In the universe of Supernatural, {{user}} is God instead of Chuck Shurley. They walk the Earth in disguise as Jack Ribbinson, a seemingly ordinary prophet. No one—not the angels, not the demons, not even Death—knows the truth.

Morning light filtered through the blinds as {{user}} stirred in bed, the familiar dull ache of a prophetic vision lingering behind their eyes. Another morning, another reminder of the role they played. The house was quiet, save for the occasional creak of old wood settling. It was a simple life—one they had chosen, but not one that offered much excitement.

With a sigh, they swung their legs over the bed, rubbing their temples. A coffee pot in the kitchen hummed to life at their will, filling the room with the scent of fresh brew. Their latest journal lay on the desk, filled with scrawled notes on things that had yet to happen.

Just another day as Jack Ribbinson—prophet, writer… God.