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muffinbeliever · 2 years

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When the Stars Align [12]

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Soulmate!Reader

Word Count: 3593

Warnings: tears, mentions of needles

Summary: Soulmate!AU– Everyone has the first words their soulmate says to them tattooed on their wrists. You and your cat are living a normal life in Fort Collins, Colorado when three men come bursting through your door, completely changing your life. Reader-insert story. Starts around S06E08, but Sam has his soul, and it doesn’t really follow the series from there

A/N: here's WTSA 12, its honestly kind of just a filler chapter, but please enjoy charlie being nerdy charlie because i love her

Masterlist | When the Stars Align Masterlist

Weeks had passed, and you were officially moved into the bunker. Castiel had zapped you and Sam back to Fort Collins to pack up the rest of your stuff, and after a thorough conversation with Sam, you had decided that it would be best to withdraw your money from your bank accounts. The younger Winchester promised to set you up with a credit card under a fake name, that way you couldn’t be traced through payments.

The house was completely paid off thanks to the money that your parents had left you, and it held too many memories that you weren’t quite ready to let go of yet, so you decided to keep it. Besides, after some demon-proofing and a few protection spells, it would be a useful safe house in Colorado.

You took your time packing things up, Sam crashing at your house for a couple of days while he helped. It was nice to spend time with him, your relationship developing into a tight-knit sibling bond. When he insisted that you get an anti-possession tattoo, you begrudgingly agreed. While you were never a tattoo person, you knew that it was for your safety. Instead of the large tattoo that the brothers possessed, you had opted for a miniature version after Sam reassured that it would work just as well. The ward now sat behind your right ear, and after an hour of being poked by a needle, Sam decided that you deserved some ice-cream.

Packing your things up also entailed deep-cleaning your house, where Sam had stumbled upon baby photos that you never wanted anyone to see. Your mom had created scrapbooks of you as a child that made you teary-eyed every time you looked at them. When Sam insisted on looking through them, you pulled out a bottle of wine, and the two of you got drunk while you recollected the memories behind some of the photos.

The drive back was a short seven hours spent blasting Green Day. The two of you played the alphabet game, eventually giving up when you spent two hours looking for “Q” with zero success. Instead of stopping for burgers like you had expected, he surprised you by pulling into a Poke restaurant, saying it was “healthier than fried junk” which you laughed at before agreeing.

Conversation flowed easily between the two of you, and like always, you debated books and poetry. You swapped college stories, and he laughed when you told him about how you got so hammered at a frat party freshman year, three brothers ended up carrying you home. He divulged a few party anecdotes of his own, some with Jessica and others without. Wanting to keep the light atmosphere, you didn’t ask for specific details about her, and you knew that Sam was relieved. He told you about the two weeks he ran away from home, holed up in a hotel room with a dog. Your heart ached when you thought about the harsh upbringing he had experienced, so different from yours.

As you got closer to Lebanon, you had stopped by the store for a couple of items to decorate your new room, namely: a rug. It was fluffy and white, perfect for combatting the concrete. You had purchased a thicker comforter and extra throw pillows. Sam didn’t complain a single time while you shopped, and you were grateful, not wanting to be a burden, especially when you knew he had more important things to do than push the cart as you ran around Target.

Your laughs bounced off the metal shelves as the two of you pointed out cliche quotes written in calligraphy on a wooden board. The time you had spent together was domestic and comfortable, exactly what you needed during this time of turmoil. It was reassuring to know that even if you and Dean didn’t work out, Sam would still be there for you.

You also went to the supermarket, insisting that if they were going to let you stay, the least you could do was make sure they had a home cooked meal every night. You stocked up on various fruits and vegetables as well as baking essentials, knowing you would stress bake at least once this week if Dean continued acting the way he was.

Frustrated with your soulmate, you tried not to focus too much on him, and rather spent your time in the present, enjoying Sam’s company. By the time you had returned to the bunker, it was a several days after you initially left, but your heart was full and you were excited to be in new home. Dean was nowhere in sight, and Sam let you settle in, telling you that he would cook dinner tonight so you could unpack.

Moved in, showered, and in your comfiest pair of sweatpants, you wandered into the kitchen, following the amazing scent of rosemary. You were greeted by Sam’s smile and the hesitant wave from an unknown red-headed woman sitting at the table. She was wearing a dark blue t-shirt that showcased the Star War’s Alliance symbol underneath a white and navy flannel. What is up with these people and their flannel?

“Y/N, this is Charlie Bradbury. She’s the most brilliant hacker known to man, monster, and angel. She helped us defeat Dick Roman,” Sam introduced. Charlie blushed and stood up from the table.

“Hello there,” she said softly, and you smirked back.

“General Kenobi,” you answered. She burst into a smile and her giggles filled the room.

“You, my dear, are officially my favorite person here,” she said as she approached you, pulling you into a hug. It was funny, you just learned her name, but you already knew that the two of you would quickly become close friends. Babbling at a mile a minute, she took your hand and dragged you to the table, sitting you down in the seat next to hers. Sam set down a bowl in front of everyone before joining you at the table.

“You’re a Star Wars fan too?” He asked, exasperated. “I’m never going to escape am I?” He groaned, rubbing his eyes in mocking annoyance. You shrugged, a smile on your face.

“Star Wars was a huge thing between my dad and I when I was growing up,” you stated, not knowing how to explain it any better. Charlie rolled her eyes.

“You don’t have to defend yourself, Y/N. Sam here just doesn’t have the same superior taste that we do,” she said, sticking her tongue out childishly at the hunter. Sam threw his head back and laughed. He picked up his fork and began eating, and you followed suit.

Dinner was mainly just you and Charlie getting to know each other, the latter absolutely beaming as she found out the many interests that you shared. She told you all about her love for Harry Potter and Hermione Granger, which you rebutted with your love for Draco Malfoy and how him and Hermione should’ve been canon. At that statement, she let out a dramatic gasp, clutching her chest in shock.

“How could you even say that? Hermione is so much better than that stupid ferret! She is beautiful and smart and she singlehandedly saved the wizarding world,” she argued.

“Yes, but she ended up with Ron Weasley. No one is less fitting for her than he is. They are nowhere near the same level of intellect and all he does is shove his face with food and complain,” you retorted.

“At least he isn’t a death eater,” she replied, and you shrugged.

“If Draco didn’t take the Mark, then Voldemort would’ve killed his family. He was only doing what he had to do,” you defended, knowing that your choice in comfort character was a bit toxic but still yours nonetheless. Charlie huffed and turned to Sam.

“When you said you were going to introduce me to someone, you didn’t tell me they would be a Slytherin,” she said, and Sam protested.

“I’m a Slytherin too, Charlie,” he admitted with a guilty smile. She emitted another gasp as her head whipped back and forth between you and Sam.

“Traitors!” She exclaimed. “Both of you!” Sam chuckled, and for a second, you forgot that you were in an underground bunker, living with people who killed monsters, had an angel as a best friend, and the King of Hell on speed dial. For a second, you were just a normal woman debating the ethics of Harry Potter with your two friends.

After dinner, Sam left the two of you alone. Charlie pulled out her laptop and began clacking away at her keyboard, silence falling over the table. There were several little gadgets dispersed around her. She would plug one in, type for a second or two, and pull it out, only for the process to occur with the next device. After a couple of minutes, she let out a satisfied huff and handed you a credit card.

“Here is your new, unlimited, card Ms. Taylor,” she said with a smirk. You examined the plastic card in your hard, memorizing the alias on it: Beverly Taylor.

“And I won’t have to pay this off? Ever?” You double checked with the red-headed woman, and she gave you a smile.

“That’s right. Oh! Also, Sam wanted me to give you your new ID card,” she replied, handing you a second plastic card. It was the same picture as your drivers license; how Sam had managed that, you didn’t know, but you were grateful for the effort.

“Now that that’s over,” Charlie said, shutting her laptop, “We have some catching up to do.” You laughed at the serious look on her face.

“What did you have in mind?” You asked, and she gave you a smirk.

“Despite your terrible taste, I have found an inkling of kindness in my heart to get to know you,” she said with false nonchalance. You rolled your eyes.

“I’m also super nosy,” she added, and you laughed.

“Alright, but I’m getting the wine,” you replied, knowing that if you were going to spill your life story, you’d need a little bit of liquid courage. The red-headed woman squealed and you laughed as you pushed out of your chair, making your way towards the wine cellar.

Although the boys had never bought wine, the supply was pretty much fully stocked thanks to the Men of Letters. You were sure the cost sum of the bottles combined was more than your parents had left behind. Internally you shrugged, technically you weren’t stealing. The brothers were Men of Letters, after all.

Not much of a sommelier, nor did you really care, you plucked the first bottle of red wine you found. It was a merlot made in 1912. Damn. Normally, you would be wary of such aged wine, but you have found that for some reason, the bunker’s wine never turned to vinegar, regardless of how old it was. There was probably some preservative magic lined in the walls of the cellar.

