#cw: bereavement

[latenightsimping]

Rosie

Summary: Now a father, Eddie reflects on his own childhood as he settles his little girl.

Pairing: Eddie Munson x reader, dad!eddie

Words: 800

Warnings: fluff, angst (probably? maybe? more reflective than anything), children, babies, crying babies, mentions of deceased mom, mentions of parental neglect, kinda sad but with a good feel to it like a bit bittersweet, just really sweet okay, eddie’s a girldad 100% argue with the wall, not beta read

AN: Never want kids in my life. But occasionally I’ll indulge in the fictional sense of seeing men that I adore just being real good dads. Something something past trauma. Listen it’s like 7am and I haven’t slept and I don’t really have an excuse so here it is. Might do some other bits and pieces about Eddie, Rosie and mom!reader. Okay enjoy (chapter 2 is now up! You can find it here)

Eddie loved his daughter more than anything. He would die for her without question, would kill for her. Ever since he first held her in the hospital, those little brown eyes staring back up at him, she had him wrapped around her little finger.

He still loved her even when she was having a miserable time with colic. He’d promised to do nights, considering he worked late shifts at the music shop and had the ability to sleep in, whereas you took the mornings in the diner. You’d managed to settle her in for the evening, the house finally knowing peace as you went about your routines and got a couple of hours sleep. But his eyes snapped open when he heard the cries over the baby monitor, groaning with exertion as he sat up and swung his legs over the side of the bed. “I got it,” he mumbled, voice thick with sleep as he ran a hand over his face and got his legs working.

He shuffled into your daughter’s bedroom, softly cooing as he carefully picked her up and rested her head on his shoulder as he cradled her in his arms. “Oh my poor baby, still feeling rough, huh Rosie?” he whispered, gently shushing her as rubbed her back. Bouncing her softly, he pressed soft kisses to the top of her head as he paced around the nursery, hating that his little girl was crying and there wasn’t any real way to fix it.

“I know baby girl, I know,” he murmured. He began singing under his breath, knowing that usually did the trick. It was always the same that he decided on; your song. The one that played when you first started dating him, you grinning from ear to ear in the passenger seat of his van as you shamelessly belted out the lyrics. The one that he bought on cassette, playing it so often in his van when he drove around town that it become something of a habit as soon as he got in the driver’s seat. The song that he’d put on a mix tape for you, and would often be playing in his bedroom. The song that never failed to make him smile, because it brought back so many good memories.

And now it was the song that he would sing to his baby girl. Holding her in his arms and thanking the heavens that she was his. It took an encore of a Metallica song to finally get her to settle, her cries turning into soft hiccups that finally subsided. Not wanting to push his luck too far, he decided on settling down on the rocking chair in the corner of the room until he was sure she was fast asleep. Taking the time to gently press his lips to the top of her head, smoothing her soft brown curls after each one and taking in the strange solace that the early hours of morning time gave to tell her just how much he loved her.

“My little Rosie Posie,” he whispered, barely audible as he listened to her soft, even breathing. “Daddy loves you so much. I’m always going to be here. Never gonna leave you.”

Eddie didn’t have much of a childhood. His mother tried her best, but she was gone before her time. Sometimes he wondered if she was looking down on him, proud of the man he’d become. Proud that he didn’t turn out like his father; a man that liked his drink too much and was stuck in the revolving door of the judicial system. He’d made a promise to himself a long time ago. If he ever became a father, he would be nothing like his old man. And looking down at his own flesh and blood, he wondered how he did it. How he neglected his child so often thanks to his selfishness that his brother had to take up the mantle of ‘Dad’. He couldn’t even think about doing that to his daughter. Have her grow up like that, always looking for someone to love her and care for her, the rug being pulled from underneath her when she needed stability.

Rosie would never feel like that, not as long as he was around. He’d go to every parent’s evening, every soccer game or band practice, every school play. He would be front and centre, cheering her on and making the most noise so she knew how much he cared.

Rose. It was his mother’s name. And now, it was hers. And when he eventually stood up and carefully put her back into her crib, he took a second to look down at her tiny features and send a prayer to her namesake.

I love you, Mom. Wish you could meet her.

