Chapter Text
1.)
A normal person would have run for the hills by now. They would have thought, ‘Fuck this shit, I’m out!’. Given the two-fingered peace sign and slowly backed away from what you had borne witness to.
But, sadly for your sense of self-preservation, you did not get the hell out of Dodge.
Now, you’re not stupid—because you were most certainly shaking like a leaf on a tree. Buuuuut…..well, sanity be damned, you were also aroused. He looked like the kind of man your brain visualizes whenever you smell the Mountain Lodge Yankee candle.
If you had to pick a GIF to encapsulate your emotions, you would use that clip of SNL comedian Bill Hader saying, “Mark me down as scared and horny!”.
2.)
This man. This fucking specimen of a man who looks like Ken doll: sexy automotive mechanic edition. Making you mentally chant, ‘Be strong, ovaries. Be strong.’ Sonuvabitch!
Why? Why are all the hot ones unavailable, gay, or crazy? You are 100% convinced that God is a bisexual asshole. Because he broke the mold with this one—but clearly he forgot to add a conscience because the Adonis standing before you has a bloody knife in hand and your flat mate lying at his feet, motionless and in a pool of her own blood.
The crazy, attractive man looks like the cat that just ate the canary, coughing up feathers: guilty as charged. There’s a get-out-of-jail card if he can think of something clever—and you fear that that ‘something clever’ is making you his next target if your damn fight-or-flight instincts don’t kick in within the next few seconds or so. You highly doubt that he would just let you live if you promised to plead the fifth on all of this….this fucking crime scene that has disrupted your predictable Friday-night-after-work routine. Your shaky intake of breath has punctured the silence in your living room—and this act sadly snaps the American psycho’s stupor of shock. Before you can fully turn on your heels and make an attempt to get outside and signals any neighbors who could be awake at this ungodly hour, the killer in question tackles you to the floor and clamps a big, callused hand over your mouth. He makes panicked shushes in a piss-poor attempt to calm you down—which strikes you as odd. Why would a serial killer give two shakes of a rat’s ass about the emotional stability of his victims? Must be doing it in irony. Like, ‘Oh hush hush, honey. You got nothing to fear! Everything is going to be okay. I’m the most non-threatening murderer you’ll ever meet. No need to fret. It’ll be all over before you know it.’
Fuck that noise. You try to buck him off, putting up as much a fight as you possibly can—but the sick bastard is too heavy; that muscular frame of his is weighing you down and you eventually tire out. Once he reaches the conclusion that you aren’t going to put up a fuss again—at least until you can catch your breath and regain some strength—he does the damnedest thing. He apologizes.
“I’m sorry you had to walk in on the mess. I understand what you’re thinking and know you won’t believe me when I say that this is not what it looks like—but it’s not. That thing I killed wasn’t your friend; your bestie died a while ago. I just ganked the monster that has been parading around in her skin for the past month and a half.
What. The. Fuck?
This poor bastard is even crazier than you first suspected! Whatever alarming sexual attraction you had felt towards him upon first seeing him has—thank gawd—dissipated and been replaced with the growing urge to sucker punch him.
3.)
Ringing of the hands, combing of the hair with her fingers, and repetitive tapping of the feet. Shaky intakes of breath with short exhales punching the silence. Rubbing the back of the neck as she switches her posture back and forth between erect and slouching positions. She’s nervous and she should be. That adrenaline—that fear pumping through her, manifesting in all these nervous ticks is irrefutable proof: she’s guilty.
Part of me wants to stay silent, keep focusing my disappointed stare on her for as long as possible—make her squirm for the rest of the night. But I know eventually she will crack and go on the defensive if I prolong this tense moment for too long. With a deep breath I ask, “What the hell where you thinking?!” and—what a surprise—she’s flashing me those big damn puppy dog eyes that could give Sam a run for his money.
“I thought I could help,” she says with a dejected tone. It’s not just what she says—but the way she says it that is a punch to the gut. Part of me wants to discard my ‘stern parent’ façade and comfort her in my arms—but she needs to learn. She’s not ready for field work yet. Sure, she’s got the physical aspect of it on lock down, but she still needs work on the mental part. I can’t take the risk of her joining us on a hunt just for her to freeze up at the first evil sonuvabitch that crosses her path.
4.)
He knows damn well he shouldn’t be doing this but with the way she was sucking on that lollipop… he was lucky he had held his composure for as long as he did. They were supposed to be scouring the web for lore on their current monster-of-the-week case. But, of course, Dean’s virile libido had other plans for where he would be focusing his attention.
He had been dutifully searching links that matched [insert clue about monster] while Sam volunteered to interview the latest victim’s friends and family—but Y/N pulled his attention to the sound of her obscene/ gratuitous sucking. He was going to nag her for it, her hums of approval from the taste of the sweet treat being far too distracting in the stuffy silence of the 3-star motel. But when his eyes darted in her direction, the snarky rhetorical question he wanted to throw at her died in his throat.
Why did he stop at that Gas’n’Sip? He should have just drove straight to the motel after they finished the autopsy—but no, he had to choose then to stock up on snacks, whereupon Y/N chose to throw in some green candy apple lollipops among other things to tide her over until dinner. She was twiddling the lollipop stick between her thumb and index finger, pulling the hard candy shell out of her mouth every so often to sip some water before continuing with kitten licks that escalated into lascivious glides of the green-hued candy up and down her tongue, ending in hard sucks and moans of the candy in her mouth. It’s no surprise Dean’s mind conjured images of her performing those oral ministrations on something more bitter than sweet—something that began to grow uncomfortably confined in his jeans. Which leads him to his current predicament: unable to focus on the job and unable to take care of a very prominent bulge/ protrusion in his pants, for fear of losing his dignity in front of the one person whose opinion he falsely claims to not give a damn about. He tries to think of sure-fire thoughts to help curb his arousal-airplanes, Joffrey from Game of Thrones, Sam in a bustier for crying out loud! But Y/N’s incessant hums and sucks keep beckoning his attention and he’s reached the point of no return—emphasis on point. He weighs his options and settles on risking shame if he doesn’t make it to the dingy bathroom before Y/N notices the repercussions of his “confusing porn with reality” mentality. He finally decides, ‘fuck it’ and the next thing he knows he’s unbuttoning his jeans in the small, sketchy bathroom. Pretends his callused, large hand is her daintier one as he wraps it around himself, the image of her sinful sucking playing on a loop in his head.
