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murdockparker · 1 month

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Roses and Regrets - Part 1

Anthony Bridgerton x Reader

Summary: Freshly out of mourning, Lady Barlow, née (Y/L/N), makes her re-debut in society. If only she could simply ignore a certain viscount...

Word Count: 2.7k

Warnings: none. enemies to lovers!!

A/N: I didn't expect this lil requested fic to turn into such an event, let alone a multi-part story! so, you're welcome or I'm sorry?

next part

She was perfectly happy.

Well, supposedly right now she wasn’t.

Her husband, Lord Barlow, had passed away ten months ago, leaving her with an empty estate, a shiny title and more money than she knew what to do with. Lord Barlow was an old viscount, desperate for an heir and willing to do anything to get one.

In came Miss (Y/N) (Y/L/N).

Young, beautiful and well-bred, she was the perfect choice for any man of the ton. If only her father hadn’t a penchant for gambling. Perhaps she’d be married to a man more suited for her rather than the oaf of a dustbin she was forced to be with. She was no fool in believing in a love match for herself, rare and far between as they were, no, but she did have half a mind to imagine a kinder man as her husband. A man who perhaps cared even a little bit for her wellbeing.

No matter.

A dead man cannot care for her wellbeing either.

“Lady Barlow,” a maid knocked, entering the ornate drawing room.

“Yes?” (Y/N) did not look up from her reading—the newest edition of Whistledown had just been delivered. While she herself was never one to gossip terribly, it was quite fun to keep up with the circus of the season.

“Do you plan on attending the Danbury ball this eve?”

“I do not see the point,” she scoffed playfully, “after all, Meg, I am but a widow in mourning.”

“Perhaps her ladyship should reconsider?” Meg asked gently, placing a new pot of tea next to her lady. “I rather think it has been a socially acceptable amount of time since your husband’s passing.”

“If I am not to enjoy the perks of being a widow,” (Y/N) sighed, finally looking up at her favorite lady’s maid, “whatever is the point?”

“Perks that Viscount Barlow has graciously allowed you to use during your time of mourning—”

“The current viscount is all but twelve,” (Y/N) reminded. “He has no use for this estate in Mayfair until he himself becomes an adult, in which, I am sure he and his mother will come to make use of it. I believe if my maths are correct, that leaves me all of six years or so to use this home.”

“Forgive me my lady, but should you not be looking for a new husband, then?”

(Y/N) smiled at Meg. She enjoyed their friendship, her maid being only a handful of years older than herself, it made for a likely pair. “No one wishes to marry a widow,” she said simply, “widows are damaged goods. Every sensible man of the ton will be wanting a pretty little virgin instead.”

“My lady!”

“What?” She barked a laugh. “You know it to be true.”

“Regardless,” Meg said, clearing her throat. “Lord Barlow passed nearly a year ago, the period of mourning is rightfully over. You are expected to rejoin society.”

“Dreadful.”

“It is expected,” Meg repeated.

“It does not make it any less dreadful,” (Y/N) said. “Very well. Pull a dress and prepare a bath, it seems the ton gets to see my dreary face once again.”

—

Anthony Bridgerton was a man scorned.

Particularly by his own mother in this very instance. How foolish he had been to share his intentions of marriage this season with her—for now she spread the news like a wildfire. Every desperate mama and her equally desperate daughter came flocking to him like bees to honey.

It was only now, in the dark corner of the ballroom, that he found a respite.

“Looking a bit green, Lord Bridgerton,” a voice beside him called out.

“I am not—” Anthony had huffed a reply before even knowing whom he was speaking to. “Lady Barlow.”

“I am shocked you can recall my name,” (Y/N) laughed over her champagne flute. “Considering how many new ones you’ve had thrown at you this eve.”

“You are out of mourning.”

“Is that a question?”

“It was an observation,” Anthony corrected.

“What gave it away? My bright dress? No tear stains left on my cheeks?”

“You are here, out and about,” Anthony said. “And, forgive me for not playing along with your delusions, but I do not think you cried much at all for Lord Barlow’s passing.”

“How dare you assume such a thing,” (Y/N) faux gasped. She had intended on pressing a hand to her chest. Intended, anyway. Somehow she forgot all about the champagne currently residing it her grasp. “Damn… this was a new dress too.”

“Good God,” he laughed. “First you are spilling all over yourself like a child and now you are cursing—tell me, do all married ladies act like you?”

“I am a widow,” (Y/N) had found a cloth and begun dabbing up the spill. It had only dribbled at most, but still, it was a new dress. “I rather think I can act the way I please.”

“Like a drunkard?”

“Like a free woman,” she said, fighting every childish urge to stick her tongue out at the viscount. “I am only here to show my face, prove I am still alive and I shall go about my merry way.”

“Lady Danbury is a widow,” Anthony noted. “Yet she still mingles with society.”

“I am not Lady Danbury.”

“You are not.”

“Do you not have young misses to go and woo?” (Y/N)’s eyes hardened. “Take your pick from the litter, Lord Bridgerton, any of them would be pleased to spend such valuable time with you.”

“Are you insinuating you are not?”

“I rather thought it was a statement, yes,” (Y/N) said.

Anthony’s eyes went only a fraction wider, nostrils flaring. “Well, if that is what you wish—”

“It is not a mean of wishing,” she laughed, “but really a necessity.”

“Good evening, Lady Barlow,” Anthony sneered, smoke practically coming out of his ears. If (Y/N) had half a mind she’d call for the authorities to put that fire out, instead, she simply finished her drink and smiled wistfully at the dancing ballroom, feeling fulfilled.

—

Dearest Gentle Reader,

The season is in full swing thanks to the mark of Lady Agatha Danbury’s ball, a notable and traditional first event of the London scene. Eligible young ladies now on the Marriage Mart were enjoying their first taste at what fine society has to offer, however taxing or daunting it may be.

Our resident Capital ‘R’ Rake, Viscount Anthony Bridgerton is finally deciding on a wife, surely making him the finest catch of the season. Matchmaking mamas and their young ladies alike were seen flocking to him like petulant children asking their parents for pin money, thanks to his own mother, Lady Bridgerton’s declaration of such an idea last night. The viscount seemingly had enough of the attention, taking like a wallflower and hiding away in the back of the ballroom near the end of the evening.

His company? None other than Lady Barlow, evidently out of mourning as of last night. While the this Author is under good authority that the match between Lady Barlow and the late Lord Barlow was not a love match, given their fourty or fifty year age difference, it has taken the new dowager viscountess longer than most anticipated for her to get back into the season. A woman as young as Lady Barlow would be eager to find another husband to support her, but something tells me that she is quite enjoying her time as a widow and will not easily give that up.

While this Author has very little idea of the actual nature of the relationship between Lord Bridgerton and Lady Barlow, it is only to be assumed that it is simply not a favorable one. The two were seen making a scene by the refreshment table, a scene that went unnoticed by many prying eyes of the ton, leaving Lord Bridgerton storming away and Lady Barlow with the winning hand.

Good show, Lady Barlow.

Lady Whistledown Society Papers

—

“Brother! You are in Whistledown!” Eloise sang to no one in particular.

“I have no care that I am in that gossip rag,” Anthony ground out, rustling his newspaper. “I can only imagine it is just another advertisement of my search for a wife this season.”

“Er, yes, however—”

“However?” Anthony’s attention immediately shot up to his sister, newspaper be damned.

“Who is Lady Barlow?” Eloise asked.

“No one of importance,” Anthony could feel his temperature rising.

“Lady Barlow?” Benedict laughed. “Is that who you were talking to last night dear Brother? Is she not still in mourning?”

“No.”

“No it is not who you were talking to, or no she is not still in mourning?” Benedict gave his brother an amusing glance.

“Oh, according to Whistledown—”

“Sister—”

“Eloise, you may not recall Lady Barlow, given you only just came out this season,” Benedict began, deciding that this conversation was very much worth his time this morning. “But she used to go by Miss (Y/L/N) before her marriage to the late viscount.”

“(Y/L/N)…” Eloise looked to the ceiling, finding nothing in particular. “Oh! Is she not the woman who—”

“I am taking my leave,” Anthony said abruptly, newspaper all but forgotten.

“Escaping, Brother?” Benedict asked.

“I have calls to make,” Anthony sneered, ignoring the pleased face his brother was making. “Excuse me.”

“It seems Lady Barlow is a touchy subject,” Eloise noted as her eldest brother left the drawing room. Benedict snorted. “What?”

“You do not even know the half of it, dear Sister.”

Anthony Bridgerton, did not in fact, have any calls to make. He had no impressionable interactions last night to warrant such a visit to anyone—the Queen was still in need of naming her diamond, after all—but he had no desire to stay and be berated by his family this morning. He truly had no plan, no thought in his head on where he was going, he just simply was.

Apparently he was going to the park.

It was still early in the day, few people graced the park at such an hour. The few who did, however, were too busy reading the latest Whistledown to even notice him. Anthony saw a handful of post boys running opposite of his direction on his way here, it was only natural they scoped out this location. He knew it was going to be a problem the minute they finished reading—if Lady Whistledown truly wrote about him, which he had no reason to believe his sister was lying about, all eyes would be on him.

“Might as well enjoy the peace and quiet for now,” Anthony exhaled. He took a quick glance at his watch—half past eight. Hardly could he recall a time he took a turn about the park on his own, usually he was in the company of his family or holed away in his study worrying about expenses and the like, never did he take a moment to actually enjoy the grand weather such as the kind today. Determined to enjoy it, he sat down on a favorable bench and watched the birds swim across the pond.

“Unbelievable.”

He turned his head, only to find Lady Barlow dressed in a rather pleasantly pink dress and matching hat, a look of distaste on her face.

“I didn’t take you as the park-going type, Lord Bridgerton,” she nodded, folding her hands. She had been carrying a small red book in one of them. “Especially at such an early hour, too.”

“Lady Barlow,” he nearly sneered. “Can a man not enjoy the park?”

“Oh surely a man can,” (Y/N) agreed. “But you? You are no man.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“It seems to me that you’re sitting in my spot,” she ignored his quip, readjusting her stance in annoyance. “This is where I come to read.”

“Can you not read elsewhere?” Anthony asked. “There is an entire park at your disposal.”

“No,” she hummed. “Afraid not.”

“No?” He laughed. “Surely out of the entire park you can find a suitable spot to read your—let me guess—romantically inclined fodder?”

“Poetry,” she corrected, “and no, I cannot simply read elsewhere. The shade is just right under this tree and I rather like overlooking the pond between my chapters.”

“Shame I got here first, then,” Anthony clicked.

“You…!” (Y/N) scoffed, fighting every urge in her body to stomp her foot. “You are an impossible man, surely you know that?”

“I thought you said I was no man?” Anthony’s brow quirked. “Or perhaps I misheard?”

She scowled. “You are not amusing.”

“On the contrary,” Anthony leaned back on the bench, stretching his arms and taking his claim. “I find myself very amusing.”

A duck quacked from the pond, either laughing at the viscount or agreeing with him—it was hard to tell.

“You leave me no choice,” (Y/N) said sternly, taking a seat on the other end of the bench—feeling worlds apart from the man on the far side. In actuality, it couldn’t have been more than two feet, three at most.

“Truly?” Anthony laughed humorlessly. “You cannot be serious.”

“Hush,” (Y/N) said, opening her book in earnest. “I am trying to read.”

While there had been no guns drawn, this was a duel, in every sense of the word. Both parties sitting still as statues, Anthony’s gaze trained on the pond, (Y/N)’s on her book. Occasionally, she’d flip her page to the next, huffing every time Anthony still did not get up and move on.

Stubborn. Both of them.

“Will you be quiet?” Anthony said, growing exasperated. “I cannot think when you are breathing so loud—”

“You wish for me not to breathe?” She shut her book. “I never anticipated you’d wish me dead—”

“Please,” Anthony said. “You know that is not what I mean at all.”

“I never know with you. You, Anthony Bridgerton, are an enigma and I hope I never have the pleasure of truly understanding you,” (Y/N) said, fingers whiting from her grip on her book.

“So you admit it would be pleasurable?”

She wanted to wipe that grin off of his face, how, she was unsure. Idly, she thought about how a good smack to his cheek would feel. Painful in the moment but oh-so wonderful after, cathartic, probably. “I am not getting up.”

“Neither am I.”

“I am willing to die on this bench,” (Y/N) spat.

“Funnily enough,” Anthony’s voice dropped, “so am I.”

“How are you to find your viscountess on this bench?” She asked, angling her body towards the torturous man. “Surely you do not expect her to just walk past?”

“I am sure I can manage,” Anthony said calmly. “Many young ladies will walk this way when they see me sitting here."

“Even with another woman sitting beside you?”

“I rather think they’ll find you easy to ignore, I know I do.”

“Ha! You are truly something else, Lord Bridgerton,” (Y/N) sat straighter. “Insulting a polite woman in public?”

“You are the furthest thing from polite,” Anthony leaned in. “Rude, ostentatious, quite full of herself—”

“Might I offer you a mirror?” The grip on her book tightened, cover bending from the force. “Or are you afraid you’ll see horns?”

“Oh, do they match yours?” He nearly sang.

“Funny,” she clicked, finally setting her book down, lacing her fingers together in her lap. “You should run a comedy act at the circus, seeing as you are a right clown.”

Anthony stood up, whether by the force of his breath or sheer spite he will never know. “You are the most ridiculous woman I have ever met.”

(Y/N) met his height, now standing as well. “And you are the most irritating man I’ve ever had the displeasure of knowing.”

“I am going to walk this way,” Anthony said, forcefully pointing to his right, eyes not leaving hers. She did have the most remarkable eyes.

“And I will walk this way,” she pointed to her left, less force in her action but seething all the same. “Have the day you deserve, Lord Bridgerton.”

“Why you little…!”

She had already turned and stomped away, a fuming smudge of pink against the greenery of the park, growing further away with every step.

“What a wretched woman,” he mumbled, looking down at his watch again—nine on-the-dot. In the corner of his eye, something bright red caught his attention. Her book. She had left it behind.

Perhaps he would burn it.

Perhaps he would just put it in his pocket and carry about his day.

In the pocket it went. For now.

#anthony bridgerton #bridgerton #anthony bridgerton x reader #bridgerton x reader #bridgerton imagines #enemies to lovers #multi-part fic #reader insert #whoops i didn't expect this request to turn into a multiple part thing but here we are #unsure of how many parts but probably no more than 4-5?#idk

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zepskies · 4 months

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Smoke Eater - Part 17

Pairing: Firefighter!Dean Winchester x F. Reader

Summary: Dean Winchester is the cocky, but well-respected Lieutenant at Firehouse 25. He leads by example, but he’s also known to break a few hearts. He’s starting to crave something he’s never had, though. Something stable. Something real.

That’s when he meets you, on a truly terrible day, trapped in a rickety old elevator.

AN: Ready for some feels? ❤️‍🩹

🔥 Series Masterlist

Word Count: 5,500 Tags/Warnings: Angst, injuries, hurt/comfort and feels, tinge of spice.~

Part 17: “The Real Deal”

The first time Dean was awake for longer than a few minutes, he asked about you.

Sam wasn’t surprised. He was frankly relieved that he had an answer for his brother.

