Characters: Dean Winchester x Sister!Reader / Friend!Reader, Sam Winchester x Sister!Reader / Friend!Reader
Length: 989+ words
TW: Nothing in this chapter!
A/N: This is a pretty short chapter, but I wanted to split this chapter, and the next chapter up. Also, this is part of @kas-not-cas 2.5K Writing Challenge! Honestly, whenever I do challenges, I prefer writing a separate fic that’s not a part of a series, but it just went to so well with this chapter that I couldn’t help myself! I know I got your permission to use the Prompt in a series, but if you want me to write another oneshot separate, I can totes do that!
Prompt: “I’ve lost count of the promises you’ve broken.”
hi! do you think you could maybe possible perhaps write a soulmate!au? pretty pretty please?? (if you do - thanks, and if you don't - thanks for all of your other fics)
i heard you were looking like the moon
a/n: i decided to go with the ‘you don’t see colour until your soulmate touches you’ au. thank you so much for this anon, and i hope you enjoy it
She’s seven when she decides that the colour she’s most excited to see is purple. She’s watching a documentary with Petunia, sprawled on the carpet in their mediocre, three-bedroom house, watching the TV, enthralled. There are a pair of pretty people, holding hands, gravitational, lovely, and utterly in love. They are describing colour with a glistening film swept across their eyes, tainted by disdain, this supercilious disposition that colour is some kind of buried treasure, open only to those who are a part of some exclusive club where partners and couples clutch at each others’ hands like an anchor dropped in a bed of sand. The delight of love in someone else. It makes her heart race. But it is not this that upsets her. It is Ethel, the near 70-year-old lady on the screen, who lost her husband. She had spent 50 years with colour. And then it was lost.
The moment when you realize that Jon didn’t talk about the future here:
“I see lakes flooding their shores, swallowing men whole. I see a man with one eye, his coat blue, his gun smoking -”
Farley beats a fist against the table. “Enough!” (Glass Sword page 301)
but about how Farley’s mother and sister died:
“The king of the Lakelands punished us himself. (…) My father and I were away when he raised the shores of the Hud, pulling water out of the bay to flood our village and wipe it from the face of his kingdom.”
Tawakkul (trusting and relying on Allah) is realizing that our Protector has a plan for us. Tawakkul is having complete trust that Allah’s plan is the best plan. Tawakkul is having full faith that Allah will take care of you—even when things look impossible. Tawakkul is standing in front of the Red Sea—as Prophet Musa did—with an army behind you, and not even flinching, knowing that Allah will get you through. It is having full faith that when Allah takes away the umbilical cord, He will replace it with milk.
It was a couple of days later when Dean had just gotten ready for bed, his eyes closed in hopes for a couple of hours of sleep when Y/N knocked on his door softly, opening the frame, and calling his name at the same time.
At the sound of her voice, Dean all but leaped into alertness. “Y/N? What’s wrong? Are you okay?”
She didn’t say anything as she made her way to his bed, sitting on the space he left with her legs crossed. She ignored his watchful gaze as she chewed on her lips. No words could describe her time in hell, but she knew she needed to accept the memory. Without realizing it her breathing became shallower, and just as Dean opened his mouth, she burst into tears.
“Oh, sweetheart.” Dean’s heart ached at the sound of her cries. He circled his arms around her, and pulled her against his chest, his legs resting around her figure. “It’s okay. I’m here. Nothing’s gonna hurt you anymore, you hear?” Tears were stinging his eyes as she cried even louder, despair and grief in every teardrop. He had to physically bite his bottom lip to stop himself from crying as well. “Let it all out, sweetheart. I’m here. I’m not going anywhere.” Dean drew small circles on her bottom hip, his other hand stroking the back of her hair.
It felt like hours later, and it probably was when Y/N had finally stopped completely crying. She sniffled continuously, using the collar of her shirt to clean up the mess on her face.
“I’m gonna get you a glass of water,” Dean said, seeing her finally calming down.
Y/N scrambled to grab his arm, shaking her head, pleading for him not to leave her.
So, I reread Jon’s prophecy about the Colonel because I thought I might use it in my fanfiction like having Firebird deal with the problem which I thought was frozen rivers. But I remembered wrong:
I see lakes flooding their shores, swallowing men whole. (Glass Sword page 301)
You know which place can be flooded? The Scarlet Guard base in Irabelle (see Steel Scars in Cruel Crown, page 65)
One order from the Colonel and the whole place goes under, drowned like the old world before it.
And now I get paranoid and in too deep and think that the rebels and civillians will move to Irabelle and Maven’s soldiers or whoever (I think it’s in the Lakelands) will sabotage the base to be flooded while everyone is still inside!
Or: In my fanfiction, I have voiced the idea that Maven will attack Tuck of which his mindreaders learned from Mare. But I have the Scarlet Guard be aware of this and pre-empting him, evacuating everyone and setting a trap.
But what if they don’t? What if Maven has Tuck attacked and everyone is still there?
And the other prophecy on page 301:
Shadow twisting on a bed of flames.
Okay, this could be anything, but it’s definitely angsty. But why shadow, not “a shadow” or “shadows”? Is that a literal bed?
He came to you as a vision, as a voice. First it was the whispers. Then came the hallucinations, and soon, the mornings you woke with no recollection of the days before. At first it was an oddity, but it became something you began to long for.