#cw: children #cw:parenthood #cw: bereavement #eddie munson fluff #dad!eddie #dad!eddie munson #dad!eddie munson x reader #dad!eddie munson x you #father!eddie munson

[what-yadoking-likes]

Tw: death. CW: grief/bereavement.

My Grandad, who was more like a Dad to me, passed away Sunday evening.

He had Alzheimer's & Vascular Dementia & had deteriorated significantly in recent weeks, never truly recovering from a prolonged hospital stay for chronic infections that no antibiotics seemed able to clear.

He loved animals. He tamed a Jackdaw as a young man, had it follow him and bring him things. His beloved dog Rex, who he knew as a puppy, was loyal and obedient and loved him dearly. He loved walking. He loved his family. He was proud to work for the company he worked for.

He was illiterate. He left school at age 12. He always encouraged my sister & I in our schooling, even when there were parts of it he didn't understand (like why I had to do another year at university for a PGCE when I had already been at uni for 3 years). He hid it well.

He was funny. He joked with us all the time. Telling us how he hated technology like mobile phones so he would use a drum in the back garden as a means of communicating with us. He told waiters his wife/my Nana had whiskey on her cornflakes instead of milk.

He told me not to get in trouble when he learned I was cohabiting with my partner.

When I told my family we were moving to Hong Kong, he said virtually nothing, but took my partner aside as we were leaving & told him he'd better take care of me.

When he was recently asked what his hobbies were, he told the social worker, "Watching my family grow up".

He chased my sister's bullies across a field and threatened them.

His father was a Tyrant.

He did National Service.

He gave his mother every penny he earned. When she died, she told him she had spent none of it, that it was his money, and that he was not to tell his father about it.

He was the youngest of about 9 children.

I miss him dearly.

Whilst I had every intention of finishing The Cell soon... ain't gonna happen. Maybe in a week's time I will write, maybe tomorrow I will write. But I cannot make any realistic estimate for when this story will end. In fairness - with the release of Payday 3 & inevitable influx of new fans - people will have more content than ever to consume &, well. It's not a big deal. There will be very talented people joining the fandom, I am sure.

I may generally be less active here because. Y'know. Grief.

#not a Payday post #TW: death #CW: grief #CW: bereavement

[cutthroatkindness]

I have already lost my mother, father, last grandparent, my cousin, and countless beloved pets all before I even reach 27 and with that, sometimes I find myself wondering why we as humans even bother loving that of which will eventually die and be gone.

But the simple and hard truth is that it IS still better to have loved and lost than to have never loved at all. Because yes, the pain never really lessens but neither does the love. The love never fades either, in fact, you might even find it only ever grows.

#personal #mental health #mental health journey #healing #mental health reminders #gentle reminders #self love #self care #selfcare #griefrecovery #tw grieving #tw grief #grieving #grief #cw grief #cw grieving #moving on #letting go #bereavement #love #grief recovery #trauma recovery #cw trauma #tw trauma #recovery

[that-gay-jedi]

I've just learned that another friend has died, this time not of suicide, but still very suddenly and young. It's hard to even believe she's gone.

She'd spent the last several years changing the way physically disabled adults with 24-hour care needs are provided for in this backwards-ass province, pushing for alternatives to warehousing and carving the path herself wherever the government stalled. She was just beginning to get a chance to enjoy the fruits of her own work, and had just launched her 3rd published book a matter of mere weeks ago.

I worked as one of her personal attendants for about 5 years, back when my legs had much more weight-bearing capacity than now, and kept in touch due to our shared love of literature and passion for social justice. My best friend, whom I recommended as my replacement when I left, worked for her from then until her now. I met and adopted my cat when she tried her hand at fostering for the local SPCA.

She died absolutely surrounded by loved ones- my bestie tells me the nurse at the hospital said it was the most people he had ever seen in a room. Her impact both locally and elsewhere was massive and the emptiness of her seat at the metaphorical table where maps to the future are drawn will be felt for decades to come.

#cw death #cw bereavement #one of her four (FOUR) degrees was in creative nonfiction and she'd edit this post the shreds if she saw ot #her philosophy on first drafts was to aim to reduce it to 1/4th its original length during editing

[felassan]

Sadly, Geraldine Blecker, the voice actor of Shale, has passed away.

