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#so. i'm still in a fair amount of pain this morning (and still not on my period so it's distressing bc. why) but
luveline · 3 months
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hi lovely!! you mentioned bombshell!reader holding spencer's hand the whole time after the whole tobias incident and i wanted to request a more in-depth continuation of that, if it's alright? maybe with reader helping spence with his addiction afterwards too bc i just hate how the team didn't support him properly during that time 😭
There's something cold touching his hand. Actually, there's lots of things happening to his hand. 
Spencer fights to open heavy lashes, closes them again when the white hospital wall bathed in early morning sun burns his retinas. Alert, he realises that the hand in his is sweetly soft, with gentle fingertips holding his marriage finger up higher than the rest. You're playing with his hands while he sleeps.
Spencer opens his eyes again. There's no machine taking his observations, no beeping or whistling or medical ringing to be heard, just the soft huff and puff of your breathing and the sound of your heel tapping the floor. 
There had been more noise last time he woke, but the same amount of you. 
“Spencer?” 
He looks up from your hands holding his to your face. It's not fair, he thinks, how pretty you are, how pretty you continue to be, with your hair, your smile, your ever-smirking lips. You're doing it now, the sight of your painted smile squeezing his heart into a frenzied beating. If they were still taking his observations, he'd die from embarrassment. 
“Hey,” you say, still smiling, hands more insistent on his. 
“Hey. What are you doing here?” 
“What does it look like I'm doing, handsome?” you ask. 
“Did you go home?” 
“Of course I did.” You don't sound truthful. “Want a drink?” 
You pull a bottle of water from your handbag and pass it to him. He has to take his hand from yours to open it, and he wishes he'd said no. Spencer would happily go thirsty to prolong your touch and the security it brings with it. He's antsy as he swallows, a foreign-body feeling pervasive as he caps the drink, puts the bottle aside, and rubs the crust from his eyes. Lank hair falls into his face. 
“You okay?” you ask gently. 
“When can I leave?” 
“Tonight… They want to make sure you're, you know… properly weaned.” Your voice comes out quieter than he's ever heard it before. 
It's as forward as anyone's bothered being about the drugs. The drug, singular. 
Dilaudid is eight times stronger than morphine. Spencer was injected multiple times. His body won't be totally addicted, but he craves the numbness of it already. Whatever he's on isn't cutting through the pain in his legs and feet, nor the memories of being tied up, and all alone. 
“I think I'm gonna be sick,” he says. 
You grab for a blanket off of the edge of the bed to cover his lap as he hangs his head, sure he's going to throw up, but he doesn't so much as heave. The nausea remains anyhow, and worsens as you sit beside his legs. Your hand once again takes his, fingers slotting together as though they were made for this one purpose, your voice a clean, cleaving thing, “Hey, it's alright. It's fine, Spence, you're okay. This is expected.” He curls in on himself. You tuck a stray strand of hair behind his ear, tugging his hand closer to you in tandem. “You're gonna feel awful for a few days, but I'm right here.” 
“Why are you here?” he asks, confused. 
“Spence.” 
He looks up from under his lashes. 
Your semi-permanent smile seems to have gotten lost somewhere. “Spencer,” you say, attempting to say something without really saying it, eyes glued to his, “where else would I be?” 
He rubs the place between his brows with the heel of his palm. You keep his hand and wrap him in a careful hug. Either you don't notice how desperately he needs a hot shower or you don't care, gracing his cheek with a friendly (and unmissably loving) kiss. It's hard not to cry after that. 
“I’m so sorry, Spencer,” you say. You weren't even on the case, but you'd showed up just as soon as you knew he'd been taken, and you haven't left his side since they found him in the cemetery. You don't have a thing in the world to be sorry for. “I'm so sorry. It'll be okay now.” Your voice ripples with surety. 
“Thanks for staying,” he says. 
“You did all the hard work by yourself.” You squeeze his fingers. “I can do the rest, babe.” 
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neiptune · 1 year
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aot boys x reacting to a dream where you die
a/n: inspired by @meowzfordayz and her wonderful hcs! got a bit carried away lol these are too long but i hope you enjoy anyway :)
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eren secretly freaks tf out but is too embarrassed to admit it. you wake up to the pressure of his hands not so subtly traveling across different parts of your belly and hips, the coolness of his fingertips on your bare skin making you shiver. “eren? what're you doing?” you ask, confused, your own hands closing around his wrists to delicately move them away. but he resists your push, his fingers stubbornly finding their way to the familiar albeit faded scar residing right above your hip bone. “sorry. didn't mean to wake you” his voice cracks, which is enough to prompt you to sit up. “tell me what's wrong” you take one of his hands and squeeze twice, your secret way to communicate that everything's fine. eren's big eyes search for signs of distress or pain in yours but all he finds is genuine concern and grogginess. he relaxes and weakly squeezes your hand right back. “bad dream. it's stupid, let's just go back to sleep” but of course you see right through his fake composure and pull him in for a hug, gently hushing the trembling exhale that tickles your neck as his arms close around you. “you're okay” he whispers to himself and you hum in confirmation, nodding against his shoulder. “i am. the only thing truly hurting me is your snoring”. he huffs at that, covertly thankful you're still there to give him a reason to roll his eyes
lol armin will not be there when you wake up in the middle of the night, senses alert bc of the unusually cold, empty spot next to you. he doesn't reply when you call him so you're forced to get up and explore the whole floor, bathroom to study, until you hear some muffled sniffling coming from downstairs and you rush to the living room, heart in your throat. “armin??? are you okay? what happened??” he's curled into himself on the couch but as he hears your voice he lifts his head, heavy groan crawling up from his throat because what the fuck, why are you awake? he hates hates hates the idea of you seeing him like this for the nth time, always so stupid and helpless now with tear stained cheeks too for something that's not even real. “nothing” his defensive tone startles you and he regrets it immediately, sigh heavy as he tiredly rubs his temples, a sign of surrender and vulnerability that draws you in until you're sitting next to him, warm hand closing on his knee. “what if i brew some tea? we still have some cookies left” you speak gently and his gaze softens, guilt already bubbling in the pit of his stomach. “it's 2am” “and?” “you have to work tomorrow” “and??”. so he ends up brewing the tea instead and you simply won't talk about what happened until the next morning, after a fair amount of the night before was spent sharing homemade peanut butter cookies with armin taking your hand to press gentle kisses to your wrist from time to time <3
oh my god jean 100% feels too stupid to mention it or letting a dumb dream upset him once he's awake and can physically see you and touch you as you're making breakfast together, he's also too proud to admit how horrible it felt to see your body get so rigid, your skin too cold, eyes void of their usual light. so he doesn't mention it. but you can tell something is off: he's more attentive than usual (when has he ever pushed you away from the toaster bc you might bet burned?) he's extremely touchy-feely (more than usual lol it's fine for him to have his arms wrapped around you as you're rinsing a fork but not letting go? not even allowing you to turn off the stove, at the expense of his precious eggs, now at risk of charring??) so of course your spider senses detect that something isn't quite right and you interrogate him over breakfast, just as he casually plays with your fingers and quite uncomfortably tries to eat with his left hand. “what d'you mean i'm being weird? that how you accept my unconditional love?” he has you rolling your eyes a number of times before he shrugs with a “had a nightmare last night, no biggie” “did something happen to me?” “yeah, no need to take the piss, i know it's dumb”. a fond smile tugs at the corners of your lips as you shrug as well. “wasn't gonna take the piss. if something happened to you in one of my dreams, i'd probably freak out” “oh thank god” jean forces you up from your chair in a split second and pulls you in the tightest hug in recorded history lol
well connie will definitely blurt it out and attempt to downplay it at the same time lmao don't even get me started you'll wake up and he'd be in the kitchen making coffee greeting you with something like “g'morning! btw i dreamed you died last night hahaha isn't that so stupid??? you were dead dead, like R.I.P you, right in my arms” and you're standing there like 🤨🤨🤨 “i'm glad you thought that was funny?” “so funny, i even cried a little when i woke up haha you were sleeping right next to me and i was tearing up like a dumbass omg did i mention how still you were???” his emotional responses are all sorts of fucked up tbh. connie doesn't always know how to react to things and unexpected situations and complicated feelings bc he's so used to being the cheerful comic relief but somewhere underneath all the sunshine he carries around there's actual fear. connie is actually scared, all the time. of the ocean, of loneliness, of losing those who are dear to him, of being too much and not nearly enough at the same time. he has his own ways of dealing with fear and they're not always ideal. so you delicately take the clutched phone from his hands and peck his lips once, twice, each kiss lasting longer than the former until he takes your face in his hands and just keeps it there, forehead resting on yours. “i'm here. and you're a stupid idiot for calling yourself a dumbass”. he chuckles at that, which makes you smile. “promise you'll stay alive long enough to call me a stupid idiot a million more times?” “yes, if you wash the dishes”
i mean of course levi is mad. lol. at himself, bc he was not able to protect you in his dream and at you bc where tf are you??? he's petrified sitting up in (a very much empty) bed, mentally gives himself 3 seconds before he allows irrational panic to kick in but thank fuck you flush the toilet 1,5 seconds later, wash your hands and come back to your shared bedroom to find the grumpy man you're in love with glaring daggers your way, scowl so deep you hesitate by the door, silently wondering what you did wrong. were you being so tossy and turny you woke him up? did you take more than your share of blankets? did you accidentally punch him in the face? (it has happened and he was surprisingly nice about it lol). “i'm sorry” you blurt out, cautious as you climb onto your bed again, slipping your legs underneath the covers. “what are you apologizing for?” his voice sounds weird, which freaks you out even more. “not sure” you tilt your head “but you look mad”. levi huffs, features softening. “was it sleep kicking? or did i fart? you know edamame gives me real bad gas—” “you did not fart” he runs a hand through his hair, simultaneously exhausted and biting back an incredulous smile. “you died” he blurts it out but saying it out loud sucks so badly that he clenches his fists and you don't really know how to react. “i couldn't do shit about it. you just died. t'was horrible and i know it's not your fault and it was just a dream but...” “i'm sorry i died” your soft reply interrupts his babbling and prompts another snort. “stop apologizing” “what can i do, then?”. levi inspects your features attentively and takes your hand underneath the covers, intertwining his fingers with yours. “promise you won't do it again” he goes along with your silliness and you smile, nose rubbing against his, barely audible whisper of a “promise” before kissing him
porco will never and i mean never tell you what's up lmao his dumbass would rather die than admit a dream has had the power to affect him at all. he's a grown up™ and rational™ enough to discern reality from fantasy and guess what?? his current reality = you roaming around the house to cook, do the laundry, jokingly mock his housework skills as he vacuums rooms missing entire spots and breaks yet another glass in the sink (“stfu the sponge was too damn soapy it slipped” ) but honestly? porco doesn't even notice how much he stares the day after his nightmare. not just in the morning, he literally can't cast his eyes away from you for the entire day. he's 12 so as soon as you mention it he gets defensive lol like you'll be on the couch with your legs on his lap as he watches something on his laptop, you're reading a book and you'll say something along the lines of “ya know you've been staring a lot today” and he'll automatically reply “yeah?? cuz you're ugly” which only confirms your hunch. “don't be an ass, why were you staring??” “just told you?” “porco” “that's my name, don't wear it out” he's so infuriating honestly but eventually your persistence does wear him down enough to elicit one true response: “because i wanted to make sure you're actually here”. you tilt your head, confused frown that makes him bite back a smile. “what does that even mean?? where else would i be? are you high?” “high on you, babe” lmao yeah he won't tell you how horrible and scary and wrong it was to see your body get so still and your eyes suddenly unwilling to open and your hands not squeezing his back no matter how much he screamed and called for you and cursed and cried. why would he? porco can discern reality from fantasy. as you jokingly poke his side with your sock-clad foot and laugh as he grabs it to nibble at your ankle, he's grateful af for his reality :)
reiner instantly wakes you up lol he's too shaken to think straight and can't handle the pounding of his heart nor the cold sweat coating his forehead tbh. you freak out as well bc he looks like shit so you think he's not feeling well -> it's 30 entire seconds of back and forth (“are you okay?” “are you okay??” “why are you shaking???” “why are you sweating????”) until you can sense his stress is about to grow into a full on anxiety attack and you take his giant, cold, clammy hands in yours, squeezing hard enough to ground him. “baby, breathe with me. i'm right here, okay? just like that. deep and slow”. it doesn't matter that he squeezes back hard enough to hurt you. “you're doing great! wanna count with me?”. he closes his eyes and you both count to ten out loud, three times before he looks at you again and the crude fear that was in his gaze is long gone, leaving space to relief and slight embarrassment. “don't apologize” you cut him off right as his lips part “are you okay? can you wait for me? i'll go grab some water and—” he interrupts you right back by slotting his mouth to yours, with a kiss so feverish your brain shortcircuits. deaf to your protests, he will keep murmuring nonsense against your lips, an endless progression of i'm sorry, you're fine, i'm sorry, i love you, thank god, i love you so much. when you're allowed to catch your breath at last he presses one last kiss to your forehead and you're finally able to connect the dots. much like armin, he doesn't enjoy being so weak and emotional so often around you, but he also knows you feel strongly about him being so hard on himself. you won't have it. so reiner silently accepts and is oh so grateful for each sweet reassuring word you whisper to the shell of his ear, knowing all too well that nightmares have nothing on your i'm here and i'm never leaving and i know i'm safe with you
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angelltheninth · 1 month
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With No Glasses On
Pairing: Takeda Ittetsu x Fem!Reader
Tags: nsfw, smut, domestic fluff, cock riding, gentle sex, kissing, slow sex, naked cuddling, praise
Word count: 0.9k
A/N: Takeda is so cute I want to hug and kiss him all the fucking time.
