7-year-old A.J. Hutto cries on the stand as he testifies against his own mother. A.J. lived with his half-sister Adrianna and their mother Amanda in a small town in Florida. On a hot summer’s day in 2007, tragedy struck when Adrianna drowned in the family pool. When Amanda called the emergency services and her daughter was pronounced dead, it was treated as a terrible accident. Until A.J. confessed that he had seen his mother hold Adrianna under the water.
Further investigation revealed a somewhat troubled relationship between Amanda and her daughter, who suffered from ADHD. Photographs from the scene of the crime show an unkempt, cluttered house which investigators revealed smelled of urine. Despite there being 2 young children in the house, there was no trace of any toys. Her attorneys argued that Adrianna died accidentally while scooping bugs from the pool, but on the strength of A.J.’s testimony Amanda was convicted of murder and will spend the rest of her natural life in prison. A.J. who has since been adopted, has not seen his mother since that fateful day in court.
The reader, distraught over not having a date to her sister’s wedding,
considers asking one of the Winchesters to pretend to accompany her;
will Dean manage to save the day and play pretend for two weeks, or will
his feelings get the best of him?
Word count: almost 4k
A/N: yo this blew up way more than i ever thought it would thank you so much for the support <3
Friday arrives much faster than anticipated. It’s a warm, brisk
morning, the sunlight raining down and painting Massachusetts with a summery essence. Fallen
leaves litter the yards of suburban homes and a canopy of those that remain is
spread across the road, only a few dots of light peering through.
“Textbook illustration of the apple-pie life.” Dean remarks
as he steers the car down a long strip of tarmac. “God…it’s making me sick
“Hold it down. You know I don’t want you throwing up on any
of my family members.” Y/N admonishes, letting her gaze avert from watching the
houses roll by and unto the elder Winchester; today, despite her attempts to
persuade him, he’s still settled on
wearing his usual hunter get-up—jeans and a plaid (obviously)—and his chin is
adorned with a feint patch of stubble. His eyes are set on the road, focused,
but she don’t miss the way his mouth quirks up at the remark.
Sam laughs as his eyes follow the array of little homes. “Noted.”
He says. “Anything else Dean needs to know should probably be voiced out right
now. You don’t want him making a fool out of himself around your family
“We talked about this already last night.” The elder
“No cussing around my mom, no crude jokes, saying the grace
is a must, and—“
“And be sure to talk politics with your dad. Yes, I got all
of that the first hundred times you told me.” Dean, rolling his eyes, makes a
turn for the left and Y/N heaves a sigh of relief. They pass a group fo
teenagers walking to school (way too late).
“Okay.” Y/N sighs, then raises her finger for emphasis. “Oh—also,
be sure to try and interact with all my brothers. They love that.”
“We’ve met your family before, Y/N.” Sam’s eyes never leave
his screen as he twiddles away at his phone.
They had; at the
birth of her hunting career with the boys, years back, Y/N had had to make trip
down to Massachusetts to handle a siren case that the Winchester’s provided
extra muscle for. Their time in town had been spent at her parents’ home.
“I know, but this is different.” She defends. “Dean is….”
She pauses, eyes skittering over to the elder Winchester for not so much as a
second before they return. “….my boyfriend. Or pretending to be my boyfriend.
There’s going to be a lot of pressure.”
“Your folks don’t seem like the type.”
“I just want to rub it in their faces that I’m.”—she raises
her hands in finger quotes—“not single anymore so that they’ll get off my case.”
The elder Winchester nods slowly, pulling a face. “Makes
“Shut up, Sam.”
The younger Winchester finally lifts his head from his
phone. His gaze bounces from Y/N to Dean. “What did Cas say, by the way?”
“About tagging along?” Dean casts a brief glance into the
backseat. “Not much. He said that he doesn’t see why we need him there anyway.
