#Well he just told me I’m selfish for wanting to die and to get over it + his life is worse | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

nhasablogg · 1 year

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Soft

Fandom: Stranger Things

Characters: Steve/Eddie

Summary: Steve realizes he’s gotten softer after he’s stopped playing sports. It’s not necessarily a problem until he starts overthinking it.

Warnings: Mentions of body issues.

Words: 1.2k

Once Steve finished high school and stopped playing sports, his body became softer. It didn’t bother him, really. In fact he barely noticed it, his days of admiring himself in the mirror overshadowed by monsters and the video store. And the difference wasn’t glaringly obvious to anyone, even to him, unless he paid attention.

He only started paying attention once he started sleeping with Eddie, and it was only because Eddie was obsessed with touching his belly.

“You’re so ticklish,” he would tease when the skin jumped beneath his hand, and Steve would whine because he was ticklish, dammit, and Eddie wasn’t making it easier for him to not be a giggly, squirmy mess every other night.

It was one of those nights, when Eddie was just beginning his daily torment of Steve’s sensitive spots, that Steve noticed how his stomach jiggled under his touch. “Wait,” he said, and Eddie must’ve heard a difference in his tone because he withdrew his hand immediately.

Steve poked his own midriff, the flesh softer than he’d ever really seen it before. “Huh.”

“What?”

“Nothing, I just-” He knew it was no big deal, really. Knew he was mostly just losing muscles, knew there was nothing wrong with being chubby or fat anyway. But Steve wasn’t good with change, and Steve had never really thought of his body as anything other than something women (and apparently men) wanted. And in line of the standards he’d grown up with, women (and men? he was less sure) wanted muscles and fitness and confidence (at least that was what he’d been told), and Steve wondered if he could keep his confidence if he couldn’t keep his muscles.

He pulled his shirt down and Eddie didn’t pry, didn’t try to touch his belly again, but did open his arms to let Steve crawl into them.

As he buried his face in Eddie’s neck, one of his ticklish spots, he wondered why it mattered what other people thought when Eddie had only really seen and therefore loved this version of him.

“Sorry,” he mumbled into his skin, and Eddie, who had huffed out a laugh only seconds before as Steve was still adjusting against his throat, probably knew he wasn’t apologizing for the accidental tickle.

“Talk to me when you’re ready,” he said, fingertips ghosting over Steve’s spine, making him shiver. He wondered if his sides were getting softer too. If his thighs and arms had lost any definition.

“I’m having a stupid crisis over losing muscle.”

Eddie was silent for a moment before saying, “Losing muscle?”

“Or gaining weight, but I think losing muscle sounds more logical to have a crisis over.”

“Oh.” Eddie dragged out the word and his throat vibrated against Steve’s face. “I see. Okay.”

Steve whined as Eddie forced them to sit up again. “We don’t have to do this now.”

“Oh, yes, we do before you make this into a bigger thing without meaning to. Okay. Talk to me. You think you’ve gained weight?”

“Well, I’m softer-” He gestured to his body. “-everywhere. Which is fine, I get it, I don’t really do anything but shelve movies nowadays and occasionally run from monsters. It’s fine.”

“You don’t sound like you’re fine.” Eddie had said it so softly, head tilted, eyes looking at him as if it pained him to hear this.

Steve swallowed, suddenly on the verge of fucking tears. “I-” His voice broke off. God, this was embarrassing. “I’m fine not being Steve ‘The Hair’ Harrington, you know. I’m fine being seen as a loser who hangs out with kids and people who this town will consider misfits. Someone who will live and die in this town, having lost my status. I’m fine with it.”

“Steve.”

“But I think my body was the only thing I had left from when I was considered a god, that’s all. It’s stupid. It’s selfish. I don’t even want to go back to those days because I’m actually happy now, with you.” He looked away when he said the last part. Even though Eddie knew exactly how he felt about him Steve still found it difficult to be vulnerable like that. Which was also stupid.

“It’s not stupid,” Eddie said, reaching out to tap at his knee. “Lots has changed for you the past year. It’s always the smallest thing that makes you spiral, right?”

Steve shrugged. “I don’t know.”

“And change is scary, I get that.”

“Are you calling me a coward?”

“Are you trying to change the subject?”

Steve huffed. “I feel stupid.”

“Stop saying that.” Eddie went to poke at his belly before he caught himself, and Steve was faced with the uncomfortable revelation that he actually wanted the tickle.

One discovery at a time, please, universe.

“Sorry,” Eddie said, withdrawing his hand.

“It’s okay.” Steve could just say nothing about it. He was certain Eddie wouldn’t stop doing it after this anyway. “It’s okay,” he said again, looking down.

“For what it’s worth,” Eddie said, hand on his knee again. “I love that you’re soft.”

Steve hummed, unable to keep his blush at bay. “Stop.”

“What, you don’t want to hear how much I love your body?” Eddie scooted closer, lacing his arms around him. “How much I adore how well your sides curve in my hands? The sounds you make when I kiss down your chest and trail my fingers over your ribs. How ridiculously ticklish you are and how you never really try to get away.”

Ah. Steve was the last to make the discovery as usual then.

Eddie pulled him closer, lips against his cheek. “Do you want me to continue? Or-” He pulled back to smirk at him. “-do you want me to demonstrate?”

“You’re so mean for asking.”

“Look at me.”

“No.”

“Demonstrate it is, then. See this?” Eddie curled his fingers over Steve’s tummy. “I love how soft it is. It feels so nice to tickle you here. To kiss you. I don’t know what it is, but you have some sort of limit. Once I pass it you don’t seem as ticklish, and I can kiss you as much as I want.”

Steve, in the midst of the burning blush on his face, realized he knew exactly what limit Eddie was talking about. What Eddie didn’t know was that it usually did tickle still, but Steve was too consumed with desire to care. Maybe he even liked that it still tickled a little. Maybe that was part of it.

“Stop,” Steve said, pushing his hand away.

“Why?”

“Tickles.”

“Mm, but you don’t mind that, do you?”

Jesus. Did this man notice everything?

Eddie ran a finger down the side of his stomach. “It’s a good thing,” he said. “Because I don’t know what I would do if I wasn’t allowed to touch you there.”

“You got some kind of fetish or somethin’?”

Eddie burst into laughter. “Way to ruin a moment, Steve.”

“Sorry,” he said sheepishly. “I get, uh-”

“Embarrassed? Yeah, I can tell.”

“Sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry.” Eddie poked him, just below that spot on his ribs that made him scream if it was tickled for long enough. “But just to finish off, I like every part of you, soft or firm, ticklish or not. Though most of you is ticklish, so I guess I don’t know about the latter.”

“You’re this close to getting banned from touching my stomach for the next week.”

“You wouldn’t.”

“Yes, I would.”

“Liar.” Eddie grinned at him and Steve huffed, turning away because, no, he wouldn’t. Of course he wouldn’t.

#tickling #steddie #steddie fic #ticklish!steve harrington #stranger things fic #stranger things #n writes #soft

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bucky-bucky-bucky-bucky · 2 months

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Maybe I’m the odd one out here but What is and What Should Never Be always absolutely destroys me. I weep for almost the entire episode.

Dean has a home. He has someone who loves him. His life is normal and safe. And I cry.

The way he looks at Mary when he sees her for the first time. The way he nearly crumbles when she says “I told you angels were watching over you”. And then he hugs her with everything he has. He’s so happy to be back with him mom, back in his childhood home. His mom makes him lunch and it’s the best thing that’s ever happened to him. He gets to mow the lawn like a normal person. The trunk of his car isn’t full of weapons. He’s just ordinary, and he’s so happy about it. So I cry.

And the way he hugs Jess? He only ever met the girl once but he knows how much she means to Sam. And he knows that losing her almost killed his brother. And so he hugs her as tight as he can, because he’s so thrilled that she’s alive and Sam is happy. And I cry.

But what also kills me is the way that Sam and his mom talk about Dean. They’re always asking if he’s been drinking. They’re suspicious of all of his actions and his affections. Maybe the version of Dean from this life wasn’t exactly on the straight and narrow, but they talk about him like he’s a deadbeat. So I cry.

Jesus Christ, and when Dean goes to talk to his dad at the cemetery?

“It's like my old life is… is coming after me or something. Like it like it doesn't want me to be happy. Course I know what you'd say. Well, not the you that played softball but... "So go hunt the Djinn. He put you here, it can put you back. Your happiness for all those people's lives, no contest. Right?" But why? Why is it my job to save these people? Why do I have to be some kind of hero? What about us, huh? What, Mom's not supposed to live her life? Sammy's not supposed to get married? Why do we have to sacrifice everything, Dad?”

He doesn’t say “why can’t I have the life I want?” Sure, he asks why he has to be a hero. But he makes it more about Sam and his mom. Because he wants them to have the lives they deserve. And this moment just gives us another look at what a bastard John was. Dean knew how dismissive and rude John would be. He knew that John would never choose his own son’s happiness over the lives of strangers. And he’d probably scream at Dean for even considering the “selfish” option. The way Dean says that his old life doesn’t want him to be happy also kills me. Because it’s like, no matter where he goes or what he does, he’s destined for misery. So I sob.

And so Dean goes to hunt the Djinn. He chooses the lives of others over everything, like he always does. And he realizes his new life isn’t real. He realizes he’s been unconscious this entire time, and that Jess is dead. His mom is dead. Carmen doesn’t really exist. And I cry.

So he’s ready to kill himself, but the way that his family tries to convince him to stay?

Oh my god. Spiegel im Spiegel starts playing, and Sam asks “why’d you have to keep digging?”

Mary tells him to put the knife down. She says it doesn’t matter that this life isn’t real, it’s still better than anything he had before. And that yeah, in real life, he will die in a few days. But it will feel like years. And there will be “No more pain. Or fear. Just love and comfort. And safety,” none of which Dean has in his real life

But Dean still chooses to return to his life, because he cares more about our saving people than he does about his own happiness.

And he tells Sam about the fake life the djinn created for him. About how Sam was happy with Jess. And their mom was going to have grandchildren. Sam commends him for having the strength to fight it, to leave it behind. And Dean says, “But I wanted to stay. I wanted to stay so bad. I mean, ever since Dad... all I c– all I can think about is how much this job's cost us. We've lost so much. We've... sacrificed so much.”

and it’s like, damn. Why can’t Dean ever be truly happy? Cause even in this “happy” version of his life, everything was tinged with pain and sadness and grief. And I just wish he could get a break. So I cry and cry and cry and cry.

#supernatural #supernatural rewatch #supernatural season 2 #what is and what should never be #dean winchester #jensen ackles #sam winchester #jared padalecki #Sam and Jess #mary winchester #samantha smith #djinn

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farfromstrange · 1 year

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Butterfly Effect | Michael Kinsella x Reader

Chapter 1: Toffee Nut Latte

Pairing: Michael Kinsella x Reader (afab)

Summary: Michael decides to check out the new café down the street and meets a kind-hearted barista who is determined to make him smile. Or, you serve a rather broody customer that seems like so much more than he lets on, and you decide to take the first step.

Warnings: None. Some angst in the beginning, but nothing serious, unless you consider bad flirting a warning.

