Another Skyrim inspired servitor spell but with the legendary dovah, or as most know them, dragons. Now, these servitors are to be treated with higher respect than others because in a dovah’s nature they expect it.
Now there are many types of dovah and I will list the corresponding ingredients to said dovahs.
What You’ll Need
A clear quartz
A small bowl
The color candle corresponding to your dovah -Blue for a Frost Dragon -Olive green for a Common Dragon -Teal for a Serpentine Dragon -Dark green for a Blood Dragon -Brown for an Elder Dragon -Dark orange for an Ancient Dragon -Yellow for a Revered Dragon
Corresponding ingredient for the dovah you are summoning -Ice/cold water for a Frost Dragon -Soil for a Common Dragon -Snake sheddings for a Serpentine Dragon -Blood or blood root for a Blood Dragon -Tree Bark for an Elder Dragon -Bones for an Ancient Dragon -Bright colored feathers for a Revered Dragon
What To Do
Place your clear quartz in the bowl first and sprinkle/pour/put whatever correspondent you’re using for your dovah into the bowl next or on top of the quartz.
Put your snapdragon in next.
Pour your sun water into the bowl on top of the snapdragons, clear quartz, and correspondent.
Drip your corresponding wax color into the bowl and say/think “Lot dovah hon zu’u.” (Great dragon hear me.)
Now stir the bowl with your finger clockwise and say/think “Bo wah zu’u nu.” (Come to me now.)
Leave the clear quartz to soak in the water for a day and then take it out and dry it.
Your servitor should be there afterwards but remember to treat them with high respect for dovah are proud beings and expect it.
The idea that women are taught that they need to compete with other women for a man’s attention is honestly just so strange to me and it’s so fucking backwards from the rest of the animal kingdom and goes right in the face of any common sense.
Female species usually have to invest so much time and energy into growing and supporting their offspring, including humans. There are so many male animals that do The Fucking Most to compete with other males for a female, like bright and flashy feathers, intricate mating dances, etc., because they are disposable, walking sperm carriers.
There are billions of sperm. Eggs are the scarcity, that’s why females don’t have to COMPETE in nature for a male
But male entitlement and patriarchy effectively brainwashes women into believing that they’re the disposable ones that have to compete, because they’ve also been taught that male attention is so desirable and fulfilling Men built this system to benefit themselves, so they don’t have to expend the emotional or physical energy of finding a partner. Women will do all the work for them and they get to keep their shitty egos and they get to control women by making them think they’re disposable and unimportant
I got an anon i while ago that said they liked to picture me as a wise old parrot with bright and colorful feathers. I really hope you all get an ask that amazing in your lifetimes because i think about it every day
Summary: Y/N manages to coax Dean into going on a few untimely escapades in preparation for the big day. Meanwhile, the elder Winchester tries his best to subdue his doubts about where their relationship stands.
Y/N is a bundle of nerves in her bright yellow sundress, and
nothing Dean can do can ease her anxiety.
Before him she stands, the strap of her satchel tangled in her
fingers and her brow creased. She looks at Dean and doesn’t even try hiding the
fact that she’s nervous.
“I’m sorry…” She apologizes. “I didn’t know you’d have to come
along for this. If I had, then—“
“Then you would have turned down the offer?”
Bowing her head, Y/N glimpses away…“No….”
“Yeah, so don’t apologize.”
Dean is making this so much harder than it should be. In his usual
fashion, he’s complicating things, stretching out a second of tension into an
hour and it’s so bloody irritating for Y/N that she could scream.
But instead all she does is bottle it up and cap it, trying to
play the pacifist in this situation. “I said I’m sorry, Dean…” She bites her
lip, obviously abashed, and shakes her head.
The elder Winchester rolls his eyes. The sun is out and hot and
today he’s decided to trade in his usual get-up of pants-and-shirt for a T
shirt and jeans. Dean knows the weather is probably the main factor to why he’s
so antsy, but will he let that stop him from complaining…?
“I don’t wanna go dress shopping.” He counters. His voice isn’t
harsh, just agitated. He’s agitated. She knows that. If she didn’t, then maybe
this entire interaction would have gone a lot different. “You go. Tell your
family that I had other stuff to do, manly stuff.”
Y/N rolls her eyes. “I didn’t bring you along on this trip to do
manly stuff. If that’s what I wanted then I would have left you back home and
taken Sam instead.”
Having thought it to be a brilliant idea, her family invited Dean
out with them to go dress shopping in town. And taken how much Dean (and, let’s
be honest, Y/N, too) despises Boston, the idea of being out and about in the
city is sickening.
So, he resists.
Y/N lets out a sigh of defeat and turns to go tell her mum and
S/P/N the news. As she saunters through the lounge and into the ballroom, she
reviews today’s plan: dress shopping. Not hard at all. Totally easy, right?
