𝙳.𝚆.

a pale imitation ─── with the edges sawn off.

[perditionable]

dean winchester of supernatural 𖤐 info.

[perditionable]

cassie robinson: you stabbed a priest? 𖤐 @unpunish

"well, uh."

dean scratches the back of his head, struggling to come up in a way that won't make him sound like a lunatic. it's crazy. you spend a few months with a woman, show her all your cards, and you still worry about her thinkin' you're makin' it all up 'cause of that one time.

there's a fine line between makin' the truth more colorful for storytellin' purposes and lyin'. and cassie can sniff out a lie from miles away, so dean backpedals.

"it wasn't an actual priest, it was a shifter."

cassie looks at him quizzically.

"a shapeshifter. they shift their shape. it's kinda their thing." this is seriously not helpin' his i'm not a lunatic case. "so he shifts into this priest, right. that's what he was when i got my hands on him. so he wasn't an actual priest, but technically," dean raises his eyebrows and gestures with his hands, "yeah, i stabbed a priest. and i hope the big man won't judge me too harshly for it."

[perditionable]

malka-lisitsa or whatever her url is is such a dog shit katherine writer. 😭 enjoying you guys shading her from the shadows.

it's not even about the quality of her portrayal. you're allowed to be as bad as you want. it's about shading people who write the character you've convinced yourself you "own" then rallying your amoeba brained friends to feed into your vampire delusions and drive other katherines out of the rpc because you're "the one and only" 😭 and she told me i'm the bully ://// not to my face tho. she never says anything to my face. i found out from other people months later. putting other portrayals down doesn't make u confident. it makes u insecure.

[perditionable]

@malka-lisitsa why did you block me. i dont even go there

[perditionable]

bela talbot: what's particularly bad for business is dying. 𖤐 @alternate-endings

there's a knock on the door. three sharp raps that make dean immediately reach for his gun under his mattress. another knock. dean moves silently across the room, gun low against his thigh. he checks the peephole.

bela friggin' talbot.

of course.

he opens the door halfway. "wrong motel, sweetheart. hell's two exits down."

he's expectin' that lovely to see you too and the smug little sweep around the room that bela always does.

"whatever you're buyin', sellin', screwin' over, we're not interested."

she knows about their investigation. because of course she does. she's a shark smellin' blood in water, except sharks can be cute, and dean would rather burn in hell than admit bela talbot is anythin' of the sort.

"plus, hirin' backstabbers is really bad for business."

"what's particularly bad for business is dying."

dean frowns. "... okay?" the door's open wider now. "what's in it for you?"

[perditionable]

john winchester: i thought i told you to keep an eye on sam. 𖤐 @unpunish

when dean makes the mistake to jerk away, dad's fingers press into the meat of his upper arm so hard dean's sure it'll leave a bruise under his sleeve.

"don't pull that crap with me," dad snaps.

dean swallows his words, stares at the brown and gold swirls weaved into the motel's carpet. there's cigarette burns where it cuts off before the bathroom door.

on one of the beds, sam sits cross-legged with a comic book spread open in his lap.

dad drags a hand over his mouth and turns away. "you wanna tell me why your brother was alone at a bus station at midnight?"

"he wasn't alone."

"really."

"i was gone ten minutes."

"that's all it takes."

dean hates the accusatory finger pointed at him. he hates the way it makes him feel small even more.

ten minutes. that's how long it had taken him. ten minutes to get food from the diner next door while sam stayed inside the bus station, where it was warm and dry. ten minutes, after watchin' sammy for twelve hours straight in a town that dean didn't know while dad chased a lead that apparently turned into an all-day hunt.

but dean knows better than to say that out loud.

sam's ears perk up.

"go wash up, sammy," john says, his voice even but authoritative.

"i'm still reading," sam whines.

"now."

sam looks at dean like he's the one he has to ask for permission. dean nods with his eyes more than his head.

the bathroom doors shuts, the faucet squeaking on. it's then that john exhales through his nose.

he's runnin' on fumes, dean thinks. he knows the signs. dad's crossed over into that place again, the one where every little thing becomes a life or death situation because somewhere in his head, mom is still burning on the ceiling.

