ind. blog for
dean winchester
from cw's
"supernatural"
selective | au | 18+

canon diverg.
mutual interaction.
est. oct. 2013
rebooted july 2015

written by freya.


status!

active.
● drafts: 14
● asks: 10 (on 27/07/15)
● accepting new threads !
● open to plotting !
slow & selective replies.



disclaimer!

credit goes to eric kripke & co.

theme, avatar, headers, icons, self promos & other posted graphics are generally mine.


blog music!

"ghost town" by adam lambert
"jet pack blues" by fall out boy

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updates

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                        ———- i’m just sayin’ …   i mean …
                           when you walk in that room, it MIGHT
                           look like there’re  three people tied to
                           chairs in there, but they’re not —- !? 

                his nervous snicker is about as believable
                                                 as the excuse that follows.

                              they, they, they’re …    criminals. yeah ! tried to
                               rob the place an’ i caught ‘em. damn pensioners,
                               knew i couldn’t trust 'em to live off so little money
                               without spillin’ some blood an’ mayhem. 

   

walkingxabovexperdition

                     there is focus cemented in his muscles, spiraling in eyes that bend under the weight of a frown seeking to part ways with its target as soon as possible —- he just so happens to be carrying the cross of an unsound impatience. although the pattern is a familiar one, he has yet to cease his flinches at his angel companion’s unworldly entrances, more often than not arrivals at the worst of times.

              one jolted peer across a shoulder smoked by vent gas & gasoline, then he returns to his frantic struggles of nursing fixing the impala, that seem to carry out with more & more nerves as he meets failures.

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                              i swear, if i meet the sonuva bitch who screwed
                               my hood to hell,   i’m gonna skin him an’ wear it
                               as dust cover for our couch. 

   

mxntparnasse

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                      does seriously nobody ‘ere speak spanish ? 

                                               dean, you’re in france.

   

oculisoleant

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                      …  i don’t learn ‘ere, sorry.

                         or anywhere; really. been
                         there,   but few years ago. 

   

malevolentqueen

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                          yeah, uh ——- sorry.

                  came ‘ere from a call an’ the sheriff
                     told me to come find the mayor.     

   

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                          & now he has to piece together a MOTIF;   for not only
                          his plummeted  frame fair-flung  atop of a floor pricked
                          by glace shards, but also for the furnaces scorching in
                          green irises of a tart frenzy.

                                    ——— sorry for the window.  

                                      so far with the explanations.

   

deathisarose

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                     keeps subtly insistently shooting arrows into the general direction
                     of the book with a very much supernatural table of contents, mind,
                                       that he’s been questing for to begin with.

                   let alone the fact someone beat him to it,    but what
             would someone have to do with a specific book of the likes ?

   

divxnus

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                       i don’t care what y'say,
               and even if i did ——- i still
                               wouldn’t do that.  

 

prophetaeverbumdei

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                       y'know, kev —— you’re ‘llowed to be
                   iffy 'bout eatin’ with all the stress goin’ on
                   an’ all, but you can’t jus’ turn DOWN the
                   hot dogs from dave’s little cart.

                                   it’s not a hot dog place;   it’s a gold mine. 

   

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                       alright;    pack your reeboks, ‘cause we’re
                        headin’ out for a case. and we’re drivin’.