Dividers By Enchanthings - Blog Posts

hii love sooo may i have a moodboard? <333

WORDSOFELIE ☼

everything yellow ⸝⸝⸝ blues & stars ⸝⸝⸝ sparkles ⸝⸝⸝ the night time ⸝⸝⸝ polar opposites ⸝⸝⸝ the day time

۫ ꣑ৎ sunlight and nighttime ۫ ꣑ৎ

omg hai... i heard smthing about moodboards....

TANSYPANSYDANDY 𓂃⋆.˚

nostalgia ⸝⸝⸝ morning sun ⸝⸝⸝ lemon water ⸝⸝⸝ Glowing tans ⸝⸝⸝ 2000’s music

☘︎ yellowy green vibes ☘︎

In the Fields We Lie: ii

Warnings: Physical altercation. Mentions of relationship abuse (physical and verbal), nothing extremely graphic. Angst? Longing?

Word count: 1.6k

—

England

18 December 1915

Saturday

It was early in the morning when Dean was woken up by someone knocking too aggressively on a neighbors door. The sun was already taking over almost every visible surface of his home, he grabbed his glasses and peered at his clock that was sitting on the dining table: 07:13. Dean groaned at what time it was and immediately slammed his head back onto his pillow, but with his luck, was met with arguing not long after he had closed his eyes. If the voices didn’t sound so close and so familiar, he wouldn’t be concerned; with Fran coming home last night in distress, Dean needed to make sure everything was okay. He bolted out of bed and pressed his ear to his door.

“Francine you don’t know what you saw, please listen to me–”

“My name, Richard, is Franny. And I know exactly what I saw.” She was enraged, “You were whispering to Myrna all night, you think I didn’t notice…”

“Of course I knew that you caught on to that,” Richard said with a smile that didn’t reach his eyes, “I was only being secretive while talking with her because I was asking her what type of ring you’d like...”

Dean knew that he was lying, Fran never has anything nice to say when it comes to Myrna, especially because–

“Really!? Really…you’re going to stand here and lie to me straight to my face? If you really knew me you’d actually listen when I tell you that she goes after every guy any of her friends are interested in! That’s why I didn’t want you talking to her!” Fran yells. Breathing heavily–her voice breaks when she says, “It makes me uncomfortable. We’re not friends. She wouldn’t know the first thing about me.”

“You’d be surprised at what she knows about you, Francine.” With every response Richard gives Franny, his self-righteousness comes out in bigger waves than the last.

“I bet she knows you exceptionally well then, considering your face was between her legs last ni–”

There was a brief pause before Dean heard quick footsteps and a thud. Then faintly heard, “Listen here you bitch.”

He was up and running before he knew it. The door to the flat was open when he reached his friend. Richard had her by the throat. Pinned up against the wall. It broke Dean’s heart to see Fran so frightened. She was pulling at Richard’s hand, unable to get a good breath in. Rage overtook Dean at the sight of what Richard was doing. No one had time to say a word before Dean ripped him off of Franny, and proceeded to do the same thing to him that he did to the woman before them. Giving him a taste of his own medicine.

Dean snarled quietly forcing Richard against the wall, “No. You listen to me, Dick. If you ever touch her again, I will kill you. If you even step foot near Fran again and I know about it–you will regret it. Get the fuck out.” With that, he throws Richard out of her flat by his throat and closes the door.

He turns to Fran, examines her throat, and asks her if she’s okay. Fran has tears that are threatening to escape her eyes but she only nods up and down. Dean knows not to ask any more questions. Instead he offers his time and his flat whenever she needs it. All she can do is nod, her throat is slowly closing up from holding in her anger, her fear. He gives her a squeeze on her shoulder and heads towards the door.

“Thank you, Dean.”

It’s the faintest he’s ever heard her voice.

He turns around and gives her a small, warm smile. “Of course.” I’d do anything for you.