Man is he sure thankful that she favors listening to music with headphones over sitting in silence during research. That’s not to mean he doesn’t try to contain himself from letting anything louder than a strangled moan or heavy grunt past his lips after a few moments of stroking and tugging, he reaches that state of euphoria before cleaning up his spur-of-the-moment indulgence and returning to the motel table where they’d chosen to set up camp for research. Before he’s even fully sat down Y/N’s pulling the smaller lollipop out of her mouth to say, “Found something.”
5.) Dean pinched her left cheek, a warm tear straying from the corner of her eye to meet his thumb. He had her backed up against the wall of some dingy three-star motel that she had tracked him to—hoping to convince him to return to the bunker by playing on his loyalty to family and friends. It didn’t work. Instead of being able to ‘pierce through the inky black veil of the mark’s influence’, Y/N had only succeeded in pissing Dean off when she pleaded for him to return for, if not her sake, then Sam’s. However, his rant about being ‘back in black’ didn’t end with him renouncing his role of selfless and caring older brother to Sam, shirking his former identity as the Righteous Man who lead Team Free Will. He chided Y/N for her naivety in thinking she could talk the newly made Knight of Hell into ‘getting the band back together’ as he phrased it, teasing her for wanting her best friend back—he was delighting in shattering her hopes of that coming to pass.
He called her out on her unrequited crush for him, teasing and taunting her by confessing that the old Dean new about and pitied her for it and the new, darker version of himself found it hilarious how pathetic she was, having never had the guts to confess when it was so obvious. He commented on how sad it was for her to have acted as his wingman in the past, having helped him bed woman after woman instead of mustering up the courage to make a move on him herself, afterwards confiding how many women he’d been with since waking up with black eyes. He derived a sick pleasure watching the tears that were slowly streaming down her face in fat, wet droplets. At first, he had wanted to beat her black and blue for daring to come find him, her hope and optimism seeming obnoxiously infuriating to him. Now though, he was quite enjoying wiping the determined look from her face, watching it crumbled into a dejected, forlorn expression. A wicked thought struck him.
“Ya know what? Part of me wants to gut you like a fish—but I think I’ll let you live; I’m having too much fun making you look like you just saw the ending of ‘Marley and Me’ for the first time. However, I can’t just let you go running on back to Sammy dearest, now can i? No, I think I’m gonna keep ya around.”
If her heart was beating fast before, it was practically going into tachycardia now; Dean’s menacing tone and the calculating expression he cast upon her did not bode well. Like a curious fool who knows they shouldn’t ask—but does anyway—Y/N meekly exhales, “Wh-why?”
“Oh sweetheart,” Dean drawls as he leans into her, eying her like a predator does its prey, he raises a hand to cup her face and run his thumb across her bottom lip, “If I told ya, I’d ruin the surprise.”
Y/N didn’t know whether to dread this ‘surprise’ or pray for its swift arrival. Either way, her heart seemed to skip a beat as she gazed into Dean’s eyes before her body shuddered in terror as those captivating sage orbs flashed inky black.
6.) ‘You shouldn’t be doing this with him. He isn’t himself right now. He wouldn’t want to do this with you if he was in his right mind; he doesn’t see you like that. You’re his friend—this could ruin your relationship with him.’ These thoughts ran through your mind as Dean sucked hard on the erogenous points of your neck, making you mewl and pant as you rutted against his thigh like a bitch in heat. You had both had a bit too much to drink at some hole-in-the-wall dive bar—but that wasn’t what had you second-guessing a hook-up with him.
Dean had become a demon after his standoff with Metatron, the well-read bastard stabbing your friend and Netflix-binge buddy in the chest with a sickening squelch that will forever ring in your ears. You still had recurring flashes in your mind of that moment where it seemed that time stood still and the only thing that existed in the universe was Dean’s pained gasp, his face morphing into one of shock and agony. Although Dean had encountered you in a sketchy roadhouse a mere week after his supposed death—making a deal to not kill you if you travelled with him, so he could make sure you don’t go running to Sam with news of his demonic resurrection—thoughts of that moment never ceased to make your heart ache. It would fill you with a desperation to protect Dean, keep him in your life by any means necessary. He was the one constant in your nomadic, ever-changing lifestyle, the one person you could count on and if you lost him…you wouldn’t know what to do with yourself.
He had been palming your breasts as he at some point increased the pressure of his lips and tongue—throwing a few nips and bites into the mix, ensuring you would be sporting a necklace of bruises later.
“De-dean! Maybe we shouldn’t be doing this…here, out in the open,” you uncertainly panted, hands on his shoulders pushing him away a few inches. He looked up and down the dark alley outside the bar before nodding his head, sighing, “You’re right. Not the ideal spot for what I wanna do to you,” his face slipping into a lascivious smirk. Your heart rate picked up at this admission, leading you to fret over what all that entailed as he wrapped his right arm around you, pulling you in the direction of the impala. Since the change, he had begun to shirk his habit of keeping Baby pristine, leaving food wrappers and other such garbage to litter the floorboards. Thankfully, for the muscle car, you had a reverence for her that inspired you to undertake keeping her clean and in good condition. When you chastised Dean about his lost sense of respect for her, he would say something flirtatious about how he liked watching you do it for him—another new development. He had never been remotely flirtatious with you before, but now he seemed to revel in making you blush—you assumed his way of unsettling you, what with him now being a demon and all. Demons loved fucking with humans’ heads.
