#spnmbb

[kingdumbass]

Presented to you in full, for @bleuzombie and @spn-mediabigbang A love story inspired by the cult classic The Crow:

A year after the murder of himself and his fiancé Dean, Castiel comes back to life to exact vengeance against the people who killed him.

Working on the art for this was so fun. Goth Cas lives in my heart forever. Now, PLEASE go read the fic, it’s equally as fun as the art was to make!!

LINK TO FIC

[spn-mediabigbang]

SPN Media Bang 2023 Posting Dates!

Here's the overall updated posting date list, keep an eye out for reblogs of each individual promo over the next couple of days!

[Image for easy pin access, text version below the cut.]

Jan 23 - @friendofcarlotta and @xfancyfranart Jan 24 - @haus-seeblick and Solstheim Jan 25 - @maggiemaybe160 and @leafzelindor Jan 26 - @seasidemeow and @soloarcana Jan 27 - @geeksheek89 and IckyV29

Jan 30 - @tsujiharu and @truecolours412 Jan 31 - @ncdover1285 and IckyV29 Feb 1 - @butterflyskinky and @klayr-de-gall Feb 2 - @tfwcas and @ncdover1285 Feb 3 - TheSilverQueen and IckyV29 Feb 6 - @tiamatv and @sissyray84 Feb 7 - Bleu and @kingdumbass Feb 8 - @alleiradayne and Solstheim Feb 9 - Leena and @hawkland Feb 10 - magicaldino and IckyV29 Feb 13 - @GhoulsnHalos and @sissyray84

[hawkland]

Cas put his hand on Dean’s arm. They stood up there watching the town underneath for a long while, although Dean also noticed Cas watching at him as much as he looked at the view.

After lunch Cas asked him if he was scared of all high places or just flying.

“Dude, I told you I’m not scared. I’m just not a fan. What did you have in mind?”

“Do you want to see what the city looks like from above? I know a place.”

At this point, Dean was ready to try anything to see more of Atlantis. Following Cas up another ancient set of stairs going round some old ruins of a tower built into the rock, Dean was soon out of breath. Cas kept pulling him along whenever he stopped so Dean walked right on top of the tower with Cas. At the top it wasn’t just the climb taking Dean’s breath away but also the sheer majesty of Atlantis. Dean could feel his eyes burn with unshed tears.

“My mom used to dream about this place. She went missing looking her way here a long ago. I wish that she could have seen all of this.”

This is my second piece for the @spn-mediabigbang​ and Tossukka’s (@sitruunavohveli) fusion fic with Atlantis: The Lost Empire. Again, I was trying to directly re-create one of the animated scenes in the movie (you can see the inspiration image below the cut). Cas’s expression was driving me crazy, trying to capture it just right (and not accidentally end up painting Columbo instead, thanks to the goofy Misha reference photo that I was using!), but in the end I’m really amused with how it turned out.

(Yes, Cas’s Atlantean garments are done in colors to match the classic trench coat, suit & blue tie combo.)

It’s a fairly large (16″x12″) watercolor painting on cold press paper with some semi-precious stone and metallic paints to add some shimmer & shine. I took the close-up pictures in different lighting than the main picture to try to capture some of the shimmery effects better.

Stay tuned to read the full story & see more art come December!

[sissyray84]

Excerpt 

The outfit’s all a little too big, though, a little too simple, like Cas is still figuring out things like how tall and how wide he is. Or maybe how to account for a body without extra flappers over his shoulders, and so he’s going for too few parts. Sure enough, when Dean looks down, Cas hasn’t got any shoes on his feet.

Castiel squints, all the way into offended again. He straightens, his shoulders pushing back even further, like he’s trying to stretch out his wings to show off how big and intimidating he is. Except he doesn’t have wings right now. Yep, definitely a little too fond of the missing flappy bits. “My true form—”

“Is pretty freakin’ bizarre,” Dean answers bluntly. “We don’t need that. Don’t do it, man.” He jabs a finger at the genie in their tiny apartmen. “In here, those wing-dings of yours would go right through the walls if you stretched ‘em out to show off how pretty you are. And then we’d all have the guard called on us for property destruction, and probably the other hunters called on you.”

Castiel goes still. The corners of his mouth droop. He glares at Dean. “I feel as if you’re not being sincere when you say I’m pretty.”

“Dean,” Sam scolds.

“Look, it’s true. He has skin like a crystal outta the witchy woman shop, and a lot of wings and eyes,” Dean says. It might be an asshole thing to say, but it is true. “Also, he was buck-ass naked and using his wings as a skirt. This is better, right?” He claps Castiel on the shoulder. “Still you, just, y’know. More normal.”

“I’m a genie. I don’t think you understand what ‘normal’ is,” the little asshole says. With air quotes.

But Sam’s latched on to his lore ideas again. “So… you have wings, normally? That’s amazing! I read in one book that genies were the size of giants, with blue skin, and smoke for legs!” he continues excitedly. “I mean… not that I’m saying you should be blue. Just…”

Cas considers that so seriously that Dean expects him to start rubbing his chin, like one of those scholars in paintings. “Perhaps that was normal in that society at the time?” he offers, finally. “Knees are a very inconvenient development in upright evolution. I’m not sure whose idea they were.”

Sam stares. “Is that, uh… is that a joke?” he finally asks.

Hi... are you wanting more?  Then please stay tuned to the SPN Media Big Bang Tumblr @spn-mediabigbang to see more art plus  Full fic posting in Dec 2022  Beggars would ride  by @tiamatv is a romantic  destiel remix of Aladdin full of  drama romance and a dash of magic author tiamatv artist sissyray84 coming soon 

[sketching-fox]

SPN MEDIA BIG BANG 2021!

Finally my posting day for @spn-mediabigbang

My pleasure to show here my arts done for FALLOUT:SUPERNATURAL

LINK TO THE FIC

An amazing crossoveer writen by 

MaggieMaybe160 (https://archiveofourown.org/users/MaggieMaybe160)

and Insominia (https://archiveofourown.org/users/insominia/pseuds/insominia) .

A dystopian story based on the game Fallout: Las Vegas.