—

England

23 December 1915

Thursday

Dean hasn’t seen or heard from her in almost a week and he can’t help but to worry. Richard hasn’t come by again, at least that Dean knows of. There’s been no commotion on their floor since the argument. Maybe she’s staying with family?

It’s been a quiet week at work as well. Mimi lost her grandson on the Western Front. She won’t talk about it. Won’t talk at all actually. She hasn’t been able to look Dean in the eye, which is understandable. Rena, who is happiest in the silence, finds it to be excruciating. The grief is palpable. Everyone has lost something at this point.

He walks into work in a fog. There’s been talk about a conscription being introduced too. There’s simply not enough men volunteering to keep the armies going, so they’re going to start forcing people into the war if they’re healthy. Dean fits the description, and so does his little brother.

Sammy.

Dean could not imagine losing him. Could barely stand being away from him now, but after their mother died a few years ago–John couldn’t cope with seeing Dean everyday and had kicked him out for simply resembling Mary. Sam manages to sneak away to see him every other week. He turns eighteen in six months and graduates soon after that. It’s been eating Dean alive. If he couldn’t protect him…

“You alright there, love?”

Rena had placed her hand on his shoulder and he barely felt it. He looked up at her, worry had replaced her usual scowl. This was the first time there was a maternal spark in the older woman's eyes. He nodded, giving Rena a pat on her hand that still rested on him. On a day like today, it was an unspoken rule, that if nothing was said, there would be no further questions.

The day was slow. Every minute felt like hours. Every thought blended together into an anxiety-ridden mess. What would happen next? Who would get pulled into war first, Sam or Dean? Would he have enough money saved up for Sam by the time he’s of age? What was it like on the fronts? Would he ever see Franny again if he was sent away?

Dean didn’t want to die for nothing. More importantly, he didn’t want to die with nothing.

—

England

25 December 1915

Saturday

The dress that he had been working on for Franny was almost complete. It’s been in the works for months and it’s a relief that all he had left to do was get the precise measurements for the bust, waist, and hips. He was about to put the dress in a nicely decorated box that Mimi gifted him, when there was a knock on his door.

His heart was pounding so fiercely against his ribcage, he thought they might actually break. The sudden adrenaline rush made him feel lightheaded. There was no time to conceal the garment before she walked through the door. Dean had gone still.

“Is that for one of your clients, Winchester?”

His words got stuck in his throat. There, on her neck, where Richard had choked her–were faint purple and yellow bruises. Her eyes drooped with defeat when she realized that Dean had seen the mess that was made.

If only he knew about everything else. Franny kept the thought to herself, she didn’t want anyone dying today.

“My god, Fran. I–I didn’t realize he had grabbed you that hard.”

They both walked slowly towards each other, stopping once their feet were only inches apart. Tears stained her flushed cheeks. Her under eyes, the color of the night sky. Her hair disheveled, and she tried to fix it while Dean was taking in her appearance. The insides of her palms had been scabbed over from where her nails had dung in. He had only seen this one other time, seen her like this one other time…

Has he hurt you before?

The question was clear in Dean's eyes.

Yes.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t want you to worry about me. I didn’t want you to go after him. He said that he wouldn’t do it again…”

He was past the point of boiling over with anger. It wouldn’t help anything. Wouldn’t help her. So Dean did what he could to calm her down. He took her hands in his, rotated them so her palms face upward, and planted tender kisses to each indentation. All while looking into her eyes.

This is what a man is supposed to do. This is how a man is supposed to touch you. Dean was pleading with his unwavering stare.

It may have worked. Franny slowly pulled her hands free and wrapped them around Dean’s waist. She breathed him in and rubbed his back in a soft circular motion.

“Thank you.”

“Anything for you, my darling. Lets run you a bath, yeah?”

“Sounds wonderful.”

“Afterwards I’ll tailor your Christmas present.” He points towards the dress hanging on the mannequin that’s in the corner of the room.

He swears he saw the light brighten in her eyes. There's more purpose in her steps towards the tub like she wanted to get it over with already.

I can’t believe he made that for me.