Word Count: 5k

A/n: This is my first time writing for Michael. This really was a challenge and I hope I managed to get his character down right, but the man just needs a goddamn break in his life. I’m literally so nervous for y’all to read this… Also, I read some fics on AO3 and I watched some more Michael edits and tried to get the Irish accent on his end as right as I possibly could. I also googled a lot. If you want to be tagged, let me know! (Also, if you haven’t tried a toffee nut latte in December, you have to! It’s my comfort drink during Christmas time.)

The sky above Dublin is littered with gray clouds. A promise of rain goes through the news and every radio station with the weather report. There is a storm warning for those in Ireland who live close to the sea, but the city is told to be vigilant for any harsh winds. And as the first raindrops cascade down onto the asphalt, the clouds turn black.

Michael doesn’t mind the rain. It’s not because he was born and grew up in Ireland; it’s mostly because he has been lacking the feeling of nature in its rawest form for years. Eight years. Prison doesn’t treat anyone well, and he knows the weariness after getting out is normal, but he can’t seem to find a way to wrap his head around the changes around him. The world is so much different now than it was back then. But it is less the fact that gentrification has progressed to the point he has lost count of the family businesses that have disappeared and rather himself who has changed.

He lost everything eight years ago and paid the ultimate price. He is still paying for it. He truly believed that after getting out of prison, he could get back on his feet and get Anna back - it’s all he’s been looking forward to for eight years, to finally see and hold his little girl in his arms again, but she is not that little anymore and all laws and rules seem to be against him as he continues to try, try and try, and yet he always seems to lose.

Jimmy and Amanda are happy. They pretend to be, anyway. Their kids are bigger now than when Michael went to prison, but they’re still boys. Looking into Amanda’s eyes again after all this time has made all the guilt resurface that he tried to swallow while he was fighting for his survival in the dark confines of his prison cell.

He’s made mistakes, a lot of mistakes, and he doesn’t consider himself a good person, far from it, actually, but he wants to be better. He wants to be a father. He failed to be a husband and that led to a loss he can’t possibly put into words without tearing his heart out and putting it out into the sun for the flesh to melt off while his nerves are still connected to his conscious being.

He knows he screwed up and that he has no right to see Anna again, but he is selfish and there is so much he has to make up for. He can’t roll over and die, he has to try, and no matter how badly his family wants him back in the saddle, he wants to leave the man he was before behind. If not for him, he has to do it for his daughter. He owes that much to his wife, and he owes it to everyone else he has hurt to try.

A lot has changed around and inside Michael. He is sadder now, he doesn’t remember what it’s like to feel joy, he’s lost, he can’t find his way back, and the nightmares still keep him up. He can’t sleep. The bullet holes are still there. Every corner of his house is haunted. It reminds him of what he did, of the sacrifices he made in the name of his family, in the name of money, and he gets sick at the sight of his reflection. He loathes himself.

And as he finds comfort in the rain, he walks the streets of Dublin with a nauseating feeling of nostalgia eating through the sensitive skin of his insides because even the city itself seemed to scream at him in the same degrading tone his entire life already likes to take with him.

But he can’t say he doesn’t deserve it. He can’t say he doesn’t deserve the pain the universe and himself are projecting onto him because he does.

The rain grows heavier and he pulls the collar of his coat up to his throat. Some of the droplets get caught in his bear. He should probably shave, but he can’t find it in himself to try.

The streets are empty. A lot of familiar storefronts have shut down, buildings have been demolished and modern architecture lines the streets. Even the coffee shop he and Jimmy used to frequent is gone now. But instead of a new, fancy business building, a seemingly normal café has replaced it.

He stops.

Butterfly Effect.

If his education hasn’t failed him, the butterfly effect describes the power of even the most minuscule change to have a huge impact on your life - everyone’s life, really. Everything affects everything. The flapping of a butterfly’s wings on one end of the world can cause a natural catastrophe on the complete opposite end. It’s chaos theory.

Or, a nice cup of coffee can change the course of your day within seconds. That’s what he supposes it means. Otherwise, the name wouldn’t make any sense. An odd name for a café, he thinks. But the smell of roasted beans and sugary treats draws him in like a moth to a flame.

The bell above the door rings, signaling the arrival of another customer. Compared to the storm raging outside, it’s cozy and warm inside the café you work at. The mostly brown interior reminds you of a cabin in the woods in the middle of winter. You’ve grown used to the noise of conversations overlapping, the sizzling of the coffee maker, and the occasional ding of the oven whenever someone wants one of the snacks from the display heated up and ready to go, or ready to dive into it in a comfortable armchair somewhere close to the plants. It’s the work-free section of the café, and it has become rather popular during people’s most stressful times.

You have been working there for only a few months. After deciding to make a living from writing and quitting your nine-to-five desk job, you realized that money isn’t so easy to come by, so you let desperation lead you to the city and landed a job at this café that, at the time, had just opened. You were miserable at first because nothing was going your way, but you learned how to live with it because quite frankly, the place is nicer than you thought. After putting aside the pessimism, you found somewhat of an optimist inside of you, and that’s something you never thought you’d say.

The café is now your favorite place to be. It’s not a coffee shop because the main purpose isn’t to sell as many coffees to go; the place is perfectly decorated for people to stay and drink inside (and outside in summer). You get the occasional walk-ins, but most people stay for the atmosphere, and you can’t blame them.

It’s busy most of the time, there is a lot of work, and the stress wears you down and often takes the inspiration to create something outside of work away from you, but it’s not every day that a stable job comes with nice people and a nice ambiance. It’s better than staring at a computer screen all day, anyway.

You wouldn’t call yourself ‘the norm’. You’re a mess most of the time, you still can’t make doctor’s appointments without rehearsing your speech a million times beforehand, and doing the dishes isn’t your favorite thing to do, but you have a routine. You have friends. You’re as happy as you can be, and you only find yourself having an existential crisis every two days now rather than every hour, which seems to be a big improvement that should be celebrated. You’re a mess, but you stand by it.

Most people would have given up their dreams by now, but you have always been a dreamer, it keeps you alive, so giving up and returning to a life that doesn’t make you happy is not a decision that is even open for discussion. So many people have told you and keep telling you that you are never going to make it, but in your mind, you’re right where you want to be because that is where you can be, and everything else will come with time.

Even the smallest changes can lead to a sudden 180-turn in your life. Butterfly Effect. The place of your employment seems to be a little too on the nose with their name.

A rainy day usually means a lot of work for you, but you don’t let that sway you from admiring the beauty of Dublin hulled in gray in the afternoon.

The bell above the door rings and you look up. The man that walks in is wearing a sweater as dark as the weather, but it’s green and it reminds you more of a sad field than the gray clouds in the sky. His hair is dark though, and the dark strands of his beard surround a mouth that looks like it hasn’t smiled in a while.

He’s absolutely beautiful.

The stranger approaches you and the air gets stuck in your lungs. He eyes the menu, his brown eyes narrowing to get a closer picture of the writing - it’s yours. You updated the signs this morning, and you paid close attention to detail. You wonder if it was too much, your cheeks starting to burn bright red, ready to apologize and read it to him, but then he finally nods and steps up to the counter.

“Hi,” you say, your voice higher than usual, “Welcome to the Butterfly Effect! What can I get for you today?”

Your voice is like a breath of fresh air. Michael’s eyes fall on you, and he is instantly captivated by the force of your smile. It’s almost unfair how kind you seem, your little apron fitting perfectly around your waist and your hair only tied up enough to keep your face visible to the public. You’re open, painfully so; he suddenly feels like a smudge of black on a colorful canvas, and that canvas is you. Your smile is welcoming, it draws him in, but he doesn’t want to come closer. It’s light like yours that often gets ruined by the likes of him.

“Just a double espresso,” he says. It’s his old regular.

Compared to the volume of the bustling café, he’s quiet, but you still hear every word. There is a low vibrato to the way he speaks, and the new sensation makes you shiver. You have seen many people around here, it has become a favorite spot for people to hang out, but he’s a total stranger. And he’s different from the usual clientele that comes in. He’s mysterious, but he’s not dark. You wouldn’t describe him that way. He fits in with the furniture, you realize, and he would definitely make a cozy accessory.

If only he could see himself the same way. It’s not hard to tell that he doesn’t, or he wouldn’t carry himself the way he does. You can almost smell the sadness radiating off of him, and the lack of a smile makes you feel almost sad with him. And of course, for him.

“A double espresso?” you question.

Your curiosity is piqued.

He’s not sure why you sound like you’re insinuating something. Are you… judging him?

Michaels shifts from one foot to the other and says, “Yeah. A double espresso.”

“You know we have other options, right?”

He does. He can see the menu. His frown deepens. He finds himself taken aback by your candidness. He lifts his shoulders in a shrug. “It’s what I usually order. If ya don’t have any, I can look for somethin’ else.”

You smile a little at his shyness. He’s on the completely wrong path when it comes to interpreting your intentions. It’s not like you’re judging him, not at all, but there is more to him, there has to be. Every person has a story. You work with people every day, you’ve encountered rare personalities and yet there are always those who exceed your expectations. Michael seems to be one of those very people.

You can’t explain how you know, it’s merely a feeling, but your feelings are hardly ever wrong. You’ve been working in customer service for a while, and it comes with a certain sense of how people tick, what they’re like, and it makes you speculate about who they are inside, too. It’s what you’ve been doing from the beginning. At first, you felt bad, but you soon realized you aren’t doing anything harmful by observing. You are just studying human beings in their natural habitat, and it truly helps you get a better sense of who people are.

Coffee is the first indicator of the kind of person someone is. Unique coffee doesn’t instantly mean you are an adventurer unless there is something about you that would suggest it, just like the way you would order it or the kind of toppings you prefer. Keeping that in mind, ordering a double espresso also doesn’t mean you’re basic or ‘normal’ just because many people drink it; it’s the kind of person you see before you combined with the order that paints you a picture of who the person is.

You brew coffee for other people and make a living with that, so of course, coffee is something you judge based on. Sometimes, you memorize coffee orders simply to get to know the regulars that come in. People-watching is by far your favorite activity.

With Michael, it’s not just the coffee that gives it away though. The second he opened his mouth, you knew. Even though your conversation runs based on customer and service provider, the air between you and the way he carries himself intrigues you because you have to admit, it’s not often you feel this starstruck by a random man coming into your place of work and ordering a boring double espresso.

But he isn’t just a random man, is he?

The aura that consumes him and the clouds that follow him – they’re a testament to something else, something you don’t know about but that inevitably draws you in. He’s a magnet, almost. He shows so much without actually showing it, and he doesn’t even seem to know it. Perhaps that’s why he looks so surprised at your open and affectionate nature. He’s not used to people being nice to him. A lot of people that come into the café aren’t, but he surely is the most conflicted one. It’s a gut feeling that drives you.

“Oh no, that’s not what I meant!” you quickly assure him. “I get it, believe me. But let me let you in on a secret–“ You look deep into his eyes, and it’s enough to crack his foundation just a little.

You meet his eyes and Michael gets flustered. Eye contact has become a means to intimidate, but the way you look at him is far from that. It’s different. He licks his lip and hopes you can’t see too clearly that you have caught him off guard.

