#warning for tag rant / sad feels incoming

[jayswing101]

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[shittyelfwriter]

ALRIGHTY here we are at weeks three and four for the santa clauses series! I did not rewatch a second time because genuinely, these melted my brain. anyway, lets get into it below the cut!

So apparently according to the tsc tag, episode 3 that I missed last week is a sort of filler episode? OH BROTHER REALLY

Normally I would not complain bc I miss old format, 20-23 episode series but because I know this Isn't That? DREAD. how are you going to plot well and good in 7-8eps if some are filler? that is just SO condensed, my guy

Counterpoint to people who were sad about it but: I thought the teen romance was annoying and I'm GLAD they ended it even JUST for a bit (it will come back to haunt again, trust. It’s a disney series ffs.) Whoever is writing this needs to ask a teen about how they talk nowadays. This is not it.

I also think we're driving the whole "Buddy is terrible at everything" punchline WAY past its breaking point. Which I would argue was last season entirely, but. At the very latest, last episode with how heavy on cringe it was. Yes, EVEN for kids/teens.

Again, they are not antagonizing Magnus Antas enough for me to hate him. waaaaay too funny to be a villain. I can't take him seriously and DON'T want to

The way that Noel keeps sideyeing the Betty cutout as if to say "do you see this shit?" during his brunch with the Clauses SENT me tbh. That's bernelle coded and I love it

I do not know why Disney gets OFF on the Clauses being absolutely inept parents but I wish they would stop

SHOUTOUT JUDY OMG JUDY'S ACTRESS THAT’S JUDY JUDY IS HERE YOU GUYS (SCREAMINGGGG)

LOVING the exterior shots of the workshop and Elfsburg. As someone who has POURED over all available screenshots from the movies of those I am LIVING for new angles (even though I do NOT think bernelle would live that close to the Workshop, but it doesn't seem like Betty and Noel can POOF like Bman and Elle can (and do))

I don't know why there are TWO instances of a "misspoken turn of phrase" in this episode but neither were funny and TWO OF THEM was REALLY bad

CHUBBY BUNNY DID NOT EXIST THAT LONG AGO. NOT IN MAGNUS ANTAS' TIME. THAT WAS AN INTERNET FAD LESS THAN TEN YEARS AGO. WHAT ARE WE DOING DUDE. WHAT ARE THESE WRITERS ON (it's not good, I don't want some)

Crossing guard callback? For what? (okay, shrug I GUESS dot meme)

Why does this specific franchise always have to make EB SO WEIRD. WHY. Nothing about this is funny it's just off-putting. Just like the previous EB flirting with Carol's MARRIED MOM in tsc3

This Carol and La Befana scene was actually very good. LOVE it when they actually just let the characters be HONEST with each other. Women supporting women core. Even if Carol's reason for being mad at her was really shallow and obviously stems form Carol's lack of identity as Mrs. Claus because they just cannot wrap that plot point from last season up.

THE LETTERS DEPARTMENT. It looks dope but HATE the explanation for it. Half assed as hell. WARNING! Rant incoming: like from what I know a LOT of postal services have little lore stories about how they get the letters to Santa. WHY COULDNT WE JUST SAY THERE ARE AGREEMENTS BETWEEN SANTA AND OTHER ADULT PEOPLE WHO KEEP THE SPIRIT ALIVE FOR OTHERS AS WELL? Why is this series so obsessed with making everything only powered by magic and never by others (yes, humans) who want to keep the spirit alive as well? It feels like magic is being used as an "explain it all away" crutch narratively. Even in season 1, the "solution" to mass consumerism wasn't for people to be kind to each other and do little things to keep the magical parts of Christmas alive, it was to show the world that magic was real. Season 2 so far, the answer to everything is also just magic. I'm hoping that maybe the B plot with Kris will touch on this. Because as it stands right now, it feels like the writers are talking out of both sides of their mouth. Commercial Christmas is bad, but Kris is a loser for having a Santa theme park. Like?? Homogenization of Christmas is the Big Bad at large, but also up at the Pole they are trying to find ways to do the same thing to be "current". CHRISTMAS IS MULTIFACTED. It is both secular and religious! That is OKAY, I don't even think "woke" people are arguing about that. Sheesh.

Can't believe I'm micro rambling IN my ramble post. New achievement unlocked omg

The way Magnus Antas picks up on modern slang so quickly practically puts Scott to shame. Good for him

AGAIN, the misturn of phrase jokes. DEAD. Not funny. STOP

If they are going to make Sandra so op that she can just Wanda Maximoff chaos magic "I just say something when I'm mad and it happens, anything I want with no negative impact on me" I will not find that swag. That is in fact Mary Sue territory, lads

Sandra's little outburst @ La Befana was giving magical nepo baby for a moment there. Oof. "Too bad I'm just naturally more skilled than you even though I'm new and you've been a witch forever" girl SHUT. UP. You are like a little baby. Also that is so mad disrespectful like no WONDER La Befana is wanting you to slow tf down. You fly off the handle WAY to easily and we ALL know you lose control when you do! Okay loose cannon! Werk!

Riley. Girl. "we never see each other" you were just up at the Pole?? Like. OFTEN?? This is so stupid of a breakup but they are teenagers so go off kids, be dysfunctional or what have you. Rah rah, as Jack would say

Episode four now, lord help us. God has cursed me for my (loving this one Christmas movie series) hubris and my work (watching it's hellish series spin off) is never finished

"Reversing a transformation is never a guarantee" what is this La Befana? the Sims? Sounds like transformation ray odds. Magic is not THAT unpredictable, even by in-universe logic

CURTIS-ITIS!??? CURTIS FUCKING EXPLODED??

ARE YOU SO FUCKING FR RN. SO BERNARD IS MARRIED TO A SENIOR CITIZEN AND CURTIS. FUCKIN VAPORIZED?? FROM STRESS? WHAT'S NEXT? Lemme guess, Judy joined the circus. Quintin is a crypto investor or works for Tesla. WHAT ARE WE D O I N G

Not Scott moving the scissors like he's afraid Buddy will shank him or others?? SIR

SANDMAN AHHHHHHHHHH HELLO SIR /POS :D

So they just con him? As though that's a long term solutio-- OH MY GOD NOT SCOTT USING SANDMAN'S SAND ON SANDMAN HIMSELF?? that's ILLEGALE?? According to tsc3 lore: "We legendaries can't use magic on each other?" I am so bewildered by the level of retcon occurring before my very eyes at BREAKNECK speed

Sandra doesn't need magic she needs THERAPY for her ANGER ISSUES bruh. Damn. She doesn't need a rage room (in someone's house too I might add? okayyyy) she needs to learn to process like a normal human being wtf

Scott being able to look like his normal self whenever he wants and they just didn't tell him? For like. 25 years? Like its clear that by the series standards, the elves think he's a total moron. But it pendulums hard and fast between "haha funny joke" and "damn they really think he ain't shit, huh"

Edie being a fashion diva is such a serve she's grown on me this season ngl

"I had to teach him how to do all the Legendaries jobs" Scott I know you're waffling, absolutely FUMBLING but what the FUCKKKKK is that excuse??? What's Cal going to do? Be EVERY Legendary? TERRIBLE AWFUL HATE IT UNINSPIRED. Not to mention, SOME OF THE OTHER LEGENDARIES MIGHT NOT TAKE THAT NEWS WELL. Some might even feel THREATENED

"The man I die for in my sleep every night" UM? Noel? You okay there bud? Holy heck

THE PURPLE JACKET IS SWAG AND SCOTT IS A HATER. HE CANNOT SEE THE VISION

Do you guys think according to this new lore Edie made Jack's suit? because me thinks PERHAPS

Magnus Antas is kind of popping off, damn. Like I think if the gnomes hadn’t given him MAJOR delusions of grandeur and an ego trip, he could have stayed totally a vibe. But stop giving the Santas snow powers and reconning Jack holy SHIT dude. First Scott now him? HATE IT

The way they made Scott and Cal look when "invisible" is Not a Good Look heck. Its like a bad picsart filter

These Scott visions. I get why, its through the Santa magic, right? But dang its corny

So Scott knows Magnus Antas is back now. Okay. They got away from him. Lost visual on Olga, have a bad feeling she somehow sneaked into the sleigh. Weird cliffhanger but EVERY episode has been like that so far

Final thoughts: I feel like they're definitely trying to make this season take itself less seriously, but I feel like the trade off is that the writers are taking too many liberties for diversions from source material and are therefore, losing the plot entirely and retconning movie lore at will and convenience. Tl;dr, it's messy. Concepts are fun until things just become so irreverent they fall apart or lean into entirely unfunny territory. Which is just a hallmark of T*m All*n brand humor, tee em, but you know.

It feels like this series is doing everything and nothing. It wants woke points, but immediately doubles back and makes fun of those same things. It wants us to feel empathy for these characters, and immediately makes them insufferable. I am so confused as to what the takeaway is supposed to be. It all feels so poorly executed--the series retcons itself constantly, not to mention the movies. I want it to be fun, and to take it at surface value, but if you know literally anything about the movies, that becomes a challenge to do. I'm just so confused dude.

I will be shocked if this gets a third season. Truly.

Also, I miss Betty too, Noel. Wish this whole season was about HER shenanigans, instead.

So. See you all next week then?

[sadurbanwerewolf]

Welcome Stranger

Hi, I'm Yan and this is a blog for posting art/lore for my oc Donnie. Please read the rules before you follow or send an ask. Note that english is not my first language, so there might be some spelling mistakes.

THE RULES/WARNINGS

This blog is 18+. Even though it probably won't be often or explicit, some nsfw content will be featured on this blog. By nsfw I mean sexual references and some kink content. So if you’re a minor or uncomfortable with this stuff, block me (respectfully).