“She has carbon monoxide poisoning,” he said. Dean’s brows furrowed, but before he could start worrying too badly, Sam cut in again. “She’s okay. They’ve got her on 100% oxygen. Eileen and Andréa are with her right now.”

Dean nodded on a breath of relief, despite coughing himself. He still wore an oxygen mask, but he knew his exposure hadn’t been as bad as yours.

“CO poisoning’s no joke. Don’t let her take off that damn mask for anything until they clear her,” he said.

Sam raised a placating hand. “Don’t worry. She knows she’s got to stay put this time.”

Dean shook his head. You were so damn stubborn. He still couldn’t believe you’d dragged yourself out of bed within minutes of waking up, just to see him.

…Well, he could believe it, but he didn’t have to like it.

“Okay, do you need anything before Eileen and I run home to get you guys some stuff?” Sam asked.

He’d already drawn up a list for both you and Dean of things you two would need for the next couple of days in the hospital. Dean’s stay would likely be longer than yours.

“Nah, I’m good, man,” Dean replied.

He was still trying to find a comfortable position in bed. His back couldn’t fully touch the mattress, so he had to lie on one side or the other. Truth be told, it sucked. His head swam with the effects of the painkillers and antibiotics they were pumping him with, along with his head injury.

While his body wanted to keep sleeping, Dean wanted to see you. He wanted to make sure you were all right. He wanted to know what happened before the fire, and how you’d found out about Nick being Azazel’s son.

And he wanted to get you both home.

He wasn’t sure if he was going to get to do any of those things, any time soon.

Sam saw his discomfort and frowned in sympathy. He went over to help Dean shift onto his other side. Dean shot him a look of annoyance, but Sam was firm.

“Let me help, or I’m calling Nurse Jeff,” he warned.

Dean's lips pursed. Jeff was nice and all, but Dean could concede this time. At least when it was his brother helping him, he didn’t feel like a complete invalid.

“Andréa’s gonna stay with her?” Dean asked, while Sam helped him ease over and nodded at his question.

“Yeah. Ellen and Jo are on the way too. They’ll keep you company.”

Dean wanted to quip that he didn’t need a babysitter, but he held it in. It would be nice to see Ellen. He remembered seeing his father, briefly, before he fell back asleep. Sam told him John had gone back to the precinct to work out their protective detail, once you and Dean were eventually discharged from the hospital.

Over the last few hours, the rest of his team from Firehouse 25 had come in to see him in small groups, including Benny, Gordon, and Jack, Meg and Chuck, and Bobby himself, with his gruff worrying. Dean knew the Chief felt responsible anytime his firefighters got hurt, but Dean also knew the only one to blame was himself.

Still, he didn’t regret breaking ranks to go and find you. He’d never regret that choice.

Sam’s hand on his shoulder grounded Dean back into reality.

“Okay, I’ll be back,” said Sam.

Dean nodded, with a hint of a smile. “All right, Sasquatch. Get goin’ then.”

Sam’s face betrayed his dry amusement…and a hint of fondness. He squeezed the shoulder he held, and hesitated, almost like he was steadying himself before he left his brother alone.

“Hey,” Dean said. He gave his little brother a true smile, if one edged with tiredness. “I’m okay. I don’t break easy.”

After a moment, Sam nodded. His lips flickered at a smile.

“Yeah, I know,” he replied, clearing his throat. Before they both might’ve succumbed to a dreaded “chick flick moment,” as Dean called them, there was a knock at the door. Ellen’s head soon peeked through into the hospital room. She smiled as soon as her gaze landed on Sam and Dean.

“There’s my boys,” she said. Sam welcomed her in, along with Jo, before he slipped out. The Harvelles brought food, of course, for you and Dean. And Ellen had bought some flowers.

Dean took off his oxygen mask and teased her a little. “Ooh, for me? You shouldn’t have.”

Ellen shook her head at his familiar antics. Jo came up on his other side of his bed and gave him a softer smile than usual. He tried to return it.

“These are for your girl,” said Ellen. “How’s she doin’? Have you been able to see her?”

Dean’s good humor dimmed. “She’s got carbon monoxide poisoning from the fire, but Sam tells me she’s resting. I haven’t been able to get over there yet.”

Ellen frowned, but she nodded and rubbed his arm. “Okay, well you just stay here and rest. I’ll go over and bring these to her, make sure she’s doing all right. Then I’ll come back and give you a full report. How’s that?”

Dean met her gaze with relief and gratefulness in his. “Thanks, Ellen.”

She nodded, giving him a motherly pat on the cheek. Maybe her brown eyes welled up with tears she would refuse to shed. And maybe Dean pretended he didn’t see them, knowing how she’d hate for him to call her out.

“You two are gonna be just fine,” she said. Dean agreed with a nod and a smile. She left soon after with the flowers, discreetly wiping at her face.

When the door shut behind her, Jo took a seat beside his bed. She was looking around at the wires, the monitors, the minor burns and scrapes on his face, while trying not to look at the gauze spanning his upper back.

“How’re you really feeling?” she asked eventually, when she was able to meet his gaze.

Dean chuckled a little. “Like shit.”

She laughed too, though it soon ended in tears. She bit her lip against it, with her eyes squeezing shut.

Dean faltered. “Hey, none a’ that.”

It was an effort, but he reached for her shoulder. She clasped his hand there, then she held it between both of hers. Dean squeezed her hands.

“I’m okay. Scouts honor,” he said. He wished he didn’t have to keep telling people that, but here they were.

When she drew his hand against her cheek though, Dean internally sighed. He had to pull away.

Jo felt the loss of his hand, and of him. She looked up at him with sad blue eyes. Dean couldn’t answer her. Or at least, he couldn’t give her the one she wanted.

She ducked her head and tried not to cry harder.

“Jo,” Dean sighed. “Listen to me.”

She wiped at her face and managed to look up at him again. He was direct, but still gentle as he could be.

“You know I love you like family,” he said, “but you also know…I can’t be that guy for you.”

Her brows furrowed as she shook her head. “We had something, Dean.”

“We did,” he acknowledged. He could admit that much, even as he blew out a breath. “I fucked it up.”

At that, Jo’s face shifted towards resignation. “I did my fair share.”

“You were worried about me on the job, that’s all.”

“But you also didn’t fight for me. The second it got hard, you left and called it quits.”

“I know,” Dean admitted. He thought hard, and he nodded. He was a different man when he and Jo began. He hadn’t totally figured out what it was he wanted. He’d just known, instinctively, that it was different with her. He’d wanted to try to be more for her.

But, he’d let Ellen’s warnings and his own fears take over. He knew he’d been a coward, and at the time, he’d convinced himself that Jo was better off without that in her life. He knew now how that had just been a nice justification for breaking her heart.

“I know,” he repeated. “I guess I wasn’t ready for the real deal…but you’re the first one who made me want to try.”

Jo heaved a tremulous sigh, laced with tears that she brushed away from her face. She had already known it, deep down, but now she supposed she had closure. She knew now that he loved you, for real.

“And she’s the one who made it stick,” Jo supplied.

“Yeah,” Dean said. The truth was in his eyes. She’s the one.

After a moment, in which Jo locked away the rest of her heartbreak and denied herself a flash of jealousy, she wiped her face dry and looked up at Dean.

“Then you rest up,” she said, with a small smile and red-rimmed eyes. “And whatever happens next, you better fight for her.”

Dean smiled back. He gestured at his prone form with a hand.

“And what do you think I’m doing here?”

“Looks to me like you’re sitting on your ass,” she quipped.

Dean laughed so hard he started coughing. Jo shook her head and helped him put his oxygen mask back on.

“God, you’re a mess,” she said.

Dean gave her a mock incredulous look. “Hey, no sympathy for the injured here?”

“If it was sympathy you wanted, you should’ve kept the mask on.”

Hours later, Sam and Eileen came back freshly showered and with plenty of clothes and necessities for you and Dean. And when his hospital room door opened, Dean fought through the haze of the drugs and his swimming head to wake up. He smiled at Eileen, who stepped through the door first. But then his eyes widened.

Sam carefully guided you in a wheelchair, with your oxygen tank rolling in next to you. You held the mask to your face, but Dean still spotted the edge of your smile.

Your eyes shone bright with unshed tears the closer you came. He had to clear his throat himself before he reached for your hand at the same time you held out for his.

“Hey,” you said.

“Hey, yourself,” Dean replied. He brought your hand to his lips and held it there. “How you doin’, sweetheart?”

“I’m okay, thanks to you,” you said, smiling, even though your voice shook. Tears slipped down your cheeks. Your lips trembled, and your face ducked down. “I’m so…so sorry.”

Dean frowned and squeezed your hand. “Don’t you do that. This isn’t on you.”

You shook your head, like you didn’t believe him. Or you didn’t want to believe.

He wasn’t having that.

“Hey, look at me,” he demanded. He tugged on your hand, until finally you did as he said. Your eyes were red and spilling over with tears. It made his heart clench, and out of the corner of his eye, he spotted Sam holding Eileen close. Both of them were getting emotional, though Sam was trying not to.

Jo stood with her mother in the corner. While Ellen dabbed at her eyes, Jo had to avert her gaze. That part, Dean didn't notice, because his lips pressed together as he returned his attention back to you.

“You don’t gotta worry about me,” he said. “I’ll shake this in a few weeks. Tops.”

You nodded, but your denial was still obvious as your shoulders trembled. He could see there was no reasoning with you on this one, so he just tugged you closer—as close as you could get without leaving your wheelchair or taking off your oxygen mask.

He managed to reach for your face, soothing his thumb across your tear-stained cheek. You covered his hand and kept him there, for as long as he was able.

You were discharged from the hospital a couple of days later. It was a few more before Dean was able to join you. He wasn’t happy to learn that his head injury would put him out of commission for at least one to three months.

You wished he would be more fair to himself. He’d suffered a subdural hematoma after he was struck by the beam. The doctor officially labelled it a TBI, or a concussion, and he was already dealing with headaches and bouts of vertigo.

Not to mention the large second-degree burn that was only just starting to heal across his upper back. The doctor also warned that he might suffer some mood swings, due to the head injury.

Meanwhile, you were starting to recover from your cuts and yellowing bruises. Though the carbon monoxide had been driven out of your system, you still had your own headaches, nausea, and a lingering cough.

You both were a bit of a mess. Sam and Eileen had incredible patience, and you were so grateful for their help in those first days back home in Sam and Dean’s apartment. However, you couldn’t shake off your nature to help as much as you could in taking care of Dean while Sam and Eileen were back at work.

You knew your boyfriend wasn’t used to being catered to. He didn’t like being, what he deemed in his mind, “useless.” In your mind, that was just too damn bad. He was going to be cared for whether he liked it or not.

So you helped Dean adjust where he lied in bed for the third time this morning, arranging the pillows just so. All while you ignored his crabby mood.

“How’s that?” you asked, fluffing one more pillow between the small of his back and the headboard. You’d managed to find a way for him to sit up without his upper back touching the bedframe.

“Fine,” he said grumpily. He was channel surfing on the TV above his dresser. “And it was fine half an hour ago.”

His mood was always dour after a shower; it meant you had to help him stand, and make sure he didn’t kill himself by slipping and falling. You sighed and brushed your fingers through his wet hair, mindful of the shaved and bandaged portion on the back of his head. He sure was an awful patient.

“You used to like it when I joined you in the shower,” you tried to tease gently. He shot you a glance.

“Yeah, that was before I could barely piss standing up,” he replied. You rubbed his arm.

“Come on, babe. Don’t be like this. You’ll be healed up in a couple of months, and we can put this behind us,” you said. If he really wanted you not to feel guilty about his current state, then he was doing a bang-up job.

Dean turned to you then, and you understood the look on his face. Will it really be over?

You couldn’t fault him for it because you didn’t know the answer either. You both knew that Savage & Co. burning down was likely just another battle with Azazel, not the end of the war.

And that was when John and Cas arrived for a visit, with the doorbell interrupting the silence. It was the first time they’d come together, and that told you one thing: this was more than a familial check-in.

You welcomed them into the apartment and made some coffee for everyone. Cas helped you get the mugs ready in the kitchen. Meanwhile, it gave John a moment with his son.

John dragged a desk chair over and sat by Dean’s side of the bed.

“How’s your head?” John asked.

Dean nodded, though his face said he wished people would stop asking him that.

“On the mend,” he replied instead.

John nodded in return. The space between them was awkward and quiet, except for the drone of the TV. Both men had their protective walls and their thoughts, but neither one was able to lower their guard.

When you and Cas came into the room with fresh coffee, it was a silent relief all around. You sat beside Dean in bed and handed him a mug of decaf. You might’ve claimed it was the real stuff, but Dean’s nose knew the difference; he didn’t play when it came to his coffee. Yet another reason why he hated being on these antibiotics.

“So, let’s start from the beginning,” John said. He lowered his mug into his lap and looked straight at you. “What happened before the fire? Start from the very top of the day.”

You took in a deep breath and glanced at both Cas and Dean. Cas seemed encouraging, while Dean looked just as grave and interested as his father.

You explained everything from the moment Marv came to give you his report, intended for Nick. You were going to just leave it with his assistant, but his office door had been open a crack, and you’d heard the voices within. You’d been curious enough to approach the door and listen in.

You recounted what you’d heard between Nick and the other man.

“We’re working together on this,” said Nick. “Keep an eye on the cop. Wait for an opportunity.”

“Together, huh? Azazel has his orders. You trying to take his place?” the other man replied. His voice was thin and nasal. You saw his profile, however. His eyes were dangerous.

Your eyes widened at the implications of his words though. Azazel?!

“Dad agrees with me. The guy’s not getting the hint, so we’ll need to remind him who really makes the rules,” Nick said.

Your eyes widened. Holy shit…Nick’s father is Azazel.

You clasped a hand over your mouth before the gasp could escape. A sharp breath still echoed through the hall. The men’s heads began to turn, but you did as well—away from the door and booking it down the hall as quietly and quickly as you could.

You remembered going back to your office, just to find Nick Savage waiting for you.

Dean’s grip on the bedsheets tightened when you told that part of the story. You tried to spare the details, but there were some things you couldn’t avoid…

A strong hand grabbed you and hefted you up. You felt a trickle of wetness rolling down the side of your face as you stared up into his. It must’ve been blood, but all you could focus on was the satisfaction in Nick’s eyes. Finally, they seemed to say.

But then he paused. Confusion was written across his face.

“Do you smell smoke?” he asked. You both saw it climbing under the door of your office.

It was a distraction that broke you out of your frozen fear.

On pure instinct, you jabbed at Nick’s ribs with your taser.

“After I…managed to get out of my office, that’s when I saw the smoke,” you said. Your voice became a tad more unsteady as the memories flit through your mind.

“It was chaos. People were getting trampled trying to get down the stairs…and when we saw the fire coming from below too, I barely made it out of the stairwell.”

You raised a slightly trembling hand to your mouth, but a warm hand slipped into yours, taking it from you. You met Dean’s furrowed brows and softened eyes.

“Come ‘ere,” he said quietly. You let him pull you towards him, against his side, and you blinked past the sting of tears.