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Everything was slow and steady in your relationship with Takeda. From the time it took to confess, to your first date, your first kiss, the first time you had sex, to the moment you moved in together. It was maybe too slow for some but for you it was just the right pace.
"Baby, slow down." Takeda placed his hands on your ass and pushed you down against his body. "A-at this rate... I'll come too fast!"
His sexual stamina, at least when it comes to how quickly he can get hard, is impressive. The amount of time he lasts? He was working on that part. When he was close and felt like it was too fast for him he asked you to slow down, sex with you was too enjoyable to not try to make it last as long as possible. Plus it wasn't often that he got days off work and the two of you could spend it together.
Takeda grunted when instead of moving your hips you began tightening around his cock constantly. "Not helping." He whined as his head fell back wards on the pillow. "Fuck! Really not helping!" You smirked against his neck while listening to him moan but he didn't try to put a stop to what you were doing either.
You traced your hands up to his face, feeling his clean shaven skin, so soft, almost softer then yours. Now that wasn't fair. "We said we'd do stamina training remember? I'm doing my part." You kissed his shoulder firmly, "Are you?" He moaned again as you clenched tight around him and pushed your hips back and forth just a few inches. "Your cock's twitching. You're so close aren't you Takeda? You want to come in pussy first thing in the morning don't you?"
"Yes! Want to but... not gonna. Not yet." Voice almost like he was in pain he urged you to stay still again. His cock pulsed hot and hard inside you as his whole body stilled with effort.
His determination to this was admirable. As was his blushing face and neck, hell the tips of his ears were red. Strong yet gentle hands knead the softness of you ass, then ran down to your thighs and massaged back up in an attempt to get you to have mercy on his cock.
You couldn't do that when your boyfriend was the most adorable man on the entire planet. His big brown eyes looking up at you with awe, his lips swollen from kissing and glasses askew in his face. Speaking of his glasses, "Let's put these to the side. They're expressive. You should take better care of them you know?" His blush deepened but he couldn't hold back a laugh when you pulled the glasses off his face and placed them on the wooden nightstand. "I think you've had enough time to cool off."
Takeda's eyes widened for a second. "What should I do then?"
You grinned as you dragged yourself up to his ear, hearing him hiss as more of his cock got exposed, "Fuck my pussy until I can't walk straight. I know you have the stamina for it. I know you can do this for me Takeda." Your hips snapped backwards, taking his whole cock again.
He hissed through his teeth, hands pushing down on you again, "You know I'll make you feel good, baby." When he got serious he never quit until the job was done.
He still took is slow, but made sure every thrust was long and deep, making you feel every inch of his cock and him feeling every flutter of your pussy in return. With one hard thrust upwards he pulled your knees closer to him, making your ass rise into the air. This position allowed him more room to move, more room to fuck you faster.
"Just like that. You're doing so good Takeda." You panted against his neck before finding his lips. One of his arms wrapped loosely around your back, smoothing up and down while he ramped up his pace, bottoming out every time to hit you deep.
"Always gonna be good for you. Gonna do my best to make you the happiest woman in the world." He promised while you could hardly focus on his words. All your attention was stolen by his cock pumping in and out of your dripping pussy. "I'll make you come all over my cock okay? Can you come on my cock?"
Your boyfriend may not have a mean bone in his body. Which was something found quite endearing about him. "Of course love. Watch me come on your cock." You leaned back to sit on him and smiled when he squinted at you. Right, he didn't have his glasses.
His cock twitched as your pussy walls fluttered around his length. Loose then tight, then loose then tight again. "Fuck. Gonna come." Not before you he didn't. He waited until your pussy was at it's tightest before he pushed his hips up to yours. You almost jealous of the condom that got filled with his come. Not almost actually. But neither of you were anywhere near ready to be parents, you just started living together. "You're so sexy on top of me. Best way to start the day." His smile warmed your heart and made your pussy flutter at the time.
"It's one of my favorite ways too." You leaned down and kissed him on the lips.
"Cuddles then breakfast? I can make you a creampie." His eyebrows wiggled, then his hips. His cock was semi-hard. He did enjoy teasing you, it was pretty rare cause he was usually on the receiving end but it made it feel that much more special.
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uravitsy · 2 months
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‘SUMMERTIME SADNESS’ KYŌJURŌ RENGOKU
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summary. you enjoy a blissful morning with rengoku before his next mission, not knowing it would be the last time you will ever see him again ☆
warnings. fem!reader, husband!rengoku, established relationship, a tinsy bit of some romantic smut, angst, love bombs, minors dni
a/n. this is just a snippet of a story i never published. i want to challenge myself to write more angst. rengoku my beloved. :’) (this isn’t really edited btw)
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"rengoku," you whispered, fingertips tracing against his smooth skin as the golden hue from the sun peeked through the curtains, dancing across your features delicately— all the while making your eyes glaze over as if it was honey. that only made your husband stare at you as if you were a goddess before him, a deity he wanted to pray to before an alter.
"yes?" he smiled up at you, voice still scratchy from waking up, "go back to sleep."
"this is our last night together, i want to make every moment count," you slowly brought your hand under the covers between you both, hands gliding across his toned thigh before moving your hand to grip his shaft gently, "i love you."
rengoku turns on his back, exposing himself further to you as his eyes were still closed, letting out a deep breath, "(y/n).."
"ren," you taunt back with his favorite nickname, pumping your husbands cock as you've done many times before, your thumb rubbing his swollen tip before repeating the words you spoke a few seconds ago, "i love you."
what would become of mornings now? how could you even relax or feel at peace when he wasn't beside you, filling up the empty space that would soon turn cold? no amount of tears could fill the jar of overwhelming sadness you would feel when he is gone.
you were sad, you were angry, but above all you were proud of him. you knew he had a job to do, a duty to those he promised to serve but it still was painful. who knows how many months he would be away off serving his country, saving the lives of people he hasn't even met just to keep the peace. who knows how long you would have to wait for his return— and that was if he returned at all.
"don't think like that," rengoku says, as if reading your mind, a few seconds of silence falls over you, "i'll be back before you know it."
"you don't know that," you whisper under your breath, glancing up at your husband as he switched positions, putting you under him so he could hover over you, the silk sheets from the bed falling past his waist as he settles in between your legs, "why do you have to go? there are plenty of hashira's that are more than capable to handle this job."
"oh? i'm not capable?" he leans down to kiss your neck, his breath against your skin making the area ticklish.
"i know you are but—"
"—but?"
"you're risking your life for someone who just commands it if you, for people who don't even know you and it's not fair. why..you?"
"(y/n)," rengoku smiles at you brightly, lacing your fingers together with his as he puts them above your head, trapping you to succumb to his every lazy desire this early morning. the both of you let out a pleasurable gasp as he slides inside you, making you instinctively wrap your legs around his waist, the sheet falling even further, "i love you."
his name falls from your lips as you toss your head back, tightening your grip on his hand as he starts to rock into you— slow, deep, so you could feel everything. even though you knew it was to distract you from the inevitable, you couldn't help but enjoy it and want more.
rengoku was never quiet but on simple morning like this, where he just wanted to hold you and let the silence speak for itself. though today you didn't want sensual sex, you wanted something hard, something that'll wrack your brain to forget everything.
"harder," you moaned, looking into rengoku's eyes as he rested his forehead against yours, releasing your hands to pull your legs up. with your knees against your chest and his hands gripping your thighs in place, you were at his disposal, "r-ren!"
"focus on me," he thrusted into you, watching as his cock disappeared inside your swollen cunt, stretching to accommodate his thick girth. the sting of pleasure overtook your body and it wasn't long before the both of you fell in tune with each other's bodies, "that's it sweetheart, you're doing so good for me."
his praise already had you clenching around him every time he pulled out, as if you didn't want to let him go. rengoku moaned in pleasure, not ashamed to let you hear how good you were making him feel.
"you're so good to me, so..so good," his vibrant hair framed your face as he leaned down to kiss you. it was hot and sloppy but felt perfect nonetheless. you moaned into his mouth, tongues dancing together like a wildfire.
"i love you."
and in that moment it was so perfect.
if you could freeze time, this is where it would stop. you and rengoku just in endless bliss forever until time itself got sick of you. but you no longer felt sad but rather happy, eager for him to go so he could return home just as quick.
though if you would have known that that morning would be the last memory you had of him then maybe you would've held on just a little tighter.
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URAVITSY 2024
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grimmfitzz · 4 months
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Get ready for some yearning okay? Okay! so this is a drabble i whipped up today. There might be a part two because I'm loving the vibe of this story so far. Like this was just so much fun to write and it made me laugh a fair few times. I'm liking the silliness of it so I might keep going. For now though, here is this - a fun little thing for you all. (I spent an absurd amount of time making their tattoos in microsoft word lol)
Edit to Add!!! Inspired by this art. <3 <3 I had such a clear image of that dang tattoo in my head. So glad I found this. <3 <3
My Name in Your Heart, Princess
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Eddie is forced awake by the heat of the bodies around him venting at a miserable 98.6. Beside him, Steve is a furnace and beyond him in their queen-sized bed is Robin, snoring away like she’s getting paid to do it. Jonathan and Argyle occupy the other bed while Nancy has curled up on the lumpy loveseat in the corner. But alas, these are the perils of a night of partying in the city: cheap rooms with limited beds and scratchy sheets. Eddie breathes for another moment before forcing himself out of bed, not even bothering to stifle his groan as his head protests the movement.
“Oh my god, shut the fuck up.” Nancy hisses from the sofa.
Eddie flinches away from the admonishment, more startled by the cursing than the fact that she’s just lying there awake. “Sorry.” He whispers back.
Eddie stands, wobbling before nearly toppling over. He’s only saved by Argyle’s hand shooting out into the space between their beds and giving Eddie something to hang on to. “You good, my dude?”
“Yeah.” Eddie nods slowly, now fighting with nausea along with gravity. Argyle stretches and groans loudly. His joints seem to all pop at once. The movement causes a ripple across the room and everyone else starts to stir.
“Good morning.” Jonathon mutters from Argyle’s other side, looking tired but relatively hangover free. The pair of them imbibed far more herb than alcohol. Eddie dearly wished he’d done the same. He doesn’t even remember most of last night.
“Hateful.” Robin croaks from where she’s languishing in a visible puddle. “You’re all hateful people.”
Beside her Steve wiggles. “Robs… did you piss the bed?” He doesn’t move, despite his concerns.
“I didn’t. I’m so hot it’s insane. It’s sweat, dude, but are you seriously telling me you’d just… lay there if I did?”
“If I move, I’ll hurl. One hundred percent. Piss or no piss.” Steve breathes a long sigh, admittedly a little green.
“Kinky.” Jonathan whispers, making Argyle and Nancy snicker. Robin squawks, albeit quietly, and Steve doesn’t respond at all.
He has most certainly died. ‘Rest in peace Steve’ Eddie thinks as he gives the man’s foot a gentle tap where it hangs over the edge of the bed by Eddie’s knees.
“Cold shower. Then food.” Eddie announces to no one in particular before heading off to the little bathroom attached to their room. After a thorough scrub of his teeth, he goes to relieve his bladder. One errant itch later has his fingers stilling on the meat of his ass.
Eddie considers himself something of a… connoisseur of ink. He’s amassed even more since their near deaths, a nice little counterpoint to all the scars that now litter his body. Hell, he’s even graduated beyond the confines of the trailer park thanks to the lofty payout the government shelled out for his ‘pain and suffering.’ He’s become pretty familiar with a few artists here in Indy. The point is, he’s hardly a stranger to the stinging, raised flesh of a fresh tattoo.
