Allura: Okay paladins, you have some free time!

Shiro: *almost dies*

Keith: *almost gets arrested*

Hunk: *almost forced to work at an alien fast food restaurant for the rest of his life* *becomes space Gordon Ramsey instead*

Lance: *brings home a cow*

Pidge: *gets Lance to join them in digging for money from a public fountain*

i’m sick of doom-and-gloom, 2edgy4u urban fantasies with angsty Chosen Ones™ and constant hard darkness and entirely too many werewolves. so here’s a list of kinder urban fantasy things:

• pharmacies run by faeries who can tell what you need with a single touch and who are tipped with dollar coins and drawstring pouches of sugar (don’t worry, they have human employees to handle the iron supplements)

• dryads who tend to the parks and sidewalk trees and have the ability to purify little patches of air for asthmatics who have difficulty breathing in the polluted city air

• tiny water sprites living in public fountains who use the coins people make wishes with to buy thimblefuls of coffee– once they’ve granted the wish to the best of their ability, of course

• sphinxes who guard libraries and only ask riddles at the level each passing person is capable of answering

• and werewolves too, I suppose, but they don’t sit around angsting all day about being monsters because there’s a monthly bus service that takes them to special parks just outside the city where they can spend the night running around and roughhousing without hurting anyone. they also get the next two days following the full moon off from work since wolfing is very tiring.

because while cities can be hard, dark, unfriendly places, they’re also vibrant and bright and full of all kinds of wonderful people

In 2010 six black teenagers drowned in the Louisiana Red River, researchers found that 70% of black people do not know how to swim - that black kids are three times more likely to drown, the question became: ‘why do blacks possess the fear of water?’

I’ve heard sharks followed slave ships crossing the Atlantic Ocean, trailing black bodies thrown overboard
I heard during slave time white masters refused to let blacks learn them to swim because a swimming slave could get away,
Could swim to freedom
Could figure out a way to wade in the water-
I heard little black kids ain’t nothing but 'gator bait; 'gator bait lets you catch an alligator so big, so vicious it’d bite like racism
Black momma’s be like 'keep your kids out the water, it ain’t safe child’

I heard a Jim Crowe North and a Ku Klux South kept coloureds out of public swimming pools and off public water fountains,
I heard they hose niggers down with a firefighter water hose like you hose down a rabied dog in the summertime heat

A New Orleaner heard come hell or high water they were gonna watch niggers drown in a hurricane down south,
Heard they knew the levees was gonna give in and break
Knew the waters was coming to wash niggers away

Tell me, how do a nigger keep their head above water if niggers can’t swim? Niggers can’t doggy paddle, niggers can’t tread water,
Niggers jump, but never jump in
I sprint, you swim
Niggers can’t float - our body’s too dense,
We don’t fuck with the rain cos our hair just got did.

I heard yesterday, in Detroit, they cut the water off
I heard the water don’t run
I heard the faucets run dry
I heard kids are dehydrated, niggers is thirsty.

Heard they’ve been gasping for air
Been drowning in oppression
For what feels like forever, ever since crossing the Atlantic
Been feeling lost at sea
Been feeling like a fish out of water
Like a body sinking in the deep end
Like treading troubled waters
And drowning.

—  ‘Water’ by Porsha O (x)

Dear tourists visiting lisbon,

No possible tourist service will ever cater to your needs. If you come here looking for fado and Alfama and whatever “real Lisbon experience” some bullshit Time Out article sold you, you need to understand something:

1. Fado is not “the song of the poor people” anymore. It’s not a thing of the dirty little corners of Lisbon where the poor gracious beauties sing as they wash their clothes on a public fountain, nor the thing of prostitues and thieves having a little fun, and it hasn’t since the 19th century because this is the 21st century. You want to get the “real fado experience” either see a concert or go to a fado house where a professional singer will perform while you eat inside a well established business that serves actual food. And yes, you will find tourists among you and not old ladies and hookers because oh my god what do you think Lisbon even looks like? And also because it’s been classified as World Intangible Heritage. You want the “real” old fado experience I guess go to the Fado museum and sit in front of Malhoa’s painting for two hours while listening to Alfredo Marceneiro. At least there you get a hooker and a thief.

