#i'm sorry if it is real but why then the glaring inconsistencies and need for so many blogs?

[unicornprincessinthetardis]

Love all those posts that are like ‘it may ruin your blog aesthetic/theme but reblog this because it’s important’ and it’s like ‘blog aesthetic/theme? What blog aesthetic?’ Because as you may be able (<that auto corrected to 'blessed’???? wth) to tell, even though my blog colour scheme etc and URL suggest Doctor Who theme (I am a huge fan tbf) I basically just post and mainly reblog whatever I want and always the important posts, I’d never pass over an important post

(On that note please look in the tags)

[lena-in-a-red-dress]

What if crisis never happened, and Lena just ghosts everyone, only later for Alex to somehow find the tapes that Lex played to Lena and Lex luthor body. Do you think she would tell kara, go to Lena?

Hmmmm.... good question. Alex is so inconsistent in regards to Lena that I'm not sure who she'd approach first, Kara or Lena. If she's more concerned about Kara's safety, then she'd go to Kara first. If she's more concerned about Kara's emotional wellbeing, she'd go to Lena first.

Let's play with the latter option, since it's the route that gives Alex the most to do. She finds the bunker and the dead Lex (because Crisis didn't happen), and the videos all start to play, and Alex realizes what's happened. Obviously, her first priority is Kara's safety, BUT she reasons that since Lena has ghosted them/retreated rather than deceiving them or lashing out, she guesses that Lena is more hurt than vengeful. So she decides telling Kara immediately would only devastate her, so she focuses on tracking Lena down first.

She eventually finds Lena, perhaps in the invisible Luthor Manor where they once hid Ruby. She sneaks in and finds Lena licking her wounds (ie drinking her woes away). She sits down next to Lena and takes the glass from her hand.

"It's not going to help. Trust me."

Because Alex has tried the same thing, but Supergirl is too big to be washed away with liquor.

Maybe Alex shares what she went through as Kara's sister. How hard growing up with Kara was-- which serves the dual purpose of distracting Lena from herself and also humanizing Kara, with the added bonus of confirming that Kara Danvers isn't a cover identity, that Kara Danvers is as real and as tangible as Supergirl, if not more so.

Or maybe Alex jumps immediately into "she wanted to tell you." She explains why Kara didn't, using only the reasons Kara has vocalized to her. The risk to Lena's safety, at the beginning, the risk to Kara's friends and family. But then, later on, the schism between Supergirl and Lena, and the fear of Lena's ultimate inevitable reaction, the certainty that everything between them would end the moment Lena realized she had lied.

"Well, at least she got one thing right," Lena says then. She has no intention of seeing Kara ever again.

But Alex patiently explains how much Kara cares for Lena, how much Kara values their friendship. How much Kara looks forward to spending time with Lena, and how often Kara talks about Lena on sister nights.

Slowly, Alex sees Lena's anger start to soften, and she knows that the door between her and Kara is ekeing back open. At which point, Alex drops the bomb she came to deliver.

"Whatever you decide, about where you want your friendship with Kara to go... please. Don't tell Kara you know."

In an instant, green eyes cut sharply to Alex, blazing in anger. "I knew it. You don't care about me-- you just came to make sure I'd keep her filthy little secret."

"Okay. Just... dial it down to like, a seven, okay? Yes, I'm concerned about Kara's secret remaining hidden. But no, I wasn't concerned you'd go public." Alex sighs when Lena continues to glare at her. "All I'm asking is that you let Kara tell you herself. She wants to. She just... needs some time to work up the courage."

To that, Lena doesn't respond, so Alex risks pushing a little further.

"She really doesn't want to lose you, Lena, and she's convinced herself that she will. But she's going to tell you. She wants to. She has for a long time. All I'm asking is that you give her the chance."

Lena looks away, her expression dark and unreadable. Alex reaches over to take her hand and give it an apologetic squeeze.

"I'm sorry you found out the way you did. And I'm... I'm sorry about your brother. You should never have had to do what you did. I just want you to know... whatever happens between you and Kara, I'm here for you. If you ever need anything. Or anyone."

Lena looks at her, her eyes flicking to where Alex's hand is wrapped around hers. Alex sees the suspicion, the disbelief that Alex means what she's offering.

"I know it doesn't feel like it right now," Alex says, giving her hand another squeeze, "but you aren't alone. I promise."