I told him Y/N’s sister was getting married and she gets to bring a couple of
friends, and seeing as we’re the only ones she has…” He trails off. Y/N then smacks
him on the shoulder, earning a satisfied smile. “I’m kidding. Kind of. I told
him that we want him to come with.”
“And he said no?”
Dean shrugs and continues to drive. The conversation ends
there for a moment, and once a silence spreads throughout the car, Dean tunes
the radio on and Y/N turns her head to the window.
Trees and houses and roads oh so familiar from her childhood
escapades through this tone roll by. Streets, cafes. Although vast and very
busy, she knows this place like the back of her hand; the local pool where
their family used to go on weekends, the private schools she bounced between.
Just down the road, wedged in the valley nearby are the woods where she
encountered her first monster at the tender age of sixteen.
So many memories. So much attachment. Y/N hates Massachusetts
more than anything; because it reminds her of how idyllic her life was before
she started hunting. It reminds her of people and of places and everything the
rest of her peers experienced that she didn’t get to; hunting whisked her away
from her life, stripped her of a regular teenage hood. But then again, she’s
She chose this life.
She chose Sam and Dean. She loves Sam and Dean. You can tell her that the sky
is red and that pigs fly and she’ll still believe all that first before she
believes that they boys are anything but her family.
Boston is a few kilometers off the highway, down a winding
road lined by thick trees and shrubbery, and with a few residential buildings
scattered around. Despite being a large neighborhood dotted with mansions and
the like, it’s a lot quieter. The rumble of the Impala’s engine is evident as
Dean, instructed by Y/N, steers his way through. The outline of the city is
painted against the canvas of the bright blue sky as they approach. The
traffic, taken the time of day, is minimal and so they manage to get to the
hotel in time.
In the parking, Dean kills the engine immediately, and then,
heaving a heavy sigh, turns to Y/N.
His face speaks no ounce of nervousness, which only makes
the young girl’s stomach coil into a tighter knot. She wants him to be nervous.
One of them has to, and Dean’s placidity leaves room for only her own anxiety.
“So…” She replies, trying to ease away her own nerves. Her
hands feel clammy and the back of her neck is hot. “Just don’t be nervous, yeah? My parents are
like predators—they can smell your anxiety a mile away.”
“Not supposed to.”
“I feel like I should be telling that you, Y/N.” Dean
remarks. “You’re shaking like a leaf.”
“No, I’m not.” She is. It’s a terrible lie and very
evidently so, but thankfully none of the boys say anything. Instead, however,
Dean reaches out and envelopes her hand in his. Y/N then stills, and feels the
color drain from her face.
The contact is warm,
assuring. Her hands slides perfectly into his and their fingers intertwine,
palms pressed flat.
“We’re gonna kick ass.” Dean says confidently. Y/N doesn’t
hear him—she’s looking at him, staring him dead in the eye, but the words enter
one ear and fly out the other because her hand is in his and it’s nice.
They’ve never held hands before, not like this. Dean guiding
her through a dark path on a hunt, Y/N pulling him with her as she runs from a
vampire. Their hands have definitely touched before, and their skin has definitely
grazed before, but this is so alien to Y/N, because it feels nice and like
everything that it’s not supposed to.
Dean stares into the young girl’s gaze as he tugs on her
hand, offering a brief smile. “Come on.” He goes to open the door. “We’re gonna
Once his hand leaves hers, it’s like her trance has been
diminished, like spell once cast over her has been broken. She floats back to
reality. Sam is hauling their bags out from the trunk, she realizes, and Dean
is trying to fit as many weapons into his luggage (just in case) as he can. She
quickly gets out. The hotel, adorned with a very tropical theme, is down a
strip of cobbled path with a few plants at the sides. Y/N follows the
Winchesters, trying to keep the pace, when she hears Dean call to her.
She turns. “Huh?”
“Give me your bag.” He says, his hand open as they walk. Y/N
stares at him for a moment, eyes glazed over. She’s still a bit dazed. Looking
at Dean now feels alien and almost unreal, like she’s looking in one of those
funny funhouse mirrors. Maybe it’s just the stress of this wedding, or the
heat, she thinks, trying to brush it off
“I got it.”But before she can speak, Sam plucks the rucksack
from her and hoists it up on his back. Dean scoffs.