Upon your return to the kitchen, you noticed that Charlie had cleared off the table, putting her computer and other gadgets back in her bag. Instead, there were two empty wine glasses waiting for you, as well as a little plate full of various cheeses and grapes. You raised an eyebrow towards the woman.

“I may have gone rifling through your fridge,” she said, sheepishly. You laughed. Pulling out a corkscrew from the nearby drawer, you made your way back to the small wooden table. The wine bottle was opened with a resounding pop! and you set it aside to breathe. The two of you stared at it in silence for a moment before Charlie side-eyed you.

“I really don’t care if it breathes or not,” she informed you, shyly. You smiled.

“Ok good, me neither. I really want to drink it now,” you admitted and this time it was her turn to giggle. She gave you a generous pour before giving herself a similar portion. She analyzed the label.

“Holy shit!” she exclaimed. “1912?” You nodded your head vigorously.

“I know right? Ancient,” you said, whispering the latter part as if it were a secret. She swirled the liquid in her glass as you munched away on some cheese, the flavor of aged parmesan exploding against your tastebuds.

“So…” she trailed off, and you took that as your cue to talk. You took a swig of wine and let out a heavy sigh.

“From the beginning?” you asked.

“Yeah,” she nodded, “I mean, if you’re okay with that.” She rushed out, not wanting to overstep.

You told her about your childhood in Winnetka, Illinois, and how your dad took you sledding every winter. Your mom taught you the basics of baking, the smell of chocolate chip cookies often filling your house. You were an only child, but you had an orange cat that you had named Mr. Fluffy. When Charlie laughed at the name, you were quick to defend your four-year-old self.

Even as a child, you had a love for books and many weekends were spent in the modest library on the first floor of your house. Your favorite way to pass time was sitting in front of the window, curled up under a blanket reading a fantasy book. You dreamed of one day meeting a prince who would sweep you off your feet and take you away to live in his glorious castle.

You attended private schools, your parents ensuring that you received a top-tier education. They were never ones to push you into academics, and they didn’t have to. Your hunger for knowledge spurred your motivation to get good grades. You told her about the long-time crush you had on a fellow classmate, undeterred by the fact that he wasn’t your soulmate.

“His first words to me were ‘Your pigtails look funny’ and I was in love,” you recounted. It was your first experience with love, and it ended in heartbreak— as most do. After pining for him from second to fifth grade, you were devastated to hear that he had met his soulmate over winter break when he was skiing in Aspen. Knowing you could never compete with whoever she was, you cut your losses and moved on.

Your awkward middle-school experience was almost cliche. You had chunky braces and a god-awful taste in fashion. You experimented with bangs for the majority of seventh grade and your first kiss was in a school stairwell with a boy who used too much tongue.

You spent the majority of your high school days studying, but you always made time to go out with friends as well. Your parents weren’t strict; all they told you before you went out was to be safe and smart. It was a system built on trust. Sure, you had dated one or two boys, but because they weren’t your soulmate, the relationship wasn’t serious.

College was more or less the same as high school. You had a solid, tight-knit group of friends with whom you spent your time. There were nights spent heaving over a toilet bowl, swearing to never drink again— only to go out the next night. It was a vicious ‘work hard, play hard’ cycle, but that’s part of the college experience.

You had plans to go to graduate school afterwards, but when your parents had passed, you realized that you didn’t want to continue with school. Instead, you moved to Fort Collins, adopted Meatball, and lived there ever since. You told Charlie how you worked at the bookstore, and your first encounter with the Winchesters. When she had heard how Dean had acted, the redhead rolled her eyes.

“He’s an idiot,” she declared, and you laughed.

“Sam said that too,” you pointed out.

“It’s true,” she said with a shrug. Then, she told you about her life, how her name wasn’t actually Charlie Bradbury but Celeste Middleton. She spoke about her life as a LARPer, and her love for books and movies. She had never met her soulmate, but Charlie strongly believed that she was out there somewhere.

You vaguely remembered Sam telling you about how the brothers and the hacker had met, but she went in depth, with much funnier commentary than Sam’s version. She claimed she was like Hermione Granger, saving the world with her incredible skills.

By the time the second wine bottle was opened, she was telling you about her mother, tears openly dripping down her face. You offered her a tight hug, knowing how it feels to mourn a parent. She wiped at her tears, her sobs quieting down until it was just sniffles.

“Come on,” you told her, standing up. “Let’s go watch a movie. We need a break.” She took your hand, and the two of you padded down the concrete hallway and into the Dean Cave.

At first, you were unsure if you were allowed to use it, but after Sam reassured you that it was more than okay, you spent many days lounging on the soft couch watching TV. She settled into the couch as you ran to your room. You were gathering a couple of blankets when Sam knocked on your bedroom door.

“Everything alright? I thought I heard crying,” he inquired, a concerned look on his face. You nodded.

“Yeah… just getting to know each other… reopening old wounds and stuff,” you told him, and he nodded in understanding.

“I’ll leave you to it then,” he said, giving you a smile before making his way back to his room. Upon your return to the Dean Cave, you noticed Charlie had gone back to the kitchen for the wine, the bottle now sitting on the coffee table in front of the couch, next to your newly-filled glass. Charlie nursed her wine between both hands, her legs tucked underneath her body.

“So,” she started, “I’m thinking Harry Potter.” You flashed her a smirk.

“I would never turn down an opportunity to see some Dramione in action,” you said flippantly and she huffed. You dimmed the lights before taking your spot on the couch, and soon the nostalgic tune of your favorite childhood movie filled the room.

Charlie practically knew all of the lines from heart, reciting them as the characters did. You joined in occasionally, what was originally a movie night turned into a chance to flaunt your terrible acting skills. Your drunken giggles bounced off the walls as did her snorts of laughter.

However, as much as you wanted to focus solely on the movie, your eyes couldn’t help but sweep the room from time to time, taking in all of the little trinkets that screamed Dean’s name. A poster of his favorite beer company hung from the wall and several of his whiskey tumblers were face down on the coffee table, next to his ice bucket. Hot tears prickled behind your eyes, and before you knew it, tears were streaming down your face.

You tried to subtly wipe at your face, but your little movements caught the corner of Charlie’s eyes. The movie paused.

“Hey, what’s wrong?” She asked you gently, and you shook your head, too overwhelmed to talk. Charlie took your wine glass from your hands and set it down on the table along with hers, and she shifted closer to you, pulling you into a hug. It only made you sob harder.

“I love him,” you confessed to your new friend, speaking the words that you never had the courage to say before now. Sobs wracked your body.

“I love him,” you said again, this time more forcefully. “I love him and he doesn’t even want me,” you told the redhead, and you buried your face into her soft red hair. She rubbed circles onto your back in a soothing manner.

“I know you love him, and trust me, he loves you too. He’s just the stupidest person I’ve ever met. He’s only acting this way because he feels guilty for dragging you into this life. He never would’ve chosen it for himself, so it’s only natural that he doesn’t want to force you into it either,” she reasoned. You sniffled, pulling away from her.

“I know he feels bad, but why can’t he understand that he’s not forcing me into anything? I want to be here. I want to be with him. I want everything with him,” you admitted.

“It’s just going to take time, babe,” she said with a sad smile.

“I’ve given him time. I’ve given him months and he’s still acting like this,” you said softly, “I think it’s just time for me to cut my losses and move on. Obviously he doesn’t want me here, and I don’t want to keep pushing him out of his own home.” Charlie opened her mouth to argue, but you cut her off with a harsh stare. You were tired of fighting, tired of people trying to reassure you that everything was going to be okay when it clearly isn’t going to be.

“Do you think that maybe,” you paused, unsure how she would react, “Do you think that I could stay with you for a little bit?” She nodded immediately.

“Of course, you can stay with me for as long as you need,” she reassured you. The two of you embraced tightly not knowing the older Winchester was standing outside of the door, having heard everything.

