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    It seemed almost unrealistically causal for them both when Sylvia stepped aboard Jon's roomy palm once more. But as the days passed, Sylvia was growing more familiar with this daunting mode of transportation. It was growing on her.

    Jon carried her to the window by his closet. A steady drizzle continued beyond the pane of glass, painting the sky a darkened, dull grey.

    "The paint is a little stubborn on the frame. Gimme a second," He set her down on the sill so he could pry at the window with both hands. Without warning, there was a juddering smack of wood against wood. The window flew open. "Ah! There we go."

    The sound of rain amplified, its humid odor wafting over the threshold. Jon got on his knees behind her, waiting.

    Not wanting to get soaked again just after cleaning and drying up, Sylvia was careful to stay out of direct contact with the rain as she stepped forward. She looked over her shoulder at Jon, eager to satisfy his curiosity. Turning her head back around, she focused on the clouds above.

    After staring in quiet contemplation, she was ready. Tilting her head down and shutting her eyes, she whispered an incantation. Icy blue light glowed from her hands as she raised them halfway. She opened her eyes and exhaled a long stream of air, pushing her arms out to send pale illumination into the humidity surrounding the window.

    A chill crept through the air, flowing from the outside. The light of the magic expanded and became more pronounced, adopting a foggy texture. What followed was the true magic. The raindrops changed as it passed through the fog in front of the window, slowing down and transforming into flakes of snow. The flakes reverted back to rain as they exited the magic haze.

    Even locked in the mindset of her spell, Sylvia grinned.

    Behind her, she heard Jon suck in a quiet gasp. The floorboards creaked under his weight as he leaned forward, looming just behind her. Though her gaze was concentrated on the target of her spell, there was no mistaking the look of awe on his face, so close to her.

    Predictably, looking wasn't enough for him after a few moments. Jon outstretched a tentative hand, glancing down at Sylvia more than once as if seeking approval. But this magic was something far more gentle than a torrent of water aimed to maim a mutated dog.

    Stretching his arm out into the cerulean mist, the newly formed crystals caressed his skin. The feather light snow never clumped. The snowflakes glided along and in-between his fingers like microscopic figure skaters before drifting down and transforming back into rain.

    A white cloud of chilled breath fogged around her as Jon turned to face her with a smile she'd never seen him wear before. The proximity couldn't begin to bother her now.

    "It's beautiful," he murmured.

    Every instinct told her to deflect the compliment and make it clear that the simple spell was nothing special. Even the youngest of blossoming ice fairies could do it. However, there was no mistaking his look of wonder, and she knew deep down that she hadn’t expected any less. The simple spell was special because it was for him.

    “I’ve missed this,” Sylvia admitted, dividing her attention between the snow and Jon’s face. Soon enough, the latter won out. “But I should probably stop before I make myself sick.”

    She ran a hand through her still-damp hair, knowing it was a matter of time before the chilly atmosphere started forming crystals in it. Drawing in a deep breath, she released it slowly. She positioned both hands in front of her and then swept them outward. The magic haze dispersed, and the rain proceeded to fall as normal.

    Coldness lingered in the air, but it would have been far more prominent without Jon by her side. She faced him with a soft smile. “Shouldn’t hunters be against this sort of thing? Messing with the natural order, or something like that?”

    "Hey, it's not hurting anyone," he reasoned. His gaze shifted over towards the rain, watching the deluge of droplets fall with a renewed appreciation. "Maybe the natural order could use a little more of your magic."

    Jon pulled away, mumbling a warning before pulling the window shut again. The rain was locked out to a muted patter, and the stillness of the humans' apartment set in once more. Standing over her, Jon shifted his weight foot to foot.

    "So uh... Cliff is gonna be out late, meeting with a friend. I'm gonna crash on the couch for a while. Room for two, if you want,” he offered.

    Her face lit up before she could stop it, betraying any attempt to hide the delight swelling within her. She couldn’t think of anything she would rather do than lay out on the couch with Jon, particularly after the stress of the hunt mere hours prior.

    “It’s been a long day,” she sighed. “I think we deserve a chance to relax a little.” Despite being flightless for most of the past few days, it was still a natural action to spread her wings. She stopped at the last moment and tilted her head back to meet Jon’s gaze sheepishly. “Maybe it’s best I still save flying for emergencies, at least for now.”

    Jon broke into an easy smile, bending down and gathering her up into his hands with no further prompting.

    "It's not like I mind carrying you, y'know. You weigh like nothing," he told her. "I just feel bad, grabbing you all the time. You must be sick of me by now."

    “I’m not!” Sylvia exclaimed, perhaps too enthusiastically. She slumped against the curve of his fingers, finding it truly comfortable rather than something that needed to be begrudgingly tolerated. She looked up at him, raising her eyebrows. “Don’t feel bad. Believe me, if I’m sick of you, I’ll let you know.”

    Jon chuckled. "Fair enough."

    When he reached the living room, Jon shuffled her into one hand. With the other, he grabbed the thick plastic wand off the top of the TV, jabbing at different buttons to maneuver the channels. Sylvia watched passively from her perch at his waist level, still intrigued by the variety of content that humans had access to at the mere press of a button.

    Jon paused on a channel showing a scene in all blacks and whites and grays. He seemed to have made his decision, for the next moment he sank down on the end of the couch. She wound an arm around his middle finger to keep herself steady as he shifted to lay down.

    Once his massive movements ceased, she found the surface of the couch waiting just beneath his hand. The strip of space was barely a fraction of the cushion, but there was more than enough room for her. Scooting over to the side of his hand, she slid off onto the roughspun fabric.

    The exhaustion of the day, particularly the magic-use, came down on her when she lowered herself to sit with her legs tucked to the side. Her arms weren’t being kind either, sore from clinging to the lip of Jon’s pocket for so long. She heaved a sigh, turning over her shoulder and trailing her eyes up the expanse of Jon’s chest to his face.

    “How do you deal with doing what you do?” she asked, bemused as she lifted a hand to rub her eye. “You must be exhausted every single day.”

    "I sleep when I can," Jon answered, clearly unused to be under such careful speculation. "Most injuries we get I can stitch up myself, or Cliff can. He's crazy good with a needle, once he's had a dose of whiskey to steady his hands."

    When he tucked his chin to his chest to look down at her properly, Sylvia found some of her concern reflected back at her.

    "I'm used to it. But you," Jon said, shifting his idle hand closer to her. "It's only your second time out there. I'm surprised you haven't conked out yet." When he was close enough, he uncurled a finger to ruffle her damp hair. Sylvia could see it coming, but it still rocked her forward a slight amount. He was just so big.