“Wow, Sam.”He rolls his eyes as they approach the hotel. Towering
above them, it’s a giant of a building, quaint balconies perched up on room, it’s
years and history written out in the way vines climb in slender tendrils along
the stone walls. Inside, the ceiling climbs so high one might think it reaches the
“Maybe Y/N should have asked you to play her boyfriend
instead.” Dean remarks as they stroll in. The place is packed; an eclectic
cloud of people roams the room, all with their luggage in hand.
Sam smirks. “Maybe she should have.”
“The reception’s over there.”
Y/N points to the desk ahead. Shuffling through the crowd,
the trio makes their way over to the counter, the receptionist smiling at them.
She’s young, probably older than them, but still her skin is taut and plump and
her brown eyes gleam as she speaks. She types something into the computer and
in a moment heir rooms are assigned, all courtesy of her family. Sam has agreed
to carry everything upstairs and meet them at the lounge, so Y/N and Dean
decide the time alone can be used to go over their ground rules again.
They wander over to the bar, a noticeable distance between
them. The room is ambient, lit up by little warm lights suspended from the
high-set ceiling despite it being day. Slow jazz music floats through the
crowded room. As soon as they settle down, swarming like locusts in a field,
the waiters come over, all trying to fix a menu in their faces until Dean
ushers them away and says that they’re not hungry. Y/N is a little bit
disappointed—she hasn’t eaten all morning—but says nothing, instead focusing on
the man before her.
“Can I cuss around your sister?” Dean asks as he leans back
in his seat.
Y/N nods vigorously, her expression saying that the answer
is quite obvious. “S/P/N’s got a mouth like a sailor. A little profanity won’t
hurt. Not around my parents though.”
“Not around your mum…?”
“Not around either.” She says. “They hate it, think it makes
you look delinquent.”
Dean nods thoughtfully, then goes on asking various
questions. Time seems to drift by unnoticed, the conversation bouncing from one
end to another like a ball in a tennis court.
“Can I drink?”
Y/N wrinkles her brow in uncertainty. “You don’t smoke.” She
says; it’s a firm statement, a proclamation rather than a question
“But if I had to?“
“Fine.” The young girl lets out an exaggerated sigh. Dean chuckles. The sound is precise and brief
but still manages to bring a shy smile to her face. Moments later, the table has quieted for some
reason, so Y/N lifts her gaze to Dean, regarding him curiously. She knows that
look—it’s hard not to when she’s seen it so many times, with Sam or Cas, or
even first hand. Gaze set on the floor, his lip is tucked between his teeth and
he runs his tongue over his lips, his contemplation evident until he finally
“So,” The elder finally allows their eyes to meet. “What
about us? You know…our boundaries, instructions. Do’s and don’ts. What do we
say if we get the stereotypical how did you meet quiz?”
matter.” She waves a dismissive hand and then leans back in her seat. The fiber
of the backrest presses into her back, crackling quietly. “My parents already
know we met through hunting, but we could always just use some other cover with
my other relatives.”
“So we lie?”
She quirks a teasing brow and smiles. “You have no problem
lying that you’re an FBI agent basically every day. Lying that you met me on
vacation or something can’t really be that hard…?”
“Where was our vacation to?”
“So we’re settling on the vacation-thing?”
Dean shrugs. “Any other options? I’m sorta just following
here. It’s your plan.”
“Don’t say it like that. We’re a team, Dean.”
“Right, almost forgot that.” The elder Winchester chuckles
and shakes his head. “Okay. What if we met on unconventional grounds? Maybe I
nearly ran your dog over and you got pissed, so you tried flagging down my car
and threatened to press charges. You didn’t, of course. My good looks and wit
managed to persuade you into changing your mind and just having dinner with me
Y/N rolls her eyes at the green-eyed hunter, her mouth
quirked upwards. “Is that your definition of romance? It sounds like bad
Dean pouts, then folds his arms and leans back in the chair.