Taglist: @akshi8278 @skyewardolicitycloisdelena91 @lanea-1 @slamminmine @bluedragonflylady

#dean winchester #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester x soulmate!reader #dean winchester x y/n #dean winchester x female reader #dean winchester angst #supernatural #supernatural series #dean angst #muffinbeliever

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welcometattoonc · 4 years

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Hello y’all some of you may have been following in our 2019 highlights the last few days! These were all highpoints of our year, but don’t think we have not had our share of difficulties as well. Owning a small business has had its rewards AND challenges. In an effort to remain transparent with our community and clients we want to share a challenge we have had this past year. An individual who thought we stole their business name approached us. Our name did not come from this person, but instead from the city we lived in before returning to Durham. Fort Collins, CO it is also known as Choice City similar to how Durham is known as the Bull City. While in Fort Collins we were brainstorming tattoo shop names Choice remained at the top of our list, it is a strong word, looks great and has multiple positive meanings. We were faced with a choice (THE IRONY!) to fight for this name with lawyers in the court system or let it go, move on, and focus on what is important, doing great tattoos! After talking to a number of mentors, lawyers, friends, and family we decided we did not want to use our court system to fight it out with this person and be faced with rulings and appeals for the next however many years. We realize that there are bigger issues happening in our world and don’t want to spend our time and energy on this issue. It has been hurtful to be accused of such a thing, when in reality we have worked so hard to get where we are. Like most challenges though we are coming out of this feeling strong and motivated. Please do not be an internet bully and talk shit to or about this person, they are entitled to their feelings. We want to remain positive, kind and move forward with pride. We will be changing our shop name to Welcome Tattoo. Please share this news with friends and family! We want people to know Choice tattoo didn’t go away, but just transformed. Being a business less than a year old we are nervous about having to do this, but know in the long run it is the right thing to do. Stay tuned for more great tattoos and new merch! Cheers to 2020! (at Welcome Tattoo) https://www.instagram.com/p/B6v4NwUn_iT/?igshid=16s6vlqtbe4un

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mamosefan · 7 years

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robotattoos · 3 years

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Here’s my flash sheet for the 2021 #stillnotaskingforitflashevent taking place on Sunday June 13th! I will be tattooing these designs from noon till 9pm and all proceeds will go directly to the Sexual Assault Victim Advocate Center of Fort Collins @savacenter -Appointments must be booked in advance, no walk ins will be accepted. Booking links will go live on Sunday June 6th at noon MST. -The links will be to book a specific piece so please choose the design you want to get before it’s time to book! Pieces are either half hour appointments for $100 or an hour at $200. Swipe on this post for prices. -I can ONLY accept CASH, PAYPAL or VENMO at the flash event. NO CREDIT CARDS. -If appointments get filled up and you’d like to get on a cancellation list for that day, please DM me your name, phone number, the piece you’d like to get and where you want to put it. This is to be contacted in case of cancellations only, this is NOT how you book an appointment. -I will not be tattooing these designs on the hands, bathing suit area, or above the collar. -Masks must be worn while in the shop. -Please do not bring anyone else with you to your appointment. -If you can’t make your appointment, please CANCEL using the link provided in the confirmation email so that someone else can get tattooed in your place! -Please bear in mind these are flash pieces and intended to potentially get tattooed several times. As flash pieces, they are a set size and only very minor changes to color and size will be allowed. ******* As always, thank you all for your support! I can’t wait to see you on June 13th! @stillnotaskingforit_flashevent #stillnotaskingforit #stillnotaskingforitflash #snafi #snafiflash #savacenter #lgbtq #snafitattoo #neveragain #nomeansno #flashevent #denvertattoos #fortcollinstattoos #coloradotattoos #flashtattoos #ladytattooers #fortcollins (at Tribal Rites Tattoo & Body Piercing) https://www.instagram.com/p/CPldG11lM1m/?utm_medium=tumblr

#stillnotaskingforitflashevent #stillnotaskingforit #stillnotaskingforitflash #snafi #snafiflash #savacenter #lgbtq #snafitattoo #neveragain #nomeansno #flashevent #denvertattoos #fortcollinstattoos #coloradotattoos #flashtattoos #ladytattooers #fortcollins

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meadowstoneuk · 4 years

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If I could turn back time

They say the past is another country, and though foreign travel is currently not recommended, here's where the staff at AG would like to go back to

Garry Coward-Williams, editor

If I could live in any period in time I would go back to 1958 to enjoy the end of the 50s and the whole of the 1960s as an adult, rather than a child.

Why? Well, it’s mainly about music, but also a lot of cultural elements too. Assuming I have money and the knowledge of what the future holds, I could make sure I was always at the right place at the right time.

Garry would like to go back in time to see The Beatles at the legendary Cavern Club in Liverpool (Image: Alamy)

What an experience to pop on the ferry at Felixstowe, travel to Hamburg and see The Beatles perform in the dingy Bambi Kino nightclub, then months later take a steam train to Liverpool and watch them at The Cavern. Catch The Rolling Stones at The Station Hotel on Eel Pie Island. I could see The Doors at The Roundhouse, Eric Clapton and Peter Green playing with The Bluesbreakers, Sid’s Pink Floyd at the UFO and Jimi Hendrix at The Speakeasy.

I could go to football matches and see George Best and other great players in tired old stadiums full of noise and humour — not the plastic cathedrals we have today. And after the match and a few beers I could go to the chip shop and get a thick piece of cod in batter not the slither we get these days and I’d have it in old newspaper.

amateurgardening.com/blog

But it’s not just about entertainment. I could buy beautiful made-to measure-suits of almost any style from a proper tailor for a few pounds at a time when people liked to look smart and wouldn’t have been seen dead in a shell suit. I could go to most pubs and have a sing-along at the piano and it not be unusual.

I could travel all over the country and enjoy hearing genuine regional accents, seeing largely unspoilt countryside and enjoy the juxtaposition between that and the industrial towns of the North.

I could drive a British made car with leather bench seats and walnut dash that needs constant attention and have a genuine sense of achievement whenever I arrived anywhere without breaking down.

Of course, it wouldn’t all be great. I’d have to accept that the available food is hugely limited and if I wanted anything faintly foreign I’d have to make it myself and I’d have to travel to find the ingredients. Imagine a two-hour round trip on a double decker bus to get some lasagne sheets and they wouldn’t even be fresh.

amateurgardening.com/blog

But I wouldn’t mind that, perhaps my biggest challenge would be cooking without non-stick pans! I would also have to do without central heating, waking up in an unheated room on a frosty morning and re-engaging with smelly paraffin heaters. Having said that, you can’t beat the feeling once a coal fire gets going and the room is aglow.

Lastly, I would also have to cope with the old-fashioned British Sunday when nothing happens, the shops are closed and the pubs have even more restrictive hours, but I think I could live with all that…lots of people did.

Ruth Hayes, gardening editor

It may sounds slightly odd, but I want to visit to the Iron Age because living in West Dorset, as we do, you can’t help but notice how that era imprinted itself on the very landscape.

For starters, our house is right next to a Roman road on the other side of which is an Iron Age hillfort – ancient history is everywhere.

Ruth would like to pop back to the Iron Age to learn more about hillfort life

The Bronze and Iron Ages left their massive physical mark in the form of imposing hillforts and eerie burial mounds, known as barrows. The forts were thriving settlements and their chieftains and nobles were buried with great honour and many valuables, tools and weapons in the barrows (long since looted) that crop up in fields and woodland across the county.

Dorset’s landscape is humped with more than 30 hillforts, including Eggardon Hill, Chalbury, Badbury Rings and Hambledon Hill, but the largest is Maiden Castle, an hour’s walk away.

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Many of you will remember it from the erotic ‘fencing scene’ in the film Far From the Madding Crowd, starring Terence Stamp and Julie Christie.

It is the size of 50 football pitches, was built in 1BC and is accessed via a series of winding paths through towering earthen ramparts.

From its flat top you can see for miles and hear the wind, local flocks of sheep, traffic on the Dorchester bypass, the sounds of modern semi-rural life. But run down into the ramparts and all sound is deadened and you’re surrounded by a deep, eerie silence.

Maiden Castle is a stunning feat of engineering and I want to know what it was like to live there, when it was newly build and, apparently, a gleaming chalk-white monument to tribal authority. Yes, it would be chilly, the rough clothes and furs would play merry hell with my allergies and I’m not convinced about the diet, but I quite fancy a woad tattoo and need to get among the people who called it home.

They were the Durotriges, a Celtic tribe who minted coins, traded across the Channel and got disatrously on the wrong side of Vespasian and his Roman legions (a late Iron Age cemetery on Maiden Castle contains many bodies showing signs of grotesque injuries).

amateurgardening.com/blog

I want to explore the landscape as it was then and see how society worked, how people lived, interacted (many of the forts are within sight of each other which suggests some form of communication between settlements), traded with other tribes and countries and how they tried to defend themselves against the Romans.

Much of life would have been short, brutal and bloody, but it would be fascinating to put warm flesh on the bones of our important, long-dead local civilization.

Janey Goulding, assistant editor

It was the year we narrowly avoided being hit by two giant asteroids. Cliff Richard released his 100th pop single. TV cameras entered the House of Commons. The World Wide Web was born. And Cher sang ‘If I Could Turn Back Time’.

So, like Quantum Leap’s Sam Beckett, I would travel back to a magical era within my own lifetime: 1989. And like Back To The Future’s Marty McFly, I would strive not to make any significant changes to my own history, and preserve the sanctity of school dances, clock towers and sports almanacs.

The year 1989 is Janey’s dream year, for its cultural and political earthquakes

Because much as I’d love to go back to the Victorian era and rub shoulders with Marie Curie and Wilkie Collins, I don’t think I’d be much cop with cholera and crinolines. And with much regret, while I adore 1950s fashion and music, I suspect I’d be a bit rubbish at that whole pre-feminism and workplace inequality trip. And the thing is, I know 1989 was my year.

There are a few empirical reasons why this was a moment in history unlike any other: interpersonally, culturally, socio-politically: the end of the Cold War era, and the beginning of New Europe (all the more poignant as we witness the end of it). A year where the future felt like a promise we could keep, where global fears and restrictions were dissolving, the old guard was falling away, walls of division and isolationism were literally coming down – and anything seemed possible.

amateurgardening.com/blog

As a wave of revolutions swept across the Eastern Bloc, divided families and friends linked arms and stood side by side on the crumbling walls flanking Berlin’s Brandenburg Gate and chipped away at the old guard with hammers and pickaxes. Years of surging activism was culminating in a quest for reform that would ultimately bring down that wall for good.