    Scrunching her face up, she swiped playfully at his fingertip. She pushed her fingers through her hair to fix it, giving her head a shake. She was exhausted, sure, but not quite ready to admit it.

    “Guess I’m just tougher than I look.” She tilted her chin up at him proudly, utterly at ease despite the monstrous hand resting right beside her. “And maybe if you’re nice to me, you won’t have to worry about stitches anymore.”

    "Oh yeah?" Jon said, grinning. "Well here, how's this for earning your good graces--" The whole couch vibrated as he sat up halfway to grab the blanket Cliff had left tossed over the right armrest. He tugged it over his legs, letting it fall comfortably. "Warming you up by the light of the--Oh, crap!"

    Sylvia barely got out a squeak of surprise before she was bathed in sudden, humid darkness. The blanket was far heavier than Jon made it look, and she had to stoop over to bear its weight. Thankfully, it wasn't a very long discomfort. Mere moments later, Jon was peering in at her sheepishly.

    "Crap, I'm sorry about that." He held the blanket up a little higher, giving her plenty of room to scoot into the open but he folded it down carefully somewhere behind her.

    “Great start,” she teased, smoothing out her clothes. Now that it wasn’t smothering her, the thick blanket looked far more inviting. “At least you know I can’t hoard it all to myself.”

    She stood and moved over to it, wading into the folds until she found a comfortable spot to nestle in. Jon’s chest was a living wall at her side, separated from her by the blanket. The dull thud of his heartbeat had become commonplace enough that it could fade into the background.

    It occurred to her how utterly content she was. Curled up with a human, sleeping in a strange and unfamiliar place… Her life was entirely upside-down, and she was positively relaxed. She wondered if Jon was going through something similar. He had to be. Then again, not all of his world had changed. He was still living in his apartment, still had Cliff, still had hunting.

    “Hey, what would you have done if I’d gotten away?” Sylvia asked suddenly. “I mean… If Cliff had missed when you two first saw me, and I made it out the window, what would you have done?”

    Jon gave her a surprised look. It took a few moments for him to gather his thoughts. "I dunno, really. The werewolf and whatever its venom spawns was--and still is--our first priority. You'd be long gone before we got around to checking out the old Dottage house again, I'm sure." He frowned, looking on the cusp of clamming up. "Is that... Something on your mind a lot?"

    “I… Yeah,” Sylvia admitted, running her fingers over the thick fabric of the blanket. She avoided his gaze. “It’s hard not to wonder what would have happened if I had moved a little faster and the bullet had missed.” Or if it had hit more than the wing. She swallowed a shudder, wishing she could stop thinking about such things. She made herself think of something else, lifting her eyes again curiously. “I also wonder… what you thought of me at first." She chuckled softly. "You know, besides the whole ‘fairies exist’ thing.”

    Jon chuckled, the sound rumbling right through her back and wings back like a pleasant stormcell.

    "Yeah... 'Holy shit fairies exist' was about that only thing running through my head at the time," Jon said with a wry smile. He paused, then smiled wider. "But y'know, it's stuff like this that boggle me. Just talking to you. Fairies existing is one thing, but to meet one that speaks English, same as me? Talk about lucky."

    Sylvia leaned against the wall of blanket beside her, smiling back at him. “We weren’t always isolated,” she pointed out. “Our kinds used to communicate on friendly terms, remember? We do have our own language--ancient Fae. But that’s mostly used for spells. Not so much for casual conversation.”

    She paused, never having put much thought into the fact that fairies would allow themselves to casually speak a language developed primarily by humans.

    “I’m not much for history, but what I do know is that once humans became too much of a threat and fairies isolated themselves to their clans, it became a normal thing for fairies to keep up with the common human language of the area,” she said. “Or, at least try to. Slang is much harder to follow. Understanding the enemy was considered vital to surviving, and it stuck.”

    "Damn. That's a lot to take in," Jon said with a short sigh. "Makes more sense than you talking with jingle bells or flashing lights though." Sylvia gave him a strange look, but he shook his head before she could even ask. "Just human stories. Guess we're kind of ruining the whole 'enemies for life' thing here, aren't we?" A crooked smile touched his lips.

    Sylvia threw her head back and scoffed. “I’d say we’ve more than ruined it, you being a hunter and all.” She knew for a fact that she would have been less inclined to trust the humans if she had known from the start exactly what they were. “But as far as vicious, bloodthirsty enemies go… you’re not so scary.”

    A handsome smile lit up his face again-- though she didn't get a good look at it. The hand next to her swept her out of her comfy burrow in the blanket and squeezed her against a firm wall--his stomach. His gratitude came in the form another soft laugh and a strange, enveloping hug too gentle to be truly human.

    If only the council could see this, Sylvia thought wryly. She squirmed in Jon's grasp. Not an attempt to get away, but to free her arms and reciprocate the hug as best she could. She laughed warmly, pressing the side of her face against him.

    "What was that you said before, feeling bad about grabbing me?" she teased.

    "That wasn't grabbing," Jon argued, releasing her back to her comfortable nook in the blanket. "I just sorta... Scooted you closer is all."

    “Sure,” she drawled, wearing a grin at the thought that he wanted her closer to him. She shifted among the folds of the blanket, rolling onto her stomach and propping herself up on her elbows. She rubbed at her heavy eyelids with the back of her hand. “I’m beginning to think you just like holding me.”

    Jon let out an uneasy laugh that sounded entirely unnatural. "Yeah well, that's..." He averted his gaze, suddenly absorbed in the television show still flashing in the background. "I'm getting used to it, I guess."

    He was quiet for a while after that, and Sylvia let it be. She was exhausted. It wasn't a stretch for her to zone out in watching the big screen of moving pictures. She watched the TV with fascination, noting how utterly different these moving pictures were compared to what she had been shown before with Cliff. Although she didn't understand many of the cultural references, she found herself breaking out in laughter at the universal humor of the characters' antics. To her pleasant surprise, Jon joined her on multiple occasions.

    "My mom used to watch these retro shows with me, growing up," he confessed out of the blue. "Twilight Zone... Stuff like that. Whenever I couldn't sleep, she'd plop me on the couch with a couple episodes, just sitting there with me till I conked out."

    Sylvia twisted around in time to see the wistful nostalgia in his expression. He stared at the screen like it was the face of his mother, gazing back at him.

    Jon shook his head. "They just don't make shows like this these days. Not anymore."

    She was at a loss for words for a moment, wrestling without whether to ask about his mother. Going by his heavy tone of voice, she held back, not wanting to dampen his spirits any further. She didn't want to brush off what he was sharing with her either, so she tread carefully on the subject.