—

The measurements were almost perfect. The bust was a tad too big for her but it fit like a dream.

“Were you secretly taking my dresses while I showered, Dean? It’s bloody accurate, this.” Gesturing to her new piece of clothing.

“You forget, I do this for a living. I’m good at guessing people's sizes.” Dean says with a needle between his teeth, winking cheekily at her.

Only a few more needles to place, and then she was free to take the dress off. But as Dean was feeding one through, it pricked Franny’s breast.

“Ow!”

“Shit, I’m sorry. You okay?”

“I don’t know.”

“What do you mean you don’t know, sweetheart? What can I do–“

Franny brushed a strand of Dean’s thick blonde hair out of his face. Shock had kicked in, his face going pale at her gentleness.

“Kiss it better, like you did my hands?”

“Fuck.”

—

A/N: If I need to fix my warnings at all, please message me. Keep in mind this is an au!dean, he's a sweet boy. He still has his humor and trauma from is dad, so some things are staying the same!

tags! @aylacavebear @daylighted (again, I hope it's okay that I tagged you guys <3)

In the Fields We Lie Masterlist

18+ MDNI

Summary: World War I is at its climax. Dean is figuring out his life before his name gets drawn from the draft. Falling in love while he can. Will he get the life he always wanted? Or will the war destroy him?

1. Part i 2. Part ii

In the Fields We Lie: i

Summary: World War I is at its climax. Dean is figuring out his life before his name gets drawn from the draft. Falling in love while he can. Will he get the life he always wanted? Or will the war destroy him? Word Count: 3k

Warnings: british!dean?? let's spice it up a little bit! I just know his deep voice with this accent would eat me alive if I could actually hear it! Also, world-building. No legit tw's.

Prologue

They say that in the midst of darkness and a time where nothing prospers, the mind tends to wonder. This is the time where inspiration strikes and masterpieces are made. There is, more than anything else we have in the world, is time. What we do in that allotted space is up to us to choose. What shall we occupy ourselves with? Where shall we let our minds wander off to? Distant lands or perhaps a reality that we dream of that is better than our present? Do you dream of being in your lover's arms? Or do you wish you could have taken back those harsh words you said to your mother recently? Others have to think quickly, in a fraction of a second, or else they will not live to see the light of day. 

In that darkness there is chaos and when everything turns quiet, is that moment of primal instinct to save your life or to accept that death will grab you and bring you to a hell that you have not seen yet. Anything to keep the mind busy in times of hardship is crucial. That is how we survive. The silence, especially in the time of war, is deadly. So deadly that it could turn anyone crazy.

Every soul is trying to keep themselves safe and there is not an option otherwise, unless they have lost their way. Lost hope. Those are the people you have to take care of, to watch out for. Without community and camaraderie, there is no purpose. Without care for others is the destruction of oneself. Without the care for oneself is to rot. Those who only think of the betterment of themself are soulless. To be self-sufficient is another story. To have support behind you, next to you, in front of you–gives you strength. To know that others are experiencing life similar to yours is comforting because ultimately you’ll feel less alone.

—

England

17 December, 1915

Friday

Dean Winchester was young and eager to work. He had always put some money to the side but now, with no end in sight to this war, he's been saving every penny. Maybe he could afford to send his brother to university–to save Sam from being a pawn in someone else's game.

It was a particularly cold morning, grey clouds coated the sky as far as you could see. The freezing air hitting Dean in the face feels like a pound of bricks. He’s already slipped and landed on his ass twice this morning while walking to work. Dean got a respectable job as a high-end tailor three years ago–a trait he has been naturally good at, all thanks to his mom.

He’s okay with having a wet bum because he knows the ladies he works with are going to have a good time making fun of him. What he isn’t okay with is his inability to stop daydreaming about his neighbor, and that is exactly what he does walking two kilometers to work.

They are acquainted. Dean has helped her move furniture and tried to fix her shower pipes once but failed miserably. The war is only getting worse, and there's no one to fix the problem–so that means unlimited access to his washroom. She has occasionally made him food whenever he came home late, or she would purposely bump into him in the morning before work to put a smile on his face.