In tandem with this revolutionary arc of transformation, as the Iron Curtain buckled, as a human rights protester stood in front of an oncoming tank in Tiananmen Square, and as Pinochet’s dictatorship in Chile teetered on the brink – alongside all that, another revolution scuttled in quieter shoes along the corridors of change.

Softly spoken British computer scientist Tim Berners-Lee outlined proposals for a dynamic information-sharing space, which he then implemented and developed into the World Wide Web. The internet was born.

There were still tragedies, specific and shocking, but they were underpinned with a commitment to lessons learned to ensure that we might move forwards, humbled but progressive, to a more thoughtful, inclusive and socially conscious mindset. This momentum coloured all, from the beginnings of the dissolution of apartheid with the presidential election of Frederik de Klerk in South Africa, to football terrace safety reforms in the wake of the Hillsborough tragedy.

My younger, less cynical self delighted in the possibilities of a world where good could triumph over evil in the minutiae of our lives as well as in the big global events. Life was better, because Robin Williams as English teacher John Keating in Dead Poets Society urged us to carpe that diem – ‘seize the day’ – and make our lives extraordinary, while When Harry Met Sally advocated the exquisite pleasures and comedic pratfalls of male-female friendships, a blueprint that I would spend my adult life researching dutifully and enthusiastically.

amateurgardening.com/blog

The Stone Roses, De La Soul, The Pixies and The Cure released career-defining albums. Madonna challenged the establishment (back when it was still interesting) with pop art as personal meditation. And rave exploded in the climactic throes of the second Second Summer of Love.

And in the ultimate celebration of good triumphing over evil, Coronation Street super-villain Alan Bradley got flattened under a tram in Blackpool, and Dirty Den found out the hard way that you should never trust a man carrying a large bunch of daffodils.

Historians tell us our understanding of the past is a developing creature that is never fully complete. It’s all relative, and many extraordinary moments end up as footnotes in bigger stories. But 1989 truly was one of those catalytic years when the world shifted irrevocably – and I was there. And what I wouldn’t give to be there again, and tell everyone what an extraordinary moment we were living through.

In his book The End of History, brilliant political scientist Francis Fukuyama wrote: “What we may be witnessing is not just the end of the Cold War, or the passing of a particular period of post-war history, but the end of history: that is, the end point of mankind’s ideological evolution.”

Important cultural concerns, progressive ideas and emotional truths were embraced and consolidated. Things changed radically, and they changed for the better. And if life is an elastic band that has the potential to stretch and lift us as far as possible from repression towards enlightenment and hope before we get snapped back to the darkness, then I believe wholeheartedly that 1989 was that year of optimum stretch and maximum freedom.

A pivotal moment of illumination, courage and discovery: of new beginnings, and unforgettable adventures. And Madchester, obviously.

Kathryn Wilson, features co-ordinator

Blame Elizabeth Taylor and Richard Burton – or maybe the cast of Carry on Cleo – but I have always been fascinated by Ancient Egypt, and in particular the women who ruled during the Dynastic period.

The gold! The incredible feats of architecture and engineering! The eyeliner!

Ancient Egypt would float Kathryn’s boat if she could rub shoulders with Elizabeth Taylor and Richard Burton (Image: Alamy)

Apparently, life in Egypt was so good that the afterlife was imagined not as some perfect existence that no one could quite imagine, but simply as more of the same. Even for the lower classes there was time for sports, games, reading, festivals and catching up with friends and family, while happiness, both individual and communal, was seen as an important goal.

Writers (or scribes) were considered immortal and the profession was open to women as well as men, as was medicine and the priesthood, something that was unheard of in Europe until centuries later. In fact, women and men had almost equal rights.

And best of all? The Egyptians knew how to party. Along with the birthdays of their (numerous) gods, there were anniversaries of the current ruler’s deeds, funerals, wakes, housewarming parties and births. Any excuse for a knees-up, complete with feasting and beer.

Wendy Humphries, letters

The period of history that I would love to ‘visit’ is the roaring 1920s, I am passionate about both historical fashion and dance. Put me to the set of The Great Gatsby films or in the chorus line of my favourite musical is 42nd Street and I’d be deliriously happy.

I would arrive early in the decade, it was an optimistic period after the horrors of the First World War. You can only imagine the relief that the long years of fighting were finally over and the effect it had on on society and culture.

Twenties fashion evolved with simpler styles without layers, I love the flapper dress. The dress style had a dropped waste and higher hem line giving a glimpse of a ladies knees!

Wendy would like to return to her house 100 years ago and meet the then residents

Evening dresses were embellished with beads, sequins and embroidery for ultimate glitz and glamour, many were attributed to styles designed by Coco Chanel. Hair was cut into a bob and finished with a cloche hat.

I’d enter wearing the red dress covered in black tassels made for me by my aunt 35 years ago for a fancy dress party. Designs were easy to copy and make at home using cheaper materials such as artificial silk and cotton.

The looser fitting and angled hemline allowed girls to move more freely and they said goodbye to the restrictive girdle while out dancing. The foxtrot, tango and waltz were all popular dances of the 20s. The Charleston started in the Cotton Club, New York, and was the dance that anyone could pick up, you didn’t need a dance teacher, or a partner.

Nearly 100 years on, I would love to re-visit my house, a former Manse. At the time the Minster was John James and he lived here with his wife Anne (shown). We were lucky to have a surprise visit by the great niece of Rev. James and she brought clear photographs taken in 1926 of the house and the couple in the garden. Apparently churches held dances to attract young people – I’d love to think John and Anne enjoyed a bit of Charleston on our parquet floor!

Lesley Upton, features editor

I would like to visit – not necessarily live – in Egypt during the period when the Great Pyramids of Giza were being built about 4,500 years ago. Just visiting would enable me to be a ‘fly on the wall’ at that time, while still being able to return to the present day with all its advantages of medical care, education and advances in technology that make our lives ‘easier’ and enable us to we live longer.

There are three Pyramids at Giza, and the oldest and largest – and only surviving structure of the famed Seven Wonders of the Ancient World – is the Great Pyramid. It was built for Pharaoh Khufu, who reigned for 23 years (2,589-2,566BC).

Les is also a fan of Ancient Egypt, with its monumental pyramids

The Great Pyramid is 481ft (147m) tall. It is believed around 2.3 million blocks of stone, weighing around 2.5 tons each, had to be cut, transported and assembled to build the Great Pyramid.

There are many theories about how the pyramids were built, but even today scientists can’t be sure how they did it. Early theories suggested that slaves built these huge structures, but now it’s generally believed that the pyramids were built by skilled well-fed workers who lived in a temporary city nearby.

The pyramids were primarily tombs for the great and the good of the time – the Pharaohs, who expected to become gods in the afterlife. The pyramids, as well as being tombs, were temples to the gods, and when the pharaohs died they were filled with all the things needed to guide and sustain the Pharaoh in the next world.

Imagine living during those times and seeing these huge structures being built. It must have been amazing.

We are here for you

Although many people are coping well with self-isolation, others are really struggling and feeling completely forgotten and alone.

Here at AG we are doing our best to keep connected to our readers though the magazine, this website and also through social media.

John Negus is AG’s long-standing problem solver

Our gardening ‘agony uncle’ John Negus is also still working hard. Send him your problems and questions, with pictures if you can, and he will get back to you with an answer withing 24 hours, as he has been doing for decades. Contact him using the AG email address at: [email protected]

amateurgardening.com/blog

We already have thriving Facebook page but are also on Twitter and Instagram. These sites are a brilliant way of chatting to people, sharing news, information, pictures and just saying hello – we will get back to you as soon as we can.

Best of all, as gardeners are generally lovely folk, more interested in plants, hedgehogs, tea and cake than political shenanigans and point-scoring, so the chat is friendly and welcoming.

You can find us at:

Facebook: Facebook.com/AmateurGardeningMagazine

Twitter: Twitter.com/TheAGTeam

Instagram: instagram.com/amgardening_mag

So please drop by, follow us, ‘like’ our posts and say hello, we will get back to you as soon as we can.

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#IFTTT #RSSMix.com Mix ID 8135640

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terrariumtattoo · 5 years

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✨🦄 When your clients are #bestfriendgoals and have a #unicornparty at the shop!! ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ To book with HH, fill out our contact form > TerrariumTattoo.com/contact. ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ [ Best Friend Unicorn tattoo by ©HH Little Sky @hhlittlesky @hhlittleskyart ] ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ Check out our 👉 1 SHOT highlight for our flat-rate tattoo designs! + + + #artfirst #terrariumtattoo #hhlittlesky #tattoos #tattooartists #fortcollins #fortcollinstattoo #denvertattoos #coloradotattooartist #denver #wyomingtattoo #coloradotattoo #tattoo #eternalink #unicorntattoo #unicorn🦄 #glittertattoo #kawaiitattoo #pinkworkers (at Fort Collins, Colorado) https://www.instagram.com/p/BqER8MTn08H/?utm_source=ig_tumblr_share&igshid=1fc0zv6i7qg2z

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mdye · 7 years

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The role of wife and mother is something Jennifer Garner knows well. It’s one she’s played in her last seven consecutive films, an identity that’s boosted her cultural relevance over the past decade, as her on-screen career has taken a back seat to raising a family ... and, err, Ben Affleck.