She shouldn’t be feeling so anxious about it. But here she is. Her
satchel’s strap by now is a mess of knots between her fingers and she releases
it, walking up to the elevator, ready to press the button, when it suddenly
pings and halts. The doors slide open—
And then there’s Rick.
Standing, using his phone, head bowed and not noticing her until
Y/N straightens out. “Oh..” She says, earning the attention of the
ebony-haired man as he looks up.
Their eyes meet, and right away a smile spreads across his mouth.
They speak simultaneously, words bubbling over each other. Y/N
giggles quietly. He smiles.“Going up?”
She nods and then scuttles in. There’s nobody else in so,
thankfully, there’s no rush to usher him out and move on, so Y/N takes her time
to catch up.
Her eyes rake over his face
until they finally settle on blue eyes, a deep sapphire, a shade she once in
the days of her childhood lusted over.
She’s going to be frank here—teenage Rick was cute.
Exponentially. Terribly. With a defined nose and jaw line so
strong it could cut cheese, he’d been the subject of her fantasies for months
as a teenager. It’s not the first time he’s had the thought and so she welcomes
it in without question. Y/N had always had the biggest crush on him. On his
eyes; on the way that he wore yellow and pastels and smiled at her a little bit
longer than he did all the other girls. On how he used to manage to stir up
such alien feelings in her stomach that it excited her.
She’d been like—what? Sixteen, when he moved to the house next
door? Yeah. Probably. Like, sixteen and he’d been eighteen and he’d joined
their school. And upon first encounter, enamored and optimistic, Y/N had been
set on claiming him as her own.
But those days were gone now. She was grown and experienced and
all the desires of girlhood had been satiated. She moved away, became a hunter.
She soon forgot about those sapphire eyes that had driven her crazy.
A smile lights up her face as she stares at him. “Funny seeing you
here, Mister Montoijia.”
“I could say the same about you.” Rick replies with an equally
excited smile. “Where to?”
“Uhm, mom. We’re going dress shopping today and I need to talk to
her about it.”
“Sounds like fun.”
“Glad you think so. “ She scoffs. “Try telling that to Dean, maybe
you could talk some sense into him.”
“Where is he now?”
“Uhm..”Y/N peers her head out, scouting the room for the sight of
the elder Winchester in his Zepellin T-shirt and Sam by his side. She looks
around curiously, until finally she spots the top of the younger Winchester’s
hair by the bar.
She points them out. “There…”
Rick leans forward, peeping out. Y/N watches him, eyes trailing over
his features, over his distinct adam’s apple bobbing in his throat, over the
dark 5-o’clock-shadow tainting his jaw—God, his jaw.
He turns back to her. “Well, okay then. Anyway—catching up? When
can we do that, or are you too busy to spare me a cup of coffee?” His lips,
bright pink and luscious, pull back in a lopsided grin, shark-like teeth
“Oh…”Y/N blushes. “Uhm—yeah, sure. How about…Thursday, seven
o’clock?” She offers, back tracing when she notices the subtle fall in Rick’s
“It’s just that I’m really busy with all this wedding stuff.”
“Oh, yeah…Okay then.” The smile returns.
Y/N mirrors him.
“Thursday it is.” He says, and then just like that, slips out of
The dress store is a fifteen minute drive away, perched on a busy
avenue lined with shops and boutiques of all sorts. The bridal party—Y/N and
the other maids, Jackie and Emma, some of her sister’s grad-school friends—are
packed in the backseat alongside Dean and Aunt Steph as S/P/N slides the car
over to the side of the road and parks.
Dean clambers out of the tiny Ipsum, trailing behind Y/N and the
entire entourage: S/P/N, Jackie and Aunt Steph lead the way into the boutique,
all chatter and laughs. Dean groans internally—this is so berating. So
emasculating. He’d rather be back at the hotel, grabbing a beer with Uncle Gary
and talking about anything but color patterns, but he pacifies his mind by
reminding himself that he chose this.
It’s for Y/N, after all. He’s taken a literal bullet for her and
then some— a little dress shopping can’t be that bad…?
“Just persevere. I’m sure
it won’t be that bad.”
She shrugs. They amble in past mannequins sartorially dressed in
sequins and satin and colors of all sorts. For a bridal shop, everything—rather
than being pallid white—is pretty gaudy and exuberant. Frills here and there,
feathers, glitter. Dean almost pukes at the sight of a bright cyan dress that
Aunt Steph is scrutinizing and quickly averts his attention to the row of
dresses Y/N is riffling through.
“We’re not having a wedding in Vegas.” She says distastefully,
rubbing some glittery nylon between her fingers. “What’s with all this color?”
“You don’t like it?” Dean asks.