"i thought i told you to keep an eye on sam."

dean stares at the floor. "i did."

"you call this doin' it?"

dean swallows hard, still avoiding eye contact. "i said i was sorry."

"that's not the point."

dean forces himself to lift his eyes. dad's gun is still shoved into the back of his jeans because he didn't even take the time to unpack after tearing through the town lookin' for sam. then dean saw it. the fear underneath all of dad's anger. somehow that makes him feel worse.

"i know," dean mumbles, head down.

"you think i like comin' back to find sam gone?"

"he wasn't gone."

"he could've been."

a drifter had started talkin' to sam at the station. that was all. dean saw it through the diner window while payin' for the burgers and crossed the street before the guy could get comfortable. no big deal. except the guy grabbed sammy's shoulder when dean pulled him away, and dean shoved back. suddenly there were cops askin' questions and sam was cryin' because he thought dean was getting arrested. by the time dad came, dean knew how bad it looked.

"you can't leave him alone," dad says, soundin' more tired than furious this time.

dean nods. "okay."

dad looks at him for one long moment, then unexpectedly asks, "you hurt?"

dean blinks. "no."

the bathroom fauce shuts off. tiny feet pad against tile. when sammy comes out with red-rimmed eyes, dean straightens automatically. dad notices, dean notices him noticin', and in dad's eyes there's a brief flicker of somethin' guilty and gone too fast to name.

"dean."

"yeah?"

"you did good getting to him before anything happened."

dean looks up too quickly. by that time dad's already reachin' for the takeout bag on the dresser.

"food's cold," he mutters.

and that's that. conversation over.

[thelordsoftherings]

Dean Winchester in 1x03 // Dead in the Water

[perditionable]

sam winchester: you have to say 'off the record' beforehand, not afterward. 𖤐 @unpunish

stalled out case means research. which means they're spending all day in stale motel room air, surrounded by strewn out papers, empty coffee cups, and fast food wrappers. in short: sam's heaven, dean's nightmare.

and while sam is hunched over lore books, dean sits slumped in a chair, headphones in, eyes flicking over a laptop screen like he's deep in research.

"hey. so get this—" when dean doesn't respond, sam glances over, eyes narrowing. "dean? dean."

he walks over, taps dean's shoulder. nothing.

the second tap is firm enough to startle him. dean yanks the headphones off and, unfortunately, out of the port. he freezes at first, then almost violently snaps the laptop shut.

"dude." sam's grin gets wider by the second. "was that—"

dean glares. "do not say a word."

"it was taylor swift."

he considers retaliating by mentioning sam's kylie minogue obsession, but then sam would mock him for knowing who that even is. "it was research, okay? i'm researchin'."

"you were nodding in time with the beat."

"you're makin' it weird. don't make it weird."

sam lets out a breathy chuckle. while he's crossing over to his side of the room, still wearing that punchable toothy grin, dean shifts in his seat uncomfortably.

five seconds and the silence has worn him down.

"some of her stuff's not bad," dean says, verbally scrambling to defend himself. he points at sam's smug face. "off the record."

"you have to say 'off the record' beforehand, not afterward."

"seriously? what is this, court?"

sam shrugs.

"oh, screw you."

he's never living that down.

[perditionable]

elena gilbert: that's way too much sugar. 𖤐 @gr1eve

if the sun wasn't scorching enough to convince him they'd made a pit stop in satan's crack, then the smell of his own sweat mixed with the fuel and dust comin' from the highway sure as hell does.

exhausted, dean leans against the hood of his impala; one boot on the bumper, the other on the sun-baked asphalt. he's halfway through his gas station pastry when elena decides to act like the nutrition police.

"that's a culinary masterpiece right here," dean says around a mouthful, his fingers and lips speckled with powdered sugar. after he swallows, he attempts a french accent with all the misguided confidence he can muster, "a real pizza de residence."