2. Stop being dicks about your walks in Alfama and your damn tuk tuk rides because actual people live there. And also in Mouraria. And also in Graça. And also literally the entire fucking area around the castle. So no, a fucking double-decker open-top sightseeing bus won’t drive there despite you really wanting to because they won’t fucking fit the streets.

3. Tram 28 is a public tram. It was not designed as a tourist attraction and I’m sorry some bullshit published tour guide sold you that idea. Tram 28, as well as literally every other tram, were designed so people could go to work and move around more easily. Actual people use that for their daily routines, aka work-home rides. So honestly I don’t give a rat’s ass if you have to wait in line for one hour to ride tram 28. There is a touristic service specially made for you that does the same route but if you refuse to ride it because “it’s not the real deal” than it’s not my problem.

Enjoy the city

I think Carlos was this know-it-all kid who started reading all these children’s science books in the library when he was like five and would correct adults on what this or that dinosaur was called, and that whales weren’t fish.

He was friends with a few other kids his age, children who lived close by for most of his childhood and who he saw every day at school. The kind of effortless friendship where they’d build windmills from plastic bottles for a school project and Carlos would get caught up in that while the others would start playing video games halfway through. 

A few years later Carlos was the one who’d think of putting bubble bath in the public fountain in the mall. He’d get banned because he didn’t run away but stayed to watch the foam creep over the tiled floor until it reached the doors of the first shops. Because what is the point of a scientific experiment when there’s nobody to observe it? Carlos had never liked the echoing splatter of the fountain anyway and the foam fixed that, made the noise oddly soothing.

Carlos grew apart from his friends in painless increments until he was not even living in the same place any longer. There were other people, the world was full of people after all. Carlos would think of the people he had known in the past every now and then, and then he would get distracted by all the things he didn’t know yet. Still, Carlos didn’t think of these friendships as something that had ended, they were just suspended, things that still existed in a more abstract form until they could exist again in the reality of space and time. 

There is that theory people told Carlos about, that this is not how it works, but Carlos doesn’t have conclusive evidence either way yet.

Cleaned up an old sketch for the MH mook anniversary!! ♥♥♥  so many mistakes ugh 
Thank you makoharu gods for the blessing that is the MH mook  (ノ◕ヮ◕)ノ*:・゚✧

Your friendly neighborhood fireman rescuing stray half-fish men from public water fountains ;D 

Visitors on the colonnade of the British Museum

The Great Exhibition of 1851, held at Crystal Palace in London, was the grand showcase of a nation in the middle of unparalleled technological and industrial progress. Visitor numbers to the British Museum had been rising during the 19th century, but the Great Exhibition nearby helped draw in a record 2.5 million visitors. Despite the new, larger Museum entrance completed in 1847, there were many queues.

The British Museum featured in the Illustrated London News for June 1851. This print, which accompanied the article, shows the Museum’s forecourt full of visitors. The Museum was looking very grand, with the front of the building, designed by Sir Robert Smirke (1781–1867), nearing completion. A pedimental frieze of sculpture showing ‘The Progress of Civilisation’, designed by Sir Richard Westmacott, was now in place above the massive stone columns of the colonnade. Work on the fine cast iron gates and railings was underway and was to be finished by the end of the year. Lion-headed public drinking fountains of white marble were added either side of the entrance doors in 1859, which you can still see today.


Title: Butterflies

Pairing: Dean x reader

Warnings: angst, loss, swearing

Request: okay can I request a fic where the reader meets dean somehow and they go up to his room but end up talking instead? and dean starts to fall in love with her but then something happens to her and hes sad?

A/N: My finals are over on Friday! Wish me luck, guys! I managed to scrape together a little one shot since it’s been so long since I’ve posted. Thank you guys for all the support :) x


Your name: submit What is this?