#dragon age #bioware #bereavement cw #rest in peace #video games

[hussyknee]

Opened up a folder of pictures of the puppies I fostered and adopted out three years ago. It was like the hooks immediately clamped down into my heart. I only had them for three months and it nearly killed me to look after them, but giving them away was absolutely brutal. My ex couldn't bear to see them go and I had to hand over his favourite by myself.

I check in with their owners periodically to see whether everything is ok and they send me pics sometimes. But dear Lord how is this love and grief feel so fresh still?

I also have the pics of my mother's little cat that disappeared three months after I came to live with her. I can't bear to even open that folder but I can't make myself delete it either.

And then there was losing my own darling boy, the first furry child I ever had in my life, given to me by my beloved mother-in-law when she grew too infirm to care for him. He left me the day after he turned 14, to rejoin his first Mama who left the world just five months before he did. I have never felt such pain since my father died.

Am I going to ache over every animal I have ever loved and lost until I die? Rudyard Kipling was so, so right. What kind of insanity is this, to give our living hearts away to creatures who won't be able to accompany us for even one-fifth of our lives?

#cw death #cw animal death #bereavement #doggos #kitties #knee of huss

[tamayokny]

i just sent my bereavement request to my instructors. (feels so weird because it’s spring break right now.) thank god that one of my peers drafted something for me yesterday, because i felt so lost when i opened outlook. like...yeah i accept that grandpa is gone but also what the fuck. how is this real? how is this my life right now?

i also feel bad for kind of implying to extend deadlines for the next 1-3 weeks but the thing is...i don’t know when the funeral is! i’m not even taking bereavement leave at work until i get that date confirmed. we’re not being told anything (and she’s making it all about her anyway), and we’ll only find out from my grandpa’s younger brother. this is all fucked up. i just want to lay down, go to sleep, and never wake up.

grandpa didn’t deserve how his life ended, and he doesn’t deserve how his memorial is being handled, either.

#mads makes a text post #death ment cw #nothing in detail but. bereavement

[bpdcodone]

It’s been 7 years without you

7 years without your smile

7 years without your laugh

7 years without seeing your face

7 years without you

#cluster b #bpd life #system #tw trauma #traumaversary #tw suicide bereavement #dealing with grief #grief #tw grief #grief/mourning #grief poetry #grief journey #cw grief #bpdcodone approved

[texas-bbq-pringles]

.

#cw vent #cw family death #cw medical trauma #i'm in bereavement counselling for my nana rn and we were talking about different types of grief and it's just got me so confused #like i'm already struggling with the painful memories and knowing how bad things got for my nana but i was a little more prepared for that #and now i'm having to confront the fact that i've spent ages mourning the health i never had and it doesn't feel like a tangible loss bc #there was no before with my illness- i'll always have this condition and even of for the most part i get to live a normal life it's always #gonna be slightly abnormal and idk how to put that into words bc it doesn't feel like i can say i lost it when i never had it??? #idk i'm just a little confused rn and mental health care for chd patients (and parents) needs to be so much better #it's practically nonexistent rn i had a therapist learn i've nearly died but he ignored it bc i was so young at the time like????? #and i didn't even know loss of health counted as bereavement like nobody talks about bereavement and it needs to be so much more normalised

[latenightsimping]

And if I only could, I'd make a deal with God

Summary: The afterlife means many different things, for many different people. Religions, faiths and beliefs all wonder what happens when you pass on. For Eddie, it’s finally going home.

Pairing: Eddie Munson

Word count: 2,080

Warnings: V ANGSTY NEAR CRIED WHEN I WROTE THIS YOU’VE BEEN WARNED, angst to fluff, heavy themes of death, heavy themes of pain and sadness, has a bittersweet ending to it, mentions of bad fathers, themes of bullying, themes of depression, themes of bereavement. just a real bad time all ‘round but it’s good at the same time? idk read at your own risk okay

AN: Had a breakdown, started working on it, bon appetite. I’m fully on the camp of ‘Eddie’s still alive and the Duffer Brothers are being very fucking mean arseholes by making us wait for two years’ but I like to think what Eddie’s version of Heaven is. And I think it would be this. Because for me, it would be seeing my Dad again. Aight I’m gonna start crying again. Anyway, enjoy. Love y’all, make sure to give yourselves aftercare if you need it. Also, before I leave, the inspo for this bit of writing is Placebo’s ‘cover of Running Up that Hill because it makes me sob. 

