Alec & Roman - 17
There was still that nervousness in him, even if he had tried performing many times before. He still kept bouncing his legs up and down, much to Connor’s irritation, and he had been told to sit still by him several times already. Lydia appeared to be practicing imaginary piano chords. Rakel was, as always, eerily calm, and had only offered Roman a reassuring glance and nod before closing her eyes again, leaving him to himself once again. He didn’t particularly mind it; he preferred being alone on occasions like these, and he knew that talking wouldn’t make it any better. This was a little different, though. This time, he wasn’t just playing at their local coffee shop, and he wasn’t playing at the small concert venue, either. He’d tried that before and had managed to bridle his nervousness a little when he was playing there, but tonight, he was playing at a bigger place, with a better, bigger scene and much better sound. And many. More. People. Roman could hear them from the room him and his bandmates were seated in; the excited, muffled murmur of voices, clinking glasses and a table scraping across the floor every now and then. Running a hand through his wild black hair, he looked up at the kind-looking man poking his head in through the doorway. “2 minutes,” he said, “you should start getting ready. We checked, and the mic and everything works!” he added to reassure him, and Roman gave a smile in response. “Thanks,” he said, and turning his head as he rose from his seat added, “come on guys, let’s go.”
Then, they were walking, and Roman took a swig of water, cleared his throat and everything else last-minute-preparations he could think of. The voices quieted once the four people stepped out onto the scene. Grabbing the mic, Roman felt an easy grin spreading across his face. “Thank you for coming tonight! I hope you’ll enjoy!” he announced, then Connor started the rhythm and they were playing. A shiver went through him before he opened his mouth to sing, but his slight uncertainty was nowhere to be found in his voice. [...]
Mit einem sanften Lächeln auf den Lippen lehnte sich der Aschblonde auf der Bank zurück und schloss einen Moment lang die Augen, wobei er den Kopf in den Nacken legte und das Gefühl der Sonnenstrahlen auf seinen geschlossenen Augenlidern genoss, ehe er seinen Blick wieder nach vorne auf ein Feld voll Sonnenblumen richtete, auf dem die Lieblingsblumen des gebürtigen Russen um die Wette zu strahlen schienen, was eine zutiefst beruhigende Wirkung auf den großgewachsenen Mann hatte, weshalb er gerne an diesen Ort kam, vorausgesetzt natürlich, es war Sommer, denn den vertrockneten Zustand dieser Wärme verbreitenden Blumen konnte er nicht leiden.
Stephan & Shin - 2
A week had - barely - passed since they had seen each other. A week where Shin busied himself with his club and devoted himself to making absolutely certain that no such thing as had happened on their first verbal encounter would ever happen again. Stephan was well aware of the fact that his - could he even call him boyfriend? Fuck buddy was probably more appropriate - partner was fond of his club, and why shouldn’t he be? It had been what had lured him in in the first place. The fact that the owner was quite handsome and very much his type certainly helped to ensure that Stephan would keep coming back, and so he had. It hadn’t really ended all that well, though. His previous target’s clan had come after him, wrecked the club to pieces and almost done the same to Shin and Stephan, but, with teamwork, they had managed.
But the past week, the halfling had been alone, and halfway across the world in his old home; Russia. Disturbances between the Toivonen clan and a group of smaller, weaker clans had popped up, and while he didn’t care for his family all that much - and that feeling was quite mutual - they were still family, and like hell he was going to stand by on the side-lines and watch them bleed, even if he was just a half-blood bastard son. His slighter blood had been an infirmity, though; he had sustained injuries severe enough to keep him bedridden for a day, but nothing worse than he’d tried before. And he wanted to go /home/. He didn’t want to stay here, where everyone looked down on him or, even worse, pitied him, and so he had taken the first available train back to his hometown. It had taken two days, but then he was back, and he only cared to shower and change his clothes into something looser - and far easier to remove - and more comfortable, and, most importantly, not all black. The bandage around his chest would keep any blood from leaking out, and so there was no need for the colour that hid blood so well. Before his hair had even dried, Stephan was on his way by another train.