No discrimination of any kind. Transphobia, homophobia, racism, ableism and other  kinds of hate speech or discrimination are not welcome here.

Be respectful towards me and others. Please understand that I am a real person behind the screen and I have other obligations beside this blog. Don’t start fights with me or people in the comment section.

I am a stranger to you. Please understand that I don’t know you personally. Please don’t send me “friendly” rude messages, trauma dumps, vents, rants about how much you hate/love something/someone or ask me for irl advice.

Don’t be too vulgar. Even though slight nsfw is allowed, explicit stuff is crossing the line. I don’t want to see porn of any kind or hear how much you want to impregnate my character. I also don’t like when people swear too much.

Don't send romantic/sexual asks about Donnie's beast form. Base and hybrid are fine but flirting with a dog is a bit too much for me.

This is not an omegaverse blog.

OOC or // means out of character.

Don’t repost my art. Reblogs are totally welcome, but reposting my art without credit, claiming it’s yours, using it for nft/ai, using it to harass others is not allowed.

Put warnings in tags when making fanart. I get uncomfortable too, so if your art includes things that are upsetting for me, please include appropriate tags. If you don’t want your art to be reblogged by me, please put something like ‘Yan/Donnie don’t reblog’ in the tags.

I will update the rules if needed, so check them from time to time.

Things that make me uncomfortable: self harm, suicide, verbal abuse, pregnancy, cannibalism, explicit gore

About the world

The world is inspired by the game series Coffee Talk, you can feel free to ask questions that reference the games. It takes place in a modern day nonspecific European country (I like the aesthetic of romanticized pictures of NYC or LA but I’m European so I don’t know a lot about America). 

About Duncan

Donnie Caddel

25, he/they, incubus/werewolf, bisexual, single

He initially was a DnD/Pathfinder character but I much prefer this modern au. I still will post art of him as a fantasy Barbarian.

Personality traits: sad, sweet, soft, playful, kind, affectionate, patient

Background:

Donnie lives alone in an apartment that once belonged to his mother. She moved in with her boyfriend and left the place for Donnie to inhabit. His income mainly comes from his work as a barista at a rock bar. He also releases his music on streaming platforms and produces pornography of himself for subscription service. He has a passion for music, especially rock, metal and indie stuff. He has several friends from college with whom he still keeps contact. They sometimes gather together to play ttrpgs or party. However, gatherings like that are seldom, so he feels pretty lonely since he spends most of his time with customers or by himself. When going outside, he likes to dress in a gothic-esque maner. At home, he wears whatever is clean in his closet, and of course, he dresses formally for his barista job. He is fond of cooking and tries to eat healthy. He very rarely consumes meat, but he does eat fish and sea products regularly. Donnie struggles with depression, however he’s getting better since he started his medication. He has a pretty good grip on how to control his transformations, but when he gets overwhelmed by emotions it’s much harder for him to control it. He only transforms into his beast form outside of the town.

In short: lives alone, barista/musician/sex worker, lonely, likes cooking, pescetarian, depressed.

[fxckn-sxck-fr]

hiiiiiiiiii i just wanted to let you know i really appreciate your writing!! its really hard to find yandere dick grayson content that isnt yandere batfam, your like a godsend fr!! cant wait for part 4 of your older brother series!!!!

First of all, THANK YOU SO MUCH. Part 4 is cooking, and I’m really glad people are enjoying what I like to call the “slow burn yandere” type of story. Not gonna lie, I thought you guys would hate it cuz of how slow it is, but yeah!! I love each and every one of you that decide to give my little story a shot.

Second of all, RANT INCOMING, BECAUSE YOU SAID SOMETHING SO TRUE.

NOTICE!! What I’m about to say should never hinder your enjoyment of yandere Batfam content. Please keep reading/writing fics you enjoy, and never let anyone shame you for doing so!!

But anyways, you’re so right that it hurts. I don’t know if solo yandere Dick content is as scarce as it seems, or if it all really is hidden under the yandere Batfam fics. Either way, I’ve finally realized I should just block the yandere Batfam tag so I can filter it all out (cuz I’m a responsible Tumblr user who controls their own internet experience instead of demanding people to change their writing for me). It’s kinda sad that it’s come to that, cuz I feel like I’m missing out on some amazing work, but alas…

As someone who’s into platonic yandere content, the yandere Batfam just doesn’t do it for me, cuz A.) a lot of it depends on fanon, and I’m a number one fanon detester (you’re well within your right to enjoy fanon, just don’t make any “hot takes” about a character if you’re going purely on fanon interpretation, PLEASE—), and B.) it’s not fucked up enough, GRRRR!!! This point is honestly a problem with platonic yandere content in general. People have this weird notion that platonic yanderes are tamer than romantic yanderes and it’s SO SAD. A yandere can carve your initials into their skin or leave the dismembered bodies of your enemies on your front porch without any romantic undertones to it!!

Also, anytime I do give a yandere Batfam fic a chance, it sometimes becomes painfully obvious that the writer has a favorite (nothing wrong with that, I just ask that you tag/put a warning of that in the description), and it’s never Dick or Tim, SOBS. I sometimes wonder if it’s cuz they wanna write solo platonic yandere content of their fav, but feel like they gotta put themselves in the yandere Batfam box? I don’t know, that might be me going crazy.

Honestly, the only genuine critique I have for yandere Batfam writers is that a lot of them use each individual character tag. And I totally get it!! They have a chance of reaching a larger audience that way, and they definitely deserve each like and reblog they get cuz they’re writing what makes them happy!! But it would be really nice if some of them considered only using the yandere Batfam tag/tag variants, especially as someone who uses the yandere Dick Grayson x reader tag for legit yandere Dick Grayson x reader content (I want a shot at reaching a larger audience too, SOBS).

Anyways. I’m really sorry that was long winded. I don’t get to talk about my personal thoughts and feelings that often, so this just gave me an opportunity to shit it all out. Y’all will send me a simple ask and get word vomit in return, I’M SO SORRY, RAAAAAAA.

[bisexualbuck]

fic writers spend a fuckton of time writing fics, the only thing that we ask in return is that you comment

[a-very-fond-farewell]

my turmbl ads are starting to get triggering. it’s really annoying.

[akilah12902]

Creature Feature: Leshen

Don’t go into the woods. Harm no trees.

The leshen, inspiration clearly drawn from the Leshii/Leshy of Slavic mythology, is our creature today.

Check the tags for your warnings and find more below the cut!

We never hunt in these woods. Never. Even if it means the whole village starves. – Mulliver, ealdorman of Hoshberg in lower Aedirn Leshens dwell in dense, primeval woods. Fiercely territorial creatures, they hunt with stealth and cunning as their only companions. They use their inborn magic to control the plants and animals within their territory – and so, when stalking them, half the battle is merely getting near enough to strike. Leshens old enough to earn the appellation "ancient" wield advanced skills and tactics that make them particularly dangerous.

Witcher 3 Bestiary

Humans have long been fascinated by the wild wood — living in its vicinity was the source of tales about creatures ferocious and benign, friendly and hostile. As they started to settle deeper and deeper into the forests, respect for the unknown diminished. Lumber was gathered, stone abodes were built. As the pestilence that was humanity grew bigger, so did the forest's and its inhabitants' wrath. At the heart of the forest lies a secret. In a place born of darkness and primeval nature, resides a mighty and terrifying guardian. Immune to human steel, it is believed the leshen is nature's way of protecting the forest and the animals that live within it from the threat humans started to pose upon their ravaging expansion deeper into the lands. Along with the animals it commands, the leshen became a force to be reckoned with. Sometimes worshipped, this creature can heal other woodland animals and summon nekkers or crows to protect the forest. Its attacks are slow, but deadly — be cautious not to get shackled by its underground roots.

A Witcher 3 Official Website Description

Please be warned, huge personal opinions rant incoming. Skip to the bolded allcaps “anyway” to skip the In The Heart Of The Woods quest info and my rant.

The most story-intensive Leshen encounter is bullshit. Yes, I said it. The writers managed to create plenty of other fairly difficult choices, but in this one, they just completely cut off one of the endings without a genuine resolution and are pulling that ‘enforced tragedy and reminder thereof’ to try and make you feel SAD. Well fuck you, whoever came up with this, I would have been MORE SAD restricting every fucking person in this village to hunting with knives and only then if they manage to appease this monster and don’t get fucking killed on their first hunting trip because it doesn’t think they’re worthy. AND NO AMOUNT OF REFUSING TO DESPAWN DEAD BODIES SO THAT VILLAGERS ARE ETERNALLY CRYING OVER THE BODIES OF THEIR ELDERS KILLED BY THE GUY WE BACKED, BOOHOO, IS GOING TO CONVINCE ME OTHERWISE, AND NEITHER IS NOT GIVING ME THE OPTION TO FIGHT THE GUY WE’D BACKED OR REPORT HIM TO ANY OF OUR JARL FRIENDS FOR COMMITTING MULTIPLE MURDERS!!

Ahem.

We've offended him, Sven. The Woodland Spirit seeks revenge. This here is him saying we've strayed from the old paths. –Harald of Fayrlund Some monsters are so powerful local populaces begin worshiping them as gods. Such was the case with the leshen dwelling in the woods near the Skellige village of Fayrlund. The elders were absolutely convinced the monster watched over them by defending them from their enemies and training their hunters. The witcher had his doubts, however. Leshens are mean, self-serving creatures - and the ancient one living in the woods near Fayrlund was surely no exception. Geralt knew freeing the villagers from their supposed protector's grasp would be no easy task - if he decided to even try. The leshen known as the Woodland Spirit was so powerful as to have mastered the art of marking. This meant the monster had inserted his essence into one of the residents of Fayrlund. As long as this unfortunate soul remained alive and near the settlement*, the leshen would always be reborn near its lair. Yet even with the marked one eliminated, killing the leshen would be no easy task. The monster commanded the obedience of the denizens of the woods - it could thus call on wolves, ravens or even the trees themselves for help. Luckily, it had a weakness as well: it was vulnerable to fire, that born of the Igni Sign in particular. If Geralt lets it live: In the end, however, there never was a battle between Geralt and the Woodland Spirit. Geralt knew that the leshen was surely less benevolent than the elders thought - but he also knew killing it would do more harm than good. If Geralt kills it: The Witcher managed to kill the leshen, ending the murders terrorizing the woods around Fayrlund. Yet this did not mean the villagers' troubles were over...