[herstarburststories]

Beautiful Ghosts [p1]

A/N: HAPPY BDAY TO ME, YAY! The first chapter of this hopefully mini series is for @alleiradayne 's 1k celebration! Congrats, hon. A mix of angst and two kinds of comfort here. I gotta admit that I started working on this months ago and kept going until I was satisfied with how it was going. Hope you guys like this one! Divider by @talesmaniac89 !

Summary: Something as tribal as death wouldn't keep you away from Dean.

Pairing: Dean Winchester x reader

Prompt: I’m not going to leave you. You’re never going to have to suffer by yourself again, I promise.

Characters: Dean and Sam Winchester, you

Rating: PG 13

Word count: 2404

As always, you are in Dean's arms when the two brothers enter the bunker after a hunt. There isn’t any sound to break the silence, no raucous laughter, or even a snarky comment about today’s slain monsters. Their steps are stronger than usual, and one breath is missing.

Of course, it’s different from your usual entrance. Your arms aren't tangled with Dean's and his aren’t wrapped around your waist or shoulders. You are in his arms, yes, but you are lying still in a state of lifeless despondency. To think, he was once hopeful, stupid enough to believe that he'd only be carrying you like this when he was marrying you. 

Sam is awfully quiet. He can think and organize a hundred words into speeches in his mind, but nothing comes out. The younger brother feels like a kid during a class presentation too worried to say the wrong word and receive the wrong reaction. Therefore, he chooses silence, just like the other Winchester. They both make room for the grief that way.

It's a silent agreement that you are gone for good. The spell used to bring Eileen back is no longer available, and there is no devil willing to make a pact — not that one would allow the others to do so, after all.

Dean still considers it. More than once, more than a million times between the drive back home when you laid in the backseat with your guts on the car's floor and putting your body on the couch with more tenderness he’d thought himself capable of. 

He would come back to hell just to save you, even if it meant not staying to see you thrive. The agony would be more bearable if he knew that for each scream of his, there would be a grin of yours.

He has no hope now. All Dean Winchester has is anger and unprocessed grief slowly metamorphosing into sadness, hate, and bloodthirst. Even when he killed the fucking werewolf right after he laid his teeth on you, it wasn’t enough. He needed to make someone hurt as much as he did.

It was supposed to be an easy hunt, but isn’t that life with this job? It's usually supposed to be a quick thing, and then you are choking your own blood like it's tequila.

“She is in a better place now.” Sam is the first to speak, utterly doubting that his brother would make a noise if he didn't first.

Sammy was always full of faith, but this time it made Dean furious. “You don't know that.”

“Dean.”

“Don't, Sammy. Don't even fucking try. You know who we are and what Billie thinks about us. Do you think (Y/N) won't get the same destiny as we will? Alone in the empty, going crazy for years, decades!?”

“We can find a way—“ 

“No, we can't! We all signed her death sentence the minute we asked her to move in. And she—“ Dean cuts himself off with the sharp knife of silence, staving any hope left with harsh thoughts. The living room is maybe the most similar it’s ever been to the old glory days now: men of letters used to get frustrated there all the time, usually with a bottle of whiskey and a dead body on the floor, full of holes from experiments. 

The eldest Winchester wants to scream, throw a chair, break a lamp. He’d do anything to get this heavy sensation out of his veins, as if every single drop of blood weighs 500 pounds.

Still, he doesn't fall on his knees.

An inconsistently wry smirk consumes Dean’s face, warped with grief. “I had to put her guts back in her body, you know? To carry her in the car.”

He lifts his hands. They are stained red. Sam purses his lips together, trying to find something to say that would have helped him when Jess died. Nothing but an annoying little voice saying time comes to mind. It's gonna be hard, but they will make it. They always do.

Sammy doesn't tell that to Dean, though. He isn't ready yet. And neither is Sam to vocalize the words.

We are gonna be okay because we always do. And the dead bodies end up like frightening memories and nothing else.

That would sound too cold, like most truths for hunters. If Sam says those words, it becomes real. Not even the bloodstained picture of murder is stronger than words of farewell. Besides, you were his best friend. He had to recompose and convince himself that everything would be okay before he helped Dean. For once, he had to be the brother who shut all the turmoil in to take care of the other

“I'm sorry, Dean.”

And then, Sam does the only thing that he could think of as useful for making the ache bearable. He hugs his big brother.