“Whatever.” He grumbles. “You think something up then.”
“Vacation it is.”
A wide grin stretches across Y/N’s face and she revels in
the victory, when Sam walks up. He comes up from behind her, the only
indication of his arrival being the way Dean’s eyes dart to the space past her
“You guys aren’t eating?” He asks, pulling out a seat from the table nearby.
He sits and turns to Dean.
“Do you want to?” The elder Winchester looks to Y/N—he’s
Opening her mouth to speak, she’s about to decline (because
they don’t have time to sit and eat anyway), but the grumbling in her stomach
reminds her of her hunger. The sound is embarrassingly loud. Her mouth instantly
shuts, and Dean’s eyes widen.
“Shut up.” Y/N chastises as her cheeks are swarmed with
pink. The elder Winchester doesn’t listen. He begins to howl with laughter,
clasping his stomach, and Sam snickers along with him.
“Whatever.” She turns her head, scowling, as his laughter
begins to melt away. Leaning back in his seat, little bubbles of laughter
escape him, and he lifts his hand.
“Waiter.”He calls. A
few feet away, with long curly blond hair, one of the servers from earlier
turns. Dean’s ruddy face smiles at him as he calls him over. He scuttles over,
a polite smile on his face.
“What do you want, Y/N?” Dean’s voice is ribbing and smug.
“Shut up.” The young girl rolls her eyes and turns her
attention to the waiter. He’s young and his face is dotted with little pink
spots of acne. She orders a chicken salad, just like Sam, and Dean goes for
stake. Moments later, the food arrives, hot and scented with herbs and spices.
They eat and then, stuffed and satisfied, head up to their
rooms to get cleaned up. Y/N just got a call from her parents asking where they
are, that they’ve been waiting on them for a while now and everyone is already arriving
when they finally get to their room, Sam waiting out in the hallway, she and the elder Winchester hurry to get ready. Y/N curls her hair and throws on some mascara while Dean runs a quick shower.
“Okay, this is it.” She says, standing by the bed; the light from outside floods the area, bringing out the very delicate
and chic design: the walls, painted mocha brown, are adorned with little
trinkets and the bedspread is a light toffee color. There’s a potted palm in one of the corners, candles
practically everywhere, and the wooden floor is warm beneath her bare feet.
“Operation Wedding Crasher is in pursuit.” Y/N says to Dean
Standing in the bathroom, he’s just gotten out of the shower and is trying to
fix his hair, running his fingers through it and muttering profanities beneath
his breath. She’d insisted that he changed—taken how many outfits he’s recycled,
she’s pretty sure he wore that very one years ago when he first met her
“Roger that.” He takes one last look in the mirror, checking his stubble
and hair, then walks over to the bed where his shirt sits.
Y/N tries not to stare at his bare-chested form as he
quickly slips on the shirt, the front undone and exposing his caramel-colored
skin. Instead, she clears her throat and turns away. This is the only way; if
she doesn’t, she’s going to end up drooling a puddle on the floor or letting
her gaze linger for too long, and that’s the last thing she needs right now. As
if things weren’t awkward enough back in the car.
She then looks down at her hand, once encased in Dean’s, the
marks from her battles with monster’s still there. There’s a little crescent shaped
scar sticking out in her palm that speaks of a hunt years ago, a hunt with a
rugaroo that ended in tears and blood and Y/N clasping onto Dean’s shirt for
dear life. It’s hard to forget. She can recall getting it, can remember the
pain of having to kill that young girl because of the abomination she had come,
can still taste the blood on her tongue and feel the pain in her hand.