Films like “Juno” and “Miracles of Heaven” showed Garner making the most out of the “wife” character, delivering her best film performances to date, exploring the joys and challenges of motherhood. Similar roles in more forgettable fare (”The Odd Life of Timothy Green,” ”Alexander and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day” and “Danny Collins”) have fallen by the wayside. And the less said about “Nine Lives” the better.

Those clamoring for a Garner comeback of a different sort won’t find much to celebrate in “Wakefield,” which opens for a wider release on Friday. Based off the short story by E. L. Doctorow, the film finds Garner playing wife and mother yet again, but the typecasting could be easily forgiven if the material was deserving. Director Robin Swicord, who’s made a career out of bringing women’s stories to the big screen, is at the helm of her first film in years. And yet here these identifiers overwhelm fleeting moments of agency, as Garner’s primary function is to service the evolution of a husband who’s, well, kind of an asshole.

“Wakefield” belongs to Bryan Cranston as Howard, a man who essentially ghosts his wife Diana (Garner) and children by going on a faux “Into the Wild” quest to find himself. Except instead of traveling all the way to the Alaskan hinterlands, Howard sets up shop in the attic overlooking his house, as he watches his family cope with his disappearance and presumed death. Apart from a handful of flashbacks where Garner gels well with a more adult, edgier tone, her scenes are mostly silent, taking place behind the attic’s glass window pane and through a pair of binoculars.

There’s a certain boldness in telling this story from the eyes of an unlikable protagonist, especially through the lens of a female director, and no one is better suited than Cranston to humanize an anti-hero. The film stays with Cranston’s character, even in his most arrogant and repulsive moments, as “Wakefield” is a deeply internal piece that strongly evokes its original source material. Exploring everyone’s perverse desire to pull the escape hatch on life is fascinating, but not allowing Garner a moment of respite under Cranston’s unrelenting gaze makes for a frustrating and far less dynamic experience.

In a recent interview with Build Series, Swicord addressed these criticisms, agreeing that the story is the very “definition of the male gaze,” but claiming that the film ultimately subverts this power structure. There is something to be said about Swicord writing and directing a film that unapologetically empathizes with a middle-aged white male in crisis and not his wife. However, if her intention was to provide commentary on the ways men come to view women, she missed a crucial opportunity in the film’s ending to drive her point home.

While Howard lives in self-imposed destitution, dumpster diving for food and communing with the town’s local raccoon population, Diana is left to her own devices. She later strikes up a romance with Dirk (Jason O’Mara), an ex-boyfriend and former work rival of Howard’s. Through flashbacks, it’s revealed that Howard was only initially interested in Diana because of what amounts to a pissing contest between himself and Dirk. It’s disappointing to say the least that Garner’s character so easily volleys back and forth between the two and is none the wiser.

Dirk’s encroachment on Howard’s so-called territory and an almost laughable come-to-Jesus moment during a rainstorm prompt him to return home months after disappearing. Before he walks through the door, however, Howard imagines the various reactions Diana and his family might have. In one scenario, they’re terrified, and in another, they break down crying. But before the audience is allowed to see her genuine reaction ― and a scene where she exists outside of her husband’s viewpoint ― the film cuts to black. The short story ends in a similar fashion, so the adaptation is nothing if not faithful, but the ending feels like a cop-out that unfairly robs the character of any semblance of justice.

Curiously, “Wakefield” was filmed during the nearly one-year period after Garner and then husband Ben Affleck announced their separation. The actor was painted by the media as a philanderer in the midst of a mid-life crisis (see: fake phoenix back tattoo), while Garner held down the fort, shuttling kids back and forth from karate class. That’s why it’s somewhat baffling that given the material’s fascination with a husband’s failings, Garner chose to work on this project before eventually divorcing Affleck this April.

As she raises her three children, the actress is increasingly selective with her film work, especially leading parts that require her to be away from her family for long stretches of time. Maybe Garner has fallen victim to Hollywood’s pernicious stereotyping of women over 40, or maybe she’s had trouble finding roles that work within her constraints. She could be seeking out these roles, as she can relate in one way or another. Or perhaps, she just needs a new agent.

The idea of Garner strictly as a wife and mother in her personal life and in her on-screen roles might be the dominant narrative of her celebrity, but she has already proven that she’s more than her megawatt smile, dimples and Capital One commercials. Five seasons on ABC’s “Alias” shot her toward superstardom, and cemented her status as an actress who could kick ass and emote with the best of them. At least, the Golden Globe Awards thought so. And playing a deranged woman who develops an attraction to a priest in the little known short film “Serena” confirmed that Garner could, yes, go dark.

Despite making the most out of the little she’s given in “Wakefield,” you can’t help but walk out of the theater asking: What if?

What if Garner made as many films as Affleck in the last decade? What if “Wakefield” took the time to explore what it’s like to be the one left behind? What if Garner finally found a role that allows her to be the movie star we always thought she could be?

You can be highbrow. You can be lowbrow. But can you ever just be brow? Welcome to Middlebrow, a weekly examination of pop culture. Read more here.

-- This feed and its contents are the property of The Huffington Post, and use is subject to our terms. It may be used for personal consumption, but may not be distributed on a website.

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muffinbeliever · 3 years

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When the Stars Align [01]

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Soulmate!Reader

Word Count: 2551

Warnings: minor language, angst, fluff if you squint, very brief descriptions of violence

Summary: Soulmate!AU-- Everyone has the first words their soulmate says to them tattooed on their wrists. You and your cat are living a normal life in Fort Collins, Colorado when three men come bursting through your door, completely changing your life. Reader-insert story. Starts around S06E08, but Sam has his soul, and it doesn't really follow the series from there.

A/N: i used to write for harry potter and sisters grimm, but i recently got into supernatural! please enjoy my first series and leave comments !

Masterlist | When the Stars Align Masterlist

You slowly opened your eyes, adjusting to the bright beams of sun streaming through the curtains. Throwing your covers off, you yelped as your foot felt movement nearby. The bed jiggled and suddenly there was a giant ball of brown fur landing on your chest. Meatball’s eyes lazily blinked twice before he snuggled back to sleep. You lovingly stared at the cat before reluctantly moving him off to start the day.

It was a beautiful Saturday in Fort Collins, Colorado, and all you wanted to do was spend it in your backyard, soaking in the sun. But alas, the universe had other plans. The past week had been so busy, that today was the day to finally run errands and clean the house.

You made your way to the bathroom, stripping off the t-shirt you had slept in the night before. You stood in front of the mirror, carefully inspecting the tired image staring back: dark bags, eyes that were still glazed over with sleep, and the yawn that escaped from your mouth. You sighed at yourself and turned on the shower, brushing your teeth while the water warmed up. Grabbing your face wash on the way, you stepped under the hot streams of water, eyes closing in content. It was so warm, you could stay here forever. You soon heard Meatball scratching at the bathroom door and quickly finished your shower routine so you could feed him.

After Meatball’s bowl was filled and the coffee was brewing, you carefully picked your way through the fridge, throwing out anything that had gone bad, and taking note of what you had to buy from the grocery store later. You pulled together an easy breakfast before grabbing the shopping list and your purse, ready to enter the outside world. Patting Meatball on the head, you glanced down at your wrist, staring at the words glaring back, “Get down!”

You remembered when your soulmate’s words first showed up. It was the second day of kindergarten. You happily showed your parents when you got home from school and were confused by their shocked reactions. Ever since then, they had always been protective, fearing that you would meet your soulmate in a dangerous, life-threatening situation. You hoped that they were wrong and that the words really were just about a stray baseball flying in your direction. Still, every day before you left the house, you kissed Meatball on the head and made sure he felt loved before you walked through the door. Just in case.

As your car was filling up at the gas station, you idly scrolled through the news before a headline caught your eye: Body of Missing High School Basketball Coach Found.

Fort Collins’ high school basketball coach Jonathan Grant's body was found by a jogger in the woods this morning, three days after police deemed him missing and presumed dead. Police have confirmed that it was another animal attack due to the large scratch marks and missing heart. This is the fourth body that has been found with the same evidence, beginning with the death of Mary Tirny, the owner of the locally-loved bakery Morning Buns, who was attacked nine days ago…

You jumped as the gas pump clicked, indicating the tank was full. You glanced down at the article, slightly frowning, before putting the pump away and getting in the car. You drove out of the gas station and turned on the radio, lightly singing along as you made your way to the grocery store. You pulled into a spot next to a sleek, black Impala. It may have looked old-fashioned but it was kept in perfect condition.