Well, needless to say, you have. The second you meet his beautiful eyes that appear almost black in the dim light of the room, you see his stern expression falter and a sense of humanity flashing through. It’s a broken, painful sliver of humanity, but it’s human nonetheless.

Shaking off the whirlwind of thoughts that almost turns you mute, you regain your composure. “We have this new toffee nut latte on the menu that tastes best with a little caramel and cinnamon on top,” – you point to the sign above your head – “You strike me as the kind of guy that could use more than just a boring espresso, especially on a day that’s already darker than our furniture,” you say before quickly adding, “No offense.”

Michael catches himself before he can lose all of his dignity. He chuckles awkwardly, looks away, then looks at you again. His eyes roam your face, then the sign behind you. He’s never been more grateful to his beard for hiding most of the blush on his pale cheeks. When he meets your eyes again, you’re still staring at him, and your smile is contagious.

You look so cute like this, with your apron and the butterfly clip that holds your name in place. Michael finds himself smiling at you, but it’s not because he’s nervous or shy – okay, maybe it’s because he is shy – but it’s because you are smiling at him so brightly, he forgets his name and he forgets what air feels like. His lips naturally curl up and mirror your expression, and he swears he can feel the blush rising to his head. A spark of warmth ignites in his eyes that was dormant for far too long.

Whatever you’re doing to him, it’s working, and you’ve barely talked.

I actually quite like the furniture, he thinks to himself, but the words wouldn’t find their way onto his lips.

“None taken,” he says instead.

You let out a sigh of relief. It’s hard to place the expression on his face, but his smile offers a lovely sight. “Oh, good. With gentrification and everything I really can’t afford scaring off a paying customer because of a toffee nut latte that you could get at Starbucks for twice the price. So,” you say, and you once again bite yourself in the ass for the inappropriate joke.

Why are you still talking? You were so confident, so in your element, but now he has you blushing again and rambling like a teenager. If your boss were to hear any of the things you just said to the poor man, you would probably end up having a lengthy conversation about etiquette.

You bite your cheek and close your eyes. “I’m so sorry, I should probably stop talking now. Just pretend you didn’t hear any of that. I really need this job. You probably think I’m crazy now.”

Michael’s lip twitches again, much to his own surprise. “That depends, are ya tryin’ to sell me on overpriced or good coffee?” he asks.

You feign a gasp. “Good coffee, of course!” You pause before adding with a wink, “Or so I’m supposed to say.”

You should shut up, but how can you when he is teasing you so effortlessly?

“That was a joke. Our coffee is excellent, and I’m not just saying that… okay, so, I’m mad, huh? That’s what you think. It’s official.”

He chuckles, his hand raising slightly as if to calm you down. Perhaps you have started talking a little fast, but rambling comes unfairly naturally. It’s your defense mechanism.

“I don’t think yer mad,” he says.

A blush spreads across your cheeks at the soft tone of his voice. He’s not as stressed as most of your customers; there is a calm amidst the storm.

“But if yer gonna rob me of five quid for a latte,” Michael adds, and there he goes again, teasing, “ya might as well get me an extra shot of espresso with that or I’ll start thinkin’ that ya are. Wouldn’t be good for business, would it?”

His words elicit a small giggle from you. “You can have as many as you like. On the house. But only today.”

You also shouldn’t be doing that, there’s a reason you’re supposed to charge for any particular changes like extra espresso or extra whipped cream, but you’re not thinking rationally anymore. Years of customer service training seem to be gone all of a sudden.

He shrugs again. “Just one’d be grand, thanks.”

“So, one toffee nut latte?” You meet his eyes. They remind you of ground coffee beans. You wonder if he smells the same, or if he smells like the rain outside mixed with the distinctive scent of wet grass in the air. You can't explain why the thought crosses your mind, but as soon as it settles in, it refuses to leave. “Or did I get that wrong?” you ask to clarify.

Michael shakes his head. “That’s right.”

“Okay”

He nods to the pile of paper cups next to the register. “Actually, could I get that to go?” he asks. “Please?”

“Sure,” you reach for the cup, “I can make that happen. One more thing though, and then I’ll leave you alone. Can I get your name?”

He frowns.

“For the order,” you add.

“Oh, right. Name’s Michael.”

“Michael…” His name is just as beautiful as him. You use the Sharpie next to the register to write his name in bold letters onto the coffee cup. “I hope I got that right,” you murmur more to yourself than him, but he hears you nonetheless.

His eyes crinkle in the corners from how hard he's smiling. The glint they’re carrying is just as teasing as before. On the counter, his fingers start patting a steady rhythm. “If ya wrote it with a k, yer wrong,” he says.

“I didn’t,” you say.

“Then you’re good.”

You try not to pass away from the sight of his smile or the subtle praise he throws your way.

You eye him and hesitate before moving a line lower and adding,

“You have a nice smile :)”

You consider putting your number as well, but that would be too much of a bold move, even for you, so you leave it be. You’re not even sure if he is as intrigued as you are; you develop crushes fairly easily, and it’s worse when hot men come in during tea time and order a coffee from you. You don’t want to creep him out, you just want to be nice. You want to make his day. He seems like the kind of guy that could use a pick-me-up, and you have your work cut out for you.

Handing the cup over to your colleague, you return your attention to the man before you. “Anything else you’d like, Michael?” you ask.

Swiftly taken aback by you saying his name so casually as if you’ve known each other for a while and he didn’t just walk into a café on a normal rainy day in Dublin like any other person around you but that you’re actually long-lost friends, he snaps out of it and shakes his head.

You can tell he’s not that much of a talker, so you accept his soft ‘thank you’, and name the total. He hands you the money, and he tips graciously.

Michael isn’t even sure why he does it, but then your eyes light up even more and he realizes that’s why. He wants to see you happy. He wants to brand your face into his brain with a hot iron.

The question ‘What the fuck is wrong with ya?’ Nudges him. ‘Stop it.’

He wants to, but he can’t.

You put the tip into your jar and offer him another smile, but this time your eyes are the ones holding the playful glint. “Well, thank you, good sir!” you say.

There can’t be much wrong with him. You are the kind of person many people would feel drawn to. He just doesn’t like the way it makes him feel.

He looks away. “Sure. See ya,” he says, and when he turns around to pick up his order at the counter a few steps over, he reads the name on your nametag and calls your name most deliciously.

You shudder.

“That’s…” you peek at your name tag. “That’s my name.”

He said your name. Good God you feel like such a teenager.

Did you make the right decision by writing him that note? You’re not sure, but you hope he gets your hint and comes back because he has proven to be quite something else – someone else – and you’d be damned to let that beautiful stranger slip through your fingers like any other man you could have had in the past.

It’s just something about Michael that has you yearning for more. Something that entices you and pulls you in. Maybe it’s the mystery that surrounds him or the dark cloud that you seem to have been able to clear for just a moment, but you could see the rainbow following the rain. Someone just has to shine enough light on him to make him smile again.

As you look to your right, your co-worker casts you a knowing glance. She smirks, her arms crossed over her chest. “You have a nice smile,” she quotes.

You roll your eyes.

“Do you write that on all customers’ cups or just this lad?”

“Sarah,” you warn.

“I mean, he’s hot, but come on! What was that?”

You can tell she’s trying hard not to laugh at you, and you are this close to smacking her in the head with the whisk closest to you. For a moment, you consider it.

“You need to get out more,” she says. “Learn how to flirt properly. That was just sad to watch.”

“Oh, fuck off!” you say, but the tone of your voice is playful.

You know the note was a pathetic attempt at flirting, and chances are he won’t reciprocate them, but at least you can sleep better at night knowing you’ve made his day better because you made him smile, and that usually goes a long way on a bad day.

Michael, at first overwhelmed by the sweet taste of his coffee, quickly comes to the decision that he likes whatever drink you made him buy. It reminds him of Christmas, of simpler times, and it makes him feel warm inside.

He likes his coffee strong, you took note of that. While he can taste the espresso clear as day, the sweet hints of cinnamon and caramel mixed with the warm foam and whipped cream explode on his tongue. He would have never ordered it if you hadn’t recommended it, that’s for sure, but the different tastes blend perfectly and don’t take away the essence of what he truly likes about the double espresso he usually orders. It’s different, but it reminds him of home.

The latte itself isn’t what causes him to pause though. It’s the written words underneath his name. Your handwriting is unique, fitting for someone like you, but he has no trouble deciphering it.

“You have a nice smile :)”

The compliments he receives are usually comments made by his family, and they’re never that special. Not that Michael would consider himself special, anyway. He can’t remember the last time someone complimented his smile; his smile had never been the center of anyone’s attention before. Until now. He’s flirted with women, he’s been around, but the purity of your compliment paired with the carefully drawn smiley face next to your note feels different than where his conversations usually lead.

He looks over his shoulder into the café where he sees you leaning over the counter through the runny glass of the window, a lolli in your hand as you hand it to a little girl. Your interaction flows effortlessly, just as it did with him.

The child points to the butterfly clip that keeps your name tag in place. You reach into the pocket of your apron and find a spare clip to hand her. The girl’s face lights up and you look even happier than before. It's a smile not many people have, and a power that even seems to enchant children.

The mother seems a lot more relaxed now that she’s talking to you. Michael begins to wonder if maybe your smile is the butterfly effect and not the coffee itself. Maybe you are the reason so many people come to the café. You offer solace, a smile, and some hot coffee. It’s every stressed person’s dream, he thinks, to be served by someone like you.

The rain cascades down on his tired features, but he’s not cold. He has his coffee and he has the thought of your smile etched into his brain, and there is something about you that won’t allow him to forget, no matter how hard he tries.

He glances back down at the note, his lips curling into another smile. If someone passed by him and would ask him why, he wouldn’t even know what to answer. Is he smiling because of the note or because of you? Or is it the taste of something new? Or maybe he has just gone insane, he’s not sure anymore.

The short moment of relief he felt inside the café is gone and instead replaced by the familiar feeling of dread. The gray of the clouds returns to his soul, and the light you have tried to light in his heart has gone out. The smile turns bittersweet before it dies on his lips, but then he looks back at you through the window, the rain turning your face blurry, and he wants nothing more than to scream at the clouds to go away.

Michael is too weak to fight what’s eating him inside. It’s inevitable. People around him get hurt and he hurts himself in the process. He would be foolish to think otherwise.

But then there’s you. You are a kind-hearted breath of fresh air. You are good with people. You seem like the kind of person who could never do something bad. You’re an Angel. You’re the complete opposite of him, and opposites attract. It’s a treacherous feeling and it’s dangerous, but he can’t help it.

A minute it took for you to make him smile. If that is not a record that piques his interest, he’s not sure what is. Not that he would admit his reason for going back to be your smile or the lovely note you have left on his coffee cup. He likes to think it’s the toffee nut latte and the ambiance, but deep down, even Michael knows that is not the reason he is truly smiling.

Coffee has become his new favorite drink and he knows exactly where to get his fix.

