silver shifters

thetideseternaltune  asked:

This is such a fun idea! My sentence for a Destiel fic: "Where are you going?"

“Where are you going?” Sam asked.

Dean was angrily stuffing the green duffel bag with weapons.

“We know where the thing is! I’m going to kill it, Sam.”

“We just got back, can’t you wait a second?”

“No, Sam, no, I can’t wait a second cause the damn thing is walking around with my face. It’s a little personal.”

Cas walked over to the door. “Dean is right, Sam. We know where the shapeshifter is, we should go now.”

Sam sighed. They’d only just gotten back from a fight. “Alright.”

Next thing you know, Sam, Dean, and Cas are all tied up, and the shape shifter is pacing infront of them, waving a knife around as he speaks.

“You know, Dean, I’ve been getting your memorys and thoughts and stuff all day, and man. Must I say, you’re one complicated guy.”

“What can I say, I live a complicated life.” Dean spat.

“That you do. So many arguments with Sam. Cas, too. So many fights, and weapons. So many friends killed.” The shapeshifter stopped and looked right at Dean. “But most of all; so many feelings.”

Dean was too busy trying to untie the bindings that he couldn’t think of a smart response. 

“There’s anger, and guilt, and doubt, sure. But there are some unique ones too. Like want, and lust.” The shapeshifter paused and walked closer to Dean. He kneeled down, getting right up in his face.

Dean had to admit, it was a lot like looking into a mirror.


Sam looked over at Dean, wide eyes and all. 

“What can I say?” Dean asked. “I love me some pie.”

The shapeshifter smirked and stood up. “Yeah, I know, believe me, I know, but there’s something else, isn’t there? Or someone?”

“What? You talkin’ about me and Sammy? Sorry, but we ain’t like that.” Dean resumed untying his wrists as the shapeshifter walked away from him.

“Dean, you’re in love. And you’re too damn afraid to tell anyone. Even Sam.”

‘Yeah, okay buddy, whatever you say.” Dean rolled his eyes.

“I think you’re forgetting that I have all of your memories, Dean. I know how you feel.”

“Yeah, and I’m sure you know how to lie.”

“Oh, but I’m not lying. You know I’m not lying.”

Dean frowned at the shapeshifter.

“Let’s talk about how from the moment you met-oh, we should use a fake name, huh? I guess there is a reason they don’t know…okay, let’s use the name Faith.” The shifter turned the knife around in his hand. “From the moment you met, Faith could read you like a book. Knew exactly what you were thinking. As time went on and you realized how … oh how do I put this so it isn’t obvious? You realized Faith’s situation. And you knew it wasn’t a good one, and you wanted Faith out for your benefit and Faith’s.”

Dean finnally had his hands free. Now all he had to do was wait for the perfect time.

“So Faith got out of the situation, for you. And there were consiquences. That’s when you started to really consider Faith your friend. As time went on,  more sacrafices were made. More battles were fought. More lessons were taught. You saw and remembered how programmed Faith was and how you changed everything. You taught Faith to think for themself, and most of the time whenever Faith did, they were also thinking of you.” The shapeshifter smiled and pointed the blade at Sam and Cas. “You boys got any guesses? It really isn’t that hard.”

Dean looked over at Sam, who had wiggled his way out of the rope, too. Dean gave the slightest look to Sam, telling him he was ready to jump out at the sonofabitch whenever he was.

Then he looked over at Cas. Castiel, who was already looking at Dean. Who was listening to everyword the shapeshifter was saying, not even trying to untie the knots around his wrists.

He had this look on his face like he wanted Dean to tell him, but Dean just gave a stern look back and turned to face the shifter.

“Oh, come on, you gotta at least be curious right? You don’t have any guesses?” When nobody answered, the shifter smiled. “Well, that’s alright. I can give you a hint. Okay, are you ready?”

“Come on man,” Dean pleaded. He wanted the shifter to come closer so he could grab the knife from him, but he also wanted to shut the dude up. This was his personal thoughts he was reading out loud!

“They deserve to know, Dean. Okay, here’s your hint: Dean refers to them as he, but really, they have no gender.”

Dean closed his eyes. He didn’t look at Sam or Cas of the shifter or anything.

“Still no guesses, umm, okay, here’s another hint: they met when Bobby was alive. Hell, Bobby was there when they met! If you don’t know now, I don’t really know what to say, he’s the only friend you guys have that you knew when Bobby was alive that you still talk to, or is alive today.”

Dean tried to tone everything out. He tried not to feel anything at all, but it was so incredibly difficult.

He could feel the shapeshifter walking closer towards him. He felt the tip of the blade of the knife touch his nose. “Open your eyes, Dean. Are you embarassed? Is the one you’re inlove with in this room? Wow! Too bad Castiel will have to watch you die.”

Dean opened his eyes. “Really? Cause I thhink he’s actually going to watch you die.”

And in one swift movement Dean took the silver knife from the shifter, Sam jumped up and pinned him down while Dean stabbed him through the heart.

Sam dropped the body and went to untie Cas, and before anyone could say or do anything, Dean walked away to the car.

Dean didn’t leave them, though he really wanted to. By the time Sam and Cas caught up, Dean had the radio turned up loud, purley to avoid any and all conversation.

When they got back to the bunker, Sam walked in first and instead of letting them in he said, “You guys need to talk,” and locked them out of the bunker.

“Really, Sam?” Dean yelled. He sighed and put his hands on his hips, looking down at the ground.

“Dean.” Cas said, standing behind him. When Dean didn’t respond, Cas said his name again. “Dean, we do need to talk. Look at me.”

Dean turned around to look at Cas for the first time since the shifter had them tied up. “Listen, Cas-”

“No, Dean. You’re not going to make an excuse. You aren’t going to wiggle your way out of this.”

Dean looked at the ground.

“Dean…you could have just told me.”

“No, Cas, I coudn’t. There were so many times when I was going to, or when I thought you were going to tell me, but I realized that this, what I feel for you, not only is it the most embarassing thing ever, but it would never work.”

“Why would it never work, Dean?” 