Dean struggles to get away from the hold, even with every fiber of his being screaming to remain there. “Let me go! Sam, I'm serious. Fucking let me go!”

“It's gonna be okay, Dean.”

“Let me go, Sammy! Now!”

“You are not alone, Dean. I'm here. She will be okay, too.”

“Let me go! Let me go! Let me go!”

Until he finally gives in, collapsing in Sam's arms like that little kid in Kansas who didn't want to cry in front of his dad after seeing his mom get killed.

There is blood on Sammy’s favorite shirt now, but he doesn’t care. He just tightens his embrace around Dean while his brother is lost into racking sobs. 

His grief is just as expansive as Dean’s, their ragged souls laced with a sickening kind of sweetness that can only show up when someone you love needs help. It squirms and crawls in their guts to make a home that sticks. It’s their tiny comforts— the good feelings always show up in defiance of the ache like a plant growing on concrete. They just have to get the energy to look for them.

Everything is still the way you left it in Dean's bedroom. He didn't put your clothes away. You left your book on the shelf and kept your perfume in the wardrobe. Your pillow is still scrambled as if you had left for a couple of minutes to grab a cup of water and would soon come back to snuggle up to him. Well, it could always be from the fact that he's holding onto that piece of cotton for dear life. If he had long nails, his floor would be a complete mess now.

He's glaring at the wall, mind trying to come up with ways to cope with the growing ache in his whole body. Yes, the books and poets and films speak fondly about heartbreak, but he already threw the last glimpses of his bruised heart on the fire, burning with your body to the point no one could say it was ever in his chest to begin with. What could he do? There's always a way for the Winchesters. If Dean thinks hard enough, maybe he can defeat death. Maybe he can have you back.

Dean puts the pillow away after another sniff. The smell of your pepper shampoo is almost fading — he shouldn't have hugged it. Nonetheless, the green-eyed hunter focuses on coming up with ideas, and it's a stupid, humanly behavior when his mind goes to what desperate people usually seek.

Dean was never a pious man. The fact his mother died while angels were too busy watching over him to help her didn’t do it any good. Yet in stolen moments like these, he, like most humans, would bear his soul in a peace offering to all the holy things he doubted. The Winchester never prayed for himself, though. Who would answer his cry for help? He never deserved to be saved. So, he put his hands together and closed his eyes for who he cared about. As the Layla woman who told him to have faith or Sammy as something scandalous happened. It was rare, but Dean did that sometimes. He used to hope someone was listening. He doesn't pray anymore, not even now. Because he knows someone is listening, and he doesn't care.

Can an empty room seem crowded? Yes, when touch-starving grief is piled inside, begging to be seen. Why can't he allow himself to feel it? Why can't he cry? Why can't he just stop using anger as a comfort? Dean doesn't know. It used to be easier to cry before. He'd say he's lost his emotions, but the all-consuming anger and his ferocious barks to keep the hurt is burning proof he isn't yet.

Y/N died, and it's his fault. Y/N died, and it's his fault. Y/N died, and it's his fault.

His nostrils are opening, the wrath that swaths him as comfortable as his own skin. It’s not natural enough that he doesn't feel the burn, and you know he's going to break again. Your Dean doesn't break easily, but when he does, it's in a million little pieces that he wouldn't allow people to help pick them up. He’d rather shove them under the bed with his childhood monsters or bruising his hands as he exasperatedly tries to get them all by himself. You know he's going to shift into a storm and start breaking things. You know it's a temporary morphine, and the sickness will remain in the morning.

That's the incentive you need to try harder, to flash yourself into this plane of existence long enough to be seen. You force every fragment of yourself and light and whatever other pieces you are made of now to appear. To be heard. To show Dean he isn't all by himself again.

An image starts glitching in front of him. It’s rapid enough for Dean's reaction to come as a frown and his hand to snake around to the gun at the hem of his pants. 

And then, he blinks and a heart-stopping joy hits him. He can't believe the unbreakable heaven that he's being blessed with. Every feeling that should be burrowed under his skin is fighting to come to the light, and God, he wants to. For the first time, he doesn't want to hold back because what was trying to come together finally is you.

You. You are standing right before his own green eyes. There is a soft look on your face. It’s laced with that pretty smile that’s always spread happiness to him as well. You are here, standing in his room, clean clothes and blood in your veins. Guts inside your body! He never imagined he'd be happy to think that.