That “training” they’re talking about? Yeah, that’s a very high chance of ending up dead for going hunting. And the Leshen takes offense for hunters using hunting tools other than, like, knives. Did none of the writers read The Lottery by Shirley Jackson?

On the other hand, the group who wants Geralt to kill the Leshen takes advantage of him being gone and the probable death of the Leshen to accomplish their real goal—that is, to slaughter the Elders and take over control of the village. And the game just ends the quest there. “Can’t attack this target”, the game says if you try to attack them. No option to tell anyone in authority about it. And the village is forever stuck with the bodies on the ground and people crying over them.

It’s bullshit.

* This should be alive OR near the settlement; one of the minor choices is whether to kill the marked one or just exile them from the village.

ANYWAY.

There are several more places where you can run into Leshens—there are at least two logging camps where the loggers were all slaughtered by angry Leshens, and a couple more Leshens you can find in big old woods. They can teleport in flights of crows and smoke and summon wolves to aid them in battle, and will often kill with sudden explosions of tree roots as well as with their claws or their summoned animals.

Use of Quen, Igni, relict oil, and bombs that cause fire damage are helpful; so too are Moon Dust bombs to keep them from disappearing. I believe Dimeritium Bombs can be used for this purpose as well.

[taperwolf]

Warning: old person rant incoming. The words "back in my day" may occur. Also, weird melancholy and self-pity.

I love thrift stores, though they can also come across as kind of sad — somebody donated this stuff, after all, and if you are, as I am, browsing to find interesting things, then somebody either lost interest in them — or died, and their heirs are dumping their treasures, all unknowing. Pawn shops give the same feel at times, though there the items up for sale were at least exchanged for money, but seeing a thing of beauty in a pawn shop speaks, at best, to a serious need for ready cash.

At any rate, I find over the last thirty years there's been one thing that's made thrift stores and pawn shops less fun. That thing, of course, is the rise of eBay. Not because interesting items get listed on eBay instead of being in the shops, though that certainly happens; heck, some of the thrift stores and pawn shops do the listings themselves.

No, the problem is this: a shop will get in some odd device that they're not used to dealing with. Let's say it's some electronic device of great use to a very narrow audience but useless to most. Back in my day (told you), they might try a little bit to figure out what it was, fail, and slap a $10 price tag on it. Now, however, they can look it up on eBay and erroneously conclude that the price an item is listed for in a worldwide marketplace of informed buyers is the price they should put on it in their tiny store catering to people wandering in off the street. To be fair, some discount that a little, but seldom enough.

But occasionally, places will still have no clue what they have, when the thing is obscure or specialized enough, or when it's a high-end version of a common item. That's how I spent $10 for a Fluke multimeter, for instance (the same model going for $135 on eBay right now), or $3 for an Arduino Uno starter kit that included a bunch of components including servos and a display. And yesterday I hit another.

This little guy is a Groovesizer MB. Groovesizer is a family of Arduino-based kit synthesizers; the MB (MultiBoard) was their biggest one. It's got traditional MIDI in and out, and both a 3.5mm and ¼" output jacks, and an ICSP header for reprogramming. There are seven different firmwares available, in varying states of ready-for-primetimeness, which all share a 32-step sequencer driving different sound engines. It's no longer for sale, but a Wayback Machine search shows that it sold for $168 as a kit.

I got it for $10. The little rubber feet on the bottom are missing, and the pots need to be cleaned, but otherwise it seems in fine condition; it came with the Delta firmware, a granular synth based on the Auduino project.

There was also at the same shop a giant project, an automatic glockenspiel, with five feet of tuned bars struck from underneath by solenoids. The box was plain pine, with the controls hastily labeled in sharpie, but it was still a thing of beauty — a lot of time and effort must have gone into building it. And here's the melancholy again — that, and the Groovesizer I picked up, took effort and love to put together. What were they doing at a Goodwill? At best, the builder lost interest; at worst, they're dead and their survivors neither knew nor cared what they'd left behind.

My wife would probably murder me in my sleep if I dragged a 5'x2'x3' wooden box into our overstuffed apartment, and it was priced at $75 besides, so I had to leave it there; I was heartened to see, as I left the store, that a fellow who'd watched me pull the thing out and geek over it had picked it up and was manhandling it towards the register.

[marvellovegalore]

It’s okay.

Erik Stevens/Killmonger.

Requested imagine: 

1. I request a Killmongerx reader where Erik had a GF who dumped him because of his increasingly scary vengeance (one night she thought he was going to attack HER), but months later he shows up at her place, having been given another chance at life and now working with Tchalla... 

2. Love your stories they are so well written and vivid in description. Can I request a Erik x reader where Erik lives and has been redeeming himself with his family and he asks T’Challa to go to the US to take one person back to Wakanda—-the girl he loved but didn’t treat right die to his issues...

Note: This was one of the first requested imagines, Anon(s) I am so sorry for taking so long to get this imagine out, I do hope you like it but I could have done better. Love and Wakanda Forever x

Warning: Strong Language, Violence Themes

The rays of sun above his head cause his eyes to flutter open. He exhales and rubs his eyes. He sits up and scratches his chest, the pads of his fingers rubbing through the ridges of his numerous scars. He yawns and swings his feet over the bed.

He stands, stark naked, and enters his bathroom. He gets himself ready with a mixture of anxiety and determination in his heart. He bites his lip as he looks at himself in the mirror, seeing the eyes of a man in the midst of a emotional and political deradicalisation. The fragments of his irises lay abandoned in his pupils. He’s slowly putting back the pieces of his view.

The last year of his change has come with unparalleled hardship for Erik Stevens, or as his family calls him - N’Jadaka. The things he’s done to this nation are irreversible. It only took him a couple of days to scar the once untouched land. He’s revealed an ugly in the world that many Wakandans couldn’t bear or accept. He was only accepted by a small number of people in the nation, but he is slowly being accepted into the society.

He is more than grateful. It’s the first time he’s been given a chance. The first time since her.

“Erik,” she questions quietly, the tired lilt to her voice floats through the quiet and brightly lit apartment.

He sighs and leans against the closed door. He lifts his head and walks into the living room. He walks past the couch and she gasps when her eyes register the blood stained clothes clinging to his body.

“Erik, babe, what happened?” She strikes up from the couch and goes to stand in front of him.

He huffs out and moves her aside with a slick movement of his arm. She crashes against the wall but the worry and curiosity compel her to follow him. Following him into the dark seems to be something she does quite a lot, the bedroom is black and the dim light from the corridor is barely any help to either of them.

“Erik? Erik?” She steps slowly and carefully on the floor, her bare feet making a slightly weird noise on the wood. “Just talk to me babe. I promise I won’t judge...” her voice is soft. “Baby, I just want to know. that you weren’t doing what we discussed you wouldn't do - anymore.”

Erik exhales, feeling a minuscule tug in his heart - wanting him to just rant and tell her the truth about his fears and needs. He just wants to give himself up to her, sometimes.

“Please Erik.” The lilt of her voice is soothing to him, and he almost lets her find him in the dark, but he moves away as her hands almost grasp him.

“Damn, Y/N, can’t a nigga just breathe?” He growls loudly, she squeals but bites her tongue - holding back her full blown scream.

She sighs, feeling the regular attitude and bad boy behaviour scent masking any clean particles on her room. “Erik,” she pauses and sighs, “Please baby, just talk to me calmly. I just want to understand what you’ve been doing until five in the morning.” She shrugs.

“Y/N,” a growl punctuates her name, this time taking five steps to her, she understands the direction he’s taking to her, hearing the ring around his necklace clashing against his dog tag violently.

“Erik, I just-“

“Nah, you just talk too much. You know exactly what I was doing until five in the damn morning. Stop trying to patronise me.” He breath beats against her face, her body shrinks as he talks down on her. “I ain’t your baby. And I ain’t your goddamn man, Y/N.”

Her back feels frozen against the wall of the bedroom. She swallows and her eyes focus on his clenched fists, each one poised tightly besides her face.

“Fuck that!” He slams both fists against the wall, almost shattering her eardrums.

She jumps, startled. Her heart pounds against her chest violently. She hyperventilates and her fingers cover her mouth, muffling her panicked breaths. She inhales. His eyes bore into her, not an ounce of compassion floats in his eyes.

He stalks off into the bathroom, the noise of the dog tag and the ring clashing against one another repeatedly drags her into a sunken place. A sly, tiny tears drops out of her eye. She wipes it quickly and forcefully pushes her body off of the wall.

“Erik!” She storms up to the closed door of the bathroom. “Open the fucking door.” She bangs on the door, any care for how much noise she is making goes out of the window. “Open up, Erik.” Her fingers wrap around the door handle and she pushes it down. The door doesn’t budge.

“You need to leave Erik.” She mumbles as her efforts don’t result in success. She lets her forehead fall against the door, her pants audible to both of them. “Just go Erik, go away from me. I don’t want you here.” She whispers.

The sadness in her voice makes him bite his lip as he watches himself in the mirror. Looking into the eyes of a man in the verge of breaking.

The process of personal reconstruction and social rehabilitation have been long and tedious for Erik. He’s had to learn that despite what his mother had said during his late childhood - he wasn’t always right.