“Because, well, for one you’re an angel, but mosly because you don’t feel the same way.” Dean was getting teary-eyed.

“How could you say that, Dean? How could you know? You don’t, because you are wrong. I never wanted to scare you or make you feel awkward. I thought you loved me like a brother, like you love Sam. Not like…that.”

“I’m sorry about that, Cas. I think mostly I was trying to convince myself.” Dean took a step closer towards Cas. “I don’t have to do that anymore?”

“No.” Castiel smiled. “Nor do I want you to.”

Dean took another step closer to Cas. “Well then great. That kinda works out then, huh?”

“Who would’ve thought I’d be thankful that a shapshifter tied us up and read your mind?” Castiel lowwered his voice, soft and breathy. He stepped closer to Dean. Their noses were grazing.

All those feelings the shapeshifter was talking about? The want, the lust, the love. All of it came out in that kiss. Not only in Dean, but in Cas too.

Because when that shifter was telling the story of them, he could’ve been reading Castiel’s mind instead and hardly a single detail would be different.

Because Cas fell in love with Dean long ago, too, and they were both too scared to do anything about it.

Send me a sentence and I’ll turn it into the first line of a destiel fic.

Despicable Surprise

Fandom: Supernatural

Pairing: CrowleyxReader

Word count: 1.6k

Warnings: Female!Reader, fluff?, the world ‘hell’ is mentioned a couple times. 

Request: Reader can change her form. When Crowley sees this, he uses it to his advantage. 

Notes: Crowley is so fun to write. Thanks for requesting :)

(Credit to GIF owner)

Years ago, Sam and Dean Winchester had spent the week in a little town in Oregon hunting for you. Just a teen at the time, you had been rallying trouble all over town, appearing as dead figures to people inside their homes in the middle of the night. While you never hurt anyone, the whole town was paranoid and seemingly intrigued at the same time. When the Winchester’s heard about this, they immediately set off in the Impala.

Once they got to the town, they spent hours upon hours researching you and what kind of creature you were. But to no avail, it was like you didn’t even exist. You heard about Sam and Dean from other creatures and took it upon yourself to follow them around town in your true form. You sat close to them at restaurants and followed the Impala around town, you even managed to eavesdrop on some of their conversations.

“Think about it Dean, it’s as if Bobby suddenly came back to life and visited us,” Sam murmured as he and his brother sat in a both at the back of a diner. You sat two seats away from them, listening intently. The name instantly rung a bell. Bobby Singer was one their hunting pals a little ways ago. A smirk formed across your smile as you rose from the booth and walked out of the diner. You walked over to the Impala which was parked in front of the diner and ran your fingertips along it’s cool, black hood, the Winchester’s were going to have a visitor that night.

You waited outside the Winchester’s motel, pretending to read a book. They were chatting about reading over the Lore again as they walked into their room, paying you no mind. You smiled and put the book down, rising to your feet. Your eyes fluttered close, inhaling a deep breath. You felt stars form against your eyelids as your body began to shift. Once you opened your eyes, you looked down at your hands. They were calloused and bruised along with you fingernails which were jagged and chewed. Pleased with yourself, you used the rest of your power to appear inside the Winchester’s motel room.

You sat down in a chair by the front door while their backs were still turned away from you. They rummaged recklessly through a bag which you presumed to full of weapons.

“Sam? Dean?” you asked, pretending to be all confused. A smile was threatening to form on your face as Bobby Singer’s voice spilled from you mouth.

Sam and Dean whipped around, flabbergasted by what they just heard. Dean had a metallic gray gun in clutched between his fingers, it was aimed right between your eyes. Sam looked over to Dean then back to you.

“Bobby?” he asked, taking an uneasy step towards you. Dean puts his hand in front of Sam, blockading him from reaching you.

“C’mon Dean it’s just me,” you acknowledged. You rose to your feet and took a couple steps towards the astonished Winchesters. Dean put his finger on the trigger.

“ it’s not you. You’re dead,” he insisted. He the pulled the trigger. You watched as a silver bullet emerged from the barrel and flew through your head. It dissipated right after it went through you, but you were not injured at all.

“I’m not a shifter, silver bullets don’t hurt me. Nothing does really,” you groaned and returned to your true form. The Winchester’s faces when they saw that you were just a normal looking teenage girl was laughable.

“Wait…you’re..” Sam stumbled.

“A teenage girl who’s also some weird creature that is immortal and able to shape shift, weird I know. But listen, I am not evil or wrongdoing. In fact, I can help you on you little hunts, if you want,” you suggested.

After you said this, you explained to the Winchester’s your extensive knowledge of hunting and how you were yearning to break free from the boring town you resided in. It took a lot of convincing, but the Winchester’s soon took you under their wing.

Now, after being on the team for years, you fully gained the Winchester’s trust and of course, still managed to pull countless pranks on them. Sometimes you’d appear as Bobby, a crossroads demon, or even a girl Dean once with slept with. However, one of your personal favorites was Lucifer which seemed to frighten the Winchester’s every time. Castiel was very confused by this sensation, but you never left him out of a good prank. You often appeared as other angels to him in the middle of the night when he was completely caught off guard. After he realized it was just you, you both shared a good laugh.

For the past couple days, you and the Winchester’s had been working on a case involving hellhounds. A couple of hellhound’s were ‘accidentally’ set loose in a town despite the fact that no one made a deal with a crossroads demon. Sam explained to you that, Crowley the crossroads demon and also the King of Hell, was keeping himself entertained by tantalizing defenseless humans. You were intrigued, having never met Crowley

“Sounds like my type of guy,” you joke as Dean plotted out a way to catch the alleged Crowley. Sam snorted.

“Good, because you’re meeting him today,” Sam laughs.

After that, you waited excitedly for the Winchester’s to figure out a way to catch Crowley who sounded a lot like you. Towards the evening, Dean drove you and Sam out towards an old, abandoned storage unit a few miles out of town. There, you set up a Devil’s trap for the crossroads demon.