Is this his heart? Oh God, it is. And it's beating. No, no. It's racing. His heart is working again and now he almost falls on his knees. The pain was never able to break him, but he had forgotten how strong happiness could be. He's relieved.

Dean's eyes burn when he looks at you. Maybe it’s because he’s too shocked to even blink or perhaps it is all the tears that were flowing. Who cares? That man would allow his entire body to collapse in flames if the smoke signaled you back home. 

He takes a few steps, having the nerve to touch you — probably the most daring thing he has ever done. He is ready for you to dissipate, for that to be a dream, anything. And you don’t. You remain there. You don’t leave him too. Your usually warm body is gelid, but Dean doesn't care. It's an honest warning, yet he's happy to ignore those for once. You're here. 

“Dean, I—“ Your voice. It's your voice saying his name. He recognizes the importance of a name now. For a brief moment, he's confused. What the fuck is happening? You purse your lips and Dean chortles in dismay, unable to discern his inner state of being. “I don't know what to say.”

“I thought I had lost you. I was so fucking scared, Y/N. I thought you were gone for good.” He's found the words for you, exhibiting his vulnerability so quietly. Your entire soul feels it— it's not true what they say. You don't stop feeling when you are dead. You start to feel everything deeper because after leaving your meatsuit, all that is left is your soul. And what's a soul but the patchwork of emotions? “I thought you'd never come back again. That I'd have to go on without you. I'm so sorry. It was my fault. I should have saved you.”

“No, Dean. Don't start self-loathing and all that. It wasn't your fault. What happened to us could've happened to any hunter. And if it happened to me, there is a reason for it.”

“A reason for you to be ripped apart?” He scoffs at your belief of fate. You always had a graceful heart in you, even after you met Chuck. 

“I'm back, right? I told you I'd always be with you, and I'm here. Always.” You intertwine your fingers, and he watches your hands for a little while. While it’s difficult for him to grasp anything but pain nowadays, he accepts the rush of joy in his chest. Dean looks up, and you're still here, big eyes offering him a loving gaze. “I'm not going to leave you. You're never going to suffer by yourself again. I promise.”

He kisses you, and it feels like your emotions have finally found a perfect body to rest in when yours is a little bit tired — a place to call home. He kisses you, and everything is worth it. Because he kisses you. And you kiss him back.

Dean Winchester is a marvelous hunter. He should know that the cold his tongue experiences in your mouth while you two make out ferociously isn't quite right. You should feel fervid, and you are warm in every way of being but skin. He should pay attention to that. He should stop trying to make you come alive with love. Still, he can't bring his rational side to care. That man was always guided by emotion, anyway. What could matter more than you on his arms? Worries could be postponed because you did what no one else ever could.

You came back to him.

Leave a comment and reblog. Feedback is magic! Check my masterlist ♡

Dean's sweetheart: @akshi8278 (dean taglist open)

Hunter: @demonhunterbarbie @bi-danvers0 (spn taglist open)

Pond Taglist: @aprofoundbondwithdean @manawhaat @thing-you-do-with-that-thing @nichelle-my-belle @notnaturalanahi @deanscarlett @whispersandwhiskerburn @roxy-davenport @impala-dreamer @frenchybell @for-the-love-of-dean @mysupernaturalfics @jelly-beans-and-gstrings @fiveleaf @deansleather @whywhydoyouwantmetosaymyname @waywardjoy @mrswhozeewhatsis @imadeangirl-butimsamcurious @kayteonline @supernatural-jackles @wevegotworktodo @deantbh @babypieandwhiskey @wi-deangirl77 @sinceriouslyamellpadalecki @chaos-and-the-calm67 @memariana91 @plaidstiel-wormstache @chelsea-winchester @becs-bunker @writingbeautifulmen @supernaturalyobessed @castieltrash1 @lucibae-is-dancing-in-hell

@ohwritever @ruined-by-destiel @inmysparetime0 @winchester-writes @evilskank-inthemegacoven @maraisabellegrey @faith-in-dean @winchestersmolder @bennyyh @clueless-gold @deanwinchesterxreader @melbelle45 @4401lnc @there-must-be-a-lock @just-another-winchester @canadianjelly @emoryhemsworth @cas-backwards-tie @canadianspnhunter @mostly-shawn @sierra-grace1227 @firefly-in-darkness @flamencodiva @emilyshurley @deanwanddamons @kalesrebellion @ellewritesfix05 @idreamofplaid @emptycanvasposts