She shakes her head, trailing her fingers along a fuscia feather
boa as they saunter through. “My wedding
is going to be the exact opposite of this. Hell…” She says, looking ahead. “…my
wedding’s not even going to be in Boston. Or Vegas, for that matter.”
“Where, then? New Orleans? Seems very you.”
“I was thinking California.”
“Ew…” Dean scrunches his face up in disgust, and Y/N clicks her
tongue, smacking him in the shoulder. He chuckles.
“Shut up.” She giggles, fingering the bright pink feathers. “ You
don’t have a say in this.”
“As your boyfriend, I think I do.” He ribs. “We’re definitely not getting
married in California. No way.”
Y/N scoffs. “Pfft—like we’ll even last long enough for a wedding.”
“You think we won’t?”
“You think we will?” She stops and turns to him.
Y/N mirrors him, tipping her head back in a
challenging manner. He wants to laugh because he knows she’s right, but
instead, he only scoffs, shakes his head and turns away.
Deciding that this isn’t the place for them, S/P/N and her mom are
arguing over which store they should go to next. There’s a
classic-white-wedding one right across the road and so they settle on that. Impatiently,
the elder Winchester slips his phone from his pocket and checks the time as Y/N
wanders off to the sidelines. Oddly enough, he’s shocked to see a missed call
from Sam. A few minutes back. Probably while they were on their way here.
Pocketing the device, he inhales and grabs Y/N’s hand.
“Come on.” Dean tugs on it and tries to move, but instead their
fingers untangle. The elder Winchester then glances back over his shoulder, befuddled.
Y/N’s still entranced by the boa as she turns to him, eyes wide
in. “Oh—we’re leaving?”
“Yeah, you coming?” He quirks his brow and Y/N nods, letting her fingers halt their
caress as she joins him. She lips her hand back in his, but before they can
move, glances back at the boa with want. Dean catches her.
His gaze bounces between it and his partner, disconcerted. It
takes a moment, a moment of wonder and wide, pleading puppy eyes and the curve
of a shy smile before the cogwheels in Dean’s head turn and he catches on.
“You want it? His voice is
incredulous, expression speaking volumes of surprise. It’s so tawdry and loud
and he can’t think she’d want it.
But apparently, with the way she glimpses up at him guilty, bites
her lip and bats her eyes, she does.
Y/N shrugs, pulling a face. “It’s kinda cute.”
The group is already almost out the door as Dean stares at Y/N momentarily;
she says nothing. Heaving a labored sigh, he then grabs the boa. He fists it in
his hands, turning to her, and raises it in the air.
“You really want it?” He asks, expression bored and worn.
Y/N smiles with excitement and nods. He might not see what she
does in it, Dean thinks, but if he’s
going to play the part of her enamored lover, then he might as well go all the
And so, with a shake of his
head, the elder Winchester walks up to the cashier and smacks it down. It’s a
vibrant pink, almost purple, and the sale’s associate gives him a questioning
look the moment he lays it down.
He rolls his eyes, jerking his thumb behind. “It’s for my
girlfriend.” He hopes he sounds convincing. It doesn’t matter, anyway. She scans
it, tells him the price, and he fetches a couple of dollars from his wallet and
hands them to her.
“Thank you.” The orange-haired cashier says, handing him the bag. Nodding, Dean takes it and turns. Y/N is a
flare of excitement as he approaches her; there’s a smile on her face that made
Dean think, maybe—just maybe—she was just pulling his leg, a smug simper, teeth
and all, but the sincerity in her thank you as he hands it to her tells Dean
“I can’t believe you wanted this.” He remarks as they exit the
store. Y/N winds the fluffy boa around her neck, smiling into it, the bright
feathers tickling her face. “It looks like it belongs on a burlesque dancer
“It’s cute.” She remarks, lifting her gaze to the elder
Winchester. “Thanks, again, Dean… You didn’t have to buy it for me, you know?”
“Yeah. “ Dean scoffs, looking left and then right for any oncoming
cars; they scurry across the road, over to the boutique the entire family’s
stepped into. Through the window, Dean can faintly make out the silhouette of
Aunt Steph holding up a salmon gown. “The puppy-dog eyes on your face a second
ago said otherwise.”
Y/N giggles and then follows him in. A chime at the door announces
their arrival and the whole group’s attention is grasped as they walk in.
As soon as she spots her sister, S/P/N’s eyes go wide like
saucers, a smile stretching across her face.
Flaunting her new purchase, the young hunter saunters up to her
sister and flashes a quick grin. “How do I look?’
“Wow…” S/P/N breathes. “…like…a big, flashy bird. Did
you really just buy that?”
Her eyes shift to the elder Winchester, brow furrowed. He shrugs
in response, hands fixed in his pockets, because that seems the only eligible
response in a situation like this.