Les & Koba - 18
Now - today - was possibly the best opportunity to bother Les that he’d ever had. He didn’t really know how he knew it. Maybe it was just something about how his husband had been too busy or even gone on business trips to screw him that annoyed him, or maybe he just wanted to tease him because he wanted him to relax and let go a little, not take everything so seriously like he always did. Koba hadn’t failed to notice his tense shoulders or stiff neck or restless tossing around in the middle of the night before he got up, and he could see how tired Les was and how exhausted he had sounded over the phone earlier today. He’d gone up and slept once he had arrived at their house, which was quite fair in Koba’s mind. He’d wanted to rest too if he were him, and so he had decided to leave him alone for a little while so that he could catch up on some of his lacking sleep. Sighing, Koba drummed his fingers against his laptop and finally flapped the screen down, closing the computer and setting it aside on the kitchen table. He gazed out the window at the garden he had planted, and was satisfied to see that every plant had settled down nicely; the hazel bushes would definitely bear fruits this coming autumn, and so would the apple-, pear-, cherry- and plum trees. The raspberries and blueberries had flowered well, too, and even though it was still very tiny and frail, the chestnut tree was looking good as well. Again Koba let out a sigh as he turned his head away, and he glanced down at his watch. 15:53. Maybe it was time for Les to get something to eat, he thought as he got up from his chair and started finding the ingredients and utensils he needed; bread, a toaster, a pan, eggs, salt, pepper, milk, spatula, oil, butter. The chives and strawberries he could just pick outside, and once he had found everything, he did. Cracking open the eggs into a bowl, he added the chopped chives, salt, pepper, a splash of milk, turned on the pan, added oil and then the egg mixture, washed his hands, sliced off two slices of bread (which he had had brought here earlier this morning) and placed them on the toaster.
Jack ist einige Schritte weg. Erik spricht. Seine Stimme ist weit weg.
»Meine Ehe bleibt intakt, Lotte hat eine glückliche Kindheit, Kim wird nicht diesen Pädop-«
»D-d-das geht s-so einfach nicht.« Kira tropfen Tränen vom Kinn. »Das geht nicht. Das … ist eure Geschichte, Kims Geschichte, dass John -«
»SAG NICHT SEINEN NAMEN!«, schreit Erik. Als Jack sich zu Ali dreht, zuckt sie. Rebecca zieht an Lauras Haaren. Ali hört sie weinen. Kira redet.
»W-wirklich, da-das geht ni-«
Ali, Laura und Kira schreien im Chor. Es knallt, mehrmals. Dann hängt Kiras Kopf unbewegt zur Seite. Blut tropft von ihrer Lippe.
Morgen geht's bei @kirailarya weiter!
Oh no, art!
Realistic at that!
Well partly... im trying xD
Decided to doodle again after a month or so, so here! My oc Gin in a more realistic way, cause i wanted to try ✨v✨ i did use a referance because hell, realism.
"Sooner or later, everything will come to an end, right?"
"That's what I heard."
"So how do you do it?"
"How do I do what?"
"Dealing with "the end" and whatever follows: goodbye, farewell, sayonara, you name it."
"You're asking me like I'm an expert on that."
"You can handle it better than me, I guess."
"Technically true, although that doesn't mean I'm not affected by the worst of it. I need some time, of course, to get a grip and help myself get through with it. It's not entirely done with ease, but there's always this one secret key that works every time."
"What is it?"
"I don't think it's gonna help you the same way it does to me. No offense, but with all the grudges you hold, your over-thinking brain, or your anxious self, I think you'll need more time and effort to use this particular thing before it can..."
"Just tell me!"
"Well, okay, if you insist. The thing is, I always let things go."
"See? I know it's not gonna work on you."
"Please. I can learn to let things go. And I should tell you, I'm a fast learner."
"Good to know. I can almost feel my doubt's dripping away."
"Isn't that what we're doing now? Lying to each other?"
"What?! No. I'm telling you the truth. I'm gonna follow your secret key when dealing with 'the unwanted ending': learning to let things go."
"What's with that tone of voice? Aren't you supposed to be supportive?"
"I am. And if my patting on your back isn't supporting enough, I'm gonna tell you something precious that will help you feel better: remember that there's always "good" in goodbye."
"Make sense, huh? You don't have to feel bad about things that finally come to an end. Instead, you should try to find the good side of what has happened."
"Precious, you say?"
"I would also say it a treasure."
"I think that's kinda lame."
"Don't ruin it!"