Now, however—being subjected to his appraising, lustful glances as he drove you back to some pay-by-the-hour motel with furniture that seemed to not have been updated since the seventies—you were quickly starting to believe he had not been just trying to get under your skin. He seemed to have wanted to be a very different kind of pain in your ass. Judging by the impatient speeding of the impala, he seemed pretty intent on fucking you—not fucking with you as you had earlier misjudged.
When he is dry humping your half-naked body into the lumpy motel mattress with tacky floral print, confiding, “Wanna feel you; wanted to have you like this for too damn long,” you begin to think, ‘maybe he does see me like that.’ After he’s buried his fingers in you, his mouth going to town on your clit, you stop giving a shit about what box he would checkmark for ‘species’; with the way he’s worshipping your body, your convinced human Dean won’t be too disappointed in your lack of willpower. When he mutters, ‘too much of a fucking coward before’ your assumption is proved true.
7) She could gaze into those viridian green eyes for days—lose herself in the vibrant forests contained within those orbs. When she gazed into them, she couldn’t help but think of the temperate forests of Oregon and Washington, where the earthen floor is littered with fallen leaves, rocks, and moss. She was probably just over-romanticizing them, but to her they seemed to be shaded the most intense, lively green hue—her favorite color. If she was on a hunt in an arid, dry town of the southwest all she had to do was fix her eyes upon Dean’s and it was like she was standing barefoot in a grassy meadow.
She hated having to tear her gaze from his eyes, but if she didn’t then he might be apt to assume she had something on her mind—or ask her if something was on his face. Then she would be subject to his gaze, having his attention placed upon her—his discerning eyes with their direct eye contact focused on her causing her to squirm in place and struggle fighting a blush. It was no easy endeavor for her to meet his gaze unabashed whenever they spoke with one another, her finding it far more appealing to feign a glance that suggested she was taking stock of her surroundings or examining something of interest on her phone. His gaze was just far too potent, the confidence and sincerity held within it reducing her to feel as if she were a shy, submissive schoolgirl with a crush that bore no chance of being returned or taken seriously. Therefore, when she wanted to admire those jewels of emerald, she had to sneak glances when his attention focused on anywhere but directly on her.
Unfortunately, Dean had a habit of studying her face quite often, seeking her opinion on a hunch he had during a case or gauging her reaction to a joke he had made. At this rate, she would have to resort to covertly taking a picture of him if she wanted to continue ogling those vibrant irises. The only other option was subjecting herself to the full force of his piercing gaze. The last time she did that, her panties were soaked in under 15 minutes, her face flushed—leading Dean to assume that she was coming down with a fever, ordering her to lay down and rest while he went all “mother hen” and doted on her. The authority in his voice when he ordered her to not strain herself was an excellent contrast with the gentleness in his forest greens alight with the fire of worry. If her will was stronger, if her personality bolder…then she might not have been as surprised by the events that would transpire. Nevertheless, alas, she was naturally shy and meek despite her efforts to fool others, and herself, into regarding her as an outgoing, tough-as-nails hunter. She had done a swell job until meeting Dean Winchester, those beautiful green eyes she was so enamored with unnerving her, making her feel as if he could see right through her act. She would learn that those eyes saw her for what she was: a submissive who needed to learn it was rude to not look someone in the eye when they’re talking to you—especially since they enjoyed admiring the beauty in her eyes as much as she did theirs. Dean would teach her, oh, how he would teach her.
8) Everything about Y/N during sex was soft: her silky hair and smooth skin, the quiet and breathy moans and whimpers Dean pulled from her when he played with her clit… The only time he got more than the soft mewls and grunts out of her was when the pace was rough and hard—or when he did that thing with the thing. Now that had her squealing like mad, followed by her kissing the breath out of him as she playfully tugged on his hair. He enjoyed it when she assumed the ‘big spoon’ position, snuggling up behind him or at his side to plant feather light pecks on his neck and shoulder, her hand rubbing his torso in a repetitive, circular motion before tightening her grip on him and drifting off to sleep.
He loved her softness—because he was the only person who she let experience it. To everyone else she was a badass hunter who threw her punches hard and her whiskey shots harder. She swore like a sailor and spat out sarcasm as if it was her second language; she had a chip on her shoulder and an attitude the size of Texas when Dean first met her. At first glance it seemed like ‘vulnerability’ was a foreign concept to her—so when Dean first bedded her it came as quite a mighty fine surprise to him how gentle she kissed him—how carefully she cupped his face in her hands callused from digging graves.
Her personality, the manner in which she carried herself, the way she mixed with other hunters—it was all coarse. Why would she treat Dean any differently? In time, he learned that she needed someone to be tender with—to help chip away that rough exterior and reveal the delicate beauty hidden away in an effort to protect herself. The hunting life ain’t easy.
With Dean, she was all soft smiles and gentle touches—a stark contrast to the snarky remarks and middle fingers aimed at others. She was a bit of an asshole to others but sweet on Dean. In the bedroom, Dean would dare say that she was reverent of him, showering praises both sexual and nonsexual on him between kisses that she dragged further and further south. Contrary to his self-deprecating opinions of himself, Y/N seemed to treasure him as if he was some precious creation that needed protection and love, treating him as if he was the most important thing in all of creation. She was affectionate with him in a way she desperately tried to lead others into believing she couldn’t be; until she met Dean, she had done an excellent job of concealing her gentler nature from others, for fear of being perceived as weak or incapable of getting the job done. Dean was hooked on her softness—but more so on the knowledge that only he could pull it out of her.