“Okay, okay, my turn. What’s the worst thing you’ve ever done while drunk?”

“Oh, man,” Dean says, shaking his head. “Uh, let’s see… One time, I got arrested for peeing in a public fountain.”

She busts out laughing, and Dean grins.

“Classy,” she says, smiling. “What was the fountain of?”

“Uh, I think a mom holding a baby.”

“That makes it so much worse!” she exclaims, and Dean laughs.

“Yeah, not my proudest moment,” Dean admits.

This night had taken a very different turn. She’d stumbled with him into his room, smiling as he kissed her neck, with very opposite expectations than what had followed. Something had changed, and before they knew it, they were on the bed but fully clothed and laughing much more than they would have had the night gone the way it was supposed to. And it was nice. Dean liked to watch her hair fall in her face, liked to see her eyes crinkle when she smiled and sparkle when she laughed. She really was beautiful, and she surprised him with how easy and fun she was to talk to.

“What’s the worst thing you’ve ever done, drunk or not?” he asks.

“Hmm,” she replies thoughtfully. “I felt really sick at my cousins wedding when I was four, so I threw up in her finances shoes because I didn’t like him.”

Dean laughs in disbelief. “No way.”

“Yeah,” she says, smiling. “He had to borrow some, so his best man went shoeless. They threw the other ones out.”

“Man,” Dean says, shaking his head. “That’s cruel.”

“He deserved it,” she laughs. “My turn. What’s your guilty pleasure?”

“You really don’t want to leave a single stone unturned, do you?” Dean asks, shaking his head. “It’s this show I watch sometimes. Dr. Sexy MD.”

Her jaw drops and she laughs, her eyes sparkling. “Are you serious? You watch that?”

“Don’t judge me,” Dean replies with a smile.

“No judging,” she reassures him, smiling. “Your turn.”

“Most embarrassing moment?”

She bites her lip and glances down. “I think it was at my senior prom,” she says honestly, blushing. “I was dancing with my date, and I tripped over my dress, ripped it, and then stepped on him really hard. I had to drive him to the hospital and it turned out I broke his toe.”

Dean bursts into laughter. “No way. That’s awesome. You broke his toe?”

“Yeah,” she laughs. “I told my mom I shouldn’t wear high heels.”

“Are you clumsy?” he asks, raising his eyebrows.

“No,” she lies immediately, unable to hide her grin.  “In my defense, the shoes were 4 inches tall. They were deathtraps.”

“Fair enough.”

 “Okay, my turn. What did you want to be when you were a kid?” she asks.

Dean grins at her, his finger running along the back of her hand.

“A firefighter,” he replies. “What about you?”

“A firefighter,” she muses. “That’s way better than mine. I wanted to be a clown.”

Dean chokes on his beer as he laughs in disbelief and she grins, watching him cough.

“You wanted to be a clown?” he manages, his eyes watering  slightly. “A clown? You’ve gotta be kidding me.”

“Shut up!” she laughs. “They were so colorful and nice, and got to spend all their days at fairs. I thought it was the dream job.”

“Being a rainbow Ronald McDonald was your dream job?” Dean laughs again and she swats his arm.

“I was 8,” she says with a smile.

“A clown,” Dean says, shaking his head. “Man, Sam would go nuts if he knew that.”

“Why? He doesn’t like clowns?”

“Hates ‘em,” Dean says, amused. “Scared the living daylights out of him when he was a kid.”

She just shakes her head, wringing her fingers together. “What about you?” she asks after a moment. “What’s your irrational fear?”

“Mine is actually much more rational than Sammy’s,” Dean replies. “It’s planes. Flying.”

“Heights? Or just the plane?”

“Both, I guess.”

Her eyes sparkle. “Then why do you have a room on the top floor?”

Dean laughs. “I guess that doesn’t make a whole lot of sense, does it?”

“Not unless you were trying to make it harder for me to run away,” she teases.

Dean notices a shift in her body language. She’s leaning in closer, but shyly, subtly, as if afraid of being rejected. The thought makes him smile, because after all, she’d brought him up here to do much more than kiss.