You stepped into the store, immediately blasted by the air-conditioner. You could not believe you had let the warm weather fool you into wearing short sleeves as you rubbed your arms, deciding that this would be a fast shopping trip. You wove through the market, crossing items off your list in record time.

Stuck in the bread aisle, you debated between buying an unknown bagel brand or waiting until they were back in stock with your tried and true brand. A few feet away were two tall men standing in front of the hand pies. One was in a dark green flannel and the other in a beige trench coat. Normally, you would not have noticed them, except that in your chilled state, you longed for a coat like his. At least then, you wouldn’t be covered in goosebumps. The cold got the best of you, so you decided on foregoing the bagels and pushed the cart past the two men, practically running to the checkout stand, counting down the seconds until you could bask under the sun’s warm rays once again.

You would be lying if you said you weren’t taking your sweet time loading up the groceries into the car. The sun embraced your body and you swore you could stand there all day. You remembered all of the laundry waiting to be done, and with a sad sigh, got into the car and drove home. It was a smaller living space, but large enough for you and Meatball. Only 26 years old, you assumed it would be a while before you met your soulmate, let alone moved in with them. Most people meet their other half in their late 30s; you knew only a handful of lucky individuals who met theirs earlier.

A few hours later, you were folding laundry while watching the newest season of your favorite show. Meatball was stretched out on a large section of the floor that the sun hit, his purring barely heard over the sound of the tv. You already washed the dishes, ate a light lunch, cleaned the floors, and were currently folding the last load of laundry. The only thing you had left was ironing a couple of dresses and then you were done. Hopefully you could finish within the next hour, and then you too could lay in the sun.

As the sun started to set, you stood up from the lounge chair and stretched your legs. All that hard work earlier in the day had paid off. You spent two hours in the comfort of your backyard, delving into a book that you had been meaning to start for a while. It wasn’t great, but you had promised your friend Thomas you would finish it so you both could talk about it. Rather, he rambled on about it while you actively listened. You went back inside, setting the book on the kitchen counter and pulling the salad you made earlier out of the fridge. There was a steak browning in there too, so you decided to cook it and put it in the salad.

Your stomach was growling by the time you had finished cutting up the cooked pieces of steak, leaving some in Meatball’s bowl for him to snack on later. You poured yourself a glass of wine and ate while scrolling through your phone. After you were finished, you tidied up the kitchen before changing into your workout clothes. You kissed Meatball on the head and began your routine night walk. The crisp air cut through your jacket but you didn’t mind. Your body was warm from the slight buzz you got after two glasses of wine. You absentmindedly hummed a tune as you walked, enjoying the peacefulness of a quiet neighborhood. A twig snapped behind you and you slightly turned your head, but seeing nothing, you continued your journey, more cautious and aware than before. When another twig snapped, you turned again and saw a silhouette of a human stumbling towards you.

He was getting closer and his jerky movements were freaking you out. Luckily, you were several houses away from home. You burst into a sprint, letting your legs carry you the last couple of hundred feet. As you approached your driveway, you looked back at the man, but he was gone. You locked your front door and leaned against it breathing heavily. You had just begun to catch your breath when something came through the window next to you, spraying glass everywhere. It was the same man from the street, but now his eyes were an unnatural green and his fangs were bared at you. He took a swipe at you, his long claws tore through your pants and you felt a sharp pain in your thigh and stumbled in the doorway of the kitchen. You started crawling, and you could feel him getting closer. His breath heavy as he watched, like a predator stalking his prey. You were able to pull yourself up and get your hands on a knife, when you heard a burst through your front door.

“Get down!” boomed a loud voice, and you dropped to the floor. You vaguely heard two gunshots and saw the man’s body on the floor next to you, but you were too focused on the man holding the gun. You glanced down at your wrist again and then back up at the man. His piercing green eyes took your breath away and his lips were pulled in a stern line. His broad shoulders filled the same green flannel from the market and his strong thighs could be seen through his worn jeans. Behind him was the trench coat man in a suit and tie and an extremely tall man who was in desperate need of a haircut, or at least a hair tie.

“Are you alright?” said the long-haired man as he rushed towards you, his hair flying in the wind.

“I-uh yeah, I guess. I mean…What the hell was that? Who the hell are you guys? How did you guys know I was here?” you demanded, green-flannel man forgotten. You were trying to process what just happened, but considering you didn’t know what that man was or who these men were or what actually just happened, your brain was fried trying to figure it out.

“Look I know this is all really confusing, but you’re safe now. My name is Sam, that’s my brother Dean and our friend Castiel,” his arm pointing in their direction, but not accurately enough for you to know who is who.

“We hunt things. Monsters. That man was a werewolf, and we killed it with silver bullets,” he continued. “I know this sounds crazy, but please hear me out.”

You wanted to scoff at him, tell him that werewolves don’t exist, they’re just made up. But as you stared at the dead man on the ground, you knew he wasn’t joking. His fangs, claws, and eyes gave it away. He wasn’t human.

“I know this sounds crazier, but I believe you,” you said. Sam let out a sigh of relief and you looked back over to his brother and friend and waved.

“And I am an angel of the Lord,” remarked the trench coat man. The green-flannel man slapped the trench coat man in the chest and Sam groaned, putting his head in his hands.

“Cas, you can’t just lay that on people,” the green-flannel man said, looking at you, taking your breath away again.

“Sorry about that. He’s got the social skills of a toddler. I’m Dean,” he nods at you.

Your brain on overdrive, you threw out the first thought you had.

“Meatball!” You internally groaned.

A man this gorgeous saves your life, introduces himself, and you’re worried about your cat? Great going Y/N. You dropped your eyes to the floor, cheeks red with humiliation, starting to get up. The pain in your leg spiked and you crumbled back on the floor in an embarrassing heap. You heard footsteps and you felt fingers touch your forehead. A warm feeling spread all over your body, and suddenly you were no longer in pain.

“Thank you. How did you do that?” you said, looking up at Castiel in amazement. He blinked.

“I just told you. I’m an angel of the Lord,” he said flatly. You got up from the floor and looked at Dean, but his eyes weren’t meeting yours. Slightly confused, you walked stopped in front of him and put your hand on his arm.

“Thank you for saving me. I don’t know what came over me; I should’ve thanked you first,” you said quietly. He looked down at you, eyes softening as they met yours.

“It’s no problem. I get it. You know, shock and all,” he said, scratching the back of his neck bashfully. You nodded and walked towards your bedroom in search of Meatball.

If he was my soulmate, wouldn’t my first words be on his arm? Wouldn’t he have said something? Maybe he’s not my soulmate. Maybe there really is going to be a baseball flying towards my head. You crouched down to look under your bed. No Meatball. You went into the closet and turned on the light. There he was, sitting in the corner, ears perked up and eyes alert.

“Thanks for being my knight in shining armor,” you said sarcastically as you picked him up.

“Come on Meatball, there are some strange men down the hall and I want you by my side while we figure out what the hell to do next,” you whispered into his fur, comforted by his familiar scent.

You walked back into your kitchen and saw Sam and Dean whispering up a storm, Castiel nowhere in sight. Meatball hissed at the dead body on the floor, and the brothers’ heads whipped up to look at you.

“So…there’s a dead man on my floor. What do we do next?” you said, trying to keep the atmosphere light.

“We’ll take care of the body. Do you have somewhere to stay while we fix up your window and front door?” Sam asked kindly. Dean shifted uncomfortably.

“I mean, I could get a hotel for the night, but you guys are seriously going to fix my house? I mean, don’t get me wrong, I’m grateful, but I can hire someone. Do you guys even have the tools to install a window?” you rambled, your nerves getting the best of you. Who could blame you? There were two incredibly handsome men standing in front of you, not only did they save your life, but they’re also offering to save your house too.

“We got all the tools we need, sweetheart,” came Dean’s gruff voice.

“It’ll just be tomorrow, and we’ll be out of your hair in no time. It’ll be free of charge, considering we knocked your door down in the first place. And for the window, if you could provide the food, I say it’s an even trade,” bargained Sam. You considered the proposition. A new door and window, free of charge? It’ll be in the middle of the day and you’ll be here the whole time.

“Alright, deal,” you said. You stuck your hand out and Sam shook it. You turned to Dean, offering your hand, and his hand shook yours. You glanced at your hands meeting and saw his sleeve slightly shift up his arm. It was brief, but it was long enough for you to see the word ‘Meatball’. Your body froze.

“You’re my soulmate,” you breathed out. He inhaled sharply.

“Yeah, I am.”

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muffinbeliever · 3 years

Text

When the Stars Align [03]

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Soulmate!Reader

Word Count: 4258

Warnings: brief mentions of death, lots of tears, mentions of skipping meals, mentions of depressive tendencies

A/N: yayyy enjoy!

Masterlist | When the Stars Align Masterlist

You called in sick to work for the first week and your manager was understanding. You spent your days in the same pair of sweatpants and hoodie, neither showering nor able to keep food down. You saw his carefree smile every time you closed your eyes and heard his soft humming throughout the day. Your coworker and friend Thomas was concerned for you and stopped by every day after work, knocking on your door and calling your phone, but you never answered. You just wanted to be alone.