9) Neither one of them could fucking believe it—not in a million years would either of them have thought they would find themselves in this situation again. The Winchesters had a case……at a goddamned Supernatural convention. Well technically it wasn’t strictly a convention for those books that had become the bane of Sam and Dean’s shared existence—but the case so far had revolved around events concerning those damned ‘Winchester Gospels’. Said events were taking place at some convention that showcased a whole variety of events pertaining to different things such as comics, anime, games, and books with cult followings—and guess which category the Carver Edlund books fell under.
The vics’ deaths had left the convention attendees who were in the know skittish—but the majority of attendees were oblivious to what had transpired, so when the brothers had first tried posing as FBI agents…everyone assumed that they were just really dedicated cosplayers, feeding them bullshit that in no way pertained to the case. So, the brothers had decided they would need to take drastic measures if they wanted real answers; they would need to earn the trust of the attendees through common ground, a shared interest—they would have to cosplay…as themselves. Chuck help them.
The day after their usual fake aliases failed them, the boys had split up to gather info on the newest victim quicker—Sam questioning the family, Dean snooping around the morgue. They had planned to meet up at the convention afterwards, to attend the events pertaining to Supernatural and try to gather more info by blending in and bonding with the other attendees—which is where Sam was currently headed, after he stopped by the pay-by-the-hour motel he and Dean were roosting in, to change into his casual clothes. He usually didn’t put much thought into what he wore—not since he was a kid, when he worried about classmates teasing him for his clothes either not fitting, smelling unclean, or looking ratty with holes in them. Thanks, John Winchester.
After shedding his ‘monkey suit’, as Dean disdainfully nicknamed their somewhat formal attire, Sam rode in an Uber car to the convention center. Riding passenger in any car other than the impala always felt a little weird, but an Uber was better--and easier on Sam’s conscience—than carjacking someone, even if he had felt a bit claustrophobic in the backseat of the black sedan. Sam currently sported dark brown boots, denim jeans, a tartan-patterned button-down shirt and a tan canvas jacket with plaid inner lining. He was scanning the crowds, looking for his brother when he heard someone approach him from behind, greeting in a deep, throaty voice, “Hello, Sam.” He turned around and his eyes nearly bulged out of his head. His brother—his brother was dressed as-as-as Castiel!
“Dean…what the hell are you wearing,” Sam asked incredulously. Dean shrugged his shoulders before nodding his head down at himself as he limply raised his arms a little before dropping them back down to his sides. “I’m Cas,” he stated in a tone that suggested he was thinking, ‘isn’t it obvious?’. “Uuuuhh, yyeeeeaaaaaahh…,” Sam drawled while beginning to gently nod his head, “aheum, yeah I can see that—y’know you could’ve just worn your regular clothes, right?” A beat of silence passed in which Dean pursed his lips before responding, “mmhmm,” in a deep rumble. He had not.
In fact, he thought they were supposed to take one from the cosplayers’ book and go all out—which is why he is surprised when he sees that Sam is not covered head to toe in plaid and toting a laptop while lugging around a small library. As he’d said in the past, Dean was an ‘all in’ kind of guy. He tried to justify his misassumption by saying, “Well Sammy, nerds love commitment, and this,” he emphasized, gesturing to himself, “is commitment,” before striding off, attempting to win the argument by having the last word on the matter. Sam let out a huff of exasperation, pursing his lips and shaking his head as he began to follow Dean to the section of the convention center showcasing the Supernatural events.
This was going to be a long case.
10.) Knights of Moondor story based upon LARP and the Real Girl episode. It could be a sort of knights of the roundtable-type deal where ruler is chosen based on merit rather than lineage. Queen Celeste the Clever (Charlie) gained title through her skills as a cunning tactician/ strategist, skilled swordsmanship, alliance with the Seelie court (she has an “arrangement” of sorts with the princess), and ability to break codes and riddles put forth by supernatural creatures (i.e. sphynx, any of the creatures that belong to the fey genus/species, witches). The house of Winchester has served the rulers of Moondor for several generations; this servitude is not restricted to the knighthood, but Sam and Dean’s father pushed them into it. Chuck is a scribe with chronic headaches, who self-medicates with lots of mead. Kevin is a translator of languages and sigils/runes/markings; also great at disguises (because Osric Chau’s cosplay skills). Pamela Barnes is a seer/psychic/medium; whatever works for the story. Ash is a doctor/apothecary (because of the ‘Dr. Badass is in’ sign). Ellen and Jo run a tavern. Garth is an excellent tracker and archer (does poorly at close combat but excels at long-range); great at gathering intel on enemies due to his nonthreatening appearance (for this, he belongs to the knighthood). Moondor ain’t gonna discriminate—they care more about your abilities rather than the size of muscles you can flex. Bobby is a blacksmith and the resident paranoid bastard; built a fencepost with iron, which encompasses the perimeter of his house (can throw the fey farther than he can trust them). Benny LaFitte: knight, former fisherman, former slave for the Unseelie court (Dean rescued him as part of a quest). Rival kingdom of Sheol ruled by Lucifer with the princes and knights (of hell) serving him. Castiel was a soldier in Michael’s army, but defected and joined Charlie’s knights. I need to draft list of subjects who live in each kingdom and their respective roles/duties; demons in Sheol, angels in Michael’s kingdom, hunters in Moondor. Find Latin word for heaven/ paradise/ Promised Land/ city on a hill for the name of Michael’s kingdom.