Tagging: @bellaxgiornata @loveroftoomanyfandoms @acharliecoxedfan @lina-mar @itwasthereaminuteago @mattkinsella

#michael kinsella x reader #michael kinsella x you #michael kinsella #michael kinsella fluff #michael kinsella angst #michael kinsella smut #coffee shop au #kin amc #butterfly effect #michael kinsella fic #no y/n

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reneeluv154 · 5 months

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My Baby pt2

Hope you enjoy!!

⚠️Tw this imagine contains: Mentions of rape and child loss (abortion).⚠️

It had been three days since I woke up in the patient room and I still sat here in bed. Jack did as he promised and moved my bed to the window which made me happy and cured some of my boredom but I was sick of this, sick of the pills and the breakfast in bed, especially sick of not knowing what was wrong with me.

Jack would always avoid the question when I asked.

“Sorry Y/n, I have a surgery I need to get to.”

“Hetty needs me.”

“You need some rest.”

“I don’t have a whole lot of time.”

These were just some of the many excuses he used.

I heard a very faint knock and the door opened, Jack peeking inside. “Brought you a snack.” He held up a bowl of fruit. “I’m not hungry for anything other than answers Jack and I expect to know the full story before you leave this room.” He was shocked nonetheless but sighed and sat at the end of the bed.

“Y/n, It’s a hard thing to explain I-“

“Well, then you best use your brain.” He stood and paced the room running his fingers through his hair. “Y/n, I really can't, it's best you don’t know.” I was frustrated, “Jack Dawkins, I deserve to know what you have done to me!” I had never raised my voice at him but I couldn’t take it anymore. He nodded, coming to sit on the bed and holding my hand in his. “Y/n, You were pregnant…and the baby was going to kill you, we had to cut open your stomach.” I was horrified, “Where is my baby?” Jack let go of my hand avoiding eye contact. Tears welled in my eyes, I grabbed his face resting my forehead on his own, our noses just barely touching. I took a breath.

“What have you done with my baby?” I whispered, my eyes sealed shut, praying it was all a bad dream. “Y/n, I’m sorry.”

“No!” I screamed and I sobbed falling into his arms, my adrenaline numbing any physical pain.

He held me close for what felt like hours gently playing with my hair and rubbing my back. My sobs were now soft whimpers and my breathing was more controlled. “Y/n?” He questioned, I didn't respond, “Were you aware you were pregnant?” I shook my head. I never knew I was pregnant. I had just assumed I was rapidly gaining weight for whatever reason.

“Do you know who the father was?” I had an idea of who it may have been. I never wanted to have any sexual relation with this man but it wasn’t exactly my choice. “I was raped,” I whispered, I myself couldn’t believe what I was saying. “I’m sorry Y/n, I knew after you woke up from the surgery you wouldn’t remember what happened for a few days, I never wanted to take your baby from you but I had to, I was forced to.” His voice was hushed and calm. I turned to face him, my head still on his lap, he was still playing with my hair. “Who forced you to?”

“Darius.”

My rapist, Darius, was my rapist, I remembered. “Y/n, I know it might seem selfish, he was going to have me hung but more importantly you would have died.” The tears in his eyes told how much guilt he had. “Why would I die?”

He choked, “He was going to poison you and the baby, Neither of you would have made it. I chose the way in which I could save the most lives.”

A tear fell from his cheek and onto my gown. I wasn’t mad at him, I couldn’t be, he hadn’t asked to be put in such a situation. “I’m so sorry, love. You would have been such a beautiful mother.” He ran a thumb over the top of my cheek wiping a few more tears. I couldn’t stand seeing him like this. I never saw Jack cry and now he was sobbing.

Before I could even think I wrapped my arms around his neck and kissed him. The kiss was deep with meaning and passion but I pulled away. “Jack, you should have never been put in this situation, I’m not mad at you, I’m mad at Darius, not just for what he has done to me but for what he’s done to you, and my baby.” I would have hated knowing what I went through for my baby but would have loved to see them grow even if not by my motherly love.

“I love you.” Jack breathed, I nodded “I love you too.”

Me and Jack had been close from the day he arrived here. Now we lay on the bed, Jack holding me close, My head on his chest, while we looked at the stars, trying to ease ourselves. “Jack.”

“Hm.”

“Boy or girl?”

“A Girl sweetheart.”

I pointed out to the brightest star in the sky. “That’s my baby girl.”

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calzonekestis · 2 years

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So Joe has been feeding us so well with his exit interviews, but I love love love…

That while he was like “yes, Eddie had a crush on Chrissy. It made sense to play it that way.”

He made sure to note that… that wasn’t what the concert was about? Like we all clutch our chests and cry at. “Chrissy, this is for you.”

We’re human, how can we not?

Joe was very clear to say though that the concert wasn’t about how Eddie felt about her.

It was about honoring and avenging her. A recognition of who she was, who she truly was, and what her life meant.

It about Chrissy.

Not about him, and his feelings for her. Just her.

And I think that’s a big thing to note, especially how it separates him from Jason?

Jason is doing all he is because he lost Chrissy. Because he lost Chrissy, or Chrissy as he knew her… and it’s clear he didn’t actually know her that well at all.

His vigilante crusade isn’t about bringing her killer to justice so much as it is a way for him to cope with his own anger and grief. It’s less about her, and more about him. Her, strictly in relation to him.

It sucks that she was killed to further both their character arcs, but. At least with Eddie, while he feels guilt and shame over her death… he mourns her in a less selfish way?

Her memory and his experience with her makes him want to be better.

Meanwhile, Jason’s perception of Chrissy… the one she presented, who was hiding so much pain and trauma behind her smile and who felt like she couldn’t come to him about it…

He’d say she inspired him. To do what, exactly? Threaten to torture Eddie’s bandmates for information? Pursue vigilante justice, and interfere with a police investigation? Terrorize Black children?

If Chrissy was around to hear that she “inspired” him to do all that, that he did it in her name… she’d be horrified and disgusted.

I don’t think she’d feel that way about Eddie’s solo or sacrifice tbh. People can be upset about the death, but not only was he protecting Dustin… he was luring those bats away from the gate. Cause if they got out in Hawkins, started spreading and multiplying? That’d have been no bueno.

People say Eddie’s death was stupid and all about his ego and pride. It wasn’t. Go back and watch. He lost Chrissy. There was a lot he didn’t get to say to her.

He didn’t lose Dustin. He made sure to make sure the kid knew what he meant to him.

Eddie didn’t die to satisfy his own ego, or even to save just Dustin. He did it, like Dustin told Wayne… for the entire town. A town that thought the worst of him.

TLDR Chrissy Cunningham inspired Eddie Munson to be a big damn hero. She inspired Jason to be a colossal douchebag.

Eddie did have feelings for her, yes, but he mourned her as a person and the loss of that person.

Jason mourned her as his “perfect” girlfriend and mourned the loss of that “perfect” girlfriend.

Jason didn’t have any idea what was going on with her, and she felt like she couldn’t tell him.

Eddie noticed something was off right away, and rather than make her feel bad for feeling bad… he tried to make her not feel bad. He was a doofus.

He intentionally was a doofus with a girl he liked, just so she’d feel safer.

It wasn’t even so that she’d realize he meant her no harm, and that he wasn’t mean and scary.

He initially thought it was it, but when she asks him not to go? He pauses. Considers her.

Ok, so it’s not him, but something’s got her freaked. He doesn’t know what, but he can try to make her smile. So he does that.

While he does flirt, his intentions aren’t “I’mma put the moves on Chrissy” - they’re “this person seems very vulnerable and scared right now, even if it’s not about Me, I’m going to do what I can to make them less scared.”

Like how he looks after the little sheep. He sees someone scared, out of sorts, he wants to help them.

Make them feel safe, like everything is going to be ok.

Eddie Munson literally can’t help himself. He sees someone who is scared and feels anxious and out of sorts, and he swoops in to make them laugh and feel like things are going to be ok.

Like they’re safe.

The Golden Retriever energy is off the charts.

Again like I’m sure this man could be a talented musician professionally or a record store owner, but I could absolutely picture him as a social worker that specializes in working with kids.

Kids who maybe didn’t grow up with much money, who came from broken homes. Who struggle with anxiety. Turn to crime. Drugs. Like. He is… that would have been so perfect for him.

They’re angry and resentful at the world, scared and insecure. He would listen, not invalidate their experiences and emotions… try to help them. They’d expect some guy in a suit or a stereotypical youth pastor type (think a Jason Carver) and instead they get this Freak. Who doesn’t belittle them, or talk down or look down on them.

God, homeboy could have lived as he died… caring about the well-being of his fellow man.

#hellcheer #eddie munson #chrissy cunningham #jason carver #eddie x chrissy #joseph quinn

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marleysfinest · 1 year

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SHOPPING TRIP; JEAN X READER

THANK U @wyvernslovecake for this prompt & I’m sorry it took so long!!! life do be cray rn!!

jean x gn reader; fluff; no content warnings

there isn’t much jean wouldn’t do for you. he’s the loyal type, the stoic type, the will jump to your aid and defence without giving it so much as a thought type. where he was once selfish, maybe a little entitled, jean had come to realise that there’s more to life than looking after number one; leaving flowers at your door for you to return home to, texting you every morning and every night, swinging by work with your favourite coffee without even having to ask. he’d come to realise that he loved doting on you.

shopping, though? oh boy. that man hated shopping.

it doesn’t help that it’s a particularly sweltering day, with the sweat pouring from your brow as you both weave between the crowds of shoppers at the open-air shopping village. the cause for this somewhat tense shopping trip had stemmed from jean letting his hatred of browsing the stores get the best of him, and leaving it until the day before his mother’s birthday before revealing that he hadn’t picked up a gift. when you ask him what he thought was going to happen, his silence and scowl told you all you needed to know; I thought you’d pick something up for me.

his mother was, as you were very well aware, a notoriously picky woman. very loving and generous, but selective when it came to gifting. she wasn’t a stranger to exchanging gifts she wasn’t fond of, and jean had taken this act of pickiness as a challenge, and every year tried his hardest to get her something she would genuinely love. why he did this knowing full well he’d never want to shop for the thing to begin with, you didn’t know, but it was an argument that had long since been put to bed.

you drag him into another store - this one flaunting necklaces and trinkets of gold and silver - and hear a low groan behind you.

“this is ridiculous, she’s so picky with her jewellery!”

his tone was similar to that of a nine year-old schoolboy being ferried around by his mother.

“what’s ridiculous is you leaving it to the day before to get your own mother a birthday present!” you snap.

the store’s air conditioning leaves a lot to be desired, and realising that you’ve been at this for three hours now, you persuade jean to buy an intricate gold and ruby necklace and put in a little extra for the gift wrap. rush order excess was your excuse, and it was met with that signature groan and a roll of the eyes. you both walk back into the blazing sunshine, you feeling a little lighter from responsibility, jean from the dent in his wallet.