“The rest you guys know,” you continued. “I couldn’t get out. Dean and his guys came and found me. He got hurt trying to get us out of there.”

Dean’s hand rubbed up and down your arm in comfort. He pressed a kiss to your forehead while you wiped at the few tears that managed to escape.

“Did you see Nick at all after what happened in the office?” John asked.

You shook your head. “No. I hope he burned to a damn crisp.”

“He’s officially missing, but his body hasn’t yet been identified from the remains at the building site,” said Cas.

That sobered you. You knew there were many people who hadn’t made it out of the building in time. You just couldn’t fathom the kind of person who would intentionally set that fire, damn the costs.

“What about the other man he was talking to?” John asked. You shook your head, but you provided a detailed description of him, from what you could remember: tall and lean, graying short hair, a nasal sounding voice.

“Any other details you can remember? Anything at all. Could be something you saw or heard, or even smelled,” John pressed.

Your lips pursed. The stress alone of reliving all of this was giving you a headache, not to mention making your chest feel tight. Your reply was a bit more clipped than you intended.

“What, other than the part where I was fighting for my life?” you said. “I think I gave a pretty good statement of the events, Detective.”

John paused. His mouth firmed, but he watched you with more sympathetic eyes. Dean saw that his father was trying to ease up. He rubbed your back in comfort again.

“All right, it’s okay,” said Dean. “You did good.”

You glanced at him and took a small, steadying breath. You relaxed a bit and met John’s gaze.

“I’m sorry,” you said, with sincerity. “If I remember something else, I’ll let you know.”

John nodded.

“That’s all right. We’ve got enough to arrest Nick Savage on assault charges, once we find him.” He shared a brief look with Cas. “In the meantime, we’ve got a couple of guys stationed outside the apartment building here. They’ll keep an eye on things.”

You and Dean nodded; it was a relief, but also disconcerting to know the police were watching you. A chime on your phone soon distracted you though. You reached over for where it lay on your nightstand and read the reminder notification. You turned to Dean.

“Ready for your pain meds?” you asked him. You saw the answer in the tightness around his tired eyes. You rubbed a soothing hand on his thigh. “You should eat something first though. Want some of the soup Eileen made?”

Dean shrugged, making an unenthusiastic sound. Your head tilted as you considered him. Then, an idea struck you.

“Ooh, I could make you a grilled cheese on the side,” you offered in a tempting tone. Your leading smile was just enough to get Dean to smile back, if more reserved.

“Hmm?” you prompted. “Come on, three different cheeses on some buttery bread…”

His smile became more genuine. “Okay, sounds good.”

You nodded and pat his thigh once more. You looked up at the detectives.

“You guys want lunch?” you asked. John started to shake his head, but Dean cut in.

“Trust me, you want to get in on this,” he said. The promise of your cooking managed to cut through some of the haze of his pain and discomfort.

Cas conceded first, with a nod. Though he got up from where he’d been sitting at the end of the bed.

“I’ll help,” he said, rolling up his sleeves. He soon followed you downstairs into the kitchen.

Again, it left father and son glancing at one another in silence. John was leaning elbows on his knees, hands folded. His lips drew upwards as he looked up at his oldest.

“Want some advice from an old man?” he asked.

“What’s that?” Dean replied.

John nodded, quirking a smile. “Hold onto that girl.”

A couple of weeks later, however, tensions were still running high. Dean was frustrated with his own inability, worsening with each bout of vertigo, and every time the pain in his skull necessitated a pill to cope with it. Part of it was also that he needed so much of your help when Sam was at work.

Every time Dean saw you cooking, cleaning, changing his bandages, reminding him to take his meds, helping him get around when he was feeling off…

He was grateful, more than you knew. He just couldn’t feel right about letting you do it all when he saw how tired you were. You were still healing up too. And he could only imagine how stressed you were after everything you’d been through in the past few weeks. Hell, in the past few months.

He felt guilty, and useless, and angry at how you’d gotten caught up in all this, and at Nick Savage and Azazel and everything in between.

So Dean now stewed in all of this while he sat watching mindless reruns of some dumbass show about fake ghost hunters, even though he was trying not to think of anything at all. Somehow he had nothing to do but think, even though the meds he was taking often made him want to crawl into bed and sleep.

You appeared from down the hall, looking and smelling like your nice floral soap after a shower, wearing nothing more than one of his old shirts. Your thighs were bare. Your hair was twisted up on top of your head, just asking to be taken down with a practiced hand.

Dean liked the look of you.

Not that I can do anything about it, came a dull reminder.

You came around the couch with a roll of gauze and a medicated cream for his burns.

“Okay, Dean. Let’s go ahead and change the bandages,” you said, nodding at his back.

He was reluctant to move. He was finally somewhat comfortable sitting in the corner of the couch with a shit ton of pillows propped against his lower back. And he hadn’t told you this, but a headache had been building for the last hour. He’d been trying to wean himself off the pain meds.

“It can wait until Sam gets home,” he said. “Why don’t you relax? Take a nap or something.”

You frowned at him, tilting your head. “Sam works late every night. Doesn’t it make more sense to get it over with now?”

“You see it would, if you hadn’t already done it yesterday,” Dean replied, with a dry edge to his tone.

You arched a brow at him. You'd re-bandaged the burn across his back yesterday morning. It was now late afternoon.

“The doctor said once a day,” you said. “You want to get an infection?”

The back of Dean’s head pulsed with pain. He gritted his teeth in trying to ignore it.

“You want to get off my back? Literally?” he snarked.

You frowned at him and set down the medical supplies. Your hands went to your hips as you looked down at him.

“I don’t appreciate the attitude,” you said. “I’m just trying to help you.”

“I get that, but you don’t have to take care of me right now,” he said. “You can just let me watch this shitty-ass show in peace.”

Your brows knitted together. Both of you were stubborn, if in different flavors. You tried to come at it with a gentler approach, drawing near him to set a hand on his shoulder.

“I know it’s unpleasant, but you can’t change your bandages by yourself,” you said. Your thumb swept along his neck. You really hated seeing him in so much discomfort. “Don’t you want to get it over with so you can relax for the rest of the day?”

A sharper pain pulsed behind his eyes for a moment, making Dean take in a deeper breath through his nose. He could later admit, he lost patience with you (and his temper).

He turned off the TV and tossed down the remote.

“What is this compulsive need you have to control everything? Do everything?” he snapped. “Contrary to what you might think, I don’t need you to wipe my ass! Just give it a goddamn rest!”

Irritation was hot under his skin…until he actually looked up at your face. The open-mouthed look of shock, and hurt, your eyes welling up with tears as your hand fell away from his shoulder…

That’s when Dean knew this concussion was fucking with him.

There was no way he could be this much of an asshole, could he?

“Shit. Baby,” he tried, but you shook your head at him, making a negative sound when he reached for you. You walked away from him.

“Son of a bitch,” he muttered. “Hold on!”

His first attempt to get off the couch was unsuccessful, and it made his head swim. He grimaced in annoyance, but he used the couch and the coffee table as leverage and pushed through onto his feet.

Once he knew he was steady, he thought he heard you in the kitchen. He found you there, trying to hide your face behind the open door of the pantry while you cried. It broke his heart, really.

“Sweetheart,” he called to you. His hand rested on your back, prompting you to look up at him with red, watery eyes.

“What now?” you asked. “Want to yell at me some more?”

Dean’s sad frown deepened as he tugged you closer, guiding you into his arms.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I really am. I don’t know where the hell that came from.”

Maybe the knife stabbing through the back of your head, 'cause you're too stubborn to take all your damn meds, came the dry edge of his conscience.

You held onto him as tightly as you dared while you pressed your tear-stained face into his chest.

“That wasn’t you, Dean,” you said. “I get that you’re in pain, and that you're frustrated, but you don’t have to white-knuckle it. Or take it out on me, for that matter.”

“…I know,” he agreed, laying a kiss on your forehead. “If it happens again, I give you full permission to slap me. Concussion be damned.”

You snorted at that, despite a couple more tears slipping down your cheeks. You wiped them away.

“I know I was being a bit pushy,” you said, with a sigh. “But Sam does work late. I’d feel like shit just lying around here waiting for him to help you. And I’m the reason this all happened anyway, so I might as well—”

“Wait. Stop,” Dean said. He pulled away so he could grasp your arms and look down at you. His brows furrowed, and his jaw worked. “What did you just say?”

You looked up at him, and he saw the vulnerability in your eyes. Your lips pressed together, and you averted your gaze.

“No,” he said, curling his fingers under your chin and lifting your face back up to his. He didn’t like what he saw.

“Okay. Sit with me,” he said. He guided you to the dining table, where he pulled out both chairs. After you sat, he raised a waiting finger to you, just so he could grab his prescription from the kitchen counter and down what should've been his morning dose of pain medication with some water. Then he returned to the table and sat across from you.

By the time he got you to look at him again, your eyes were already filled with tears. He took your hands in both of his.

“What happened to me wasn’t your fault,” Dean said at last. He’d said it before, but apparently it hadn’t gotten through your head.

“You disobeyed a direct order to find me,” you argued.

“I would’ve gotten called to that fire no matter what,” Dean countered. Still, that didn’t seem to sway you.

“You don’t know what it was like,” you said. You squeezed his hands, and your voice shook. “When I saw you in the ICU…”

All those wires, the newly wrapped burns, the oxygen mask, his skin pale and clammy, and his eyes closed…

“Before you got to me, of course I was scared. For a minute there, I thought I was going to die,” you managed to say. His hold tightened on yours. “But in that room, it was…it was different. It was you, but it was also my grandfather all over again. And I was so damn afraid.”

After that confession, you crumbled once again.

Dean slid his chair forward and held you close. His fingers swept through your hair after taking down your haphazard bun. He managed to pull you into his lap and he shushed you gently.

He glanced up heavenward and actually asked George for the right thing to say to you right now, because he had no damn clue.

After a moment, he released a humorless chuckle.

“You wanna know fear?” he said. “When my dad told me what you’d found out about Nick. And when I got the call that the building was on fire, somehow, I knew you were still in there.”

His fingers brushed along the shallow cut above your brow that was still healing.

“You had to deal with that bastard by yourself. That alone pretty much kills me,” Dean admitted. “And if I hadn’t gotten to you when I did…I’ll never regret that. Ever. I’ll take the whole damn building on top of me if that’s what it takes.”

You leaned back and shook your head at him, but he took your chin between his fingers and stilled you.

“But I told you,” Dean said firmly. “I’m not leaving you.”

Your eyes met his before you let out a shaky breath. Maybe this time you would believe him.

He leaned down and kissed you soundly, so you’d get the idea. Your hand reached up to caress his cheek, and you moaned when his tongue caressed yours. His hand tightened on your hip.

“Dean.” Your warning was gentle. The doctor hadn’t cleared this yet for him, and he knew it.

“Just a little bit,” he said, smiling against your lips. His hand slipped under your (his) shirt and teased the edge of your panties.

You sighed with conflicting need when you felt the pads of his fingers stroke you through the fabric. It also stroked your arousal back to life.

“Okay, bedroom,” you caved. “But go easy. I’m serious, Dean.”

He smirked and pressed a kiss to the side of your head.

“Oh, I’ll definitely be easy.”

AN: Lol trust Dean to push his limits there. 😅 We also got some closure on the Jo & Dean arc, some supportive Sam and Eileen, and some major feels.

In Part 18, Sam and John work together to try and pin down Nick and Daniel/Azazel, Law & Order style...

Next Time:

The charges included four counts of murder in the first degree: the murders-for-hire, enacted by Alastair Rolston.

Followed by attempted murder in the first degree, ten counts of murder in the second degree (those who had lost their lives in the most recent building fire), conspiracy to commit murder, arson, and if that weren’t enough, a charge each of attempted sexual assault and sexual harassment.

When the last two charges were read out loud in the courtroom, Nick looked visibly angry.

Sam glanced over at the defendant with thinly veiled satisfaction. Some days, it was difficult for him to come to work.

Today was not that day.

“All right, that is a laundry list of potential misdeeds,” Judge Deveraux remarked. He looked up at Nick Savage. “How does the defendant plead?”

At the prodding of his lawyer, Amelia Richardson, Nick spoke up.

“Not guilty,” he said. Though he rolled his eyes, as if this was a waste of his time.

“What’s the deal here, Mr. Winchester?” Judge Devereaux asked.

“The primary charges are murder-for-hire, your Honor,” Sam replied.

Keep Reading: PART 18

Dean Winchester Masterlist

Main Masterlist

Series Tag List (Part 1):

@hobby27 @kazsrm67 @letheatheodore @agothwithheavysetmakeup @jacklesbrainworms @foxyjwls007 @wincastifer @iamsapphine @simpforbuckyb

@vanillawhiskeyflavoredkisses @roseblue373 @this-is-me19 @emily-winchester @spnexploration @deans-spinster-witch @deans-baby-momma @iprobablyshipit91

@melancholictearz @nic-kolas @katherineann814 @sleepyqueerenergy @wayward-lost-and-never-found @thewritersaddictions @just-levyy @samanddeaninatrenchcoat @deanwanddamons @antisocialcorrupt @lacilou @adoringanakin @theonlymaninthesky @teehxk @midnightmadwoman @brianochka @branj19

@agalliasi @venicesem @chriszgirl92 @lyarr24 @ladysparkles78 @solariklees @xsophianicolex @deansbbyx @candy-coated-misery0731 @curlycarley @sarahgracej @bagpussjocken @deanfreakingwinchester @chernayawidow @beskarfilms @mimaria420

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jaegersdevil · 7 months

Text

like real people [megumi fushiguro]

megumi fushiguro x reader

summary: love can still find you even in your darkest hour. w/c: 1.7k a/n: megumi and reader are in their early/mid-twenties. this is a little different from anything else i’ve written in terms of the language, but i think i'm happy with it. i'm a bit scared to post this. i hope it makes sense, and if it doesn't, tell me, please :) warnings: angst, idiots in love, both parties emotionally hurt by past relationships, insinuations of past relationship abuse (megumi), ooc megumi, it's 4am idk please let me know.

“Is it so wrong to wish to love and be loved in return?”

No words came before you. To say you weren’t expecting this conversation would be a lie — it was a long time coming. After the party, after you had blatantly brushed him off in front of his friends, Megumi couldn’t come up with a plausible explanation for why you did what you did. After months of dancing around each other, why couldn’t you commit to what you wanted when it was so very clear, Megumi?

“Megumi,” You weren’t oblivious to his lovelorn stare or his fingers fidgeting.

“Please,” He begged, stepping closer to you, his hands clasped before him.

You screwed your eyes shut at his vulnerable state. Was it easier to remain ignorant of your apparent and lengthy tension? Perhaps then you wouldn’t feel so guilty about the impulse to leave.

But, standing before a man who had a hard time sharing his emotions and choosing to ignore them rather than help? You wouldn't do such a thing.

“It’s not wrong, per se, Megs,” You started, eyes trained on the hardwood floor, never meeting his pleading ones. “Maybe naive.”

A sharp intake caused a shiver down your spine. “Naive?”

You chewed heavily on your bottom lip and couldn't keep your tears at bay. "I just learned you planned to get engaged when we met, Megumi. What was I meant to do? I didn't want your friends to think I was exploiting your emotions. How I never knew until now..."