S/P/N giggles and picks at the scarf as Y/N swats her hands away,
when it’s time to get fitted. They’ve picked out two dresses already.
“They’re waiting for you in the dressing room,” Her mother says,
resting her hands on her shoulders and ushering her off. As she is led away by
her mother, Y/N briefly glances back at Dean. Her face splits into an
apologetic smile, one that utters an unspoken apology, one that says I’m sorry
I dragged you into this. He waves it off with a smile. It’s fine, his
expression responds. Y/N smiles. Before he knows it, she’s disappeared behind
the racks of dresses and mannequins and he’s left alone with S/P/N and Aunt
Sighing, the elder Winchester turns to them, trying to offer an
“So…”He begins. “Where are your guys dresses? I thought you were
all picking something out.”
“Oh, it’s a Y/L/N family tradition for the bride to come last.”
Aunt Steph’s grey eyes gleam bright and radiant; as usual, she’s smiling, her
face folded and creased like fleshy dough, and Dean can’t resist feeling at
least bit happy that he’ll be spending the afternoon with someone as cheerful
“Even when I was getting married, it was the same. “ She
elaborates. “Marilyn and my girls brought me out to watch them try on dresses,
and then, when it was already time to leave, had me pick something out.”
“At least it was cute.” S/P/N chides.
“It was. Very. But anyway, we should probably get to work.” The elder woman waits expectantly; but when Dean’s brow furrows in disconcert, she turns to her niece. “You didn’t tell him?”
“I was supposed to?”
“We’re all picking something out for the girl’s to try on.” She shakes her head with a sigh. “You
know—so that they have a lot of options?”
““Emma and Jackie are pretty happy with their choices,” S/P/N pipes up. “It’s just,
well, Y/N we’re worried about. I can bet you twenty bucks—the next dress she
comes out in, she’s not even gonna like it.”
“That’s why we’re here. To make sure we get her something pretty.”
“You want me to pick a dress out for Y/N?” Dean asks it like it’s
absolutely crazy, like it’s ridiculous—and it is. He’s no fashion guru. His
wardrobe consist of practically the same two flannels and jeans.
“So, do you accept the challenge?”The younger woman asks, quirking a brow.
Dumbfounded, the elder Winchester stares at the pair momentarily. He can’t say no, can he? That would only raise the suspicion of their little plan. He can’t risk that….
In the dressing room, Y/N accepts each gown hurtled at her by her mother with patience and precision. The assortment is vast, all various shades and hues; even then, however, none that can even compete with the atrocity around her neck.
Dress hanging off her shoulders, Y/N glances back at garish piece abandoned on a chair. Scrutinizes it. It’s…well…colorful. Very colorful. And it’s definitely not something they’ll be seeing her in a lot, but the knot of pride in her gut is wound too tight for Y/N to admit that maybe the purchase was a bad idea. Maybe baiting Dean with an item of the nature was a pathetic attempt at validation…
There’s no hiding it, anyway. That’s the truth. That’s all she is: pathetic and desperate for affection. I mean, why else buy such an atrocity? why else ask Dean to get it? At the time, the plan seemed bulletproof, an assured way of confirming that she had a place in the elder Winchester’s heart that would lead him to making the sacrifice…It had been a symbol of sorts. A totem.
Now all Y/N sees when she looks at it is wasted money and a testament to her pettiness in bright gaudy colors…
Dean whizzes through the store as fast as his feet can carry him.
Rack to rack to mannequin. He grabs a pink dress with rhinestones along the hem. A plain white one that runs to the knee and looks a little too casual for a wedding. It doesn’t matter, the elder Winchester tells himself. None of this does. None of this is real. this is fake-dress shopping for a fake couple…Granted, however, for….. a very real wedding….
The thought catches Dean like a fish-hook in the neck, and he’s reeled back to his senses. Glancing down at the options he’s gathered, none of them look terrible. Very simple. Plain, eve, like the model isn’t going to be exhibited before a bunch of people.
A sigh then leaves him and Dean settles on one of the chairs provided to sort through. He tosses out one with frills and a mint-green that he knows, despite her beautiful physique, will not look flattering on Y/N. by the end of it all, he’s left with nothing but the pale pink that he realizes is a size too large.
With an exasperated sigh, the elder Winchester chucks it onto the shelf. He bows his head in defeat. Runs a hand through his tousled hair. Groans. He needs some air, and he’s about stand to get out of the shop, when his gaze wanders to a mannequin across the room…
And then Dean halts.
Y/N slips in and out of dress after dress, struggling out of tight corsets, sweat trickling down the back of her neck from all the work. There’s a pile of gowns on the floor climbing all the way to her knees, her mother standing outside, pestering about which one she should pick. Y/N tries to shut her out. She can’t think right now. Her body is sweaty and chafing, and this was dumb because she could always just wear the old dress she brought from home, but it’s out of the question.