He’s learnt from the elders of Wakanda as they have from him. He’s learning to adapt and cooperate with others.

“N’Jadaka.” T’Challa’s strong voice calls out from behind him.

At first he doesn’t respond, not entirely accustomed to the name, but as soon as T’Challa places his hand on his shoulder Erik almost jumps into a fight stance. His swift movement knocks his cousin’s hand off of his shoulder.

“N’Jadaka, calm down, it’s just me.” Erik’s shoulders slacken and he sighs. “How are you?” T’Challa looks at his cousin, his arms behind his back.

“I’m cool.” Erik nods, his own arms behind his back. “I’m cool.” He licks his bottom lip. He looks up at T’Challa.

Not much of the animosity was left between the two. T’Challa forgave Erik easily, understanding that as he had mentioned before - he was a monster of their own creation. Erik was unable to understand and accept why his cousin kept him alive. He would have rather died than face the consequences of his poor actions.

But he’s alive. That’s it.

“I’ve been thinking about the outreach program.” Erik straightens himself up, a serious tone washing his voice. T’Challa nods and puts his full attention on his cousin. “I’ve been thinking that I can extend my abilities back home.”

T’Challa’s eyes widen and he raises his head - his interest piqued. “Okay.” He nods.

“My abilities will be better suited back in the US. I can get across to the people there. I’m from there.” He purses his lips, and then sighs. “I got unfinished business there.” He bows his head for a split second and looks back at T’Challa, square in the eye.

“Of course,” T’Challa smiles tightly, trying not to show Erik his enthusiasm at his initiative. “I’m happy that you’re excited to do something with the outreach programme that you inspired.” He places a hand on Erik’s shoulder.

“Yeah, I have to contribute, don’t I?” Erik shrugs, a gleaming smirk stretching his lips as he and T’Challa walk to the council room.

The feeling of rain on his skin is not registering in his brain. He looks up at the windows of her home. The lights are on and it gives him a pang of nostalgia.

A sliver of a smile graces his lips. He watches for any movement in her windows, but nothing happens - no shadows go past her windows.

He tilts his head, his eyes glancing side to side, watching the cars drive on the road. As his foot hits the road as the flow of traffic slows - he sees her. His eyes widen and he glides across the road, she approaches her own home. He barely registers his travel to her.

She juggles her bags to her left hand and uses her right hand to fish out her keys. She struggles to balance the keys and drops them. He speeds up his walking and stops behind her.

She picks up her keys and in the process drops her bags. She growls and huffs out in frustration.

He picks up her bags from the ground, slowly to not startle her.

But she squeals, she bursts into a spin to look at her assailant. Her wide eyes are highlighted by the headlights of the incoming traffic.

A gasp escapes her lips.

She looks just the same as the day they met. Except for the fact that it was raining and she didn’t have the eyes of a heartbroken and scorned woman.

“Aye, you dropped something.” He yells to the girl with one earphone in.

She turns, a suspicious expression greeting him back. She narrows her eyes, stops and whips her dreads behind her back.

“You talking to me?” She quips, a manicured hand coming to her chest in question.

He nods, speechless at the beauty in front of him. But he shakes out of the trance. “Yeah, I’m talking to you. And since you stopped, I’d like to ask for your number.” He throws out his most charming smile, bearing his teeth out into the sunny day.

She chuckles, her teeth gleaming under the sun rays. “Ha, good one,” she backs away from him slowly, the chocolate of her eyes spreads over his body as she sizes him up and down. “But no-“

“Just let me get your number, and if you ain’t feeling me like that - just block my number and I’ll bounce.” The mischievous look on his face makes her giggle.

And Erik finds it one of the most sublime views ever seen. Not even the sights of the ocean, the snowy mountains or of tropical flora can beat the sight of this woman - whose skin shines under the spotlight of the sun.

“Hey baby girl.” He winks at her, gripping her bags tightly.

She blinks. She gulps, and she stares.

Erik fears she’s frozen, he takes one step closer to her. She wakes out of her reverie as she sees that he’s closer to her.

“Get away from me!” She yelps and turns like a bird going into flight. “Stay away from me Erik Stevens.” She fumbles to find the right key to open her door, she does just as Erik climbs the stairs to her door. She slips in rapidly and shuts the door in his face.

“You’re going to have to let me though, baby girl, I got your stuff.” He feels the raindrops roll into his clothes, they drip through his scars.

The response is absolute silence from the other side of the door. Not one floorboard creeks, and not one light is turned off or on. It’s as if she’s disappeared into thin air.

But the door slams open and she pokes her head out, “Give me my bags.” Her tone is blistered with anger and betrayal.

Her raises his eyebrows, “Well you gotta let me in to get your bags.” He shrugs.

She tries to snatch them off of him, but she can’t as he steps away from the door. “Give them,” her lips barely move as she crosses her arms over her closed coat.

He shakes his head and steps back to the door, “Talk to me and I will.” He feels his face setting like stone, trying to convey the seriousness of his reappearance in her life.

“No!” She yelps out. “No, no, no!” She almost screams. A frustrated glare etches her face, and she reminds him of the people of Wakanda when they realised he was still alive. Angry.

“Just go, Erik. Take that shit with you and disappear from my life. Again.” She shuts the door, but he traps it with his foot. She shakes her head and closes her eyes. “Why are you back?” She huffs out, keeping her body weight against the door.

“I need to talk to you about... us.” He inhales slowly as he finishes.

She raises her eyebrows and nods, “There is no us, but okay. Continue.” She flicks her wrist.

“I want you to come and live with me.” His voice bursts out of his mouth after a long pause.

She stares at him, assessing the sincerity of his statement. And she bursts out laughing. The laughter that he hears completely breaks him.

He never in his wildest dreams thought a woman could do this to him. Laugh at him. Make him feel stupid. The only one to blame is him.

“Stop it.” She chuckles dryly. “Where? Huh? In a maximum security mental facility? Where the likes of Ted Bundy and the Zodiac killer’s ghosts will haunt me?” She smiles mockingly at him, and he feels like waste. “Huh, Erik?”

“I’ve changed.” His whisper breaks into the noise of the pouring rain and her light laughter. “I’ve really changed.” His bottom lip begins to quiver.

“Oh have you?” She smiles mockingly at him, her nod is one of disbelief.

He nods, sincerely. “I have, I promise you.” He purses his lips and places her shopping bags on the floor of her entryway.

“Your promises mean nothing to me, Erik Stevens.” She hisses, going to close the door but he stops it with his hands this time.

He shakes his head and pushes the door open - as softly as he can. “N’Jadaka.” He sighs, raindrops rolling into his eyes, but he doesn’t remove his hands from the door. “That’s my name. N’Jadaka. And with this name, comes a lot of change. And a new me.” He closes his lips quickly as the rain gets heavier and the raindrops almost fall into his mouth.

She scoffs but doesn’t make a move to shut the door again. “A new you?” She raises her eyebrows and he nods. “That means nothing to me. You caused me pain, you hurt me Erik!” She points at her chest, her irises on fire. “The last time I saw you, you almost hurt me physically!” She yells, her eyes glistening with tears, but the tears don’t fall.

“Y/N,” he barely feels it but he sees his change in perspective suddenly change. One by one, his knees drop to the ground. He doesn’t know if it’s the weight of his guilt and the heartbreak he himself is feeling, or if it’s the notion that the woman he loves won’t take him back - but he’s on his knees. And that’s all he knows.

“I need you.” He doesn’t know which are his tears on his face and which are raindrops, “Baby, I need you so much. I can’t be without you, I’m so, so sorry.” he chokes out. Her eyes widen in raw shock, and he himself cries harder at the fact that he’s just given up his deepest feelings. “I love you.” He sobs.

She bites her lip, willing the tears back. She’s unwilling to succumb to the pity and want in her heart. She can’t. He’s a madman.

“Erik stand up.” She mumbles, her lip quivering. She wipes her wet face and crouches down to his level.

“No, I can’t. Not until, you tell me that you at least forgive me.” His hands are intertwined and his voice is almost inaudible as he shivers under the pouring rain. “I’m so sorry - for all that I did to you.” He buries his head into his chest in shame.

Her own tears fall this time. She sniffles and hugs him. “We need to get out of this rain.” She whispers into his ear.

He lets her pull him inside. She shuts the door and turns back to him, watching as he hiccups in the corner of the small entrance.

“I accept your apology.” She whispers softly, a tear that streams down her face is wiped away quickly by her.

She crawls over to him and takes him into her arms.

He sobs into her chest. “I know you don’t forgive me. But give me some time, and I swear, I’ll be a better man to you.” He sniffles, his hand clutches her bottom of her top in desperation.

“It’s okay,” she strokes his dreads slowly, “It’s okay.”

[justyourcasuallysufferingdad]

As Long As It Takes

Chapters: 1 (you are here), 2

Summary: Thomas started taking medication for his anxiety. Virgil has some concerns.

Ships: Platonic LAMP (but hey if you’d like to read it as otherwise, go right ahead).

Warnings: Angst, fluff, medication, talk of medication. Let me know if I should add anything!

Word count: 2120

 Authors Notes: Hey look, I actually posted it! I’m super anxious (ha) about posting this since it’s the first fanfic I’ve ever written. I actually only ended up writing this thanks to @sandersstudies (check out their fics, they’re great!) making a good point, so, thanks! Oh, and sorry for the garbage. I might write another fic if I get an idea so if anyone likes this trash and would like to be added to the tag list for future Sanders Sides fics, feel welcomed to let me know!

It had already been a month since Thomas had begun taking his anti-anxiety medication – of which the three other sides approved of – but Virgil still felt the nauseating pit that had welled up in his gut when Thomas made the decision.