Megumi sighed and looked away, shaking his head. He wanted to say that meeting you saved him. How you dug him out of the ground and breathed life into his delicate lungs brought him back to life. If you had never met, he would still be six feet in the dirt, a ghost of who he once was. Do people love others who have been damaged so severely that the idea of love itself is considered terrifying and not comforting in the slightest?

"You know they wouldn't think that of you. And I didn't tell you because I was embarrassed and afraid. I know that isn't a good enough excuse for you because you've been in my life for so long, but it was better to keep it quiet. I don't know!"

He tried to keep his voice steady, always one to hold back his true feelings until he was behind closed doors — and even then, he would force them back inside.

But, as he looked at you, Megumi believed the possibility of admitting he loved you was far closer than anticipated. However, the fear you wouldn’t reciprocate burned in his bones so profoundly he feared they would turn to ash inside him. All he wanted was to love and be loved without the devastating consequences he had suffered before — if love without pain existed.

Nonetheless, Megumi couldn't seem to shake the feeling of emptiness that had been plaguing him for weeks.

“Will we ever be normal? Will we ever kiss like real people do? Will I ever get to hold you without the looming fear that you’ll just pack up and leave?” He thought out loud.

A flight risk. You gave him a bitter smile and nodded.

“That’s all I am to you? Someone that you’re scared to be with because I’ve never ‘stuck around’ for anyone else? Do you ever wonder why I left them?” You raised your eyebrows in question. When Megumi didn’t answer, you finished. “Because they were assholes who just wanted someone to use, and I was at their disposal.”

Megumi grimaced at your choice of words but understood. It had taken him almost a year, but he finally understood your greatest anxieties. “I would never use you.”

You sniffled, tears rolling down your cheeks. “I know that, but I'm still paranoid. Leave before you get left, isn’t that what they say?”

The room was silent for a moment while you both collected yourselves. In contemplation, Megumi ran his hands over his dark hair, and you picked at your nails.

“I’m sorry,” Megumi mumbled, wiping at his cheeks where stray tears had left salty trails. “I’m sorry for offending you. I didn’t mean it like that. My anxiety is not on you at all; it’s not your fault, and I’ll apologise for the rest of my life if that will make up for my sheer ignorance.”

You shrugged half-heartedly, a smile tugging at your lips. “I’m sorry for calling you naive. It’s not true. Love is humanity’s greatest desire, and you are entirely valid for wanting such things, especially after your ex..." You narrowed your eyes at him softly.

Unspoken words hung in the air like smoke. His past relationship was calamitous, and her name was never spoken amongst his friends again after they found out what had happened. She was referred to as ‘she who must not be named’ in his friend group, but that was the only joke. Nothing she did to Megumi was laughable.

The kitchen light was flickering, you noticed. You'd have to change the bulb.

“I bet you regret meeting me,” He smiled fleetingly. You looked at him quizzically. “Anyone else wouldn’t be insulting you in your kitchen.”

“I'll never regret meeting you, Megumi,” You took his hand in yours. “And you didn’t insult me. Yes, it hurts, but it’s a harsh truth I have to swallow. I have to understand that not everyone is out to get me. It'll take some time, but I wish to get there someday.”

“And I'll help you believe that, okay? I won't leave you. Not now, not ever, because you are my favourite person, darling. And should I ever leave you, let me die the most painful death because you deserve a great deal of love — more than I could ever give you, but I will try my best, alright?”

You nodded, reeling with the weight of his words. He spoke with such comprehension it had you reeling — had he ever confessed his feelings for someone like this before? So thought out and with a pleading look in his eye that made your chest hurt?

Instead of wondering about him, you pulled Megumi closer by his jacket collar, which you realised he never took off when he got to your apartment. Pushing the jacket over his shoulders, you placed the garment on the kitchen counter. Your tear-stained cheeks were glossy under the yellowing ceiling light, and Megumi pulled you back to him, running his fingers over your face to wipe away the streams.

A switch flipped, and suddenly, it felt like the world would end if Megumi didn't tell you his deepest longings. He would lose you if he didn't express how much he had come to care for you. You couldn't take chances in a world full of Jujutsu, especially when the one you loved was tiptoeing the line of death every day.

“I don’t want to not be with you, and it was never my intention to insinuate that. I have a lot of love to give, but I’ve given it to the wrong people in the past who never acknowledged or appreciated it. But I’m ready to give it to you,” Megumi muttered. It required abundant courage to say it, but Megumi was glad he didn’t hold back once it was out — his father would be disgusted if he saw his son now.

The room's atmosphere had changed dramatically, and all hostility once felt in your stomach had dissipated. This was a time of reassuring each other that their greatest fears would not trouble them as long as they were together.

“I adore you,” Megumi whispered, his heart beating out of his chest. “And I’m not just saying that because of our argument. I’m telling you that I never meant for us to end; I was just getting started with you when I walked through that door tonight. Never mind if you brushed me off at some stupid party.”

Your face heated with shame at the memory. “I'm sorry, I panicked.”

Megumi nodded in understanding. “I know. And I’m here to tell you that there’s nothing to be afraid of. I’ll be on your side, always.”

Lifting your head from his chest and resting your finger on his lips, you shook your head. “My turn.”

Megumi’s eyebrows raised slightly, and he nodded.

“Enough consoling me, okay? You need to know that you’re the one for me, too, so you don’t spiral again and start doubting my love for you and your own for me,” Megumi flushed. “You are the most remarkable man I’ve ever met, and no amount of scepticism would deter me from you because you’re all I want. I love you, okay? I will live and die for the moments we share because I treasure them the most out of everything I do. You are love, and I want to drown myself in you for the rest of our lives if you let me.”

It was silent. Megumi’s heartbeat was so quick he almost couldn’t feel it. You love him.

You ignored his blank stare and continued. “You don’t have to say it yet, but I know you do. And if it turns out you don’t love me as much as I, you, I will live on my own for the remainder of time because I know that I had the most incredible love in the universe with you, and I would be content with that. Nobody else could make me feel the way you do.”

Megumi squeezed his eyes shut until he saw stars and then sighed. “You mean so much to me. I’m sorry I can’t find a way to tell you yet, but I will. I know it in my soul.”

“You already have,” You hugged him tighter, and Megumi rubbed his large hands up and down your back.

The kitchen light had stopped flickering.

“Why can’t we have a relationship like real people? Because I’m starting to think we’re living in some sort of hallucination together,” You mumbled, giggles slipping from your lips.

Megumi’s chest vibrated with low laughter, but the action rattled his bones. “We’ll figure it out. We're not like real people anyway.”

—

playlist: like real people do - hozier — this is me trying - taylor swift — labyrinth - taylor swift — snow on the beach - taylor swift (w lana del rey)

#megumi fushiguro #megumi x reader #megumi fushiguro x reader #megumi fushiguro imagine #jjk imagines #jjk x reader #jjk #megumi x you #megumi angst #— ann writes!

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heythrrdelilah · 2 months

Text

Choose

Summary: New York City life gets a little lonely until you have too many choices

Pairings: timothee chalamet x F!reader, Austin Bütlér x F!reader

Warnings: honestly expect pure filth. Mmf but the males are straight and don't interact

Word count: 2,925

Authors note: it's been a while and this may or may not be loosely based on a random detailed dream I had the night before last also please know I'm not usually a smut writer and it's been ages so bare with me please

The dim lit bar was roaring with voices as the rush hour for bars came. You regretted letting your friend talk you into coming out. You would much rather be sitting on your couch with a fantasy novel and a cup of lavender tea, but your best friend and roommate was persistent. “See! Lavender vodka cocktails! I told you you could still get lavender tea!” She pulled you by your wrist to the bar. This was one of the many popular bars in New York so you had to squeeze between shoulders to even reach the counter. “You know it's not the same thing, right? It's important for me to know that you know that,” you questioned your friend with a brow raised, she threw her hair over one shoulder and rolled her eyes. Instead of responding she just ordered a lavender vodka lemonade for you and a planters punch for herself.

“Just don't leave me tonight. I didn't feel like coming but if you leave me alone this is the last time,” you sternly state as you wait for your drinks. After people had their orders in, the crowd around the bar became smaller and people were now gathered around tables and leather couches. The bar theme was modern chic. Crystal dim lighting, black leather couches around marble tables. You and your roommate definitely could not afford to drink here, especially on a regular basis, but she insisted that the only way to find a decent man was in high end bars. Not that you were looking.

“It will be fun! Go find a table, I'll wait for the drinks,” she instructed, clearly scouting the crowd. You pushed off of your elbows and looked around for an empty table. It was no surprise when every table and couch were full. You found an empty spot on a wall and leaned up against it.

“This should cheer you up, I got that guy to pay for our drinks,” meg, your roommate and best friend, handed you your glass and nodded towards a blonde man in an army green jacket who was staring in their direction. He had a nice smile and tilted his glass to Meg with a wink. It was painfully obvious that you were going to be left alone at some point tonight. “go for it,” you sighed. She shook her head, her red hair swaying with every turn, “he can wait for it. I need to let the anticipation build. For now, let's talk about your day, drink up and dance.” There wasn't much to dance to as today's rap hits played low level. “my day is never as interesting as yours. I just work at an unknown radio station. You're the celebrity photographer,” you say with a bit of laughter.

“You're just getting your start. Besides I'm just the photographer for BuzzFeed. it's my start too. But okay,” she began talking about the shoot she had just done for the cast of the Dune series. Meg was good about making the biggest celebrities sound like just a group of co-workers. The Dune cast had some of the biggest names in Hollywood but here she was talking about how Batista couldn't stay serious the entire shoot.

You moved on to her plans next week to shoot a rom com cast on Monday when a group walked into the bar and heads were turning from every direction. “meg, isn't thats the Dune cast,” you pointed out the obvious. You tried to keep your composure as Timothee chalamet was your biggest celebrity crush and he was walking in the doors. People brought out there phones and snapped a few pictures with it being a high class bar in New York City, it wasn't a huge deal.

Meg smiled wide and waved at the group. They spotted her and waved back as they began walking towards us. “what up?” Timothee shouted playfully as he hugged Meg. “If we had known you were coming to the same bar when you said you were going out later, we could have just left the office together!” Zendaya laughed giving Meg a one armed hug. Meg pointed to me, “this one needed a Friday night out so I had to stop home anyways.”

Florence smiled, “I needed to change anyways. That was probably one of the most fun shoots I've had for an interview though. Can we buy you girls drinks?” Florence looked to you and put her hand gently on your shoulder, “I'm so sorry, I'm Florence what's your name?” You told the group your name and Zendaya was laughing wrapping her arm around Florence, “yeah Flo she was standing herebthe whole time and we didn't even ask her name. No wonder people think celebrities are rude as hell. I'm Z this is Timothee and Austin.” You waved smiling, “it's nice to meet you all. I promise I'm not the loser I just sounded like I just prefer staying home.” They all nodded. Florence laughed, “I feel that heavily. Alright let's get some drinks at the bar and come back. the waiters here are too busy.”

While the cast walked off to get their drinks, a Waitress brought us two drinks we didn't order, the same ones we had as a first round. “they're from that gentlemen. Don't worry I prepared them and came right back this way,” she winked, obviously referring to how awful the world was. Meg blushed, her blue eyes wandering over to the blonde man from earlier. He was looking adoringly at her, blushing, he smiled and took a drink of his.

The group came back with their assortment of drinks in hand. After a few short minutes of sharing fun memories of the photoshoot earlier, Meg took a step back from your now formed circle, “you have no idea how much I want to stay and chat but I've been working on that,” she motioned to the blonde man, “for the past hour and I think it's time I stop his longing and say hi. You guys are amazing. Glad you're here to keep my bestie entertained, if you want of course okay bye!” She rambled, took a deep breath, and smoothly turned around with a look of curiosity.

“Shes good,” Florence complimented with a smile of approval and admiration. “so, where are you from?” Timothee immediately asked after taking a shit of his dark and smokey. His green eyes were fixed on yours, seemingly genuinely interested as one of his brows was up. You told him, and without hesitation asked another question, “what brings you to the city?” You didn't want to tell him the entire story about how you are a 24 year old divorcee so you just said work. “I wouldnt think someone who looks like you would be doing radio. A face like yours deserves to be seen,” Austin suddenly chimed in, saying the first words he's said all night. You blushed. Anyone would at those words spoken with his deep raspy voice.

You bit the inside of your cheek to stop yourself from showing your blushing. You took a sip of your drink. “Oh come on Austin you started off too strong,” Timothee chuckled. You didn't know what was happening. Zendaya and Florence burst out with laughter before wrapping one arm around each other, “too much testosterone. (Y/n) we will be over here people watching if you find this,” Zendaya used her hand to motion the guys, “disturbing.” Then they walked away. Both guys took a step forward, causing your to take a step back, placing your back against the wall. They were standing in front of you just a ruler length away.

You felt nervous. A tingling sensation overcame your stomach among other places. “do you guys have a bet or something?” You didn't want to fall for it if it was some joke. They were two of the biggest celebrities at this time and they were seemingly coming onto you. Both with girlfriends. “yeah, a bet of who could bring home the most beautiful woman in the room,” Austin stated, looking into your eyes intensely. The bar suddenly felt like a heater was turned up. You held your composure. “You both have girlfriends if the news sources are correct,” you retorted. They shook their heads, “PR” they said simultaneously. They could be lying. It was almost as if they read your mind, contracts between manages about it. Weird they just have it ready but they most likely had to do it often.

You played it cool and finished your drink without saying a word, or tasting it as you chugged it. “I'm going to grab another drink, go check on Meg and go home. You two can decide who is coming with me,” you would never have had the confidence to say the last part without liquid courage. Good thing you were at a bar. You walked between them as if they were saloon doors and tried your best not to look back. You saw Zendaya and Florence applauding and nodding with approval. Zendaya even pumped her fist mouthing “hell yeah.”

You leaned both of your elbows against the bar and flagged down the bartender. You ordered a long island iced tea with a lemon and a lavender garnish. You were going to need all the confidence you could muster up. However you could.

You told the bartender you would be back for it after freshening up. You walked swiftly to the bathroom and looked at yourself in the mirror. You regretted not going for a bit of a glam look but your “clean girl aesthetic” makeup would have to do. You looked to the other woman in the mirror who was fixing her mascara. Your expression must have been easy to read because she smiled big saying, “girl I got you!” The raven haired woman who looked at least 5 inches taller than you, reached into her clutch and pulled out a mini contour kit. “I saw you talking to the cast of Dune? Do you know them?” She questioned. You shook your head, “my best friend, practically sister does.” The woman brushed some highlight powder lightly across your cheeks,” Just enough to make some features pop, you don't want to change too much because it will look like you changed for them since they've already seen you.” she closed the kit, “good luck you are my hero.” She fixed my sweater so that it drapes over one shoulder, taking my academia look up a notch since my flowy long skirt couldn't be helped.