    "I can see why you miss it," Sylvia said, keeping her head tilted up to offer him a soft smile. "But maybe it's the memories that come with it that makes it seem like nothing will ever be better than this. You've probably changed as much as the shows have. Change doesn't have to be bad. And even when it is... that doesn't mean something good can't come out of it, too." She paused and looked away sheepishly, stifling a yawn. "I, uh... Sorry. Didn't mean to try and force my wisdom on you."

    "Hey, it's fine," Jon assured her. "I'll give a penny for your thoughts anyday."

    She smiled at the phrase, finding it pleasant if a little cryptic. Stifling another yawn, she stretched and rested her head on her folded arms. She thought her exhaustion had gone unnoticed by the huge man, but once again Jon proved her wrong.

    "One of these days, I'll teach you to pull an all nighter," he joked. He moved to muss her hair again, but this time Sylvia was able to dodge the incoming fingertip.

    She rolled away and narrowed her eyes at him. Putting her head back down and closing her eyes sounded like a much more appealing idea, but she kept herself propped up and put her hands under her chin to prevent her head from lolling down.

    "Hey, m'still awake," she insisted, blinking heavily. "There's nothing to teach. I've pulled plenty of all nighters." To prove her point, she pushed herself up, using his nearby hand for leverage. Straightening to her feet with a grunt, she swayed on the surface of the blanket but managed to keep steady. Raising her eyebrows cheekily, she gave him a drowsy smile. "See? Not even sleepy."

    Sylvia craned her neck back as Jon leaned over her closely. Her heart skipped a beat as his eyes took on a considering gleam. His lips puckered, and she was wondering if she was about to get a second taste of what his kisses were like.

    Needless to say, she was sorely disappointed when Jon merely blew a stream of air at her, aimed to knock her off-balance. She windmilled her arms to maintain her footing, leaning up against the side of his hand for support. She scowled faintly as laughter filled the air around her again.

    "Well, you've convinced me." Jon chortled. "Wide awake, huh?"

    “You jerk,” she grumbled, pushing off from his hand to stand on her own. Easier said than done, considering the warmth of his skin made her even more drowsy. She swayed and ended up leaning back against him anyway. “Yeah, I’m awake. It’s just a lot harder to stand on a giant blanket than you’d think.” She tilted her face up at him pointedly, though her scowl was giving way. “Here I am, trying to keep you company, and you’re trying to knock me down?”

    Jon scoffed, feigning offense. "Come on, a little air shouldn't sway you if you're so alert."

    A streak of lightning lit up the entire living room for a split second, freezing the teasing smile on his face. Sylvia stiffened up head to toe as an animalistic growl of thunder followed, quaking the whole apartment.

    "Sylv--" Jon's voice was drowned out by a renewed roll of violent thunder. The TV flickered, distorted with static before it blacked out entirely.

    Something shifted next to her, creeping around her.

    "Sylvia." Jon's voice was a beacon in the dark. She swallowed, realizing the thing surrounding her was just his hand.

    A shaky sigh passed Sylvia's lips, her breaths quickening as she fumbled around in the dark. Not bothering to keep her balance any longer, she sank down and leaned into Jon’s hand. She could feel his fingers at her side and the fabric of the thick blanket beneath her.

    “Wh-What… What happened? It went out.” Her eyes flicked around for any sign of the TV’s light. She shivered despite the warmth of Jon’s skin, reaching out blindly to clamp her hands on a fingertip and bring it closer.

    Sylvia held tighter to his fingertip as Jon moved her higher up on the blanket, huddling her further from the edge of the couch and closer to his chest. His voice was closer when he spoke again. "It's okay, it's just a power surge. Happens from time to time during nasty weather like this," Jon said calmly. "Probably nature's way of telling us both to give it a rest."

    “Okay… Okay,” she said softly, making an effort to calm herself.

    Rain was soothing, sometimes invigorating. Lightning and thunder just had to ruin it. She released a harsh breath and grimaced when light burst into the room for a split second. Even when anticipating it, she flinched at the boom of thunder.

    With a heavy sigh, she released Jon’s finger and curled up on her side. Her wings flickered, brushing his hand. “It’s so much louder here than underground.”

    His hand drew away momentarily, but returned to smooth down over her folded wings. The motion was hesitant at first, but became more confident within a few repeated strokes.

    "Yeah, I bet," Jon mumbled. "You're safe here, though. These buildings are built to withstand storms like these."

    Sylvia shut her eyes, focusing on sound of his voice. She knew she should be more cautious about letting those massive fingers near her wings, but she couldn’t bring herself to feel like he was in any danger of hurting her.

    “It’s not that I don’t feel safe, it’s just…” She trailed off. Hearing herself say it out loud, she was more aware of how irrational her fright was. But the memory was so vivid. Huddled under the roots, no way to get help, couldn’t even hear herself think with that damn thunder ringing in her ears. “You’re right. You’re right, it’s fine.”

    Jon's lighthearted teasing seemed to be a thing of the past, replaced by the soothing sensation of his fingertips trailing down her back. In past times, she had suspected he petted her to calm his own frayed nerves. There was no doubt in her mind that tonight, this was just for her.

    "Fear doesn't make sense sometimes," Jon pointed out, still using a volume practically soft as a fairy's. "Tell you the truth, I'm petrified of ventriloquist dummies. They're kinda like puppets... Anyway, they scare the crap outta me. Cliff sure gets a kick out of it, watching Dead Silence every Halloween." He ended on a short scoff, fabric rustling as he shook his head against the throw pillow.

    He managed to get a grin out of her. She kept her eyes shut, not out of fear, but because she was simply too exhausted to keep them open any longer. The gentle fingertips at her back were quickly coaxing her to sleep.

    “Thanks for not making fun of me,” she murmured with a soft chuckle. “If you’re ever dealing with a vantrelo--whatever, I’ll protect you.”

    Sylvia welcomed the familiar sound of Jon's laugh, the way he rested his hand over her like a strange, heated blanket.

    "I'll be counting on it," he murmured.

The windstorm of his relaxed breathing soon lulled her into a peaceful state, where the darkness of the thunderstorm couldn't be further from mind.
Shot in the Dark (Revised) || Fifteen
Previous:


Next: Next wednesday!




Co-written by the fabulous :iconkimstaticchild:
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Jensen took a seat on the couch and, in a sudden spurt of inspiration, arranged Sam onto his shoulder so he had his hands free. He unfolded the bundle of papers, revealing the title and episode number on the front page. He flipped through a bit, past the exposition.