Any hint of his feathery form blackens your memories and leaves you feeling sibylline, honored; his own little prophet. His red eyes burn into your soul and latch onto you, never to let go. Not that you would want to. You are happy to stay wrapped tight in his wings.
When Dean woke up the next day, he slipped carefully out of bed, trying not to wake the sleeping girl so he could make breakfast. As he headed towards the kitchen, he passed by the library, seeing Sam with his laptop.
“What are you doing?” the older Winchester asked.
“Tracking down the alpha vampire,” Sam responded, glancing at his older brother briefly before going back to his computer. “We’ve got less than three weeks to find him, and kill him.”
Dean nodded, knowing they couldn’t push back finding the monster any longer. As much as he wanted to focus on making sure Y/N was getting better, they needed to focus on killing the vampire first. He made his way to the kitchen to prepare himself a cup of coffee, and started boiling the water for Y/N’s tea when a blood-curling scream stopped his heart. Dean quickly ran to his room, meeting Sam in the hallway. It didn’t matter than he was unarmed. He would fight tooth and nail, with his bare hands, with whatever decided to come to his home, and attack his loved ones.
The boys nearly broke the door down when they crashed into the room, seeing Y/N curled against the headboard, and Castiel standing at the edge of the bed with his head titled to the side. She was sobbing, and hyperventilating while Castiel was calmly trying to explain who he was.
hey so! as previously mentioned i’m taking a bit of an orig fic hiatus, but in the meantime here’s what i have planned to share next:
wolf’s price is a story i’ve been on/off working on for years. it’s the first half of a fantasy family saga that i like to describe as “little red riding hood if little red were a prophet and the wolf was a god.” witchcraft, trauma, assassins, ice age mammals and ancient gods! my insp tag
the other wip i’m coming back with (bc i’m a hubristic fool who intends to write two at once, remind me of this when i inevitably complain) is starlight, a space fantasy adventure featuring shapeshifting stars, void pirates, and absentee celestial parents older than time itself. insp tag
thank you so much to everyone who’s been reading & recommending atdm, it means the world to me! i couldn’t have done it without you 💜
“The two Rak`ah before the dawn (Fajr) prayer are better than this world and all it contains.”
— The Prophet (peace be upon him) [Muslim - Riyad us Saliheen, Chapter 196, 1102] (via thesweetness-offaith)
there was nothing more alluring than the colour of crimson. a fleeting drop, a mere speck on the corner of your cheek, or smeared across the bottom of your lip. or perhaps dripping from your hand. each drop like stolen ambrosia of the gods; a sip of indulgence, of forbidden paradise; yet the vision was all the same, and perhaps more. human flesh or otherwise pleasure paled in comparison to a single glimpse of you in all your splendour. in all your majesty and power taking a mere sip of gallons you deserve. yet it could be indulged further, on the rare and justly private occasion. never had a mere colour looked so appealing, and yet, it was only in your presence that it had ever held that appeal. in your absence it was only a chore, only a product. an end result. and yet you ? you fill it with life, with value. one glance upon anything and it is filled with purpose. a drop of praise. what was once a bore was now born a new, given aspects previously unfeeling. yet as it boils down, it is you that makes the appeal. it is you which grants or removes purpose.and, as such, there is a yearning wish to be of use. to be the receiver of such glances. the faintest of smirks, the barest of praise is enough to ignite thousands. yet it is a hunger, a thirst that drives this impulse that is never satisfied. akin to blood-lust of which there was never a greater thrill. to be subject to such an adoring, powerful, gaze. a gift granted to few of many who seek it. a treasure not to be taken lightly, nor for granted. to be of value - so sought out. fools, foolish. we had been to deny this. to deny you of this. to be valued, chased, sought out by you ? the greatest of compliments. the greatest of accomplishments. for a world without you ?crimson would no longer hold it’s value, no longer hold its appeal. it would be cast aside. meaningless. in the same breath, if you were not to be the world so wondrous in your own creation would no less than in an instant turn barren, dull and lifeless. and so too would I.
As Castiel predicted, it took a while for him to track the vampire, even with Dean and Sam doing their best to contact anyone they know who could help. They had almost the entire hunter population in North America on this case. Dean insisted on having all the help they can so they could get this over with. He hated having Crowley hovering over them with a deal.
It was another week and a half, until Castiel managed to locate him. Dean and Sam immediately grabbed their stuff, ready to go. The two brothers made their way to the kitchen, where Y/N was sitting and reading yet another lore book.
“Hey, Y/N, we’re gonna go on a hunt,” Dean told her, not expecting her to respond. He knew better than anyone else that Y/N was in a different world when reading.
Her head snapped towards them, lowering her book slowly. “I want to come,” she said, surprising both boys. They both looked at her with widened eyes, then turned to each other in a silent conversation.
“Alright, sure I guess. Go pack your bag. We’ll be leaving in 10,” Dean said, ruffling her hair as he passed by.
“We should bring the Colt just in case,” Sam told Dean, who nodded in agreement. As his older brother went to grab the weapon, he turned his head to Y/N. “Are you sure you want to come with us?”
She nodded. “You might need backup.” Her voice wasn’t serious, but it wasn’t all too playful either. Still, it brought out a smile from the younger Winchester.
Dean came back waving the wrapped up gun in the air, a goofy smile on his face. “Got it.”
“Is that the Colt?” she asked, peering over to the gun.
“The one and only,” he replied with a huge grin.
She look at it with such curiosity before nodding. Once she finished packing her stuff, she went outside to the garage with her duffel bag slung over her shoulder.