They enjoy each other's company so much that they go to the market together to buy groceries. Sometimes, Dean stargazes in the park right below their building. On the occasion, she sees him through her kitchen window–every time she joins him to make sense of the clouds and their shapes. They’d always lay in silence, enjoying the presence not only from one another but the vast universe above them.

In this particular moment all Dean can focus on is her being in his home, using his shower. Being the gentleman that he is, he respected her privacy when she was over to wash up, which was almost every night for six months. But he also couldn’t, and presently cannot help but imagine her beautiful figure underneath her clothes.

The sound of her humming to herself in the shower echoes through his mind as snow crunches under his feet. Her voice sounds like a goddess blessing all of creation, a thought that had crossed his mind yesterday. She slipped the very first time she had been over and fell pretty hard; she screeched but then laughed hysterically. It was something Dean could get used to. Her coming over made Dean feel whole–made his flat less lonely.

In the first month of this situation, she had forgotten a change of clothes, and it was then that Dean knew he was truly in love with her.

—

Dean was making some boiled chicken and pasta when he heard the shower handle squeak and a handful of choice words fall from his beautiful neighbor's mouth. He assumed that she had rushed too fast while getting her toiletries together that she had forgotten her hairbrush or lipstick or something...

She had a date waiting for her outside the building. Jealousy raged over him when she told him that a particular man was taking her out to dinner. Apparently, they’ve known each other since grade school, even dated in their early teen years, and then reconnected at a mutual friend's wedding. The negative emotions he was feeling quickly dissipated when she said his name.

“Dean…”

She sounded worried. Why was she worried? Was she nervous?

“Fran, I know your nerves are getting the best of you, but I’m sure you look lovely…” He turned around to find her in just a towel. Eyes widened, jaw dropped, and heart racing at a million miles an hour. Too stunned to speak, Dean quickly spun on his heels so he wasn’t starring. “Shit, I- I’m, I-”

She’s now laughing at his embarrassment. All worry washed away from her voice, “I forgot my dress. I guess I was so excited to get ready that I forgot it. Can I borrow a blanket or shirt to cover up in?” 

After a few moments of silence she walked up to him and tapped his shoulder and spoke, “Dean, it’s okay. Turn around.”

He did as he was told, making sure that when he did, he only looked into her eyes. She was so beautiful–so confident in her body and in herself to let a man she wasn’t with, to look at her when she was indecent. A strand of curly hair fell into her eyes, before she could move it herself. Dean gently pushed the lock behind her ear, and both of their breaths caught in their throats. 

Dean managed to whisper, “I’ll um, go grab you a shirt.” He never walked so fast in his life. Making sure he picked out a nice shirt that smelled good was top priority. He ended up dabbing some cologne on the collar just in case.

She was too busy admiring the books on his bookshelf to notice that he had come back, so he cleared his throat before speaking, “Fran, you better change quickly before your date thinks you’ve fallen in the toilet.”

“Ha, ha. Very funny Winchester. Gimme that.” Snatching the shirt like it was hers to begin with. She disappears behind the washroom door and reappears seconds later it seems like, but maybe that’s from the state of shock Dean’s still in. Fran has to ask him this twice to get his full attention, “Will you watch for any unwanted eyes as I walk to my flat?”

“Of course I will. Let me see your key so I can unlock your door.” 

Walking past her is painful, he can feel his excitement pushing against his trousers. It’s only just started but he needs to be free of Fran soon or else she’ll see his indecency. Moving quickly and lightly, making sure not to cause a ruckus and concern the nosey neighbors. He unlocks her door and sets her key on the small table that sits just to the right of the door. Making sure that no one is in sight he quietly calls out her name. She holds her dirty garments to her chest as she sleepwalks to him. Hopping almost. Bloody cute, this one, Dean thinks to himself. As soon as she’s in her doorway Dean stands in front of her with both arms outstretched, and hands grabbing the baseboards to make for a better cover for Fran.

