#──★ ˙🍒 shards of me

[a1ecmcdowell]

── DAHLIA'S JRNL!!

updated frequently! shoutout to the person who reminded me i need one ily bad

if something isn't on here just give me like 48 hours to remember i have this 😭 or if u want something added like ( short n sweet x obx i just got lazy before i could ) pls tell me!!

i'll make a taglist form sometime eventually too i cannot rn im knocked out dead from making this

AFTERCARE . . . !

abt, rockstar!jensen & ballet dancer!reader. 4/14 parts out - slow updates

. . . tracklist!

masterpost ( includes general cw's! )

one, good girl faith.

two, should run for the hills.

three, half-past five.

four, sorry that u love me!

THE REAPER . . . !

abt, 1940s!soldier boy & male supe!oc. 4/?? parts out - slow updates

. . . table of contents!

masterpost ( includes general cw's! )

00. intro

01. beggars, choosers

02. put it in a pipe & smoke it!

03. festering feelings

04. oh, how he burns

05. event of the fuckin' century

DEAN x SAGA . . . !

abt, au!dean & au!reader. 4 aus - updated frequently

. . . mechanic!dean & bimbo!reader!

reader called princess.

👠 headcanons 1.0

👠 all the times princess humbled dean

👠 old habits die hard

. . . dean winchester x angel!reader!

reader called dove.

🕊️ innocence is a virtue

. . . bonnie!reader x clyde!dean!

reader called sugar.

💰 the name of the game, baby!

. . . fallen angel!dean x sweet!reader!

reader called bunny.

🐇

SHARDS OF ME . . . !

abt, failed transgenic!dean & guardian!alec. 1/3 parts out - I WILL UPDATE THIS AGAIN EVENTUALLY

. . . file!

one.

two.

three.

[rq-idol]

tagging system ++ small system parts intro !!

🎤 — chatter : original posts/text posts or rambles 🎧 — reblogs : reblogs of any kind 🖍️ — ramblings : things i relate to or thoughts i have that i want to share ❓ — asks : answers to asks/requests 📚 — id hoard : a general tag for labels , regardless of if they fit me or not , mostly so others can see them / for larger reach 🖌️ — my ids : labels i or others in the system identify with 🍨 — mutuals : responses to friends / mutuals , feel free to ask for a custom emoji ! 🎀 — lovers : posts about my partners 🌂 — masterposts : lead you to important info / general navigation 🌀 — untagged : posts that are missing some sort of tag  

e; name - sys member signoff 💿; div 🪻; miku 🍒; L 🔮; shards - anonymous/blurry/collective, fine to assume div  

div/diviner/fu xuan ☆ any/mirror/shi/neos/ask ☆ host/gatekeeper/janusian/default fronter ☆ subsys of at least 2 ☆ assume i' m the main fronter , even if i blend with others ☆ moderate - severe tq ( extra spacing everywhere , sometimes fancier talking )

miku/mirror/doll/puppet/mei ★ any/mirror/neos ★ co-host/subfacet/shell/delight + related terms ★ part of divs subsys ★ sometimes unnoticeable, never fronts as a person and is a facet layered on others ★ light tq , sometimes forgets or messes up with it , not as subconscious as with div

L/li/lu/lingsha/lilu/luli ☆ any/she/he/it/mirrors/neos + alternate prns ☆ tertiary host/persecutor/gatebridger ☆ part of two sidesystems, including this one, and connects the main systems with the various sidesystems ☆ no tq others to be added as they front/are found divider creds

[a1ecmcdowell]

ㅤㅤ SHARDS OF MEㅤㅤ . . .ㅤㅤpt 1 !!

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤor, ben mcdowell's dna made TWO clones . . . one just got to live, while the other got locked away.

NOTES. this will have three parts!! i rly hope i wrote alec somewhat ok bc despite loving and adoring him... i've never done it until now ik... so if it's wrong b gentle. dean's not introduced ( yet! ) but baby sammy is!! and i hope tht makes up for it at least a lil < 3

it was raining the day that x5-494 was born. 

sheets of drizzle and droplets clung to the trees and their leaves outside of the wyoming facility, falling wave after wave – a perfect mimicry of the screaming cries of the baby just born inside of its walls. 

and he was not a special baby, that one. the doctors and the overseers realized it quickly enough as the baby wailed on and on throughout the night, desperate for care and comfort that he would not be given. 

the others created from the dna of x5s did not cry. did not wail. and surely, if they ever were going to, certainly would not have done it throughout the entirety of the night onwards. 

they had to think fast, you see, because a genetically crafted baby could not just be dropped off on the doors of an adoption facility in a box with a blanket and a note. unremarkable as he was, this baby was still handmade and not just a mistake or a regret. no, the only regret that came from x5-494 was the fact that he held no purpose to their greater picture. 

they had a filing cabinet for the list of mothers who birthed their children in the facility’s main office – for the ones who could have been released back into society, that was, and did not kick a fuss and need to be dealt with – and so that was where they started. some of those mothers wanted babies, after all. that was why they’d volunteered to be the vessels for the x5s. 

it was settled, then, and perhaps a bit cruel, that x5-493’s birth mother would get the baby she desperately wanted that day. mary mcdowell. now married, now living in lawrence, kansas. 

mary winchester came back to gillette, wyoming, in an instant, however, when she got the letter. a baby. a baby that, while not directly birthed from her, was genetically hers. technically speaking. 

she whisked away the failure that was x5-494. x5-494 died that day, and became dean winchester. 