Enjoy it! ^_~

[alleiradayne]

In Baldur’s Gate, Dragons Dungeon You! | Art Master Post

An SPN/D&D mashup that can be read on its own or part of the greater series The Way Things Ought to Be.

On a quiet afternoon a week shy of Christmas, Dean is interrupted while poking through the news for a case. Someone is pounding on the Bunker door. After a brief huddle with Sam and Castiel, they investigate to find Charlie on the other side, a box of books at her feet. She needs to use their archive for research and a place to stay while she does it. Of course, she's always welcome at the Bunker. And when Dean discovers her trove of Dungeons & Dragons books, she offers to run a quick campaign.

But the mysteries aren’t just in Candleekeep. Charlie seems to have one of her own. Except no one can put their finger on it. The campaign unravels--along with Charlie’s secrets--as she tells the story of The Scrivener’s Tale.

Chapter 3 - Video Killed the Radio Star

Summary: The campaign begins... Warnings/Tags: Intrigue, D&D stuff, roleplaying, cursing, consumption of alcohol Characters/Pairings: Castiel playing Castiel, Dean Winchester playing Rawridan, Sam Winchester playing Mephisto, Eileen Leahy playing Fechin, Jack Kline playing Comet Shadowpool, Charlie Bradbury Pop Culture Reference Count: 10 Word Count: 3818 Song: Video Killed the Radio Star - The Buggles

For what felt like the first time in ages, Sam held in his hand something he had actually created. Filling out a character sheet, he'd discovered, had tapped into a neglected craft, a forgotten artistry. Not that he lacked inspiration. Between time with Eileen and studying Rowena’s library, months had slipped through his fingers like water. And there had been no shortage of jobs, although they all had been much more particular about which cases they took and how often. With more and more hunters joining the ranks, Sam had leaped at the chance to take a break, if not for himself, but for his family. Years ago, he might not have seized such an opportunity. Everything had changed, and for the better, since undoing Chuck's finale chapter. The thought crooked his lips into a small smile as he scanned his character sheet again, then set it on the table, satisfied.

Across the table, Dean and Castiel babbled like caffeinated children as they gestured to their own character sheets. And beside Castiel, Jack signed to Eileen across the table so quickly Sam struggled to keep up. Something about music—no, a song…

“Alright, I’m ready.”

Charlie handed Eileen’s character sheet to Sam. “Do we need anything else?” he asked as he passed her character along.

For a beat, Charlie appeared confused, as though Sam had sprouted a second head. Her eyes slid to the table where she stared that long, far-off look, blinked, then shook her head. “Jeez, I almost forgot the map and the figs.”

“Figs?”

Charlie hefted a small plastic set of drawers from the floor and set it on the table. “Figurines,” she stated, tapping the top. “Pick out a fig to represent your character on the battlefield.”

Dean glanced at the table, then turned back to her. “What battlefield?”

Again, Charlie retrieved yet another item from beneath the table. With a flick of her wrists, a three-foot long vinyl sheet rolled out and revealed a grid of one-inch squares. Then she tossed a set of wet-erase pens at the edge, along with a marker-stained rag and a spray bottle.

“Battlefield,” she stated as she picked up a marker and began to draw. “Pick out your figs and…” When she finished her structure, she replaced the pen cap and set it aside. “You’ll place them inside as you’re introduced.”

Sam pulled the figurine drawers towards him and opened the top drawer. Neat rows of highly detailed pewter figures sat nestled in dense foam. “Did you paint these?” he asked as he hefted a tall, mulberry-skinned tiefling in dark purple robes and black leather.

“I did, but it was a short-lived hobby,” she said as she motioned to Eileen, and Sam slid the drawers to her.

After the figures completed a trip around the table, everyone had selected their miniature representative—Jack’s tiny fairy complete with lute and sword, Eileen’s many-bladed half-elf, Castiel’s plated-covered human bearing a pike and shield, and Dean’s minotaur hefting a massive sword in both hand. When Dean handed the drawers back to her, Charlie retrieved a figure out of the bottom drawer as well.

“Who is that?” Dean asked.

“Mind your own business,” Charlie chimed with a coy smirk as she handed Jack’s character sheet to Dean who passed it to Castiel. “Listen, just kick back and relax while I get the story started. Y’all ready?”

Ever prepared, Sam intended on doing much the opposite of relaxing, pencil poised over a blank notebook.

“The Restricted Section Tavern teams with life, bursting at the seams with the sound of merriment and commerce. Sam, your character is seated at a table and about to receive dinner…”

A heavy mug thumped on the table before him, dragging Mephisto up from the depths of his surging thoughts. He smiled at the barmaid, a young human no more than twenty and five. He placed a stack of coins on her tray as she set a heaping bowl of hearty stew before him, then thanked her too late. She had whirled away to the next table, and it wasn’t as if she could hear him anyway. Only a few chairs remained empty in The Restricted Section, and within minutes, he knew they would fill. Best tavern in all of Candlekeep, as far as he was concerned. Brightly lit, a massive iron chandelier hung from the center of the ceiling, bathing everyone and everything in a golden glow. Sturdy oak beams crisscrossed the tall roof, and in the furthest corner of the dining room, a roaring fire warmed weary traveler and aged scholar alike. Ale, mead, and wine filled his nose, mingling with the scent of savory meat, carrots, and potatoes.

A second steaming bowl of the very same stew he ate appeared on the table before him, snatching his attention once more. “We’re short on space, sweetheart.” The barmaid had returned again, her tray laden with bowls and mugs. “Do you mind?”

She side-stepped to reveal a tall half-elf, her leathers and linens bedecked by all manner of daggers strapped across her person. The deep green hide and clean, ivory linen clued Mephisto in on everything he needed to know. He stood and inclined his head. “I would be honored.”

The woman bowed in kind, a small smile crooking her lips, then seated herself. Though she seemed comfortable—it wasn’t every day that one was required to keep company with a Tiefling—Mephisto left well enough alone.

“Wait a minute, are you serious? You named your character Mephisto?”

Sam twisted to look at Dean and found a disgruntled glower.  He shifted in his seat, then said, “Yeah, so?”