Eddie always figured that dying would hurt. And he was right.

He could remember sharp teeth tearing into flesh, the sickening sounds of ripping and chewing barely audible over the sound of his screams. It was as if he had been dipped in hellfire; bathed in the flames and forced to stay conscious for it all.

He remembered the tenderness that fuelled Dustin’s careful movements as he was pulled into the young boy’s lap. Looking up and thinking Thank God. Thank God I’m not going to die alone. The small part of him that was still aflame felt guilt. Here he was, after seeing so many horrors, now having to watch someone die in his arms. Dustin was too young for all this. A child in a veteran’s uniform, battle scars where medals should have adorned him. He wanted to say so much to him. Tell him he was proud, and that he was so sorry for bowing out so soon, and there wouldn’t be an encore. But all he could manage to force from his lungs, choking on his own blood, were the most important things that he could think of through the haze.

“I didn't run away this time, right?”

I’m sorry that it had to end this way. But I would do it again, if it meant you were safe. Please, just tell me I did the right thing this time. Tell me that I didn’t die in vain. That Chrissy didn’t die in vain. Please tell me that I did the right thing for once in my life, please.

“You're gonna have to look after those little sheep for me, okay?”

From the moment I first saw you in that Weird Al shirt, I knew I had to protect you from the worst this world had to offer. You were so scared, and I knew that feeling well. I didn’t want you bringing home bloody noses and crying yourself to sleep from the cruel words running through your mind on a loop, just like I did. But you’re going to have to do the same for others, okay? I know you can do it, Dustin. You’re so strong, and so kind. I just hope I helped you, that I did a good job protecting you.

“I think it’s my year, Henderson. I think it’s finally my year.”

For once in my life, I’m not a burnout that sells pot to make ends meet and can’t graduate. I saved people. I’m nothing like my old man, who would have turned tail the second shit went sideways. I did the right thing, for once in my fucking life. I can rest, knowing that. It’ll be okay.

“I love you, man.”

I love you. Thank you for staying with me, so I wasn’t alone in the last moments. That’s all anyone asks for, right? To not leave this world without someone watching over them? Soon, the pain’s gonna stop. After all, to die would be an awfully big adventure, wouldn’t it? I love you, man.

I love you.

The last words on his lips stained with cruor was a declaration of the warmth, care and adoration for one of his best friends. Before he was pulled into the blackness, a numbness, nothingness, seeping into his very soul that couldn’t be explained with the human language. Something that could only be experienced during the last moments of someone’s life. The smoke that rises from the candle of the soul when it’s snuffed out. The black sands of time, the last few grains meeting the bottom of the hourglass. His last words weren’t a complaint, or a curse, or a cry of anguish.

It was love.

It was love, as pure as the bright light that surrounded him, bathing him in a peaceful warmth. It was as if he had blinked, but more instant than that. It was as if he was always in this room. It took him a few seconds to recognise it.

He recognised the pale yellow walls first. He remembered his Mother singing along to Here Comes the Sun as she painted them, covering up the disgusting beige that was underneath it. Dressed in old overalls spattered with paint and a rag as a bandanna to keep her wild brown curls out of her face. Could remember being six years old, watching with curiosity from the covered up couch, and thinking she was the prettiest woman this side of the Wabash river. The way that she looked back and smiled at him, the corners of her eyes crinkling and her giggle sounding like silver bells.

She had dome everything to make this place a home, no matter how little money they had. She’d scrimped and saved for paint, and had traipsed around countless yard sales and flea markets for good furniture. Sure, the couch was a little lumpy, and the coffee table had a deep gouge running down the middle. But that didn’t matter when the home was filled with such earnest warmth and comfort. His old man had left by this time; had walked out in the middle of the night and never came home. And at so young an age, he knew he was truly relieved to see the back of him. Just him and his Mom, in this run down home that still had cracks, but was more than enough.

So what was he doing back here?