This life has left
her with various moments like that. It’s a packaged deal when you’re a hunter,
a sort of terms-and-conditions scenario, to have at least one hunt that has
managed to strip you of normality. Something that took you over the line that
separates you from the regular world—that was it for Y/N. She was it. That girl
couldn’t have been older than seventeen. Having her blood on her hands had
definitely been the initiation into the hunter’s game for Y/N.
She has been through so much in her time as a hunter and it
shows; on her face and on her body. On her hands. She runs a finger along the
tissue, watching it intently. Dean is speaking in the background, saying
something to her that she can’t decipher because she forgets to for a moment,
until the memory nudges at her conscience once more. The rugaroo hunt. Her
It had been Dean to help her that night. It had been him and
his nobility to carry her out of that house before she could bleed out; it had
been him and his care, his selflessness, that got her to the car parked miles away
from the woods they were in; it had been Dean to stop the bleeding and the
tears that seemed to rain from her eyes after she killed that young girl and it
had been his hands to cloth the wound in her own.
It had been and it will always be Dean, because Dean is her
“Y/N?” He says, pulling her from her reverie.
The young girl immediately looks up and whips around, facing
the elder Winchester who is already dressed and ready to go. Y/N’s eyes widen;
she doesn’t say it, but the outfit change was definitely a good idea.
Her eyes rake up and down the green-eyed hunter’s structure,
taking in the sight of his crisp burgundy button up and dress pants—he looks
stunning. He always looks stunning. It’s not weird for Y/N to say because it’s
Dean and everyone notices his attractiveness upon first encounter, but this is
a whole different case. It’s still him, of course. His eyes are still vibrant
green, breaching into a hazel-gold, and his hair is still chestnut brown and
his smile and his heart and everything Dean Winchester is still evidently
there, but it’s just…different, like looking at the same thing but from a
“Uhm…” He draws out after a while.
Y/N looks back up to
his eyes; her face then flushes and she swallows. “Sorry, uh” She stumbles,
clasping her hands together and trying to regain her composure”—you were
Dean is smirking. “I look that good, huh?”
“Oh, shut up.”
He chuckles. The first few buttons of his shirt are popped
and you can see a patch of caramel-tinted skin peering out at you, a feint scar
on his collarbone adding some extra touch. “I was saying that we should get
going. Sam’s already waiting up for us.”
“Right. Uhm, so we’ve gone over everything, yeah? You get
“Yes. Act like we’re dating.”
“Act like we’re in love.” Y/N corrects as she grabs her
satchel from the bed and goes to Dean at the door. She stands, body facing him.
“There’s a big difference. My parents are going to be all over my case for
these two weeks if they see that you and I don’t have any chemistry.”
“We already do, though.” He defends.
“Whatever. Then let’s amp it up—mega chemistry.”
“Mega chemistry, huh?”
“Yeah.” She smiles; it’s goofy and a bit shy because, God,
did she really just say that?
But Dean doesn’t seem to mind, because his lips turn up to
and he shakes his head. “Dork.”
Y/N goes to open the door, her hand hovering right above the
knob when Dean cuts in.
“Can I hold your hand?” He asks.
The young girl then stills and her hand floats away from the
door. She stares at him; his voice is calm and collected, like he’s asking her
what’s the time or how she is.
“You…want to hold my hand?” Y/N’s uncertainty is evident.
Shrugging, he pulls a face, an expression that says no duh, why not.“Yeah.” He answers. “We are trying to portray that
mega-chemistry, aren’t we?”
She feels him reach out, like it’s happening in slow motion,
like she can’t do anything, and take her hand in his. Their skin grazes and
fingers lace. His hand is far bigger than hers, rougher, too, but it’s a
satisfying contrast as the butterflies in her chest are roused.
Dean’s smile is ribbing and smug and Y/N’s heart is in her
as she feels her palms clam up. He opens the door and they step out into the
hallway, the heat immediately smacking onto them. Sam is leaning against the
wall, typing away at his phones, and he looks up when he notices their
A smile twists at his lips. “There’s the happy couple.”