Sam instructed you to wait behind an old unit until they called you to come out. You obeyed and walked over towards a unit, leaning your back against the cool concrete. You were about to give Crowley the shock of his life. After a couple minutes, you heard Dean begin to recite a summoning. The hairs on the back of your neck eagerly stood up.

“Hello boys,” a cool voice says. Adrenaline ran through your body as you peaked around the storage unit to try and sneak a peak at the crossroads demon. He was decked out in a black suit, rather dapper for what the Winchester’s normally dealt with. Immediately, you took form as Crowley, awaiting on when the Winchester’s would call you.

“So where have your hellhounds been recently? Because whatever doggy daycare you’ve been keeping them at is not cutting it,” Dean chews.

“I don’t know what you mean,” Crowley utters. You watch as Dean nods his head.

“Yeah, I’m sure you don’t. But you don’t want to hear us question you, do ya?” Dean asks.

Crowley looks around the unit, “Considering I am in a lovely Devil’s trap that seems to be the only thing I can do. Although, if there is another option then I’ll take it,” Crowley explains.

“Good,” Dean says, not breaking eye contact with crossroads demon, “Y/N,” Dean calls. You stepped out from behind the unit, a mirror reflection of the demon standing in the trap. Sam and Dean’s eyes widen once they see you, but they don’t say anything about it.

“Crowley, this is Y/N,” Dean murmurs as you step up to the edge of the Devil’s trap.

“Hello, Y/N, you’re very handsome looking,” Crowley sneers as he looks you up and down. Sam makes his way over to you.

“If anything goes wrong just call us,” he whispers.

Dean shifts his weight from foot to foot, “You and Y/N are going to have a little chat. We’ll be back,” Dean says as turns on the ball of his heel towards the exit. Sam follows him.

“What, where are you going?” Crowley asks. The Winchester’s ignore him and walk out of the storage unit, leaving you and Crowley alone. Crowley looks over to you.

“So Y/N, what’s it like being a shifter?” he asks, keeping his tone low. You snorted.

“I’m not a shifter,” you reply in his voice, “I’m something much more powerful than a shifter.”

Crowley perks his eyebrows, “Is that so?” he asks.

You nod your head.

“In that case, what are you?” he asks.

You shrug and begin to walk around the perimeter of the Devil’s trap, “There’s not really a name for it. I’m more of a mutant than anything,” you reply.

“A mutant,” Crowley replies, “Seems pretty cool to me.”

You smile, “Trust me, it is.”

Silence fills the air as Crowley continues to study you despite the fact that you looked exactly like him.

“Do you ever show your true form?” Crowley asks suddenly, taking his hands out of his pockets.

“I’m supposed to be the interrogator in this conversation,” you testify.

Crowley doesn’t break his eye contact, “I asked you a question.”

You stop at the edge of the Devil’s trap, looking at Crowley dead in the eye, “Oh Crowley, if you want to see my true form, you’ll have to take me out to dinner first,” you tease, shooting him a wink.

Crowley smiles, “Perhaps I will,” he says.

You feel your cheeks heat up as Crowley lifts his hand and snaps his fingers. Suddenly, you’re back in your true form. The slightest bit of authority you held slipped away before your eyes.

“Hmm,” Crowley mumbles as he looks you up and down. You rest your hands on your hips.

“How did you do that?” you asked impatiently.

Crowley smirks, “I’m the King of Hell, I can do anything,” he says. Shivers trickle down your spine.

He snaps his fingers again and your suddenly dressed in a long and elegant black gown with red undertones. Your feet are done up in tall, red stilettos. Something heavy sits on your head. Your fingers reach up to feel a crown sitting upon your hair. You look down at yourself in bewilderment then back up and Crowley.

“There we go,” he says, obviously pleased with himself, “Now you look like the Queen of Hell,” he smirks.


Characters: Sam Winchester, Dean Winchester

Warning: None

Word Count: 2,046

Prompt: “Stop lying!”

Tagging: @bloody-woman-in-white @pocketmonsterqueen @selyons01


    One bullet. One bullet, faded silver, left in your pistol. One bullet, one shot, one chance for you to blow away a monster who be anywhere disguised as anyone. One chance to save everyone in this building. One wrong shot, and you take an innocent life and put the other twenty-seven in harm’s way.

    Rule number one: save the innocents. Keep the number of casualties to a minimum, preferable no higher than the number that brought your attention to the job in the first place, and your work is half done already. Hospitalized isn’t ideal, but it’s acceptable as long as the person is stable. So far, the shapeshifter you’re hunting hasn’t left a trail of dead bodies. Deaths stopped the day you rode into town with the Winchester brothers, but with the way you’ve got it locked down and cornered in this small town, two-story office complex, it’s probably more than willing to up the body count if it offers a chance to escape.

Keep reading

Astronaut Dad

Warnings: Swearing, wee bit of feels
Characters: Uncle!Sam Winchester, Daddy!Dean Winchester, Bobby Singer, Daughter!Winchester Reader
Summary:(Read request at bottom)
Readers Age: 8 years old
Word Count: 1650

Y/N: Your Name
Y/H/C: Your Hair Color
Y/E/C: Your Eye Color

A/N: Yep I really did name this that. I couldn’t think of anything else don’t judge me. I also put my own twist on how Dean came back, like who was there and what not. Enjoy!

You were sitting in Bobby’s living room, drawing. Your dad, Dean, came in, he looked sad. “Hey, Baby Girl. I gotta talk to you for a minute.” He said as he knelt down in front of you. You stopped drawing and gave him your full attention. “I have to go away for a little while.” Dean’s eyes started filling with tears.

“For your special job?” You asked, to you, Dean going away meant he was just doing his job.

Dean smiled, “Yeah, you could say that. But, this time is different. I’m not going to be coming back.” Dean looked at the floor, then up at you. He stared into you Y/E/C eyes, he saw tears starting to fill them.

“Why won’t you be coming back?” You asked, trying your best to be strong for your daddy.

“Because, I made a deal with very bad people to save your Uncle Sammy, and I’m going to be paying the price so he won’t have to.” Dean informed you.

“When are you coming back?” You asked, eyes full of hope.