Looking down at himself, he could see he was wearing his favourite shirt, one that he had lost long ago. The faded Anthrax shirt that Wayne had bought him for Christmas, now without the tears of being flung around the Hawkins High parking lot during a brawl. Now, it was as pristine and soft as he had remembered. His most comfortable ripped jeans and sneakers, and his prized possessions of the leather jacket and battle vest fitting like a second skin. No blood, no bite wounds, no pain. He felt the best that he had ever felt. He even smelt of his favourite cologne.

The sounds of humming made his head snap towards the source; the kitchen. He knew the humming well. The melodies that had stopped the day she died, and no song had never sounded the same since. He thought he would feel fear, or confusion. But all he could feel was content. Like this was the place he was meant to be all this time, and the living world was only temporary. The confidence of that knowledge fuelled him to take the steps towards the archway, rounding the corner to be met with the figure he wanted to see so badly.

Wayne had always said that Eddie took after his Mom. And that was true. Who could deny the matching halo of curls, and the deep umber eyes? He had his father’s nose, but that was it. Everything else was purely her. And here she was. Harmonising her favourite song as she chopped up vegetables, the pale pink apron that he’d clung to so often as a child still tied around her waist. He took in her profile; the slight upturned nose and slightly parted glossy lips. His heart fluttered like a trapped bird in his ribcage, lips breaking into a grin.

“Mama?”

She turned her head to him, a slight look of confusion on her face for only a second before it became one of joy. The same little crinkle around her eyes that he remembered so vividly as she put down the knife and opened her arms, an offering for an embrace. “Hey baby,” she whispered, voice so soft and gentle that he could cry.

It was near automatic, closing the gap between them and throwing his arms around her. He was taller than her now, no longer having to wrap his arms around her thighs. Now, he practically towered over her, and he could bury his face into the crown of her head. She still smelled the same. Like lavender and roses, a scent that had long faded from his lungs now filling them. He held her so tightly that he was surprised he didn’t crush her, but he couldn’t stop. What if she was going to go again, leave him all on his own like she did ass those years ago? But if she had any complaints, she wasn’t voicing them. Tears welled in his eyes, and he squeezed them shut to stop them from falling. “Mama, I… I missed you so much.”

“I missed you too sweetheart,” she mumbled into his chest, slightly pulling away to look up at him. Her eyes flickered over all his features, a grin spreading across her face as her hands came up to cup his jaw. He leaned into it, savouring the warmth of her palms. “God, I- look at you,” she chuckled, the pad of her thumb coming up to carefully caress the skin just under his eye. “You’ve got so big, huh? Still the same handsome face, though.”

He couldn’t stop the chuckle that bubbled from his chest, too scared to even blink in case she was going to vanish. “It’s been twelve years, Mom. And I missed you. Every single day.”

“I missed you too baby,” she whispered. “But… You’re here so much earlier than I thought. What happened?”

He shook his head, taking a few deep breaths to steady himself. She was still there. This was all real, and she wasn’t a figment of his imagination. He thought reality was the last life, but this… All his senses seemed to work so much better. He could smell the comforting scent of his Mother, could smell his favourite meal – one that he hadn’t had in thirteen years – being cooked on the stove that only she could work just right. He could feel her soft hands on his face, the sensation grounding him. Could see her beautiful features that mirrored his own, looking up at him like he hung the moon. That past life all felt like a horrible nightmare, one that he was just waking up from. One that he didn’t want to tell her about just yet.

He shook his head slowly, a shy smile flitting across his lips as he rubbed his fingers over the small of her back, enjoying the feeling of her soft cotton dress against his skin. “I’ll tell you later.” Later, he figured, could mean any time in the future. And he had the feeling that he would be here for a joyful eternity. “Is this Heaven?”

“I think so,” she nodded, her hand coming up to brush errant hairs away from his face. “And my Heaven just got better, now you’re here with me.”

His chest tightened, and he couldn’t stop the heaving sob as he hugged her again, holding her so close as if he was trying to pull her into himself. Burying his face into her neck, inhaling her perfume as if he would never smell it again for the second time around. It wasn’t sadness, though, that fuelled his cries. It was happiness. Pure, unfiltered joy, that he finally had what he always wanted. What he wished for every single night, especially when the day had been hard.

He had his Mama back.

“Ssh, none of that,” she cooed, a gentle chide as she rubbed his back soothingly. “I’m here, baby. I’m here for you, okay? I’m not going anywhere. I promise.”