They are extremely close again, both of their hearts are pounding so hard it’s a surprise they can’t hear each other's heartbeats. 

“You better have fun on your date. Hurry along then, you don’t want to miss him.”

“Oh, I will. Aaand… don’t tell me what to do.” Fran winked at him and then closed the door in his face. Dean smiled and walked back to his flat. He ended up burning his pasta on the stove. If this was any normal night, he would have lost his wits if he burned his food, but he made an exception for the gorgeous woman that stole his attention.

—

Ever since that incident, a very particular image of Fran has been taking over Dean’s mind. The shirt that Dean gave her was a pale pink shirt and he never realized, that without an undershirt underneath, that it was sheer. When Fran came out of the bathroom, her hair had gotten the fabric around her breasts wet. It was only for a brief moment that he looked, and Dean swears that she did it on purpose. She was perfect, everywhere. He thought he saw her smile when he gazed his eyes up and down her body, seeming almost satisfied with his actions. An angelic devil.

Too distracted by his thoughts, he barely realized that he was arriving at work. Taylor the Tailor: “Let Taylor, Tailor You!” was displayed above the building in bright red lettering. It was a quaint little shop that sparked Dean’s interest when he first moved to the city. Before he even asked for a position, he had to come in for a repair on a set of trousers. Long story short: while moving into his flat, he had slipped on some ice like he had been doing presently, and ripped them right down the bumline. Quite embarrassing, even more so, considering one of his neighbors came out of the building right as it was happening and laughed. It turned out to be Fran. She still teases him about it.

His mum taught him how to sew, crochet, and knit, so already having experience was attractive to the owner, Mr. Taylor. He was hired on the spot actually. He loves everyone he works with and that’s the reason why he’s stayed with the shop for almost two years. 

He welcomes Mimi and Rena as he walks through the main room and towards the back to set down his jacket. Dean can hear the two older ladies gossiping about who knows what but it makes him chuckle. They think they’re whispering but they’re both basically shouting at each other.

“Ladies, ladies,” Dean interrupted them, “No need to whisper about how gorgeous I am, when I’m right here!”

Rena rolled her eyes, while Mimi stood up and made her way to him. Mimi takes his blue bowtie from his hand and begins to put it on for him. A little tradition that they’ve made. Dean is fully capable of doing it himself but he lets her. They both gain from it. “Thank you, my darling,” He kisses her on the cheek when she’s finished. “And how are both of my girls today? Ready for the weekend?”

“Always ready for the weekend, Winchester. Two days out of the week where I am free of you.”

“I’m truly hurt by your words Rena. You know what that does to my ego. Everyone loves me, right Mimi?”

Mimi laughs, “You are very lovable Dean. Rena is just an old fart. You’d think after so many years she’d warm up to ya.” That is exactly how each day goes. Rena is the stern and conservative type but has her moments, Mimi is a freer spirit and can get along with both of her coworkers, and Dean is, well, Dean…

The day is long and cold, everyone is being careful not to let their fingers get too stiff. Their day has only gotten longer, because right before five o’clock, a woman comes in. She is in desperate need of fixing her husband's work attire that her children had shredded with scissors. Three shirts and four trousers. She was a fairly sweet woman and she would pay them extra to get it done for her by Monday morning. They all obliged.

To make things fun, Dean took on three garments that were badly damaged, and told the ladies he would finish all of them before they finished their two pieces. This didn’t amuse Rena, but she ended up finishing before him and she was greatly satisfied, giggled even. Getting out of the shop around half past nine was quite impressive and everyone patted themselves on the back for the hard work.

“Get home safe my loves, I will see you later. Rena, you better think of me!” He yells at them when they’re about to round the corner of the street. It makes Rena furious.