Dean looked at the floor, “I won’t be coming back, Chipmunk. Uncle Sammy is going to take care of you while I’m gone.” Dean looked back up at you, you both had tears falling down your cheeks.

Dean cupped your face and wiped the tears away with his thumb, “But I want you to come back, daddy.” You said.

Dean closed his eyes, “I know. Y/N, you are the most important person in my life. You’re even more important than Uncle Sammy, but this is something that has to happen. I love you.” Dean said. You could tell in his voice that he felt so powerless.

You jumped up, wrapping your small arms around his neck, he didn’t hesitate to wrap his arms around you. “But I don’t want you to go!” You whined, the tears coming down like a waterfall. Dean held you tighter.

“I’m so sorry Y/N/N, I am, I never wanted this to happen.” Dean whispered. “There is good news.” You pulled out of the hug and wiped some tears away, “We have a month before I go. Meaning I want to spend every second with you, and occasionally Uncle Sammy.” Dean smiled, you giggled.

You had a month to spend with your dad, you two did everything together, you went everywhere together. There was no place that one of you could go, without being seen with the other. You completely forgot that he only had a month left, so when that day came, the sadness came over you again.

…A Month Later…

“Y/N.” You heard your dad call you. You got up from your spot on Bobby’s couch and ran to the kitchen. Dean instantly smiled when he saw you, you walked over to him and he picked you up. “You know how we talked about me having to go some time?” You nodded, Dean looked at Sam and Bobby, who gave him silent support. “Well, today’s that day. I’m sorry.” Tears started falling down your cheeks, you wrapped your arms around Dean’s neck. This would be the last time you can hug him.

“Don’t go daddy!! I don’t want you to go!” You yelled, Dean’s heart broke when he heard that. Sam and Bobby quietly left the room, “Please don’t leave me!” You begged.

“I’m so sorry Baby Girl, you still have Bobby and Sam.” Dean tried to make the situation better.

“But I w-want my d-daddy!” You said in between sobs, at this point Dean crashed to the floor, holding you tight.

Dean didn’t know what to say, he was the most important thing to you, you already lost your mother and now you’re going to lose your father. “I know Sweetheart, just… I’ll be back someday, okay?” Dean said, you pulled out of the hug and wiped your tears away.

“R-really?” You asked, Dean didn’t want to lie to you, but he wanted to give you some hope that he might come back. Even if that hope is false hope.

Dean tucked a stray strand of your Y/H/C hair behind your ear, “Yeah.” He nodded.

“Then why are we staying goodbye, if I’m just going to see you again?” You asked.

“Because, it’s going to be a very, very, long time until I get back.” Dean lied. Truth is, he’s not coming back.

You smiled and nodded, “I’ll be ready when you do come back!” You said eagerly. Dean smiled and nodded.

“Okay, well, be good to Uncle Sammy and Bobby, okay?” Dean instructed. You nodded. “Okay, I love you.” Dean pulled you back into a hug,

“Love you too, daddy.” Sam re-entered the room, Dean pulled out of the hug. They seemed to have a silent conversation, Dean nodded.

“Well, I have to go now, I love you.” Dean said once more as he stood up.

“I love you too, see you when you get back!” You heard Sam sigh and give Dean an unimpressed face. He didn’t like that Dean lied to you, Dean shrugged Sam’s stare off and walked out of the kitchen. Sam gave you a small smile before following Dean.

Four months has passed, your dad hasn’t come back, and your Uncle rarely visits. Bobby is starting to get mad at Sam for rarely spending any time with you, “You can’t just abandon her!” You heard Bobby yell. You got up and placed your ear on the kitchen door, “She’s your niece, Dean would want her to be with you.” Bobby stopped to listen to the other person on the phone. “Sam, I understand that you need time, but that poor little girl in there just lost her dad and, y’know, it’d be great if she had the comfort of her own uncle!” So, he was talking to Uncle Sam.

You knocked on the door, everything went quiet, “Can you shut up for one second ya idjit?” Bobby walked over to the kitchen door and opened it.

“Are you talking to Uncle Sammy?” You asked, looking up at him.

“Well, yes I am.” Bobby responded.

“Can I talk to him?” You asked, giving your best puppy dog eyes.

Bobby sighed, “Sure.” He handed you the phone and you placed it on your ear.

“Hi Uncle Sammy.” You greeted.

“Hey Bug, how you doing?” He asked.

“I’m good, I miss you and dad though.” You admitted as you went and sat on the couch.

“Yeah, I-I miss you too.” Sam said.

“When are you coming back?” You asked.

Sam sighed, “I, uh, I don’t know. Probably not for a little while.”

Your smile faded, “You’re not going to leave me too, are you?”

The line was silent, “No, I’m not, hang on I’m coming to get you.” Sam said.

“Yay!” You cheered, you gave the phone back to Bobby and went to pack up your things.

A few hours passed before you heard a knock at the front door. You ran off the couch and to the door, you heard Bobby yell after you but you ignored him. You opened the door to see your Uncle Sam standing there, “Uncle Sammy!!” You jumped into his arms, he picked you up and hugged you.

Sam walked into the house, and was greeted by Bobby. “Y/N, why don’t you go put your stuff in the Impala and I’ll meet you out there.” He put you down and you nodded. You grabbed your bags and ran outside to the Impala.

You opened the Impala door and tossed your stuff in, you shut the door and turned around. You froze when you saw a dirty, tired, and very much alive Dean. “Daddy!” You yelled and ran into his arms, he gladly accepted the hug and picked you up.

From how loud you yelled, Bobby and Sam heard, they rushed outside and saw Dean holding you. “Y/N!” Sam yelled, they ran over and Bobby yanked you away from Dean.

Sam tackled Dean and held a silver knife to his throat, “What are you?!” Sam asked, you were screaming at Bobby to let you go.

“Sammy! It’s me! I promise, look.” Dean proceeded to make a small cut on his own throat with the silver knife. “Not a shifter, if you have some holy water I’ll be more than happy to take that test as well, but I would appreciate it if you would get your heavy ass off of me so I can hug my daughter.” Dean snapped.