“A demon-thing. With horns and hooves. Named Mephisto?” Dean repeated. “Don’t you think that hits a little too close to home?”

“Would you rather see me go dark-side in real life or live vicariously through a D&D character?”

Dean opened his mouth to retort, then snapped it shut. After a surly moment of teeth grinding and side-eyeing, he said, “Stick to the tabletop games.”

Sure. He wanted to poke the bear. Just once. But he decided against it. He turned to Charlie with an eye roll and asked, “An elf just appeared in front of me?”

He found her staring at an indistinguishable spot three feet in front of her, eyes wide and glassy. Unseeing. He knew that long, far-off look. And that settled it for him. Something was up. But what, Sam could only imagine. It was hardly the right time or place to ask. Prying was out of the question. So instead, he nudged Dean, then gestured to her with a bob of his chin.

Dean reached out for Charlie’s hand, but the moment he connected, she startled back and snatched her cuff. Then she shoved both hands in her lap beneath the table and continued the story. “Sorry. A half-elf. Not an elf. She appears to be in good spirits, but reserved.”

Not one to intrude, Mephisto focused on his dinner, but kept a discreet watch. Motion near the hearth, caught just out of the corner of his eye, snagged his attention and he craned his neck to get a better look. There, he watched a child—no, a fey—step up onto the shallow stage on the far wall. In one hand he carried a lute by the neck, a harp in the other, and a drum tucked under one arm. With all the grace of a dancer, he set the drum in front of a short stool as he straddled the seat, then placed his lute in a stand. Practiced fingers plucked at the harp strings as he held his ear close, adjusting where needed with delicate turns. Then the fey straightened and looked across the room, a satisfied smile on his face.

The dull roar of the dining hall stilled so sharply, Mephisto thought he had missed something. But then the fey on the dais rose to his feet and spoke.

“Good evening, ladies and gentlemen. I hope I find you all well, and by the night’s end, even better.”

A pindrop would have sounded loud as a blacksmith’s hammer ringing on the anvil. As the fey returned to his seat, Mephisto found himself on the edge of his. There was something familiar about the bard that required no introduction. Who was the storyteller that appeared too young for his pipes, but sounded wise as an aged wizard? He had little time to ponder such questions, for the fey raised his long, nimble fingers to the strings and began.

“I have a song!” Jack chimed.

Charlie shook her head as though to hear him better. “Uh… sure. Go for it.”

“It’s more of a story, but I think I can put a song to it,” Jack said. “Only if… you’re okay with that.”

If Sam had not seen the look she gave him, Jack’s trepidation might have confused him. Charlie stared at him, the faintest hint of fear escaping her tightly contained demeanor. But then she said, “Alright, give me a performance roll.”

Jack plucked his largest die, a D20, from his tiny pile and gave it a roll. After a check of his character sheet, he said, “Twenty-two.”

“Have at it, Van Halen.”

The fey established an impressive theme, intense and foreboding despite the harp’s dulcet tones. Several measures passed, then the accompaniment softened to a whisper, and he sang.

Lords of lore, I implore Gather ‘round for a story One long lost to time’s cruel march And the scribe’s unforgiving quill

He sang a robust tenor, and his fingers flourished a swirling melody on his harp’s strings. Each verse spun a web, a tapestry of a tale long since forgotten. Enamored, Mephisto had hardly moved an inch. The fey’s song and story painted such a vibrant picture, he had only but to close his eyes.

I knew the heart of the tarnished exile Spurned by her kin, her queen For fire and treason and plot But I knew her, the onyx sovereign Before the Night of Obsidian Knives I had always known her heart 

Three lies for three crowns One black, one silver, one gold Thrice they trusted And thrice she betrayed I had once known her heart

The midnight towers fell first Toppled by her war Next the silver spires Corrupted by her greed Last the golden peaks Murdered by her delusions And I wished I had known her heart

For she had wrought ruin upon The ancient realm of those three crowns On that Night of Obsidian Knives The rivers ran with black, silver, and gold Black and silver and gold Black and silver and gold Black and silver and gold

What a memory, Mephisto awed. With every verse, the story twisted in a new direction, guided by spine-tingling chords and soaring refrains. Nearing the end, a crescendo vaulted, measure after measure, into a wild clashing dissonance as the fey lamented the legend lost to time.

I thought I had known her heart But I had only feared my own For there the truth had always hid And had I but looked I would not be here today Transcribing my final intention Burn Witch Burn

I should have known my heart

His final words quieted, sang so reverently, and not a dry eye remained in the entire tavern. With a rolling final chord so forlorn, the fey lowered his head in benediction. Then the chord faded, and the song ended. A sorrowful quiet filled the tavern, interrupted only by sniffling noses and clearing throats. The fey raised his head, a brilliant smile on his youthful face, and the tavern erupted. Cries demanded more, and coin funneled hand over fist into an ornately carved box at the edge of the dais. He thanked each of his patrons individually, shook their hands, welcomed their embraces and tears, basked in their praise. But why? Yes, the bard had performed the ballad quite marvelously. Even Mephisto had welled up a bit. But something else had resonated with Candlekeep's residents, a deeper meaning unbeknownst to him.

"Roll a history check for me, Sam."

Sam shot a sidelong look at Charlie, hidden behind her Dungeon Master's screen. He could only make out the knot between her brow, her stare focused on her book. She said nothing else, remaining motionless. So he picked up and tossed his D20 along his character sheet. "Oof." He considered his sheet. "An eight."

Was that relief he heard in her sigh? "You don't know the ballad's story or origin." Her glare rose just above the screen to peer at Jack.

Sam followed it only to find Jack's easy smile and bright eyes. He considered them both for a beat. "What?"

Resin clattered on the wood behind Charlie's screen and she laughed—or scoffed, the screen muting her as well—and then she rose above the board, smiling. "Nothing. Would you like to play another song?"

"Sure," Jack chimed.

The fay set his harp aside and hefted his drum. “How about a dance?”

