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Literature Text
Two men sidled up to the warehouse, going around and through the back door. Guns up, they walked in the shadows until a voice called out. "guns down, please!"
Instantly their guns swung towards the voice, only to see a curly haired man in a trench coat. "Who are you?"
"Sherlock Holmes. Watson, I said gun down."
"Tulpa?"
"I don't know, Sam."
"Hello! Who needed help?"Another man stepped from the shadows, spiky haired and wearing a trench coat.
"Oh, and who the hell are you?!"
"The Doctor."
"Doctor who?"
"Just the Doctor."
"CAN SOMEONE TELL ME WHAT THE HELL IS GOING ON HERE?!"
"That's what I wanted to know." Yet another figure stepped from the shadows, two pistols raised. She had (h/l) (h/c) hair that swayed slightly in the breeze. She growled a warning as the first two men turned to her, guns up.
"Oh, guns. I don't like guns."
"Shut up, Doctor." She gestured to him, but kept her eyes moving, watching them all like a hawk. "What are you?"
"Human."
"Prove it, Dean." She glared. "You are all from T.V. shows. No way can you all be tulpas. What, do you sit around chanting 'I believe in Dean Winchester'?" Dean looked shocked. "I have questions."
"So do we."
"But I have the upper hand, so I will be asking the questions. I know pretty much everything about you, and you know nothing about me. Well, I suppose Sherlock has deduced something by now, hasn't he?"
"Yes."
"Great." She snarled. "You may be heroes, and I may love your shows, but I will NOT hesitate to kill you."
"Well, we have guns, so how do you have the upper hand?"
"I thought someone would say that, Sam. The answer is" She dropped to her feet in a flash, Watson startling and shooting, the bullet whizzing over her head. She swept her feet under Sam's, grabbing his hair as he hit the floor and hauling him to his feet, gun aimed at his brain. "this. Oh don't worry, I won't kill you unless I have to. And I know for a fact none of these men will let me kill you. Or at least, all of them, perhaps maybe Sherlock. Never really sure about him." Dean was glaring at her, and the Doctor's face had hardened. "You're all heroes. All my heroes, to be honest. So why are you, fictional characters, suddenly real? Well, I apoligise. Where are my manners. Have a drink." She gestured with her other gun to a table, with party cups and a jug of water sitting on it. "I insist."
"I don't-"
"And Watson. Grab me one, will you? Thanks." As everyone edged to the table, grabbing a cup, the woman waited, patient. "Thanks you." She held it up to Sam's lips. She then noticed no one was drinking. "Oh seriously." She took a sip, pulling a face but getting a few gulps down. "Now, Sam, have a drink. All of you. Drink up." Everyone took a sip, instantly spitting it out. "Finish the drink."
"Salted?"
"Holy water. Salted holy water, Sam. Dean. You can guess why. Now drink!" Everyone finished the drinks, gagging. Dean was regarding her with curiosity. She leaned down and whispered, "Sorry."
"What?"
"I said sorry, Sam. I just need to make sure you are who I think you are before I let you up." She shook her head. "How is this happening?" Everyone glanced up, watching her. Finally, she lifted the gun from Sam's head, holstering her pistols. "Fine. I guess you are who you think you are. I should probably show you the shows...Dean, do me a favor and call Castiel. I really dislike the idea of you having an angel up your sleeve. A card on the table I can deal with, but a card in the sleeve I'd rather not." She waited, then turned as the angel in the trench coat appeared. "What is it with you people and trench coats?!" She turned around to a T.V., opening up a CD container and placing a disc in. The words supernatural appeared. She turned and looked Dean dead in the eyes. "Sorry." She then turned back, hitting play. Dean and Sam watched with horror as they saw their mother burst into flames again, their father watching, Dean holding Sam and running out of the house. She stopped it, then inserted another. Sherlock. Watson watched, as he met Sherlock. Finally, she placed a third disc in, and watched as the ninth doctor became the tenth. She turned around slowly, glancing at the shocked and horror filled expressions.
"You are all my heroes, from different shows. So I can only infer that this has something to do with me. A djinn, maybe? In any case, I need to know what happened. What do you remember before you came here?" She turned to Sam first. "Sammy?"
A smile slowly spread across her face as Sam glared. "Just what you know, apparently, then getting a call that a hunter needed help in this warehouse. So we came." The woman nodded.
"True. I do need your help. I can believe you three are real. After all, hunting's real enough for me to hunt, so you might be real as well. I just don't know how Sherlock Holmes, Watson and this madman with a box can be real. Shut up, Dean." Dean opened his mouth again, and closed it.
