeons stretching through infinity, and there was an entirely metaphorical week or two before the heaven and Earth bit that involved other planets, older galaxies, and a Bang of considerable size.

We all know the story of Michael and Lucifer- Luci refused to bow down to the new-minted humans, freaked out, rebelled, invented demons as a fuck you, created Hell, then was kicked down into a Cage by his own brother just for his troubles. It was written that in the end of days, Michael and Lucifer would fight- and Michael would win. At some point in those early days, He vanished. Vamoosed. Only the Four archangels, the ones who had seen God’s face and known him well enough to have real relationships with him, knew it. At some point Gabriel fucked off to join the pagans, and God was out of the picture for a few aeons, popping by to nudge Gabe in the direction of Galilee and have some fireside chats with Yeshua the Nazarene.

By and large, though, the world ticked by merrily on its own, paving the way for a new chapter in His life to start: life as a human. Or, you know, a human-shaped thinger. The Ineffable Plan was unfolding merrily (something about free will and self-direction, we think), so the Almighty put on an Edgar suit and walked among us for the first time. Naturally, being a bit of an alpha dog, he started out as a mighty emperor with an ego bigger than the cosmos, but over the many years He tried out lives like new shoes: king, general, shaman, hero, holy man, ascetic. Eventually a certain comfort in his skins settled in, and He started to branch out, really feeling out every single aspect of the human existence. He was a slave, a criminal, the girl begging on the streets and sleeping in gutters. The prostitute, the john, the slaveowner and the politician. Over time it became more than easy to live out a life from birth to death, acting every bit the human He wasn’t, with every life becoming less a bug in an Edgar suit and more an actual person- identifying strongly as the name he called himself, his transient identity as ironclad a part of His self-image as any human’s. He gradually distanced more and more from the tiny padlocked door in the back of His mind that held the entire Universe. It was doing just fine without an Almighty, and Heaven hadn’t caved in just yet.

Then the 20th century dawned, and with it the rise of a bloodline that lurked at the edge of his consciousness: the Campbell-Winchesters. Not yet united, they coalesced separately and with them came the slow drag of impending destiny. The Alpha-Omega knew that the game was getting very close now, and that the time was drawing night when He might have to compromise an aeons-long policy of absolute non-involvement. His next move might surprise you: being reborn once more, this time into the arms of a nondescript couple from Delaware with a drunk mother and a father who tried too hard at everything but taking his damn insulin.

And so Chuck Shurley, alcoholic prophet was born. Chuck was a new life for him- an exercise in flaws and vulnerability; He was a nervous man with vodka in his veins and a penchant for prostitutes. How he got that way in adulthood was the product of a childhood, same as every other person’s sad and boring story, and it was all fairly boring until the writer got exactly what He’d been hoping would happen (for He couldn’t remember if Chuck Shurley or Chuck Stratton was the told-of prophet, in all honesty, and this was a crapshoot in motion): he had a crippling headache that gave him visions of Sam and Dean. The first one was something of a celebration for Him, as he knew it was all going in motion, and then Chuck promptly shut off his omniscience. He didn’t want to know what was going on or anything outside of his visions: the war had to come to him.

He was just a writer from Maryland.

So, as these things go, the war did come to him. The underground cult series Supernatural took off in its small way before going bankrupt, and a year later two brothers knocked on Chuck’s door, ushering in God’s first involvement in the Plan since He had a chat in a garden in Gethsemane.

Chuck helped the brothers escape Lilith and later broke his self-imposed ban on divine intervention by resurrecting Castiel from the dead and saving Sam and Dean from Lucifer’s rise. Some might ask why, after so long an absence, He chose to intervene then- but there was never a question in Chuck’s mind that he had to. Castiel was the only one to get it - that it wasn’t about taking orders, but about right and wrong and the choices we make, and keeping the littlest angel in the garrison alive was paramount to the Plan continuing. And after so many years of living and breathing it, God essentially had no choice but to live by the Plan. The lies and truths we tell ourselves eventually become our reality, and the Almighty is no exception to the truth of constructed reality.