11) We all know the story of Snow White and the huntsman tasked with cutting out her heart—but who instead orders her to flee for her safety. We know of the wicked stepmother who would have her killed for her beauty and the prince who would save her for it, his kiss raising her from the dead. But what if she had never met the prince or shacked up with the seven dwarves? What if, instead of setting her free, the huntsman kept her for himself? Trained her to be more than a damsel in distress?
12) A story inspired by Sandra Bullock’s While You Were Sleeping movie. Y/N saves the life of the man she has had a crush on for months, but he took a hard hit to the head and is in a coma. There is miscommunication with hospital staff and now the man’s family thinks she is his fiancée. However, she is not his special someone; she has never even had the guts to utter a word to him, and now she is caught up in a lie—but that is not even the worst part. She’s pretty sure his older brother, who runs their family owned business, is on to her.
13) Valentine’s Day story: combine elements and plot of Supernatural with My Bloody Valentine movie (both the original and remake versions). Should characters be from both universes or just from spn? Hanniger or Winchester mine? Who assumes what role in the story? Who are the main cast of characters the story centers around? Would Sam and Dean’s dad have been a miner who died of black lung? Change the culprit to a new character or keep the same person as the crazy pickaxe murderer? Keep them human or make them a spn monster (ghost, shifter, skinwalker)? Should the story parody the source material—like how Cabin in the Woods parodies the horror genre, or just make it a serious scary story? Make a joke about how dead men don’t wear plaid and yet the majority of people in the mining town wear plaid and are getting sliced and diced, so that rule doesn’t apply? At the Valentine’s party murder scenes should the victims be nameless or known characters? Gratuitous descriptions of violence or bare minimum of words to help spook the audience? Should lore connected to the origins of the holiday the story centers around be utilized? Will it be a dark comedy with a dash of romance or just straight up horror? Use the folk song (“Ballad of Harry Warden”) from the original movie at some point in the story to inspire plot twists?
14) Y/N makes the mistake of wearing a loose, flowing skirt on a windy day—giving dean an eyeful of her lacy underwear. How was she supposed to know this would happen when the forecast and predicted pleasant, sunny weather? Now her cheeks are crimson, and her dignity lost—but maybe these unpredictable winds of change have something good in store for her, if Dean’s dilated pupils and flustered behavior are any indicator…
15) Dean goes to 2014 Endverse, and everything happens like it does in the episode. The only difference is Endverse!Dean has a special lady friend who he’s more involved with than the other women at camp—at times being possessive. Flash forward to present timeline and Dean crosses paths with that same woman. How is he supposed to explain to her that he has met her before, in a possible future crafted by angels? Comical drama ensues.
16) “I was short with brown hair and dark eyes. She was tall, blond and blue-eyed.” Concept: twin sisters in either the 40s 50s or 60s compete for the affections of one man, Dean Winchester. One lives in the others shadow both at school and at home due to her not conforming to what society expects her to be. One sister is confident, self-assured, extroverted, popular, a social being who has a knack for networking to elevate her status among others. The other sister is introverted, the Prometheus to the first sisters Epimetheus, bookish, awkward. The gist: parents favor the popular sister because she exemplifies and easily assumes roles and values that society expects her to possess (i.e. adheres to patriarchal demands, preoccupied with boys and honing her homemaking skills) while the other sister struggles with these expectations, being interested in things that are at the time exclusive to boys and men (cars, racing). The sisters have a complicated, complex relationship with one another; they love each other but don’t fully understand one another.
17) Y/N character enjoys pin up/ rockabilly fashion and classic/vintage/retro rod cars. Dean bonds with them over this and agrees to join them at one of the themed car shows they love attending. Their friendship deepens—Dean at first interpreting his affections for Y/N as familial but comes to realize (with the help of Sam and Castiel) that what he feels is anything but platonic. 11). A story that highlights Dean’s similarities with his muscle car, Baby/ the metallicar; could coincide with the rockabilly!Y/N story.
18) Inspired by lyrics: Halsey, MCR, FOB, P!ATD, DOROTHY, and PVRIS songs can be used to help guide stories. Y/N listens to Halsey’s Hold Me Down and the lyrics pull to mind the dastardly archangel Michael’s possession of Dean. Halsey’s Control has a verse that screams Lucifer: I'm bigger than my body I'm colder than this home I'm meaner than my demons I'm bigger than these bones And all the kids cried out, "Please stop, you're scaring me" I can't help this awful energy God damn right, you should be scared of me Who is in control? ‘Angel with a Shotgun’ song used for a Castiel story about how he will fight and do what it takes to protect those he loves and ‘First Impressions’ song from First Date musical used to generate ideas for a story where spn character and Y/N don’t get along well at first. Use lyrics from Amber Run’s ‘I Found’ song to guide the plot of an unintentionally-falling-in-tragic-love story.
19) Castiel-centric story revolving around ‘internet age’ song by Jason munday and Alex carpenter; use it to convey how he is like a computer when it comes to interacting with humans? Angels are logical, formal, and simple, humans unpredictable, informal and complex when communicating. A story inspired by the Old No 7 song by And The Devil Makes Three, touching on the topic of Dean’s childhood; he was poor and had a baby brother to look after; this shaped his morals and paradigm growing up; he was more willing to do unlawful acts (credit card fraud, stealing food) if it ensured his baby brother had food in his belly, sought out alcohol as a stress reliever, and all the flaws he developed and was self-aware about manifested in a low-sense of self-worth (believing he belongs in hell because he’s “90% crap,” in his words). Use little red riding hood song for a dark!DeanxY/N story and The Who’s Behind Blue Eyes for a Cas story.