[notmorbid]

superman (2025).

dialogue prompts from superman (2025).

i put _____ on to soothe you.

i love you more than heaven. i love you more than land.

what the hey, dude!

i thought i told you to keep an eye on ____.

we've done what we need to do.

you've gotta get out of here. it's not safe.

you did so good!

hey, loser.

what do you got against adverbs?

what are chitlins?

don't be a stranger.

what's particularly bad for business is dying.

breakfast for dinner is your favorite.

you won't fool everyone forever.

i'll let you interview me.

now you're being dishonest.

i wasn't representing anybody except for me.

i'd like to change the subject, if i could.

you're referring to yourself in third person now?

you have to say 'off the record' beforehand, not afterward.

you know that one specifically irritates me.

this is what you do every time you get faced with conflict: you get mad, you pout, and then you leave.

i told you i wasn't good at relationships.

this is a restricted area.

nothing's felt right since ____ showed up.

deep, slow breaths. you're gonna be fine.

good gosh, there's gotta be a better way to do this.

how's it going with that guy you were seeing?

this has to be bs.

i'm so sorry, man.

you are not punk rock.

i question everything and everyone.

you trust everyone and think everyone you've ever met is like, beautiful.

i'm gonna turn myself in.

i love you. i probably should have told you that a long time ago.

your obsession with me is getting a little creepy.

that's way too much sugar.

i party like a rockstar, choirboy.

_____ wrote a blog about me.

i really don't understand why you stay in that relationship.

you put nanobot gps trackers in your friend's bloodstream?

i'm not even sure how i feel, honestly.

just to be clear, i'm not into people's emotions.

i guess you decided to help.

why are you still gross-looking?

you look like shit.

you came to get me.

you'll heal, but it'll take a day or two.

i have everything we need to ruin _____ forever.

you're just a big old mush.

your hot ex is a genius.

i've never seen you sleep that long.

you don't seem quite yourself.

i'm not who i thought i was.

parents aren't for telling their children who they're supposed to be. we're here to give y'all tools, to help you make fools of yourselves all on your own.

your choices, your actions: that's what makes you who you are.

i couldn't be more proud of you.

there's something on the box you might wanna see.

i cleaned your boots. i'll go get 'em for you.

not sure where we're gonna land, when the world is gone.

it's not too late for you.

i called in some friends.

i'm aware envy consumes my every waking moment.

my envy is a calling.

what are you smirking at, you idiot?

brain beats brawn. sorry, chump.

this ain't playtime. quit messing around.

i'm not messing around. i'm doing important stuff.

i'm as human as anyone.

i screw up all the time, but that is being human. and that's my greatest strength.

none of this matters, you patronizing clown.

the one thing conservatives and liberals can finally agree on: _____ sucks.

hey. i love you, too.

what the hell, dude?

if i had any emotional capacity whatsoever, i'd be concerned.

darn it, i can be such a jerk sometimes.

[perditionable]

jankles has many wrong opinions but this one isn't one of them

[perditionable]

cassie robinson: people fall in love in difficult circumstances. most songs are about it. 𖤐 @unpunish

the tennis ball dean has been throwing for the past twenty minutes falls snug into his palm. he delays the next throw if only to ponder cassie's words and, with a mouth shrug, aims at the ceiling again. the ball thumps. dean shifts as it's coming down. the whole time he's thinking how much he prefers cassie's dorm bed to the stained, worn out motel mattress.

"really?" he flicks his wrist a bit more forcefully this time and mumbles an apology at the look cassie throws his way. "huh."

the songs in his music catalogue speak of epic heroism, lust and desire, and the glorification of the rockstar lifestyle. the closest he's come to hearin' a song about loving someone in difficult circumstances is zepp's since i've been loving you. and even then, that's not entirely what cassie means.

"how come i ain't heard a song like that?"

[perditionable]

sam winchester: what the hell, dude? 𖤐 @unpunish

ghosts, shapeshifters, skinwalkers, hell, even sirens, and dean winchester's most elusive enemy turns out to be a thieving seagull.