It takes a few more attempts than he’d like to twist at the right angle to see his own ass in the mirror. His torso is healed, and he’d regained most of his mobility, but the scar tissue is thick. He’s not as limber as he’d once been most certainly. However, the minute he gets a glimpse, he wishes to God he hadn’t.
Eddie stares in flustered disbelief for one… two… three beats before. “Oh, SHIT!” He shouts.
He doesn’t know it yet but Eddie will look back on this moment, not with regret for the ink in his skin, but with only the deepest regret that he hadn’t locked the damn door. Because Nancy and Steve come barrelling through, both with faces tinted green but looking ready to tear the world to pieces.
For a moment no one moves. Eddie has yet to unhook his thumb from the waistband of his pants. They’re still tugged down below his left ass cheek, showing off his newest addition to his collection to the whole world but particularly the two goons still standing in the doorway.
“Hang on.” Nancy says, clearing her throat and squinting her eyes. “Is that Steve’s name?”
Thank God for the big brain of Nancy Wheeler, everyone. Nothing gets past her. Because there, in the mirror and in the real world alike, is Steve’s name in thick black letters, stylized in vaguely cursive handwriting but so clearly legible it’s a bit absurd with a slightly off-center heart around it. Because Drunk Eddie apparently wanted to make sure everyone and their mother fully understood his intentions.
‘I love Steve Harrington!’ it says. ‘With my ass!’ it says.
Eddie growls low in his throat. “Yep. Yes, it is. Apparently, things got more out of hand than I thought last night, and I now have a fun little memento to take home with us.”
“Oh my god.” Steve’s face, previously stern and concerned at the sound of Eddie’s shout, is now cracking. Splintering. Melting into profound joy and amusement at Eddie’s expense.
Jesus Christ, he wishes that didn’t set off the butterflies in his stomach, but Eddie Munson is nothing if not a limitless masochist. Steve starts bellowing out gasping guffaws and even then, Eddie can’t muster up a hint of genuine embarrassment. Only the steady thump of ‘do it again, make him laugh, do it again’ that pounds away in his chest any time Steve looks like he does right now: head tipped back, throat on display, smile so wide Eddie can see his molars, skin pinched at the corners of his eyes, tears gathering and making them glisten. All of it, every piece gets stored away like little gold coins Eddie will draw close. He will lay atop this mountain of gold he’s amassed over months (over a year, jesus where has the time gone?) of friendship with Steve like a dragon protecting it’s hoard.
“Steve!” Nancy scolds through her own giggles. “You were supposed to be watching him!”
“Me?! I was three sheets to the wind! Why was I made the responsible one between the two of us?” Steve snorts.
Nancy opens her mouth to retort but she’s soon furrowing her brow as she's knocked sideways into the door. Both of them let out sudden grunts as Robin pushes them apart, parting them like the red sea. “Everyone out. I need a shower.”
“Hey! I called dibs.” Eddie whines.
This has the unfortunate effect of drawing Robin’s eyes to where Eddie still has his thumb hooked in the hem of his pants. Her eyes widen before sparking to life, her mouth spreading in a feral grin. “Dude. Is that Steve’s name?”
In an idle show of excitement, Robin whacks Steve midriff with the back of her hand. It’s something they do constantly. It’s like neither of them can have a feeling without violently alerting the other about it. She must have hit him hard because Steve gives a sharp wince. The green-grey pallor of his skin, which had only just started returning to it’s usual golden brown, makes a sudden and alarming reappearance.
“Everyone out of the way.” He demands.
The rest of them hop to attention and shuffle around the small space. They all manage to make it out of the bathroom just before Robin slams the door (with her very much inside) and the grimace-inducing sound of Steve puking his guts out reaches their ears. A few moments later, the shower starts up amidst Robins laughter and Eddie is kind of seething about it.
“Is that Steve’s name?” Argyle asks behind him and Eddie finally has the wherewithal to tug up the hem of his shorts with a groan. They all disperse and Argyle has the massively wonderful idea to pop out and grab breakfast burritos from the cart down the street. He’s hailed as a hero by all of them, including the freshly (traitorously) showered Robin and Steve.
The dynamic duo is acting… admittedly weird. They’ve been shooting one another loaded glances since they vacated the hotel bathroom that morning and they carried their weird energy with them into the van all the way back to Hawkins. Eddie drops them both off at Steve’s dinky little apartment near the center of town. It’s only a few more turns before he’s dropping off the other three members of their little Babysitters Club at the Wheeler's place. The moment Argyle waggles a hand at him with a muttered ‘Later dude’, Eddie is leaning into his door and heaving a sigh of relief.
His ass is on fire. He wants to scratch and rub and just generally molest the newly inked skin, but he’ll be damned if he ruins a perfectly good tattoo – regardless of his current state of regret. And if he goes home to the double-wide Government Apology Trailer and stares at Steve’s name in his flesh with a little less regret than maybe he should, who’s gonna know really?
XXXXX
Steve is… a little on edge. Or very on edge. Maybe.
Oh, who is he kidding? He is really, truly, absolutely, and without a shred of cool in his currently calamitous heart - freaking the fuck out.
He has just enough time to slap a hand over Robin’s big mouth before her squeals of elation can be heard from the other room. Her hair is currently shampooed into a mohawk which only serves to underline the wild look in her eyes. They’re both standing under the cold spray of the hotel shower and pointedly not looking at Steve’s hip. Full eye contact. It’s the Rule when they double up in the shower, in general. Eyes up because it’s the decent thing to do. A more rational adult might just say ‘Don’t shower at the same time’ but Steve and Robin have never been accused of being rational adults one single time in their whole entire lives.
Anyhow, they generally keep their eyes above the waist and it’s not a very hard line to keep, really. Maybe it’s a bit unhealthy. Maybe a bit co-dependent. But their bodies have just sort of become an extension of the others. Steve can say with absolute certainty that while he likes boobies just fine, thank you very much, Robins boobies sort of look like elbows to him.
Okay, not literally. They’re not shaped weird or abnormally pointy or anything. They’re just… there. Smallish and totally normal shaped and just a part of Robin who he sometimes (always) shares a brain with. Robin said the same about his dick once. She said it was like looking at a biology textbook: it exists factually but isn’t very relevant in her day-to-day concerns. So, they shower together probably more often then platonic best friends should but it isn’t a thing. It’s fine. They are respectful about it. Usually, it’s just the product of convenience (sharing a hotel room with three other adult humans all vying for next in line for this very shower stall) or plain old air-headedness (They’ve found themselves deconstructing yet another interaction with a Person That Is Not Them with varying levels of bitchiness and just didn’t realize they’d started taking a shower at all until they were already in bed).
Today, however, the urge to look down is particularly strong and it has nothing to do with their respective body parts. Or well, really it has to do with only one body part in particular: the jutting bone of Steve’s hip. For upon that previously unmarred flesh, blank and grey ink sits blatantly on his skin.
Robin widens her eyes pointedly. ‘You have one too?’ the look says.
‘Apparently.’ Steve rolls his eyes to convey. ‘Now are you gonna keep quiet or do I have to keep my hand here until we get back to Hawkins?’ He frowns.
‘Oh my god, I’ll keep quiet dingus. Just get your grubby mits off me.’ She huffs and rolls her eyes right back before prying his hand away from her mouth then purses her lips. It’s as obvious an attempt to keep from laughing as Steve has ever seen but he appreciates it nonetheless. She flaps her hands at him.
Steve has to admit that they’re quite fluent in Looks and Gestures as a pretty reliable form of nonverbal communication. They’ve even started incorporating some legitimate sign language out of a book Robin refuses to admit she stole from the library. He shrugs and waves his hand back at her. She grunts out loud before covering her junk with a big, animated gesture. Oh! Steve does the same, cupping himself so she can lean closer to the tattoo in order to make out it’s margins.
It's not that hard to see in this bright ass bathroom but he gets it. He would be bent in half with a flashlight in his mouth if only to determine it’s authenticity if he could. Because there, in bold black ink, is Eddie’s name. And behind it is what looks like a sketch drawling of a crown in grey and black lines. It’s delicate and if Steve saw it on anyone else, he’d think it’s quite pretty.
Robin suddenly rubs a thumb against it. It stings like a bitch when she does. She then peers at the thumb in question before standing upright again. She shrugs at him. ‘I mean it’s real but like, what’s done is done I guess.’
‘Thanks for that. That was so helpful, you giant turd of a best friend.’ Steve snipes back with his eyebrows.
They get out of the shower and Steve puts on yesterday’s shorts, pulling them up much higher on his hips then usual.
‘Nice. Totally inconspicuous.’ Robin waggles with her eyebrows, toothbrush poking out of her mouth.
They stay quiet when they exit the room, Eddie rushing past them to get to the shower right before Nancy. They quietly pack away their things while everyone else showers. Steve pointedly ignores what is very clearly Robin fighting the onslaught of Urge To Pants Him Demons going on beside him. Argyle returning is a blessed distraction that doesn't last nearly long enough.
‘Are you gonna show them?’ She asks with a tilt of her head while they all fill their mouths with breakfast burritos.
‘No fucking way! Are you kidding?’ Steve scowls right as Eddie plops down on the edge of the bed beside him with a hiss. It only serves to remind him of his own name on Eddie’s skin, of that soft curve of pale flesh that took him far too long to tear his eyes away from. It had been funny in the moment. Ass tattoos are categorically funny regardless of their content and maybe, just maybe, if his own tattoo was on his ass too then he’d happily share it with all and sundry.
But it isn’t.
It’s tucked away on his hip, just below the curve of his abdominal muscles. Not quite on his pubic bone but pretty close. There had been a movie night, long ago, when Eddie had rested his head on Steve’s stomach where they’d all laid in a pile of blankets on the floor and when the other boy had gotten up to fetch more popcorn, he’d absently pressed a kiss just there. Just a quick, chaste ‘Thank You For Your Service As A Pillow’ but it had fueled his fantasies for weeks. Weeks. And not just the frisky kind where Eddie kissed him and then moved his lips a little lower and then even lower. No, it was also the sort of fantasies where Eddie woke up in Steve's bed and pressed a kiss there as he got up to make them coffee. Or one where they got ready for their respective days in Eddie’s bedroom back at the trailer and Eddie reeled Steve in where he sat on the edge of his love-rumpled bed just to blow a raspberry on Steve’s belly and shuffle him out the door. They were fantasies of physical familiarity so sure that they touch and tickle and tease with hands and mouths in a non-sexual way that makes Steve want to fucking cry.
So, no. No thank you. He’d rather die than show the rest of the room the tattoo he now has hidden under his clothes. He’s only thankful that the summer months are dwindling, and layers are becoming more and more appropriate as the weather turns cold. Because he has no doubt, not a single one, that anyone who laid eyes on this new tattoo of his would know.
They would know that he is inconceivably, utterly, wretchedly in love with Eddie Munson.
Fuck.
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olichat-reads · 11 months
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Imagine | ProHero!Bakugou x Villain!Reader
a/n: i'm on the brink of a panic attack at 7am on a monday morning sO-
🌟
imagine prohero!bakugou x villain!reader BUT they're childhood bestfriends. and and they're STILL bestfriends despite everything. sure, nothing personal on the job and sure they go head to head sometimes but at the end of the day they're each other's safeplace and comfort.
its weird but it works.
its not everyday, but sometimes your paths cross while you're both on the job and bakugou, that bastard, NEVER holds back on you. and to be fair, neither do you. given that the two of you grew up and trained together, you were pretty evenly matched. both knowing each others' moves and strengths and weaknesses.
which essentially, you two took advantage of in attempts to murder each other on the job :D
-
"you used that move i suggested you try 🥺"
"hell yeah it fucking worked!"
"i know, katsu. my shoulder is dislocated."
":)"
"you're buying me ice cream, you ass."
-
the press has a field day whenever you go against each other- deeming you ✨️a r c h r i v a l s✨️. it sure was an ego boost when your bestfriend was the number one prohero. also you got to terrorize him with the media. win fucking win.
-
*dynamight slams you into a wall*
"ohh~ harder daddy~"
"STOP GIVING THEM IDEAS YOU FREAK"
"BUT I WANNA READ ALL THE ENEMIES TO LOVERS FANFICS LET ME HAVE THIS"
-
and the thing is. it didn't scare you, either of you, to let loose when you come face to face in a fight. you knew katsuki was strong as much as he knew how hard you worked to keep up to him. no one could come close to hurting either of you, besides each other and even then, you each could hold your own.
that didn't mean you don't get injured though. one of you stumbling into the others' apartment beat up was way too common of an occurence with the nature of your professions.