Travelers and locals alike cleared out a space in a minute, their movement rote. Though he had spent two nights prior at The Restricted Section tavern, he had yet to see their ritual. No wonder the bard had not introduced himself. It was then that Mephisto spotted a shiny gold pin in the shape of a lute, scroll, and quill on his lapel. College of Lore, then. Not just an entertainer. A certified storyteller, historian, and artist.

 In the midst of the commotion—and Mephisto’s distraction—the tavern doors opened wide, unnoticed at first.

“I enter with Dean.”

“Cas, I’m not ready for either of you yet,” Charlie began, but then she spotted the crestfallen look on his face. She glanced at her book behind her screen, then looked back up to him. “Alright, I’ll make it work.”

“I go in first,” Dean said.

“I do not believe that is a good idea, Dean. You’re playing Minos’ beast.”

Dean grimaced, but then rolled his eyes and agreed. “Alright, fine. But I’m right behind you.”

Castiel nodded, and Charlie continued. “Castiel, you enter the tavern…”

A dark haired, blue-eyed human in shining mithral plate crossed the threshold, drawing several looks. What followed, Mephisto imagined no bard could have anticipated.

Stranger than fiction, indeed.

A minotaur ducked under the frame to enter on the heels of the human, then rose to his full seven feet. Clad in similar plate, he cut a terrifying figure, and every single soul in the tavern froze. When had they last seen, if ever, a minotaur in Candlekeep? Or anywhere for that matter?

As the odd pair scanned the tavern, the minotaur’s golden glare stopped at the fey on the dais, then snapped to the patrons holding tables and chairs. He grinned. If a minotaur could grin. 

“Good man, allow me.”

He shuffled between the throng, then plucked the rather large table from the struggling man’s hands as though it were a feather, and gently set it aside. He turned back to the fey and asked, “A dance, Master Bard?”

“If you would have it, yes,” the bard said with a nod, nonplussed.

“Then I’ll make way,” the minotaur replied as he gingerly navigated the crowded tables. “Hooves make poor dancing partners. But I do enjoy watching a lively jig.”

Mephisto released his spear to cover his mouth in hopes to hide his laughter. Across the table, the half-elf had dropped her chin to obscure her own grin. Between them, they were the only patrons that had seemed to hear him. Still petrified, the rest of the tavern appeared to have missed the minotaur’s humor. He had taken up an empty space in a nearby corner and seated himself on the floor. When he looked up, he saw everyone staring back at him. Then he tossed a heavy bag of coins on a nearby table and said, “A round for the tavern on me! Have a drink and a dance!”

An uneasy cheer—but a cheer nonetheless—from the patrons broke the tension. They took to the cleared space as the bard began a jaunty beat on his drum, and dancers danced in trading pairs.  Servers weaved through the tavern in a wild rushing step of their own, and the fey sang a fascinating tune about a lycan and his human wife.

“Rawridan!”

Mephisto diverted his attention to the nearby corner where the unlikely couple had taken up a position. The human hardly had to lean over to speak to the minotaur—Rawridan—chastising him for what appeared to be careless spending.

“That was supposed to last the rest of the week.”

Rawridan shrugged. “I’ll win it back. Or the archivist will finally pay us.” He paused then and looked the other regal warrior in the eye. “Both. Probably both.”

When the blue-eyed paragon glanced in his direction, Mephisto suddenly found the bottom of his mug more interesting. A server refreshed his drink with great haste, and he used the distraction to continue eavesdropping, but the conversation never resumed. Rawridan had grown preoccupied with the dancers, his massive hands clapping along as he bobbed his head in time. And the gilded soldier—a paladin, Mephisto surmised—appeared mildly annoyed rather than truly affronted as he had at first. At least, he too, found some enjoyment watching the dancers as they bounced from one end of the space to the other, the beat quickly gathering speed.

Infact, the bard had long since finished his song and had merely continued to provide a beat for the dancers. Faster and faster, they spun and twirled and changed hands and kicked and stomped and cheered until they could no longer stay on their feet. Several patrons collided—intentionally, it appeared—and another raucous applause ended the song.

“A drink well earned,” the fey began as he set aside his drum. “And a final song as well. What will it be?”

Several songs shouted from the thinning group, and the fey nodded, gesturing for more. He picked up his lute and plucked at the strings, twisted the knobs at the headstock, listened with one ear. Patrons peppered him with more and more songs, an endless list, and even the half-elf added her opinion. Though it had snagged the bard’s attention, he still waved her off.

So thoroughly present, Mephisto found himself suspended between moments, those liminal spaces between thoughts. A chill coursed along his spine, and he shivered. Old bones rattled between his ears, but he saw no dice on the bar. Louder and louder, the rattling tumbled in his head, drowning out the people around him. No one else seemed to hear the clattering as it rose like rolling thunder.

But as quick as it had started, the rattling stopped. Then the tavern door opened again, and Mephisto knew without a shadow of a doubt who was about to enter The Restricted Section. When he stood, so too did the half-elf beside him. As did the paladin and his companion, Rawridan. And across the room, the fey stood as well, lute dangling from one hand. Patrons fell silent once more, following their bard’s wide stare to the door.

From behind her screen, Charlie withdrew the miniature she had selected and kept hidden. She set it on the map just inside the tavern’s doors, then cleared her throat and said, “You see…”

A harried young man in researcher’s robes crossed the threshold, unassuming and particularly nonchalant. The tavern-goers resumed their chatter and song requests, largely ignoring the Avowed Acolyte with whom Mephisto had grown familiar the last three nights. Ramilir, one of Candlekeep Library’s hardest working Avowed, spotted him immediately. He also spotted the others that stared him down, first the half-elf beside him, then Rawridan and the holy champion. Last he spotted the fey on the dais, and it was then that Mephisto understood.

Fate had gathered five threads for Ramilir to weave. And he had come to the tavern to collect those he was promised. With one more cursory glance across them, Ramilir nodded, then turned back for the darkness beyond the tavern door and disappeared into the night.

Without hesitation, Mephisto followed, but not before Rawridan and the paladin darted rather quickly out ahead of him. The half-elf crowded in behind him, and much to the dismay of the tavern’s patrons, the fey vaulted the dais. Quick as a quail, he threaded through the crowd and darted out the door a step ahead of Mephisto.