“You caught me, sweetheart,” he murmurs, leaning towards her. He closes his eyes.

And feels her mouth bump into his nose.

“Oops,” she whispers, and he chuckles.

“Are you always this smooth?” he asks, and she just giggles. He grins, leaning in again as his eyes flutter shut and meeting her lips in a soft, gentle kiss.

When they break apart, Dean’s surprised by a light tickle in the pit of his stomach.

Butterflies? No friggin’ way. Dean Winchester didn’t get butterflies. Not on the first date, not on any date. It just didn’t happen.

But as he pulls away and opens his eyes, she smiles, and he thinks that maybe falling for someone on the first date isn’t such a long shot after all.


“Y/n, this is my brother, Sam,” Dean says. “Sam, Y/n.”

“Hi,” she says with a smile, stretching out her hand. “Nice to meet you.”

“You too,” Sam says warmly. Dean notices his eyebrows raise slightly in surprise, and he knew why. Y/n wasn’t exactly his usual type, nor did Sam get introductions very often.

“How’d you guys meet?”

“She was my waitress,” Dean says, smiling at her. “Lucky me.”

She kisses his cheek, and Sam smiles, watching them.


“We called it ‘Anything’,” she says. “It’s basically a game where you say something, anything, completely random. The first thing that comes to your mind in five seconds.”

It was the first time she’d been in the bunker, and Sam had gone out. They’d started to watch a movie, but had gotten bored and begun talking instead. And Dean had gone with it because he loved more than anything to make her laugh.

“What if it’s really stupid?” Dean asks.

“That’s the fun part,” she says with a smile.

“You go first. What do I do?”

“Count down from five.”

“Five, four, three–”

“I think cats are the spawn of Satan,” she bursts out.

Dean stares at her for a long moment. She chews the inside of her lip.

And then he laughs, hard, his voice rich and gravelly and deep.

She giggles, too, biting her lip between her teeth.

“Seriously?” Dean asks when he catches his breath. “Cats? The hell did they do to you?”

“They’re always so quiet, and unaffectionate,” she says with a smile. “I feel like they’re plotting against the rest of the world.”

Dean snorts again. “Cats. You feel like cats secretly want world domination.”

“You laugh now, but when the apocalypse comes and the cats are behind it, I’m going to tell you ‘I told you so’,” she says.

He chuckles. “You do that, sweetheart.”

“I will,” she replies. “Your turn. Five, four, three, two, one–”

“Shit,” Dean says, unable to think of anything. “One time I tried on girls underwear.”

There’s a moment of silence.

Then she bursts into laughter, and he grins unashamedly.

Why?” she chokes out, clutching at her stomach.

Dean shrugs, watching her with a smile. “This girl I was with wanted me too,” he says. “I was 16.”

“What kind of underwear?” she asks.

“I don’t know, but they were comfy as hell,” he says. “And pink and satiny.”

She snorts.

Dean just smiles. The game is ridiculous, and the intention of it is obvious; to embarrass all of the people playing. But with her laughing in his arms, just the two of them in the bunker… he’d honestly be up for anything. And even while she has tears in her eyes and her cheeks are flushed with color, Dean can’t get rid of the feeling in his stomach. Those damn butterflies.

But truthfully, he doesn’t know if he wants them to go away.


“Hold still!”

Dean groans dramatically, resting his hands on her waist and letting them drift down her thighs to her knees. “Come on, sweetheart. You can’t be serious.”

“Shh,” she murmurs, a small crease forming between her eyebrows. “It’s hard to count when you’re moving.”

“Can’t we just agree I have a lot of freckles?” he complains. “Why the hell do you need to count them?”

“You know who whines?” she whispers, meeting his eyes and smiling mischievously. “Babies.”

He jabs her in the side lightly and her body jerks as she giggles. Dean’s eyebrows shoot up and her eyes widen.

“Don’t even think–”

His fingers instantly scramble to her sides again and she starts to laugh, trying to squirm out of his lap. He holds her there, tickling her and grinning.