“Pinky swear?” he mumbled, causing the woman to softly laugh. To the two of them, a pinky swear had been stronger than any laws. It meant that the one promising would move mountains, just to make it happen. He hadn’t made a pinky swear for so long. Not ever since it didn’t feel the same, when her delicate little finger encircled his.

“Pinky swear,” she echoed, pressing a kiss to his temple.

If this was Heaven, this was the perfect final act. He had the only person that he truly wanted more than anything in this world, back in the home where he knew love without a price tag. No more bruises and broken bones, or cruel words with such abundance that he could drown in them. No more knowing cold, or hunger, or hardship. No more loss and anguish, no more mourning.

He knew it, deep in his gut. Now he was here, all that negativity would be washed away. It was all worth it, to finally be here.

It was finally worth it to be home.

#cw: death #cw: angst #cw: bereavement #cw: injury #eddie munson fanfiction #eddie munson #eddie munson drabble #eddie munson fic #stranger things #stranger things fanfiction #stranger things imagine

[what-yadoking-likes]

Yado's goal for 2023: finish writing The Cell.

Yado now:

In my defense, my Gran/Dad died.

But anyway THIS YEAR--

#is this a shitpost? who knows #definitely a shitpost #CW: death #CW: bereavement #CW: gallows humour #I guess?? #The Cell #writing about writing

[morgue-xiiv]

Good news: Ruby has recovered a lot from the death of her mother. She's now almost normal.

She also now knows her name is Ruby.

We'd always suspected that she didn't, but when Mallory died we found out for sure: to Ruby the word "Ruby" didn't mean anything, and the word "Malloy" meant "both dogs". Mallory knew Mallory meant her before Ruby existed, but Ruby had never experienced lack-of-mallory. There was no way to call just Ruby, if you wanted Mallory you called Mallory and you got both. Usually you just called "Mal! Ruby!" and she responded to Mal/mals/mally/mallory and believed Ruby to hold no meaning. It must have been odd for her... to her she lost her mother AND her name. Now we call her Ruby and she probably doesn't understand that we always did.

#dog #dog bereavement #dog death #cw: dog death

[blueskiesinmontana]

It’s so fucking STUPID that no matter how much time has passed, the pain of grief can randomly feel so fresh. And everyone around you acts like it’s just another day but actually it’s basically a day with the same amount of pain as the day you took bereavement leave or the day everyone left a million casseroles in your fridge. No difference in the agony, but all the difference in the support you get. Like WHAT is the evolutionary advantage of this being so painful

#god Mother’s Day is hard?? #bereavement #death cw

[dottedsilktie]

Aftermath

Nanami leaves behind a bereaved reader who has yet to fully accept the aftermath of his death.

CW : +18, smut, unprotected sex, unprocessed grief, angst no comfort

You look over to your phone buzzing on your nightstand. You don’t have to read the name that lights up your screen to know who’s calling. After the first buzz, you already know how everything is going to play out, for you have revisited this scene countless times in your mind before but it doesn’t dull the pain that blooms in your chest and bleeds into your whole body. You stay still, trying to breathe in large gulps of air and take a moment to collect your thoughts.

Just like you’ve practised before, you look around your bedroom and try to anchor yourself in the familiar scent of the bedsheets, bergamot and chamomile, then your eyes follow the embroidery of purple and blue flowers on your comforter until they settle on the mahogany chair sitting at the foot of the bed. Your gaze lingers on the chair, its bow back concealed by a cream-coloured suit, a wrinkled pale blue shirt and a yellow silk dotted tie : they’ve been sitting here for days on end, waiting for their rightful owner. You’d hoped they’d bring you comfort in a time like this, instead you find yourself wordlessly crying as you finally let the crushing weight of grief wash over you.

Ever since he left, you knew he wouldn’t come back. That’s just how life is, this world is cruel and it has given you everything you wanted just to snatch it out of your grasp again. The world is cruel, and he’d told you before that, despite his best efforts, he wouldn’t be able to stay, that he will be taken away from you. His warnings were in vain, it just took a few kisses, whispered confessions of lust and love and delusional promises of fleeing all of this together for him to sigh into your mouth and give in to you.