Then things started going downhill. Dean Winchester couldn’t get over his new mistrust of the blood-drinking Sam, and the two future vessels parted ways, never to see each other as brothers again. It was only a matter of time before Lucifer got to him, and only a matter of time before the lonely and self-hating Sam Winchester was broken down totally. So of course he said yes. Of course Lucifer got his vessel.

Without Dean, there was never any other way for Sam’s story to end.

The next trick, of course, was getting the cavalry situated to match the Indians. Dean Winchester, in all his pig-headed fanaticism, was never going to submit to Michael while there was still a fool’s hope of saving someone his own damn way, and so the world went to Hell and back. Lucifer walked the earth in his true vessel, with no Michael to challenge him. All in all, it was really no surprise to anybody when Pestilence finally marched across the land brandishing his favorite weapon of a demon psycho zombie sickness that ravaged its victims and traumatized the survivors.

Once the Croatoan virus started hitting the major cities, there was no help for it anymore. By 2012 the world was starting to fall, and early in the year the unthinkable happened: Heaven emptied. Completely. Every single angel packed up and left, having ascertained that Dean was never going to consent and they had lost the war. Now, we all know the implications of that for Lucifer going unchallenged, but there was another casualty.

Remember the one who sacrificed his life for the cause? The one who turned away from centuries upon centuries of certainty for the cold terror of jumping from an unknowable precipice to rocks below, all on the hopes that there was good in this world that was worth fighting for? The little angel who cut off his own air supply for the privilege of fighting for the safety of a humanity that he wasn’t even a part of? Castiel who devoted so much of his life just to the fervent hope that maybe he could find his Daddy and maybe, just maybe that rock of Gibraltor would come home and fix it and validate every second of iron-clad faith he had ever had? When the angels left, they took their Grace with them, and left Castiel behind. The angel was Graceless, hapless, and hopeless- and when Chuck met up with Dean and Cas in a camp outside of Kansas City, the shock of seeing the once-great angel of the Lord a strung-out, self-hating addict was like a punch to the gut.

Chuck took one look into those hopeless eyes and vowed to never let him get hurt again.

Over the years at the camp, struggling to survive, leading other survivors, and trying to kill the Devil, Chuck and Cas developed a solid bromance that became the first uncompromising, undemanding friendship the angel ever knew, and the most uniquely agonizing friendship of Chuck’s entire (extremely long) life. They got along incredibly well and developed a kind of incredible fraternal love that was unfettered by complications, expectations, or anything other than just enjoying each other’s company- at least on one side. That’s how Cas saw it: he trusted Chuck with his life, and that was all he needed to know. Chuck, on the other hand, felt a knife twist deeper between his ribs every time they saw each other, having the unique privilege of seeing a direct consequence of His own negligence unfold before him as Castiel spiraled deeper into depravity and self-loathing.

It was horrible, every single second, as much as he cherished their guy love. Because in a very real sense, Chuck was helpless. He went thousands of years not merely thinking but knowing that he would do nothing and could do nothing and that Him not getting involved would be the best action- until it reached the point that He couldn’t do anything. His hands were tied by His own long-held beliefs about destiny. With every violent, sickening urge to reach out and do something to fix this all, to end Castiel’s pain and restore the unfairest casualty of the whole fucking war, He could hear His own mantra, said every moment of every day of every year for a dozen thousand years.

Have faith. The Plan is Just.

For the first time, Chuck wasn’t sure. For the first time in an unfathomable lifetime of His beliefs being literal reality, He started to doubt, and it nearly unraveled his mind to the point of utter foaming-at-the-mouth, Old Testament lunacy. The only thing that anchored him to sanity was Castiel: good, trustworthy Castiel, always needing pills and food and asking him vacantly why he was just sitting there instead of counting inventory. So life marched on, scored with death and shrink-wrapped in acute pain. It was sustainable.