A crackling streetlamp barely managed to illuminate the otherwise dark road, both ends disappearing to nothing beyond its aura. Chill wintery air washed over him, refreshing his lungs as Mephisto breathed deep. He recalled Ramilir’s letter then, wondering if any of it had been true. Several referrals had recommended Mephisto, according to the missive, and not only for his prowess in pact magic and curses; no, it seemed several old acquaintances had recalled his time in the Waterdeep Library where he had studied with Farideh, the infamous adventuring Warlock, and had developed a keen eye for errors in translations, historical inaccuracies, and outright lies. So it was unsurprising that Ramilir had requested his assistance with a boatload of research.

But what of the others? The half-elf with her copious blades, and the bard with a voice like molten gold? Several guesses stacked up quickly, but none satisfied his curiosity. And then there stood Rawridan and the paladin, both formidable in their own ways. What use might Ramilir have of them? Did he expect trouble?

“I owe you all an apology.”

Charlie yawned as she said, “And that’s it for tonight. I’m beat. Long day.”

“Wait, what?” Dean squawked. “What happens next?!”

One after the other, Charlie stacked her things, books, screen, pencils, and dice in one arm, then stood. “You’ll find out tomorrow. G’nite, y’all.” 

Before Dean could protest any further, Charlie slipped away, shuffling through the war room. Indeed, she appeared beyond exhausted, listing to one side before she descended the steps to the hallway. Sam hoped that the Bunker provided her some measure of comfort. Or peace of mind. Anything to help her forget whatever kept her up at night.

He glanced around the table, but nobody said much of anything. Dean appeared quite confused. But then Castiel asked him if he wanted a snack, and that shook him loose, so whatever bothered must have been trivial enough.

Eileen and Jack wandered off at some point, deep in conversation. Sam, however, remained in the library, wondering. Charlie wasn’t a rookie anymore. She had driven all night, but for a… ritual? A curse? Regardless of what it was, it had to be serious for her to do something so drastic.

There was no use sitting alone and ruminating about it. If he was going to help Charlie, he had to speak with her. Tomorrow, though. Clearly, she needed the rest.

Sam stood and traipsed to the kitchen, resigned to solving yet another mystery. After one of Castiel’s snacks.

This series is complete! Reblogs are loved and feedback is welcome!

[wynterfiel]

In a spacious home on the coast, a phone rings.

And rings.

And rings again.

Finally it’s answered with a curt “ ‘lo?”

“Mr. Novak, please.”

“Speakin’.”

“Mr. Charles Novak?”

“Dad’s sleeping off his latest round of doctor-prescribed painkillers. Try again.”

“Ummm...Mr. Castiel Novak?”

“Cassie’s seeing to our brother’s estate. He’s gonna be gone a few more days.Wanna try Novak Number One behind Door Number Three?”

“Mr. Gabriel Novak?”

“Ding ding ding! Tell ‘er what she’s won, Johnny!”

“Mr. Novak—”

“Is my dad. Try Gabe.”

“...Okay, Gabe. This is Doctor Mills from Memorial Hospital. I’m calling on behalf of your brother-in-law, Dean Novak.”

Gabriel’s suddenly deadly serious. The last they’d heard from the doctors, Dean was still unconscious. Gabe hadn’t seen him since he’d been admitted. “Is he okay? What happened?”

“Dean woke up an hour ago—”

“That’s great! When can he have visitors?”

“That’s actually why I’m calling, Gabe. We had to sedate him again. He was in hysterics when he awoke. His blood tests show an acute case of pining sickness. We had hoped that it would pass while he was under, but-”

“My brother, his husband, is...dead.” He will never, ever get used to the stabbing pain that comes with those words. He can’t imagine how Cassie must be feeling. “I imagine he would be sick.”

“I know, Gabriel, and I’m so very sorry. I’m calling because Dean’s son needs help.”

Gabe can feel his stomach drop. No. Nonononononono. Not Jimmy’s baby. Voice shaking, he asks “What’s wrong with the kiddo? Does he need a transfusion? A kidney? I’ll go get—”

“Touch, Gabe. He needs to be held. We don’t have enough staff right now to, well, cuddle an infant for an extended period. He needs to be close to Dean and his family so that he can form healthy familial bonds. In this case, as your brother’s twin, Castiel would be the ideal candidate, but—”

Gabriel is all but rubbing his hands together. “But as Cassie’s gonna be busy for the next few days, ya get me. What do you need me to do?” Gabriel opens the notepad app on his phone and makes a list of the items Dr. Mills tells him to bring to the hospital. He’ll have to stop in town for some of it, and then he can head to the hospital. He’s all but bursting to get his hands on his new nephew.

xxx

HEEELLLOO everyone!!

I present to you my second piece for the Supernatural Media Big Bang along with an excerpt from the story it's for! Isn't it bloody brilliant?! I seriously pulled the best card in the pack with @soloarcana T_T I can't wait for everyone to read it and be in AWE of it. It's a romance/drama story based on "Mrs. Winterbourne" - some of you might be acquainted with it ;)

On another note, I think baby has had enough of Gabe's shenanigans. xD

Stay tuned to SPN MBB tumblr at @spn-mediabigbang for final posting in Late April/Early May!

- Bunny

[allmystars-i]

“Do you think these cinnamon rolls taste like homemade?” Dean’s got a tube of Pillsbury cinnamon rolls in hand, tossing it up before catching it in his other hand, looking lost as all hell.

“No, Dean. They’re good, but no.” With a shrug, Dean puts them in his cart anyway, right beside the lima beans.

Castiel rolls his eyes, but carries on, pausing at the mouth of the next aisle to let a mother with three small kids pass. He smiles at her when she thanks him, then turns the corner. He grabs a box of Oreos off the shelf—double stuffed, what else?—only to have them snatched from his hand.

“What the fuck, Dean?”

“Those are poison. You can’t have them.” He tosses them in his own cart before steering his way around Castiel with a straight face and eyes dead ahead.