-
"red riot hit me so hardddddd"
"tsk. thats on you. could've gone against me but you had to test your luck with red."
"BITCH STFU WE BOTH KNOW YOU'D FUCK ME UP WORSE THAN ANYONE ON THE FIELD-"
"of course i would. gotta try to knock some fucking sense into lil miss villain somehow. now come here let me see your ribs, they're probably bruised."
"AND WHOSE FAULT IS THAT"
"yours."
"YOU- OW FUCK. KATSU GENTLE-"
"calm down you baby. you got stabbed last week and you're whining about some bruised ribs."
"I HAVE A LOW PAIN TOLERANCE YOU ASS BE NICE TO ME"
-
as much fun as it is smack each other in the vicinity of a public audience, you enjoy the occasional mission where you were both on the same team. perks of being a morally gray villain- you're flexible like that.
it should be noted though- you two're somehow even WORSE than when you fight each other. the amount of unhinged chaos should be a public and health hazard.
-
"we have a problem..."
"let me guess. you caused it."
"you have no faith in me. i'm offended."
"answer the question. did you?"
"...i did."
"and you ask me why i don't believe in you. fucking die, tinkerbell."
">:O"
-
"whats our escape plan?"
"our what :D"
"omg we're going to die."
-
"HOHO WE LIVED BITCH!"
"YOU COULD'VE WARNED ME BEFORE YOU YEETED ME OUT THE FUCKING PLANE YOU PSYCHOPATH"
"WHERE'S THE FUN IN THAT D:"
-
the two of you don't actively try to hide the nature of your jobs and relationship with each other outside work- you don't bother pretending. he's a hero, you're a villain and both of you were bestfriends. as simple as that.
it makes life way more fun, you think.
🌟
a/n: this is fun i might add more to this hehe
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bundibird · 5 months
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even 17 years ago everyone knew the hamas "elections" were a very unfunny joke, in that they were terribly and obviously rigged. I don't know how old you were at the time, but i was an adult who was following news out of gaza and no one thought those were fair elections, so your 25% who voted for hamas should have some kind of caveat (that's obviously impossible to calculate) for how many of them voted under duress/had their vote stolen.
and now for the part that's why this post is anonymous: gazans can't have it both ways. either they're victims and hostages of hamas just like those people who were kidnapped, powerless to stop or overthrow this terror regime that's operating out of their midst, or to release the hostages or give intel about their whereabouts against the will of hamas; or they actually don't mind hamas, are happy with their leadership and actions and don't see the need for new elections.
i prefer the first narrative, because i want to believe most gazans are good people who aren't actually chill with the wealth supporting khaled mishal and ismail henya and def instead of building schools or bomb shelters etc., to mention only the things that affect them directly, and the reason we haven't seen them call for hamas to step down or to hold new elections or to release the hostages who are under 10yo, is because they don't want to be murdered by hamas (you know, fair). but in that case, they need help to get rid of hamas because they obviously aren't capable of doing it themselves.
but either way, whether it's the first or second narrative, i don't see how israel can avoid going all in to destroy hamas. the loss of life is awful, obviously, which should go without saying but sadly it doesnt. but i guess i'm wondering, considering that hamas is a cancer in gaza, what would you propose if the people can't (or less likely won't) get rid of them?
See, I personally am of the opinion that the only acceptable amount of collateral damage is zero. The only acceptable amount of civilian deaths is zero. The only acceptable amount of civilian injuries, destroyed civilian homes, destroyed civilian businesses, etc -- is zero. Anything beyond zero is a fucking travesty.
And yeah, yeah, "be realistic," "you can't have a war without casualties," etc -- yeah consider this: I still think that the goal should be zero collateral damage. That's what should be aimed for, always. In my opinion, aiming for anything other than zero civilian casualties/injuries/damage is reprehensible.
And if you disagree -- if you think that a certain amount of collateral damage is an acceptable trade in order to destroy an organisation like Hamas, then alright, let me ask you this. What IS the acceptable amount? What's the acceptable number of civilian deaths? Of injuries? Of displacements? Of destruction?
Because this morning, the Palestinian death toll was at least 5,087. It will be more by now, this evening. It will be more again by morning tomorrow. How many civilian deaths is acceptable in getting rid of Hamas? How many civilian lives can be traded, guilt-free, in exchange for the destruction of Hamas?
Currently, the injury toll stands at over 15,000. Many of those people will die, even though their injuries would be treatable if they were anywhere that had supplies; had electricity; had medication. The conditions in Gaza are atrocious and the supplies are down to almost nothing and that means that countless people will die of otherwise treatable conditions. Doctors had to disinfect a teenage girl with burns to 70% of her body with vinegar today, because they're out of antiseptic and vinegar is the best option they have. Vinegar, on open burn wounds. On a teenage girl. Another doctor conducted surgery on a child by light of a mobile phone torch. The kid had no anaesthetic, no pain relief of any kind, because the hospital has run out of all that. How many injuries are acceptable when it comes to destroying Hamas?
There are entire neighbourhoods that have been reduced to rubble. Twenty-five separate multi-storey apartment blocks were completely leveled just a few days ago. How many hamas operatives were there, I wonder? Was it more than the number of people who've now lost their homes? Or less? How much civilian infrastructure destruction is acceptable in pursuit of Hamas's elimination?
There's an estimated 1.4 million people who have been displaced in Gaza. Their overall population is 2.3 mil. More than half their total population have been forced to leave their homes for one reason or another. Maybe their home is now rubble. Maybe they lived in the North and were told "Hey, we'll be bombing the shit out of the north, so you should move to the south so you're not caught up in that," only for Israel to then bomb the absolute fuck out of both the north and the south indiscriminately. One point four million people, forced from their homes. How many displaced people is acceptable? At what point do the scales flip from "Yeah this is an alright number" to "oh ok, that might be too many"?
Furthermore.... Israel is one of the best equipped armies in the world, with some of the best intelligence in the world. A few weeks ago, they supposedly had absolutely no idea what hamas was up to, but now, two and a half weeks later, they suddenly know the location of all their secret tunnels and hideouts (all located underneath hospitals and schools and places of worship, of course).
And i have to wonder which is true. Do they know nothing about Hamas? In which case they're just playing real-life Battleship -- just, dropping bombs in random places and hoping to catch some Hamas members every now and then, and fuck the civilians who get caught by the barrage of missiles ----- or is their extreme intelligence super accurate, and they do know all this stuff about Hamas.......... in which case, all the civilian deaths are a deliberate choice on their part.
Because if their intelligence is good, they should be able to get at Hamas without this amount of indiscriminate "collateral damage."
And if their intelligence is bad, then they're just slaughtering civilians wholesale and hoping that they catch the odd terrorist in the mix.
And personally, I don't think either of those scenarios is remotely acceptable.
Or maybe -- and this is the one I think it is -- it's not that they don't care about the civilians. And it's not that they think that a certain amount of collateral damage is acceptable.
Maybe, what they want is extreme levels of civilian casualties. Maybe what they want is mass destruction, and mass displacements, and mass deaths, and mass injuries. Maybe, that's the whole point of this.
Maybe that was the point of cutting off water, and food, and electricity, and fuel, and medical supplies. Maybe that's the point of dropping approximately 14,500 bombs on a strip of land that's all of 41 km long and 5km wide. Maybe that's the point of kettling the civilians in the south only to bomb them, maybe it's the point of targetting refugee centres, maybe it's the point of not letting any of these people leave Gaza, maybe it's the point of preventing any aid from coming in.
Maybe all those times the Israeli leadership spoke about "eradicating the animals that are palestinians" and said that they wanted to "erase palestinians down to the last child" and "force the palestinians from this land once and for all" --- Maybe they weren't joking. Maybe they weren't exaggerating.
Maybe genocide is the fucking point.
Maybe the complete genocide of palestine is what Israel wants. Maybe they want as much death and damage and destruction as is possible. Maybe that's why they've been targetting civilian buildings and homes and places of worship and hospitals and schools. Maybe that's why they've been targeting palestinian doctors and journalists and places of cultural importance. Maybe that's why the death toll of children is so high.
Maybe genocide is the whole fucking point.
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lcvernat · 1 year
Text
Forever in Her Arms | Natasha Romanoff x Reader
Request: hii um i see your requests r open so cud i request a fic where collegestudent!r is studying for midterms & older!nat is sick of r studying all the time & not giving her any attention so one day she pushes all of r's books away & just forcefully snuggles into r
Word Count: 1.6k
Content Warnings: fluff, natasha is the best, reader is very overworked & sleep deprived (me too tbh), strong language
A/N: thank you for requesting anon!! this was very cute to write and i really enjoyed writing it! i did change your request up just a tiny bit, but the majority of it is still the same so i hope that's okay and i hope you enjoy! <3
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The glaring red numbers on your alarm clock told you that it was 2:48am. You heaved a tired sigh, running a hand over your face frustratedly as you stared at the mess covering your desk. So many pages full of notes, flashcards and what looked like a mountain of textbooks. You were overworking yourself; you knew it. If the huge eyebags under your eyes wasn't a telltale sign, then the amount of coffee you had to drink in a day just to stay awake definitely was.
You had no other choice though; midterms were going to be the death of you. Practically all of your time was devoted to studying and attending lectures. The only time you weren't doing either of those things was the measly 3 to 4 hours of sleep you managed to get each night. Nothing was working though; you could remember nothing. You've researched so many study techniques, tried them all, and yet it was futile. Everything was going in one ear and out the other.
Everything else in your life had been neglected, even your girlfriend. Guilt tightened your chest as you thought of Natasha and the amount of plans you had to cancel at the last minute to fit in some extra studying. She didn't deserve it. She deserved all of your attention and more, and yet you had still pushed her to the side just to focus on studying.
She, being the loving girlfriend she is, had tried her hardest to be understanding. The older woman knew how important doing good on your midterms were to you and she acknowledged that you wanted to devote more of your time to studying. But you knew that she'd grown tired of you never asking her texts or calls and always cancelling plans. It wasn't fair to her, not getting any attention.
Picking up your phone, your screen lit up to show you a multitude of missed texts and calls from Nat. You bit your lip as tears of guilt welled up in your eyes. 'I'm sorry, I was studying', you quickly sent her a response, even though she was likely sleeping considering it was the middle of the night. Setting your phone back down, you decided you were going to rest your eyes. Just for a second. Then you'd continue studying.
Just for a minute.
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You groggily blinked your eyes open as sunlight from the window streamed into your dorm room. Wait, sunlight? You were only meant to be resting your eyes. You shot up so fast that you nearly fell off your chair. "What the fuck?" Your brain was still half asleep, and the fact you'd woken up sat at your desk with everything still sprawled out in front of you, except it was now morning, was incredibly disorientating. You checked your phone for the time so fast and muttered a string of curse words when you realized what time it was. Fuck, fuck, fuck. You were going to be late for your morning lecture.
"Shit, shit, shit," you shot out of your chair, earning a sharp pain in your back that made you wince before you started running around your room as fast as possible to pull on the first pair of clean clothes you could find. You raced to the bathroom to brush your teeth in record time before running back to your desk and throwing everything you needed into your backpack as quickly as you possibly could. Hopping on one foot as you struggled to put your shoe on, you used your other hand to open your door before you stopped short at the sight in front of you.
Your foot was still raised with your shoe half on as your jaw dropped open in surprise. "Natasha?" You squeaked, "What the hell are you doing here?"
Your beautiful redheaded girlfriend stood in front of you, blinking at the sight of you looking terrible. You finish putting your shoe on and lower your foot as she continues to stare at you.
"You look terrible," she said, voicing the very obvious observation.
"Wow, thanks," You rolled your eyes but quickly remembered the lecture you really had to get to, "okay, I don't know why you're here. I love you, but I really, really need to get to this lecture."
You walked closer to her, intending to move past her to get out of your room, but she held her ground, not moving and not so conventionally blocking your way.
"No."
She crossed her arms. You stared at her incredulously, "What? Natty, I really, really need to leave. Like, right now."
She shook her head, walking inside, causing you to hastily step back as she shut the door behind her. "You're not going. You're staying here, we're cuddling, and you're getting some rest. I can see your eyebags."
"I'm fine! Really! Look, I'm sorry for kind of ignoring you but you know how important these midterms are to me."
She sighed, sending you a sympathetic glance, "Love, I know. But you're overworking yourself so much, and I am very clingy, and the fact I haven't gotten cuddles from you in weeks is making me a hell of a lot more clingier, so you're not getting rid of me."