"I'm not telling you anything before you tell us about yourself." The woman glared, then rolled her eyes.
"Fine. Whatever. I know your weaknesses, so you might as well know mine. I'm (f/n). I watched your shows, but had to stop after a demon burned my house down. I turned to hunting after a demon sonofabitch tortured my family in front of me. I've been hunting ever since. I found out you were all around, and sent out various messages for help. You arrived and we had this happy get together. Any questions?" She glanced around. "Okay, fine. I need to get you guys to the motel, if we stay here any longer, the demon that owns this place is going to come back mad. Crossroad" She shot over her shoulder to Dean and Sam. "Okay, here, Doctor. Meet us there in 20. And I trust you, which is saying a lot, so show up. Got it?" He nodded, walking to the shadows. She turned to the others. "Cas, just follow the car in the air. the rest of you will be riding with me. Because, no, I don't trust you, Dean." She walked out, getting into an impala. "Yes, 1967 Chevy impala. Get over it." Dean got into shotgun, the other three piling into the back. "Let's go, shall we?" She started the car, and Dean shifted slightly, glancing around the car. "Don't even think about it." She tapped her hand on the wheel, and placed a disc into the CD player, relaxing as 'Carry on my wayward son' came on.
"Not another one!"
"Shut up, Sam. Driver picks the music, everyone else shuts their cake hole."
Instantly their guns swung towards the voice, only to see a curly haired man in a trench coat. "Who are you?"
"Sherlock Holmes. Watson, I said gun down."
"Tulpa?"
"I don't know, Sam."
"Hello! Who needed help?"Another man stepped from the shadows, spiky haired and wearing a trench coat.
"Oh, and who the hell are you?!"
"The Doctor."
"Doctor who?"
"Just the Doctor."
"CAN SOMEONE TELL ME WHAT THE HELL IS GOING ON HERE?!"
"That's what I wanted to know." Yet another figure stepped from the shadows, two pistols raised. She had (h/l) (h/c) hair that swayed slightly in the breeze. She growled a warning as the first two men turned to her, guns up.
"Oh, guns. I don't like guns."
"Shut up, Doctor." She gestured to him, but kept her eyes moving, watching them all like a hawk. "What are you?"
"Human."
"Prove it, Dean." She glared. "You are all from T.V. shows. No way can you all be tulpas. What, do you sit around chanting 'I believe in Dean Winchester'?" Dean looked shocked. "I have questions."
"So do we."
"But I have the upper hand, so I will be asking the questions. I know pretty much everything about you, and you know nothing about me. Well, I suppose Sherlock has deduced something by now, hasn't he?"
"Yes."
"Great." She snarled. "You may be heroes, and I may love your shows, but I will NOT hesitate to kill you."
"Well, we have guns, so how do you have the upper hand?"
"I thought someone would say that, Sam. The answer is" She dropped to her feet in a flash, Watson startling and shooting, the bullet whizzing over her head. She swept her feet under Sam's, grabbing his hair as he hit the floor and hauling him to his feet, gun aimed at his brain. "this. Oh don't worry, I won't kill you unless I have to. And I know for a fact none of these men will let me kill you. Or at least, all of them, perhaps maybe Sherlock. Never really sure about him." Dean was glaring at her, and the Doctor's face had hardened. "You're all heroes. All my heroes, to be honest. So why are you, fictional characters, suddenly real? Well, I apoligise. Where are my manners. Have a drink." She gestured with her other gun to a table, with party cups and a jug of water sitting on it. "I insist."
"I don't-"
"And Watson. Grab me one, will you? Thanks." As everyone edged to the table, grabbing a cup, the woman waited, patient. "Thanks you." She held it up to Sam's lips. She then noticed no one was drinking. "Oh seriously." She took a sip, pulling a face but getting a few gulps down. "Now, Sam, have a drink. All of you. Drink up." Everyone took a sip, instantly spitting it out. "Finish the drink."
"Salted?"
"Holy water. Salted holy water, Sam. Dean. You can guess why. Now drink!" Everyone finished the drinks, gagging. Dean was regarding her with curiosity. She leaned down and whispered, "Sorry."
"What?"