And so she moves on to the next one…
The moment she comes out, Dean’s heart stops.
Standing before him in her final choice, Y/N bites her
lip and furrows her brow nervously, tangling her fingers together in front of
her lap. After eons of waiting, nervously tapping his fingers against the arm-rest, she’s out. Finally.
Her cheeks are dusted a feint pink and it looks like the blush is
crawling further and further down her skin, breaching onto her exposed
shoulders. Her skin, a haven of y/s/t dotted with freckles and spots and the
littlest scars whose origin is embedded in his mind, almost sparkles in the
And Dean can’t help but gawk, because, damn…
The dress, strapless and deep burgundy and with a flaring skirt,
looks gorgeous. Accentuating her waist and legs, it’s form fitting stunning and
her bare shoulders are peeping out from behind her tresses of y/h/c.
It looks magical; she looks magical, Dean thinks, as he tries to
gather the coherence and focus to say it as she spoke.
“Well…?” A spark of
hopefulness glints in Y/N’s eyes.
The elder Winchester gapes, jaw slack and eyes wide as his eyes
trail from her shoulders to her legs and back up to her face. At that moment,
he feels a flutter in his chest, like the beating of butterfly wings, the blink
of an eye. So brief and miniscule that, if he hadn’t actively been paying attention
to his feeling, he’d miss it. But he doesn’t, because how can he when this is
the first time he’s seeing Y/N in such a light?
He’s so used to her hiding herself beneath jeans and tees and
oversized flannels she’s stolen from his closet, in mustards and blacks and
colors the shade of the earth and nature. Not that she doesn’t look good in
them. She does—extremely. Only now, it’s foreign kind of beauty that Dean is
witnessing, like watching a beautiful sunset from a different angle.
“Wow…” He breathes with ogling eyes. “Just….wow.”
“Wow as in good?”
“More than good. Amazing, stunning. Damn, Y/N.” As soon as the
words leave him Dean feels a bit ashamed by how earnest he sounds. But it’s
short-lived because, then Y/N laughs and turns to the mirror a few feet away.
Her gaze slides up and down her reflection, taking in the sight as
she turns and moves to try and see the dress at all angles.
“I don’t feel like me.”
“You look like you—a very dolled up and different you, sure, but
still.” Dean cocks his head to the side softly. “You mean you don’t like it?”
She shrugs. He waits for an additional statement that doesn’t come.
When he opens his mouth to speak, the sound of S/P/N’s voice cuts him off.
They both turn; Y/N’s face then flushes an even deeper pink as she
stares at her grinning sister. They’re back, shopping bags in hand, Marilyn
gleaming at her side as she gazes adoringly at her. Smirking, S/P/N steps up
onto the platform, arms crossed over her chest, sizing her little sister up.
“I don’t think I’ve seen you in a dress in less than five years.”
She states. “You look great.”
Y/N pulls a face. “Do I?”
“You do—right, mom? Doesn’t Y/N look gorgeous?” The elder sister
asks her mother, who nods vigorously.
“You look so pretty, honey.” She says earnestly.
“Yeah, I’m even worried you might one up me at my own wedding.”
S/P/N’s tone is teasing as she rests a hand on her sister’s shoulder. Y/N rolls
her eyes and goes to look at her reflection once more. Her gaze is fixed on the
“So…” She starts, gathering her confidence in a heavy breath, “This
Dean can tell it’s directed at him because of how her eyes dart in
the mirror, and so he nods. “Definitely.”
The drive back is quiet and tranquil, the only sound filling the
silence being that of the rumble of the engine. The thud of Y/N’s heartbeat;
She feels a warmth glow in her chest.
A heat, vehement and demanding her attention and recognition as it
sets the walls of her chest ablaze. A heat that, until a moment ago, she had
managed to keep locked away and hidden. A vice.
She doesn’t want this; she doesn’t want to incessantly think about
the way his eyes regarded her back in that shop; about the glint of awe in the
rim of his green eyes when she walked out, about the way that he managed to
stir up this warmth that she’d shuttered since they’d held hands in the car.
But it’s back now—fiercer than ever, tumultuous, and nothing Y/N
can do can smother its flames.
Eyes set on the city whizzing by, she tries not to focus too much
on it, attempts to drown out her feelings by settling her attention on the city
outside. On the sound of Dean’s voice as he converses with her mum about
Nebraska and the life they left behind for these two weeks; on the way he
laughs when Aunt Steph throws in a line about her time in Nebraska, or on how
well he’s managed to adapt to her circus of a family. And Y/N finds it
astounding—she always has—how Dean does that: how he just clicks with people.
With his polar opposites, with people living lives on the other
end of the spectrum. Only four days in and he’s already won their hearts over,
and it makes Y/N grateful that she picked Dean to be by her side for these two
weeks. (But even that isn’t enough to tame the hurricane behind her ribs.)