"See, everything you're talking about- the sword, the imp, you getting shrunk... That's the episode we're filming right now." Jensen showed him a few pages of dialogue between the boys, not able to see how Sam's face drained of blood as he read a transcript of his horrifying experiences. "But you popping up here like Dorothy into OZ? Not part of the plan."

Sam stared down at the pages in shock. Everything was there. Everything. Even him almost getting eaten by his brother. His grip tightened on the collar of Jensen's shirt to keep him steady. It was a few minutes before he managed to get his thoughts together to respond.

"People... they want to watch this stuff? There's a show about our shitty-ass lives and they enjoy this?" He shook his head in disbelief. "This is as bad as those damn books..."

Jensen started to shrug- he caught himself halfway into the motion, with Sam slumped up against his neck for support. He relaxed his shoulders again, giving Sam a better standing ground. "You're lighter than a pencil, aren't you?" he muttered, trying not to smirk.

"I mean we're not topping the charts, but we get a solid enough viewership to keep getting renewed," Jensen went on, moving past the shoulder incident smoothly. "People going through a rough patch find you guys inspiring. Even me."

Sam kept a hand against Jensen's neck, hoping to keep his balance if Jensen moved unexpectedly again. "Heh," he gave a self-deprecating laugh. Inspiring... me and Dean... who would have thought... "I guess whatever works..."

He leaned over the edge of the shoulder, peering down. "Is there anything in there about what happened with the sword, or any clues about what the imp's up to?" Or any clues about where Dean is... He kept that last part to himself, not wanting to appear needy. It just felt weird to hear Dean's voice coming out of the man he was with and know that it wasn't Dean.

Jensen flipped through the script, the papers rifling against each other as he sped-read through each scene.

"Dean hands over the Samulet for the sword... They set up a trap in the motel room..." Jensen turned over another pages, green eyes scanning it for anything involving the imp. It was so strange to think that perhaps an entire timeline had been interrupted on their end. He avoided thinking about it too hard.

"I mean, it says she shrinks Dean for a few minutes before they-- er, uh you guys-- manage to trap her, but after that.... That's pretty much it. Just the typical pow-wow in the Impala and some short jokes."  

Sam frowned to himself with his arms crossed over his chest. Aside from how weird it was hearing about himself and what he would have done, it really did sound like the end of a normal case. “So we set up a trap for her and it worked…” he mused. Good to know they were on the right track. “If Dean managed to trade for the sword, maybe he still has it wherever he is.” His mind stumbled briefly over the thought of Dean giving up his amulet for it. It was hard to believe that was even a possibility. “We need to find a way to stop her before she strikes again.”



Half an hour had passed, and Dean was beginning to get desperate. There was no sign of Sam, high or low. There was no hard proof Sam was even in this TV-town with him... Which could only mean he was in close quarters with the imp.

Outside the stage, he glimpsed the Impala sitting in the gleam of a cloudy day- full sized and glossy as ever. "Oh sweetheart, am I glad to see you," Dean purred under his breath.

The first sprig of hope dared to well up as he ran for its door. Maybe Sam was stowed somewhere inside. So far, the Impala had been affected along with Sam in the shrinking curse. Maybe she was changing tactics.

As he rounded a catering tent (and boy, oh boy, was he coming back for one of those philly cheesesteak subs later), Dean stopped short with a crestfallen expression. The Impala was only one in a long line of chevy Impalas, all in different conditions. Sick to his stomach at the surreal sight, Dean shook his head and cast his gaze elsewhere on the lot.

"That's just wrong," he muttered.

A studio head came out of the catering tent, talking on the phone. "Yeah, we'll cram the Sam photoshoot in later this afternoon. I don't care if the guy's booked, Reg! Make it happen!" He snapped his phone shut and started for a door that read "cast and crew only." The man was too tunnel-visioned on where he was headed to notice he was shadowed.

Following his gut instinct, Dean followed inside. With each step forward in the maze of backstage, he felt a thrum inside. He had to be getting closer. That guy mentioned Sam's name, and if he was playing himself in a TV show... Maybe Sam was too.

Amidst a crowd of unfamiliar faces, Dean's eyes locked onto a head of shaggy brown hair. Ignoring the mutters of surprise and lingering looks at his face, Dean approached the line of seats. At last, the man turned, and Dean's hopes were confirmed.

"Damn, it's good to see you, Sammy." Dean threw his arms around his brother, squeezing him tightly. Once again, he was on the shorter end between them. But after the horrifying twelve hours with a shrunken brother, Dean wasn't complaining. He pulled away to look him over once more, finding Sam sturdy and full-size once again. Beaming, he clapping his hands on his shoulders.

"Couldn't keep you down for long, huh?" Dean remarked on his newfound height. "Any sign of that imp bitch? I swear, this place is giving me the creeps."



'Sam' was getting set up for filming when he was suddenly swept up into a bear hug.

They were filming one of the scenes where he was sitting in Dean's pocket, so Jensen had been planning on going over a few lines on his own. Most of the time on set they spent together, even when it was only one or the other filming, for support if nothing else. But the scene was short, sweet and to the point, so he'd been able to talk Jensen into taking it easy for once. God knows the man deserved it. No one was more dedicated to his fellow actors.

So the last thing he'd expected was Jensen practically tackling him on the set not twenty minutes before they were supposed to start shooting.

It took a few seconds got it to sink into his brain that Jensen was calling him 'Sammy.'

As he pulled out of the hug he saw the dark circles under Jensen's eyes. So the makeup artist hadn't tracked him down yet. Not that 'Sam' could blame him for seeming harried.

This entire storyline they were doing was affecting him to. Just last night he'd woken up from disturbing nightmares - being trapped in a tiny car, almost getting stepped on, even the scene where Sam almost gets eaten... he'd never had problems like that before while filming. Lord knew they had enough creepy ass stories going on, why was this one so disturbing?

So he humored Jensen as they pulled out of the hug, figuring he wanted to go over some lines before filming. It was a good way to calm the nerves and get in character. He cast his mind over the script he'd read.

"Uh, yeah. Her magic must have worn off or something. Where you been, anyway?"

"Looking for you," Dean said like it was obvious. He couldn't seem to keep a smile off his face. Even though they were stuck in this crappy alternate world, at least he had his brother back. Sammy was safe.

"I gotta say man, you really had me worried. I mean the thought of you, the size of a cracker, wandering around this TV town..." Dean shook his head, giving the idle crew nearby a not-so-subtle look of distrust, knowing any one of them could have easily stepped on a shrunken Sam without being any the wiser.