You weren't in the bathroom long because your drink was just being made when you got back to the counter. You took your drink and looked for Meg. Thankfully she was still there, giggling and caressing the mans bicep. She definitely wasn't coming home alone tonight. You walked over and dipped your drink, “I didn't want to interrupt but I'm headed home will you be okay?” You waited for the code word in case of danger, it never came. “I think we might stay out a bit. This is Taron. Taron this is, (y/n). Please stay out with us! You might meet someone!” She was glowing. Whatever this guy was saying to her was the cause of said glow. You smirked, shaking your head, “who said I'm going home alone?” Megs brows raised and she nodded, “okay go ahead.” She hugged you then whispered, “proud of you.” You took a breath and walked back to the guys. They were chuckling but stopped and went back to having swagger or as the kids would call it these days “rizz” which you learned meant charisma.

“Did you decide?” You lifted a brow, finishing your drink. They looked at each other and nodded as if they had some agreement. Austin took a step forward and leaned over to whisper in your ear, his low tone making a shiver to down your spine, “we actually couldn't decide.” Timothee stepped forward, Austin not moving, and leaned over to whisper in your other ear, “so let us both have you. Tonight. Then you will decide which one of us can take you to a dinner tomorrow night.” The last sentence was a demand and it sent your body into a frenzy but you kept your composure. You didn't say anything, you took a step back, put your glass on the counter and kept walking towards the door. You turned around before you got out of ear shot as they were both shrugging off disbelief they were rejected. But they weren't.

“Well? You boys coming or do I have to take care of myself after that?” They both perked up immediately and were practically tripping over their own feet as they said their goodbyes to Z and Flo.

You all stumbled out of the bar. Someone must have alerted the paparazzi and some fans, probably via deuxmoi, because there were cameras flashing outside the bar and you all stopped every few steps for them to take selfies with some fans. Austin finally said to the fans, “sorry guys, we are trying to catch up with an old friend tonight but we will be around tomorrow if we didn't manage to get to you.” we walked swiftly into the nearby metro station, “we are going to our hotel right?” Timmy asked as they managed to keep their heads down going down the steps. “no,” you shook your head, “you don't need to impress me with your 5 star hotels. It's already happening. My place is two blocks away.” They shrugged and followed you to your apartment, keeping their heads down as much as possible.

You reached your two bedroom small apartment quickly and kicked your boots off at the door. They followed suit. “your room, gorgeous?” Austin pointed to the door that had stickers of book titles all over the door. You nod once as he grabs your wrist and leads you slowly to your door timothee following you both and locking your bedroom door behind himself.

Timmy didn't hesitate to move your hair away from your neck and trail kisses down your neck and to your shoulder that was exposed on the one side. Austin gripped your face with his hand gently and kissed you passionately with just the right amount of tongue. Timmys hands went under your sweater, lifting it from your body, breaking your kiss with Austin briefly. When Austin's lips returned to yours his hand was gripping your hair now, you were getting weak in the knees.

Timothee used one ringed finger to trace the outline of your torso and gripped your breasts from under your bra before releasing them using his other hand. Timmy reached his head around you to place a breast in his mouth and push Austin away in one motion. He got down on his knees before you and slowly pulled your skirt and thong off in one go. “Bed. Now,” Austin demanded. He pulled his shirt off and Timmy followed suit. You lay on the bed, your ass aligned with the edge and Austin quickly found his way between them, trailing soft, ticklish kisses down your thighs in a teasing manner. Timmy began unbuttoning his own pants as Austin worked his tongue around your clit. You arched your back and moaned in pleasure with your hand gripping Austin's hair. Timothee got on the bed and kissed you passionately.

“Suck it for me?” Timmy smiled, his bedroom eyes arousing you. You nod and Austin grabs your hips, flips you around and has you in doggy style. He still works his tongue as you place Timothee into your mouth. Timothee groans and Austin inserts himself into you, slowly, teasingly for the first few thrusts. Then hard, causing you to scream in pleasure then slow again.

The two take turns on you, sometimes just watching you with the other but neither interacting with each other minus a few compliments and “damn bro she's loving this” comments. Two men so comfortable with their own sexuality made them even more attractive to you.

When you finished, you realized an hour and a half had passed. Austin lay on your bed staring at the ceiling repeating “wow” and “incredible” timothee pulling his boxers back on. Austin looked like he needed a breath so naturally, “timothee?” You beconed as you stood at your bathroom door naked, “shower with me?” he ripped his shorts off and joined you.

“Decided who you wanted to go to dinner with?” Timmy smirks the next morning, assuming he was the clear winner in his own head. You hadn't decided yet. They both slept on the floor. “leave your numbers on that notebook and I'll call one of you later,” you instructed. The both wrote their numbers down and you all walked out to your kitchen. Meg was sitting there drinking her coffee, which caused you to turn bright red. The guys were blushing too. “‘morning,” timothee blushed and waved to meg. She looked surprisingly well rested and didn't have the blonde with her.

“It was nice seeing you again,” Austin spoke to meg, his cheeks bright red as you moved towards the door. They put their shoes on and you let them out. “you'll actually call right?” Timothee asked with a nervous smile. “I guess you'll see,” you stated before closing the door and joining meg at the counter. “im seeing Taron for a proper date tonight but you…you have some explaining to do,” she stated while pouring your coffee.

#timmy tim #timothee chalamet fanfiction #timothee chalamet imagine #austin butler #austin butler one shot #timothee x y/n #timothee x reader #austin butler x reader #dune part two

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bscully · 11 months

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Why Zagreus is such a good character

*Obligatory Hades spoiler ahead* Zagreus is so so so interesting from a meta perspective. While his design certainly went into the "attractive bad boy" direction, he is not your usual hyper-masculine protagonist.

Definitely not!

It starts off with his physique, which is not that of a tall, beefy body builder, but more of an ancient greek athlete. He is also shorter than most other Gods, of average size by mortal standards, and doesn’t take kindly to people making fun of his height. I find that a fascinating character design choice to make. From there, let's continue with his character.

His temperament is sanguine; he is a ray of sunshine and loves to share all the warmth that rests in his heart. Which is a fascinating trait to have as Prince of the Underworld, who is veiled in Darkness by Mother Night, Nyx, herself. The following Berserk quote comes to mind: "He who bears light exists in the deepest shadow".

(There is a big conceptual overlap between Hades and Berserk, but I’ll just leave it at that for this post)

Zagreus is a sociable, extroverted type who values family and bonds over everything, is respectful, polite, charming. From someone like him, genuine kindness and honesty are a guarantee. Together with his capacity to empathize, it allows him to form meaningful relationships. His noble spirit and attitude are befitting of a prince. He does not mind stepping out of his comfort zone and challenge himself, either.

When you first beat Hades, he asks Zagreus to tell Persephone that Cerberus is doing well. Zagreus instead demanded an answer for a question in exchange of telling her. However, this question was left unanswered as Hades was taken by the Styx before he could reply. Later on, because Zagreus is a good-natured person and knows his priorities, picking his mother’s needs over the grudge he could hold against his father, he tells Persephone anyways.

There are moments in the game where he is sensitive, observant and catches up on social cues very quickly. He listens to others and apologizes to them when he feels like he may have overstepped a boundary, such was the case when Thanatos berated him for allowing Orpheus visiting his muse Eurodyce and meddled into their affairs without their consent.

Sometimes he appears to have troubles expressing what he feels, or is perhaps insecure or anxious to express it (particularly when interacting with Meg, who is rather intimidating). But despite his hesitations and fears I think he is still doing a good job at it.

Judging from a brief conversation with Alecto, he appears to know how to form healthy habits and deal with difficult situations in a productive, nurturing manner (the fact that 1. Alecto doesn’t take kindly to his attempts at getting along and 2. Zag doesn’t like her for it, is kinda funny to me). He is capable to mediate and settle conflicts between people, this is literally one of the game's primary goals.

Judging by what happened between him and Megaera, it appears he also wasn't always this mature and went a long way learning from his mistakes. His sometimes boastful confidence and his running mouth probably were one of them. Regardless, I'm deeply impressed with Zagreus' emotional intelligence and maturity.

Considering how so many other protagonists typically are characterized, this such an unusual way to write a male one, and as such he really stands out.

I believe it is absolutely necessary that protagonists like him exist and we honestly do need more like him: as these shine a different light on nurturing masculinity and what it can be.

Zagreus is not less of a man because of the radiant and kind person he is. Quite the opposite so, I personally find him extremely attractive (he’s doing things to me oml). He is just being himself: unfiltered, optimistic, with a good sense of humor. He is not even trying to fulfill any gender roles in any shape or form, simply embracing the bonds he has for what they are, living the moment. He does whatever it takes to make the world around him a better place and make the people around him happier. And he started doing that once he stopped running away from his problems.

This reassurance is something boys and men (including those who identify as such) urgently need nowadays.

PS: I’m still not over the fact he canonically likes plushies, the lil dork

#hades game #hades supergiant #zagreus #essay

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thebrightmillenial · 9 months

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SAM WINCHESTER HEADCANONS

Sam Winchester is left handed.

He is lactose intolerant, which isn't confirmed but is also my headcanon and I am keeping it because I can.

He enjoys forensics, chemistry, law, english and theater - particularly law and forensics, but is really skilled in english which is mostly canon.

Not a huge fan of tattoos, but still got his along with Dean after Sam got possessed by Meg.

His favorite scent is grass and old books. He just finds it comforting and reminds him back of Stanford, when he and Jess would sit together under a tree, on the grass, reading books. Total silence, but still no time was being wasted.

He can't enjoy being around cats. He just doesn't like them. There isn't really a reason or a trauma behind it. He sees a cat, he keeps his distance if he is given the chance.

Sam feels relatively anxious if he can't understand something. This will sometimes cause him to chew on his nails or even obsess over the problem in question to no end.

The reason his wifi is exceptionally good is because he actually befriended a witch. The deal was an essay in exchange for all wifi bars anytime he needed. This isn't my headcanon but I love it.

He is able to draw really well, but only when he has visions about it.

Sam sleeps mostly laying on his stomach but sometimes feels comfortable sleeping on his right side.

Mostly vegetarian - once or twice he will break the rule but he likes to keep to that diet.

He actively searches hunting lore. He doesn't fully hate hunting itself. He just hates not being given the choice.

This is more canon than not, but if you want to read Sam Winchester's emotions, look at his eyes. What his face won't show, his eyes will immediately show as much as he tries to hide it.

Sam can't stand to talk about himself without talking about other people's problem's first. The moment he tries, he finds himself struggling to get the words out.

He is non-binary bisexual, but really can't care much about the labels.

He will always finish what he starts and avoids making promises he can't keep.

Sam absolutely loves dogs and if he can, he will stop to pet one.

Sam's favorite colors are powder blue, brown, white, black and gray-green and his favorite season is autumn

He seeks control for himself. He needs to be able to feel in control of his life, thoughts and actions, since people are always depriving him of that, which then becomes an issue with the entire Ruby situation (she made him think he was in control).

Sam's playlist is very strange. He'll listen to Bon Jovi, Amanda Palmer, Celine Dion, but would probably enjoy some styles of classic romantic music or baroque on certain days.

He's the type that would listen to christmas songs in June. Especially Frank Sinatra.

He is sometimes able to sense ghosts in his presence - this has been something that he's felt since he was a kid but had nobody to tell (he feared Dean would be upset with him)

He would definitely shamelessly listen to Adele.

Jess taught Sam how to knit, or at least started teaching him.

Sam is actually a decent cook.

Sam's friend group at Stanford was Luis, Jess, Brady, Zach and Rebecca.

They sometimes went over to Zach's and Rebecca's just to play Mario Kart and watch movies all day after their exams.

Their group photos burned down along with Jess so Sam never had the chance to retrieve them.

Sam was actually really short until he turned 17-18. His growth spurt came out of nowhere.

Sam had to wear knee braces during most of his time at Stanford.

Autistic with some slight OCD

#queer sam winchester #sam winchester #supernatural #non binary sam winchester #non binary #bisexual #stanford era #sam winchester headcanon #some canon facts mostly headcanons tho

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timetravelersdoctor · 9 months

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How do you think the Autobots and Decepticons (TFA, TFP and ES) would react if they met the Unicron (G1), a planet the size of Cybertron, who could also transform into robot mode and tried to destroy Cybertron with his bare hands (literally speaking)

Hi thank you for the ask! ( May I say that this is an intriguing ask. it's super interesting thank you! I haven gotten very far in Earthspark so I'll only do Optimus and Megatron, I hope that's okay)

Tfa Megatron: Tfa Megatron would attempt to keep his cool in order to gather information about who and what Unicron is. secretly he'd be a little unnerved at the thought of Cybertronian God being real. he would prefer to stay on Unicron's good side so long as he is a threat.

Tfa Blitzwing: Blitzwing would be freaking out at just how crazy it is that a Cybertronian God is real and that he is huge. he's not a fan of Unicron's tendency to consume worlds, however he keeps that little tidbit to himself.

Tfa Lugnut: Lugnut under the orders of Tfa Megatron would remain silent in Unicron's presence because Megatron doesn't think Lugnut would be able to not say anything that could get himself offlined.

Tfa Optimus Prime: The Young Prime doesn't know how to react to Unicron's presence and just does his best to cope he does what ever he can to keep his team safe.

Tfa Ratchet: Tfa Ratchet is extremely unhappy with Unicron's presence and has decide to help Optimus keep his team safe. He wouldn't want to talk to Unicron but he makes sure to keep Bumblebee from saying something inappropriate.

Tfa Bulkhead: Bulkhead helps Ratchet by distracting Bumblebee when ever he can and he makes sure Bumblebee understands how much danger they are in.

Tfa Bumblebee: He's Not allowed to interact with Unicron unless Ratchet or Bulkhead are present. he has a lot of questions for Unicron and really wants them to be answered.

Tfa Prowl: He snuck off to help find ways to send Unicron back to his original universe. Prowl has been gathering information on Unicron and reporting back to those attempting to neutralize Unicron and send him home.

Tfp Megatron: Post TFP Megatron would be the first to nope out of the situation. he was already under the control of one Unicron he does not need to make it two. he would do his best to avoid any and all interaction with G1 Unicron.

Tfp Starscream: Starscream would immediately attempt to get in Unicron's good graces not really knowing that Unicron doesn't have any. he's the most likely to get himself in to trouble involving Unicron.

Tfp Knockout: Knockout would be secretly insulting Unicron's looks in his head but outwardly he would do his best not to gain Unicron's attention by any means necessary.

Tfp Breakdown: Breakdown would do his best to follow Knockouts lead because he trusts Knockout to know what he's doing.

Tfp Soundwave: He is trying to find a way to send Unicron back to where ever he came from without getting caught. Soundwave wants nothing to to with this mess.

Tfp Optimus Prime: After seeing Unicron Optimus decided that he'll help soundwave with his plan and makes sure that whenever needed Unicron is distracted.

Tfp Ratchet: Ratchet decided to follow Megatrons lead for once and nope out of the situation taking the other three with him because he knows their impulses could get them offlined.

Tfp Bumblebee: Never gets the chance to interact with Unicron Because of Tfp Ratchet. he would probably freak out if he does met Unicron

Tfp Bulkhead: The only one not to have a big problem with Ratchet keeping them (him and the other two) away from the situation. the only thing he doesn't like is that Tfp Optimus is left alone with soundwave to deal with the situation.