“Stop!” she gasps, fruitlessly trying to shove his hands away from her.

She’s laughing and Dean can’t stop smiling as he watches her.


Dean bends down and kisses her lightly on the nose. She smiles, and he stops tickling her, instead pulling her down against his chest and kissing her cheek. She giggles, and Dean kisses her other cheek. He starts to plant tiny little kisses all over her face, and soon she’s laughing again.

“Dean,” she squeals, trying to lean away. He holds her closer and continues to kiss her while she giggles.

Eventually, though, her hands come up to his face and she leans down and kisses him firmly, resolutely. Blatant displays of affection were rare from her, but Dean’s surprised for only a moment before his lips respond and he kisses her back eagerly. Their lips move smoothly, slowly, and when they pull apart, they’re breathless.

She leans her forehead against his and looks at him, her eyes sparkling.

“You’re an idiot,” she whispers, smiling.

Dean’s heart swells with an unbelievable emotion that he’s never before experienced, and it renders him speechless. All he can do is kiss her once more, the butterflies ceaselessly flitting within him.


“So you guys are like supernatural superheroes?” she asks, her eyes bright. “You trek across the country saving people and hunting things?”

“The family business,” Dean responds dryly, and Sam laughs.

“Yeah, and right now we’re looking for a Djinn,” Sam replies. “It poisons people and sucks the life out of them.”

“So you’re hunting it down?”

“Yeah. It’s been a pretty sneaky son of a bitch so far, though.”

Her eyes watch them in admiration. “That’s…”

“Lonely?” Dean asks. “Violent?”

“Amazing,” she finishes, looking at him with a smile.

Dean’s head jerks back in surprise. “What?” he repeats. “Amazing? I get home every night with blood on my clothes, and-and new scars, and somewhere, someone goes to bed and has nightmares, maybe for the rest of their life.”

He looks at her for a moment, and she looks back steadily. “How is that amazing?”

She looks surprised, too. “How is it not?” she asks. “You save the world. How many people out there are willing to risk their lives like that for not only another person, but a person that’s a complete stranger to them?”

She looks between them. “What you do… it’s beautiful,” she says, shrugging.   I wish I had the courage to do something like that.”

Sam nods slowly, but Dean just looks at her. She looks back, her eyes smiling even when her lips were not.

Dean goes to bed that night wide awake, his body ready to sleep but her words still echoing ceaselessly in his mind like the butterflies in stomach that refused to fade away.


“I don’t like this,” Dean says to Sam as soon as she skips off. “She shouldn’t be hunting.”

“We might need the extra hand, Dean,” Sam says. “People are dying. She volunteered to go. She just wants to help.”

“We’ve taken out worse monsters just the two of us,” Dean insists. “We can handle this on our own.”

“Dean, look at how many people have gone missing. This might not be the work of one Djinn. We’re no use to anyone if we’re dead.”

“And what about her?” Dean demands roughly. “What if she dies?”

“We’ll be right there with her–”

“Dammit, Sam, that doesn’t matter. Nothing ever goes how we hope it will, and you know that.”

Sam sighs. “Dean–”

“And besides, this is all easy for you to say. She’s not your girlfriend,” Dean snaps harshly.

“Knock it off, Dean,” Sam retorts. “Y/n’s one of my best friends. I care about her just as much as you do.”

Dean’s jaw clenches. “Then why are you sending her in with us?”

“Because people are dying, Dean.”

Dean rubs his temples and pinches the bridge of his nose between his fingers. “Fine,” he says finally. “But she’s always with one of us, and she stays in the back.”

“That’s fine, man. Don’t worry too much. We’re not going to let anything happen to her.”

But Dean drives out to the hunt and can’t resist glancing at you when a bad feeling starts to manifest in the pit of his stomach.


Dean swears viciously. “Sam!” he yells. “Where the fuck did my knife go?”

One second the only weapon they had had been strapped to his knife, and the next, it was gone. Dean glances around desperately, but it’s dark, and the weak moonlight does little to illuminate the ground at his feet.