Until the day Chuck had a vision, and another Dean showed up on their doorstep. The Prophet knew exactly what it meant: though the angels had left, the “on” button for the visions stayed pressed, though they came erratically and often through static. No, he knew exactly what the Parent Trap stupidity meant.

They were all going to die.

The day Castiel and the Deans left, Colt in hand, Chuck only just brought himself to leave his cabin and say goodbye. Only the thought of never seeing Cas again prompted him to drag his head out of a jug of moonshine, which he returned to immediately after watching the Jeep’s dust disappear into the darkness. He threw up seven times that night, and in his drunken rage screamed it out to the entire camp before anybody should have reasonably known what happened.

With their fearless leader dead, it fell to Chuck to try to take the reins, but all was not well. His anchor to reality was gone, and every He’d ever worked for, everything He’d ever believed in, everything He’d lived for was dead, gone, and proven utterly worthless. Over the next seven months Chuck unraveled and He lost touch with both emotional stability and His own divine nature- somewhere out in the woods was an excess of Creative energy, somewhere there were small planetary gods finding themselves stronger than they had ever been before, while on Earth he descended into uselessness and self-hatred. He lived more and more inside his own head, becoming unnaturally stoic and terrifyingly emotionless from an outsider’s perspective; his rare moments of emotion were usually extremely angry and often violent. Somehow, through it all, Chuck managed to lead the camp half-effectively in the same emotionally broken style Dean had favored.

It all came to a head when Lucifer finally found their stronghold and laid siege, laying the camp to waste easily. Trees caught on fire, buildings exploded to rubble, men and women lay as mangled corpses, or still screaming as demons and Croats tore their organs from their living bodies and in that moment, in that second of unparalleled brutal horror, Chuck knew with calm clarity that they were the last ones left. With them, it would be over- that long experiment, His brain-child and the only thing he had ever really cared about. Gone.

So He took a deep breath, hearing the march of His last and once-favored son coming to extinguish His life, put His gun in His mouth, and pulled the trigger.

And woke up here.

Abilities/Powers: Omnipotence, omniscience, prophetic visions, and the awesome might of never getting an STD from Mistress Magda. Hoo boy. Let’s break it down a little:


This one is pretty easy, on the surface.

Except it’s not that simple, not by a long shot. Chuck keeps His divine nature and abilities stuffed behind a locked, chained, deadbolted door in the back of His mind, and almost never accesses it for fear of unleashing an avalanche that would unravel the carefully constructed mortality and limited scope He’s set up for himself. Chuck has no desire to undam that river, so He shuts his omniscience off 99.9% of the time. The first time he got a vision was a genuine surprise to him- he was pretty sure “Chuck Shurley” was one of the prophets supposed to foresee the Winchesters, but didn’t know when the first one would happen.

His reasons for shutting it off are manifold, though- it’s not just a self-serving matter of status quo: it’s a matter of principle and belief, too. How can there be any true free will if some higher power knows all the outcomes and has everything predestined? No. Never. He’s lived for billions of years with the passionate belief in free will and the power of human choices, and he isn’t about to go fucking that up now. So strong is his will on this point that His omniscience is actually sometimes limited- by his own design. There are many instance where even if He used his omniscience to its full extent He wouldn’t know the outcome of a certain event- if and only if the outcome is dependent on human choices. If it’s determined by luck of the draw, that’s something Chuck could know. If it depends on what someone will say when asked to make a hard decision, then there’s a good chance He won’t know until they make their choice.

There are some things that filter through regardless of what He does about it- passive senses, for instance. He can tell when someone isn’t human, and can sometimes tell exactly what they are. It’s a lot easier when the someone is from Supernatural (i.e. from His universe and one of His creations). But by and large, most of what he knows that he shouldn’t comes from his visions.