20) Universe Displacement Story chain of events (?) The scene opens on Dean in his element at a strip club. A stripper finishes her set and exits the elevated stage. Dean thinks about how glad he is that the current monster-of-the-week case is finished, and he can just unwind—perhaps he mulls over whatever supernatural soap opera BS he and Sam are currently having to deal with. He is pulled out of his thoughts by the steady beats of Joan Jett’s ‘Do You Wanna Touch?’ song reverberating through the club speakers, refocus in his attention on the raised platform. A new dancer enters the scene, playfully dancing to and mouthing the words of the energetic song. This is a first for Dean; usually he has only witnessed performances where the dancer has a more serious attitude, more intent on seducing the audience rather than entertaining for the fun of it. Color him intrigued. The theatrical dancer rouses the crowd with her performance of pole dancing, hand clapping, foot stomping, and lip-syncing. She performs a few more songs, afterwards soaking up the applause—noticing the very enthusiastic standing ovation delivered by Dean. The dancer squints at Dean, trying to examine him before collecting her tips and striding off the stage to the backstage dressing room. The next dancer comes on and Dean finishes his beer, deciding to get a refill at the in-house bar. The bartender has to go collect more of the brand Dean asked for because they were fresh out of it when Dean approached them. As Dean awaits the bartender’s return, the Joan Jett stripper slides up in the bar stool next to him; she is no longer wearing her ‘uniform’, dressed comfortably in day clothes. She and Dean strike up a conversation; at first Dean is under the impression that he’s going to have the pleasure of bedding her, but she brings that notion to a halt when she reveals that she’s from our universe and needs his help on getting back. Dean flashes his ‘I’m tired of this bull shit’ expression.
After Y/N reveals she’s from our universe, Dean does the customary “is this bitch a monster?” tests. He takes her back to the motel he and Sam are crashing at for the current case; Sam mistakes her for one of Dean’s potential conquests and gets bitch-face-y. they set him straight about the matter, informing him that all the tests were done but Sam is still skeptical. Y/N talks about things even the BMoL wouldn’t know about the Winchesters. They travel back to the bunker and begin sifting through the books for a way to get her back home—however, she is not their main priority (i.e. if a case comes up, then her situation is put on the back burner; this is how she ends up having to learn to defend herself). When left to her own devices, Y/N explores the bunker: speed reads other lore books, digs around in Sam and Dean’s rooms, visits gym/gun range/kitchen/garage, pulls a Risky Business by dancing around the bunker in underwear and one of Sam’s plaid flannels. The boys eventually return. At some point Y/N argues that thy need to teach her to defend herself; they are against it, but she pesters them until they cave—because she provided valid reasons. She isn’t asking to become a hunter; she just doesn’t want her only option to be being confined to the bunker. She kinda gets in the habit of being their unofficial housekeeper because she wants to contribute as a bunker-mate (it’s her way of paying rent). After beginning to be the chaotic meme god the boys will learn to tolerate, one of them asks her, “Are you high?” in an accusatory tone, to which she replies, “Hells yeah I’m high….on life!” and proceeds to wink and strike the ‘finger guns’ pose at them.
Possible Dialogue:
“Well, hey there tiny dancer.”
“Huh…never pegged you for an Elton John fan,” she states. “And what did you have me pegged as,” asks Dean. “A classic rock purist who looks down on the pop genre as a whole, but secretly loves Taylor Swift’s ‘Shake It Off,” deadpans the stripper with a confident, knowing smirk.
This gives Dean pause, eyes widening in shock at her on-the-nose analysis of the astonished hunter. He huffs a laugh, his expression morphing into a smirk of appreciative appraisal. “You’re something else,” he remarks with admiration.
---“What’s your name, sweetheart?”
“Well, my stripper handle is ‘cherry bomb—” “Pfft,” Dean spit his beer back into the bottle while choking in laughter. “What can I say—I love Joan Jett,’ Y/N confided, proceeding to chant, “ch-ch-ch-ch-cherry bomb,” rapping one of her knuckles against the bar top. “Hello, mom. I’m your wild girl,” she sang—Dean joining her to chant, “ch-ch-ch-ch-cherry bomb! Cherry bomb,” the pair sharing a mutual chuckle of mirth before their shared gaze faded into one of lust. Dean licked his lower lip before asking, “If I’m reading the situation right, I’d really love to know what your real name is—cherry bomb is a bit of a mouthful to moan out when I’m going down on you.”
---“As much as I would love for you to work the ‘night moves’ on me,” Y/N tried to gently interject with a Bob Seger reference, “I gotta stop this right here and be upfront with you. I need your help getting home; I’m not exactly from around here—and I don’t just mean Kansas City,” she joked with a wry smile.
---“Okay, I understand where this attitude is coming from, Mr. Grumpy-Gills. I too would be pissed if someone Truman Show-ed me—but you’re kind of being a bitch right now.” “…you just call me a bitch,” Dean incredulously questioned. She responded in kind, “What? Guys can be bitches, too.”
---“Like Pansy Division says, ‘He had the dick of death,” Y/N stated matter-of-factly.
---“Stripping made the most sense. There’ no questions asked, which made it easy to get money, and get money fast. It’s not like I could get a job anywhere else without a birth certificate or social security card. I don’t exist in this universe, remember? So I don’t have the necessary documents for any other job.”