“You lost it?” Sam shouts in disbelief. Dean swears again.

And then everything happens in a blur.

“DEAN!” Sam roars. “WATCH OUT!”

“No!” Dean recognizes the voice vaguely as Y/n’s. There’s a blur of white in front of him, and the Djinn suddenly halts in its path towards him.

“Time to go, darling,” it gurgles at Y/n. Dean watches in horror as the small knife in the Djinn’s palm slams into her abdomen.

Time seems to freeze for a moment as Y/n stops moving, her body curling in slightly, slowly. Then, all the sudden, her fist shoots out, and Dean catches a glimpse of dried blood along the length of a familiar knife clenched in her hand as it buries itself deep inside the Djinn’s body.

They both fall to the ground.


“No, no, no, no—no–” Dean races to her side, falling to his knees beside her body. Blood starts to spread across the white fabric of her shirt like poison, taunting Dean because he knew that no one could heal from a wound like that. No one.

Her eyes are open, her breaths short and stuttering. Sam kneels at her other side, his expression horrified.

“Y/n, stay with me. Stay with me, you hear? Sam—call someone—call–”

“Call who, Dean?” Sam asks softly.

Dean’s jaw clenches. Cas was barely surviving on his own, with his fading Grace, and he knew that an ambulance would never arrive in time to save her.

“Y/n, the hell were you thinking?” Dean demands desperately. “We had a plan. We—you—this wasn’t supposed to happen. This wasn’t–” His voice cuts off and he shakes his head. “Goddammit.”

She looks at him, and her hand twitches. Dean takes it in his own as if he were the one drowning, and she was the lifeline. As he watches, her eyes well up with tears, whether from pain or from sadness he doesn’t know.

“You guys are—are heroes,” she chokes out, her eyes wet and locked on Dean’s. Her chin quivers and he reflexively tightens his grip on her limp hand. “So-so if I save you, that means I save people too, right?”

Dean presses his free hand to his lips, fighting back the tears threatening to spill over. “Yes, sweetheart,” he whispers, reaching down to gently stroke her hair and push it away from her face. The blood on her chest is vibrant and bright in contrast to her paling skin. “You save people, too.”

“You had the guts after all,” Sam says, his expression sad as he grasps her other hand. “And we can’t thank you enough for that.”

She half smiles, her mouth twitching. “All I ever wanted to do was help people,” she says too loudly, pain flashing across her features. She struggles to swallow as her tears spill over. “I just wanted to help people.”

“You have, Y/n,” Dean tells her desperately, his eyes flitting over her motionless form. “You have.”

Her eyes blink sluggishly and he feels the panic race through his body, needing her to know what she’d done. “You have, Y/n. You have. Listen to me. You did more than help people. You saved us. You saved the damn world, you hear me?”

“I just–” she chokes, her body quaking violently. “I just wanted—I just—help—people–”

Sam closes his eyes and Dean finally loses the battle with his tears. “You have, dammit! You saved us, Y/n,” he says, his voice loud and shaky. “You fucking saved me. You saved me.”

Her eyes finally connect with Dean’s again, and he notices a glimpse of comprehension in them. Her hand suddenly tightens around his and she doesn’t look away from him. She struggles to suck in a ragged breath and tears glisten on her cheeks.

“Don’t forget me,” she cries suddenly, blinking several times, her body convulsing. “Please don’t forget me.”

Dean closes his eyes. Don’t forget me.

“We won’t,” Sam replies immediately, swallowing hard. His thumb rubs gently over the back of her hand. “We could never forget you, Y/n.”

“Dean,” she whispers, and his eyes immediately jump to hers. He can sense how hard it is for her to speak. “D-don’t forget–”

“I won’t,” Dean whispers back instantly. I won’t. I won’t. “I swear I won’t. Ever.”

Sam shifts beside her, and her eyes flit to his. “How—how much longer?” she asks, her voice trembling, her eyes watering.

“I don’t know. I’m sorry, Y/n, I don’t know,” Sam says sadly.