“let’s get a drink, please, I’m gonna die from this heat.”

realising that his attitude was beginning to irk you, you agree that a drink, a comfy seat, and a cool down is a good idea before you both started lunging for each other’s throats in broad daylight. you nigh-on run to the large bar at the far end of the mall, but just as it was in sight jean stops. wondering whether he was feeling alright or indeed had just collapsed dead through faux-exhaustion and carrying around such a bad attitude, you turn to ask what the problem is, until you realise he’s no longer by your side. he’s actually willingly walking towards a store window. heatstroke? delusions? a mirage of a cold beer in the window? you watch him keenly for a few seconds until he realises you’re not with him, and when he finds your eyes across the crowd, waves you over.

as you draw nearer, you realise that he’s looking in the window of another jewellery store. a certain high-end jewellery store, with a very welcoming duck-egg blue entrance and elaborate decorations, and you could see that the counters inside were surrounded by luxurious furnishings. you return to jean’s side, and take in the selection of diamond rings in the window.

“hypothetically speaking,” he began, “which one of these would you wear?”

you look up at him and realise that he’s deliberately averting his eyes from yours, keeping them fixed on the window display.

“hypothetically?” you ask, “babe, even hypothetically we couldn’t afford one of these.”

he rolls his eyes elaborately.

“hypothetically. hypothetically means anything is possible. now pick one.”

his tone wasn’t romantic or even overly affectionate, but you weren’t sure that you minded. jean’s signature brand of smugness and impatience was something that had grown on you over the years. you turn to look at the rings on display; all of them were obscenely beautiful, it was hard to pick just one. but after careful consideration you settle on a simple solitaire diamond on a white gold band.

“that one,” you say, pointing delicately to avoid hitting the window and being arrested for attempted theft. jean’s eyebrows raise in approval, and he nods lightly.

“alright…”

his voice trails off, and you’re left in silence for a few seconds before he snaps back to reality.

“c’mon, you can buy me a beer. if I’m gonna be getting you one of those things you’re gonna have to stop making me buy you stuff.”

you elbow him with force, and he laughs, throwing an arm around your shoulder as you head for the bar.

#jean kirschtein #jean aot #jean fluff #jean x reader #jean x yn #attack on titan #aot

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star-girl69 · 1 year

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I Loved You Like the Sun

a/n: formally apologizing for last chapter. but in order for my later plans to play out, (plus some delicious hurt/comfort w daemyra x reader) (wink wink things like the battle of rooks rest, FINALLY cannibal vs. vhagar battle) i felt like we needed a little more tension and besides, who doesn’t like a little drama??? so as always i hope you all enjoy this chapter!! and happy holidays to everyone who celebrates!!

warnings: blood, death, swearing, violence, incest, tell me if i missed anything!!

Daemon Targaryen x Rhaenyra Targaryen x Fem!Reader

Chapter Thirty One- Waiting, Longing

—-

“Baela? What’s wrong?”

Her little sniffles make your heart break, as she burrows further into her pillow and shakes her head. You sit on the edge of the bed, place a hand on her shoulder.

“You can tell me anything, you know. I am not your mother and I never will be, but I can still be whatever you need. It’s not like I’m the heir to the throne, like Rhaenyra, I have all the time in the world for you, sweetling.”

When she sits up, her face is streaked with tears. You smile sadly and she looks down, toying with the furs on her bed.

“I- I’m scared.”

“About what?”

“G-going to Driftmark. I love Grandmother and Grandsire, but, I’m scared I’ll be lonely. I won’t have you, or Rhaena, or any of my brothers. And I’ll miss my bed, and I’ll…” She trails off, and you wait for a second before speaking.

“Well, we will see each other. You will visit, we will visit, it is not like we’re disappearing.”

“But it will be different. I can’t- I don’t want anymore change.”

“Oh, Baela,” and she fell into your arms and sobbed into your shoulder, all while you told her that different is not always bad, that she is strong and beautiful, and she can make the best of any situation.

—-

As you sit on the floor, a dead man’s head in your lap, you think of what you said to Baela that day. She was stronger than you, better than you, and she handled her fears of leaving admirably. But you were not like her. You were selfish.

You could feel the blood soaking your skirts, the blood on your face from when you had screamed into your hands, and you could feel the eyes of the Greens on you. You preferred the blood.

You were selfish. You wanted your own bed, to see your children and your husband and wife.

Sometimes resolved in your mind. They watched you as you carefully lifted the man’s head off of your lap, blood falling down his lips, and set it on the ground.

You were so close. So, so close. To have- not even freedom, but just them- ripped away so fast was more than you could handle.

When you stood, your legs were woozy, bloody skirts tracing the floor. You could not look at them, and when you spoke, your eyes were wide and fixed on the floor.

“I want to go home.” You didn’t even have anymore tears to cry.

“I’m sorry.” Alicent whispered, but she didn’t make a move to comfort you.

It was Aegon who moved forward, who grabbed you by your collar while Helaena screamed and Aemond held her, and you met his fire-like eyes. Fury, you thought. They would never look at you like that.

“I should have killed you,” he hisses. “Let’s be done with this bother, kill her and send her pretty head to Rhaenyra.”

“Do it.” You were surprised when the words came out of your mouth, but in the silence that followed your confession, you became more comfortable with the notion of it. “I will die anyways in this place.”

“Y/N!” Helaena yells, but you cannot bring yourself to meet her eyes. “The dragons will not lose their treasure! The dragons will not lose their treasure!”

But Aegon only scoffed and let you go, pushing you away roughly, staring at you in pure disgust. You suppose it was no longer a punishment if you asked for it.

“Have one of the servants get her a bath. She’s fucking frightening.” His eyes glanced over you, up and down. “Whore,” he hissed, and left you to stand there.

Helaena was in front of you suddenly, asking if you were hurt, gentle hands on your shoulders. She did not care that the blood started to stain her clothes as well.

“Helaena…” Alicent murmured, surprised, almost scolding. “Your dress is ruined, now.”

“Mother… I don’t understand why… Aemond, why can we not let her go home? She deserves to go home?”

“Because she rides a dragon even more fearsome than Vhagar. Cannibal is the night, sweetling, and he will kill all of us.” Otto speaks, taking a step forward. He had faded into the background- observing.

You had been listening and watching, hope long gone.

“I wouldn’t. I would never hurt anyone, I never wanted too. I just wanted to be with my family.”

Otto goes to speak, but you step towards him, haunting in your cream-colored blood soaked dress.

“No! No, it was you who did it. Rhaenyra is the rightful Queen! You all are usurpers, traitors to the realm,”

“A woman cannot rule-”

“You do not even know her! You see she is a woman and that is all you see. You do not see how much she loves what is hers, how ambitious she is, how determined. You do not see her for anything than what is between her legs.”

“Princess Rhaenyra was my closest friend when we were younger. I do know her-”

“You do not. Perhaps if you had not been too quick to act, you would never have stolen me. You think these are the only assassins that will come? No. They will send more, and more, and more until they come themselves. They will bring with them a million dragons, and you will know nothing but fire.”

You take a deep breath while you scan all of them. Besides for Helaena, who has taken to comforting the children, they all seem indifferent. They will never let you return. You will never sway them. You are trapped, trapped, trapped.

And suddenly you are angry. You are burning with rage and fury, things you have not felt in years. You had no need to when you were with them on Dragonstone. When you were too happy to think anything else.

“You are traitors, liars, usurpers. Disgraces of the Targaryen name and Targaryen blood. You are cruel and horrible and undeserving of the Gods you serve! You do not deserve the dragons you ride, you are nothing, nothing, nothing!”

“That is enough.” It is the first time you have heard Aemond speak all night.

“Who are you to tell me anything?”

“A prince.”

“You may be a prince in title. But, in truth, you are nothing but a weak little boy who does not deserve the dragon he stole! Everyday I am grateful my son cut your eye, so you will always have a reminder of what you did to my family. You are nothing but a useless second son!”

His eye darkens and suddenly he is storming towards you. But in this place you are dying, and he does not scare you. You stand tall. He is a foot away from you. He stops.

“And what are you? A useless woman. Only one bastard child to speak of, only one marriage that ended your suffering, yes? You speak that a woman must sit the Iron Throne, but how can one if all they are good for is a punching bag and a womb?”

You raise your hands and scream, but he grabs your wrists in one hand. Grabs the collar of your dress with his other.

“It is you who is nothing, Lady Chambers.” You breathe heavily, and his eye stares deeply into yours, lips pursing, and it seems he is deeply considering killing you. But he doesn’t. He lets you go and pushed you so far back you slam into the wall.

“You are weak!” You scream after him as he leaves, and See Criston storms in with handmaidens and apologizes that he was not there. Alicent reassures him that no one is hurt (only dead), and that she dismissed him. He is not to blame.

Helaena walks over to you, Maelor snug in her arms.

“Change is as inevitable as death. You changed, Lady Targaryen. Do not forget that.”

She leaves you there, standing against the wall, eyes dry, stained in blood, neck sore from where you were grabbed by both brothers.

A handmaiden walks over with a handkerchief, gives it to you with a tight smile. You wipe the still wet blood from your face, and she leads you back to your chambers. A guard follows.

You don’t cry when the stained, soaked dress is cut off of you.

You don’t cry in the bath, while the water turns red and the sponge seems to rip off your skin.

You don’t cry when you get into bed.

You don’t cry when you stare at the window, stars shining.

You are a smoking, anger burning out, and you imagine they can see you. You imagine they come for you.

—-

The nursery is different without her.

Rhaenyra spends most of her time in there now, holding one of the babies, changing them, playing with them, watching while they sleep. She only leaves to sleep herself, to cry, to attend council meetings where no one says anything new. They wait for news from Blood and Cheese. Nothing comes.

After two days, it is decided they must be dead.

Daemon had slammed his fist onto his desk so hard his hand was now mottled purple and bruised. It would heal, the maester assured, he would be fine.

Now, he sits next to her in a chair, while Aegon runs around his chair, pretending his toy dragon is flying. They sit here most of the time, Daemon sometimes tells them a story about his time in the Stepstones, while Rhaenyra watches with a smile until she remembers.

Joffrey asks where Y/N is, and Rhaenyra can barely hold back her tears when she says “your mother will be back soon,” for the tenth time. She cannot break it to him. Not yet.

Daemon’s hand is freshly purple, and the two of them know the council is waiting for a response. But for right now, Aegon is napping in Rhaenyra’s arms, and Daenys and Viserys are playing on the floor. Joffrey is listening to one of Daemon’s stories- although he has heard all of them by now, and Rhaenyra decides the council can wait.

She looks at Daenys a little longer. She looks so much like her mother.

—-

“Your decision, My Queen?” Corlys is understanding and patient. He does not mind that they squander their duties, ignore everything.

She wants to say the truth. Admits that she does not know. But Rhaenyra is Queen, and she cannot say that. These men are looking to her for direction. She must provide it, like her father did, her great-grandfather did.

“We- we cannot let this go unpunished. We send more assassins. Better assassins. We send-”

“Me.” Rhaenyra’s eyes widen as she whips towards Jace.

“Don’t- no. No, Jace.”

“She is my mother as much as you are.”

“Yes-”

“It’s out of the question.” Daemon chimes in. “You are the heir.”

“And what better way to prove myself than by avenging her?”

“I cannot-” Rhaenyra murmurs, her mind tumbling. It would be smart, yes, she supposes. Jace would have the opportunity to prove himself. But she has already lost her Y/N. She will not lose her son as well. “I cannot sanction that. You will not go, Jace.”

“Please-”

“No.”

“My Queen,”

“Jacerys.”