Or “So you get zapped into another universe and you become a stripper?” Y/N defensively argued, “Well what else am I supposed to do? They don’t ask questions and don’t demand two forms of ID during the hiring process. It’s not like I can apply to Wal-Mart without a birth certificate or Social Security number!” She began to make animated hand motions as she went on to declare, “As a law-abiding citizen, it’s not like I know how to forge a driver’s license like you ass-hats. You expect me to pull those vital documents out my ass?! And also, yes. I’m a stripper; I make my living by shaking my ass to sensual music. It’s not the worst thing a person can do with their life, so drop the judgmental tone Samuel. No matter how I act or dress, my body is always going to be subject to the ‘male gaze’ so if I can manipulate it to my advantage, then by god I will!! So, end point: fuck you Sam; you need to stop slut-shaming and start slut-appreciating.” Y/N finished her rant with a bitch-face to rival Sam’s whilst he sat in a stunned stupor, an expression that suggested he was mentally asking himself, “…the fuck just happened? Is she serious? Is this an actual person, or some weird tv character that materialized into the real world? Who talks like this?!”
--- “I honestly can’t tell if he’s fucking with us or still that obtuse when it comes to humans,” Y/N mused.
---“Do you ever feel like your life is sometimes just one traumatizing or inconveniencing situation after the next?”
---“Part of me thinks this is all just an intense fever dream or a scenario conjured up by my brain as the last few synapses fire away before I’m dead as a doornail. Either way, I’m gonna roll with it—play my part and see where the story takes me. All the worlds a stage and we are merely players blah, blah, blah.”
---“Sam and Dean Winchester…to what do I owe the displeasure,” drawled the trapped demon. Y/N cut in, ‘Hey! That’s Sam fucking Winchester to you, ya disrespectful sleazebag.” Dean had a perplexed expression while meeting Sam’s gaze, nonverbally asking, “Is she serious” with his furrowed brow. Sam butted in, “Y/N, I’m flattered but let’s stay on track here.” The demon bemusedly asked, “Got yourself a fangirl there, Sammy boy?” Better double-check your food—don’t want another love potion-induced Vegas wedding, now do ya?” Sam clenched his jaw, bitch face activated while Y/N’s eyes squinted, a sneer forming as her voice raised an octave or two to sass, “For your information, not all nerds are so desperate that they would take away a person’s right to consent. Some of us have a little thing we call a conscience. Besides, Sam’s not even my type—looks too much like an anglicized, white-washed interpretation of Jesus. No offense, Sam.” “Um…none taken,” he responded uncertainly. Dean rolled his eyes and huffed, “Focus, people. There’s a literal demon right in front of us!”
---“And here I thought the script writers were smoking crack—but nope, this universe is just naturally this fucked up and illogical,” Y/N mused aloud. “I’m over this dumb ass universe with all these fake ass people" "Hey!” Dean shouts with indignation. Y/N waves her hand, saying "Hey" in a chipper tone before grumbling under her breath, “Fake ass bitch." Sam continues sitting in his usual spot at the bunker library table, eyes wide as he darts between the two, thinking “Okay. Not sure what the hell is happening, but okay.”
---“I kicked major ass today, so yeah; I think I’m entitled to pick the movie we watch, and I say Rock of Ages. Dean, you’re gonna love it. It’s got everything: action, comedy, drama, strippers, the zeitgeist of the 80s rock scene, a small-town girl with big city dreams, strippers—you name it, this musical’s got it,” Y/N assured him. Sam cut in, “Did you say ‘strippers’ twice?” “I swear on Chuck’s scraggly beard—if you get preachy on me again for stripping-.” “I…I wasn’t. I was just-.” “Cork it, Mother Superior. I don’t have time for your judgement. I kicked ass today and all I wanna do is share one of my favorite movies with friends,” she claimed while starting the movie. As she was nestling down between them, she confided, “Fun fact: this movie inspired me to take pole dance lessons; never knew how much they would prove useful.”
---“You would not believe how many fanfics I’ve read with this specific scenario,” Y/N confides with a smirk, prompting Dean to grunt, “What the hell are you rambling on about?” “Don’t worry, Dean—I’ve got this. AO3 has prepared me.” “A-O-what? Wait wait, tap the brakes! That isn’t one of those websites where--.” "De-stress the chest; I ain't gonna go all 'Becky Rosen' on ya; I’m a DeanxCas bitch."
---“It’s worth a shot.” The deafening sound of her gun punctuates the end of her comment, the monster dropping to the ground with about as much grace as a sack full of potatoes. A terse moment passes, Y/N steadying her breath as the adrenaline recedes—the monster of the week’s blood draining out of his body to pool on the ground—followed by Dean huffing a mirthless chuckle, asking, “Did you really just make a gun pun before putting a bullet in that guy?” “Coming from the guy who said, ‘Heil this,’ before busting a cap in Hitler’s cabeza? Oh yeah, you’re really one to be admonishing poorly timed humor.”
---A collective, steadying breath of relief was shared amongst the hunters before Dean started chuckling, “Did you really just throw a brick at a friggin’ vamp?” “What?! I lost grip of my machete and I panicked,” Y/N huffed with a defensive shrug before muttering, “Y’know you should be applauding my resourcefulness…” “No, no—I understand, it’s just…I’ve never seen that done before,” Dean confessed, trying to reign in his chuckling at the novelty of the situation. With a shake of his head, he muttered, “A brick. An honest to god brick!” As he began his walk to the impala to collect the supplies necessary for the thorough disposal of the bloodsuckers, he clapped a hand on Y/N’s shoulder in passing, stating, “You’re awesome.” “Well, well, well. Do my ears deceive me of did you just throw a genuine compliment my way?” Y/N smugly asked. Dean rolled his eyes, barking over his shoulder with a smirk, “Yeah, yeah—don’t let it go to your head.”