"come here, you feathery little psycho!" he yells, lunging for the seagull as it darts under the impala. "you think you can outrun me? i've ganked vamps faster than you."

sam steps out of the motel room just in time to see dean on all fours, reaching under the car, feathers flying. he blinks once. "what the hell, dude?"

"it stole my burger, sam!" dean pops up, hair disheveled and holding a half-squashed paper bag. "look at this! pecked right through the wrapper like it was possessed."

as if on cue, the seagull struts out from behind the impala, swallows the fry in its beak, then starts squawking triumphantly.

"that's not a normal bird," dean says, pointing at it. normal birds don't just steal your lunch and taunt you with it.

sam crosses his arms. "you sure it's not just smarter than you?"

the seagull takes off, letting dean have half a minute respite before it perches on the impala's hood and starts pecking the windshield wipers.

dean gasps. offense, disbelief and shock all flash across his eyes. "oh no, you didn't." his hand hovers near the trunk. sam's voice cuts through his focus briefly—you're not gonna shoot a seagull, right?

not only is he gonna shoot the thieving son of a beak, he's gonna string it up for all its friends to see. because nobody touches baby. nobody.

the bird squawks again. dean waves in its direction, jaw tight. "it's friggin' laughin' at me. and now it's— oh, no. no, no, no, no. it did not just take a dump on my car."

sam laughs, hands snug in the pockets of his hoodie. "i'm not cleaning that."

but dean's too preoccupied with staring down the winged rat. he readies himself, shifting his weight, then lunges forward—

the seagull takes off effortlessly, flapping away with one last mocking squawk.

dean stumbles, catches himself, and glares at the sky. "this isn't over, you trash can pigeon!"

[perditionable]

mii mention

this could be our salmondean but our frontal lobes are developed

[perditionable]

i just realized i never added any rules, so here we go:

𖤐 my activity is inspiration based and therefore sporadic. mutuals are welcome to ask for my discord — it's your best bet if you want more consistent responses. i also have a multi (side)blog that's even lower activity for anyone interested. both blogs are heavily affiliated with @unpunish.

𖤐 i prefer the monster-of-the-week trope for non-established interactions, so i default to seasons 1-3 with 4-5 being plot or character dependent. post-kripke era interactions require plotting and will most likely be part of my default verse.

𖤐 memes are there to be sent, doesn't matter if it's been 2 days or 2 months. send several, i like having options. also feel free to turn them into threads.

𖤐 i'm open to shipping, but as far as canon ships go, this is a dean/cassie haven. controversially, i write dean as straight. i know >:(

𖤐 i don't do duplicate anxiety, but i won't follow other dean blogs first because i know that makes some of you uncomfortable.

[perditionable]

does this count as a character study

[devilfated]

THE NEST HAD BEEN ON HIS RADAR FOR FOUR DAYS. Not because they posed any particular problem — seven vampires barely a century between them, sloppy and territorial in the way young ones always were, leaving bodies where bodies shouldn't be left. It was the kind of mess that attracted attention, and attention was something Niklaus had been trying to avoid since Tuscany. He'd planned to deal with it quietly, efficiently, and move on before anyone in this miserable little town had cause to remember his face.

He had not planned for the hunter.

He'd noticed him before he even reached the building — caught the scent of woodsmoke and iron and something underneath it that made Niklaus go very still on the sidewalk for just a moment, frozen both in space and in time as images of centuries’ past flashed in front of him. The memories came as a result of the pit in his stomach, like a reflex hit at just the right angle to elicit an involuntary response. It was instinctual. Just the presence of this hunter alone screamed at him long enough to pay closer attention, but for now he disregarded the instinct. Not out of ignorance, but because he surmised the hunter was not an immediate threat to Niklaus’s life.

He redirected his attention back towards the vampires, noises of a commotion rising from inside the building. He started towards the fight, quietly approaching, though doubtful the vampires were adept enough to notice his presence and sustain themselves in combat. Niklaus considered it odd how this hunter chose to fight an entire nest himself, though he seemed to be holding his own. For now. Niklaus watched from the periphery longer than was strictly necessary — arms folded, shoulder against the doorframe, taking his measure. The man was good, no doubt. Economical. Precise. He'd taken down three before cornered against the back wall, and the odds shifted into territory that would've made most men run. But, of course, this one didn't.