He can do anything. Literally. He can do anything. You name it, He can do it. Reverse death, create pocket realms, unravel the fabric of reality, turn this Universe around and make a new one, turn you gay, turn your mom gay, bone your mom. Well, not that last one. Well, he could. But He’s kind of a spazzcase with sex. That’s not the point here. Chuck is capable of literally anything in all of Creation, and has the Universe to prove it. He can elevate angels to higher rungs of power, restore them from the dead, erase addictions, create new planes of existence, and do absolutely anything. He is God. The end.

Except. Remember that door? Chuck is capable of anything, but that doesn’t mean that he will. On any given day, He only allows enough power to filter through to refill his flask with his mind. Even parlor tricks like Gabriel was shown doing, like magicking up food and bitchez, aren’t up his alley. He likes living in the gritty, crappy parts of life, as long as he always has booze.

At this point, he’s gone so long believing that he shouldn’t do anything and gotten so out of touch with omnipotence that he’s essentially psyched himself into believing that there are some things he actually can’t do- but don’t worry. He can.


Prophetic visions are the tools that Chuck uses to navigate the Supernatural universe with any kind of agency over the events around him. They’re how He influences outcomes, because that’s okay: it’s not divine intervention, it’s a Prophet doing what they do and trying to help people in their own small way.

He gets visions of future events a few times a week that come in the form of excruciating headaches that lead him to drink until he passes out, then when he wakes up he writes like a man possessed until it’s all out. Usually his visions outpace events by a few days, but sometimes when it pertains to big, important things he can have visions months in advance.

Sample Journal Entry: [The video starts with some clicking and epileptic flashes of nothing in particular, before giving way to Chuck’s face looking down. He’s dirty, unkempt, thin to the point of gaunt, and there’s a strange unsettled wildness in his eyes.]

Uh- um. Hi? [Is that a high-pitched note of fear? Yeah, it is.] I don’t know who I’m saying hi to- I have no clue, man. I have no idea what’s going on. Could somebody tell me? Cause I’m FREAKING OUT. All I know is that Cas is here and there’s- there’s electricity and actual buildings with windows that aren’t shattered and I saw a restaurant that was actually open. I haven’t... [The video pitches somewhat, and Chuck looks like he’s about to faint.] I haven’t been in a restaurant in over three years.

I don’t know where I am, but it has to be somewhere different. There’s no Croatoan here. There’s no Apocalypse, but- it’s not the regular world. This place looks like it was put through a freaking meat grinder and Jesus, I don’t know how many more ends of the world I can take! [Sniff. That was definitely allergies, and not Chuck looking ready to fall over and cry.] It’s been a really stressful day, guys.

Sample RP: This post. The thread-starter itself should be sufficient, but several of my replies work as well.

Additional Notes:

As you’ve probably noticed by now, nobody knows that he’s God. Nobody in the entire show (except Joshua, who we meet once and never leaves Heaven) is even remotely aware that Chuck Shurley is anything but a drunk, generally pantsless prophet who gets limited visions and nothing else. Everybody in the show thinks that God is dead or left the building, and in Chuck’s canon point He hasn’t given anybody reason to think otherwise.

This secrecy can’t be emphasized enough. God’s entire modus operandi, a good portion of the show, most of Chuck’s personal timeline, and all of his current psychological state are built around God being MIA, and the repercussions of that inaction. If someone feels that their character should be able to tell, I would happily discuss that possibility with them, but the answer is almost guaranteed to be no. In the show, he pings no radars except extremely human but with some divine visions. So generally he won’t ping any extrasensory radars- no weird tinglies, nothing- except that he sees the future. That’s all anybody would see about him. I hate to sound god-modey, but this is crucial to his character.

The only person from SPN canon who I think would see through the act would be Death, the Horseman (and this exception applies to almost all versions of Death, not just the Supernatural one). I’d be willing to contemplate characters from other canons, but the exceptions will be rare to nonexistent.

Post a comment in response:

Identity URL: 
Account name:
If you don't have an account you can create one now.
HTML doesn't work in the subject.


Links will be displayed as unclickable URLs to help prevent spam.