Before you could protest (not that you'd really want to, if you're being completely honest with yourself. You missed her a lot), Natasha grabs your backpack from your shoulder, taking it off and throwing it somewhere in your room before turning you around and pushing you further into your room. She kisses the back of your neck, and you can't help but shiver at the action.
"I'm sorry for not giving you enough attention. I really am, I missed you a lot," you pouted, feeling very guilty.
"I know, angel, I know. And I don't blame you, but you were starting to worry me a lot. You still need to take care of yourself," she wraps her arms around your waist and rests her chin on your shoulder, "how many hours of sleep have you been getting a night?"
You stiffen in her arms and decide not to answer her.
She tightens her grip, "Y/N?" There's a warning lilt to her voice that makes you swallow and give in.
"Uh... 3 hours usually, sometimes 4," you say it so quietly you're surprised she still managed to hear it.
"Y/N."
You wince, "Yes?" You say as innocently as you can muster.
You can practically feel the glare Natasha is giving you right now even though you don't have the courage to turn around and look her in the eye. She turns you around in her arms anyway, but you still stubbornly refuse to look her in the eye.
"Look at me."
She gently grabs your chin, forcing you to reluctantly raise your gaze to meet hers. Except you didn't see anger in her eyes, instead it was immense worry. Guilt tightened your chest once more, guilt at having made her worry so much. That really wasn't your intention.
"We are going to relax all day today, okay? You've studied so much; I promise you you're going to ace these midterms. But right now, you need to pay more attention to yourself. And me, too. I'd love a kiss right now." Her mouth tilts up into a tiny smirk as you roll your eyes at her antics before placing a kiss on her lips. You intended to pull away, but Natasha doesn't let you, instead pulling you closer to her as you grunt in surprise before tangling your hand in her hair as the other goes around her waist.
Sighing into the kiss, the sudden realization of just how much you missed her washes over you in waves. Your midterms, the lecture you were meaning to attend, none of it mattered right now because you had Natasha in your arms. Even the fatigue that you had been constantly feeling every day for the past week or so had evaporated as soon as she put her arms around you. You were beginning to think she was your medicine, your cure, and if you could; you'd spend forever in her arms.
Natasha pulls away and the whine that escapes you is embarrassing. She smiles in amusement, grabbing your hand before dragging you to your bed. The redhead falls back onto it, pulling you on top of her. You hum in content as she wraps her arms tightly around you. Placing your head in the crook of her neck, you can't help but close your eyes as the comforting scent that is just so Natasha engulfs your senses.
"I missed this so much," her grip on you tightens but you don't complain. You've neglected her so much recently that you wouldn't even be mad if she crushed a few of your ribs from how hard she was cuddling you. You probably deserved it anyway.
"I'm sorry," you mumble against her neck, eyes still closed.
"Don't be. I just really missed snuggling with you. I'm never letting you go again. I'm going to latch onto you like a koala from now on."
You chuckle, the vibration causing Natasha to shiver underneath you. "I wouldn't mind that," you reply. Natasha kisses the top of your head, and you once again hum in content, suddenly very unsure why you had ever thought studying was better than doing this. This was definitely a lot more fun, and also a hell of a lot more comfortable than the chair at your desk that caused you severe back pain you really shouldn't be getting at your age.
"I love you," you say.
"I love you too," Natasha replies instantly, "always."
Yep, you definitely would not want to be anywhere else right now.
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tags: @sheneonromanoff @olicity-boo @r4nd0mgir1 @tigerlillyruiz @dj-bynum3718
dm me, send me an ask or reply to be added to my taglist!
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𝘢 𝘴𝘦𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘴 𝘰𝘧 𝘭𝘦𝘵𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘴 𝘧𝘳𝘰𝘮 𝘭𝘢𝘸𝘳𝘦𝘯𝘤𝘦 𝘣𝘢𝘶𝘥𝘦𝘭𝘢𝘪𝘳𝘦 𝘢𝘥𝘥𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘴𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘰 𝘮𝘢𝘳𝘢𝘨𝘳𝘦𝘵 "𝘮𝘢𝘳𝘮𝘦𝘦" 𝘮𝘢𝘳𝘤𝘩 𝘪𝘯 𝘲𝘶𝘦𝘦𝘯𝘴𝘵𝘰𝘸𝘯, 𝘪𝘳𝘦𝘭𝘢𝘯𝘥
Dear Marmee,
The bitter cold crept in slowly at first but there is no denying winter has arrived here in Wales. Everything is now covered in a sheet of white snow.
Every morning, I wake before the rooster's crow. Our friend Beth has moved in with us and she enjoys knitting very much. She has knitted me two new sweaters before Christmas has even come and they keep me much warmer than my worn-out coat from last Winter. It's a good thing too 'cause there's still much to be done on our farm, though I've made a rather decent amount of progress.
Even so, we hardly had any remaining produce leftover for ourselves after selling what I was able to salvage from our terrible blight. I won't burden you too much with our troubles but things have been rough here for us and I know Winifred is silently troubling herself over it.
You mentioned Jo is trying to get published? Please let me know how that goes for her. I think it might just inspire Winifred who is still glued to her typewriter whenever she has the time to write.
Hope to hear from you soon.
Sincerely, Lawrence
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Dear Marmee,
I'm sorry to hear Jo was turned down in her quest to get published. Hopefully it won't discourage her from trying. Have you heard from Amy in Paris? How are Meg and Mr. Brooks? How does Beth like teaching piano?
Many of our animals, including the thorn in my side, Frank the Goose, passed on near the end of November. Without their eggs and milk to sell, money is tighter than ever.
Winifred has begun fretting over how we will make a good Christmas for Ozzy. So I've started working at the pub again to help us make it through the rest of winter and afford a few gifts for him. I'm struggling to come up with an idea on what to get Winifred, after all, how could I top her typewriter? If you have any ideas, please include them in your next letter.
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Ozzy is doing quite well, thank you for asking. He likes to "help" me on the farm but mostly he enjoys playing in the snow with the garden shovels and trying to escape to our small pond. You would not believe the tantrums he throws when I have to wrangle him away from the edge. I can almost understand how my Father felt when I was a boy and he would paddle my bottom. The boy is like a fish the way he enjoys the water! Even bathtime seems to be his favorite part about bedtime.
It was a struggle to get him out of his crib and into a real bed but we needed to complete the transition before our new little one arrives. With Beth here to teach us patience, I can proudly declare we have finally succeeded.
Sincerely, Lawrence
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Dear Marmee,
We're approaching our due date rather quickly, a little under 3 months now. Millie has been staying with Louise for the Winter (and giving her free cooking lessons) after agreeing to stay and help Winifred deliver the baby, which I'm thankful for. I know this is a huge relief for Winifred. Her last delivery was not without complications and I know she grows uneasy the closer we get.
I know Winifred believes the baby will be a girl but I have my own suspicions we will welcome another son. I'm not wholly certain I could handle another little girl after we lost Flora. Not yet, rather. The pain of losing a child never truly leaves, does it?
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I did not mean to ignore your inquiry over how I'm fairing. I must keep a courageous face for my family, and consequently I've grown used to wearing my mask of gallantry. Since you so kindly asked though, I will admit that I am a little worn down as of late.
I spend long hours tending the farm and go to work even longer hours in the pub. Valerie, good hearted as she is, is not the best co-worker, often drinking herself stupid before the nights out. I suppose it's true what they say about you Irish folk.
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Most of my trouble comes from myself, I suppose. I watched my father save this very farm many times over and I should want to do the same. But with every plant that refused to sprout, I found myself resentful over having ever inherited it.
I think of my wife, the writer, the poet, and how she is able to read Ozzy her stories. I think of Jackson with his pub, and his son, Patrick, who's becoming a doctor, and you with your bookshop. Even my father who provided my mother and I with food, and a roof over our heads because he cared for the farm so tenderly. All of you, with such passion.
Even if I was as passionate as my father, the farming industry is changing. All these extravagant advancements are putting farmers out of work all over. If the farm were to go under, what would I do? It's all I've ever known.
If I don't have time to write before Christmas Day - I hope you have a Merry Christmas. Send my love to your girls and wish them the same for me as well.
Sincerely, Lawrence
P.S. Don't be cross with me for the joke, I only say it in jest. The Irish could drink me under the table any day of the week and sing a merry tune whilst doing so which is rather remarkable.
next / previous / first
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*trigger warning* For those not in the headspace to see about grief and pets just skip this one.
Isis has been declining health-wise over the last year or so, more severely the past couple of months. I honestly wasn't sure she was going to make it into the new year or her birthday (a week ago). The only reason she's even been eating the last few months is because I've been making her chicken and eggs with toast and cheese twice a day. Occasionally she'll be hungry enough to eat a little dog food, but it has been rare. But the fact that she still wants to eat a majority of the time gave me solace.
Her mobility has also gotten worse. Specifically her back end. She struggles to get up on the couch... and stay on the couch when she lays down too close to the edge (she just slides off onto the floor if I don't manually move her over). Our walks are really slow going (30-45mins/mile). The last couple of days she's really been struggling and has been pretty agitated too. Just walking in circles. Yesterday I think she was doing that outside and she fell off our little patio into a small garden plot. She couldn't get herself up alone. I gave her trazodone Monday night because she was so agitated. For some reason this kills her mobility, so I had to carry her up the stairs to go potty even in the morning.
I don't mind doing all of these things for her (I haven't even mentioned the amount of indoor potty accidents I've had to clean up... which also sometimes include a bath) because I love her. But I don't think she's even remotely having a good time anymore. I thought when she stopped eating, I'd know. Or when she wouldn't go for walks, I'd know. People have been telling me that I'd know when it was time. She's still eating and going for walks, but she's so agitated at night (sometimes during the day) and just seems like she's not having a good time.
So I think it's time. Time to let her go. Which is hurting my heart so much to even think about. I know it is an act of love to stop her suffering, but to suddenly be without my only constant companion of almost 16 years is going to be so hard. I know it is selfish to be thinking of my own comfort in this situation, though I doubt it is all that unique of me.
I emailed my vet last night about the situation and they replied this morning asking me when I'd like to come in. I've been crying and torturing myself about the decision for the last two hours. To think that this time Friday or Saturday she'll be gone depending on my decision. I considered maybe we could just wait until after I finish my work week. But that means the earliest we'd probably do it would be Thursday of next week. Would it be fair to Isis to make her suffer for another week just for me? I don't think she's in any considerable physical pain, but mentally she's doesn't seem great. Like her doggy dementia is also getting worse. I considered maybe she had another UTI, but she doesn't have any other symptoms.
If I'm honest, I think in the back of my mind I'm hoping that if I wait maybe she'll just pass on her own and I won't have to make the decision. I've been back and forth between emailing the vet to set a date and emailing to say I want to wait until next week. I don't know what to do.
This venting/trauma dump has gone on way longer than I had planned. No decision has been made, but I've cried many more tears.
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Delinquent Deuce - Monster AU
Monster: Slime Word Count: ~0.75K Relationships mentioned: Deuce and Delia, (his mom), literally nobody else important. Chapter 1 spoilers for in game. TW: None, really??? He's a slime so a missing chunk of body or two isn't a graphic thing?? but wound/"blood"....and it was inside someone but thats mentioned in passing Also a lot of impromptu worldbuilding if it comes off like I don't know what I'm doing that would be Correct. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ He thought he could avoid his mother's worry, slipping in under the door so as to not cause a ruckus with unlocking the door, and gave himself a light rinse on the cleaner. Anyone with feet may have called a boot cleaner, but for slimes like him and his mom, it simply diluted and made it easier to "push up" any dirt and grime they'd picked up during the day that might leave a trail when they went into the house, but they could rinse out later.