Tfp Arcee: Doesn't like the fact that Ratchet dragged her away from the very dangerous situation leaving Optimus to handle it him self. She'd have a few choice words for Unicron if she met him though.

ES Megatron: ES Megs want to immediately do whatever it takes to get Unicron away from earth no matter what it takes. He's freaking out a little because Unicron could offline them all if he really wanted to.

ES Optimus Prime: ES Prime does his best to remain calm and attempt to help Megatron not freak out. he would do his best to keep everyone safe until they can find a way to get to proper safety

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operafantomet · 5 months

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Random question that popped into my head while watching a Tiktok:

What are your opinions on the 2004 movie’s performances? Not the blocking, not the costumes—just the singing and voices.

Mostly meeeeh.... Rocky Phantom and thin-voiced Christine is partly a directing choice, to make them easy-to-like for a younger audience. But I think the vocals are too weak, I cannot sit down and listen to the soundtrack without being annoyned.

Acting wise Emmy Rossum as Christine managed to convey the innocence, charm and lonelyness I see in the role, and she certainly looked the part. But she was never particularly believable as the grand star of the Parisian opera, which I think is a crucial point of the plot. I also think she didn't show the grand transformation most stage Christines do, where they in the middle of the second act finds their own voice and way and is ready to fight.

Gerard Butler as the Phantom should probably be thanked for hindering the role and hence the movie turning into a total camp feast. The director wanted topless, muscles, nipples, and Butler refused. He seemed to dig deeper into the character than Joel Schumacher did. Duly noted and appreciated. But I did think he lacked most of the finesse, power and danger seen in even an average stage Phantom - or Lon Chaney, for that matter. Add a heavily autotuned rock-voice just isn't my cup of tea. There were moments were I felt the rougher voice served its purpose, but I would have liked it as an effect rather than constant feature.

(directing wise, I also had issues with how they stripped him of all sense of magic, to make him so HUUUUMAAAAN... showing that the manipulation of Carlotta's voice was sue to a spray, for example, and not ventriloquism. And I haven't even mentioned the lack of a decent deformity, which also is crucial to the plot)

Patrick Wilson as Raoul was maybe the one I felt made most sense of the leads, in terms of him being a fairly classic Raoul. He sung well, he loved his Christine, he fought his battle. Maybe not wildly memorable, but towards two mellow co-stars it is probably limits to how sharp edges you may have.

Minnie Driver as Carlotta was colourful and delightfully over the top, but here - opposite of the Phantom - I missed the sense of the human underneath. She was merely a comic relief. And of course, she did not sing the part herself, former stage Carlotta Margaret Preece did, and very well.

Of the other leads I liked Simon Callow as André a lot, if only because he embodied the nervousness, the need of elegance and the peculiarity of the role. Ditto for Miranda Richardson as Madame Giry. Yeah, annoying French accent, and for mysterious reasons the only one with an accent. But she is a great actress and added just the right dose of quirk, mystery and femininity to the role that I felt this was a somewhat new portrayal. I liked it. Jennifer Ellison as Meg could have been so good if they actually used her classical ballet training to the full, but she hardly got to dance. Her sweet singing voice and very meg-esque look was fine, but I cannot NOT think of what she could have done with the role if they featured her more as a dancer. But I loved that she and Miranda Richardson looked a lot alike.

I have no memory of Firmin and Piangi. Sorry.

And while writing this I realized I probably haven't seen the movie in 10-12 years. So this is based on the memory of way back. Maybe I should see it anew. But last time I tried I loved the Auction and Overture and felt I had underestimated the 2004 movie. But somewhere in Hannibal and definitely in "Think of Me" it dawned on me that nope... and by the time of the title song and MOTN I just cannot watch it (or listen to it). So...

#2004 movie #phantom of the opera #not tagging them all

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herecomethatboi · 1 year

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Oops, secret’s out! (The Deathslinger x Gn! Reader)

Gendernatural reader <3

Caleb needs more fanfictions in my opinion, so here’s this little thing

Enjoy :D

Dwight finding out you're in a relationship with a killer was just bad in general, but not just any killer, the Deathslinger himself. It could've been anyone else, but no. You had to go for the old cowboy who could be considered a corpse.

Looking at the other killers... The Deathslinger doesn't really look like a bad choice...

Every survivor caught the two of you glancing at each other from time to time, him sometimes letting you go, him missing his shots intentionally so you can run away.

Little things like that made the others question your relationship, but they didn't really dwell on it, focusing more on resting as much as they can for trials.

Dwight though, oh poor little guy. He wanted to know how the others are everytime, ever since he accidentally summoned the Cenobite, he felt unmotivated. It was his fault. And he beats himself up everytime he thinks about it.

Keeping tabs of everyone made him feel a little useful.

So, he wanted to know what is going on with you and that killer, or Caleb, as you referred to call him.

Well, he expected something else, like, mutual respect, some kind of friendship? Friendship always brings people together, right?

But...friends don't kiss...right? Right. So why? Aren't you friends? KISSING ON THE LIPS COULD BE PLATONIC...RIGHT?!?!?

"Oh you're an idiot Dwight..." He thought to himself, you guys are weirdly cute. Kissing lightly while embracing on another tightly, like a married couple, it's adorable.

Oh, you're being slammed against the wall-

That made him ran away with his face looking like a tomato.

He was flusterred, embarrased and confused. He's happy for you for finding someone, he just hopes the Deathslinger treats you right.

He can't tell the others.

It might turn to the worst and the other survivors would judge you or even, as childish as it sounds, bully you.

Dwight wouldn't forgive himself if he did anything to disrespect you. As the leader, he possibly CANNOT tell anyone! Not even a single person! He will take this to his grave even if he dies-

He told Claudette. Who told Meg, who told Feng, who told Jane, who told Jeff, who didn't tell anyone, because he actually respects people's privacy, but Jane told-

You get the idea.

The others were...suprised...some a little upset. Some really didn't care, some just going on with their day like it's normal. Like, come on, there's literal monsters here, people from horror films, a dude who can turn invisble, nothing can surprise them anymore.

When you got back from your... activities... with Caleb, some people from the camp ran to you asking billions of questions.

Why him? Are you okay? Did he force you? Did he threaten you? Do you need help beating him up? And so on.

You were shocked, but thought someone saw you, and you sighed, explained that your relationship was mutual, he treats you right, he wouldn't force anything on you, even if he is seen as someone who would, no you absolutely don't want anyone beating him up.

You loved him, he loved you and that's what mattered the most to you. The others were relieved, and told you good luck and by Felix's words, "Use protection".

So things worked out, later Dwight came clean with you, telling you he saw the two of you kiss and put the picture together and accidentally told Claudette.

He would've went on but you gave him a little smile, telling him it's fine, you're not mad, but talk to you first before he does anything, you wouldn't judge.

You patted his shoulder slightly and went to your tent to read a book you found in one of the trials.

Let's just say, Caleb started a coughing fit after he barked out a laugh when you told him the story.

"He definitely saw us fuckin'!"

#dbd x reader #dbd x gn reader #the deathslinger x reader #the deathslinger #x gn reader #dwight fairfield #dbd claudette

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ijuststareatstuffhereok89 · 9 months

Note

If you could rewrite sylvie to make her a character you liked and a character worthy of Loki's love, what would you do differently?

Good question! Ugh, I supposed starting entirely fresh and from scratch or just swapping her out for Sigyn is off the table? Let's see...

1- Make her anything but another Loki. The selfcest thing is the only thing worse than Sylvie's actual characterization. Starting off by giving her an entirely different identity. I mean, while I find Thorki and all incest ships to be 'ewww-y', I guess I'd have less of an issue if she was a Thor Variant. Maybe ditching the romance angle and making her an Odin Variant that Loki has to develop his redemption arc through by means of confronting the relationship he had with his adopted father. But no, that'd be deep and interesting.

2- Get rid of her pissy attitude! God, can she be any less approachable? Honestly, I think if I had the choice of being pruned or going on an adventure with her, I'd chose the former. She's not pleasant or fun, she's too driven by her trauma and selfishness that she doesn't care for her teammates, and she prefers to put down instead of motivate, so there's no reason whatsoever to thrown in your lot with her. Someone like her would be an absolute detriment to The Avengers, so why should she be considered an asset or ally to Loki and Mobius? And why should audiences be expected to sympathize with her?

Also, why do the writers of this show think fans of Loki, who CLEARLY are the target audience of this show (or else it wouldn't literally be called "Loki") would be game for just watching him get his ass kicked and/or demeaned every five minutes? That's like advertising the world's most satisfying James Bond movie, only to kill Bond in the first act and have the rest of the film be about Pussy Galore.

3- Revamp herbackstory to make it less of an eyeroller. Sylvie had the single most cardboard cut out backstory known to storytelling. Take out her name and actor and you'd have every Meg Ryan and Sandra Bullock character from 1990-2005. In this massive MCU, the writers couldn't come up with ANYTHING better than a girl/woman who has to fend for herself in a cruel, mean world that just doesn't understand her?

Like....anything?

Even half-assing it could develop something better. How about making her a trained assassin that Loki has to de-program? Yeah, it's far from a unique premise, and I'm sure Waldron couldn't do it any better than Winter Soldier did, but it's still better than what we are expected to support here.

4- Recasting the role. Nothing against Sophie DiMartino, but she and Tom have no romantic chemistry. Even without the bickering and terrible writing, their dynamic would be more suited to an estranged brother and sister at best.

I haven't decided if I'm in the camp of fancasting Zawe alongside Tom in the MCU, especially now that she's been placed elsewhere and her character in The Marvels probably won't ever encounter Loki, but at least we know there'd be legit chemistry between them, and it would be easier to digest the pairing (probably just cute seeing them play off each other on screen too).

If not Zawe, maybe a big character actor that we know can swashbuckle but also be soft and sympathetic, like Keira Knightly or Zhang Ziyi.

#loki #loki season 2 #loki tv series #anti sylvie #anti sylki #antisylki #mcu #mcu loki

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skepticreadstoa · 1 month

Text

The Hidden Oracle: Chapter 5

“An exam for Roman demigods,” I told her. “The Demigod Standard Test of Mad Powers.” Percy frowned. “That’s what it stands for?” “I should know. I wrote the music and poetry analysis sections.” “I will never forgive you for that,” Percy said. I wonder what Apollo would consider worthy of putting in a Demigod exam. Knowing him, it would probably be completely pointless stuff like haikus and hymns that he wrote himself.

“Never knew them…much.” Percy hesitated. “Foster home? Stepparents?” I thought of a certain plant, the Mimosa pudica, which the god Pan created. As soon as its leaves are touched, the plant closes up defensively. Meg seemed to be playing mimosa, folding inward under Percy’s questions. Percy raised his hands. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to pry.” Nobody spoil anything for me, but if anybody treated Meg wrong in the past, I just need to know their location. Just to talk.

“Seven layers?” I looked up in wonder. “You knew seven is my sacred number? You invented this for me?” Sally wiped her hands on her apron. “Well, actually, I can’t take credit—” “You are too modest!” I tried some of the dip. It tasted almost as good as ambrosia nachos. “You will have immortal fame for this, Sally Jackson!” The first, most sensible thought he's had since the start of the book.

“And this whole turning-into-a-mortal thing…you’ve done it twice before?” “Not by choice,” I assured him. “The first time, we had a little rebellion in Olympus. We tried to overthrow Zeus.” That's two failed rebellions, by the other Olympians, and by Kronos. The can never do one right, can they?

“Guys,” Percy interrupted. “So, just to recap, you have to be Meg’s servant for…?” “Some unknown amount of time,” I said. “Probably a year. Possibly more.” “And during that time—” “I will undoubtedly face many trials and hardships.” “Like getting me my cows,” Meg said. She really wants those cows, doesn't she?

Percy frowned. “Apollo, if you’re really mortal, like, one hundred percent mortal, can you even get in to Camp Half-Blood?” The seven-layer dip began to churn in my stomach. “Please don’t say that. Of course I’ll get in. I have to.” “But you could get hurt in battle now…” Percy mused. “Then again, maybe monsters would ignore you because you’re not important?” “Stop!” My hands trembled. Being a mortal was traumatic enough. Percy is resolutely not helping the situation and we admire him for it.

“Sure it is,” Percy said. “Some of the best demigods have gotten their start by blowing up toilets.” Meg giggled. I did not like the way she was grinning at Percy. I didn’t want the girl to develop a crush. Right, it doesn't always end well for people who start to crush and Percy Jackson.

"If it wasn’t for Annabeth helping me out—” “Who’s that?” Meg asked. “My girlfriend.” Meg frowned. Crisis averted. But also dam.

Percy kissed her (Sally) on the cheek. He reached for the cookies, but she moved the plate away. “Oh, no,” she said. “Apollo and Meg can have one, but I’m keeping the rest hostage until you’re back safely. And hurry, dear. It would be a shame if Paul ate them all when he gets home.” Percy’s expression turned grim. He faced us. “You hear that, guys? A batch of cookies is depending on me. If you get me killed on the way to camp, I am going be ticked off.” Oh yeah, we all know Percy always puts blue food first in any and all situations.

#trials of apollo #lester papadopoulos #percy jackson #meg mccaffrey #sally jackson #toa #toa fandom #the hidden oracle #skeptic reads #liveblogging

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minefield-of-a-ninja · 1 year

Text

28 DAYS: CHAPTER EIGHT

Summary: Dean Winchester is an addict and an alcoholic, a USMC veteran, a father, and an older brother. As Battalion Chief with Lawrence Fire & Medical, Dean comes under investigation when he makes a dangerous and impulsive decision, defying his superiors and abandoning the team he is supposed to lead. He is given a choice to go to rehab for 28 days or jail. His lawyer insists on rehab, and Dean begrudgingly abides.

Chapter warnings/tags: mentions of sex with a minor (Meg's dad)

Words in this chapter: 4,100

Author’s notes: you might recognize a few nuggets (per Stuie) from SPN here.

After this, there are two more chapters and an epilogue.

Many thanks to @brrose-apothecary and @stusbunker for pre-reads and for being my friends.

text divider by @talesmaniac89

CHAPTER EIGHT

“So...” Meg exhales the first drag of her post-dinner cigarette. “How’d it go?”

Dean exhales his own with his eyes closed then drops his head to stretch his neck before finally answering. “She’s comin’ on Friday.”

Meg blinks through the smoke. “Wow. That’s... fast. You OK?” She takes another long drag, watching him closely.

“She’s my baby girl.” Dean stares at the glowing cherry before taking a quick drag and blowing it out. “‘Til 10 months ago, she thought the sun shined out my ass. Now she knows a little more about my ass than I wish she did.”

Meg furrows her brow in question.

“She walked in on me and some friends. In my bedroom. With a side of coke.”

Meg narrows her eyes as she takes another draw from her cigarette. She’s quiet for a moment before she tells him a brief story.

“When I was 13, I walked in on my dad on the couch with my best friend. She was also 13, mind you.”

She sighs and shakes her head when Dean reaches to place a gentle hand on her knee, mirroring her furrowed expression from earlier. She drops her palms over his hand and squeezes with a watery smile then clears her throat.