It’s not like he disagreed with it per se, in fact, Virgil was surprised that Thomas hadn’t done it earlier, what with Logan making that suggestion for years, and with Patton and Romans encouragement; but he couldn’t help but feel the ever-growing cold apprehension that was anxiety – not surprising, considering Virgil was that very emotion.

In fact, now that he thought about it, it might not be all that shocking that Thomas hadn’t started taking them earlier. Anxiety can often overtake logic, after all.

Virgil felt quite guilty, honestly, even though he couldn’t help the way he felt. He had prevented Thomas from potentially reaching goals all because of – what was it Thomas had said? Ah, that’s right; “Thoughts I create, questions I ask, fears I have. Nothing more.” Virgil was an inconvenience at best and a potent hindrance at worst, and in this case, he was the latter.

But could anyone blame him? No one knew what could happen if Thomas put himself out there, let alone take medication. What if it didn’t work? What if it only made things worse? What if Thomas was allergic to something in the pills and it killed him? Was that even possible? And Virgil, what would happen to him? Would he just disappear? And why… why had the others seemed so insistent on the matter? Hadn’t they all become closer after filming the Accepting Anxiety videos? Was it all fake? Did they really want him gone?

Virgil realised that perhaps that painful feeling in his gut, that bilious churn, was…hurt. Hurt at the thought that after spending years and years as the outsider, as the antagonist, and then finally feeling accepted and safe, happy even, that maybe it was all fake; like the plays Roman acted out.

He couldn’t see Patton falsifying such a thing, but what if he didn’t know the pun-loving dad figure as much as he thought?

Virgil sighed as he moved to get more comfortable on his bed, adjusting his headphones so they wouldn’t fall off. All these thoughts were causing a flutter of dread to rise in his chest. Usually, he would already be deep in a state of panic, but not this time. Probably the medication, he thought somewhat bitterly.

Sudden knocking at the door caused him to jump up, heart fluttering.

“Virgil!” A voice called. Patton. “C’mon down, kiddo, dinners ready!”

Maybe he could get out of it?

“I made your favourite!”

Darn, he couldn’t, lest he make the epitome of sunshine cry. He’s been avoiding them too much lately anyway, if he keeps this up they’ll start asking questions, and that’s what he needs least of all.

Sighing and rubbing his tired eyes, he stood and made his way to the door. He hesitated before finally opening it.

Dinner was an awkward affair, at least it was for Virgil. He sat silently, playing with his food as Roman and Logan fought over Thomas’ goals, the argument – sorry, conversation – from the video that day continuing into the mind palace, despite Thomas coming to a conclusion.

“What do you think, Sad’s So Raven?”

Virgil’s musings were interrupted by Roman.

“What?”

“Roman wishes to know your view on the issue, that is what Thomas is working towards,” Logan started, “which should be stability in not only income, but health as well, and not some elaborate fantasy built upon fiction.”

Roman gasped, offended, “Well I’m sorry that some of us can’t see the bigger picture, Grumblesaltskin.”

“As much fun as it is watching you two fighting, didn’t Thomas already figure that out?” Virgil asked with a raised brow.

“Virgil’s right!” Patton called, “There’s no need to fight; especially with the issue resolved.”

Logan rubbed his temple in frustration, “The issue may be resolved for now, but eventually one like it will arise once again. It’d be best for everyone to be agreement by then so that it can be dealt with efficiently.”

“I’m not saying I disagree with that,” Roman began, “but we shouldn’t just go through life following the same pattern day after day. Do you realise how boring that’d be? And what about reaching Thomas’ dreams, like the Broadway one?”

“I’ve already said that it’s ok to work towards aspirations, but the main focus must be health and income.”

Virgil felt his heart flutter as the argument continued, the noise and tension causing him to feel claustrophobic and anxious – shocker.

He looked up to see Patton staring at him with concern. He held his gaze for what felt like hours, but in reality, was mere seconds, before breaking the contact and glaring down at his plate.

Patton cleared his throat, gaining the attention of the other two, “Why don’t we talk about this later and watch a movie? We’ve been working really hard, after all; some of us more than others.” Due to Virgil staring at his plate, he didn’t notice Patton’s eyes flick towards him, nor Roman and Logan’s expressions of guilt.

“O-oh,” Logan stuttered awkwardly, “Yes, of course, it is always important to rest when needed.”

“Right!” Roman nodded.

Patton beamed as he swooped everyone’s plates up, humming and walking briskly to wash up.

As Logan and Roman made their way towards the couch, Virgil headed towards the stairs, praying that no one would notice.

“Where’re you going, Breaking Sad?

Damn.

He quickly pulled his hood over his head and turned to Roman, “Er, just to my room.”

“Don’t you want to watch a movie? You can pick!” Patton smiled as he walked out of the kitchen.

“No, um, I’m good. You guys have fun.” Virgil really didn’t need interaction right now, he’d only bring everyone down, anyway.

Once again, he turned to leave but was suddenly stopped when a firm hand landed on his shoulder, causing him to jolt in surprise. He turned to face the offender. Patton? How did he get their so fast?

Noticing Virgils’ unease, Patton loosened his grip, though it still remained.

A sad smile fell upon Patton's’ face, “What’s going on, kiddo?”

Virgil frowned, and licked his suddenly dry lips nervously, “Nothing’s going on.”

A snort drew his attention as his eyes darted to Roman, who was now standing in front of Virgil, with Logan slightly behind, but close.

“That’s rich.”

“Roman.” Patton warned.

“I’ve told you, I’m not the cutesy, wordsy side! Ok?” Roman turned to Virgil, “Somethings obviously going on and I’m… concerned.”

Virgil sighed and rolled his eyes, “Do I need to repeat myself? I said nothing’s- “

“Falsehood.” Logan, who was uncharacteristically quiet, interrupted, “As Roman stated, it’s obvious you’re in some form of distress. Sharing what may be burdening you could help to alleviate it.” Logan attempted to offer a comforting smile, but it turned out more as a grimace. He never was good with emotions.

Before Virgil could form a reply, Patton spoke, “Yeah, I mean, we’re family! You can tell us anything!”

Virgil's heart fluttered at that word. Family. They were family, right? He could talk to them? That’s what families were supposed to do. At least, that’s what Virgil though, though, his experience with a such a thing was near to nothing.

His thoughts, as they always did, quickly turned dark.

What if that was a lie? What if none of them are concerned? Do they really want to know what’s wrong? To talk to him? To have him around? What if they were just acting as if everything was normal until he finally disappeared because of that damn medication?

He felt his breathing quickly picking up. His heart rate increasing. That feeling of nausea returning and tunnel vision forming. Tears began to pick at his eyes, which he quickly blinked away. Oh no. Please no. Not a panic attack. Not now!

“Virgil.”

He gasped quietly as he eyes whipped to Patton.

Patton smiled softly, his grip tightening for a second as if to comfort. “It’s ok.”

Virgil stared. Stared and stared and stared. Until finally, he broke. He told them everything. About the medication, his concerns towards it. His fears that he’d vanish from the mind palace, from Thomas. About his fear of what would happen to Thomas or the other Sides if he was gone. About how the medication was making him anxious, but not at the same time, and how confusing and frustrating it was. He told them about his deep fears, the ones he never shared. How he was afraid that the acceptance was real. That none of the other three truly wanted him there. That they only said he was family, so they could have him on their side to better Thomas – which he wouldn’t disagree with, if it was to protect Thomas. The fear that they all intended to get rid f him with the help of the medication, which was why they were so insistent on it.

Throughout the sudden rant, Virgil did not once make eye contact with the other three, resolutely staring at the ground

At some point, he’s not sure when, but he sat down on the steps. It was only once Virgil finally finished speaking – and came back to the present – did he notice the warm tears pouring down his face, and the even warmer feeling around him.

Patton was two his left, holding Virgil tightly in his arms, while Roman sat at his feet, with a hand on Virgil's’ knee and leaning on his thigh. Logan sat to the left of Virgil, a small distance away as to not make him feel too crowded but close enough to hold his shoulder tightly.

Virgil couldn’t help but wonder, why were they hugging him?

Despite the affection, he waited. He waited for them to tell him that it was true. That all of it was true. That no, they didn’t want him, and that they had been using him.

He waited.

And waited.

Finally, someone spoke.

“We’re sorry.” The voice watering and soft. Patton

Virgil looked at him in confusion.

“Yes, that was inept on our part.” Logan.

“We- we thought you knew. We’re sorry.” Roman.

“What…?” Virgil couldn’t even form a sentence

Noticing that both Roman and Patton were too emotional to explain, Logan spoke up. “What Roman means is that we all believed that taking medication would not only be beneficial to Thomas but to you as well. It would lessen your feelings of panic quite significantly.”

“Which was why,” Roman continued, “we kept pestering Thomas about it. We care about you as much as you care about him, believe it or not.”

“You’re our family, Virgil.” Patton went on, “You’re not just something we could just throw away or get rid of. I-I’m so sorry. I’m sorry we made you feel that way. I’m sorry we never thought to speak with you about it. I’m sorry we just assumed. I, we, need you to know that you’re wanted here. You’re ours. And we’ll remind you as much as you need to no matter how long it takes, even if it’s forever.”

Virgil sniffled. He was dumbfounded but relieved. Of course, negative thoughts had to come and ruin it.

He shook his head, “You’ll all just get sick of having to tell me…”

“Never. I promise.” Roman smiled, “And a prince’s promise is guaranteed.”

“I concur, minus the prince part.” Logan spoke, “I’d like you to know that you most definitely will not disappear. Anxiety is a deeply rooted emotion, that can’t go away with medication or any other means. You are the fight or flight response. Yes, you are heightened, but that does in no way mean we wish for you to be gone. In fact, being the way you are is beneficial. It has allowed us to avoid some… tricky… situations and to escape them. And of course, as Patton said, simply put, you’re family. You’re not going anywhere.”