“Fine. Fine, I will not go.” Rhaenyra feels her heart return from its place in her throat. Daemon places a hand on her shoulder, and she can feel how tense he is.

He cares for Jace, Luke and Joffrey just as much as he cares for Baela and Rhaena, Daenys, Aegon, Viserys. Their family is meshed together, a loud and brightly colored blanket, but Rhaenyra has always liked bright colors.

They decide upon different assassins, Rhaenyra cannot be bothered to remember their names, different routes, Rhaenyra does not care- as long as it gets the job done- and at the end of the day she falls into bed.

Tonight, she faces Daemon, content to hide her face in his neck and soak his collar with her tears. She knows he does not mind. She knows he does the same, much quieter, much more subtle, into her hair.

She thinks of her. She cries.

—-

Jace knows he should not be sneaking out of the palace.

He knows that his mother forbade it, that his mother cannot lose someone else, so he vows that he will not be lost. Not like his mother.

He misses her.

Aegon has taken another thing from him, and Jacerys Velaryon will not- cannot- let it go unpunished. He will kill them, but leave Helaena and Aegon’s brats. It is what she would have wanted.

His mother allowed him to stay in the council room to he stood and listened. Memorized their route. He would fly on Vermax, of course, leave him somewhere safe outside of the city while he journeyed the rest of the way on foot. He would follow the map he took, through the castle, the secret tunnels.

He will avenge his mother.

—-

taglist:

@wondergal2001 @akiraquote @a-lil-bit-nuts @anginoguera @thatkinkylesgirl1 @stitchattacks @honeypillowsblog @kaloafd @blackhoodlea @softtina @wallace02sblog @tetgod @hotd-fanfic @rxscpctals @iramagnus

#daemon x rhaenyra #daemon targaryen #daemon targaryen x reader #rhaenyra targaryen #rhaenyra targaryen x reader

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kstewdeux · 1 year

Text

@inukag-week 2023 | June 4 | Prompt "Smile"

Summary: Inuyasha's love confession does not go as he'd hoped.

Inspired by a scene from Mighty Boosh

Read here or on Ao3

What was left of Inuyasha’s heart shriveled up and died when Kagome kept laughing so hard tears were streaming down her face. It just seemed the thing to do in the moment. He’d been horrifically injured - yet again - and was actively bleeding out with his head cradled delicately in her arms. Probably to keep it elevated. Vaguely he remembered hitting his head but honestly, he wasn’t sure. He did know he crumpled though and losing body control was a rare occurrence so…the likelihood of his skull being bust open was high.

Not that he was complaining about getting hurt. He’d do it a thousand times over again because he’d taken the hit for the woman he loved, and he’d never regret that. Never. It was more than just his job to protect her. He was a selfish, selfish person and he couldn’t keep her by his side forever if she was dead. The painful means justified the end.

In any case, Inuyasha was fairly sure he had the head injury to thank for what happened next. As she collected his limp form into her arms, their eyes had met, and the moment had seemed so right. That smile. That special, beautiful smile like he was the only person in the world that mattered. She only ever looked at him like that and she was holding him too. One hand curled against his cheek like he was the most precious thing in her life. God, did that make him feel a certain kind of way. Next thing he knew ‘I love you’ had just bubbled out in a sick sappy tone.

And then the bitch had to audacity to laugh at him! Not just a giggle but full blown, tears streaming down her cheeks belly laughing at him.

“Oh no. Oh no. I’m sorry. I'm so sorry,” Kagome managed in between great having breaths, “I'm not laughing at you. I'm not. I promise. You just caught me off guard.”

“Seriously?” Inuyasha scoffed - pointedly ignoring the blood trickling out of the corner of his mouth in favor of glaring at her. Looking at her…that was a mistake. Despite how badly she was hurting him, she looked so beautiful – flushed and smiling and…

Well dammit, he couldn’t even get truly mad like he wanted because she looked worried sick too.

“It just was so out of the blue. Didn’t expect it,” Kagome managed - her hand returning to drag her fingers lovingly against his pale cheek. His breathing hitched at the contact, and he melted at her touch.

But he was still mad dammit. Still mad and hurt and-

“I told you I love you and you laughed at me,” Inuyasha grumbled as he snuggled closer and partially buried his face in her chest. A soft hand pulled his face up and he pouted heavily at how gentle she was being. His closed eyes were opened one by one while her own studied them for… something. Probably for something stupid but he’d be damned before he let her see how badly she’d hurt him. His eyes were clear and angry. Totally angry. After she finished whatever the hell that was, she cuddled him close again. With his scowl still firmly in place, Inuyasha gave up posturing and reburied his face.

Whatever. There’d be time to deal with this hurtful development later when he had full brain function. In the meantime, no matter how she might feel about his confession, she’d take care of him, keep him safe and if she really didn’t love him back, then he could just blame his messed up brain. Pretend he didn’t mean it and swear off romance for the rest of his-

“Well, if it makes you feel better, I love you too. Have for a-“

“You don’t love me, or you wouldn’t have laughed,” Inuyasha huffed weakly - a part of him internally screaming that he was wasting precious time fighting when he could die basking in her love. Not that he’d die from this stupid puncture wound but still.

“But I do though,” Kagome snickered as she gave his mangled body a light squeeze. Inuyasha pressed his cheek closer to her and groaned.

“No. You’re just saying that because I said it.“

“Yes and no. I do love you. I do,” Kaogme was now shaking with laughter again. Or from nerves. Hard to tell.

Her head dipped down to press a kiss against his sweaty temple. Inuyasha secretly smiled and the weirdly panicked part of his mind calmed down.

So, he took a moment of clarity to take stock of his injuries. It wasn’t nearly as bad as he’d first thought. Wasn’t the first time he’d hit his head or that he’d been skewered. Certainly wouldn’t be the last. Besides, wasn’t like Kagome would let him die. If there was a real risk, she’d be busy stabilizing him instead of whatever the hell was happening.

“You saying it now doesn’t work.”

Ah shit, he was slurring his words. That wasn’t good.

“I really do though,” Kagome hummed as she gently adjusted him in her arms and someone else began gently removing his topmost layers. Other fingers began pulling his blood soaked hair away from his neck. Wow, he was bleeding pretty heavily, huh?

“No, you don’t.”

His undershirt was gone. Why was his shirt gone? God damn, why did everything hurt?!

“Yes, I do.”

Kagome was trying to lay him down maybe. Shifting. Adjusting. Fucking painful is what it was and his brain was doing everything in its power to go numb. Everything outside of her warm body and the sound of her heartbeat was fading away into static. It bothered him a little that he couldn’t remember how he got hurt but there was no way he wasn’t stabbed. Sucked every time and ten times worse if a vital organ got sliced.

Thank god for distractions. They were arguing. Because she laughed at him.

Ah, there was the anger he needed to focus on. About damn time.

“Doesn’t mean anything.”

“Yes, it does,” Kagome breathed affectionately as one hand moved to gently cup the back of his head. He did not like that she wasn’t stroking his cheek anymore, but he’d allow it if only because it was hard to hold his head up.

“No. Doesn’t,” Inuyasha managed but it was increasingly hard to focus and use words. His lips weakly twitched upwards when he felt her nose brush lightly against his hair. For whatever reason, it was getting hard to keep up the tension in his muscles and even harder to stay awake. It was relaxing in the best way to be held like this. Kagome absolutely did not have the right to smell this nice or make him want to stay right here in her arms forever.

The moment of contentment was broken when the tell tale sting of medicine antagonized the open wound on his bare stomach. Something cold and wet was running against his neck. An idiot prodded the sore place at the base of his skull.

“Inuyasha,” Kagome sing-songed – the sound light even though her voice was worried, hoarse, desperate even, “I love you.”

A high-pitched ring began blaring in his ears and the world around him was melting. For some reason, he was starting to forget where he was and how he’d gotten here. Which was a bad thing he realized. Meant he was gunna black out soon.

“Hm?”

A pair of lips gently brushed against his and he smiled into the kiss.

“Liked that,” he mumbled breathlessly when she pulled back and nuzzled his temple, “W-why?”

“Because you told me you love me.”

“No. Didn’t,” Inuyasha groaned - his body jerking when a needle pierced the skin on stomach without warning. Clenching his teeth, he barely suppressed the whine that escaped at the burning tug on his skin. Stitches. Someone was stitching him up.

Oh. Right. He’d been hurt.

“You absolutely did. Can’t take it back now,” Kagome teased - her voice tight and forced. Inuyasha felt his head try to loll backwards but the gentle hand on his skull kept him in place.

“L-lies…”

Was that his voice? Didn’t sound like him. At least the pain was going away. As was every other feeling in his body. Other than cold. He wasn’t normally cold. That was weird, huh?

The lips were on his again and despite lacking energy, Inuyasha found the strength to press back. He swallowed her happy little noises and tried to roll towards her but a strong hand on his hip prevented him from moving. The tugging of skin continued but it was more tolerable now.

S’nice…

The world went black before he could fight it.

The next thing he registered was warm skin beneath his cheek. Fingers brushing his cheek. The crackling of a fire. Fabric against his toes.

Ah. Sleeping bag. He was in the sleeping bag.

Inuyasha’s lips twitched upwards as he inhaled deeply. God, he loved this. Kagome’s scent was everywhere literally wrapping him up in a cocoon of safety and love. Maybe she’d let him share it sometimes. You know, since they loved each other and-

“Can’t take it back,” Kagome whispered affectionately as the warm thing beneath his cheek shifted. She sounded amused and relieved at the same time. Inuyasha cracked open one eye and gave her an affectionate glare but otherwise didn’t comment. Instead, he rubbed his cheek against her leg and burrowed deeper into the sleeping bag.

“No shit. The fuck happened,” Inuyasha groaned after a moment. Kagome pet his cheek and it took everything in him not to happily squirm. Yeah, this was the best way to wake up. Warm and safe and getting fussed over. Could do without the pain but, hey, nothing is ever perfect.

“Well, you got slammed into a rock after you got stabbed protecting me. Then, while we fixed you up, you told me you loved me,” Kagome murmured - her hand moving to stroke his neck, “Then you argued with me when I said it back.”

Okay, he knew that much. He meant after.

“Where we now?” he asked - slightly concerned that he couldn’t formulate a more coherent question. This inability was consistent with a head injury.

A head injury.

His stomach went into a free fall. Awake. She’d only said it to make sure he stayed awake. She didn’t mean it. She didn’t love him. That was just her way of protecting him.

He didn’t dare try to test that theory. Let him pretend for just a few more minutes. He’d never ask for anything ever again.

Wait. Wait. She said it back. Why was his brain being so slow? He did not need this additional anxiety.

“Miroku sensed an ominous presence at this random innkeepers house. They’re letting us stay here to ward off evil spirits,” Kaogme sighed with no lack of amusement. Inuyasha didn’t have to look to know she was rolling her eyes. The quiet that followed made him nervous all over again. So, Inuyasha relied on anger - the only feeling that ever overpowered whatever shitty thing happened to him. Was that healthy? No, no it was not but it was what it was.

“You laughed a’me,” he accused – adding a scowl but to his horror, anger wasn’t enough to hide the fear invading his system. Thankfully, Kagome giggled and the fear went away.