“That’s just the tip of the iceberg with Travis Masters, lemme tell ya!” She chuckles, looking up at the night sky as she takes her last drag, holding Dean’s hand in hers. On her exhales, she continues with her point.

“Anyway... I still loved him.” She flicks her smoldering butt into the bucket of sand at their feet before looking back up at Dean. “He’s still my daddy. And he never even tried to make things right.”

Dean flips his hand under hers to squeeze her back, letting the ash at the end of his smoke grow. “I don’t wanna be the reason she takes her first drink or goes home with some fucking asshole, who—”

“Hey.” Meg stops him, leaning in to snag his cigarette and suck the last millimeter of life out of it before dropping it in the bucket with hers. “We’ll never know why we make the choices we make — not entirely — but you’re doing the right thing right now, Dean.”

Dean swallows and nods, hoping what she’s saying is true.

“But you’re right. She is your baby girl. You’re always gonna be her hero. If somewhere down the line she slips and gets hurt, you’ll be there to pick her up, no matter what caused it.”

Dean draws a shaky breath and nods, squeezing her hand tighter.

“She’s just hurt and scared. That’s all. And that scares you.”

Dean nods more vigorously. “I don’t want her to be scared — ‘specially not of me.”

“Right. So you’re gonna fix it.”

Dean sniffles then sits up straight, drawing a deep breath as he slowly pulls his hand from her grasp. “I’m just afraid it can’t be fixed, ya know?”

Meg nods, sitting back as well. “I’ve never met her, but I know how you make me feel — and everybody else in this joint — I know that she knows you love her, and I’ll bet that she’s as good a person as her Daddy.”

Dean smirks, feeling his cheeks heat, making him drop his gaze sideways.

“Hey, I’m only telling you all this now because you’re terrified she’s gonna walk in here and tell you she never wants to see you again, but, Dean... she wouldn’t be coming if that was the case. She can’t, and won’t, stay away forever.”

“Thanks, Meg.” Dean looks up and holds her gaze for a few beats.

He wonders, not for the first time, what if they’d met in another time and place, would they be something other or more than what they are to each other now? He knows he cares for her and knows he will do his level best to have her back, even after they get out of this place. But there’s an unspoken rule between this version of them; they’ll never be other or more in this lifetime.

“We’ll all be there for you,” Meg assures him as she slides from atop their established perch on the deck. “We’ll be right beside you.”

Dean steps in to pull her into a hug, but her gaze is snagged toward the reception area. “Well, except, maybe not him.”

Dean turns toward the windows to see Crowley slithering through the front doors.

“Huh. Little creep didn’t even make it 48 hours.” He slides his hands into his pockets and tilts back onto his heels.

Meg sidles next to him as they watch the bruised and disheveled Scotsman check in with Missouri. “Three outta ten, Dean.”

Dean nods and drapes an arm around her shoulder. “Two point one.”

“So... hypothetically,” Gabe waves his hands around like he’s doing an impression of Mickey Mouse as the sorcerer’s apprentice. “Let’s say one of us—”

“Two point one,” Rowena murmurs from his side.

Gabe nods. “Let’s say two or more of us get outta here and make it.”

Cain slowly nods and blinks until his head tiredly finds its way to his shoulder. Dean continues to be amazed at Cain’s patience and grace with this group of morons, of which Dean isn’t the least problematic.

“When can we, ya know, date?” Gabe folds and settles his hands in his lap, and Rowena pats him on the shoulder.

Crowley rolls his blackened, swollen, and bloodshot eyes, and Cain arches a brow.

“The two of you?” Cain asks.

“Hypothetically!” Gabe pitches forward in his seat, hands open in surrender. “And I’m just asking like what’s a healthy time, ya know, to marinate on the outside in our sobriety so we know we’re good and ready?”

Cain sighs. “What we tell everyone when they leave is — number one, 90 meetings in 90 days.”

He glances around their circle — Crowley is slumped and grumbling beside Rowena; Jack is quiet and laser-focused; Pamela is knitting a beanie for one of her boys as she watches and listens; and Meg and Dean are similarly sprawled and fidgeting in the uncomfortable chairs, simultaneously amused and bored by Gabe’s antics.

“Number two,” Cain continues. “Get yourself a plant. If the plant is still alive after a year...” He shrugs. “Get a pet. If after two years, both the plant and pet are still alive? Then you’re ready to date.”

“Two years?!” Rowena shrieks.

Pamela snorts a laugh but doesn’t miss a weft as Crowley appears to fall asleep, Dean and Meg roll their eyes at each other, and Jack looks absolutely lost.

Gabe pats Rowena’s hand and nods in reassurance. “But what if, hypothetically, we know the person already?”

Cain nods and blinks to the other shoulder this time.

“Do we just ignore that person for two years?”

“Gabriel.” Cain blinks. “We need to refocus on today’s topic.”

“Right.” Crowley grunts from across the circle. “Dean’s daughter’s visit.”

Dean’s surprised, not only because he genuinely thought Crowley had passed out 10 minutes ago, but also because there’s not even the slightest trace of malice in his tone.

Regardless, he’s on high alert and suddenly jittery now that they’re discussing the plans for the weekend.

“Yes,” Cain echoes. “Emma arrives Friday for the weekend. She and Lydia will spend the first day with Billie and the second with Billie and me.”

“Lydia?” Meg mutters to Dean, and he nods.

“Her mom,” Dean quietly answers.

Emma’s only 16, but she did have the choice to bring her mother into the sessions or not. He and Lydia didn’t work out, but she’s a good mother and a good person. Dean thinks Emma’s choice to bring her along was best for her.

“But make no mistake,” Cain briefly turns his attention to Meg. “These sessions are for Dean and Emma's healing; no one else.”

The plans are all similar to what they experienced when Pamela’s boys visited. Emma and Lydia are staying close by, so they will be welcome to dine in the cafeteria and spend as much extra time on-site as they wish.

“Pamela,” Cain prompts and Pamela sets her knitting aside. “You and your boys did an incredible job. Do you have any input for Dean?”

Pamela nods and takes a deep breath before looking Dean in the eyes. “Be honest.”

Dean nods.

“Remember she’s just a kid.”

Dean’s heart lurches and skips.

“And don’t be defensive.”

“OK.” Dean smiles. “Thanks, PB.”

Pamela smiles back and winks as she resumes her knitting.

“Good, OK,” Cain says. “Now, remember, just as with Pamela’s group, not all of you are required to attend, but please let me know if you are abstaining and for what reason. Any questions?”

Jack’s hand shoots into the air, and he almost takes flight with eagerness. “Yes, Jack?”

“May I say something? About Dean’s daughter’s visit.”

Dean shifts in his seat and tries to calm his nerves and heart rate.

“Of course you may, Jack.”

Jack nods then resituates in his seat to focus on Dean. “Dean. I hope you know what a good person you are. You’re kind and strong, and you make people feel safe. Your daughter’s visit—”

“Emma,” Dean murmurs.

Jack nods again. “Emma’s visit will probably be emotional and anxiety-inducing. You’re bound to think that you’re a bad person or that people are judging you, so I want to remind you now that we all believe in you. And I’m certain Emma does as well.”

Dean blinks.

Shock is a medical state for which Dean has been trained, certified, and re-trained to treat. It’s when, for whatever reason, your body doesn’t have enough blood circulating throughout. If Dean didn’t know better, he’d think Jack’s monologue sent him into shock.

Meg nudges him, mumbling something terse.

“Uhh... thank you. Jack. Thank you.” Dean nods, catching his breath and trying to find a comfortable position in his seat as Jack nods and smiles, satisfied and scooting back into his own.

Crowley dramatically clears his throat as he lazily lifts his hand. “I will... I’d like to echo much of what Jack has said.”

“I thought you hated me.” Dean arches a brow.

“No one hates you as much as you do — believe me, I’ve tried.”

Rowena coos and runs a hand down Crowley’s arm.

“Truth is, you are a good man,” Crowley continues. “Your daughter knows it better than we do, I’d venture to guess. Remember that.”

Dean peeks at Meg, and she tilts her head with an I-told-you-so shrug.

“You got this, Sparky.” Gabe gives Dean a thumbs-up, and he chuckles, returning the thumbs-up.

“Oh, Dean...” Rowena begins. “Just... don’t let your darker thoughts get the better of you. Rise above!”

Dean bobs his head looking around the circle at his new friends. “Thank you. All of you. I appreciate it.”

“OK, everybody — same time tomorrow. Let’s break.”

The week lurches and stalls like a tortuous loop of time. Dean’s scared and anxious, but he also wants so badly to hold his little girl in his arms again that his heart aches with its every beat.

Dinner on Thursday feels like a manifestation of a thousand-yard stare. His skin itches with a jonesing he hasn’t felt in days for a single Valium or the tiniest drag off a joint because he knows he isn’t going to be able to sleep at all tonight.

“You eat like a bird, it’s so bizarre,” Meg mutters, nabbing the dinner roll from Dean’s tray to tear it open and slather it with butter. “You’re like,” she rips a piece of the buttered bread with her teeth and chews, talking with her mouth full. “All tall and broad-shouldered and solid as a wall, and I’ve seen you eat like, what?”

Meg gestures to Pamela.

“Like a banana and two beans all week,” Pamela replies with an arch of her brow, stabbing what’s left of Dean’s chicken breast and dropping it to her own tray.

“A banana and two beans! Right,” Meg agrees. “And not just this week, you never eat. What’s that about?”

Meg and Pamela stare at him as they chew their own food and his.

“Honestly?”

The women nod encouragingly.

“I dunno.” Dean shrugs.

No one in his entire life has ever told him that he eats like a bird. In fact, John used to call him an oinker when he was a kid, and he’s spent most of his adult life with a reputation for eating anything put in front of him.

“Wouldn’t you know it?” Pamela narrows her eyes. “The best-looking person in this place also doesn’t get the munchies and immediately gain 15 pounds like the rest of us. Jerk.”

“Exactly. Jerk.”

Dean shrugs again. “Just well-adjusted, I guess.”

Meg and Pamela snort and roll their eyes before Pamela throws a green bean at Dean.

Dean heads to his room after dinner. He tells Pamela and Meg that he wants to take a long, hot shower before bed to try and wind down.

Pamela makes a joke about the ‘long, hot showers’ somehow figuring into his lack of munchies, as if cursory shower masturbation is a substitute for anything let alone the rush of cocaine and the sensational fucking feel of a warm body under and over you, sliding skin against skin.

Meg argues. “Bitch, I rub one out morning, noon, and night and I still can’t button my jeans.”

Dean groans. “OK, I’m outta here. See you two in the morning.”

“Hiking?”

“Yes.”

“OK, goodnight!”

“‘Night.”

Before Dean can make it to the stairs, Alex stops him.

“Hey, Dean. Billie told me to make sure you get this before curfew.”

She hands him his cell phone. All he can do is stare at it.

“She thought you might want it for, I dunno, solitaire or something. You still have a couple of hours before Light Out.” Alex reasserts her offer.

Dean cautiously takes his phone.

He didn’t realize until that moment how liberating it had been not having his phone for the past two weeks. He holds it like it’s foreign or cursed.

“Thanks, Alex.”.

“Welcome,” she replies with a smile. “Have a good night, and good luck this weekend.”

Dean smiles back before turning and heading toward the staircase.

Alex isn’t much older than Emma. Dean can imagine how proud her parents must be of what a great kid and how smart and kind she is.

When he gets to his room, Jack’s already in bed with his comics, candy, and stuffed animal. Dean pauses for a moment to watch Jack reading. His brow is lightly furrowed, and he’s absently stroking the soft fur of his gryphon.

“What’s his name?” Dean asks, setting his phone on his chest of drawers.

Jack jolts and rapidly blinks before looking up at Dean with bleary eyes.

“What?” he asks.

Dean smiles, biting back his laughter. He doesn’t want Jack to think he’s laughing at him in a bad way.

“Your uhh... friend there.” Dean motions toward the gryphon as he pulls his drawer open for pajama pants and a t-shirt.

“Oh.” Jack looks down at the toy like he’d forgotten it was there. “Her name is Dagon.”

Dean pauses his search for pajamas and then turns to the kid. “Ironic. Dagon. Like dragon without the R?” He arches a brow.

Jack blushes and buries his grin in the neck of his guardian. “And with fur.”

Dean chuckles and turns to retrieve his pajamas. “Hey, Jack, you wanna read me one of your stories? I could use a little somethin’ to get my mind off tomorrow.”

He pushes his drawer shut before turning back and finding Jack beaming at him.

“Yes. I’d love to!”

Dean nods. “Great. I’m gonna go shower real quick. Pick a good one.”

As Dean makes his way to the bathroom, Jack scurries out from under his covers and calls after him. “I will!”

Jack is an animated storyteller. As he tells the stories more than he reads them to Dean, it becomes clear that he’s read these books dozens of times. He explains the characters’ motivations without judgment, portraying them all as complex and sympathetic.

Two hours later, when their lights are turned out and Dean is gently nodding off, Jack murmurs something so quietly that Dean isn’t sure he’s meant to hear it.

“You could be Batman, Dean. You’re a lot like him.”

If Jack didn’t treasure and portray the vigilante with such love and compassion, Dean might take offense. Instead, Jack’s comment fuels hours of cartoonish dreams of Dean fighting fantasy crime with Jack at his side.

Dean wakes up too early to go down for coffee, but he got almost a full eight hours of sleep for the first time in months.

He gets up to pee and wash his face. On his way back to bed, he notices his phone on top of his chest of drawers. He waits a beat before picking it up. When he finally does, he crawls back into bed and stares at the dark screen for almost a whole minute.

He checks in with himself like Billie’s taught him to do.

He’s scared. He doesn’t know what he’ll see in his text logs if he chooses to look at them. He doesn’t know what voice messages might be in his inbox. He decides before he opens his phone that he’s not going to look at his texts or his voicemail. He can’t manage that thick, sticky layer of anxiety today. He needs to be at his best for Emma.

Dean finds a game to play until he can get dressed and go down to meet Meg and Pamela for their hike.

“Dean.”

His stomach donkey-kicks his heart, and he freezes at the sound of Lydia’s voice.

Meg peeks around him curiously, and her face brightens with a smile. She looks up at him as she reaches for his smoke.

“She’s here,” she says, tossing his cigarette into the sand. “Go.”

Dean swallows and nods then takes a deep breath, running his hand through his hair as he turns.

When he sees her, he exhales and can’t help but smile.

“Hi, Daddy.”

“Hi, baby.” He sets his coffee aside.

“You look good, Dean,” Lydia says, watching Emma closely and keeping her distance. “Maybe a little thin, but... good.”

“Thanks.” Dean doesn’t take his eyes off his daughter as she idles at her mother’s side. He takes a step forward then another. Before he can take a third, Emma collides with him, wrapping her arms around his ribcage and burying her face in his chest.

“I missed you so much,” she whispers.

Dean’s eyes close as he wraps his arms around her and rests his cheek on the crown of her head. “Me too, baby. God, me too.”

He opens his eyes to see Lydia watching Emma with tears in her eyes. She looks up at him and tries to smile. Dean shakes his head.

“Thank you,” he says, and Lydia nods, reaching out to smooth a hand along his arm.