Virgil rubbed his eyes, not caring that at this point his eye shadow was completely ruined. The tension and stress and fear finally leaving his body for the time being, though he knew they’d return. But of course, he had a family there to chase them away again and again.

He looked up at the three Sides and gave a small smile and a nod. They grinned in return.

“Up for a movie kiddo?”

Virgil, snorted, “Only if it’s Black Cauldron.”

Roman suddenly stood with a dramatic flair, “I am on it!”

Logans’ eyes widened as he watched Roman sprint towards the DVD cabinet.

“Watch out for the coffee table!”

  End

Tags: @i-am-avacado @isaysolanumlycopersicum

[deanssweetheart23]

All That Matters

Title: All That Matters

Summary: People always told you that loving someone can hurt just as much as it can heal. You never believed it. And then you met Dean Winchester...

Author: deanssweetheart23

Characters: Dean Winchester x reader, Haley (OFC, briefly), John Winchester, Sam Winchester (mentioned), Bobby Singer (briefly)

Word count: 5621 (I know, I know. But I hope it’s worth it...)

Warnings: Fluff. Angst. Very light smut. Some language. Mentions of abduction, blood, tortures and death (nothing graphic). 

Author’s Notes: This is my submission for @frickfracklesackles 1000 follower celebration challenge. Natalie, congratulations on your incredible milestone and thank you for letting me participate and for being so patient with me, I had a great time planning this fic.

Special thank you to my amazing twin @ravengirl94 for helping me figure out plenty of things about this.

Now about the story: My trope was “feisty strangers to lovers”. The storyline starts two years before season 1 (when Dean is 24 years old and the reader 22) and it follows the timeline of the show through flashbacks that are included in italics. The entire fic is loosely based on Ed Sheeran’s Photograph (I am so in love with this song tbh)

I hope you all enjoy this just as much as I enjoyed writing it <3

Countless photo albums were scattered around the floor, old photographs thrown here and there, creased and torn and faded. Empty whiskey bottles littered the corners of the dark room and fast-food wrappers stained the carpet but you didn’t care. Nobody minded.

Dean would have minded.

There it was again, that annoying little voice in the back of your mind that wouldn’t shut up. You could hear it every time you drank a little too much, every time you got a little too reckless, every time a guy tried to flirt with you, not knowing that it was pointless because your heart belonged to someone else already.

Dean. Dean. Dean.

Most of the times you were able to shake it off, tune the voice out, and reach for another bottle of Jack Daniels but today that was physically impossible. The hunt had drained all the energy you had left and the memories of Dean were far too many and far too painful to just go away.

And, besides, the little voice was right.

Dean would have minded. He would have growled at your blood-stained shirt and would have forced you to take a shower. He would have whined at your desire to see all those old pictures that only made you sad and would have thrown away the bottles of whiskey because you could do better than that. And then, he would have made love to you on that creaky mattress, gentle and soul-searing, to make sure that you were real, safe and sound, right next to him and that those vampires that had tried to kill you had failed.

But he wasn’t there.

Dean Winchester was dead.  

“You have got to be kidding me.” You whined, eyes taking in the broad-shouldered figure that had somehow managed to sneak into the abandoned warehouse where you’d been held captive for the past couple of days.

The man, green-eyed and freckled, turned to look at you in puzzlement, then smirked as he recognized you, brazen and smug.

“Howdy, Princess.”

Of course. Of course, the asshat that had almost run you over with his stupid muscle car would say that. Why wouldn’t he?

“I told you to drop the pet-name, you ass.” You groaned, narrowing your eyes in a look that for all intents and purposes should have killed him.

“Wanna tell me your real name then?” He smirked, unfazed.

“Wanna untie me first?”

“I don’t know, man.” He chuckled, scratching the back of his neck in faux pensiveness. “You look kind of hot like this.”

You were about to tell him to stick it where the sun don’t shine but-

“Dean,” an older man said disapprovingly, prompting you to turn and look at the incoming sound “if you want to flirt with that girl, make sure she doesn’t bleed to death first, yeah?”

“Yes, Sir.” Dean barked almost automatically, clenching his jaw as his eyes fell to the floor in submission.

And you didn’t know why you suddenly felt the need to defend him -maybe it was because of the way he had tensed, all soldier-like, when those brown eyes lingered on him too long or because of the way the words seemed to wound him more than darts and knives ever could or because Dean was right and you really were crazy- but before you knew it, you were opening your mouth to speak.

“’S okay, Freckles.” You said in nonchalance as he bent down to cut your bindings. “No blood here. Just a few cuts and bruises and, well, years of therapy to come, I guess.”

He smiled then, first genuine smile you’ve gotten out of him, soft and just a tad thankful.

“I got to admit,” he told you, licking his lips as he set you free “for someone who just got abducted, you’re taking this fairly well.”

“Yeah, well. I had a lot of time to get my head around it these past couple of days.” You sassed, rubbing at your wrists. “He’s got another girl in the basement. There were two more when I got here but they didn’t…” you paused, taking a deep breath. “I don’t think they made it.”

The two men sighed, exchanging a serious look.

“Okay. I’ll go find that girl. Get her out of here, then make sure the place is clear.” The older man ordered before disappearing, so quickly that he didn’t even give his partner the chance to reply.

Silence fell between you and Dean after that, and you chewed on your bottom lip nervously, wincing when you glanced at the battered wrists you were now sporting.

He noticed.

“I know it looks bad, but it’s not. I can help you get those cleaned up when we get you someplace safe.” He said, soft and genuine.

You nodded, arms wrapping around your little frame.

“That girl down in the basement… She tried to escape. He found her and…” you trailed off, too broken to continue.

It was the last thing you expected, but Dean reached out to you, fingers gripping yours reassuringly for just a second.

“Hey.” He whispered, forcing you to look at him. “I know this doesn’t change anything but that son of a bitch’s never hurting anyone again.” He told you roughly, clenching his fists, white-knuckled. “I can promise you that much.”

“He wasn’t… He wasn’t human, right?”

Dean grounded his teeth, shaking his head.

“Trust me, kid. You don’t want to know.” He said, hand reaching for the gun he kept in his waistband. “C’mon. I’m taking you to Baby, then I’ll come back here to make sure the building’s clear.”

“Nope. No. Not happening.” You objected, reaching for his arm.

“Listen, it’s okay. You’ll be safe there.”

“No. I know. But I’m still coming with.”

“Like hell you are.” He scoffed.

“Freckles-”

“Look. I get it. You’re badass. Good for you. But this is dangerous. Like it-might-cost-you-your-life dangerous. So, stay behind me and let me do my job.”

“Except, I can help you… I know this place better than you do and I’m a med student. If there’s anyone else in here, she’s going to be pretty banged up and you’re going to need all the help you can get. So just shut up and let me tag along.”

He was quiet for a moment. And then.

“You’re a real pain in the ass, you know that?”

“Yeah. I’ve been told.”

“Fine.” He growled. “But you’ll stay behind me the whole time. And if I say run, you run. No questions asked.”

“Fine.” You huffed out. “Bossy bastard.”  

“Hmmm. Most women find that endearing, to be honest.” He smirked, waggling his brows.

“Dear God, bite me.”

“Not the time, sweetheart.” he winked, all mischief and swagger. “Ask me again tomorrow and we’ll see.”

Sighing in frustration, you rolled your eyes at his cheeky, satisfied grin.

You didn’t know why but you had a feeling that ass liked you.

It was a painful thing, life without Dean. You could handle the nightmares and the scars, the blood and the grotesqueness that came with the hunting life, but you couldn’t handle a world without him. It hurt, deep within your soul, hurt more than anything had ever hurt before, more than stab wounds and battle scars, bullets and needles.  

And you missed him.

You missed his smile and the way he threw his entire body into laughter every time he found something truly amusing. You missed his gruff voice, the way he held you close every time you had a bad day and whispered soothing words in your ear. You missed his warmth and his tenderness, the soft, gentle side of him and the way he laid his armor down when you were around, missed the way he stared at you like you were his whole world. You even missed fighting with him, missed the yelling and the heat and the bone-crushing hugs that came when everything was resolved, so full of love and need and fear.

God, you missed him with every atom of your body.

But it didn’t matter.

Not really.

Dean Winchester was dead.

The sweltering smell of brewed coffee wafted around the small coffee shop and blended with the sounds of cheery conversations and melodic laughs, effectively filling the little place you’ve come to consider home.

Warm mug of coffee in hand, you carefully listened to Haley ranting about her new boyfriend, thankful that a couple of months after the demon incident you were finally able to appreciate the little things in life again, finally able to walk down the street without looking over your shoulder for monsters.

“And he just… Dear God, he’s hot.” Haley muttered, eyes focused on something -or rather someone- behind you as her jaw practically dropped to the floor.

“What? Who’s hot, Hales?”

“Mr. Green Eyes over there.” She gushed, squeezing your hand. “He walked in just a couple of minutes ago and he hasn’t stopped staring at you.”

Laughing, you opened your mouth to shake her comment off but she grabbed your shoulder and gripped, wide-eyed.

“Dude. He’s coming over here. He’s-”

You shook your head and turned around, chuckling at your friend’s incoherent and excited babbling.

And then you saw him.

He was standing right there, just in front of the counter, dirty blonde hair as short as you remembered, smug smile playing at the corners of his lips.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake.” you groaned, basically slamming the mug on the table.

He smirked.

The bastard actually smirked.

“Howdy, Princess.”

“Still with that - you know what? I’m not even going to try.” You muttered, rolling your eyes. “What are you even doing here, Dean?”

He shrugged nonchalantly, shoving his hands in the pockets of the leather jacket he apparently loved so much.

“Heard this place has great coffee.”

“And?”