"What about that place, Joel? It looks like it's still in mostly one piece." Ellie pointed to a house tucked between two evergreens at the end of the street. The roof only had a few small holes in it and the front door seemed intact. "Seems like a good a place as any. Let's get inside and secure it," Joel replied, hiking his pack higher on his shoulder. He motioned for Ellie to walk in front of him, and the two set off towards the house. "Do you think there's gonna be any food there? Man, I'd kill for some twinkies," Ellie remarked, kicking a rock across the pavement. Joel shrugged. "Maybe. But we should start looking for a place to settle down. The weather's gonna start getting cold soon, and we need somewhere we can hunt and plant crops. It's high time I taught you how to grow your own food." They entered the house slowly, checking each room for signs of infected. The interior of the house seemed to be in good shape, and Joel knew they'd hunker down there for a few days. "You mean I'm gonna be a real farmer?" Ellie asked excitedly. Joel nodded, dropping his pack on the rickety kitchen table. Ellie disappeared into one of the bedrooms to look for any winter clothes that might have been left behind or overlooked by other scavengers. "Oh no way! You'll never guess what I found!" Ellie shouted. Joel looked up as Ellie raced back into the room, an old guitar in hand. "It still has all the strings on it!" She handed it to Joel. "Will you play for me? You promised you would back at the university." Joel couldn't say no to the puppy dog eyes she was shooting his way. "Of course, baby girl. Anything for you." The pair settled on the worn dusty couch, Ellie tucking her legs beneath her as Joel tuned the guitar. He plucked the strings gently, the soft sounds of music filling the air. Joel hummed along, a song slowly taking shape. As the last note faded away, Joel looked over to find Ellie passed out against his side. It was good to see her finally get some rest; she'd refused to sleep after Joel had gotten hurt a few months ago cause she was afraid he was going to die if she did. "Sleep tight baby girl. We're safe now. Nothing's going to hurt you as long as I'm around."
Sam sighed, shaking his head as he leaned against the doorframe. Dean hadn't been taking the best care of himself since they lost Cas in the last showdown with Lucifer. He barely got out of bed anymore, and when he did it was only to grab another bottle of Jack Daniels. His room was a complete war zone, with holes punched in the walls and broken picture frames littered the ground. It smelled like the locker room at a gym, and DA bit back the urge to gag. Dean groaned in his drunken unconsciousness, reaching blindly for the bottle. Sam stepped into the room and moved the bottle out of Dean's reach. "You've had enough Dean. It's time to move forward; it's what Cas would want us to do," Sam muttered as he tried to clean up the room a bit. He grabbed the blanket from the bed and draped it over his brother. "What would Cas say if he saw you like this? If he saw you pissing away the second chance he gave you? You're making his sacrifice mean nothing!" Sam's voice was getting louder, but he knew Dean was too drunk to wake up. "What would dad say if he knew how pathetic you look right now? He'd tell you to suck it up, hold your head up high and go kick some monster ass. So in the morning, that's exactly what you're gonna do. I'm sick and tired of you moping around feeling sorry for yourself. That's not the Dean Winchester I know." Sam sighed; he was never going to say any of that stuff to Dean's face. He couldn't risk his brother leaving again. But he couldn't keep it buried inside any longer. Dean was acting like he was the only one who missed Cas, like Sam wasn't grieving too. He acted like Sam's feelings didn't exist. "You'll never change Dean." Sam set a glass of water and a bottle of aspirin on the floor beside Dean. "I hope you realize you're not alone one day, Dean." #supernatural#deanwinchester#samwinchester#Castiel#drabble#allaboardthefeelstrain
»FOLGEN SIE DIESEM AUTO!«, schreit Ali dem Taxifahrer entgegen, denn sie ist völlig von Sinnen. Tote, Blut; wenn sie die Augen aufmacht, ist dieser Albtraum nicht vorbei.
Sie stürmen ins Hotel, aber der Rezeptionist ist im Weg: »Selbstverständlich können sie nicht ihre Zimmernummer erfahren!«, weist er sie ab. Kira, kreidebleich, fuchtelt mit den Händen. »Wir müssen! Unsere Hauptfiguren wollen uns umbringen!« »Arthur Weasley ist schon tot!«, schluchzt Laura. Ali schwindelt, würde vielleicht ohnmächtig werden – beim Taumeln sieht sie raus. Aus einem anderen Auto steigt jemand im weißen, blutbespritzten Anzug. Er hat die anderen dabei. Sie kommen auf sie zu.
Morgen geht's bei @kirailarya weiter!
"Ehm." Donghae yang sedang asyik memperhatikan gadis manis di hadapannya hanya menjawab sekenanya. "Oppa."
"Apa yang kau inginkan di hari ulang tahunmu kali ini?"
Lelaki berjaket biru itu terdiam. Seakan sedang memikirkan sebuah jawaban atas pertanyaan yang dilontarkan sang gadis.
Donghae menggelengkan kepalanya. "Aku sudah punya banyak," ucapnya kemudian.