"I said sorry, Sam. I just need to make sure you are who I think you are before I let you up." She shook her head. "How is this happening?" Everyone glanced up, watching her. Finally, she lifted the gun from Sam's head, holstering her pistols. "Fine. I guess you are who you think you are. I should probably show you the shows...Dean, do me a favor and call Castiel. I really dislike the idea of you having an angel up your sleeve. A card on the table I can deal with, but a card in the sleeve I'd rather not." She waited, then turned as the angel in the trench coat appeared. "What is it with you people and trench coats?!" She turned around to a T.V., opening up a CD container and placing a disc in. The words supernatural appeared. She turned and looked Dean dead in the eyes. "Sorry." She then turned back, hitting play. Dean and Sam watched with horror as they saw their mother burst into flames again, their father watching, Dean holding Sam and running out of the house. She stopped it, then inserted another. Sherlock. Watson watched, as he met Sherlock. Finally, she placed a third disc in, and watched as the ninth doctor became the tenth. She turned around slowly, glancing at the shocked and horror filled expressions.
"You are all my heroes, from different shows. So I can only infer that this has something to do with me. A djinn, maybe? In any case, I need to know what happened. What do you remember before you came here?" She turned to Sam first. "Sammy?"
A smile slowly spread across her face as Sam glared. "Just what you know, apparently, then getting a call that a hunter needed help in this warehouse. So we came." The woman nodded.
"True. I do need your help. I can believe you three are real. After all, hunting's real enough for me to hunt, so you might be real as well. I just don't know how Sherlock Holmes, Watson and this madman with a box can be real. Shut up, Dean." Dean opened his mouth again, and closed it.
"I'm not telling you anything before you tell us about yourself." The woman glared, then rolled her eyes.
"Fine. Whatever. I know your weaknesses, so you might as well know mine. I'm (f/n). I watched your shows, but had to stop after a demon burned my house down. I turned to hunting after a demon sonofabitch tortured my family in front of me. I've been hunting ever since. I found out you were all around, and sent out various messages for help. You arrived and we had this happy get together. Any questions?" She glanced around. "Okay, fine. I need to get you guys to the motel, if we stay here any longer, the demon that owns this place is going to come back mad. Crossroad" She shot over her shoulder to Dean and Sam. "Okay, here, Doctor. Meet us there in 20. And I trust you, which is saying a lot, so show up. Got it?" He nodded, walking to the shadows. She turned to the others. "Cas, just follow the car in the air. the rest of you will be riding with me. Because, no, I don't trust you, Dean." She walked out, getting into an impala. "Yes, 1967 Chevy impala. Get over it." Dean got into shotgun, the other three piling into the back. "Let's go, shall we?" She started the car, and Dean shifted slightly, glancing around the car. "Don't even think about it." She tapped her hand on the wheel, and placed a disc into the CD player, relaxing as 'Carry on my wayward son' came on.
"Not another one!"
"Shut up, Sam. Driver picks the music, everyone else shuts their cake hole."
Literature
SuperWhoLock Chatroom (x Reader) - 1
(A/N: I decide to bring Sherlock, Doctor Who, and Supernatural together into one chatroom. Oh, and it's the 10th Doctor :))
(y/n) has logged on.
(y/n) has started a chatroom.
Sherlock has logged on.
John has logged on.
The Doctor has logged on.
Sam has logged on.
Dean has logged on.
Castiel has logged on.
The Writer has logged on.
The Writer: You're probably wondering what you're doing here.
Sherlock: Please, I don't wonder; I know everythi--
John: *punches Sherlock in the shoulder*
John: Not now, Sherlock.
Sherlock: ...ow
Dean: Who the hell are you people?!
The Writer: Here, I know all of you, so I can explain.
Dean: psh yea
Literature
Supernatural: TFW X Angels X Archangels X Reader
“Please, I just want to come on one hunt with you!” I begged Sam and Dean, not wanting to be left behind yet again.
“No ____.” Dean said, trying to walk away but with a click of my fingers he was froze where he was.
“Why not?”
“You are twelve.”
“So?”
“____, you are just a kid. I know you hate being left behind, but it’s for your own safety. I promise that when you are older you can come on hunts with us.” Sam said, but I just glared at him.
“You’ve being saying that for years now. Is this because of my powers?” I asked, and Sam sighed in defe
Literature
Gabriel x Reader The Trickster
Gabriel x Reader
The Trickster
You had faced a lot of monsters in your life. You had faced a lot of berserk hunters. You had faced a lot of sociopaths as well.
But never had you faced an angel-turned-trickster who seemed to have fallen in love with you and was now making your life a living hell.
Well, not so much a living hell as simply showing up in your motel rooms, following you, and even ruining your hunts.
He was currently sitting in your car, (a 1954 (one of 208) Bentley R-Type Continental, one of only 208 ever made. The car houses a six-cylinder, 4.5-litre engine.) admiring the spotless leather seats.
"Beautiful." He said, and yo
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DAM I LOVE THAT ENTRY!!!
I NOW FEEL LIKE RIVER FREAKING SONG
I NOW FEEL LIKE RIVER FREAKING SONG