“And I’d like to have some?” he said, more of a question than a statement, brows furrowed and head titled to the left in a way that was kind of adorable.

Nope. No. Don’t go there, Y/N. Don’t go there.

“You do work here, right?”

“Yup. Which is why I’ll save you the trouble and let you know that we serve terrible coffee. Honestly. Tastes like piss.” You spat, pursing your lips. “So there. You can go now.”

You’d expected him to roll his eyes at that, maybe even scoff and come up with a witty response, but instead, Dean Winchester laughed, loud and loose, and you had to mentally scold yourself because you found the sound quite endearing.

Which was not.

Dean wasn’t endearing and you did not like him. At all.

“Hey, don’t laugh. I’m serious.”

“’S not that.” He muttered, shaking his head. “You’re just…” Another chuckle. “There’s a lot of sass in that tiny body of yours.”

“Excuse me?”

“’S a compliment, sweetheart. I like it.”

“Oh, thank God. I was so worried you wouldn’t, Freckles.” You hissed but he just smirked, orbs gazing fiercely at you and, holy shit, his eyes really were that green.

“Okay. I probably deserved that. But I’m trying here so-”

“You want me to cut you some slack or something?”

“I’d appreciate it, yeah.”

And you wished you could say no, wished you could just roll your eyes and leave, but he was pouting, lips pursed together in an unbelievably attractive way and, well…

You were only human.

And he had saved your life.

And his eyes were just fascinating.

Ugh. Shut up.

“Fine.” You grumbled, smoothing down your shirt. “For starters, I’ll take your order.”

“Black coffee sounds great, thanks.”

You nodded and got to work, pointedly ignoring the way his eyes were burning holes in you the entire time until he cleared his throat and you had to look up, brows slanted in puzzlement.

“I, uh…” he paused, licking his lips. “How you’ve been, kid?”

“Oh, you mean since the whole demon-who-obviously-didn’t-get-enough-hugs-as-a-child incident? Just peachy.” You deadpanned.

“Y/N-” he sighed, concern etched on his features.

“I’m fine, Dean. Really. It’s been… tough but-”

“You’ll be okay. I know, Princess.” He cut you off, smiling, just a bit. “Real badass, remember?”

You grinned.

He was oddly sweet.

“Here you go. It’s on the house.”

“I thought you didn’t like me.” He chuckled, all amusement and delight.

You rolled your eyes, trying to suppress your smile.

“Just take the coffee, Dean.”

“Or I could pay for that and you could let me take you out on dinner instead.” He suggested, raising an eyebrow.

“Don’t you have to ditch town in like a day or two?”

“A week actually.” He replied, hand reaching for yours. “And that doesn’t mean I can’t come back if I got a reason to.”

“Smooth, Winchester.” 

“I am, aren’t I?” he said, a tantalizing smirk playing at the corner of his lips.

“Still-”

“Oh, c’mon. Just give me a chance. And if you still hate me by the end of the night, then I swear, you’ll never hear from me again.”

“I don’t hate you, Dean.” You offered, tucking a stray strand of hair behind your ear.

“Is that a yes?” he asked and you could hear the smile in his voice.

You sighed, lips pursed.

“Just dinner?” you asked.

“Just dinner.”

“And no funny business?”

He chuckled, eyes crinkling at the corners.

Shit, he was beautiful.

“No funny business.”

“Okay, good. Cause if you get any frisky ideas, so help me God-”

“Jesus, Princess. No funny business. You have my word.”

“Okay. It’s a date then.”

He grinned, soft and gentle and sweeter than even before.

And you didn’t know how, but you were sure that the moment his green eyes locked on yours, awe and wonder dancing in them, was the moment you’d fallen hopelessly and irrevocably in love with Dean Winchester.

Creased photos glowed in the dim light of the room, constant echoes of the person you used to be, the life you used to lead.

Granted, it wasn’t perfect, but it was yours, a life you’ve built with Dean, one that was bloody and hard and filled with monsters but had blessed you with late night drives, breakfast in creaky motel beds, warm kisses and heated touches, whispered promises and silent reassurances.

And still, all you were left with in the end were pixilated moments, forever frozen in time, moments that danced in front of your eyes and took you back to days when you were optimistic and happy, days when you had so much hope and life within you that the people surrounding you were jealous.

That Y/N was long gone now though. She’d died the moment the hellhounds tore Dean’s body apart like it was made of paper, the instant she saw the light leaving his green eyes forever and did nothing to stop it simply because she couldn’t.

You still remembered the fight you had with Dean when he told you about his deal. You remembered how you’d screamed and yelled, remembered all the names you called him as you punched him for giving up on you, just like you remembered his stoic face and the tears that mingled with your own as he enveloped you in his poisonous arms and held you while you sobbed, I’m sorrys and I love yous falling from his lips.

And you regretted everything. You regretted all the things you told him, regretted the tears and the accusations and the bitterness, regretted how mad you were at him for doing something so unbelievably selfish and incredibly selfless, but you’ve been so furious and heartbroken and terrified at the thought of losing him, of letting him go.

And you apologized. When he kissed you that night, desperate and guilty, you said you were sorry. When he held you next to him on Christmas eve, celebrating what he figured would be his last holidays ever, you said you were sorry. When you cried over his dead body, shirt soaked with his blood, hands gripping cold skin, you said you were sorry. Every night when you held his amulet in your hands you said you were sorry.

But he couldn’t hear you.

Dean Winchester was dead.

Warm lips pecked your forehead sweetly and Dean pulled out of you and flopped to the side, breath uneven and chest heaving.

The blissful feeling of bare skin to skin, of bodies and souls wrapped in one another made you smile as large hands cradled you to his side.

Intertwining your fingers with his, you let out a content sigh.

“Someone’s happy.”

“Mmmm.” You hummed, kissing his left pec. “’S been way too long, D. I missed you.”

“I missed you too, kid.” He sighed, squeezing your middle. “This month has been fucking torture. But… You know how this job is. I can’t just-”

“I know. In fact, I knew right from the start and I’m still glad I agreed to this.” You cut him off, voice soft as your eyes darted up to meet his gorgeous green ones. “I’ve been thinking though.”

“Um, that’s never a good thing.”

“Shut up.” You pouted, prompting a soft chuckle from him.

“I have been thinking, Freckles. And I figured that maybe I could, uh…” you paused and bit your bottom lip nervously. “Maybe I could come with you and Sam. On the road.”

Dean’s body tensed under you and the room fell silent.

“Is this -Y/N, are you messing with me?” he asked, letting out a nervous chuckle.

“Dean-”

“Jesus Christ. You’re serious.” He chanted, crawling away to get out of bed, hands already reaching for his boxers. “You’re frigging serious about this.”

You swallowed loudly.

“I am. I’ve been thinking about this for a while now and-”

“Y/N, there’s no way in hell I’m taking you with me.” Dean declared with a shake of his head, jaw clenched painfully.

“Can you just listen to me? Just for a second.” You pleaded and sat up, using the white crisp sheet to cover your nakedness. “I know you think this is crazy-”

“Hell yeah, it’s crazy.”

“But I can help, D.” You retorted, running your fingers through your messed-up hair in frustration. “I’m great at stitching you two up. I’m a med student for God’s sake. And I’m good with research. You know that.”

“Listen to me.” He started roughly, brandishing a finger at you. “I’m not letting you walk into the battle willingly. Not if I have a say in it.”

“Letting me? I’m not asking for permission, Dean!”

“Well, tough luck because the answer’s no anyway.”

“But I can protect myself. You trained me.”

“And Dad couldn’t? He was the toughest man I’ve ever known, Y/N, and look where that got him. He’s six feet under and those sons of bitches that did that to him are still out there.” He grounded out, voice practically a growl.

“D., that’s not…” you sighed, rubbing your forehead. “Can you come here for a second?”

He didn’t say anything. Instead, he stared at you for three long bits, green orbs, wide and brilliant in the dim light of the room, and then he was walking towards the bed, something wistful floating across his chiseled face.

“D.,” you started, fingers reaching for his slowly. “your dad’s death, that’s not on you.”

He shook his head, running a hand over his face tiredly.

“I just… I can’t believe he’s gone. And I can’t… God, I can’t lose you too, kid. You and Sam are all I have.”

You nodded, soul aching, and wrapped one arm around his waist to kiss his bare shoulder, nuzzling his neck.

“You’re not going to lose me, D. I love you.” You kissed his palm. “And I hate to break it to you but I’m not going anywhere.” You whispered and he let out a shaky breath and slid his hand up to cup your face, forehead pressed against yours.

“I don’t deserve you, sweetheart.”

“Don’t say that.” You protested, thumbing his cheek, eyes locked on his. They’d taken the color of aged whiskey in the dim light of the bedroom and, God, you’d never seen anything more breathtaking.

“You’re a good man, Dean. You’re a good, selfless man and you deserve every good thing in your life.”

He nodded like he’d heard something else entirely and pressed his lips to yours softly, like he was afraid the kiss would scare you away. But then you gripped on his short locks, tight and demanding, and he groaned, lowered you onto the mattress and rolled on top of you, calloused hands exploring curves and edges, like it was the first time, like everything about you was new.

“This conversation isn’t over.” You whispered against his mouth.

He let out a sigh and pressed his lips against your temple.

“’Course it’s not, Princess.” He laughed. “Let’s talk ‘bout it tomorrow though, yeah?”

“Tomorrow? Why? What are we supposed to do all night?”

To that, Dean smirked, heat dancing in his eyes as his hands slipped under the sheets and smoothed down your sides.

“Well.” He breathed against your ear. “We spent a month apart so, I dunno, I’m thinking that we have a lot of catching up to do.”

“All night?”

“Mmmm. I want you, kid.” He whispered, pressing a kiss to the corner of your mouth. “Want you so damn much.”

You nodded and kissed him, hungry but loving.