“Jackass,” he mutters, grabbing a new box off the shelf and tossing them into his cart. Instead of following Dean, he turns back the other way, sneaking down the aisle and turning into the next before Dean notices.

He finds himself in the candy aisle, and despite Dean travelling in the other direction—or so he thought—he finds the actor with his hand in one of the containers, scooping out gummy bears like a five-year-old.

“Dean,” Castiel hisses, looking up and down the aisle for employees. Dean glances up, cheeks stuffed with bears, and eyes wide. He grins around his mouthful and pops in another gummy. “What the hell are you doing? You have to pay for those!”

Dean’s face drops, panic bleeding in, and he doesn’t move, just standing there like a kid caught with his hand in the cookie jar—which, he kind of is.

“What?” he asks, a garbled sound around the gummies. He chews and chews as Castiel rolls his eyes, moving along the aisle like he doesn’t know the man-child with the mix-matched cart full of crap. “Castiel!”

Castiel ignores him, walking to the front of the store. He’s done shopping, and there’s no point sticking around as an accessory to a crime.

What he just saw confirms what he already knows; Dean takes what he wants without a thought to the consequences. Sure, he’s nice on the outside, but what did he expect from a rich boy with a God complex?

It makes him sick to think he was falling for it; that bullshit nice-guy act with the pretty words and the flirty smiles. 

Castiel unloads his items onto the counter when it’s his turn, smiling at the cashier when she asks if he needs bags. This is normal, this is nice, and he doesn’t need Dean coming in and screwing this up.

“What, no goodbye?”

He doesn’t bother turning around, but the voice in his ear sends his heart racing and butterflies fluttering in his stomach. For fuck’s sake, no!

“Goodbye,” he says, short and clipped, and without another acknowledgement. Dean chuckles, and the low, rumbling sound boils his blood. Who the fuck does he think he is?

“See you around, Cas.”

Then he’s gone, leaving his heaping cart behind as he walks out the door, not a single thought for the poor, underpaid employee who will have to re-shelve all his mismatched crap.

“Jackass,” Castiel mutters.

Stick close to the SPN Media Big Bang Tumblr @spn-mediabigbang to see more art by @lost_souls_25 (on Instagram) (mid-April) and the full fic posting in late April to early May. This fic by allmystars is a contemporary romance story based on Ten Things I Hate About You."

[fresh-young-soybean]

 Art and banner for SPN MBB 2021

It’s finally here!! My precious friend QQ ( @haybibi-qq ) wrote an amazing story that pays homage to the fantastic movie musical ‘The Best Little Whorehouse in Texas’ 

It was an honor to do make her vision come to life! I had so much fun creating and I’m so proud of her accomplishments. Check it out!!

https://archiveofourown.org/works/30849782/chapters/76162997?view_adult=true

[themoonandotherslikeit]

Someone Alive Masterlist

Written by @themoonandotherslikeit​, illustrated by @hitori-alouette​, and beta’d by @thescreechowl​

Inspired by the film City of Angels and written for @spn-mediabigbang​

For @thescreechowl​ and @ain-t-bovvered​, I wouldn't have written this without your inspiration and support. Your friendship means the world to me.

Rating: M

Tags/warnings: MCI, firefighter!dean, language, fluff, destiel, DeanxLisa

Word Count: approx 35K

After a millennia of keeping humanity at a distance, the angel Castiel finds himself looking into the eyes of Dean Winchester, a firefighter that carries pain like a badge of honor, who looks right back at Castiel like he’s a man and not an angel. For the first time he begins to wonder what it would be like to be loved, to be human.

How can the two men bridge the gap between their two worlds without losing something in the process? Can Castiel risk everything to fall and rebel from heaven for just a taste of Dean, just to feel his breath on Castiel’s lips? Can Dean allow Castiel to give up everything for him? Or is any of it even up to them in the first place?

Part One

Part Two

Part Three

Part Four

Part Five

Part Six

Part Seven

Part Eight

Epilogue

Read on A03 Here

Art Masterlist

Promo

For more fics by me check out my Masterlist

[foxymoley]

Go read this awesome fic! If you're a Jurrasic Park fan (who isn't, amirite?) you'll get a real kick out of this but even if you aren't, you're gonna love it anyway! There's more art embedded in it too!

[quiet-leviathan]

Here’s my SPN Movie Big Bang art for @andimeantittosting‘s fic: An Everyday Sunrise. Make sure to give it a read and show it lots of love!

[saywhatjessie]

SPNMBB 2019: “Bold Defiance” by JessJessthebest, art by deli (deliciousirony)

You, Bold Defiance?” Dean rolled his eyes. “You are so predictable.” 

Castiel had been operating as ‘Bold Defiance,’ evil super-villain, for most of his life. It was the same thing, day after day: scheming, magicking, and getting inevitably foiled by The Guardian: the city’s acting superhero and Castiel’s childhood rival, Anna. It was a comfortable if not altogether productive routine. The periodic kidnapping of journalist, Dean Winchester, didn’t hurt. But what happens when one side actually wins? What does a person do when the person who opposed them, the person who defined them, is gone?

Castiel’s prison cell wasn’t very interesting.

He guessed it was more interesting than the usual cement cell. His, at least, had children’s paintings on the wall and a large comfortable chair.

But when you spent most of your life in a small room with very little enrichment, it didn’t matter how pretty the pictures on the wall were. It was boring. So boring it became exhausting just to be there.

Castiel wasn’t going to be there much longer. His latest escape plan was already underway. But still, sitting in that chair, looking at the television with the news of The Guardian’s latest victory was sucking the life right out of him. He sat on the floor against the wall, just for a change of pace.

He wasn’t expecting his cell door to bang open, the warden bolting in, but he wasn’t altogether surprised either.

“Where’s the fire, Warden?” he asked her, mouth quirked in amusement.

Her eyes landed on him, her face souring even while her shoulders slumped in relief. “You shouldn’t be out of the eyes of the guards, inmate.”

Castiel scoffed. “You’re no fun.”

The warden sighed, coming into the room to stand in front of him, her arms crossed.