Lelaki itu menggeleng sekali lagi.
"Aku sudah punya," jawabnya.
"Topi? Kau kan suka memakai topi."
"Tidak usah, sayang."
"Lalu apa yang kau inginkan, Oppa?" gadis itu mempoutkan bibirnya karena semua idenya ditolak mentah-mentah oleh sang kekasih.
Donghae tidak segera menjawab. Ia hanya menatap ke arah gadisnya, lalu meraih sebelah tangannya dan membawanya ke bibirnya untuk mengecupnya. "Kau tidak perlu repot-repot memikirkan apa yang aku inginkan, sayang. Karena satu-satunya yang aku inginkan di hari ulang tahunku adalah selalu berada di sampingmu. Dan aku sudah mendapatkannya."
[October Saviour with WattpadeSurd]
Happy Mensive Wattpadesurd yang ke 20! Yuhuu👧
Tidak terasa, ternyata WattpadeSurd sudah menginjak usia ke-20 bulan. Harapan untuk Wpe ke depannya, kita hanya ingin bisa bertahan hingga monthversary yang ke puluhan selanjutnya.
Untuk itu, kita merayakannya dengan mengadakan event yang tak seberapa ini.
Bulan Oktober yang penuh semangat, Wpe bakal ngadain event yang bertemakan "Philosophia Poem & Philosophia Drabble"
Dari judul aja kita udah tau apa maksud dari event kali ini. Yup! Challange dengan membuat Puisi dan Drabble! Whooaa. Siapa yang udah gak sabar!???😁😁
Ketentuan lombanya? Syarat ikutannya? Cek TL di OA kita aja, yuk! --> '@'eie0520f.
Yakin nggak mau ikutan? Yakin nggak mau menangin hadiahnya? Yakin nggak mau move on? Lah(:
Yaashhh. Kalau ada yang masih nggak paham, bisa komen di bawah atau DM kita yah!
Of them all, she was prettiest. The white strands of her hair glistened like the silk in his web. The blue of her eyes, oceans of her, dared to swallow him. The porcelain glow to her skin mimicked the majesty of his masks, and her own face promised its place in his cherished collection. Read more: www.roiclior.com/single-post/2017/10/13/making-masks #AmWriting#writersofinstagram#amwritinghorror#amwriting#indieauthor#shortstory#Drabble
" ᴛʜᴇ ʟᴀᴋᴇ ꜱᴏʀᴛ ᴏꜰ ᴋɴᴏᴡꜱ ᴍᴇ,
ᴡᴀꜱ ɪᴛ ʏᴏᴜ ᴡʜᴏ ᴘʀᴏᴍɪꜱᴇᴅ ᴛɪᴍᴇ?
ʟᴇᴀᴅ ᴍᴇ ᴛᴏ ᴀ ʟᴀɴᴅ ꜱᴏ ɢʀᴇᴇɴ ꜱᴏ ꜱᴜʀᴇ ɪ'ʟʟ ꜱᴛᴀʏ ᴀᴡʜɪʟᴇ.
ᴘʟᴇᴀꜱᴇ ᴛᴀᴋᴇ ᴍᴇ ᴛʜᴇʀᴇ,
ᴛʜᴇ ꜱʜɪᴘ ꜱᴡᴀʏꜱ ʙᴜᴛ ᴛʜᴇ ʜᴇᴀʀᴛ ɪꜱ ꜱᴛᴇᴀᴅʏ.
ɪ ʜᴀᴠᴇ ᴛɪᴍᴇ."
By the time she turns sixteen she no longer recognizes the girl in the mirror.
She doesn't recognize the long silky hair and the narrow face. She sees eyes covered in eyeliner and eyeshadow and bright red lip stick. She doesn't recognize the purple eyes looking back at her.
She's been through foster home to foster home, each mother figure taking pity on her. She never had a mother, she never had anyone to tell her how her body works and changes.
The first mom who helped her put on foundation had smiled, cupping her chin, "Remember, smile."
By the time she's 16 she's been kicked out of 4 schools for fights and by the fifth, she's learned to take her years of martial arts (by a foster family who had only boys in their household) and apply it into explicit and illegal activities.
She finds comfort in putting on make up, in flattening out her skirts and brushing out her hair. She finds comfort because in those few homes, they had made her feel welcome. A mother would love her as long as she played the girly daughter, ready to chat and get her nails done.