9 months later, another x5-494 was born, and he was perfect. so perfect that, once the time came that he was old enough to function on his own, he was thrown into psychology operations as a precaution — project manticore could not handle another 493. 

x5-494’s first mission was to hunt down dean winchester. not engage, not attack, but monitor. it was something that the higher-ups at manticore did often – check up on those they’d set free. the escaped x5s were proof of that, though they were a special case on their own, but the mothers, and now dean, needed to have tabs kept on them. 

and it was weird, wasn’t it? autumn had turned the leaves to auburns and umbers and maroons, and, well… 494 did not see a lot of trees. nor did he see a lot of families, who held small children’s palms in between them as they walked up and down sidewalks, as those little ones chattered mindlessly about god knew what. 

until then, all he knew were concrete walls and no windows. no windows, he remembered this specifically, because sometimes he thought it’d drive him crazy. hearing the sounds of cars outside, rumbling down roads and pavements he couldn’t see, wheels turning over rocks, and he would never see it. 

and now, here he was. outside. sun shining down on his skin, wind chilling the same skin that the light toasted, and cars drove on the pavement right there next to him, he saw it. 

weird, weird, weird, how free a life could be, and how solitary another was. 

494 doesn’t even realize that he is standing in the middle of the pavement until a child runs up to his leg, and he expects some snarky little comment, or maybe a soft voiced sorry! but the kid just stops. he’s got this floppy brown hair, and a coat about three sizes too big on him, and a gap between his two front teeth. 

and he’s saying nothing, but looking up at 494 with that toothy grin, and this was not a part of his training — dealing with children. 

“what do you want?” he asks, and it’s a bit harsh, sounds it to himself, too, when it spits out of his mouth, but. oh well. the most he can do is wipe the irritated, confused sneer off of his lips.

this is all just – a bit too much for him, really. 

the kid doesn’t even fucking falter though; that smile just widens. one of his littler hands shoots out and grabs 494’s and starts to yank. 

“dean! you came back!” 

the kid doesn’t falter, but 494 does. 

he plants his feet, and of course he’s stronger than this little guy — genetically altered dna and all, and plus, he’s double his size — so of course the kid stumbles backwards. 

his face contorts into confusion, pinched eyebrows, pinched lips, everything pinched. “what’s wrong?” 

and, like, what’s he supposed to say? honestly? his orders were do not engage. the kid engaged him. that’s not his fault. they should have had some sort of protocol prepared for–

“i know y’wanted to go t’that halloween party with casey,” the kid starts saying, and he’s got a lisp because of that gap in his teeth, which really just makes 494 feel a bit softer for him – surefire sign he needs to disengage, “but thank you. for comin’ back and all. i like trick or treating with you the best.” 

the kid loses him again, because what the fuck is a trick or treat? 

luckily, he starts to tug 494 along again, turning his back before he can see the sheer befuddlement morph onto his expression. and, that means that he doesn’t have to look him in the eyes when he– 

“i’m not dean.” 

weird, too, that is. giving something a name. he’s used to numbers and labels and codes, not humanizing things or people to keep it easy and simple. 

the kid skids to a stop, little shoes scuffing on the pavement. he doesn’t say anything for a moment, but the silence is enough. the only thing 494 can hear is the fucking wind whistling through the red and orange leaves, the giggling toddlers with their parents on the other side of the street, and it’s a bit suffocating, and now all he wants is for this one to go back to talking his ear off. 

“you… that doesn’t…” the kid stumbles over the words just like he stumbled over his shoes, and before 494 can let him turn around again and see that this entire thing is fucking killing him, he rips his hand free from his small grip. 

he walks at a leisurely pace, refusing to look over his shoulder, hoping that the kid will lose interest by the time 494 chooses to leap into the trees. he has to dodge around the even littler kid, a girl, being bounced up and down between her parents by their grip on her hands as they walk, her squealing loud even as they disappear out of sight. 

and it’s all too much, really, isn’t it? 

so he decides fuck it, and jumps up into the nearest tree, his hands closing around a branch of umber and maroon leaves, climbing higher up it until he can’t hear the sound of cars skating by on the road below, to make the journey back to his home of stone walls without windows.