Castiel remembered when she’d first been appointed warden. He’d been here longer than almost everyone else in the prison, landing here when he was only a toddler. One might question why anyone would allow a child to live at a prison, even if that’s where his escape pod happened to land. Castiel had never questioned this, as he’d never known anything else, but he’d met some other inmates who seemed horrified at this information.

Castiel guessed they might have kept him here because they had no idea what else to do with him. Where the hell do you put a toddler who landed on earth with a pair of huge black wings?

“I’ve got a present for you from The Guardian,” the warden said, shaking the small box in her hand. She opened it in front of him, pulling out a watch that had been nestled inside. She read the tag that hung off the end. “‘To count every second of your 85 Iife sentences.’ Hmm.” The warden’s face creased in disapproval. “Didn’t think she was much for gloating.”

“How rude that Guardian is,” Castiel commented, idly. His wings traced circles in the dust on the floor. “I don’t even want that gift. You should keep it, Warden.”

The warden went from examining the watch to eying him suspiciously.

Castiel shrugged, his wings slumping in his evident boredom. “I don’t need a watch to keep track of how long I’m in here. It takes away from my constant dissociation.” He leaned his head against the wall, looking pitifully at the tv screen mounted at the top of his cell. “It’s only the thought of this Guardian Day ceremony that’s even getting me through.”

The warden hummed, still suspicious, but she put on the watch. “I can’t help but feel like you’re taking everything about this far too well. You’re up to something.”

Castiel slumped farther against the wall, making himself into the absolute picture of pathetic boredom. “Come on, Jody. You know me! Would I ever be up to something?”

The warden snorted before schooling her expression. “That’s Warden to you, inmate.”

Castiel rolled his eyes. “Yeah yeah yeah, and I’m ‘Bold Defiance’.” Castiel actually did the air quotes to express to the warden the depth of his contempt. When he looked up at her, only half of the imploring innocence in his eyes was feigned. “But remember when we weren’t?”

Jody shook her head, her eyes sad. “You can’t be both Bold Defiance and Castiel at the same time. You have to choose which one you want to be.” She held up her wrist. “Thanks for the watch.”

He watched her leave his cell, the door slamming behind her, feeling more than a little bit guilty over her part in his escape plan.

She had more faith in him to be a good guy than anyone else ever had.

He hated disappointing her.

But a villain’s gotta villain.

It all started when Castiel was born.

Well, not really. He had a good couple solar cycles with his parents on his home planet. He’d learned to walk and talk and fly from the comfort of Garrison 401. The details of that time for Castiel were hazy: the only kind of memory coming through a warm fuzziness that hit him square between his wings.

Of course, then the collapse happened. Castiel was far too young to understand at the time, but his planet and, in fact, every planet in their solar system was being sucked into a black hole. Nothing was explained to him. He was just wrapped in his wings, given an egg, and dropped into an escape pod that went careening through the cosmos only to land on his new home planet of earth.

Of course, he wasn’t alone. Other children from other planets were saved and sent away. Why, the planet right next door to Garrison 401 had a representative on earth, same as Castiel. In the very same country. In the very same city .

It was difficult for Castiel not to resent Anna: prodigy of IKWYDLS 49. They were refugees of the same disaster. They were a similar age, size, allienness. Sure, Anna didn’t have wings, but she could still fly. And yet, everyone loved her. They loved her and they hated Castiel.

Part of that could be due to the fact that Castiel had grown up in a prison and, by chance or fate or whatever machinations worked to make Castiel’s life the way it was, Anna had landed on the property of one of the richest families in the country. She was well cared for – adored. Castiel was tolerated.

Castiel did have some things Anna did not, however. For one: he had his intellect. Anna had super strength and laser vision and speed and accelerated healing but she didn’t have the strategic mind of a Garrisonian.

Nor did she have Jack, the former egg that Castiel had been given upon his evacuation. Everyone on Castiel’s planet was given a fledgeling companion to help take care of them as they developed. A “minion” in villain terms. Castiel disliked referring to Jack as his minion – regardless that he performed all of the duties of a minion, it seemed kinder to call him a companion. He was a Garrisonian, same as Castiel, but without wings and with the power to heal. They were the nursemaids of the planet. Castiel was forever grateful for him.

Although, having a smaller person follow him around everywhere – even when, as a gesture of good will, he was released from the prison and sent to school –  wasn’t a super great way to make friends. It just helped to further isolate him.

Not that he could ever begrudge Jack for that. Even if Jack hadn’t been able to heal him, he would treasure him for his companionship.

Castiel was bullied, to say the least. But Castiel had massive and powerful wings. And Castiel had magic, as undeveloped as it was. And Castiel had a small companion that would literally die for him.

So Castiel defended himself. And that made him the bad guy.

And Anna fought back. Which made her the good guy.

She was The Guardian.

So, Castiel, sick of being judged and scorned and pushed around became Bold Defiance.

And so the city had their narrative.

“You can scream all you want, Winchester,” Castiel said, stroking one of his many crows. “I'm afraid no one can hear you.”

“Not screaming.”

“You might be thinking: Defiance! How did you escape from your inescapable prison cell?”

“I’m really not.”

“Well, it just took some brain power. Some deception. Some cunning.”

“Five bucks says you just used one of your magic watches.”

Castiel’s wings flicked in irritation – enough to startle his crow and make her fly away.

He had used a magic watch. The watch he’d given Jody had a cloaking spell on it, making her temporarily look like him. When all the guards had tried to capture her and put her back in Castiel’s cell, he took the watch and cloaked himself as her. Then he’d simply walked out.

But he couldn’t let Dean know that.

“How do you do that, anyway? Doesn’t magic not work in contact with metal?”

“They’re plastic watches,” Castiel answered automatically. Dean smirked. Castiel scowled. “And anyway, it wasn’t a watch. I mean the magic was– it was very impressive and–”

“You can’t lie to me, man, your wings give you away.”

Castiel scowled harder, concentrating on keeping his wings still. Dean’s eyes danced. “You only think you know me.”