At first, Sam texted you daily, checking in and asking how you were doing, but when you never replied, the texts dwindled down to nothing. He had given up on you, and you didn’t blame him. You contemplated praying to Castiel; the strange yet comforting angel had grown on you. He had a way with words, in that he was terrible with them, in the best way. He never sugar-coated or tried to soften the blow. He was straightforward and blunt, and even though that was exactly what you needed right now, it wasn’t what you wanted to hear.

On Sunday, you managed to shower and change your clothes. You knew you had to go into work the next day, so— like every self-respecting 26 year old— you shoved your emotions down into a dark corner of your mind. Somehow, it worked. Over the next weeks, from the moment your alarm went off in the morning to the moment you drifted to sleep, you were numb. You fell into a daily routine, merely going through the motions while stuck in a daze.

Every morning, you showered and brushed your teeth, avoiding your reflection. You already knew that your eyes were puffy and red, your face sunken and eye bags dark. You didn’t need a mirror to tell you that. You pulled on a different pair of leggings and sweatshirt every day. It wasn’t much, but it was all you could manage. You made sure Meatball was fed before leaving for work. After you got home, you changed back into your sweats and drowned your sorrows with swigs of whiskey until you passed out.

When you first got a job at the bookstore two years ago, you were excited. You loved the quietness and calm it provided. Now, you wished you had an office job, one that could keep you busy, so that your mind wouldn’t wander like it did now while you performed menial tasks such as shelving books or sticking on price tags.

It had been a month since you watched the Impala’s lights fade into the night. A month since Dean Winchester drove away and didn’t look back. You were constantly on autopilot, only speaking when spoken to. You didn’t leave your house unless it was to go to work or to buy more whiskey from the liquor store. You were lonely.

“Y/N,” Thomas’ voice interrupted your thoughts. You looked over your shoulder, giving your friend a blank look.

“Did you hear what I said?” he asked. You shook your head.

“I was saying that we should get dinner tonight. You have been stuck in this funk for a month now, and I want to help you get over it,” he repeated, and you gave him a small smile.

After your parent’s died in a car accident three years ago, you were left alone in the world. You packed up your belongings from your hometown and, using the money left to you, you bought a house and moved to Fort Collins. When you first moved in, you mainly stayed at home, your inheritance was more than enough to live off of. You bought Meatball and lived a simple life full of reading in coffee shops and baking to your heart’s content. A year later, you acknowledged that you were in your mid-twenties, doing nothing with your life. Sure you graduated college with a degree in English, but because of your parents’ sudden death, you never pursued a career. Since money wasn’t an issue, you decided to make money doing what you loved. You liked the bookstore because not only were you able to read all the books you wanted, but also you could give recommendations and share your knowledge with curious customers.

Thomas began working about three months after you did. Although you weren’t much of a socializer, the two of you instantly hit it off. The past two years had laid a strong foundation for your friendship to flourish. Often, you would spend lunch breaks together, debating on various topics and sharing books you loved. You cherished your friendship with him, glad to have someone in your life that cared for you as much as he did.

You hadn’t told him about your encounter with the werewolf, or that you had met your soulmate. You were ashamed and embarrassed by the whole mess. All Thomas knew was that you were upset and you didn’t want to talk about it. He had been trying to get you to get dinner together like you used to, and up until today, you hadn’t felt up to it. But today was different. Whether you were just fed up with the frustration, or you actually wanted to feel a drop of happiness again, you didn’t know. All you knew was that you were going to say yes.

“Yeah, sure! I’d love to go. You’re right… I just need to get out of my head for a couple of hours,” you agreed. He smiled and nodded. Deciding on meeting at the Italian place down the street, you found yourself mentally going over potential outfits to wear. You knew this was nothing more than two friends grabbing dinner, but this was also the first real interaction you were going to have with anyone in over a month. It was exciting.

At closing time, you locked up the bookstore and headed home. Going out tonight was a step closer to getting over the situation. A step closer to getting over him. You hopped out of your car and heard your stomach growl. It occurred to you that this was going to be your first real meal in about a month. Up until now, you were living off of whiskey and granola bars, occasionally eating an apple if you felt up to it. Today would be different.

You slipped out of your leggings and hoodie, rinsing your body in the shower. Staring at yourself in the mirror, you sighed as you noted the dark circles under your eyes. You applied makeup for the first time in weeks, covering up the eye bags, even though Thomas had seen them all month. You slid into a flowing dress and fluffed your hair. Checking the time, you found that you still had half an hour before meeting Thomas. You sat down on the edge of your bed, thinking about what you could do during that time. As you looked around your room, you became increasingly aware that the last time you were in this exact spot, he was holding you. You thought about how safe you were in his arms, feeling tears pool in your eyes.

“No, no, no this is not happening right now,” you muttered to yourself, wiping at the tears before they could fall. You were a grown woman pining over a man you hadn’t even known for a full 24 hours. This was ridiculous, soulmate or not. You checked the time, seeing you still had five minutes before you had to leave the house. Determined to not let him ruin your night, you stood from your bed and went to find Meatball. He was sleeping on the couch and you found comfort in petting his soft head as he snoozed away. You checked your phone again. It was time to go.

“Hey there pretty girl,” Thomas said as you stepped out of your car. You laughed as he offered his elbow to you.

“It’s just makeup. You and I both know I looked like garbage earlier,” you joked, putting your hand in the crook of his arm. Together, you walked into the restaurant and sat at a table. You loved this restaurant, not just for their delicious food but also their kind hospitality. You and Thomas had been eating here since you met, now on a first name basis with all of the staff.

“Y/N!” exclaimed Amy, one of the waitresses.

“Where have you been, girl? Thomas has been coming here all by himself. I’m glad he finally dragged you here too. We missed you,” she said kindly, as you blushed.

“Yeah, I was going through some stuff, but I’m glad I was able to get out tonight,” you said. You reached for the menu in front of you, but Amy snagged it before you could.

“No way. You are getting the chef’s special tonight. Jacob is going to freak when he sees how thin you’ve gotten. He’ll stuff the whole fridge down your throat if it were up to him,” she said and you nodded with a faint smile on your face.

“Alright. Not too much though, okay? I’m not sure my stomach can handle too much food,” you replied and she nodded her head before looking at Thomas.

“I’ll have the same as Y/N, Amy. Thanks,” he said, before handing her his menu. She gave him a quick smile and left the two of you alone.

“Thanks for bringing me here, Thomas. These past few weeks haven’t been great for me, but I really appreciate you being there for me,” you shared. He nodded with a sad smile.

“I don’t know what's been going on, but I’m glad I could help at least a little bit,” he replied. Another waitress came by and dropped off the bread as well as greeting you and telling you how happy she was to see you.

Throughout the evening, you met various staff members as they all took turns serving your table, so they were able to see you. Jacob had gone all out with the entree. It was more of a tasting platter with various pastas and sauces, some that were classic and others that were his own creation. Thomas and you caught up with each other’s lives, discussing the books you were reading along with how his family was doing.

At the end of the meal, you were ready to burst. You were glad you opted for a loose dress to hide your bloated stomach. You sipped your wine and hummed contently as you relaxed into the back of your chair. Lightly buzzed, you were ready to talk.

“I met my soulmate,” you stated bluntly, watching as Thomas’ eyes met yours. He lowered his glass of wine, waiting for you to continue.

“I won’t get into the details of how we met, it’s pretty unbelievable,” you breathed out with a laugh.

“We spent the day together hanging out. I got to meet his brother and his friend. We drove around Fort Collins and I showed him all of my favorite places. His laughter is infectious and he has these eyes that melt my heart. I only knew him for a day, but it was the most incredible day of my life,” you admitted.

“What happened?” Thomas asked. You shook your head and looked to the side as tears blurred your vision.

“He, uh, he had to go. He left. And I don’t think he’s coming back,” your voice cracked as you willed the tears not to fall. You were unsuccessful. You sniffed and dabbed at your face with your napkin. Thomas reached out his hand and grabbed yours across the table, a sad look on his face.

“I met my soulmate in first grade, her name was Lucy. She had the most gentle laugh and these curls that would bounce with every step she took. My parents couldn’t believe I was so lucky to meet her at such a young age. Being so young, I couldn’t understand what they had meant, but I knew that when I was around her, nothing else mattered. I knew that she could take away my pain with one hug and a kiss on my cheek.

“She was diagnosed with leukemia when we were 13 and passed shortly after. I was heartbroken, but I was still young. I didn’t know that losing her meant losing the one person that was perfectly made for me. It didn’t even hit me until a few years later, I realized that no matter how many people I surrounded myself with, none of them made me feel the same way she did,” he whispered, blinking away tears. You squeezed his hand in support and he took a deep breath, continuing.

“Once I started college, I met people who were in the same situation as me, having lost their soulmate even though they still had their whole life ahead of them. They taught me that I could be happy, even if it wasn’t with the one person I was meant to be happy with. It took some time for me to understand, but once I opened up to the idea, I realized that I wasn’t going to be loveless for the rest of my life.