He looked down at his side, thin rivulets of liquid still dripping from the chunk he was missing and silently chided himself. There was no way he would be able to hide it from his mother before he was able to regenerate it on his own, and there was no way he wanted it back, even if he did summon it. It would just remind him of the promise he had broken to his mother....and the fact it had been inside someone else didn't make the thought appealing either. It made it back out but....yeah, he still didn't want it back. He made his way to the kitchen quietly, washing his hands, and then siphoning water through his hand down to the wound to flush it out back into the sink, cleaning the wound. Thankfully it wasn't that part that was too painful. He held his hand against the wound as he started to rummage under the sink for the first aid kit, and more specifically, the powder he could sprinkle onto the wound to congeal the thin internal fluids leaking from him, at least to hold him together til morning when his mom could help. He grumbled a little bit as he squished down lower to try and find the kit, until he felt what he could only assume was the packet, hit his back. He recoiled in surprise, his head hitting the counter and squishing, before he moved out from under the sink properly to stand up, staring like a deer in the headlights at his mom. "I was wondering when you were going to be home. I sent you a couple texts, but I didn't hear anything from you." She glanced down at where his hand clutched his side and sighed softly. "I guess I know why. Is it bad? Move your hand, let me see." She sludged over to him, not letting him protest as she picked the packet out from his back and squished down to see the wound better, before opening the package and sprinkling the contents over the area. Deuce hissed softly in pain. "I-I'm real sorry mom I didn't mean to get into another fight, its just this one kid he really got to me today and....I warned, him, I gave him a fair chance, I swear I did. I tried leaving too, but he kept following me and-" his voice cracked a bit as a few tears welled up in his eyes. "I didn't want to break my promise to you mom....I'm so sorry." He looked away from her as she scooped a safe amount of her own slime out and applied it to his side, holding it in place until it bound with him. Her side was able to regenerate in seconds, being an adult in good health. Her cool hand rested gently against his face as she tried to wipe away a few tears, and kissed his head softly as her son began to melt with his emotions. "You're home safe sweetheart, and that's what matters most. There's some leftover pumpkin pie in the fridge if you want some, but I really think it's time for you to get to bed before you need me to carry you around in a bucket." she chuckled softly, before pulling him into a hug and squeezing him gently. A small sob left Deuce as he snuggled into his mom, thankful, but disappointed in himself. Hopefully after some rest he could feel better. "Thanks mom." "Of course hon." She let him go before ruffling his "hair". "Tomorrow is a new day." She kissed his forehead once more before stretching and creeping towards her bedroom. "I'll see you tomorrow Deuce. Good night. I love you. Don't stay up too late." Deuce looked at the few dishes left in the sink before glancing back at his mom, already planning to wash them before bed. It wasn't much of an apology, but it was the least he could do. He would wait until she was back in bed though. "Love you too mom. I won't." ------------------------------------------------------------------
A/N: A/N: Hiya, if you made it here, you might want to check out my other Twstober works here, or if you're looking for some fluff after that fic, you can check out my main masterlist here. Ask box is open if you have any questions! Thanks for reading!
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kkarmiic · 1 year
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mirage anon here! naming myself how quaint today has been kinda shitty so could I get some good ol Mirage comfort after a really, really bad day? I'm talking the worst day possible-- outfit ruined, bad hair day, just EVERYTHING going wrong?? thank you if you end up doing this <33
# ‘TOMORROW - MIRAGE X GN!READER COMFORT
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🫐 ‘CONTENT AND WARNINGS
\\ synopsis: everything that can go wrong, goes wrong, mirage is there to help
+* genre: fluff/comfort
‘# warnings: eye pulling, self doubt, he calls you love
// authors note: hey mirage anon! I’m sorry to hear about your shitty day, I understand how those feels, I hope this helps at least a little.
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Your day had been downright awful, down to every single detail. From the moment you opened your eyes, everything was already horrific. You had seemingly slept in a weird position that night, evident by the dull ache in your shoulder and neck.
To make matters worse, you were already twenty minutes behind schedule, you had slept through your alarm. Fuck. Stomping over to your mirror, rolling your shoulder in a feeble attempt for the pain to disappear, you realized how obvious your dark circles were and how your hair stuck out in directions you didn't even know were possible.
Of course, you tried to push it aside, telling yourself it could be fixed with a little concealer and styling. That, however, did so little to help with your situation. The concealer had run out the day prior and your hair would just not lay how you wanted it.
Just your luck.
Tonight was supposed to be your date with Mirage, it was quaint, sure, he was going to make you a homecooked meal and you two were planning on watching the stars, but still, what would he think of you if he saw you like this?
It was only early days in your relationship, about a month in, and you weren't prepared for his perception of you to change, for him to see you as lazy, or a slob.
You were far too stressed out for ten in the morning, pulling your eyes down and just... Staring. Staring at yourself in the mirror, criticizing your appearance.
You know what they say, when things are at their lowest they can only go up.
Wrong. You were on a Ferris wheel, locked into your seat with no way of escaping, on a constant round of low, and high and low and high, with seemingly no end. It was exhausting, and you just wanted to get off.
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So there you were, wearing your favourite outfit, hoping it would lift your spirits a little, and hopefully distract Mirage, at least a small amount. And it did, only for a mere moment though, you were halfway to Mirage's when the rain began pouring down, and this happened to be the one day where you didn't bring your umbrella, too focused on being late, and the way you looked, to even worry about checking the weather forecast.
Hands trembling as you walked, you reached for your phone in your pocket, before realising, that wasn't there either.
Panic. That was the only word to describe what you felt at that moment, pure panic. Had you dropped it somewhere? Maybe on the way to his? You were too late to turn back now, someone probably would've picked it up by now, and maybe it was already stolen. Maybe-
You left it on your bedside table, next to your umbrella.
Nonetheless, you kept walking, and you couldn't tell what was rain and what was tears after a certain point. They were so perfectly blended, heart aching as you walked.
Mirage, no, Elliot, you reminded yourself, always looked so perfect, with his neatly formed curls, and clear skin, you'd never seen him with one blemish, or eyebags like you, or with his hair askew. What would he think of you?
You had half a mind to turn back now, go home, and text him, faking that you were sick. But he'd probably turn up at your door instead, that was the kind of man he is, a gentleman.
Elliot couldn't worry about you, it wouldn't be fair to put him through that, and that's how you ended up on his doorstep, even despite all your worries. Placing three tentative knocks before it was quickly swung open, it seemed like he'd been waiting for you.
However, his smile quickly faded to a frown, of concern or disappointment, you couldn't tell.
"You're going to get s- uh- soa-" He paused, readjusting, instead of correcting his sentence, he ushered you in, he knew you knew him well enough to understand what he meant.
"Are you okay?!" He asked, shutting and locking the door behind you, hand placed gently on your bicep, feeling the soaked fabric of your shirt.
You wanted to tell him no, about how awful your day was, about how everything seemed to be going wrong, about how the whole world was against you, but you didn't. "Yeah... Just forgot my umbrella." You muttered, offering him a shrug of your shoulders, but that didn't seem to convince him, not one bit.
"How about you go upstairs? Get a hoodie and some sweats. You left some here last time. Or you could get changed into mind. I- Uhm- I don't... I don't mind." He took a shuddery breath, covering the pink tint on his cheeks.
"Anyways! I'll have a warm drink down here when you're done, okay?" He offered a soft smile towards you, already beginning to make your drink of choice.
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When you returned downstairs, your drink was sat in your usual seat, the smell of food wafting from the oven making your mouth water.
"Want to talk?" He asked, cocking his head, waiting on your answer, and when you didn't respond he continued. "I can see something's buggin' ya. If you need to talk I'm always in your corner."
The compassion he was showing you was too much, he was too nice, and that was too much. You cried for the second time today, choking on your sobs as you tried to tell him about how shitty your day was, but nothing was coming out.
Mirage's eyes widened in shock, rushing round to your side before taking the seat next to you, a firm hand resting on your back, rubbing slow circles. "Take your time, love." He was ever so patient with you, you could never ask for more.
"I've just- I've just had the worst day today." You choked, covering your face with your hands. "I woke up and I obviously slept in a funny position, my whole body hurts." You began recounting your day. "I even left my fucking phone at home, like an idiot!"
There was a moment's silence before he moved his body to be facing yours, pulling your stool closer to his, and grasping your hands. "Darling. You're not an idiot. We all have bad days and that's fine. Sometimes you need a few days, to recover or... For it to just pass." He rested his forehead against yours, pressing a gentle kiss to the tip of your nose.
"No matter what, I'm right by your side. Tomorrow will be better. Swear on it."
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POSTED BY: APOLLO
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bedlamsbard · 3 months
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🌟 for The Horizon Line
Oooh, let's do one of the Endgame prologue flashbacks from Chapter 6! Mostly because this is a scene I really like and it's not one that people tend to comment on.
Then
This is one of the chapters that has an alternating "then-now" structure, and it's the first of two (the other one is 16) to flip very quickly. This is the second of three flashback sequences in Horizon that come directly out of the Endgame prologue (a.k.a. the 2018 part of Endgame, not the 2023 part). I do a fair amount of rewriting canon scenes; it's always an interesting experience. I get to know that scene really well and I tend to find out how difficult it is to translate between mediums.
“Oh no,” Rocket said.
Steve stared down at the gauntlet with his expression gone completely blank – not even horror, just a kind of flat incomprehension that any of this was happening. Natasha heard the faint sound she made only after she had made it, a faint stunned gasp like a wounded animal, and even then was wondering who it had come from before she felt the ache in her own throat.
Steve's behavior in this scene and throughout Endgame is really interesting, because especially in the 2018 scenes he's very blank. And Chris Evans is generally pretty expression (so much of Steve's excellent Avengers characterization is carried out through microexpressions rather than what Steve's actually saying), so his blankness in this sequence is interesting. One of the things I have to do when I'm rewriting a canon sequence is basically add in the character interpretation that may or may not be there onscreen.
The Infinity Stones weren’t there. Nothing was there, just empty, blackened hollows where Natasha still remembered the Stones gleaming the last time she had seen Thanos, energy running in multi-colored rivulets up his arm before he had snapped his fingers.
“Where are they?” Steve said, his voice so toneless that it was nearly a statement
The only response was a low groan, until Carol tightened her grip on Thanos’s throat and hissed, “Answer the question.”
“The universe required correction,” Thanos said, his voice coming out in harsh gasps of pain. “After that, the Stones served no purpose beyond temptation.”
“You murdered trillions!” Bruce said, and shoved him with both hands. The Hulkbuster’s strength threw him backwards, making Carol lose her grip and knocking Rhodey out of the way.
Thanos pushed himself up onto his remaining elbow and said, “You should be grateful.”
This sequence is directly out of canon, dialogue and action. Also Thanos's dialogue is a nightmare to write, especially pulling it straight from canon -- I noticed this when I was writing the Thor flashbacks in Morning too. He doesn't have a very natural cadence, and it makes hard to put into prose vs. onscreen.
Bruce lunged for him again, but Loki’s hand closed on his wrist, his heels digging divots into the floor as Bruce strained against him; the Hulkbuster might be able to beat the crap out of the Hulk, but apparently couldn’t move an Asgardian who had decided not to be moved. Loki released Bruce a moment later and put the blade of his polearm under Thanos’s chin. “Be careful,” he said softly, “not to speak of gratitude again.”
The scene diverges here with Loki's involvement. In canon Bruce keeps beating up Thanos until Natasha asks about the Stones.
Note that the Hulkbuster is not at the Hulk's strength, at least going up against an Asgardian.
Natasha walked around Bruce’s massive form so that she could see Thanos, resisting the urge to start screaming and not stop, but there was an unfamiliar tremor in her voice as she forced herself to say, “Where are the Stones?”
Pulling character interpretations from what's onscreen again; Nat's less blank than Steve is. She's also trembling in that scene, which is a detail I like.
“Gone,” Thanos said. From his expression, he had no idea who she was. “Reduced to atoms.”
Does Thanos actually know who Natasha is? Open question, never confirmed one way or another by canon; canon really only identifies that he knows who Tony is and not any of the other Avengers.
“You used them two days ago!” Bruce said.
“I used the Stones to destroy the Stones,” Thanos said, and gestured at the damaged gauntlet, ignoring the way the razor-sharp blade of Loki’s polearm opened a thin line on the underside of his chin. “It nearly killed me, but the work is done. It always will be. I am –”
“If you say ‘inevitable,’ I will cleave your head from your body,” Loki said.
Canon divergence: in canon Thanos finishes his line, here Loki interrupts him.
“We have to tear this place apart,” Rhodey said, his voice shaking. “He has to be lying –”
“My father is many things,” Nebula said. “A liar is not one of them.” She flicked a look at Loki anyway, as if asking for confirmation, and he gave her the tiniest headshake in response. God of lies, Natasha remembered, very distantly; maybe it meant something other than just another title. It didn’t seem very important right now.
Loki and Nebula have an interesting relationship and this hints at some of the places it's been in the past. Loki, walking lie detector.
Thanos looked from one of them to the other, as if seeing Loki for the first time, and made an expression that wasn’t quite a smile. “My daughter,” he said to Nebula, and then, to Loki, “My son.”
Divergence. In canon he says, "Ah. Thank you, daughter. Perhaps I treated you too harshly." Thor kills Thanos immediately after his addresses Nebula in canon.
“My parents were Odin and Frigga of Asgard,” Loki said, soft and dangerous. “I’d think you’d remember it, since a son of Odin was what you decided you wanted more than another child of yours.”