Dean snorted, absolutely no stress in his posture. He was tied to a chair, hands behind his back and legs strapped to the floor. He was surrounded by sigils and creepy things floating in jars and unnaturally attentive wildlife all focused on him. Cats and dogs and crows and foxes and squirrels and ravens and several species of insect all watching him like, at one word from Castiel, they’d ruin Dean’s day. And there was absolutely no fear in the green of Dean’s eyes.

“You, Bold Defiance?” Dean rolled his eyes. “You are so predictable.”

Castiel didn’t like the way Dean said his name. It wasn’t quite like Dean was mocking him – knowing he went by an invented name and speaking as if just saying the name was humoring him. He kind of said it like how Jody said it. Like he wanted to call Castiel something else.

Castiel folded his arms, narrowing his eyes at Dean. “I’m not sure how you can claim to find me predictable when I’ve managed to ambush you dozens of times. If I’m so predictable, couldn’t you avoid getting abducted?”

Dean shrugged, his shirt pulling tight across his chest as he pulled on his restraints behind his back. “I probably could. I never really tried.”

“You never–”

“Boss!”

Castiel whipped toward Jack where he was standing in the corner, worrying at the string on his scrubs pants. He gestured to the giant countdown clock.

The ceremony was about to begin. It was time to call The Guardian.

Read the rest on Ao3

[sissyray84]

beggars would ride 

Excerpt

The reaper goes still. Like… really still. Like, stones around them, still. (Actually… Dean’s not sure he breathes. It’s hard to tell, with the feathers all over the place, constantly moving, but they’re quiet now. Unblinking.)

“You,” he says finally, “are a very strange human.”

“Yeah, you won’t be the first to say it, won’t be the last,” Dean drawls. Then he narrows his eyes. “Kind of insulting to be told that by something with, like, six wings and forty eyes, but yeah, sure, whatever you say, dude.”

When he glares at Dean, sparks fly out of some of his eyes. Like… literal sparks, jumping blue and white into the air like firecrackers on the king’s birthday. They don’t light anything on fire—sputter out before they reach anything—and Dean just barely manages to keep himself from leaping away. But the little lights vanish before they touch anything, and then the reaper dude is—mostly—just a dude again.

Well. A glowing naked dude the color of starlight on water, with the nicest cheekbones Dean’s ever seen, wings that aren’t staying still for long enough to really count them, and a couple of dozen eyes that seem to be appearing and disappearing at random… but sure.

“You are very rude,” the reaper tells him, spreading… some of its wings. Dean tries to count them again. He thinks there are six, but they’re flashing in and out of his vision, out of the corners of his eyes, and the number seems to change every time he tries to focus on them. Also, they’re not all the same size all the time. “I am not a thing.” He narrows the two eyes on his face, and the ones on his arms do the same—flashing blue at the very edges, like lightning over water.

“Also, I have a hundred and twenty-two eyes, not forty,” he adds grumpily, like an afterthought.

“Sorry,” Dean says, not sorry at all.

The eyes narrow further, and he leans towards Dean. In and in and in. Dean thinks that something’s going to touch him—those wings, the glow coming out of his skin, something, but nothing does. No warmth. Nothing human.

“You should show me some respect,” Eyeballs growls from way inside Dean’s personal space, harsh and rough, like the walls around them—like the avalanche that took Dean to the floor. “I can smite you dead where you stand.”

Hi... are you wanting more?  Then please stay tuned to the SPN Media Big Bang Tumblr @spn-mediabigbang to see more art plus  Full fic posting in Dec 2022  Beggars would ride  by @tiamatv is a romantic  destiel remix of Aladdin full of  drama romance and a dash of magic author tiamatv artist sissyray84 coming soon 

[sketching-fox]

My 2nd piece for SPN Media Big Bang - @spn-mediabigbang 

Stay tuned to see more arts  and the full fic posting in late April - early May!

This fic is FALLOUT:SUPERNATURAL

by MaggieMaybe160 (https://archiveofourown.org/users/MaggieMaybe160)

and Insominia (https://archiveofourown.org/users/insominia/pseuds/insominia) .

A dystopian story based on the game Fallout: Las Vegas.

And a little piece of the fic for you:

------------------------------------------------

“Don’t say yes to Michael.”

“I got that, Cas.” Dean finds he’s smiling in spite of himself and shakes his head. “If I say yes to Michael, don’t they still need to get Sam to say yes to Lucifer? Wear us both?” 

“That is the general idea, yes.” Dean likes that he can feel Cas looking at him. He can feel his eyes tracing his profile. No matter how much he wants to turn his face so he can look into his eyes, he sits still just to keep the feeling.

“Then we gank ‘em both instead,” Dean says with finality. 

 “You want to kill two archangels?” Cas asks with alarm. 

 Dean finally turns to look at him and grins. “Yeah. You with me?” 

“Yes.” 

Now might be the moment. They’re alone and have just decided to take down to archangels together in some weird probable suicide pact and the sun in his eyes makes them more impossibly blue. Sam is going to be okay, or at least he hopes. Dean can breathe and he can feel the warmth from where Cas’ arm rests against his spreading through him. Now would absolutely be the perfect moment to kiss him. He could lean in, gently cup his jaw with his hand, let their lips brush before fully kissing him. Maybe he’ll kiss back. 

And why not? He’s more than just gorgeous. He’s strong and smart and has helped Dean on more than one occasion. Hell, he’d just helped figure out that Sam was a Legion spy, jailbreak the kid, and drag his ass all the way here even though none of this was part of his plan. He’d ditched his plan a long ass time ago. If he thinks he only dropped his orders the other night when he told Dean the truth, he’s been lying to himself since he met up with Dean in Novac. 

 Dean’s eyes flicker between Cas’ eyes and his lips as he leans a little closer.

[spnchallengeachievements]

I completed the Supernatural Movie Big Bang 2019! @spnmoviebigbang

800 px https://66.media.tumblr.com/628dbde14bbdeda565f1a8a7622acff4/tumblr_pl39xazbhu1y4f2buo1_1280.png

100 px  https://66.media.tumblr.com/08ca7b1d470f3f9eb87f0d9bca45f0c9/tumblr_inline_pl3crzeuRm1rzx3gc_100.png