“I dated a couple of girls throughout school, both who were in the same situation as me, and even though I couldn’t recreate the same feeling I had with Lucy, I was still happy. You’re still young, Y/N, and even though I don’t know why your soulmate left, or why you think he may be gone for good, I know you can still be happy,” Thomas reassured. You gave him a small smile.

“Thank you for sharing that with me, Thomas. I can’t even begin to imagine how you felt, but I’m glad that you have made your peace with it, and I hope that in time, I can do the same,” you said. He gave your hand one last squeeze before releasing it and taking a sip from his wine glass.

“It may not be easy right now, but trust me Y/N, there is someone else out there that will make you happy.” You gave him a small nod and as if on cue, Jacob walked over holding a slice of tiramisu. He expressed his happiness to see you, and you and Thomas thanked him for the wonderful meal. Once he had left, both of you wiped at your eyes, smiling and laughing at the fact that you had such a private conversation in the middle of the restaurant. The conversation picked up, and you felt much lighter than you did a couple of hours before. Maybe there was still hope after all.

When Amy refused to let you pay, claiming the meal was “on the house”, you both thanked her graciously and said your goodbyes to everyone before leaving the restaurant. Thomas walked you back to your car and you gave him a tight hug.

“Thank you for being my friend,” you whispered into his shoulder. He squeezed your body and kissed the top of your head.

“Always,” he whispered back. You pulled away, smiling, before getting into your car.

“I’ll see you tomorrow then,” he said, and you nodded before waving and pulling out of the parking lot, making your way home. You softly hummed along to the radio, happier than you had been for the last month. Once home, you washed your face and changed your clothes before slipping into bed to watch a movie. You started a rom-com, but fell asleep within the first ten minutes.

The next few weeks, you slowly recovered. It started out small, a yogurt for breakfast, growing into eating three meals a day again. You started wearing skirts and dresses to work again, and Thomas had started bringing you coffee when he came in, pleased with your progress. Although you weren’t as happy as you used to be, you were beginning to take care of yourself again, and that was okay.

One weekend, you decided to take advantage of your new mindset. You first gave Meatball’s litter box a deep cleaning, considering you had been doing the bare minimum for him these past few weeks. He meowed happily as you opened up a can of wet food. Usually, you saved this for holidays or special occasions, but you had decided that Meatball had been somewhat neglected lately, and you wanted to make up for it. You smiled softly as he purred, weaving his furry body through your legs.

You watched him happily lap up his food for a minute before surveying the mess around you. The floor was littered with empty whiskey bottles and clothes were strewn everywhere. You started off in the kitchen, cleaning out the fridge and throwing away everything that had spoiled. You emptied the dishwasher, giggling at the strange arrangement they were put in. You presumed Castiel had loaded it while Sam rinsed them.

The whiskey bottles were placed in their own trash bag that was knotted and set by the door for you to put in the garbage can later. You threw away all of the tissues and thoroughly wiped down all of the surfaces. You sorted out your clothes and started the first load of laundry.

By Sunday night, your house was back to its normal state, and you could feel yourself ring put back together, piece by piece. You put a pasta bake in the oven and then sat down on your couch before clasping your hands together. You glanced around the room, before taking a deep breath and closing your eyes.

“Castiel, I am not a person who prays often, or really at all, but it’s been a while, and I was wondering what you were up to. I don’t even know if this is what I’m supposed to do, but I was told this was the easiest way to contact you. If you’re not too busy, I wouldn’t mind your company,” you stated before opening your eyes. You looked around the room, sighing when it remained empty. You stood up from the couch, shrieking as there was a flutter of wings behind you.

“Hello, Y/N,” came Castiel’s smooth voice. You spun around, eyes wide as you processed the angel’s presence. You should’ve expected his sudden appearance, but in your defense, you were still getting used to this “flying” thing.

“Hey Castiel,” you said warmly, opening your arms in a welcoming embrace. He stared at you strangely, before stepping towards you. You rolled your eyes and pulled him in with a smile. You wrapped his arms around your shoulders before you wrapped yours around his waist.

“You put your hands here, and then I’ll put my hands here and we just stand here. This is called a hug,” you explained. You pulled back just in time to see Castiel purse his lips.

“I am aware of what a hug is Y/N, you just caught me by surprise last time,” he replied blandly, but there was a hint of a smile playing on his lips.

“I’m sorry I startled you. I wasn’t sure if you really wanted to see me or not,” he continued, and you frowned.

“Of course I wanted to see you. I missed talking to you,” you said, giving him a reassuring smile. He nodded his head and the room was filled with silence.

“So… I know you don’t eat, being an angel and all, but I was wondering if you wanted to sit with me while I ate,” you offered, nervous about his reply. He smiled and nodded again and you silently let out a sigh of relief. You both walked towards the kitchen and he sat down at the table while you pulled the dish out of the oven. You poured yourself a glass of wine and took a bottle of beer out of the fridge for Castiel. He thanked you when you handed it to him and you also sat down at the table, beginning to eat.

“How have you been?” you asked, genuinely interested. He began to talk about the past couple of months, vaguely mentioning an angel named Balthazar and revealing that he had been messing with time in order to help the Winchester brothers. You flinched at the first mention of Dean, but surprisingly, you didn’t burst into tears like you thought you would. Then, Castiel asked about you, and you told him about how you were a mess the first month, but then Thomas helped you back up and now you were on the mend.

“I’m glad that you’re feeling better. The last time I saw you, I could barely manage the pain I felt radiating off your body. It was almost unbearable. You humans are much stronger than you get credit for. You never cease to amaze me,” he stated and your heart warmed. Castiel was a man— angel?— of little words, so hearing him say that he was amazed gave you confidence.

“Come on then,” you started with a smile, “let me show you how to properly load a dishwasher.”

An hour later, you were back on the couch with another glass of wine, watching Castiel interact with Meatball. The cat was intrigued by the angel’s tie, flicking it with his paw and carefully watching as it swung from side to side. Castiel had a slight smile as he pet Meatball’s body, feeling him purr. You were growing tired, and you had a feeling Castiel could detect it, as he softly put Meatball on the floor and stood up. You followed suit.

“Thanks for coming Cas,” you said, hoping the nickname was okay. You had heard the brothers call him that, but you were unsure if that was just a thing between the three of them or not. He nodded at you.

“Of course, Y/N. Thank you for wanting to spend time with me,” he replied and you pulled him into another hug.

“Please don’t tell Sam or Dean that you came to see me,” you asked. For a couple of seconds it was silent and you were afraid he would say no. But you felt him nod against the top of your head and you squeezed him a little tighter.

“Goodnight then Y/N,” the angel said, before disappearing with a flutter of wings.

A few weeks passed and you were nearly back to your old self, Dean in the furthest corner of your mind. One beautiful Friday morning, you entered the bookstore and was greeted with a small bouquet of pretty flowers. Thomas had a shy smile on his face as he offered them to you.

“This may be a little too early, but I noticed that you have been doing a lot better lately. I understand if you need more time, but I was hoping you would let me be the one to make you happy, Y/N,” he said, a slight waver in his voice. Your steps faltered as you were caught off guard. He noticed your hesitation and opened his mouth to speak, but before any words could come out, you interrupted him.

“I just need more time, please,” you said, and his smile fell and he nodded, handing you the flowers anyway.

“Take all the time you need,” he said, trying to be reassuring, but you could feel the waves of disappointment rolling off him.

For the rest of the day, you thought about Thomas which led to thinking about Dean. You compared the two, from their looks to their sense of humor. As you laid in bed that night, you realized Dean wasn’t there and you didn’t know when he would be, but Thomas was here now, and you could always depend on him to be there for you. Taking a deep breath, you made your decision.

Does tomorrow at 7 work for you?

A minute later, the three bubbles popped up and then came a reply.

I’ll see you then Y/N. Thank you for taking a chance with me.

See you then. Goodnight Thomas

You heard it vibrate as he responded, but you couldn’t bring yourself to look at it. Your stomach was in knots and you tried to tell yourself that you were doing the right thing. You were moving on. But as you laid in the dark, you couldn’t help yourself from imagining green eyes staring into yours and soft singing in your ear.

You tried distracting yourself the whole day, even going on a long run just to tire yourself out. You baked two batches of cookies and a cherry pie to keep yourself occupied. You started rereading your favorite book and took a bubble bath to ease your nerves. As the clock neared seven, you zipped yourself into a black dress that fell just above your knees. It wasn’t the type of dress that hugged every curve, but rather clung to your front and exposed the majority of your back. At 6:53, you heard a knock and you slipped your shoes on as you made your way to open it. You opened the door, the greeting on your lips dying when you saw who it was. Green eyes bore into yours and your breath hitched.

“Dean?” His flannel was soaked with blood and you could see the occasional cut on his arms. His knuckles were bleeding, skin torn. You thought he would’ve been in pain, but instead, his lips quirked upward into a smile.

“Hey, sweetheart.”

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