You didn’t want to believe him when he said you were both living on borrowed time, because with him it felt as though love was endless, he made you feel like time itself was altered, inconsequential when you lied bare in his embrace and sighed contently against his heated kisses.

You look down at the watch you held tightly in your hands, unable to focus on the time. Instead, you try to take in the elegant lines of the dial and the thin creases running through the dark blue leather bracelet and you busy yourself with reversing the case - hiding the dial and revealing it again, smiling through your tears.

It brings you back to simpler times, leisurely mornings spent in your shared bedroom. You’d be moaning shamelessly under the broad expanse of his chest, only getting louder when he’d become restless above you and sneak a veiny hand to your throat. You’re reminded of the way he’d rut into you with abandon, uncaring for the noise or his neighbours or the way both of your phones were ringing incessantly even on your days off. He’d smile smugly above you when you’d climax with a scream of his name and pleas dying on your tongue, but he wouldn’t last much longer - collapsing over you and panting in your mouth, burying himself deeply into you and letting his release flood your tired cunt. Even then you didn’t inch away from him, just manoeuvring your tired limbs to tangle yourself against him and brush the light blonde hair out of his face, revealing golden brown eyes still filled with wanton lust and a hint of something else unspoken and lingering in the air you both breathed in to steady your erratic heartbeats. That’s when he’d reach behind you to grab the same watch you were now holding, checking the time to see that it was already midday and jokingly chastising you for keeping him in bed too long. 

You remember those days so vividly and the lump in your throat makes it harder to breath when you think back on how the dark room you’re withering away in right now used to be drowning in golden sunlight, its walls reverberating with the sound of your laughs dying in your throat, turning into wanton moans and whimpers whenever Kento got his hands on you. He had become insatiable right before he left, always finding an excuse to get on you, under you, then inside you. There was a sense of urgency and desperation in everything he had done at the time. His amber gaze, usually warm, became uncharacteristically vacant. Maybe he already knew how Shibuya would end. You’d like to think he didn’t though, just to keep the illusion of his last days with you being happy, untainted.

Your phone rings again, jolting you from your daydream. You’re greeted with a concerning number of missed calls and messages sent in a frenzy from Ijichi – the first ones seem almost hopeful, but they quickly spiral into mournful and apologetic gibberish. Then you find a single text from Shoko, sitting at the very top.

There’s no mistaking the foreboding and defeated undertone of her message. A simple “Sorry, there is nothing I could do” that robs you of any remnants of hope.

You chance another gaze at your room, still so full of him, specks of Kento lingering in every corner like he might come back any minute - his suit is still like he left it, smelling of cold tobacco and vetiver and something heady but elusive, the familiar smell already starting to fade into nothing. You wish you could somehow bottle it up, keep a version of him that lives beyond the grave. The Reverso's cruel ticking reminds you what you already know, though. The sound of its impassive and ineluctable forward march seems amplified tenfold, drowning out your muffled cries.

When you look up another time, the room already looks bereft and it seems to quietly tell you that he's truly left this time.

Repost

For the sake of the drabble I HC him as wearing a JLC but deep in my heart he's a Vacheron Constantin guy

#jjk drabbles #nanami kento #nanami x reader #nanami x you #nanami smut #nanami angst #jujutsu nanami #jjk nanami #nanami x yn #nanami x y/n #jjk angst #jjk smut #jujutsu kaisen smut #jjk x reader

[angie-words]

Under Milk Wood - starring Michael Sheen (2021)

It occurred to me that some of you may not be aware that Michael Sheen was part of a National Theatre run of Under Milk Wood. They filmed a performance and you can rent it from the National Theatre to watch online.

Michael Sheen played First Voice and the play had a narrative context added to it: a man with alcohol issues goes to visit his estranged father in a care home. His father doesn't recognise him because of dementia or Alzheimer's, so the son tells him a tale to prompt his memory.

It's truly beautiful and an incredible watch. Here's a clip to give you a sense of it:

CWs: alcoholism, bereavement, care homes, shaming of a woman for sexual activities, Alzheimer's/dementia, dysfunctional families. Afraid that's probably not an exhaustive list as it's been a while since I watched it

#michael sheen #under milk wood #national theatre #theatre online #Youtube