Loki, who just lost his entire family, is having none of this. I don't think all of Loki's backstory with Thanos has come out in any of my Yonderverse writing, but it is revealed in Morning, and I use the same backstory between universes. Loki started as part of the Black Order, one of the Children of Thanos, during a period of time when he wasn't using his own name (Nebula uses his Black Order name in the Horizon 3 flashback), but when Thanos found out that he was Odin's son he decided Loki was more useful as a way to get into the Nine Realms to get the Tesseract (with the later intention of getting the Reality Stone).
This time Thanos’s expression was definitely a smile. “And where did it bring you? Back to me.”
This line is from 2014 Thanos in Endgame, not 2023 Thanos. 2014 Thanos uses it in Yonder 4, too. (I do think Thanos's dialogue is pretty overwrought, but sometimes it works.)
“To kill you,” Loki said bluntly. “I don’t care about the Stones. I don’t have anyone to bring back. You made certain of that before the culling.”
Loki straight-up is just here for the murder because as far as he knows all of Asgard is dead. As is revealed later on in the scene, he has no way of knowing that any of the Asgardians made it off the Statesman and has been operating on the assumption they didn't. He also doesn't really care about the Snap at all because he doesn't have anyone left to lose.
“Wait – wait, Loki, hang on –” Bruce said hastily. “You don’t know that he’s not lying, the Stones have to be here –”
“No,” Nebula said. “All my life, my father has only ever wanted one thing, and having achieved it –”
“They are beyond the reach of any living thing,” Thanos said. “As they should be. The work is done,” he repeated. “And it cannot be undone.”
This is added dialogue for this scene and isn't from the original canon scene, since Thanos is dead by this point in the canonical scene.
“Loki, get out of the way,” Steve said abruptly.
They all turned to look at him, startled; even Loki’s gaze flickered away from Thanos for an instant. Steve stripped his shields off and dropped them to the floor with a clatter as he took a step forwards, his fists clenched.
This is actually my favorite part of this sequence -- Steve planning to beat Thanos to death with his bare hands. I give Steve a lot more sharp edges than I think most writers do and I am here for his violent tendencies, which are pretty consistent throughout the MCU; it's really just Endgame where it's not there, because he's so muted throughout the film. (I read Endgame!Steve as being very, very depressed, though functional, which I think I've talked about somewhere.) It was important to me that it was his bare hands too, which is why he takes off the Wakandan shields for it.
Loki raised his free hand, green-gold glimmering on his fingertips. “No,” he said. “Your right to vengeance is not greater than mine.”
Loki about to get into it with Steve over who has a better right to beat Thanos to death.
“You should be grateful to me, Asgardian,” Thanos said. “Is this not what you wanted? Is kingship not what you claimed when the Chitauri’s claws were at your throat? The rightful king of Asgard, king once more?”
Hints of Loki's backstory with Thanos and the Chitauri here, touching on whatever happened immediately prior to The Avengers and calling back to Loki's conversations with The Other there.
Loki looked back at him and put his head a little to the side, his teeth showing like a wolf’s. “You murdered my brother,” he said. “You slaughtered my people. You scoured Asgard root and stem from the branches of the World Tree and you speak to me of kingship? King of ashes and atoms, shattered bone and spilled blood, spread out across the stars where you hunted us? I would kill you for Thor alone, but the blood-debt you owe my people can never be paid in full.”
"Ashes and atoms" is a callback to what Loki says during the coronation sequence in Chapter 1: "Asgard is ashes and atoms."
“I took only what I was owed,” Thanos said. “You should never have tried to keep the Tesseract from me.”
“I owed you nothing then and I owe you nothing now,” Loki said, “save a death that will be far quicker than those you gave my brother and my people. And when I’m done, may the spirits of all Asgard stand forth to rip you to shreds on your passage through the great void of Ginnungagap.”
Yonderverse Loki gets very formal and traditional about Asgard in a way that most of my other Lokis don't, because his whole thing is that there was literally nothing left, and he has to be all of Asgard and the Asgardian royal family. Without him the Asgardians likely wouldn't have survived as Asgardians and he's extremely cognizant of that in a way that Thor isn't in the main line canon -- probably because Thor has never really had to think very hard about his own identity and what's important to him as an Asgardian, and Loki has. Thor doesn't have to decide whether or not to be an Asgardian and Loki does.
"I owed you nothing then and I owe you nothing now" is an echo of something Loki says to Proxima Midnight in Yonder 5: "I owe the Chitauri nothing and I owe you less."
“‘All’ Asgard?” Thanos echoed him, and smiled, the scarring on the left side of his face making the expression even more dreadful than it might have been normally. “I destroyed only those who came between me and what was rightfully mine. I am not unkind, my son. Those that fled rather than fight a losing battle, I allowed to escape.”
Until now Loki didn't know that the other Asgardians had survived. Endgame never addresses how Thor finds out or what his reaction is, but it's pretty vital for how Yonderverse Loki is, so it has to be on the page.
Loki’s eyes went huge.
“Oh, god, they’re alive,” Bruce said, sounding stunned. “Oh, god – the Asgardians in the escape pods – the Valkyrie and all the others, all the kids –”
Bruce didn't know either, of course -- remember that he was on the Statesman too.
Loki dropped his polearm and lunged forward, twisting his fists in the front of the Titan’s shirt. “Where are they?” he shouted. “Where are my people?”
First sign that Loki might have something to live for other than vengeance because at this point he really didn't believe that he did.
This sequence is interspersed with the Atlanta operation in the present day -- the last operation the Avengers did as a team and the first operation they're doing as a team post-Snap. I actually do write these as they appear in the chapter, which is to say that I alternate between writing the flashback sequence and the present-day sequence, rather than writing all of one and all of the other and then stitching them together. For me, this makes the transitions between past and present really snappy and lets them flow thematically from one to the other -- the next scene after this is Natasha going after what she believes is Clint (Sir Not Appearing In This Story), and reveal of the Hulk-Widow that closes out that scene leads directly into Loki's shock about the surviving Asgardians that opens the next.
One thing I struggle with in rewrites of canon scenes is that very often the ones I'm rewriting are big multi-character scenes where a lot of the characters are simply not doing anything most of the time and this is one of them. Despite being a Natasha POV scene, she really doesn't have any input past the opening, which does stand out to me on reread. She's also not doing anything in the canon scene. (And I'd bet there's a high chance that when they filmed the scene, all of the actors were not there and it's just stitched together because Endgame did a lot of that.) It's one of those places where I can either add in the character having more interaction in that scene, which I do back in the Chapter 3 flashback with Tony's arrival, because Natasha doesn't say anything in that scene in Endgame but does have dialogue in my version or just live with it and hope it doesn't show too much.
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legionofpotatoes · 11 months
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I am trying desperately to cling to her memories that are slipping away. I hate how ready I was for all the big ways in which her death would hit me, yet I was caught completely unaware of the million little things that would change along the way. She touched so many tiny parts of my life and now they're all withering away and no amount of photos or videos are enough to keep them from getting further and further away and it feels maddening. I don't know how to hold on to them.
analytically I understand that eventually I will have to let go of all that and accept that things will not be the same. that not every measurable point of contact that she imprinted upon the world will stay frozen in time. and I know that it shouldn't. but I still felt such an odd mixture of pain, anger, and confusion when I saw Yen hop on the pillow she always used to sleep on; when I saw her fill in the spaces and patterns that were always Bastet's. I know a silly little cat isn't intentionally trying to replace the life of another, that is a childish thought to have. but it still tugs and tears at the hole in my gut and confuses me. I've never felt so lost.
It's the maddening realization that life just carries on full-throttle and not a single god damn part of it will stop and honor her memory for even a second. it all just hurdles on and the soils of linear time keep rolling over and burying the old while ushering in the new with unrelenting cruelty. And I'm supposed to be so cool and accepting of that because? what? that I have the capacity to quantify it? none of this feels fair.
eventually I'll forget how the two floorboards creaked whenever she would go for a nighttime walk from the bed and into the outer room. I'll forget the way she'd nag for food and scrape at the balcony door in the mornings. her purrs were like an iron kettle seconds away from beginning to boil, in that momentary rattle on low fire; quiet and bubbly, a low rumble of contentment. she carried herself with dignity and grace, sharing the same space as us but always at a respectful distance. she was one of those chill hang best friends, but in cat form.
she was also the most striking example of one half in an animal/human companionship; I always joked that she shared a soul with my partner. I never knew my SO before Bastet, and I always felt like they were born of the same cosmic splinter and mirrored one another in things both big and small. their personalities, their temperaments, their beauty, their naptimes. they would even curl up in the same exact poses and it never failed to make me chuckle. it's all so dimmer without that half now. I've never seen my partner so alone. it breaks my heart for her.
Bastet was a mixed breed tortoiseshell; she was either pushing her late 17th or early 18th year, we have some birth date discrepancies that I cannot get to the bottom of. her eyes were striking green since childhood and then changed as she aged, her right one turning fully yellow by the end. she always liked a good meal and kept herself relatively chumby throughout the years. I don't think we ever crossed into unhealthy levels of pet obesity, though. she just had that raccoon-like silhouette that we loved to joke about, and a way of keeping her front legs slightly apart when she perched that made for the most charming poses. she took herself oh so very seriously, but she was our round little guy.
she had yellow-black beans and a black nose, and her breath was stinky. we loved her stinky breath. I'll never be able tell her off anymore for initiating one of her full-body baths right next to me as I was trying to eat. she also had a wonderful patch of dusty aroma right on top of her head and between her ears; something hard to place, but incredibly homely. It was a rare treat whenever we'd catch her for a quick noggin smooch. I'll never feel that smell again.
her jellies were very soft and loose, but she hated having them touched. she liked a good rub under the chin and especially across her cheeks, sometimes ending things with a small love nibble. she grew up drinking out of cups instead of bowls, and it became a calcified habit; we knew to always cover stray beverages with napkins with her around. I shudder to think of the next time I'll do it instinctively.
she was very rarely clumsy. My partner's bed frame sits flush against her wall radiator, and Bastet loved hopping on there and wedging herself between the wall and the headboard. we loved how her belly fats would spill over the edge when she did that. trouble arrived, however, whenever she'd decide to turn around and face the other way; that would generally involve carefully backing up for a long while before doing a full rotation. I would always hit her with the ole' truck reverse gear beeping when I'd catch her do it. she'd give me the stinkiest eye.
She wasn't a very playful cat, which we always found strange. She'd get the odd zoomie now and then, but was primarily a dignified lady. She'd slap you around like no one's business if she decided you deserved it though. She never learned to get along with Yen, our second, younger, and dumber cat; we tried smell swapping and shared mealtimes and every trick under the sun to get them to play nice. And we kept trying because Yen, with not even two braincells to rub together, was incredibly curious and forthcoming to spend time with her, yet Bastet was out for blood from day one. We eventually learned to partition them across the house and paid with more than a few fun incidents. Bastet would always get a few good licks in and Yen would learn exactly nothing and try again the next day.
She was territorial like that. She loved my SO like I've never seen an animal love a human. Even her jealousy towards me took almost a decade to erode, and even then, she would never let us cuddle or sleep without making sure to find a good spot to keep an eye on me from. I learned not to admonish but to respect that about her; I was never going to outgrow the depth of their relationship and it became a type of honor to feel accepted into it. I was just happy to be in a place where I could bother her with pets and not get eaten alive!
Best time to do it was when she slept. She was a deep sleeper, and could rip a snore that would scare a flock of pigeons away. We'd quiet down and hurriedly tap one another and then point at her whenever that happened, like silent mimes in a frenzied panic, desperate to hear just one more little snort. It was the best time to gently curl around her and give her a tap and a tug. Most of the time she wouldn't even wake up. She was very soft and huggable.
I know torties aren't considered the prettiest breed, but I always found her coat to be mesmerizing. She was a beautiful cat in that understated sort-of way; well color-coordinated, evenly patterned, and appropriately mannered. She took very good care of herself so we didn't end up bathing her too often. The price for that could be severe and bone-deep, so we kept those decisions tactical. She was an angry fluffball.
I wish I could feel her warm, soft sides again and hear her loud complaints as I attempt to scoop her up. I want to squish her toe beans as she sleeps and see her snicker at something tasty in her dreams. I want to see her demonstrably stretch in front of everyone in the room before flopping to her side and starting her morning bath. I want to see her gently tippity-tap towards her water, give it a long sniff, and then stick her paw straight in to start drinking her own special way. I miss seeing her go about her little tasks and vividly color the periphery of my life in that apartment. it's all so empty now.