Sam looked over to you and Bobby, you started at him in fear. “Bobby you got your flask on you?” Sam asked, with one hand Bobby held onto your shirt so you couldn’t go anywhere, and with the other he pulled out his flask and tossed it to Sam. Sam caught it with ease and dumped the holy water on Dean.

“See?” Dean pushed Sam off of him and stood up. “It’s really me.”

“Daddy!” Bobby let go of you and you ran to Dean, he picked you up once again. “I missed you so much.”

Dean let out a breath of relief, “I missed you too.”

You two stood there for a moment, hugging each other before Dean set you back down of the ground and hugged Sam, then Bobby.

Once Bobby and Dean pulled out of the hug you walked up to Dean, “Where did you go?” You asked.

Everyone was quiet, “Space.” Dean answered. Your eyes lit up.

“You went to space?” You said in awe, your dad is an astronaut.

Dean picks you up, “Yep, flew all around, went to mars, battled aliens, even visited Darth Vader for a little while.” Dean proceeded to tell you about his ‘adventure’ in space, you listened in awe about how cool your dad was. Even if you knew some of the things he said were lies, you still loved him, and nothing will ever take that away.

Requested by Anonymous:
“Can you make one where the reader is Dean’s 8 year old daughter and it’s like when dean makes the deal to go to hell. But when he comes back and finds the reader it’s all fluff and stuff? Love your blog and stories! Thanks!”

A/N: Thank you darling!

I hope y'all like this one! I’m open for tips on improving!

Tags: @16wiishes
In the Beginning - Part 2

Word Count: 4239

Pairing: Dean x Reader

Warnings: Language, anxiety, mentions of panic attacks

Series Rewrite Masterlist

“This isn’t creepy at all.” You whispered, standing behind the bushes at Mary’s house waiting for her to get out of John’s car. You watched them kissing in the front seat and she finally got out of the car and approached.

“Dean and Y/N, right?” She said. “I’m not sure you should come in.”

“You can trust us.” Dean said softly. “I mean come on, we’re all hunters, right? I mean, we’re…we’re practically family.” You choked trying to hold back your laughter.

“Yeah, thing is, my Dad…” She grimaced. “He’s a little, um…”

“Oh, I gotta meet him.” Dean interrupted.

“You’ve heard of him?” She asked.

“Clearly not enough.” He chuckled.

Keep reading

Let's go hunting

Dallon had been hunting down this damn shifter for weeks. The shifter might actually be the alpha for crying out loud! Everywhere the damn shifter goes, there’s no disgusting lump of shedded skin and everything’s whipped clean. Dallon has what he needs for regular shifters, a silver blade, a camera/phone, other stuff like that. But who knows if that’s enough to take down an alpha. He had written down what forms the damn thing has taken, like a rather skanky looking woman who might’ve been a stripper at one point or something, a normal soccer mom, some tattoo’d emo junkie, a hipster, and this one form it seems to like the most. A dude that’s only shorter than Dallon by a couple inches, occasional blue or black hair. He learned that the shifter’s name is Ryan in that form.

Dallon hated the shifter’s stupid hot face and his stupid everything. Come to think of it, Dallon didn’t even know why he was tailing the shifter in the first place. Dallon had gotten a tip from one of his hunter friends about a strong shifter in Dallon’s area and he decided to check it out. So far, the shifter hasn’t done anything but occasionally change into someone else. Dallon hasn’t seen the damn thing kill anyone or even hurt a fly. It was infuriating.

Ryan knew there was someone following him nearly every hour of every day. Truly, this man had no life. He had shifted to him after the second day and learned that he was a hunter by the name of Dallon. From what he could see, Dallon was quite capable of killing monsters, and some douchenozzle hunter by the name of Brandon or something had told Dallon about him. It was annoying, but Ryan hasn’t killed anyone in months. He had no need to.

Dallon had followed the shifter in his ‘Ryan’ form to a dark alley. Dallon took out his silver knife as the shifter disappeared behind a corner. Dallon followed closely, but nothing was there when he turned the corner. Suddenly a dark mass flew out from beside a dumpster and pinned Dallon to the brick walls, twisting Dallon’s arm behind his back so hard that he dropped the silver knife.

“Why the fuck are you following me?” Ryan already knew why but he asked nonetheless.

“To kill you,” Dallon growled.

Ryan pushed off Dallon and kicked the knife to a nearby wall. “I haven’t killed anyone, this is a waste of time!” Ryan said.

Dallon decided to turn on the flashlight on his phone and shined it into the shifter’s face. Sure enough, there was the telltale sign of a shifter; the retinal flare.

“Really? You’ve been tailing me for weeks and you still felt the need to do that?” Ryan asked.

“You noticed I was following you?” Dallon didn’t know why he was surprised, it had to be painfully obvious.

“I’m not stupid, stupid,” Ryan glowered.

Dallon just realized that he was still shining flashlight at Ryan’s face and turned it off. “Maybe if you aren’t… killing anyone, I could let you go,” Dallon muttered.

Ryan sighed and nodded. “Appreciate it.” And with that, Ryan left.

A few days later, Dallon bumped into Ryan again, this time, in a small, quiet little coffee shop. Ryan was sipping on his drink and stared at Dallon with a cold gaze from the moment he walked in. Dallon finished ordering and getting his drink when he sat down by Ryan. “I’m sorry I stalked  you. And tried to kill you,” he muttered.

“It’s fine,” Ryan said. “I don’t really blame you after what my kind has done.

Dallon nodded and sipped his drink. The rest of the conversation was purely small talk. Dallon learned that Ryan plays the drums, and has a small dog named Bandit that’s staying with a shifter friend somewhere in Utah or something, while Ryan learned that Dallon plays bass, sings, is obsessed with Dr. Pepper, and loves dogs as well. In the end, Dallon actually found himself liking Ryan.