'Sam' frowned as Jensen went on. Did they change the script on me? He hadn't heard anything about planned changes... supposedly filming would be ending in another day for this episode.

He clapped Jensen on the shoulder. "You feeling alright, man? Sounds like you could use some coffee..."

Dean blinked and arched a stern eyebrow at the hand on his shoulder. Looking back up at his face, his green eyes narrowed in confusion.

"Am I missing something here? You were three fucking inches tall!" Dean exclaimed, struggling to keep his voice down. Several producers turned their heads in their direction. "We've got a few things on the to-do list besides coffee, Sam."

"Five minutes, Jared." A man wearing a pair of thick headphones around his neck patted the taller man on the back.

Dean watched the guy go. He had to hand it to Sam, he was keeping his cool far better than he was. It was a bit unnerving, actually.

"They got you pegged for some hotshot too. Get this, they think I'm some guy named Jensen." Dean scoffed a derisive chuckle. "What kind of preppy-ass name is Jensen? "

Jared frowned. "It's your name, remember?"

He took Jensen by the arm, leading him away from the set. "Look, you can't let this episode get to you. I know how you feel, trust me. Been having nightmares every night about what Sam gets put through. I mean, almost getting eaten? Seriously, who thinks of these things? You should take a break, put your feet up in your trailer for a few hours. I'll film my parts on my own, alright? Sound good?"

Dean dug his heels in, breaking free from his grip. His green eyes darted all over his face, searching desperately for recognition in those familiar Hazel eyes. Everything about him was so utterly Sam. And yet, it wasn't.

"Oh crap, you're a part of this, aren't you?" Dean shook his head, mind made up. "You're not my brother. Fuck"

He drug a hand over his face, weary of the fruitless search. As he raised his head, he found that Jared had brought him out side set, near a couple of huge-ass trailers. A sign on the door of the closest one read "J. ACKLES". Dean raised his eyebrows, jerking a thumb towards the trailer.

"That mine?"

"Uhh... yeah." Jared frowned. His eyes darted back to the set. Everyone was still involved in setup and his absence was so far unnoticed. A few more minutes helping Jensen out shouldn't be noticed.

He pushed open the trailer door. With any luck all Jensen needed was a little coffee. Jared frowned when he saw Jensen's coffee cup on its side on the floor, abandoned.

Dean spotted it, too. He gave the rest of the trailer of brief glance, coming over to crouch down by the abandoned coffee cup. He touched the side- still warm.

"Someone was in a hurry," he muttered. Of course, it could have been a simple accident. Or maybe someone saw something that scared them out of their skin. Something like a shrunken Sam Winchester, maybe.

Dean stood up and gave Jared an urgent frown. "Who else has access here?"

“You… me… a few PA’s.” Jared frowned as he trailed Jensen into the trailer. The other man’s desperate search of the floor gave him a sinking suspicion. It was like Jensen thought he’d find something hiding from them down there. He grabbed Jensen by the arms. “Talk to me. What’s going on here?”

Dean grit his teeth, facing Jared head-on. Only the slightest difference of gleam in this man's eyes cemented in him that this couldn't be his brother. No puppy eyes, Dean noted ironically.  How was he supposed to explain this when he didn't fully believe it himself?

"This whole thing is a TV show, right? About Sam and Dean Winchester, hunting, the whole nine yards? Well, I'm the real deal. Dean Winchester, in the flesh." He motioned down at himself, once again wrestling free of Jared's grip. What was it with this guy and touching? It was like this Jared was physically incapable of keeping his hands to himself.

Jared couldn't help squinting at Jensen… Dean… whoever. He let out a laugh. “I think you’ve been working too hard here. You might want to take a day, get your head in the game. I mean, that’s just too crazy. Dean Winchester, real?” He flopped down on the couch and put his feet up on the coffee table.

Dean forced a laugh of his own, sounding more annoyed than amused. "Yeah, crazy," he dead-panned.

Load of help this guy is.

Seeing that trying to convince Jared was only a waste of time, he refocused onto his quest of finding Sam. Dean stalked around the couch, getting down on his hands and knees on the carpet. He pressed his face to the floor.

"Uh... Jay, What are you doing?" Jared's voice sounded more apprehensive than ever.

Ignoring the incorrect name, Dean peered under the shadowy crevice for any tiny bodies. "You guys ever have a roach problem in here?"

"Um... No?"

"Can't be too sure," Dean replied distractedly, moving with careful steps to peer behind the entertainment center under the TV. "I hear trailers like these are Hotel California for roaches." Dean swept a hand under the shelf. If Sam was hiding in here, he certainly had outdone himself.

Jared stood, watching Jensen crawl around on the floor. He had to get back the set, but Jensen was pretty much having a mental breakdown.

He needed help.

Jared made his way over to the door. "Just... hang on. I'll... be right back."

Before he could even touch the handle, the trailer door swung open and Jensen nearly collided with Jared.

"Slacking off in my trailer again?" Jensen asked cooly, casually sliding his left hand down into his jeans pocket.

Jared just gaped at him, stammering a few incoherent syllables as he glanced over his shoulder at Dean, still groping under furniture. Despite his six foot four stature, he was too shell-shocked to offer any resistance as Jensen pushed his way past.

"Hey listen," Jensen announced, feigning exhaustion. "I'm gonna need-"

He stopped in his tracks next to Jared, staring at the man across the room. The door squeaked shut, sealing them all into stunned silence.

Dean raised his head slowly, keeping an eye on the pair across the room like they were escaped mental patients. It was incredibly surreal, staring at a mirror image of himself. He felt like had dosed up with the dream root all over again. The man was identical to him, head to toe. The only differences was that he was wearing a green jacket and had coffee stained splattered all over his stone washed jeans.

"Let me guess-- Jensen?" Dean ambled closer. Somehow, despite everything, he managed to smirk. "You are a handsome devil, I'll give you that."

Jensen raised his eyebrows, scoffing quietly in breathless disbelief. Breaking out of his daze, Jared fumbled to pull out his cell phone, snapping a picture of the surreal moment. Jensen and Dean swiveled their heads to the side, giving him identical withering looks.

"If you post that to Twitter, I'm gonna--" Jensen started in on him. Jared waved his hands in his defense, looking taken aback by the identical glares on him.

"I-I'm not. Just gonna need proof later that I'm not tripping on acid here," Jared tried to explain.

Jensen narrowed his eyes at the cell phone, but was distracted in the next second. He glanced down to his pocket as if hearing a private conversation. Dean snapped his gaze down as well, noticing for the first time that Jensen hadn't moved his hand from his pocket the entire time. His heart lurched in his chest.