Truthfully, most of those habits went away well before her death; as she retreated away from us in her last months, she barely ever exhibited her prior personality. As crushing as this was, it felt almost like a way for her to help us taper away with a gentler ease rather than a hard fall. I know that is not why cats do it. I know that it's not great to anthropomorphize her pain into some amorphous expression of wisdom and compassion towards us. It wasn't. She was in pain and we were desperately trying to help her until it became too senseless to try. But it did end up cushioning the blow just a bit. I suppose that's all I can say about that.
She went away in her sleep. We did it at the clinic, it felt humane. Taking her home would mean a far greater shadow over our day-to-day as her condition had become irreversible and was guaranteed to terminally deteriorate in a matter of days. My partner made the decision, as she rightfully should have, and with far greater bravery than I. I felt lost and cornered and unsure and I was bargaining when I knew there was nothing left to bargain for except for her prolonged suffering. I feel so bad for my selfishness. I know I'm still typing all this driven by it. I want to write down these memories so I can keep coming back to read them and escape her growing absence. But there's no typing out everything that she was and all the ways she touched and bettered us. I know that too.
I suppose in time I will find a way to make peace with the fact that I will forget some of these small things. but I'll make sure to never ever lose anything singular and definitive about her. I talk to her ashes so I can have a reason to say her name out loud. I can't let it slip away from everyday use. And as corny as it sounds, I will always see a reflection of her tiny self in my partner's eyes. They shared the same soul. I hope I can see them reunite again someday.
Today was the first day since her passing when her absence didn't feel temporary. It didn't feel like some unwelcome bump in the road. I truly know now that she's never darting out from under the bed and bonking my hand as it hangs from the armchair ever again. That realization is an endless, bottomless pit. I don't know what to do with it
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flowercrowncrip · 1 year
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I hate to come here again complaining about That Carer again but today has been A Day.
I'll start off by saying that we are both under quite a lot of stress at the moment – one of my carers is currently having time off because a family member of theirs is at the end of their life. So my carer is having to cover a lot of extra shifts, and obviously I'm grateful that they are doing that. I will say though that she knew she would be working today in advance and that she has been very much against me having another carer join the team, which would make the situation easier.
This morning my parents had to do my care because That Carer couldn't make it in until 1300 because she'd been to a concert the night before and hadn't gotten in until 2 AM. This allowed her to get over eight hours sleep before working. So my parents (who are totally out of practice) had to get me up, clean, toileted, and into work where my colleagues said they are okay with keeping me going until my carer got there.
Because of this my morning care was physically more painful and mentally more draining, especially as I'm in a pain and other symptoms flare at the moment and only got a couple of hours sleep last night because of it. So it wasn't a great start to my day
Later in the day, after I'd met my carer at work earlier, I had a youth group. On the drive there my carer decided that fiddling with her phone while driving was better than ignoring the music her phone was playing or pulling over to deal with it. Several occasions we were swerving all round the lanes while she had one hand on the wheel and wasn't looking she was going. Talk about making an already stressful day more stressful.
After we got there and had mostly done setting up the hall (so just before the young people started to arrive) TC stormed out of the room shouting something passive-aggressive about how no one cares about her after one of my colleagues made a comment about how all the changes in routine today has led to me forgetting some stuff.
Now fair enough misinterpreting a comment and being upset – we've all been there – but yelling and slamming doors while I'm at work (and so is she) is so unprofessional and puts me in a really awkward position. I had to follow her out the room, find out what was going on for her, and calm her down while staying on good enough terms for the rest of the day/week not to be too awkward. While doing this I also had to be aware of how the behaviour might affect any young person who might see (luckily none did)
While I was making sure she was okay she told me she was mostly upset because a concert tickets didn't have as good of a view as she'd hoped and that she was tired from going to bed late (even though she still got normal amount of sleep)
I know comparisons are unhelpful but it's so ironic how she feels the need treat me like I can't handle myself when even a physically taxing day, plus a ton of emotional stress, plus a considerable amount of pain, plus only getting 2 to 3 hours of sleep didn't return stop me handling this whole situation pretty successfully while she couldn't deal with even half of that without behaving like this.
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fallingintolife · 1 year
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Hold Onto Me, I'm A Little Unsteady
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Request @trexrambling : Always good to see you on my dash ❤️ For a request…what about - The reader being seriously injured on a hunt to the point where she may not walk again. All the angst and potential comfort that comes with that. My main man Dean, please!
Summary: When your entire life, entire identity is taken from you in a moment; what do you do?
Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader
Warnings: Semi-graphic description of wound, traumatic injury, ANGST, reader is diagnosed as a paraplegic, this is a really angst filled fic so please heed the warnings guys 💕
Word Count: 1,896
A/N: First of all thank you so so so much for giving me this request @trexrambling . I really loved the challenge of diving into these characters and really trying my best to depict their feelings accurately.
With that being said, I personally have never gone through this injury I did do a lot of research however if I did portray anything inaccurately please don't be afraid to let me know.
Thank you again so so much for this request. I really hope I did it justice and that you enjoy it.
Sending all the love, hugs, and positive vibes
💕🥰✨
Quiet. Everything was so quiet. Dean hated it. There was no laughter, no talking, no you singing and dancing around the Bunker, no you taunting Sam about how you beat him home from the morning run; just quiet. You'd only been home from the hospital for two days now, after you being there for the last two weeks. You still weren't speaking to anyone, or at all. The last time he had heard your voice was when you were sobbing, screaming, begging that the doctors were lying. All Dean could do was hold you as you cried and attempt to comfort you, all while drowning in his own guilt.
You, Sam, and himself had been on a routine hunt, (to be honest though was any hunt ever routine?) After loring the werewolf into the woods with it chasing you as bait, (which Dean had been against from the beginning). Dean had just shot it, when as it fell, you tried to dodge it however, you over corrected and fell- straight onto a broken tree branch. He still couldn't get the scene out of his mind; the gasp you made when you fell, the tree branch sticking out of your lower abdomen, the panicked look in your eyes as you reached for him with blood dripping from lips as you continued to gasp for air.
As soon as Sam saw what happened he called an ambulance as Dean tried to keep you calm. Luckily it arrived pretty fast, even though it didn't feel that way. After a four and a half hour surgery was when the doctor led the boys to your room and had told them your diagnosis. You had suffered a spinal cord injury to your lower lumbar vertebrae. They wouldn't be sure until you were awake what the full amount of damage was, however, they said that because of where you were injured you may never be able to walk again.
Dean was so angry. He had never been more angry in his life. Not you. This couldn't be happening. Not to you. You were one of the most active people he knew. You loved to dance around the Bunker, go on runs, and brag about beating them at any sport because you honestly could, you even gave Sam a good run for his money when you went on morning runs together. For that to be taken from you…it wasn't fair. So when you had finally woken up on day three was when reality hit; you couldn't move your legs. You didn't have much sensation rather than pain. That was the last time you spoke. That was eleven days ago.
Dean didn't know what to do. The hospital almost didn't release you because of your mental state. You weren't speaking, or really eating but the moment you had heard them wanting to keep you Dean saw the panic back in your eyes as pleading tears ran down your face. You wanted to go home so that's what he did.
When you both had gotten back to the Bunker Dean had taken you into his and your shared bedroom. That's where you had stayed for the past two days; completely quiet and still, almost cationic. Dean was terrified. Even though you were here, alive and breathing you weren't, not really. This wasn't you. Yes, psychically your heart was beating but when he looked into your eyes you weren't there. The girl he fell in love with was completely shattered into the smallest of pieces. Dean didn't care though. He would put you back together piece by piece, from the ground up because he would be damned if he lost you after everything that you had gone through.
Not to say that he wasn't scared because he was. He didn't know what to do or what to say because he wouldn't lie to you. He wouldn't tell you that everything was fine and it wasn't a big deal, because nothing was fine and it was a big deal; a fucking huge deal. You may never walk again. You had every right to feel however you did and honestly he didn't care if you screamed at him right now and blamed him because at least then you'd be showing some kind of emotion. He didn't know what to do but what he did know was that he was going to be with you every step of the way to figure it out. You never left him, even in his darkest moments, so like hell would he leave you.
You and the boys had grown up together. Bobby had taken you in at a young age after he had found you on a hunt gone wrong. Your parents had been murdered and then drained in front of you by ghouls. The ghouls had just started to cut into you when Bobby and Rufus had gotten into the house. You were only seven at the time and they way you had hugged on to Bobby for dear life he knew he couldn't just drop you off somewhere so he took you with him.
The first time you had met the boys you and Sam had immediately bonded over movies and books since you were only a year older than him. You and Dean however had more of a love/hate relationship. Dean enjoyed trying to act like the tough guy and teased you mercilessly for years to the point that you had just resigned yourself to the fact he didn't like you. It wasn't until eighth grade after you saw him beat up a couple guys for making fun of your scars on your wrist, (from when the ghouls had tried to kill you), was when you realized he was just pretending not to like you. After confronting him about it and calling him an asshat was when things between you both slowly changed.
You and Dean dated off and on for a while. You had joined Dean when he went to find his dad and pick up Sam. Between then and now your relationship with Dean wasn't perfect by any stretch of the imagination. How could it be with hunting thrown into the mix? From him making a deal to save Sam which was understandable but also painful, to him abandoning you to be with Lisa, to him going to purgatory, and of course the Mark of Cain…point being; you and Dean had been to Hell and back, shit Purgatory and back and throughout all that you were still with him. So no. He wasn't going to leave you no matter what you did or what you said because he loved you and nothing could change that.
A loud thump at 3:10 in the morning was what startled Dean awake. On instinct he reached for you with one hand, and for his gun under his pillow with the other. As his hand made contact with his gun he realized that his other hadn't made contact with you. A chill immediately ran down his spine as he turned on his lamp ready to kill whoever had taken you when- laughter. Your laughter filled the room. Which honestly scared the shit out of Dean for a couple reasons; one being you hadn't made a peep for the last thirteen days and two; why the hell were you laughing? After making his way to the other side of the bed he saw you laying on your side still laughing.
"Y/N…sweetheart? What are you doing on the floor?" Crouching down to your level, he tried to scan your body to make sure you weren't hurt.
"I- I woke up and had to pee so, I went to get out of bed and immediately fell because I forgot my legs-my legs don't work!" You laughed hysterically as tears ran down your face. "How the hell did I just forget they just don't work?" Dean steadily watched you for a moment knowing what was coming next. He'd only seen you do this on a few occasions where you'd laugh and cry at the same time before you broke down. One of them being when you came to terms with him dying after taking the deal for Sam. Your laughter began to calm down and the tears began to flow freely down your face, as you poked at your legs with your pointer finger.
"I mean, if not being able to make them move isn't sign enough then-then what about how even though I can't feel them, I have a constant pain running through them?" At the end of your question you let out a mirthless laugh. Dean sat next to you and within five seconds is when he saw reality set in, truly set in and you lost it.
"I can't walk. Dean, I can't walk. What- what am I gonna do?" Pulling you into his lap he held you as tight as he could as you cried into his chest, your body shaking as panic hit. When you began hyperventilating was when Dean turned your face towards his.
He could see your mind racing as it finally was coming to terms with the reality that it was trying so hard to keep you safe from. As much as Dean wished you didn't have to go through this he knew there wasn't another way.
"Sweetheart, look at me. Y/n, sweetheart I need you to look at me." You focused your eyes on his as he gently wiped away your tears with his thumb. "There we go. That's my girl. I need you to breathe with me okay?" You shook your head in a panic mouthing the word 'can't'. "Yes you can. You can breathe baby. I need you to focus on me. Can you do that? Here," he gently took your hand and placed it on his chest as he took a deep breath. "Feel that? I need you to match it. I know you can sweetheart. Deep breath." He took a breath in, and as he did you shakily followed. He gave you a smile as a tear fell down his own cheek. "That's my girl. There we go, keep going sweetheart. You're doing so good Y/N, so so good."
Twenty minutes went by as Dean held you close to him coaching you through your breathing, still not moving even when you calmed down.
"Dean?" It was a ghost of a whisper but he heard you regardless. He looked down, still stroking your hair.
"Yeah sweetheart?" You avoided his eyes.
"I know this isn't what you signed up for. Hunting is your life and I can't do that anymore-" He gently, but firmly lifted your chin so you would look at him.
"I'm gonna stop you right there. Hunting isn't my life. Maybe it was at one point but not anymore. You, you're who I want to be with, who I want to spend my life with so if that means no hunting, then so be it. I'm not going anywhere. You're stuck with me sweetheart." Your eyes met his smirk before meeting his green orbs filled with nothing but love, sincere and honest love.
You didn't know why he would stay but you couldn't find a reason to doubt him at this moment because you didn't want to spend the rest of your life with anyone else either.
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