Another day passed and Dallon quite literally ran into Ryan in a grocery store in the middle of the night. Of course, Ryan wasn’t in his ‘default form’ so it took a while for Dallon to figure out exactly who the hell it was, until Ryan shifted back into his default form. Luckily, it was the middle of the night and the whole store was nearly entirely empty. “Nice to see you again,” Ryan said, grinning. “Somehow you’re still here. Thought you’d be chasing other creepy crawlies.”

Dallon shrugged. “Decided to stay for a while and relax, killing monsters takes a lot out of  you.”

“I wouldn’t know.”

Dallon chuckled and they went their separate ways once more.

The third time Dallon ran into Ryan what when he was about ready to take down a vampire nest that was holed up at a warehouse in the outskirts of town. Dallon was tracking one of the vamps when he saw the vamp chase down a familiar form. Ryan, as ‘Jenna,’ the soccer mom. The vamp had followed ‘Jenna’ into an alley, and Dallon followed, machete in hand. He heard the vamp growl and ‘Jenna’ scream. Dallon burst out into a sprint and found the vamp standing over ‘Jenna’ - who was bleeding from the neck - and the vamp was sneering. Dallon made a move and chopped off the vamp’s head with one clean swipe. The body fell down to the ground with a dull thump. The head rolled off the neck and blood started pooling on the ground.

“My hero,” ‘Jenna’ said sarcastically.

Dallon huffed and tapped the bloody machete against his thigh. “Jenna doesn’t suit you.’

‘Jenna’ blinked slowly and started shifting. Bones cracked and skin molded back into Ryan. The gaping tear in his neck had stopped bleeding. “This more accustomed to your tastes?” Ryan asked.

Dallon hummed. “What were you doing with the vamp?”

“Tracking, hunting. Like a hunter. Found the location of their nest. Maybe we could take them out together? Sneak in there or something?” Ryan suggested.

“How do you suggest we sneak into a nest full of vampires?” Dallon asked.

Ryan jumped up off the ground and shifted again, this time, to the vampire that Dallon had just killed.

Dallon nodded. “That could work.”

The two had made up a somewhat decent plan about Ryan waltzing into the nest as the vamp and Dallon would act as a new ‘bloodbag’ that Ryan - or Jay (the vamp) - caught. So far, things were running relatively smooth. Dallon’s hands were ‘tied’ behind his back and he was blindfolded as Ryan/Jay lead them to the warehouse. Dallon wasn’t paying attention to what Ryan/Jay had said to the rest of the pack, but the moment one of the other vamps ripped off Dallon’s blindfold was the moment that vamp instantly got decapitated from Ryan’s machete. And that was go time.

Ten minutes later, the entire nest had been terminated. Blood and bodies littered the floors, and Dallon sighed with satisfaction. He had gotten scratched a couple times, but nothing a bit of bandages and crude stitches will heal. Ryan had shifted back sometime after the battle. “I’d say the raid is a success,” Dallon muttered.

“Yep. It was fun! We should do this again,” Ryan said, grinning.

“Maybe we should. You can be pretty useful,” Dallon nodded.

“Ah, stop teasing,” Ryan stuck out his tongue.

Chuckling, Dallon wiped some vampire blood off Ryan’s face. “Let’s get back, clean off the blood.”

Ryan nodded and followed Dallon back to his car.

And from that day on, every hunter has head of the hunter/shifter duo.

seacats-and-spiritwork  asked:

If I may inquire, how might you approach the concept[s] of Many-Worlds [As well as timelines], Parallel World and Multiverse? This would be perhaps in the concept that how magic we do might interact with those possible worlds. Perhaps, from a budding theory I've been working on, how artists, for example, create a comic; might the comic be the actual manifestation of another realm connecting to ours? I was curious to what your take or approach would be. Thank you.

How might I approach it? Well, personally I don’t reckon much to linear time and space, and in more mystical modes, am fairly convinced that everything is happening at the same time - that the beginning and end of the universe, and all that’s in between is happening right Now.

We create reality - which is to say that our bodies interpret the stuff that arises from the ceaselessly flowing quantum soup into objects and experiences. Note that I say ‘create, I don’t mean to imply ‘control’.

I don’t occupy the same universe as anyone else. Neither do you. We’re all alone in a meaningless universe, spinning particles emerging from a sea of possibility. That’s the truth. But contrariwise, and not not at all mutually exclusive to this, we are the Image Makers:

What was it he said? “Dreamers, shapers, singers, makers.” Part of me says we’ll not see their like again. And the part of me that still believes in magic says don’t be so sure. .- Babylon 5

We, as those dreamers, shapers, singers and makers, are as much influenced by other worlds as we make them. For ever every choice we think we make, there are ten thousand other events that ripple outwards in a symmetrical fashion. And in the tales of certain Aboriginal groups, it becomes clear that the spirits of the dreaming which made the world are still making it.

All the possible worlds, all our dreams and possibilities - they are like an ocean, full of waves and currents. And out of where those waves intersect and ‘interfere’ with each other?

That’s where we are now.

See, I reckon that what we think we are, is in fact the tip of an ice-berg that’s as big as a universe. And most of it’s asleep, but sometimes, it dreams, and even more rarely, it has a lucid dream, and even more rarely than that, it wakes up.

And, just so you know, there’s nowt wrong with Sleeping. It’s as necessary as Dreaming, necessary as Waking. These are merely different states of Being.

(That’s all magicians are by the way, those who have learnt to manipulate their state, with varying degrees of success)

So, a comic book is another universe, it is another way of dreaming, of experiencing. If it were not, we’d never get meaning from the stained woodpulp that contains words and pictures. 

 That’s why, as I said to lokiwtf earlier - I seldom joke about the power of stories. There’s a reason gods of magic have silver tongues, are shape shifters and are often associated with trade and travel. The liminality, the ability to cross from one state into another - to go There and Back Again deliberately.

Because here’s a secret - we don’t occupy one universe at all. We’re constantly shuttling between different ones. There’s a continuum of of universes, but we don’t stop in one. We move swiftly sometimes between breaths, riding the waves without realising we’re swimming in the silver-spume waters of the kosmos.