When they get back to the hotel, she rushes straight
to their bedroom, throwing the door open and quickly heading to the bathroom.
Flicking the tap on, Y/N pools some water in her hands and
splashes it onto her face. Once, twice. She then looks up at her reflection, at
the harried girl staring back at her with panicked eyes, at the droplets of
water slowly trickling down her face.
This can’t be happening.
She can’t be letting herself go like this, allowing a distraction
as intense as these feelings for Dean to sidetrack her. She’s here on a
mission; with a motive: convince. Convince them she’s doing okay as a hunter,
convince them she doesn’t need to be domesticated back her in Massachusetts…
herself that everything she’s telling them is the truth.
It is, isn’t it? Y/N has known, being a hunter, that the beatific
suburban life is anything but an aspect of her future. She knows this; accepts
this. If she didn’t, then going through the motions of everyday life would be
more tedious than they already are. If she didn’t, then every time she’d look
at S/P/N and Japheth and her mother and father, and Rick, and Boston and a life
she once had so idyllic it was the epitome of normality, then her heart would
splinter….more than it already did.
When Y/N looks at herself in the mirror, it takes her a few
seconds to realize that there are tears streaming down her face, meshing with
the water, disguising themselves like chameleons in the Amazon. Crap. She reaches for the paper towels nearby,
pulling one out, and dabs it onto her dripping face, when all of a sudden—
“Y/N! You in here?”
She jerks her hands away from her face, turning to the source of
the voice. Footsteps sound. She quickly crumples the paper and, tossing it into
the bin, exits the bathroom, finding Dean in the middle of the bedroom, holding
her feather boa and the bag with her dress in one arm.
His eyes slide to her face, and the elder Winchester’s expression,
formerly placid, contorts into one of disconcert. Y/N, however, doesn’t give
him any time to scrutinize—she quickly approaches and takes the dress out of
“Thanks. I forgot about that.”
“Yeah, and this.” He hands her the boa; she takes it, wrapping it
around her neck and exhaling heavily.
“They sent me up to get you.” Dean says. “Everyone’s downstairs
waiting for you, your mum’s dying to see you in your new digs.”
Y/N glimpses at the bright salmon dress, then back at the elder
Winchester, fingers still floating around her collar. “Seriously? I have to
“Hey,” Dean raises his hands in defense. “I’m just the messenger
“God…”She groans, letting her hands fall to her sides as she drops
onto the bed. A labored sigh then leaves her and she shuts her eyes before she
feels the mattress dip.
Dean scoots up, snaking an arm around Y/N’s frame, and she leans
into it. She lets out another sigh; quieter, and Dean instead inhales.
“You really don’t like being back here, huh?”
“No…No, I don’t. That’s why I asked you to come along in the first
place. I thought that you’d be a great distraction.”
“I don’t know. Because it’s you? You always mange to distrac—“
“No, I mean, what’s with the hate for Boston? It is your home.”
“Whatever. Stop trying to smart your way out of this, Y/N, I’m
serious.” He is; by the way his green eyes probe, looking to draw the truth
out, by the soberness of his expression, by the mere silence that hangs between
them as Dean waits for a response. This much is enough of a tell that he means
business, and Y/N hates it.
She doesn’t want to speak; not about how she’s feeling. Not about
the warmth. About Dean and their friendship. Despite her disdain towards it,
she’d much rather go down and socialize in her gaudy salmon dress just to get
out of this situation.
Y/N bites her lip and shakes her head, searching his gaze. “Why do
“Why shouldn’t I?” Dean counters.
“Because it’s not your problem, Dean.” Y/N snaps, like a twig bent
so much it has to break, like the warmth in her chest has turned into a
full-fledged fire and it’s taking hold. She then feels it, pulsing through her,
a vehement bitterness because inside feels corrupted and wrong and—
He flinches, inching away. His hand slips form around her
shoulders as his brow furrows, an expression of hurt taking over.
“It’s not your problem to
always look out for me, to try and figure out what’s on my mind.”
“Look, I’m just trying to help out here.”
“Don’t. Don’t try to help.” Y/N can feel tears stinging in her
eyes, clouding her vision, painting Dean in a blurry silhouette. “ Just because
you’re playing my boyfriend, doesn’t mean you have to act like it when my
family’s not around.”
And then there it is. The finishing blow, the shot to the heart.
Dean gapes at Y/N in disbelief, frozen, like he’s trying to
decipher if she just said, if he’s hearing right because no, she couldn’t have really just said…
“Just…” Sighing, Y/N rests her head in her hands. Shakes it.
stares at her some more, until it strikes him, and instead he feels resentment
swell in his stomach bit by bit. “Wow…”
He doesn’t hesitate. Rising from the bed, the elder Winchester
grabs his keys from the bedside table and stalks over to the door, pulsing with
irritation, face hot. He’s almost at the door when he whips back around and
looks at Y/N.