When she's finally out of the system and working as a waitress it gets harder to understand why she spends hours slaving over her looks. She thinks of magazines, telling her how to impress the boys and how to be the world's sweetheart with the right perfume. It tells her only skinny girls get anywhere and she adheres to diets as long as she is able to fit into the boxed image media gives her.
But she's never curvy enough, never pale enough. She's too standoffish and would rather fight then to talk things out. She snaps and she isn't a home maker. She fights until her knuckles bleed.
She has sex for the first time, drunk and under a boy she had been crushing on. It's at a party and she doesn't say no.
She wakes up, disgusted and feeling too small for her own body. She cries, staring up at the sky and wondering why it hurt so much to accept herself for who she was.
《Cont. in comments》
We’re gearing up for the 20th anniversary celebration of the Mission Viejo Library this Saturday, October 14 from 10 am to 6:30 pm!
Here’s a schedule of activities:
10 a.m. – Welcome ceremony
11 a.m. – Library history and architecture tour
11 a.m. – Native American Storytime with Jacque Nuñez
11:30 a.m. – Meet Roxy (PAW Readathon Therapy Dog)
12-3 p.m. Train rides for kids
12 p.m. – Bones of Contention trombone quartet
1 p.m. – #FancyNancy with Robin Preiss Glasser
2:30 p.m. – Library history and architecture tour
3 p.m. – Kevin Fagan (#Drabble )
3 p.m. – Family Storytime
4 p.m. – Family Storytime
5–6:30 p.m. – 80z All-Stars concert and beer & wine garden (bring low-back chairs or blankets for concert seating.) Free shuttle service will be available 10 a.m. to 6:30 p.m. from the Norman P. Murray Community and Senior Center at 24932 Veterans Way to the #MissionViejoLibrary , 100 Civic Center. #missionviejolife#20years#ocevents
Jack sieht eine Bewegung aus dem Augenwinkel. Eine junge Frau - Brille, hakennäsig, seinem Engel – seinem Engel! - völlig unähnlich – hängt am Telefon, im fahlen Gesicht unansehnliche Flecken, hektisch flüsternd. Jack weiß, was sie tut – die Polizei rufen; versuchen, ihm einen Stein in den Weg zu legen, wenn er Rache, süße Rache, an den Mädchen nehmen würde.
Jack nimmt eine Buchstütze, schwer. metallisch, vom Regel. Die Frau kreischt, als er ihr den Hörer vor jedem Wort aus der Hand schlägt. Nicht mehr, als er ihr das Gewicht auf den Schädel schlägt, wo der Knochen bricht. Dann Stille.
Morgen geht die Geschichte bei @kirailarya weiter!
Namaku Jibril, dan aku adalah seorang pecundang. Begitulah mereka memanggilku. Aku tidak mengerti tentang apa yang mereka maksud, hanya saja, aku merasa jika apa yang mereka katakan adalah benar.
Semenjak aku masuk sekolah dasar, aku tidak pernah merasakan mempunyai seorang teman. Mereka menjauh begitu saja. Banyak dari mereka berkata bahwa aku adalah sosok yang sombong, dan tidak ingin bersosialisasi.
Namun, faktanya bukan seperti itu. Ingin aku berkata kepada mereka bahwa aku tidak berbeda, hanya saja aku tidak bisa seperti mereka. Mereka dengan mudahnya menyampaikan apa yang mereka rasakan, sedangkan aku? Bahkan untuk berdiri di depan mereka saja, aku merasa sangat gugup.
Dan sekarang, inilah aku, Jibril yang sudah menginjak masa akhir SMA. Tidak ada perubahan signifikan yang terjadi padaku. Mereka semua sama. Tidak ada yang bisa memahamiku. Bahkan aku harus mendapatkan nilai yang sangat buruk, akibat diriku yang tidak bisa seperti mereka.
Aku kesepian. Seandainya aku bisa membuka diriku, sedikit saja, aku tidak akan seperti ini. Yang aku butuhkan bukan perhatian, melainkan pendekatan. Karena, aku tidak bisa mendekat kepada mereka. Seakan aku dan mereka adalah kedua kutub yang berbeda.
Aku tidak ingin seperti ini. Jika aku bisa mengubah segalanya, aku menginginkannya. Namun, aku tidak bisa melawan kehendak Tuhan. Yang hanya bisa aku lakukan adalah berusaha dan berserah. Selama 12 tahun melakukan. Waktu yang tidak sebentar, tapi aku bisa melakukannya.