I’m using metaphor because metaphor hacks memory, hacks felt-sense, folds in cultural associations and propels you wherever you’re prepared to go.. Thought and Memory combined, soaring back to the Great Grandfather of Ravens - the bird that lives through death, that speaks the language of the birds.

And oh, that Raven King, that trickster-father of all his corvid-clan, soared over thermals with what we might now call saurian intelligence, for we know that birds were once dinosaurs and dinosaurs are terrible lizards, named by a man who lived in my town, Sir Richard Owen - who, incidentally, for readers of Mieville’s KRAKEN caused the Natural History Museum to come to be.

All these things I’m saying now, are true, connected pathways, passages into other worlds, other universes, where nineteenth century biologists and dinosaurs and giant squid and Northern towns and pop-culture and cripples and gods are next to each other.

Or perhaps, it might be better to say they’re Neighbours. Things that live around us and with us and in us.

There are many worlds, were many worlds, will be many worlds. There is only one kosmos, filled with shining rainbow bubbles.

And perhaps this doesn’t make sense. Perhaps it’s a little too wild, a little too hairy. If so, mea culpa. That’s me. And if you cock your head at the right angle, perhaps you’ll spot another one of me, and another, and another.

A veritable horde of someone you’ve never met, existing as solely letters on a screen which mimic printed letters that stain woodpulp like comics 

We all conjure our own perceptions, our own images, after all.

Whether we know it or not.

A Single Man Tear (Part 1)

Imagine: You meet Dean and John Winchester on a hunt after many years of being apart. You and Dean have feelings for each other but he is reluctant to make a move because he fears what his father will think. Dean and his father get into a fight and after you comfort Dean and thank him for standing up for you.

Characters: Dean and John Winchester

Pairing: Dean x Reader

Type: angst, fluff

Warnings: language, violence (a little)

Words: 2468 (wow)

A/N: I really like this fic because I get to say everything I’ve wanted to Dean about how great he is and how is loved. Also I’m sorry I haven’t been writing recently, I currently have no Internet. Finally if you have sent me any requests know that they are not forgotten, I just haven’t been able to see them yet. Thank you for understanding and as always send feedback and request whenever you want.

“I really fucking hate Shape shifters.” You mutter to yourself through gritted teeth as you run down the hallways of the abandoned building.

You thought this case involved only one shifter, you have never been more wrong. As it would turn out a whole freaking family of shifters had settled itself in the town. Now normally you wouldn’t have bothered them if they were living peacefully… If being the key word in this situation. The shifters had taken it upon themselves to kidnap random people from around town and then replace them, living their lives. So naturally one of your hunting friends had called you and put you on the case.

Unfortunately for you, now, you have neglected to bring backup so you are basically screwed. The hallway winds to the right and as you make the turn you bump into something warm and solid that causes you to loose your footing and stumble back. You raise your gun at the object, ready to fire.

The second before you squeeze the trigger you get a good look at the figure in front of you and freeze.

“Damn Y/N, taking on an entire clan of shifters on your own with no backup was something I never thought you’d do.” Says the green-eyed man before you giving you a small smirk.

“Dean Winchester.” You state looking at the hunter before you, trying to hide your relief and surprise at seeing him “Wait a second… How do I know that’s really you?” You ask raising an eyebrow at the man.

He chuckles at your question “Well I’m glad to know that you haven’t forgotten the basics.” He teases “And as for the whole shifter thing here.” He beckons you to give him your knife, and you comply, taking the silver blade he makes a shallow cut on his forearm.

When there is no reaction from his body you exhale and crack a smile for the first time since you started this hunt. Dean grins back at you and takes a step towards you embracing you in his strong arms. You inhale the familiar smell that you have permanently come to associate with Dean: leather, cinnamon and the faintest hint of whisky. Just as you are about to say something a voice behind you cuts you off.

“I don’t want to ruin this moment but may I remind both of you that we are still in a building full of shape shifters.”

You jump slightly in Dean’s arms and spin around to see whom the voice belongs to. You look up and see the one only John Winchester. He looks wearier since the last tie you saw him, his face is unshaven and there are dark circles under hi eyes.

“Nice to see you as well sir.” You say as you shake his hand. At that second John pulls you towards him roughly by the hand and you catch a glimpse of Dean moving in your peripheral vision.

You stumble against John and turn around just as Dean shoots a shifter point blank in the chest.

“You okay?” Dean asks turning to you.

“Yeah I’m fine. Thank you both.” You say looking at each of them in turn.

“We should keep moving.” Is all you get from the eldest Winchester before he turns around and stars heading down the hall way. You and Dean exchange a glance before swiftly following him.

Silently creeping down he halls you stick together and effectively take out any shifters you come across. John has you stop outside a set of double doors before he turns to you and says in a whisper:

“We have gone deep enough into the building that this is probably the center which means that the majority of shifters are here. We are going to have to take them out quickly and quietly so we don’t alert the entire building on where we are. Now I know my gun only has six shots left. Dean where are you at?”

“I ran out of silver bullets two shifters ago. I only got my knife now.” He says “Y/N how ‘bout you?”

“I’m out as well, like you, I only have my knife.” You say.

“Alright so listen to what we are going to do. Y/N will go in fist with my gun, from what I remember you have the better aim amongst the three of us, Dean and I will follow each with our knives. Once you are out take out your knife and we’ll have to take care of the rest up close. Got it?”

“Yes sir.” You and Dean say in unison. John hands you his gun while he and Dean take out their knives. You nod to show you’re ready the men stand back as you kick the door open and immediately fire at the first shifter you see.

Soon you’re out of bullets and there are still plenty of shifters to deal with. Taking out your knife you lunge at the monster closest to you, tackling it to the ground before stabbing it once in the chest.

What feels like hours pass by but more shifters continue to appear. You are now fighting back to back with John and Dean as shifters circle you from all sides.

“Well this isn’t going quite like I planned it.” Says John.

“Dad things never go according to plan.”

“Then make a new plan.” You say turning and facing both of them “Give ‘em hell.” You pull out a second knife from a sheath on your hip before spinning on your heel and taking on the oncoming shifters.