Frail, vulnerable Y/N. Crying Y/N. Magical.
A surge of sadness gets him and Dean scowls. “I really wish I was doing this just because
I have to play your boyfriend.” He says.
And Y/N lifts her head, looks at him, ready to reply, but before
she can get a word out he’s already out the door.
Not gonna lie: writing the argument between Dean and Y/N was a bit tough for me. I’m an intense anti-Dean-angst fanatic because I hate seeing my boy in pain, but…man…I had to.Feel free to throw rocks, I understand.
If not ,however, and you happened to like this, show some love by liking, reblogging and/or following to keep updated and check out some other Dean-stuff I’ve written
“Well…there’s a bit of an issue with that,” Fury said, and Tony figured this was where Fury got to whatever it was that had really forced his hand and made him call Tony in, knowing how much the man detested having to do so.
“You see, well. He was suspended in the ice for nearly seventy years,” Fury began. Tony nodded along, because he could do math. “I’m sure he has a lot of adjusting to do—“ Tony started.
“Seventy years,” Fury repeated, cutting Tony off and leaning back in his chair and making it rock slightly. “Of no suppressants.”
“Oh,” Tony managed to choke out past the lump that had suddenly formed in his throat. “Oh.”
You’re Not Stubborn (Just Impossible) Verse by Wordsplat (@wordsplat): Steve’s an alpha, Tony’s an omega. Biology should take care of the rest, right? Except, Tony’s not anything like TV taught Steve omegas were–or like anyone else Steve’s ever met, actually–and Steve should really learn to just keep his mouth shut about that. Also, it doesn’t help that Tony’s not too keen on the idea of alphas. Or Steve. Yeah, this bonding thing looked a whole lot easier on TV.
Never is a Promise by manic_intent: Steve had to admit that he had some reservations about how the New Century handled the social balance between alphas and omegas.
Finding Pack by Naferty: In a world where pack means everything from status to fame to survival and to family, newly pack-less Tony Stark is trying to survive after those he once trusted betrayed him, and starting over by searching for a new pack to take him in, but with his age and status weighing heavily on his shoulders finding someone to take a chance on him might be easier said than done. (Mpreg fic)
What pack wanted an old infertile omega in their ranks? Certainly not the famous Avengers pack led by the equally famous Captain.
To Shield from the Storm by Politzania (@polizwrites): The Avengers have gone their separate ways after the Battle of New York and Tony Stark is on his own in the Tower. He’s successfully kept his omega status secret from all but a very few for decades; the suppressants have (mostly) done their job, but not for much longer.
Learning to team up with Captain America – possibly the most famous alpha of the 20th century and someone Tony’s already managed to alienate – is going to be just that much more difficult, now, isn’t it?
The King’s Mate by savedbythenotepad (@saved-by-the-notepad): (WIP) Steve doesn’t believe in rushed marriages and knows that he can find his mate if he’s given the time. The Council disagree, seeing as Steve is a king who needs a worthy partner by his side. Especially when he needs to be married by the age of twenty-five. Steve is twenty-three and running out of time.
Tony has been forced into a betrothal with an alpha who only sees him as a object and a tool. He has fought and protested but no one listens due to his omega status. All Tony wants is to be free and live life the way he wants, free from the restraints of what an omega should be.
Then it all changes when their worlds collide, for the better and for the worst.
Adopt by greenteeth: Steve’s life is the same as usual. He goes to work, fights super villains, banters with other Avengers and goes home to an empty apartment. Until the son of an old friend shows up asking for help, well sex first, then help. Suddenly Steve is married, fighting super villains, worrying what Obadiah Stane and coming home to Tony most nights of the week. (Mpreg fic)
It isn’t unheard of for a man to switch his dynamic; it mostly happens in cases of high stress, when the hormones produced would instigate either an advance to or a retreat from the extreme ends of the spectrum. Plenty of soldiers he’d known had gone off to battle as Betas and come home Alphas; a few came home Omegas, instead, and back before the days of suppressants, they got an honorable discharge.
But no one goes straight from Omega to Alpha, or, for that matter, the reverse, which means that Tony has to have changed dynamic not once, but twice. And that is rare.