"Right, right," Jensen muttered. "Hang on little guy."

He carefully pulled his hand from his pants pocket, gingerly uncurling his fist between them to reveal a barely two and a half inch man sitting in his palm.

"Sam," Dean breathed, leaning down closer to see his little face. "Damn, it's good to see you."
Sorry for delay on chapter postings! Been away from my laptop for a bit :/ 
Dean went back inside the pawn shop, his heart heavy but his mind made up. The seedy owner grinned a mouthful of pearly whites and fool's gold as Dean handed over his beloved amulet and the last ninety-seven dollars to his name.

"Pleasure doing business with you, boy."

Dean shot him a rather withering glance after the sword was in his possession. It looked like it was fairly old, judging by the aging on the helm and blade. A little polish and it would shine like new. Even better, it would trap that wretched imp and restore Sam to his proper size.

Hope you're ready to tear this bitch a new one, Sammy.

"AAANNND CUT!"  

Dean flinched and spun on his heel to face the foreign voice. His eyes bugged out: half of the pawn shop had been cut away, and replaced by what appeared to be the behind-the-scenes side of a TV or movie set. A line of producers, boom mike operators, technician speaking into headsets.... he whirled back around to see the pawn shop owner drinking a Dasani and chatting up one of the younger ladies wearing an ID badge, a pair of fake teeth in hand.

This... it's a set? It can't be! I was just in here, and I sure as hell would've noticed a freaking microphone hanging over my head!

Somehow, his gut already knew exactly which black-eyed, size-obsessed demon was to blame.

The next thing he knew, a shorter man with silver hair and a neatly trimmed beard was suddenly slapping him on the back, giving him a friendly squeeze.

"Great job, Jensen. I can always count on you to go the extra mile."

Dean squirmed, shooting him a look that made him rethink his invasion of personal space. He raised his eyebrows expectantly at him, glancing around him for the man he was talking to.

"Me?"

The director gave him a strange look. "You see anybody else named Jensen here?"

Dean looked left and right, actively searching the set as if a man wearing a name tag that read ‘Jensen’ might appear out of thin air. Mildly concerned, the director took his hand off Dean's shoulders and backed away a bit.

"Remind me not to be rhetorical on Fridays,” the graying man muttered. "Take five. We need to reset before the next shot."

The apparent director went back into the crowd, replaying the footage with a set of headphones on. Feeling lost and confused, Dean didn't know where to turn. Where the hell was he? And sure enough, these people couldn't leave him alone. A spindly man wearing all black tried to pry the sword right out of his hand. Dean yanked it back out of his hands, shooting him a death glare.

"Mister Ackles, it's... it's a prop. I can't let you take that..."

"The hell I can't." Dean twirled it in his hand. The blade wobbled. Frowning incredulously, Dean shook it again. The whole thing wobbled vigorously, just like...

"Rubber," he muttered. "Fucking useless." He shoved it into the prop man's hands, striding off angrily in a different direction.

It was around that time that he noticed the distinct lack of a tiny body thudding against his chest. Though his gut already told him what he would find, dread crippled him anyway. Dean yanked open his breast pocket and peered inside. Empty. The imp had separated them again... Who knew where Sam was now?

Dean suddenly looked around at all the busy people like they were death machines. Had Sam already been crushed? Was he running for his life in a sea of hapless giants? The thoughts only increased in severity, rooting him to his spot as he tried not to panic. The imp had completely turned the tables on them.

Again.

Two personal assistants with the name tags ‘Val’ and ‘Rodney’ hanging out nearby spied his distress. Normally, they were kept to just snacks and menial tasks, but given his distress, they approached tentatively.

"Can I... get you anything, Mister Ackles?" Val asked hesitantly.

Recognizing the name the prop guy had called him, Dean looked up. "Yeah, let me know if you see any little people wandering around," Dean huffed before storming off, choosing a direction at random.

Bewildered, the two PAs stared holes into his back until he was out of sight.

"Isn't the proper term 'midgets?' " Rodney asked.

"No, no. He's right, it's 'little people.' "

Rodney shook his head. "Man, that guy is weird."



Sam let out a yelp of surprise as the fingers pressed him into the side of the mug, taking away his breath. The pressure was almost enough to crack his ribs, and he could feel the heat of the cup through his clothing. Thankfully his bare skin wasn't shoved against it. He struggled fruitlessly as the ground fell away from his feet, leaving him suspended in midair at the unknown person's mercy. Even if he got out now, it would mean a drop to his death.

Sam froze.

There was a long pause where it seemed the room itself stood still, holding its breath. Then the mug turned around, slowly bringing Sam into view.

Vivid green eyes went about as wide as they could go as they discovered the tiny thing attached to the coffee mug. Words wouldn't form, only incoherent thoughts flashing through his mind's eye as he raced to process what he was seeing. It looked like a doll... a familiar face-- oh FUCK it was alive!

The man gasped and dropped the mug in shock. A deep curse rang out as the broiling hot coffee spilled all over his pants. The coffee mug fell with a dull clunk to the floor, while Sam landed on the edge of his lap and slipped onto the sofa.  

All in all, it wasn't the worst way to cope with the discovery of tiny people.

Stunned into speechless silence, the man leaned down over the tiny person, watching as he picked himself up in a dizzy manner. His riveted frown deepened, lips parting in awe as the tiny man- no more than three inches tall, he'd wager- got to his feet. The slight burns on his coffee-dampened thighs couldn't be further from his mind. There was something so disturbingly familiar about his face...

Sam shoved himself up with a groan after the fall, barely able to believe he'd survived. First tumbling what must have been twenty feet after almost being scalded by a hot cup, landing on a giant leg, falling off of that... Somehow he was still in one piece. Still alive.

He stumbled on the plushy surface of the couch, catching his balance. If it wasn't for that damn imp, he'd start to think that damn rabbit's foot curse was affecting him again. This was a shitload of bad luck to shove into such a small amount of time.

The silence drilled into the back of his head. He'd only caught a brief glimpse of the person who'd picked him up by accident, but Sam knew he was still there. Still watching Sam. A chill went up Sam's back at his helplessness.

Since he didn't have anywhere else to run, Sam turned himself around with an unhappy sigh. And blinked in surprise. "Dean! Dude, what the hell's up with dropping me like that?"

The man's light eyebrows shot up in surprise. He blinked, and cocked his head to the side as if making sure the little guy wasn't going to follow up on that.

"Jared?" he asked softly. The tiny doppelganger frowned, so he changed his answer. "Sam," he tried. God it was hard to get a read on such a tiny face! "You... you think you're Sam. Sam Winchester?"