“Shut it.” Dean says, smirking as they begin to saunter down
the strip of corridor. Y/N is trying to
mollify her feelings, rinsing them away, trying to rationalize why they’re even
here in the first place. They shouldn’t be. She shouldn’t be getting so worked
up over something like this, but it’s hard to. The past few days, with this
wedding situation overhead, have been nerve-wracking—could that be it? she
wonders. Could those anxieties be the cause of her frazzled emotions?
But she doesn’t have time to ruminate. The elevator takes
them to the ground floor and they shuffle out once the doors open, Sam and Dean
talking about how weirdly excited they are about meeting Y/N’s family as they
walk through the ballroom and then out into the garden. . Picnic benches are
set up across the expanse of greenery and evergreen trees sprout from the
ground all around. There are cobbled paths through and fairy lights (currently
off) strung up between branches willows. She remembers this place from when her
dad would bring her along on workshops and send her out here to play.
Y/N notices her mother first.
Her hair is an ashy
blond, curled into a bob, and she’s wearing a white caftan and jeans. She’s
smiling, laughing at the table cluttered with familiar faces. Only about two or
three people are strangers to her.
Then, as if instinctively, she clutches Dean’s hand tighter
in hers. He then casts a brief glance at her, one of caution, worry, almost,
and Y/N meets his gaze.
“I’m nervous.” She admits, visibly gulping.
His eyes regard her curiously. “Why?”
If only she knew. But she doesn’t, so Y/N only shrugs and
looks back ahead. When they’re a few feet away from the table, that’s when
S/P/N notices them because, gleaming like the sun in a salmon colored dress,
she rises from her seat and welcomes them with a smile.
In which Bruce invites Clark and his family over for a cookout.
Damian sat at his desk in his
bedroom, hunched over his sketchbook. The soft sounds of his pencil
scraping over the paper was the only thing to disturb the otherwise
silent room. His drapes were closed, his door shut. He didn’t want
anything to disturb him.
It was the second day of ‘summer
vacation’, which according to Dick and Tim was 'the most important
part of the whole year, Dami, come on’.
True, it was nice to not have a
daily distraction from training and patrol, but otherwise Damian
didn’t see the point of treating an extended break from school as a
His door opened suddenly,
surprising him. His pencil shuddered on the page and messed up one of
the lines he was so carefully laying down.
“Damain! The Kents are here!”
Dick announced, bright and much too loud. He was shirtless and
barefoot, wearing only a pair of swim trunks, dark with streaks of
“I know.” Damian grunted,
grabbing his eraser and carefully rubbing at the incorrect line.
False Twin Flames, Karmic Attachment, A Spiritual & Psychological Fusion.
A ‘false twin flame’ is a specific type of karmic attachment that leaves a pretty lasting impression, and a lasting impact, that is, until the actual twin flame makes themselves apparent. And sometimes, even then, the dent left by the false twin may be so prevalent, that it too affects the twin flame union, and the ways in which the twin in question perceives love, and perceives members of the opposite sex, (opposing energy).
Just like not everybody has a twin flame, not everybody has a false twin. The two sort of go hand in hand, and you cannot have one without the other.
Helloooo! I’ll be taking commissions! Money has been a little tight with my family pooling together to send my mum off to see her family in Korea. If there is a lot of interest i will start a slot system but for now it’s all clear! Thanks for taking a look!
I also reserve the right to deny a commission.
I don’t do
furries/anthros (though this is kind of subjective…kind of depends)
But if you do want to talk about it or have any questions, please contact me through my ask box (which is always open) or email me! If you think your ask got eaten or I haven’t replied in a decent amount of time please feel free to REMIND ME!
It would be awesome if you had some good reference for any original characters. Or you know a good long description of what they look like. The MORE specific you are…THE BETTER! :D If you can’t think of any poses thats fine! We can discuss all that.
Thank you for looking this over and considering to commission me!
_____All commissions will be given digitally in HQ_______
***Also work is only started after some form of payment is received (regular precautions after all the art scams lately)***