Howling Commando by AnonEhouse: In this apocalyptic world survival takes precedence over nearly everything. Throw in Alphas, Omegas, soul bonds, and shape-shifting, and it’s a wonder Steve Rogers remains such a level-headed person. Tony Stark is still a specially flaky snowflake, of course. (Warning for slight dub-con. Mpreg fic)
The Other Side of the Door by AnonEhouse: Tony Stark died during the battle for New York, but three months later a Tony Stark from another dimension falls into Steve’s arms. Tony desperately needs Steve’s help in order to survive long enough for his baby to be born. It’s just common decency on Steve’s part. Isn’t it? The fact that he finds Tony attractive has nothing to do with it. After all, he’s not the Steve who Tony married. The Avengers are just… well, you wouldn’t turn away a pregnant man who had no place to go, would you? (Mpreg fic)
Alpha, Beta, Gamma Radiation series by Lumelle: It’s a new world and a new century, and Steve’s still not entirely used to being an alpha. Throw in a developing relationship with Tony (who seems to have replaced the sun at some point, because Steve’s world is busy revolving around him), the murky world of alpha dynamics, beta Bruce’s problems with alpha Hulk, and Clint’s inability to stay out of trouble no matter what his dear mate tries, and he won’t have time to worry much about his beta past.
Birds of a Feather by LoquitorLatinae: Tony only ever wanted to be an Alpha with bright feathers, a huge wingspan, and attitude. But he was an Omega, and while he still has the attitude, his lot in life as dictated by society leaves a lot to be desired. But he was Tony Stark, and he wasn’t going to let anything get in his way—though he wouldn’t necessarily be against the company of a certain Alpha Capsicle.
Joined ‘verse by RurouniHime (@thegertie): “Want a blood test,” Steve manages, because on the third night of their Week, he can think more clearly than he’s been able to for days. Tony’s scent is strong in his nostrils, cloying in a strange, sleek way he yearns after like a tune he nearly recognizes. “If you’re getting sick—”
“God.” Tony shifts bodily up into him, clenching around him. “Yes, Mom.”
Oversight by ShyOwl: It really wasn’t Steve’s fault that no one knew he was an omega.
In A Rut by rougewinter (@rouge-winter): “You don’t have to do this, Tony.” Pepper said as she tightened her white knuckled grip on the clipboard in her arms. “I’m sure we can find someone else.”“Yes. I do.” Tony said, surprised that his voice came out steadier than he expected.
Or the one where Steve goes into an Alpha Rut and Tony is the only one who can help.
Howl by shetlandowl (@shetlandowl): (WIP) A baseline human is just as you would expect; just like you and me. A beta is all that and more: the loyalty and devotion of a pack-minded upbringing, the power and healing of the wolf, and none of the fuss of an alpha or omega. They’re handsome and bold, talented and historically the subject of fantastic and heroic tales; all in all, the dream for any human inclined to romance.
Alphas and omegas… that gets a little trickier.
If anyone wants a themed rec list, hit me up in my inbox! Previous rec lists are here.
If Piper was a daughter of Hades, how different do you think she would be?
Oh man, this is an amazing question. Here are my head canons for Piper as a daughter of Hades.
Her mom Trista McLean is a famous actress notable for her rolls as very deep, somber characters and best known for portraying Death in a movie about a car crash victim that has to accept their demise and move on
Hades was fascinated by her portrayal of Death and they met/fell in love while the movie was being filmed
When Trista found out she was pregnant she tried to hide the truth about Hades from herself in hopes the baby would never have to know
Growing up Piper would constantly find dying animals and take care of them until they passed away, she often sang dirges to them to ease their suffering
At first she wanted to get into acting like her mom but after giving Hamlet’s soliloquy at an audition for school play and receiving shocked silence changes her mind
Trista continues to hide Piper’s father from her thinking it will keep Piper safe but it creates arguments that lead to Trista sending Piper off to boarding school
Piper sings dirges to herself and stands out from her peers to the point of frightening students and teachers and each school she goes to tries to find a way to push her out
At Wilderness School Leo teaches her about Dia de los Muertos and Piper is strangely happy to know not everyone sees death and the afterlife as terrifying
When Piper is claimed as a daughter of Hades CHB panics and Piper feels more of an outcast, she also worries Jason will hate her because of the relationship between their fathers and that Leo will abandon her too
Jason tells her he couldn’t care less and still wants to be her friend and Leo jokes that now it makes sense why she’s so creepy
After rescuing her mother with the help of Jason and Leo she confronts Trista about everything but Trista refuses to accept it and claims she won’t have her daughter suffer like the rest of his children and Piper understands
Piper still decorates her hair with bright feathers in homage to her ancestry but also wears poppies, carnations, and marigolds to show death in a less negative light
Piper struggles to fit in during the war and prove that she can both control her powers and use them to help
There's a student at EU who paints pretty much exactly like Hieronymus Bosch, and nobody has a clue where he came from or if he ever leaves the art building. When you ask him if he wants to go to lunch, he just stares at you sadly. He wears a bright feather behind his ear from a bird unknown in the area; he is constantly followed by the smell of acrylic paint and the faint sound of laughter. Did he make a deal with the Fae? Should you try to free him?