“Don’t leave,” she sobs, her hand spastically clenching around Dean’s again. “Just don’t leave me.”

She hated it too. She hated being alone.

“Never,” Dean whispers, clearing his throat.

“Did I—did I mean something?” she cries abruptly, a strange panic flickering in her glazed eyes. “I meant something, right?” Her eyes are pleading.

Dean feels her hand start to shake in his. “I just wanted—to mean something–”

Dean swallows. “Listen to me, Y/n. I may not have known you very long, but there’s one thing I do know.”

She listens, her jaw twitching.

“You’re a goddamn hero.” His voice starts out strong, but fades and shakes with emotion into a whisper. “A-a goddamn hero, you understand me?”

He wipes his eyes furiously, his teeth clenching as his vision goes slightly blurry. “You’re a fucking hero.”

She looks up at him, and something seems to soften her fear and her desperation into something quiet as a small heartbroken smile curves her trembling lips.

Dean feels every inch of restraint he had explode into a million tiny irretrievable pieces, and he starts to cry. He cries for a girl that barely got to live. He cries for her lost life and opportunities. He cries for the injustice in the loss of such a pure soul. He cries for her, for everything she was and everything she is. He cries for everything he never got to know about her and every memory she never got to tell, for every memory she never got to make. He cries because why, why did everyone he ever love have to be taken from him.

He cries.

Finally, when his body stops shaking, Sam’s hand drops from his shoulder and Dean looks at her again.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers, the grief racking through his body. “I’m so sorry. I’m so fucking sorry.”

“Come here,” she whispers, her eyes glistening.

Dean leans down towards her  and presses his lips to her forehead, closing his eyes and savoring the warmth he knew would soon fade from her body.

Don’t forget me.

Don’t leave me.

She was afraid of everything Dean feared. The only difference was that she was stronger. She pushed through every day with a smile, with hope, with positivity, even through the shitty moments of her life.

And that doesn’t mean she wasn’t scared. Courage isn’t the absence of fear, but rather the choice to take action in its presence. To do what you’re most afraid of, to conquer it, to triumph over it.

She was courageous the second she made the choice to take the knife. She was courageous when she stole the weapon from Dean and killed the threat even as the life started to fade from her body, even when the metal was protruding from her abdomen. She was courageous even now, as she lay bleeding on the ground, confessing her fears and showing heart-wrenching vulnerability in her last moments of life.

Her courage was beautiful, and achingly sad. It was the sacrifice of more than her life; it was the sacrifice of her opportunities, her mistakes, her smiles and laughs, her tears and her grief, of hot showers and morning coffee. It was the sacrifice of everything she’d done and everything she never got to do. It was the sacrifice of everything she was.

It was an act of unbelievable selflessness. She didn’t just sacrifice herself for Dean because she loved him. She sacrificed herself because she knew that she would be saving people as she did it.

Why do true heroes always have such tragic endings?

Dean pulled away from her to gaze once more into her eyes. She looks at him, and he can see the life draining from her. He leans down and kisses her softly, and slowly. He feels her respond, her lips seeming to lose warmth even as his pressed against them.

Then he pulls away gently. A tear drops from his eyes to her face. She doesn’t flinch.

A butterfly flits over and perches on her wrist, as white and as pure as her dying soul.

“I love you,” he whispers.

But she never reopens her eyes. A long, shuddering breath escapes her body, and her hand loses its grip on Dean and everything she never got to become.

The butterfly flies away.



Europe’s first public beer fountain has recently been unveiled (on 5th September 2016) in the town of Žalec in Slovenia. 

It joins the Eco-Museum of Hops Production and Beer Brewing as another tourist attraction dedicated to beer and hops, which is the primary product of the region that makes Slovenia the number 1 producer of hops per capita in the world (as mentioned before).

The “Green Gold” fountain offers beer made from hops grown in the area. Buying the 6€ commemorative beer mug designed specially for the fountain will allow one to fill it with up to 5 decilitres of beer.