“S’not funny.”

“It just took me by surprise is all,” she admitted, and he could hear the guilt in her tone – a little bile worked its up his throat, “And you had the most serious little look. Almost angry. Not what I imagined it’d be like but it fit so well.”

“Was mad ‘cause you laughed,” he grumbled with a blush – his heart pounded painfully in his chest and the air around him was disappearing into an unknown void.

“I know. I’m sorry baby,” Kagome soothed but he could still hear the amusement in her-

Wait, did she just call him a baby? The fuck?

“M’not a baby.”

The bitch had the audacity to laugh at him again. Yes, yes, the anger was back banishing the sudden and unwanted desire to cry. Fucking head injuries fucking with him. Since when did he want to cry because someone hurt his little feelings. Kagome mocking him shouldn’t hit more than god awful stab wounds.

“You serious?” he hissed harshly then lights popped and his eyes fluttered closed. The world began spinning - once, twice, three times and…

He was out again.

When he woke back up, Kagome was in the sleeping bag with him. Holding him close. His head balanced in arm and his nose pressed against her shoulder. Inuyasha had to give her points for manipulation. This position made him feel very safe and loved.

Which was unfair because he’d never wanted anything more and she knew that. Somehow. He snuggled closer because that’d show her.

“Hey,” her voice whispered - again full of affection and amusement. Fingers brushed his cheek. He shivered under the touch. Against his will for the record.

“I love you,” she hummed as her lips gently pressed against his forehead. He smiled weakly but tried to wrinkle his face to look mad even though there was no way she could see his expression from this angle.

“Kiss my ass,” he mumbled back, and Kagome snickered.

“Aw. You’re so mad,” she teased as she aggressively nuzzled her nose into his hair.

She paused.

“So madly in love with me,” she finished playfully, and he felt more than heard her giggle. Before he could fully call upon his indignant rage, her arm curled and began playing with his hair. He shivered again and nuzzled the skin closest to him, but he wasn’t going to give her the satisfaction of telling her she was right. She could figure that out for her damn self.

“I’m really happy, you know. I love you so, so much,” she continued – soft and genuine. Hearing that made him happy too but, if he was being honest, she could say whatever she wanted so long as she kept tugging on his hair like that. Toes curling, he nuzzled her again without thinking and let out a content hum. A pair of lips pressed against his temple. A bliss filled sigh escaped without permission.

“I am sorry I laughed. I’d blame the hysterics but that’s just an excuse,” she offered. Inuyasha took a moment to inhale deeply before fully relaxing and moving his arm to drape across her waist.

“Should be sorry. Hurt m’feelings.”

#inukag week 2023 #inukag week #inukag fluff #inuyasha fanfiction #inuyasha and kagome #inukag

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aanoia · 1 year

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All I Need is You

Daveed Diggs x reader

Summary; after a suicide attempt you're empty yet Daveed never left your side. What happens when you drag him down with you?

Warnings; suicide, self harm, bandages, sadness ig

Words; idk but it's short

Also wrote this a while ago but I kinda like it.

Requests are welcome and encouraged!

If you're struggling with self harm or suicidal thoughts please reach out! You have people in your life that care enough to stay with you the way Daveed does in this fic, you just need to give them a chance.

I'd also like to note that the way this fic plays out is not how it aways goes. Please do not just not reach out abt your mental health due to a fear of dragging people down with you.

“Hey, baby, how are you feeling?” Daveed quietly asked, sitting down on the bed and gently rubbing my arm.

I laid motionless, my mind blank.

“I’m not,” I responded. My voice was hoarse. How long has it been since I’ve said more than three words at once?

Daveed sighed and carefully helped me sit up. I rested against the headboard as he slowly unwrapped the bandages around my wrists. It was quiet as he cleaned the wounds, the only sound was our breathing. Oh how I wish I wasn’t breathing right now. He wrapped clean bandages around the cuts.

He sat, rubbing his thumb across the bandages.

“I love you so much,” He whispered and looked into my eyes. “We’ll get through this. You’ll get through this. I know you will, you’re so strong, my love,”

“Daveed,” I whispered, a happy glint filled his eyes, optimism flooded his bones.

“Yeah?” He whispered back.

“I don’t want to get through this,” I told him and laid back down, turning away from him.

He paused before getting up and leaving the room. I heard him. His sobbing. He’s breaking. Honestly, I couldn’t find it in myself to care.

The cycle repeated daily. He’d feed me, bathe me, change my bandages, then go have a breakdown outside our room when he didn’t see any improvement. Every day I’d hear him cry. Deep down my heart ached in him. He was the love of my life, of course it hurt to hear him cry. But my heart doesn’t control my body. My brain does. And my brain is dead. It doesn’t care. It doesn’t want to live. Even if it means making Daveed happy. Ain’t that selfish?

Today must’ve been particularly hard for Daveed. I could see it in his eyes when he came to give me food. He was tired. Exhausted. And when he left to cry nothing came. Until it did.

Loud crashes broke the silence. Grunts, and yells of utter pain and despair could be heard. His sobs echoed through the house louder than ever. Self-deprecating words cut through the silence. Something snapped in me.

I was letting myself die, and dragging Daveed down with me. I was not only killing myself, but killing the love of my life as well. What am I doing? Am I really so selfish that I’d ruin someone else’s life so I can be okay? No. The answer is no.

I pushed my aching bones and tired muscles. Slowly I lifted myself out of bed. A dizzy spell fell over me and I grabbed onto the wall for support. Carefully I made my way to the door and opened it. Pain coursed through my veins as I followed the sobs, but I ignored it. No more.

Daveed has helped me in ways I can’t even imagine. He’s putting his own mental health on the line for me. Me. Anyone else would’ve left me after a week of nothing but laying in bed. But he didn’t. He stuck around. And now I’ll stick around for him as well.

I entered the living room to find a hunched over Daveed. I only now noticed how his hair was a mess, he hasn’t been taking care of it. His clothes were wrinkled and in a disarray. I quietly walked over to him and knelt down behind him. His body shook as I wrapped my bulky, bandaged arms around him.

We stayed there for hours, gently rocking back and forth. We had each other. That’s all we needed.

#daveed diggs x reader #thomas jefferson x reader #thomas jeffershit #thomas jefferson #daveed diggs #hamilton #aanoia #romance

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scoobydoodean · 10 months

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SAM Seriously? Atlantic City? DEAN Hell yeah! Play some roulette. Always bet on black. (pause) Hey listen, I've been doing some thinking. Um ... I want you to know I understand why you did it. I understand why you went after the crossroads demon. SAM sighs. DEAN You know, situation was reversed, I guess I'd've done the same thing. (pause) I mean I'm not blind, I see what you're going through with this whole deal, me going away and all that. But you're gonna be okay. SAM (looks up at that, exhales, says tonelessly) You think so. DEAN Yeah, you'll keep hunting, y'know, you live your life. You’re stronger than me. You are! (SAM clears his throat) you are... you'll get over it. But I want you to know I'm sorry, I’m sorry for... putting you through all this, I am. SAM You know what, Dean? Go screw yourself. DEAN What? SAM I don't want an apology from you! And by the way, I'm a big boy now, I can take care of myself. DEAN Oh, well, excuse me. SAM (voice raising) So would you please quit worrying about me? I mean that's the whole problem in the first place. I don't want you to worry about me, Dean, I want you to worry about you! I want you to give a crap that you’re dying! (DEAN says nothing but smirks) So, that's it? Nothing else to say for you? DEAN I think maybe I'll play craps. SAM stares at him, outraged. Shakes his head. Sighs in exasperation. DEAN's smile fades. They drive on.

See, one will see this in 3.06 and will want to smack Dean upside of the head! Because he is refusing—absolutely refusing—to face the consequences of the deal he's made—the consequences for himself, and the consequences for someone he loves! His words about seeing what he's doing to Sam here are distant and empty when you see the expression on his face within the episode—the disturbing slight smile and the way he just pretends "This is fine". Dean understands that Sam is having an emotional response and he could write down why for a class exercise, but he is refusing to let himself feel it because then all of this would all become real and he would also have to feel scared for himself.

The thing is, smacking Dean upside of the head would not work, and does not work! Dean already hates himself—if Sam is angry at him, or Bobby is angry at him, or he gets called selfish or screwed in the head or told that he's hurting people... well—Dean doesn't like himself either because he failed Sam and John and he's not supposed to be here and he's a curse that gets people killed, so... so what? Big deal! They are telling Dean things Dean already believes. Yelling and accusing may actually exacerbate Dean's belief that he deserves this—that he should not be here.

You know what does work? In 3.07, when Dean plans to run off alone to save the girl Gordon's kidnapped because he thinks "I don't matter anyway and I'm dying anyway", and Sam gets through to Dean just as soon as he uses two things: 1) Compassion and 2) Care.

DEAN What do you want me to do, Sam, huh? Sit around all day writing sad poems about how I'm gonna die? You know what? I got one. Let's see, what rhymes with "shut up, Sam"? SAM Dude, drop the attitude, Dean. Quit turning everything into a punch line. And you know something else? Stop trying to act like you're not afraid. DEAN I'm not! SAM You're lying. And you may as well drop it 'cause I can see right through you. DEAN You got no idea what you're talking about. SAM Yeah, I do. You're scared, Dean. You're scared because your year is running out, and you're still going to Hell, and you're freaked. DEAN And how do you know that? SAM Because I know you! DEAN Really?

(That "really" is something—there's a whole other world of things that could be discussed there)

SAM Yeah, I've been following you around my entire life! I mean, I've been looking up to you since I was four, Dean. Studying you, trying to be just like my big brother. So yeah, I know you. Better than anyone else in the entire world. And this is exactly how you act when you're terrified. And, I mean, I can't blame you. It's just... (pause) DEAN What? SAM I wish you would drop the show and be my brother again. 'Cause... (can't find words; tears in his eyes) just 'cause. DEAN (after a pause) All right, we'll hole up, cover our scent so he can't track us, and wait the night out here.

This is the first time we see Dean actually swayed since the very end of 2.22—and it's because

Sam shows compassion for Dean's state of mind and the actions that have come out of it. He says that he understands that Dean's play at apathy is just that—a play at apathy. Dean isn't acting this way because he's just some jerk who doesn't care about how his actions effect others. Dean is someone who cares, who is acting like he doesn't care because he is scared. Dean is sniping at Sam intentionally to make him angry, so Sam will get mad at him, so they don't have to talk and Dean can be reminded that he makes people mad and he deserves this. Dean isn't some jerk who should be gone because he hurts the people that care about him. Dean is someone who is hurting and scared and Sam understands.

Sam makes it extremely real to Dean how much Sam CARES ABOUT HIM by saying he wants him there "just 'cause". Dean is inherently valuable! Dean matters! And there doesn't have to be a reason, or a need that Dean fills. "Older" or "Big" is omitted before "brother" here, because it isn't about Sam needing Dean to take care of him—just like he said it wasn't in 3.06! It's about Dean being there at all!