Spending the entire night tangled up with him wasn’t such a bad idea…

You whimpered, wiping your face with your sleeve, then fumbled through the albums until you found the photo you’d been looking for.

It was there, piled under some polaroids you’d taken during a hunt in New England. Your eyes filled with tears the moment you took it in your hands.

You and Dean were leaning against the Impala, his arms around your waist, your head rested on the crook of his neck, his lips on your temple in a sweet kiss, brilliant smiles gracing your faces.

The moment captured was beautiful and tender but it was what was written behind the thin piece of paper that was so special to you.

So, you turned it around, fingers caressing Dean’s handwriting gingerly, and held your breath, already reading over the lines that were etched in your brain forever.

Remember how you used to whine because I never let you anywhere near my wallet? I kept this there. It’s yours now. Don’t look at it too often though. I don’t want you getting all sad.

You’ll be okay without me, kid. You never really needed me anyway. Just keep your head up and stay out of trouble. And never doubt what we had. You were it for me, sweetheart.

Dean.

“I knew I’d find you here.” Dean’s voice crawled into your thoughts as his hand landed upon your shoulder, gentle and loving, a silent plea for you to say something.

And you wanted to. You wanted to tell him a million things, wanted to speak a thousand I love yous and whisper all sort of promises but you knew that the moment you’d open your mouth all that would come out would be utterances of grief and despair, accusation and pain.

So, you stayed quiet, eyes focused on the navy sky above you.

“I woke up to get some water and you weren’t there.” Dean tried again, climbing onto the hood of the Impala, body close to yours.

Nodding silently, you wrapped your arms around your middle.

In all honesty, you’ve spent the entire night watching as Dean slept, trying to store freckles and long eyelashes into memory but, after a while, everything became too much and you needed to breathe, needed the bittersweet comfort of the open sky.

Even that didn’t help.

And now you could see the green-eyed man staring at you intensely out of the corner of your eye until he caved and let out a heavy sigh, running his fingers through his hair.

“C’mere, kid.” He whispered, hand reaching out for you.

You didn’t move.

“C’mon, Y/N. Do I really have to beg for my dying wish?”

Your jaw quivered.

“You’re not going to die.” You stated, wrapping your arms around his waist, soft but solid under your fingertips.

“I know.” He whispered, kissing the side of your head, but you didn’t miss the way his voice wavered, didn’t miss the way he tightened his grip around you like he knew it would be one of the last times he’d get to hold you this close.

“D’you remember our first kiss?” he asked after a while, familiar fingers intertwining soundly with yours.

You hummed, heart swelling at the memories of that night, at the things that that kiss had made you feel.

“Hmmm. It was your last night in town. You were supposed to go-”

“Hunt wendigos with dad. Yeah.” He cut you off, playing with the lines in your palm. “You just gave me a sheepish smile, then asked me if you were ever going to see me again and I… Well, I didn’t know what to say. So, I kissed you.”

You smiled.

“Pfft. We both know you did a lot more than that.”

“Hmmm… Showed you all of my moves in Baby’s backseat that night, didn’t I?”

“Shut up.” You chastised, smacking his arm playfully, but he only laughed, rich and warm.

“We went to Bobby’s the day after, you know.”

“You did?”

“Uh-huh. And he kept giving me that look the entire day, like he knew something I didn’t. Kept asking if I’d met someone.”

You hummed and turned to look at him. The starlight traced the lines of his face, danced on his forehead and nose and on his strong jawline and you smiled, because for a moment you could pretend that you were back under that lamppost on sixth street, back where everything started.

You could pretend that you weren’t about to lose him.

You could pretend that you were going to get the happy ending you deserved.

“Did you tell him about me?” you implored softly, shaking off those thoughts.

“No. I wanted to but you were…” he paused, twirling a strand of hair in his fingers. “It was something I wanted to keep for myself, you know? You were… No, you are,” he corrected himself, cupping your face “you’ve always been one of the best things in my life, kid, and I-”

“Don’t talk like that.” You whispered, a lump already welling up in your throat. “You and I are not done yet. We’re gonna ice Lilith tomorrow and get you out of that stupid deal. And then we’re going to Grand Canyon. You promised me you’ll take me there. Remember?”

The Winchester nodded, swallowing hard.

“Yeah. I remember, Princess.” He whispered and kissed your forehead, pulling you impossibly close.

You stayed like that for a few seconds, breathing each other in and then-

“I need you to promise me something.”

“Dean-”

“No. Just… Listen. If…” Deep breath. “If things go south tomorrow, I need you to let me go.”

His words were like a slap in the face, cut deeper than any knife ever would and for a brief second you wondered whether he could see your soul bleeding.

“No.” It was wrecked and chocked, but you didn’t care. “I can’t -I’m not doing that.”

He sighed, like he was expecting this turn of events, then ran a hand over his face and looked at you again, eyes pleading.

“Sweetheart-”

“No.” you repeated, shaking your head. “You can’t -how can you possibly ask me that? After everything we’ve been through together?”

“You have to.” He insisted, reaching up and wiping away the tears that had started to fall. “I need to know you’ll be okay. Don’t let me ruin your life, kid.”

You huffed air through your nose, eyes glaring at him.

“You’re not running my -Jesus, Dean, you saved me. You… Others would kill to feel the things you make me feel. And I can’t just forget that. I don’t want to.”

“I want you to.” He retorted, wincing at the harshness of his own voice.

Your bottom lip wobbled and he licked his lips and ran his thumb over your jawline gingerly, regret swimming across his features.

“I want you to be okay, Y/N/N. Just like I want you to have this.” He added, taking off his amulet and handing it to you.

“Dean-”

“Just take it. ‘M tired of arguing, sweetheart.”

“Okay.” You agreed, sucking in a breath. “Fine. But after we kill that bitch, you’re taking it back.”

A soft smile played at the corners of his lips, but it only twisted the knife deeper.

“Yeah. Okay. Now c’mere.” He pleaded, running her thumb over your bottom lip.

“Dean-”

“Sssh. Lemme…” he stopped, breathing heavily. “I love you. God, sweetheart, I love you so much.” He whispered the words he usually saved for your most intimate moments and you nodded and leaned in, lips pressing against his, all the things you wanted to tell him clustered into that kiss.

And Dean accepted everything you had to give and gave it back tenfold, lips and tongue and fingers working on their own until his hands, calloused and familiar, were pulling at your shirt and his face was pressed against the crook of your neck, short pants caressing your skin.

“Maybe we should, mmph, D., maybe we should take this inside.” You breathed, hips twitching to meet his, but he shook his head and trailed his hand down the side of your ribs slowly.

“Nope. Want to make love to you right here.” He panted, threading your fingers with his, and you nodded your consent almost breathlessly, watching him smile the smile of a kid in a candy-store as he ducked in again.

And, despite the desperation that was so evident in that first kiss, Dean lingered that night, took the time to explore and worship every inch of your body, to pull all those sounds he loved out of you, to memorize the way you looked, wrecked and naked underneath him.

He took it slow, hips rocking into yours, words of love and praises and sweet nothings whispered into your ear, your name falling from his lips like a prayer.

He watched as you fell apart underneath him and followed you over the edge and then he did it again and again and again under the moonlight until you were both spent and sated, voices hoarse and bodies limbless, and you knew, you knew that no matter how much you both wanted to deny it, this was goodbye.

A knock on the door pulled you back to reality, loud and persistent.

With an irritated sigh, you wiped away the tears that were streaming down your face again and reached for your gun purely on instinct, hand already wrapping around the knob.

The door swung open slowly and, much to your surprise, you found the man that had become your surrogate father standing before you, a strained expression on his face as he eyed you carefully.

“Bobby?”

The old man nodded, shoving his hand in the pocket of his jeans sheepishly.

“Hello, cupcake.”

“What… I mean, don’t get me wrong it’s good to see you but what are you doing here?”

“There, uh.” He sighed, adjusting his baseball cap. “There’s someone you need to see.”

“I don’t understand. What-”

The words died in your mouth just as a man that looked exactly like Dean appeared seemingly out of nowhere and stood next to Bobby, that half-smile that you loved so much playing at the corners of his lips.

And you wanted to say something, God, you wanted to say anything but your throat was suddenly too dry and the walls were closing in and everything was spinning.

“Howdy, Princess.” He whispered, tears glistening in his eyes.

“No.” you choked off, jerking away from his touch. “You were dead. I buried you. I-”

“I know. God, Y/N, I know and I’m sorry. But something pulled me out.”

“No. You can’t be. I-”

“Cupcake…” Bobby started attentively, reaching out for your hand. “He’s telling you the truth. I tested him.”

Dean nodded almost solemnly.

“It’s really me, kid.” He muttered, gorgeous green eyes locking on yours and, suddenly, you knew.  

You knew because he was looking at you like you were his favorite summer day, like you were everything he’d ever wanted, the best part of him. You knew because you could feel the love and the guilt and the concern leaking through his very pores. You knew because you knew him.

A sob ripped through your body and strong arms wrapped around you almost immediately, pulling you to his warm chest.

“Ssssh, it’s okay.” He soothed, kissing the top of your head. “It’s okay, sweetheart. I’m home.”

You sobbed again and held onto him, strong and steadfast, like he was the only anchor keeping you afloat while your entire body sagged with defeat and desperation and all the tears and the battle wounds melted away slowly because Dean was real, alive and tangible, right next to you and, for the first time in four months, you were at peace.

It wasn’t over. You knew that. Nothing in the life you lived came without a cost, but as you nestled into Dean and felt the rumble of his chest while he spoke to you, while he whispered how much he loved you and how much he’d missed you, gruff and low only for you to hear, you realized that being with him, being able to look into his captivating emerald eyes and know that he loved you just as much as you loved him, was all that mattered.

It was all that had ever mattered.

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