*1 hour later*

By he time the last shifter hits the floor the lot of you are a mess. John has multiple cuts and bruises all over his body, the most severe being a cut on his upper arm. Dean and you are significantly more banged up, Dean has a nasty head wound and you have a long cut across your abdomen.

Making your way out of the building is, thankfully, a lot easier than you had originally thought and in no time you are standing outside panting and covered in blood.

“Do you have a place to crash for the night?” You ask them as you all limp towards your cars.

“Yeah we’ve got a room at a motel in town, right next to the Moonlight Diner.” Replies Dean.

“Really I’m staying there as well. Maybe when we get back we can get some food or something.” You suggest.

“That’d be great!” Dean agrees enthusiastically while John remains silent.

“Awesome, see you soon.” You wave before limping to your car and practically falling into the driver’s seat. You wince at the position your body is in and look down at your stomach. The cut hasn’t stopped bleeding and if you don’t treat it you might need stitches and those aren’t going to be pretty.

Driving with the pedal to the metal you make it to your motel room in a matter of minutes. After getting out of the car you limp to the trunk and grab your first aid kit and move towards your room; you fumble with the room keys for a minute but then manage to get the door open.

Just as you close you bedroom door you see a pair of headlights and hear the familiar roar of the Impala’s engine but you are getting too dizzy to properly register the noise. You stumble towards the bed and seat yourself down, glancing down at your shirt you see it’s soaked. With a shaking hand you lift it and survey the damage, your eyes widen slightly you didn’t remember it being that bad at the time.

The gash runs the length of your whole abdomen and seems to be about half an inch deep. Yup this is definitely going to need stitches. You mentally cringe at the thought of having to give yourself that many stitches, sure you’ve done it lots of times but they were always much smaller cuts.

Reaching for the first aid kit you pull out the thread and fumble around for a needle until the box tilts oven and falls, spilling its contents all over the motel floor.

“For fucks sake!” You yell through gritted teeth, half out of frustration half out of pain. Without the adrenaline you are really starting to feel every single bruise and cut along your body.

And urgent knock on the door snaps you out of your cursing spree.

“Who is it?” You ask loudly, not having the strength to get up off the floor.

“Uh Y/N it’s Dean… Are you okay?” You hear an uncertain Dean ask through the door.

“I’m f- Actually I could use some help please. The door is open.”

The handle turns and a confused Winchester sticks his head through the door. His green eyes widen as he takes in your form on the floor and the blood that is steadily seeping through your shirt and onto the floor.

He is by your side in an instant helping you up and siting you on the bed carefully. You murmur a small ‘thanks’ not really wanting to speak through the pain. His hands go to lift your shirt up but they stop, his eyes flicker to yours asking if it’s okay, you nod.

Very carefully he lift the fabric away from your wound, his eyes widen for the second time as he sees the torn flesh of your stomach.

“Son of a bitch.” He breathes “Y/N this is nasty and it’s gonna need stiches for sure.”

“I know.” You grunt “I was going to do it but the god-dammed box tipped over and…”

“Hey Y/N it’s okay I can help. Here let me.” He says as he takes the thread from your blood-soaked hands “I’ll be right back just wait here a second.”

He dashes out the door and to his room. When he appears again he is holding a bottle of whiskey in one hand and a needle in his teeth.

“Alright now this is going to sting… a lot.” He warns you before spilling some of the spirits over your open wound.

“Aaah! Son. Of. A. Bitch.” You grunt through clenched teeth, but you give him the ‘okay’ to continue.

Once the wound has been cleaned Dean threads the needle and begins the stitches.

One bottle of hunter’s helper and seventeen stitches later Dean covers your middle with a bandage and helps you to your feet.

“Thanks for the help Dean.”

“Any time Y/N.”

“Hey I’m gonna get cleaned up and I can meet you at the diner in about 20 minutes if you’re still up for grabbing some burgers.” You offer.

“Sweetheart I’m always up for burgers.” He says giving you his signature smirk “See you in 20 minutes.” He winks at you and walks out the door.

Once Dean is out the door you peel off your shirt and toss it directly in the trashcan, it’s completely ruined so there’s no point in keeping it. Next you take off your bloody jeans and leave them in a pile by the bed.

Slowly you make your way to the bathroom where you look at yourself in the mirror. Quickly surveying the damage you see that you have a small cut on your cheek and lip and several scratches and bruises that litter the rest of your body, the most severe being the one on your abdomen.

Carefully you unwrap the bandage Dean had wrapped around your waist and take off your undergarments. You step into the shower and set the water to scalding. The hot water hits your back with the perfect amount of pressure relieving the tense muscles. You let the water erase all the blood and dirt from your hair and body feeling clean for the first time in days.

While in the shower you try desperately to keep your mind blank but you keep finding your thoughts drifting towards the green-eyed Winchester. You can’t seem to stop thinking about the way his fingers gently brushed your skin or how he handled you so carefully almost caringly.

Also you seem incapable of ignoring your body’s response to almost EVERYTHING that man does, weather it’s smiling or laughing or touching you, you immediately get butterflies and feel your face heating up. This isn’t something new to you either. You used to know Dean Winchester back when you lived at Bobby Singer’s house.

Bobby was always like a second father to you and through him you were introduced to John Winchester and his family. You went on your very first hunts with the boys and you knew that they would always have your back. And even then, you admit to yourself, you had a crush on the older brother. But then Sam decided to go to college after high school and you didn’t see much of the boys after that.

Thus whatever had grown between you and Dean broke off just like your contact with them. Well it had until now, at least for you; you know you still have some sort of feelings for Dean even if he might not.

Once you have deemed yourself clean you step out of the shower and towel yourself dry. You ruffle through one of your bags and decide to just wear something casual which for you entails ripped jeans and a faded Zeppelin T-shirt. Smiling you pull out the shirt, it had been one of Dean’s that he had leant to you years ago and is now your favorite.

Glancing at the clock on the nightstand you see it’s time to go meet the Winchesters for dinner. With your hair still slightly damp you lock your motel door and make your way to the adjacent diner.  

A/N: This is part 1 to a multi-part story. Please let me know what you think!