Menunggu mereka datang dan menyapa. Ah, aku mengharapkan saat itu. Aku harap mereka mengerti perasaanku. Aku ingin bersama mereka, walau aku tidak bisa seperti mereka. Tetapi aku berjanji, aku akan menjadi seseorang yang mereka banggakan. Karena aku berprinsip bahwa, aku tidak ingin mempermalukan sekitarku, terutama seseorang yang menyayangiku.
Aku harap mereka sadar... *** Sekian lama, akhirnya nulis lagi. 😂😂😂
This is for an introvert in the world.
You, side-stepping a little gingerly through those towering, industrial steel gates.
You, trying desperately to keep your hand steady at the reception, when you sign your name.
You, emptying your pockets, triggering the metal detector, getting a pat down by an officer on the other side.
You, walking down that infinite grey corridor, holding onto your breath.
You, stopping, hesitating, (debating) at the end.
You, immediately, surprisingly — maybe a little regrettably — recognised by /him/.
"Dominic. Dom. /Son/. Good to see ya, kid."
Pulling out a chair across the table from him takes more strength than you expect.
And it requires all of your courage plus some you don't have, just to look him in the face.
Because it's right there. All of it. Like a stalking shadow you can't un-stick from the soles of your feet.
Yourself, in the knuckles boxed square with intention.
Yourself, in the swollen, prideful chest.
Yourself, in too-broad shoulders taking up too much space.
In the blunt blade of a jaw. The provoked flare of a nostril. The dry, sardonic twist of a lip.
It's all there. Everything.
And it's difficult to sit there, in the same room, breathing the same air, pulsing with the same blood under a mirrored reflection of the same fucking skin.
And it's difficult to look him in the eye. To ignore the white power tattoo on the side of his cheek. To arrange all of your hatred and accusation into tangible, name-able, voice-able feelings.
Because he's your dad.
The bloke who clouted you round the head seven times a week when you were a kid.
The bloke who stood you on the kitchen table and made you recite ''men don't cry'' over and over again, for half an hour every time you got upset.
The one who came to all of your football matches and stood behind the goal, swearing insults at you every time you accidentally let the ball in.
He's your dad.
Homophobic. Racist. Nationalist.
Dickhead to the highest degree.
Doing a mandatory life sentence for murder.
And you still.
• cute hugs now and then
• late night strolls
• tells you how much he loves you
• secretly stares at you
• ,,,actually looking at how his hoodie looks good on you
• admires you so so much
• loves seeing your smile
• holds your hand tenderly
• he would lean in sweetly for a kiss
• you will melt under it
• loves to see you happy
• would chat about random things
• and film each other saying stuff
• he asks you to film him of what he wanna say to you
• “i love y/n so much”
• “if you see this, y/n and i are probably having a great future”
• “whatever we go through we will do it together”
• you thought his message was so thoughtful and cute
• he wants you to see this video in the future,,,
• and still stare at you while you’re fumbling with the video recorder bc you’re beautiful to him 💘💗💕💞
• basically a cute, laid-back couple !!! <3
Sam sighed, pulling the impala to a stop on the side of the road. He could barely make out the entrance to the cemetery through the driving rain, and grabbed the flashlight from the glove box. He threw up the hood of his jacket and left the safety of the impala to look for Castiel in the downpour. Sam hadn't seen Castiel in over a week, but the other man always wound up at the same place. It was a place that Sam had found himself in more times than he wanted to admit. His boots squished in the wet grass as he crossed the small cemetery to a gravestone tucked away beneath a tree. The name etched in the stone was a familiar one; one Sam never expected to see. The polished rock was more than Dean had wanted, but Sam and Cas had decided a permanent tribute to the hunter was what the world needed. "Cas, what are you doing out here? You'll catch a cold in this weather," Sam said as he stopped before the hunched figure. Castiel was soaked to the bone and shivering violently, wings wrapped around the headstone. "I had that dream again," Castiel muttered, his voice barely audible over the rain. Sam knew which dream Cas was talking about. It was the one where Dean was still alive; where he hadn't been struck and killed by a car while chasing down a mugger. It was the one where Cas went to bed lying next to Dean, only to wake up alone. "I know you want to be close to Dean still, but he's not under that headstone. He's at home sitting on the fireplace mantle in the library. And he's over there, in the car that he loved like it was alive." Sam bent down next to Castiel, wrapping strong arms around the Angel. "And he's here ... in our hearts." He placed a hand on Castiel's chest. "He'll always be with us Cas, as long as we remember him." #supernatural#deanwinchester#samwinchester#Castiel#tfw#drabble#allaboardthefeelstrain