Niklaus moved when the fourth one got its hands around the hunter's throat. Not out of altruism — he wanted the man conscious for the conversation he'd already decided they were going to have. He came in from the blind side, quicker than he should have been if he were what he intended to claim, but the room was dark and the hunter had been a little occupied. Niklaus decided to take his chances. Three down before the hunter had fully registered his presence, a stake finding its mark each time with a precision that left no room for scrutiny, as long as no one thought too hard about the speed.

Then quiet.

The hunter was still standing, which Niklaus could respect. He was bleeding, yet he wore the look of someone who was still watching him, looking like he was filing Niklaus under unknown variable. Good instincts, Niklaus thought. Of course he had good instincts. This was clearly someone who'd learned to think quickly under pressure.

❛❛ You were doing well there, mate, ❜❜ he said, with the air of someone who found the whole thing privately amusing, ❛❛ until you weren't. ❜❜ / @hunterblud

[perditionable]

dean hits the floor hard enough to rattle his teeth. he rolls before the vampire can pin him, boots scraping across the wooden floor as the vampire's fingers slice through the air where his head was a second earlier.

the cannery stinks of mildew and old blood. it's a stench dean will be getting outta his nose for days. but he has more important problems now. his flashlight lies somewhere across the room. he sees the beam of it, breaking the shadows of each and every bloodsucker comin' for his neck.

"yeah." dean grunts, driving his machete upward into a vampire's chest. the blade burrows deep, blood spraying across dean's hand and arm. "this is officially a really crappy thursday."

the vampire shrieks. dean uses the distraction to kick another one backwards into a rusted support beam. it causes the metal to squeak, dust falling from the ceiling.

there's three of 'em now. sonuva bitch. okay. not a picnic, but manageable. dean rips his machete free and swings again as another bloodsucker lunges at him. her fangs are inches from his neck when he buries the blade into her throat and pushes. her severed head plops wetly onto the floor, her body coming down into a twitching heap seconds later.

two left.

"c'mon." dean forces a smirk, chest heaving. "i can do this all night."

one of them rushes him low while the other comes high. dean pivots, catching the first one by the collar and slamming it into a table. before the second bloodsucker can grab him, dean shoves his machete through its mouth, the blade coming out the back of its skull. it convulses once, then drops.

dean yanks his blade free, breathing harder, sweat dripping down his temple and mixing with the blood and grime on his face. his shoulder burns from when one clipped him earlier. that's gonna bruise.

the remaining bloodsucker circles him slowly, lips peeled back over his bloody teeth. it licks them slowly, its eyes wide with insanity.

"hey, twilight, you gonna charge or keep tryin' for an oscar in the best creep category?"

so the vampire does. dean meets him head-on. they crash into a stack of crates, wood exploding around them. dean drives punch after punch into the bloodsucker's face, then jams the machete sideways between them.

and then—

a hand hooks around dean's collar from behind. his eyes widen. "son of a—" he's hauled with crushing force against the back wall, then dragged up, the new vampire's hand locked tightly around his throat. dean slams his knee into its ribs one, twice, but the goddamn thing barely reacts.

the other vampire recovers instantly, grinning with blood running down its split lip. "well, well, there he is."

more vampires start coming out of the shadows. dean claws at the hand crushing his windpipe, his boots scraping uselessly across the flooor as the bloodsucker tightens its hold. pressure pounds in his head.

air. need air.

dean's vision gets blurry, but just before his entire world goes black, he slumps against the wall with a hand on his throat, wheezing and coughing. the commotion around him forces him to stay alert. he can bet on many things, but this interruption bein' a godsent is not one of 'em.

his knees threaten to buckle, but dean uses all his might to stay upright, even if he has to use the wall behind him as a crutch. his eyes flit to his machete, abandoned at the scattered stack of crates, then back at the newcomer. whoever this guy is, dean's got the feelin' he's not good news.

"who the hell are you?"