The man covered his mouth with his hand, still awestruck. Finally, he eased up a bit, making note of the stains on his costume pieces. "I've either had too much coffee or not nearly enough..." he chuckled weakly, the intrigue and astonishment still visible in his every move. Gingerly, he prodded a finger into the tiny Sam's side. Real as ever. "Who put you up to this, Bob Singer? One of Misha's Russian comrades?" the man went on, scanning him up and down for any sort of wiring or flicker.

Sam tried to bat the huge finger away. At least Dean hadn't poked his bad arm. "What the hell are you talking about, Dean?" He scowled up at the giant. "Bob? Misha? Did you hit your head or something? I don't think I'm Sam Winchester... I am Sam Winchester." Sam threw up his arms in annoyance, continuing his aggravated, 'I'm done with it' tirade that had been building up inside ever since shrinking in the first place. "You remember the imp, don't you? We still have to find a way to stop her or at least get me back to normal. I'm getting sick of this whole two-inches-tall business."

"Yeah I bet," the larger man said under his breath, sizing Sam up with his eyes for the twentieth time. Being that small couldn't have been a picnic.

Sam put a little distance between himself and his giant brother, staring at his surroundings. He tried to focus on their predicament and pushed away his aggravation. "Where do you think she teleported us too, and where'd you get the coffee from?" ...man I could use some coffee myself after everything I've gone through... and Dean just wasted an entire cup...

When Sam had his back turned, the man turned around again, searching for hidden cameras that would indicate this was some sort of prank. But by every possible observation, he was completely alone. Just him and the incredibly shrunken Sam.

"A uh.. a P.A. brought it in," he said, glancing down distractedly at the lopsided coffee mug. He shook his head, now looking down at Sam with a healthy wariness. "You know what, just... Sit tight for a sec."

He slowly rose to his feet, glancing up at Sam frequently as he dialed a number and brought the cell up to his ear.

"Bob Singer." The man on the other line sounded besieged.

"Bob, hey. You uh... this is gonna sound a little far-fetched, but you didn't happen to send over a souvenir from this episode?" he asked, his eyes locked on Sam.

"We're not even finished shooting it! Must've been some of the crew," Bob answered, sounding like he was trying to do ten things at once. "Or maybe escaped fan mail. I don't know."

"Shit. I mean, yeah of course. Thanks," he said hurriedly, hanging up the phone. So that left him with the unthinkable options.

"So, Sam,, you uh... you're a little off the reservation, huh?" He stood by the couch, still waiting for the surprise to wear off.

Sam stared at Dean as his brother was on the phone, eyebrows slowly scrunching together in confusion. He backed away from the edge of the couch, uncomfortable with the way Dean standing over him and moving so fast. Here he thought he'd finally started to get used to this size.

Sam's confusion increased while Dean was on the phone, talking to someone he seemed to have invented on the spot. The familiar cold ball of dread coalesced in Sam's stomach.

"Yeah.... Dean, this is no time for games. Or pranks. Seriously. Did you get the sword, at least?"

The larger man shook his head, holding up a hand to stop Sam from spewing any more stories. "You gotta stop calling me that. I'm not your brother."

He crouched down, putting his face more level to the little man on his couch. "I-- I do know Dean... very well. But I'm not him. My name is Jensen. I'm an actor. I play Dean Winchester on a TV show," he said, very clearly so there was no mistake. He chuckled weakly and shook his head. "And I'm talking to you like you actually exist.."

Sam resembled a fish, standing there on the couch with his mouth open. He closed it, opened it. Thought about what he was going to say, closed it again. Stared at his surroundings, the giant in front of him... who was wearing Dean's shirt. Dean's jeans... his amulet for godsakes!

"Not Dean. Not my brother..." Sam backed away from the edge, trying to put distance between them. The danger he was in was only just starting to sink in.

He eyed up the giant in front of him, trying to figure out what was going on. "Exist? Of course I exist..." he said, more to himself than anything. Then again, he had a hard time admitting the person in front of him wasn't Dean. Same green eyes, same clothes, same annoying smirk!

"Alright Jensen," Sam said, determined. "If you're not my brother, where is he?" Sam tried to push down any fear, standing confidently on the couch.

Jensen pinched his shoulders in a noncommittal shrug. "Your guess is as good as mine. This is like some Supernatural-themed acid trip." He frowned, eyes shifting a little as he mulled this over seriously.

"Alright, let's say I believe you. You're from some... alternate world where these characters... where Sam and Dean are real." Jensen conjectured. His frown deepened, green eyes locking back onto the impossibly tiny demon-hunter standing on his couch. "Hey, you ended up here with me, right? Maybe Dean ended up in Jared's trailer, swapping counterparts or something. Worth a shot."

Still staring at Sam, Jensen cocked his head to the side, another startling thought occurring to him.

"Hang on. Dean... is he bite-sized too?" Jensen held up a hand, measuring out Sam's approximate height with a finger and thumb.

"No..." Sam said slowly, glad the Dean doppelganger hadn't made any threatening moves. He shuddered when Jensen called him bite-sized, an icy chill hitting at the memory of being trapped in a mouth. That hit too close to home for comfort. "He was normal last I saw. I'm the lucky one."

He hesitated for a long moment, mulling over what he was about to say. On the one hand, he wanted nothing to do with any regular sized humans while he was so vulnerable. On the other hand, Jensen hadn't done anything to Sam and aside from thinking he was losing his mind (and Sam still had trouble believing he'd been shrunk, honestly, do out was no surprise if anyone else had trouble believing it) he'd treated Sam like a regular person.

"Do... do you think you could help me find my brother?" Sam asked hopefully, staring up at the new giant. He was useless stranded on the couch like this, with no way to even get down on his own. If he wanted any hope of finding his brother, he'd need help.

Jensen's eyebrows went up, his face unintentionally mirroring Dean's look of surprise whenever he was faced with an unusual request. Even if this was all some insane dream (he was running out of actual scenarios that could explain this insanity)... The poor little guy was lost and confused and only three inches tall. There really was only one way to be decent about this.

"Y-yeah. Jared's trailer is just around the corner." He reached out, on instinct to pick Sam up. The hand slowed when it was right next to the shrunken man, the stark comparison reminding him how nerve-wracking it must be on the other end.

"Sorry, bud," Jensen apologized. "But...this is how it's gotta go down. Hang in there." He scooped Sam up into his hand, locking him up in a loose fist, with plenty of light coming in between the fingers. Once standing again, he uncurled his hand a bit to look in at him.