---Y/N let out a heavy, resigned sigh before approaching the brandy bar and pouring herself a glass of whiskey. With concern Sam inquired, “I thought you don’t drink?” in a gruff voice, she answered, “Well I do now,” proceeding to knock back the bitter drink before promptly and comically spitting it back in in the glass, a grimace taking hold of her features. “Bleeuughah nope changed my mind; I still don’t drink. God, how do you stomach the taste of this crap?!” Sam let out a mirthless chuckle while gently shaking his head, responding in kind, “it’s an acquired taste.” “Yeah well, not one I plan on acquiring! Maybe I should drown my sorrows in a river of that ‘Mike’s Hard Lemonade’ I keep seeing ads for? It would probably still wreak havoc on my liver—but at least it wouldn’t make me wanna projectile-vomit my last meal.”
---“Damnit, Y/N. why are you always saying weird stuff,” Dean gruffed in question. “Hmm…mostly because I enjoy leaving people in a state of bewilderment. There’s no greater joy than the genuine befuddlement induced by a well-timed meme…. well, that and it’s a defense mechanism against confronting my deep-seated fears and insecurities but whatever,” Y/N downplayed with a brief wave of her hand.
---“Hey, Dean, I’m setting personal ringtones for all of you; you’ve got a choice between Toby Keith's Should've Been A Cowboy and Garth Brooks’ Rodeo.” “Ha! Wait wait wait—what’ve you got so far?” “Rowena is the Eagles’ Witchy Woman, whenever Castiel sends me a text loaded with emoticons I hear Beyoncé’s Halo, and if Sam decides to give me a ring, I’m alerted by The Devil Went Down to Georgia. FYI: in my contacts list, his number’s saved under Charlie Daniels,” she informed with a raise of her eyebrows and an open-mouthed smirk before returning her gaze to her phone and nonchalantly confiding, “Y’know it was a tough decision with Castiel because the other option was The Cab’s Angel with a Shotgun. I was really torn—but then I remembered that he’s agent Beyoncé and it was a no-brainer from there.”
--- Y/N deadpanned, “Jack, you’re literally a toddler. The only love life you should have is a love for eating nougat,” followed by Sam and Dean chuckling at her forthrightness.
---“Hey, what have you got with Sam,” Dean asked in a mirthful, faux accusatory tone. “Nothing, nothing—the guy’s a paragon of humanity, it’s just…he’s got the dick of death. That DNA rifle’s got a kill streak. First Jess is a-hunka-hunka burning love, then Madison turns out to be the monster of the week and had to be put down old yeller style. Afterwards is Ruby’s conniving ass—and I couldn’t forget the delayed death of Sarah Blake. He didn’t even do the devil’s tango with her—they just did some light, cautious flirting and years later it comes back to bite her in the ass. Sam is a damn fine person who is easy on the eyes—I just don’t feel attraction to him, out of self-preservation.” “What about me?” “Oh, hell no, you are definitely not my type!” “Because of self-preservation or…” “In a sense, yeah—except I’m less worried about being the person in the first 5 minutes of the show and more fearful of being made a fool of.” “What do you mean?” “You uh you’ve repeatedly exhibited behavior and said things that undoubtedly prove my assertion that you’d break my heart, so even if I did find you attractive—which I don’t,” she emphasized by pointing her index finger at him as she leveled him with a stern gaze, “I would let hell freeze over before ever admitting to it… yeah I’m a stubborn petty prideful coward who refuses to be love’s bitch. That’s why the thought of a one-night stand is less daunting than catching feelings for someone, I guess.” “Well, no argument there.” “I thought so. A toast—to emotionally unattached drifters!”
---In a voice that quivered from her effort to restrain rage, Y/N’s eyes narrowed at the villain as she declared through gritted teeth, “I swear to Chuck—if your actions bode ill for Dean, I will cut open your belly and hang you with a noose made from your own entrails!” A silence passed, Sam and Dean’s eyes widening in shock and exchanging worried glances with one another before the fae emissary muttered, “Jesus fucking Christ, that’s dark.”
---Y/N declared, “It’s time you had some solid dick,” abruptly followed by Dean nearly choking on his coffee before spitting it back in its cup. “Some what now?!” “Solid dick—y’know, straight talk.” “No one says it like that.” “They did in the 1940s.” “Yeah well they stopped saying it for a reason.”
---“Great,” Y/N drawled out before commenting, “So everything I’ve ever known was a lie. Fan-fucking-tastic.”
---Y/N patted Dean on the shoulder, giving a poor attempt at comforting him by commenting, “Don’t beat yourself up too bad this rejection; some people just aren’t the ‘hit-it-and-quit-it’ type. She probably didn’t want to get a taste of something she’ll never have again.” Dean sassed, “Gee, thanks Y/N. My pride has been instantly restored after hearing that kernel of wisdom,” before striding towards the dive bar’s double-doored entrance. Y/N shook her head and sighed before drawling out in a false staccato whisper, “Tou-chy.”
---“Today I’ve been kidnapped, strung up like a pinata and nearly eaten. I can say with absolute certainty and forthright candor…I need a hug,” Y/N confessed, voice cracking at the last line.
---“What I want to know is, why does Sam take such offense to being compared to a moose? It’s not an insult—if anything it’s a compliment,” Y/N argued, voice taking on a fake English accent as she went on to say, “People would be wise to fear the mighty moose of the north. Tis a majestic creature, a gentle giant—unless provoked—and I cannot fathom why Sam just doesn’t yield to his fate. They each possess so many common attributes: they’re tall, survive on a diet of leafy greens, sport a fabulous brown mane, have powerful muscles that aid in them defending against predators—” Sam protested, “What predators?! I’m a human man,” as he punched a snickering Dean in the arm. “Demons,” Y/N plainly answered in her usual voice, dropping the nature documentary narrator shtick. Well, Sam couldn’t object to that. He was at the top of every demons hit-list—or, as had been Ruby’s case, hit-it-and-quit-it list.