#pk rewatches spn number ?#3.06 #3.07 #season 3 #the flannel business #sometimes he is the sweetest brother in the whole wide world actually #sam the family man

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depressedhouseplant · 1 month

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Just Fucking Write - Day 83

Prompt: Grief

Tags: Suicidal ideation, death

A/N: This is part of a larger work. You’ll see today’s 100 words somewhere else

Grief is a strange creature. Sometimes it’s crying until you’re sure you’re dehydrated. Sometimes it’s cursing God for taking someone you love but dictators, Nazis, and racists are alive and well. Sometimes it’s feeling like your heart was ripped from your chest when you find a pair of socks they gave you as a gag gift. Sometimes it’s an emptiness that refuses to go away. Sometimes it’s all of those at once.

Feeling everything at once is how Wooyoung found himself sitting on the ledge. The literal ledge of a parking garage. He’d done the math. If he dove, he’d land on his head, snap his neck, and that would be the end. It would all be over.

“I thought I’d find you here,” a voice said from behind him.

“Go away,” he snapped.

“No,” the other boy stepped beside him.

“You gonna watch me kill myself? That’s a little sick even for you,” Wooyoung refused to look at his friend.

“That was not my porn and you know that,” he replied.

“Fine. Can you leave now?” Wooyoung huffed. The other boy climbed on the ledge next to him.

“Do you really want the last thing you remember before you die is being alone?”

“I’ll be dead. By definition I won’t have any memories,” he finally looked over at his friend. “Do you want the last memory of me dead?”

“No, but if you’re going to do it anyway then you’ve got someone here to call the medics to scrape your dead ass off the pavement,” the brunette shrugged.

“Seriously? You’re insane,” he said.

“I’m not the one ready to jump,” the other boy gave him a pointed look.

“Just leave, Yeosang,” Wooyoung was getting choked up. He was supposed to do this alone. He was tired. He was so fucking tired. Yeosang reached out and took his hand.

“I’m not gonna let go,” he squeezed Wooyoung’s hand.

“This isn’t fucking Titanic. This is not a you jump, I jump scenario,” Wooyoung glared.

“You always were a romantic,” Yeosang looked forward. “The city is pretty tonight.”

“Why can’t you just let me go?” Wooyoung asked.

“Because, for better or worse, I love you. I don’t appreciate the fact that you’d force me to go through the pain of losing someone I love all over again, but I suppose that’s on you,” Yeosang sighed.

“You did not go there,” Wooyoung tried to wrench his hand away, but Yeosang held on tighter.

“Yes I fucking did. I lost him too in case you forgot,” his friend finally lost his patience.

“I know,” Wooyoung said quietly.

“But you’re totally fine with killing yourself and leaving me to grieve two people. Of course it hurts. It’s going to keep hurting. You don’t ever get over losing someone. You learn to live with the pain. You learn to live with part of your heart missing. You hear me, Wooyoung? You learn to live,” Yeosang flung his legs back over the wall and hauled Wooyoung off with him.

“Let go!” Wooyoung protested. Yeosang was strong for his size so getting out of a bear hug was almost impossible.

“No,” Yeosang hugged him tighter. “You’re gonna get your head out of your ass and stop being so fucking selfish.”

“How are you not ready to jump? What do you know that I don’t?” Wooyoung kept wiggling.

“Because you know what’s worse than living? Leaving everyone you love behind and they question for the rest of their lives if there was something they could’ve done. Don’t give me that leaving a note bullshit either. That makes it worse,” Yeosang told him. “Ask yourself if this is what he’d want. Then you have your answer.”

Wooyoung squeezed his eyes closed in an effort to stop the tears. He knew the answer. He knew San wouldn’t want this. If there was an afterlife, he’d rip Wooyoung a new one for choosing to die when he had no choice.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered. He hugged Yeosang back.

“I know,” his best friend whispered back. “Can we go home now?”

“Yes,” Wooyoung sniffed into Yeosang’s shoulder. Yeosang didn’t reply and walked them back to his car, put Wooyoung in, and drove them back to their apartment.

#just fucking write 2k24 #ateez fanfic #read the tags

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aita-blorbos · 8 months

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AITA for refusing to give up on my friend?

Hi! I (13M) have this really cool friend group. Or at least… I did. The other members were F (13F) and K (13M), and we were super super close. We met at our middle school.

But… we’re not normal middle schoolers. I was the first one to find out. I’m actually the reincarnation of a super cool super-powered alien (who was not actually an alien, but it’s more fun to describe it that way) who died 15 years ago.

I know I’m him, btw. I’m not just making it up. Dude was a super big public figure, and I have tons of his memories. My teacher (who was one of his students at one point) (30m) even agrees with me. He thinks I’m the real deal.

F is the reincarnation of someone, too. Specifically, someone I knew in my past life. In our past lives she was a normal, albeit REALLY NICE person who inspired me a lot… someone who I accidentally got killed. I was heartbroken when I remembered how she died and super stoked when F told me she was her. That’s not why we became friends, of course— F has always been my ride or die, but I was so, so happy my dear friend had been alongside me all this time.

But while on the topic of how F… died in our past lives, I should probably mention what my job was before I was an alien.

I was a serial killer. I called myself an assassin, but that’s giving myself too much credit, really. Ultimately, I was just a murderer— and an INFAMOUS one, too. I had a kill count in the thousands. I was an honest-to-god no good, selfish, terrible guy. It makes me feel sick to even think about.

I even had an apprentice in killing, and one I treated like garbage. I stole him away from his bad family and instead of showing him love only showed him more hatred. I treated that boy like trash.

The only reason I stopped being a serial killer is that he handed me over to authorities. And authorities… well, for reasons I still don’t really understand, they handed me over to this… guy. I’ll call him Y. Y was a no-good, rotten, nasty piece of work. Every bit as bad as I was… and that’s saying a lot! He instantly began to perform extremely painful human experiments on me, doing so with the excuse that no one would miss me.

But it wasn’t all bad. In Y’s custody is where I met F in our past lives. She was working for him. And he treated her like garbage, too. He’d hit her and call her names and make her feel so unsafe. She was miserable when she was around him.

I… tried my best to help, but there’s not a lot I could do from behind a glass screen. Still, I came to empathize with F, and it was actually becoming her friend that made me want to give up killing.

Eventually, I escaped Y’s lab, but at a terrible cost. I turned into a alien monster and went on a horrific rampage— killing tons of people. And even worse, F got killed, too. Like I said: it was an accident, a result of a trap that Y set up, but at the same time it really, REALLY felt like my fault. I hated myself. Both in that life and now when I learned about it.

Still, I lived an okay life after that. I ended up taking in some students that F originally cared for and nurtured them. And I treated them right, unlike I treated my original apprentice. Because of them and F, I learned to love. Eventually, I died, but only after sending Y into hospice and getting to say goodbye to my beloved kids.

I was content with that.

But... here I am now.

Originally, I didn't remember all of this. I just remembered being a cool superpowered guy. Learning how messed up all of it was really, REALLY scared me. I was glad when I learned that F was... well, F, so I could apologize to her, but that didn't fix everything. After all, there were still so many people I hurt. I felt like an awful person who didn't deserve to be alive. My friends and family tried to comfort me, but it was... really hard, for a time.

And even worse than that, soon after, K started drifting away from me.

I know I haven't talked about K much, so let me describe him a little. He's a real stand-up guy. A little cowardly... but he has a big heart. He was always-- and I mean ALWAYS there for me and F, even as we learned all the weird stuff about our past lives. He's funny and sweet and supportive. The kind of person I'd do anything for. I really, really loved him, and so did F.

So... things were stressful when he started to pull away. He stopped hanging out with us. Kept giving us the cold shoulder. I didn't understand why. I thought maybe it was because he was scared of me now, but that wasn't fair to F. I confronted him and told him that if I was a bad person then F shouldn't have to suffer for it. That he was really important to her, and he should keep being her friend, at least!

But that's when K told me something, and it was something I NEVER expected to hear.

...K was Y.

He told me he just remembered recently. That he really didn't know. He broke down in tears, telling me that that's why he pulled away. He remembered abusing the two of us and felt like he no longer deserved to our friend. It was well and truly heartbreaking to hear.

Because... here's the thing. I hate Y. Like really, REALLY hate Y, but K is nothing like him. K is one of the best people I know. He's never treated me like anything less than a superhero. He wouldn't hurt a fly.

I told him it was alright. I told him I didn't care. I told him that the past was the past and that Y was dead now and he was someone new. He was shocked, but I really, really believed it. And for the first time, in saying so, I actually felt alright about myself. I realized that if K wasn't responsible for his actions in a past life-- if he never asked to be born, then neither did I. I realized that if I didn't hate him, then maybe... I didn't have to hate myself.

I gave him a BIG hug and told him we could go back to being friends. I told him it didn't matter. And I thought everything would be alright.

But K... also wanted to tell F the truth.

I get why he did. He kept saying she deserved to know. But at the same time, F is a pretty... standoffish person. She's not like she used to be-- all kind and forgiving. It took me a very long time to befriend her. She gets angry easily and she makes a lot of snap judgements. I was so certain she'd get upset with K.

And F... really needed me and K, I think. She had a bad life. Her parents weren't at all nice to her and she had a lot of self esteem issues. K and I were the only friends she had. I knew that if she ditched K, then she wouldn't have anyone. No-one would be there to support her.

And I'd be asked to take sides. How could I possibly do something like that?

So I convinced K to hide it. I told him that he was a new person now and F didn't need to know. All telling her would do is break her heart. I didn't want to hurt her like that.

And so for a while, the secret remained between us.

But then something really bad happened to K's family. I won't go into details, 'cause I'm not sure it's my place, but it was something truly awful. He nearly lost a parent, and even worse... he was convinced it was his fault. He CERTAIN that the universe was punishing him in some way for being Y, or at the very least, for not telling F about it, and that if he didn't spill the beans then even worse stuff would happen.

...So he did. He told her.

And F reacted just like I thought she would. Angry and crying, she said she couldn't believe she ever trusted him. She accused him of just pretending to not know... and manipulating her so he could hurt her. She was pissed. She punched K in the face and told him she never wanted to see him again.

I tried to reason with her, but she wouldn't hear me out. And when she learned I knew about this before she did... that I suggested hiding it from her, she got even more upset. She told me that I was taking her abuser's side over her-- someone that I'd been friends with for two lifetimes now, and that she never wanted to see me again, either. She called me a selfish jerk and ran off sobbing.

And... that's where things are at. Our little friend group's torn apart. I really want to fix things, but I don't even know where to start. Did I do the wrong thing? By taking K's side? By telling him to hide the truth? I just wanted to protect he and F... I really love them both. But now I'm being expected to choose, and I hate that.

Even K thinks I made the wrong call. That I shouldn't have told him to hide it and that F had every right to react how she did. But at the same time... I just feel so sick. I know he's better now. He's my friend. He has to be better. If he's not, then I'm not. I'm just a no-good killer. Why can't F just see that? Remember all the nice stuff K's done for her?

What do I do? How do I repair things? I feel like if I were still the guy I was in my past life then I'd know how to. But instead, I'm clueless. I feel lost and useless. I'm really, really sorry and afraid.

AITA?

#aita #am i the asshole #unreality #abuse #medical abuse #child abuse mention

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