The weather changed within the last two hours, snow is falling fast. He usually doesn’t mind walking through it, but he’s afraid that he’ll fall like he did earlier. His tailbone was still throbbing. As if summoning the inevitable, he slips and one of his legs extends too far out in front of him. Almost ripping his pants, again! Thank goodness for having hands to catch you. It was a close call—the amount of stretch he felt was worrisome. 

As he approaches his building, he notices an all too familiar Rolls-Royce that belongs to someone who is the epitome of rubbish. Someone who is used to getting his way. Maybe it’s the money he has or possibly the fact that he has not struggled a day in his life–is why Dean hates him so much. There’s definitely another reason that has nothing to do with those things though. Dean is reluctant to go inside the entryway but likes to make this man suffer.

“Hello, Dick! It’s awful seeing you here,” Dean coldly welcomes him, “Where will you be taking Fran tonight?”

“For the last time, it’s Richard. And it should be none of your business, but I know she’ll tell you anyhow. We are going to my brother’s engagement party, and before you say anything–”

“Speaking of engagement, when will you ever ask Fran to go steady with you? Oh wait, that’s right, you were too busy getting your dic-” By the look on the other man's face, Dean knew Fran was walking up to them, “Dick! So lovely to see you mate!”

He then turns around and smiles at his neighbor. As he walks up to her, he whispers for her to be safe, and heads up to his flat. In the stairwell, Dean could hear Dick tell her how much he annoys him, and that is always his goal.

“Such a nosey neighbor…”

“I think he’s perfectly fine, Richard. Leave him be…” Her voice is so soft. She wouldn’t be talking so tenderly to him if she knew that he was seeing other women. It infuriates Dean to his core, but he can’t tell her because she would rip him a new one for knowing. Quite frankly, he feels like Fran wouldn't believe him.

Dick has her wrapped around his diseased little finger.

Second, Fran would be so devastated and Dean doesn’t want to deliver that news to her. She will find out sooner or later, and Dean prays that he gets front row seats to Dick getting his balls kicked in.

—

The storm only got worse throughout the night. The power went out shortly after Dean got home. Currently at the kitchen table reading a book but failing horribly from sore eyes, waiting for Fran to be dropped off. At this point it could be likely that she had to stay with Dick and his family, which is revolting.

It’s none of Dean’s business where she is, who’s she with, and he shouldn’t be waiting up for her but something isn’t sitting right. It's way too late for them to still be out for dinner. Maybe the group was drinking or something? Fran is a grown woman. She’s fine. Dean needs to stop worrying.

Looking out of his window one last time, to make sure he doesn’t miss her, is when he sees headlights crawling towards the building. Assuming it’s Fran, Dean sighs in relief and heads to his washroom to get ready for bed. As he gets done brushing his teeth is when he hears her walking up the stairs and decides to meet her in the hallway. Knowing she can barely see up the stairs from the power outage, he brings out a candle to give her when she gets home.

“How was your night out Miss Fran?” He questions as genuinely as he can, as she reaches the last step. She’s too quiet. He walks closer to her once she reaches her door and leans against the wall. She looks sad. Her eyes and nose are red. Dean can make out where the tears streamed down her face. His stomach flips and he feels nauseated instantly. 

What happened? He wants to ask but knows it’s not the time.

Her voice is hoarse, “You know, you don’t need to wait up for me—it’s sweet but a little strange.” She half heartedly jokes. “My night was fine, thank you. See you tomorrow, yeah?”

“Of course. Here, take this…” He straightens up, taking a few steps to get closer to her, and he smells the alcohol coming from her breath. It must’ve been a rough night because she hardly drinks. 

Handing her the candle and keeping eye contact he whispers, “So you can see where you’re going. I’ll come get you tomorrow.” 

Dean wipes away a fallen tear from her face with his thumb and kisses her cheek in that same spot.

So softly she murmurs, “Goodnight Dean.”

“Goodnight Fran.” He says with equal gentleness. With even more longing.

—

A/N: Please let me know what you think!! I edited this on four hours of sleep lol.

tags! @aylacavebear @daylighted (idk if yall wanted to be tagged but hopefully it's okay!)