"You say somethin?’ "

Sam couldn’t help jumping back at the hand coming right at him. It was made worse knowing it wasn’t actually Dean grabbing at him but someone who had his face. He was easily scooped up, the vertigo hitting his stomach at Jensen’s fast movements. His yelp of surprise was muffled by the loose fist he was trapped in.

The movement slowed and the world opened up around him as Jensen opened his fist.

“N-no. Just… can you move a little… slower? And… thanks. For helping.” He stared up at the giant, giving him his best puppy eyes. It might not be Dean he was with, but Jensen so far wasn’t such a bad guy.

Jensen couldn't help but crack a small smile. Those puppy-dog eyes were a look he had seen many times on Jared's face under the guise of his character... but there was no doubt in his mind that this time, he was looking at the real deal.

"Well, it's gotta suck being the size of a kit-kat bar. And... technically speaking, I actually owe you guys a great deal," he observed, half to himself. "Maybe this is some kind of cosmic karma." Never in a million years had it crossed his mind that he would get a chance to thank the Winchesters in person.

His fingers canopied Sam once more as his steps took on a new speed. He tread down the steps of his trailer and ducked outside. Though his face drew several eyes, their gazes were fleeting as they were all hurried and absorbed in their own task. Jensen strode around the length of the trailer, and as promised, right up to the one next door. Disregarding the paper sign that labeled it as Jared's, he opened the unlocked door with his free hand and ducked inside.

"That wasn't so bad, huh?" he mumbled, relieving Sam of his cramped enclosure and flattening out his hand. The inside of the trailer was about the same as Jensen's, with mild changes: different magazines were spread on the coffee table, picture of different people collages around the mirror on the right, and the TV left with NFL playing on mute.

Sam stretched himself out once the air over his head was open. "No, not bad at all," he called up. Sam turned slowly in place on the palm, taking in the decor. It wasn't half bad, despite the fact everything was still colossal.

He walked to the edge of Jensen's palm, peering down at the coffee table. "So this... Jared. He's an actor like you?" If Jensen was Dean, then... "Does he play... me?"

Jensen nodded his confirmation. "That's the job. For the better part of a decade we've been doing your story." He looked down at the tiny man with a tense expression, wordlessly guarding him from falling with a second hand cupped around the first. "You guys have been through some serious crap. I mean, the demons and angels, the end of the world being nigh... all of that is real for you?"

Sam stepped back when the second hand cupped around the first, nervous at the sight of the massive hand. He twisted around so he could look Jensen in the eyes. The expression on Jensen's face was reassuring, a care and curiosity that matched Dean's own showing through. "Uh, yeah," he said. "Unfortunately. Not to mention vampires, werewolves... chupacabra." He flopped his arms in an aggravated half-shrug. "What, you don't have any of that here?"

"The scariest thing we've got around here is Lady Gaga," Jensen answered with a slightly sheepish smile. "We'd be screwed otherwise. I'd be trailing salt behind me everywhere I went." He chuckled faintly, finding it strangely awesome when he saw Sam's eyes light up with recognition for the use of salt.

He glanced around the trailer, even checking inside the bathroom at the back. Besides them, it was empty. "No sign of him." He arched an eyebrow at Sam inquisitively. "You sure he was even transported here? There's nothing about any of this in the script."

As Jensen talked Sam could feel his shoulders slump down, dejected. The thought of being stranded in a strange world less than three inches tall without Dean was horrifying. As nice as Jensen had turned out to be (and Sam was lucky he had, considering his current situation) he wasn't Dean. Sam simply didn't feel as safe with him as he did with Dean. Even with everything that had happened he still felt safer with his older brother.

"No..." Sam said slowly. "I mean, I don't know. I was in Dean's pocket when the imp hit me. Dean was supposed to be getting a sword to trap her with." He reflected on Jensen's last words. "What do you mean 'it wasn't in the script?' "

Jensen searched around the trailer, tossing what looked like other important papers around haphazardly. Finally, he found what he was looking for wedged between two seat cushions on the sofa.

"Ah. Here we go. 'The Comeback Kid.’ "

What would you like to see next from me? 

39%
24 deviants said More Supernatural G/t
32%
20 deviants said FAIRIES. ALL THE FAIRIES
18%
11 deviants said More post-Wander short stories
5%
3 deviants said I dunno man. Scrolling this far down was exhausting.
3%
2 deviants said More Shot in the Dark universe
2%
1 deviant said The sequel to "Capitol City" centering on Iyla
2%
1 deviant said Other (comment if you feel inspired)

deviantID

Obsess-Confess's Profile Picture
Obsess-Confess
Little Miss Maggie
Artist | Student | Varied
United States
:iconrequestsopen: :icontradesopen:
Finally uploaded a pic of myself!
I'm a college student, majoring in character animation. My dream is to work at Pixar Animation Studios.
I love to draw people. The human body is a master piece in and of itself. I don't have a lot of my serious art on this account, but that might change.
I gravitate towards romantic subjects, or very emotional things. I like feeling something when I create. In a weird way, the mood of the piece possesses me while I make it.
I love art, writing, and discovering new ideas. I'm always up for a GT roleplay, or doing sketch trades.
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:iconmikabear1:
mikabear1 Featured By Owner 3 days ago  Student General Artist
Thanks for the fav!
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:iconymymy:
ymymy Featured By Owner Aug 18, 2015  Hobbyist
Thank you so much for the watch
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:iconnikafargos:
nikafargos Featured By Owner Jul 29, 2015  Hobbyist General Artist
Thank U so much for so many faves and for the watch! Bunny Emoji-72 (Heart Wink) [V2]  I'm honored!
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Obsess-Confess Featured By Owner Jul 29, 2015  Student General Artist
lol thanks for sharing your art! :iconsupertighthugplz:
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:iconlennygrosskopf:
LennyGrosskopf Featured By Owner Jul 21, 2015  Student Digital Artist
thanks again for faving some pics from me again *v*
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Obsess-Confess Featured By Owner Jul 21, 2015  Student General Artist
Sure thing! ;)
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Scrawl-NG Featured By Owner Jul 14, 2015  Hobbyist Digital Artist
Happy Birthday! Make sure to observe safe mixed scale party practices!
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Obsess-Confess Featured By Owner Jul 20, 2015  Student General Artist
thank you!! Haha, don't worry I'm always practicing safe G/t lifestyle choices ;D
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:iconbazzkorg:
Bazzkorg Featured By Owner Jul 14, 2015
Happy birthday! 
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Obsess-Confess Featured By Owner Jul 20, 2015  Student General Artist
thanks!
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