Friday and Saturday are long and grueling. At meal times, Emma and Lydia leave the campus. Lydia explains that they just need a little break, but Dean worries. Emma hugged him and told him she missed him, though. That brief interaction gets him through hours of trudging through memories of what a mess he made of his life in the past three years.

When Sunday arrives, he’s exhausted and wound so tight he’s afraid he might snap. He asks Billie for some tools to calm himself. She reminds him to breathe and to focus on being the person he wants to be and who Emma needs him to be; not on the past.

At noon, they gather in the group room. As they assemble their chairs in a circle with chairs for Dean and Emma inside, Emma won’t look at him.

“Hey,” Pamela appears at his side with a cup of water. “Drink this and breathe. You’re gonna be great.”

Dean accepts the water and slams it. “Thanks.”

She takes the empty cup with a nod then turns to leave him to his task.

Once everyone is settled and Cain has explained how everything will play out, he turns to Dean’s daughter.

“Emma, what do you want to tell your dad?”

Emma still won’t look Dean in the eye as she chews the inside of her lip. “That he hurt me.”

Dean shifts in his chair and rubs the heel of his palm down and up his thigh.

“Tell your dad, Emma.”

Emma’s chest convulses on a shaky inhale and she side-eyes Dean. She looks so tired and sad.

“I shouldn’t have to make an appointment to see my dad.”

“OK. That sounds like anger, Emma.”

“Yeah,” she answers, and her voice cracks. She looks back at Dean. “I shouldn’t have to make sure you won’t be high and having a threesome in the middle of a Wednesday afternoon.”

Dean nods and licks his lips, blinking slowly as he drops his gaze to the floor. He agrees with her. She shouldn’t have to do that or see her fuck-up dad doing fucked up things.

“What else, Emma?” Cain prompts.

Emma draws another breath and squares her shoulders. She clears her throat and turns to fully face her dad.

“That day...” Her lip trembles, and her eyes well with tears. “You were like an animal.” She shakes her head, and tears drop to her hands in her lap. “I didn’t recognize my dad that day.”

Dean’s chest and jaw tighten painfully. In his line of sight, he sees Pamela’s hands wringing in her lap and Jack perched at the edge of his seat.

“Besides being hurt and angry, what else did you feel, Emma?”

“Scared,” she whispers, dropping her eyes.

Dean winces, squeezing his eyes shut and grinding his teeth.

“Of what, Emma? Tell your dad.”

“You weren’t you.”

Dean looks up again, wishing he could hold her and make it all go away.

“You were...” Emma shakes her head. “Some fucked up, sex-crazed... lunatic. Not my dad. And I need you. I need you.”

Emma crumbles into sobs, and Dean pitches forward. Billie and Cain both told him he had to hear her out before speaking or acting in any way. He isn’t allowed to comfort her, and it’s killing him.

“OK. That was really good, Emma. Are you ready for your dad to talk now?”

Emma sniffles and nods, and Cain turns to Dean.

“Dean, what do you want to say to Emma?”

He settles back in his chair.

He draws a deep breath and lets the tears spill, mirroring the little girl facing him. “I’m sorry, baby. I never wanted you to see me that way.”

Emma’s brow furrows, and she huffs a small sob, shaking her head. “Why... do you do that? Why do you wanna be like that?”

Dean stares at her for several breaths. He wants to apologize to her. He wants her to know that he never meant to hurt or scare her. He doesn’t know how to answer her question.

Finally, he shakes his head. “Sometimes I can’t be myself, Em.”

“But I need you,” she repeats her plea from before.

Dean swallows, tipping forward again. “I’m so sorry I hurt and scared you. I never want to hurt you, please... I need you to know that.”

“But you did,” she answers simply. “And if you don’t stop all that, you’ll do it again. Mom covered for you for so long. This needs to stop, I need my dad.”

Something about her tone of voice raises his hackles. “I’m still your dad, Em.” He reminds himself of Pamela’s advice.

“No,” Emma argues. “No, not like that! My dad’s strong and brave — he saves lives. He’s gentle and kind. He loves me—”

“I do love you, baby—”

“Dean, Emma — let’s stay on track.”

Dean nods, turning back to face his daughter. “Em, honey, I love you. So much. And I wanna be good for you.”

“You are good for me. You help me feel unafraid to tell you anything, ask you anything. You make me stronger — that’s the reason I’m here today.”

All the lessons he’s learned from Billie, all of Meg’s observations, Jack's words, and even Crowley’s come rushing back to him. His daughter is begging him to be what he wants to be. It’s so simple. All he has to do is stop resisting so that he can be what she needs.

Dean hangs his head and cries, but he’s smiling.

“... and I love you, too, Daddy. Everybody does. Don’t lose who you are because you’re afraid. I need you, Uncle Sammy needs you... these people need you to just be you.”

“Dean?” Cain calls to him. “Do you have anything else to add?”

“OK.” He surrenders, bobbing his head as he raises it and wiping his tears. “You got me, baby.”

Then Dean looks at Cain. “Can I hug my little girl now?”

Cain smiles and nods. “Yes.”

Emma is out of her chair just as Dean stands, meeting him with a shaking, sobbing embrace.

Chapter 9

Please let me know what you think!

Series Masterlist

MJ’s Masterlist

#au dean winchester #dean winchester is saved

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trials-of-apollo-my-beloved · 10 months

Text

The Adventures of Lester Papadopoulos and the Scrap Master

A Trials of Apollo Fic

Lester's life has been a on a steady decline ever since he left his abusive family to go be on his own. The days at his new job at his local coffee shop are monotonous and unrewarding until one day he gets robbed by a human traffic light that insists things around here start changing. Lester just wished the "here" she was gentrifying wasn't his life.

Or: A platonic Meg&Apollo coffee shop au

Chapter One

Lester threw his head to the table with so much force the resounding crack could be heard all through the coffee shop.

Kids if anyone ever tells you to get a job at a coffee shop you tell them to stuff some hot coals up their nose, because that’s what spilling hot coffee on yourself then violently banging your head against clear frosted acrylic countertops feels like. An experience also known as Lester Papadopoulos’ average work day.

From behind him Lester heard about the only sound capable of making his day worse, discounting his father’s voice, -which he never did for the fear for his own life- Reyna snickering.

“Clean up not going too well Lester?”

“I thought,” Lester said in a mumble against the counter, “that the coffee would have cooled down after closing.”

Reyna lifted an eyebrow. Lester didn’t know that for a fact, he was too busy crying onto counter tops (huh, Crying onto Counter tops? That sounded like a good indie band) but over his years of being the most mocked person in any room he entered he’d picked up a seventh sense to devine when people were judging him.

“You know we just closed minutes ago, right?”

“Yeah. I was the one that flipped the sign.” Okay now both eyebrows were up. Seriously Lester was surprised that this kind of stupidity coming from him was still surprising her.

“Okay. You do know how time works right?”

“Yes.” Lester mumbled, all too aware that his nose was bent at an angle that made him sound like a person doing a bad Big Bird impression.

“Okay then. Are you alright?”

Lester snorted, No, Lester thought, but I don’t want to inconvenience you any further with my presence, woman who shot me down for a date and laughed in my face not even two weeks ago, and is also one of the most brilliant people I know.

“Yes.”

“Good because there is a little girl knocking on our door and you’re much better at turning people off than I am.” Reyna chuckled to herself like that was the funniest joke in the world. Lester sighed because if it hadn’t been targeted at him he actually would have found it funny. Currently it just felt painfully accurate to reality.

“Fine, I got it.” Lester picked himself up from the counter and brushed off his apron. There, now he looked about as presentable as anyone could after a ten hour work day. Gods he missed being on the family payroll.

Lester metaphorically hiked up his skirts and went up to the glass doors to shoo off some kid.

Truly his father was wrong, he was doing so well without him.

Lester had to blink to make sure the windows on the doors hadn’t been replaced with mirrors and he wasn’t seeing the reflection of the traffic light from the street, because there was no earthly way a parent would actively choose to dress their child like that.

Lester opened the door and addressed the fashion disaster question, “Uhm, excuse me but we’re closed. And we have a no loitering policy, so-”

“Do you guys have any leftovers?”

“Do we have any… leftovers?”

“Yeah, you know? Like food that is past its sell by date and, ya know?”

Lester blinked and observed the girl past her abysmal fashion choices. He could figure why a kid would be asking for something like that. The girl was on the shorter side with hair that might have once been a page boy cut but had long fallen out of maintenance. Her outfit, past being the last choice of anyone with common sense, was also stained and she smelled like the dumpster outside his apartment building.

This girl looked like a what if scenario where the lost child in a grocery store was never found by their parents and grew up amongst the produce. Then going on to sustain their home in the store through wacky Home-Alone-esk shenanigans, eventually ascending over piles of outdated meats to become the grocery store scrap master.

“Might I ask why you want to know that?”

The girl peered past Lester, “Because I wanna eat it, duh.” She seeped so much sarcasm into that “duh” that even as a worker in retail he couldn’t help but be offended by the condescension.

“As a top thinker I object to the idea that that was the obvious direction of this conversation!”

“A top thinker?” The girl squinted at him, and, yeah, Lester had to admit that wasn’t his best comeback. In his defense he had just slammed his brain into a hard counter top only moments before.

“Yeah!” Even if it wasn’t his best strategy he would do what he always did, double and triple down on whatever stupid thing he said. It was a tactic that never went wrong.

“Okay. So are you going to answer my question or not?”

Lester sighed, he didn’t have the patience for this during the workday much less after, “Yes we do and you can.” He didn’t need to check, despite being relatively close to a big highway there wasn’t often much business at this little joint.

It was originally one of the reasons he picked it, Lester was painfully aware that he wasn’t much of a people person. Not that he didn’t like people, no he loved people! They just tended to not like him.

Something you and I have in common , he thought, looking at the girl, oh master of scraps . “Would you like some?”

The girl harrumphed, again acting like yes was the most dumbly obvious answer to the question “do you want to eat the leftovers of the leftovers of the coffee shop industry in America after starbucks.”

Lester shucked the door open and trudged in. He would let the girl have some food. What would be the harm? He waved to Reyna, who was currently trying to blend her eyebrows in with her irises, that or she trying to tell him “what the fuck” with her eyes over the fact that he had brought the girl in that she deliberately asked him to get rid of.

“Alright, over here-” Apollo waved the girl over to the counter where he normally emptied out the stale pastries into trash at the end of day. He was cut off when the scrap master barreled past him into the back of the shop, knocking his shoulder into his body with the force of a linebacker’s full charge. (don’t ask how lester knew what that felt like)

“Hey!”

The girl’s pageboy-post-apocalypse poked itself over the counter as she raided the shelves. She shoved some muffins and several cake slices that definitely weren’t meant to be transported by kindergartener's backpack into her bag. Then before Lester could stop her she planted a whole cupcake, paper wrapping and all into her mouth.

Perhaps realizing she had done something wrong her eyes locked with Lester’s and went as wide as her mouth.

Reyna, who had been wiping down tables, decided now was the time to intervene and the scraps master must have developed some eighth sense along the line of Lesters’, and backed off the sweet shelves.

Seemingly understanding that she had limited her own time allowed in the shop she spun around. Her eyes impassively scanned her surroundings, until they lasered in on the sweetener packets, and abandoned whatever kind of decorum she might have had before -which apparently she did because whatever she was doing now was definitely worse- and shoveled handfuls of the packets in her backpack.

Finally getting over the shock of the whole scene Lester started walking to the girl, like a soldier ant marching to their death in a battle against the neighbor kid’s boot. The girl made a mad dash to the door, snatching one last croissant on her escape. Lester, the savant under pressure that he was, stuck his foot out to try and trip her.

Look, he did intend to let her keep the food. It was a lost cause at this point even if he wasn’t going to in the first place, but the sweetener packets? Really? What kind of situation was this girl in where she needed to steal sweetener packets?

It felt like she took them just to take them, which Lester felt was just a dick move.

Luckily, or unluckily if you were the last scraps of Lester’s pride being yoinked by the scrap master, his foot missed the girls’ by about a meter so her escape remained unimpeded all the way to the door which she burst out of in a flash of traffic light colors.

“What just happened?” Reyna’s voice snapped Lester out of his shocked reverie trying to puzzle together an answer to that very question.

“I think we just got robbed by Dora the Explorer glow in the dark edition.”

#trials of apollo fanfiction #trials of apollo #lester papadopoulos #Mine #fanfiction

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akindofmagictoo · 5 months

Text

manuscript search tag game

this one comes from @isherwoodj! thank you!

my words are house, light, stretch, quit, grass

house (Dragonsong draft 1)

Her little house was hardly lavish, but it had been home for four years. For five years before that, Meg’s house had been home and it was virtually identical. And she’d thrown it all away, turned it all upside down. Her house, her pay, her job, her entire life. For what? For a little dragon that ultimately, she hadn’t even been able to protect. Enya was in the king’s hands now. A lump rose in her throat, choking. Hot tears pricked her eyelids and she stumbled to her bed. What had she done? It might have been the fact that she didn’t even have an answer to that question that made the tears start.

light (Dragonsong draft 1)

“You say that like there’s much choice,” said Robin. “You want to leave all those dragons to suffer for thousands more years?” “I don’t particularly feel like finding out my magical limits the hard way, no.” Robin shrugged. “We can at least go and investigate. Presumably we can get an idea of what will be required before we actually do anything. I’d love to know more about how it works; I’ve never seen a spell that big. I’ve never even seen a spell that permanent. Most spells I cast don’t stick around that long.” Isi smiled. The subject might be serious, but there was a light in Robin’s eyes that she hadn’t seen that much in the past year. His passion was endearing, though. If all of this worked out… well, it was hard to believe it would, especially given her current state, but if things worked out she hoped Robin would be able to study magic in greater depth.

stretch (Dragonsong draft 1)

“Are there still wanted posters up for us?” said Robin. “Oh, shit, yeah.” Sierra stretched out her legs in front of her. “Are there?” Jasper scanned their faces, apparently thinking. “For harbouring a fugitive?” “Yes,” Isi said. “I believe I have seen them, but if anyone were to try and turn you in, who would they go to? Me.” The corner of his mouth twitched. “No need to worry.”

quit (Dragonsong draft 1)

“Good, ‘cause I have a question.” Without waiting for a reply, Sierra barrelled on, “You said you quit your job. Why? I thought you loved it? That’s what you said when you were last home.” She glanced up at Isi, and there was a tinge of jealousy under her words, like Isi had loved it more than she loved Sierra. “I was ordered to go kill a dragon, which I did. But then we realised the dragon had a baby.”

grass (Dragonsong draft 1)

Isi wiped her sword clean on a nearby patch of grass, then stood and headed back to the tavern. Baya was waiting for her outside. A smile lit up her wrinkled face as Isi approached. “It’s dead,” said Isi, re-sheathing her sword. “I expected no less.” A wry look came over Baya’s face. “I don’t think I did mistake you for someone else. I think you were a knight when last I saw you. Weren’t you, Tor Isadora?” Isi sighed. “That’s me. Well… it was.” Tor Isadora had followed every rule, every law to the letter. Tor Isadora had kept herself clean, avoided getting her hands too dirty, made sure her armour was always polished. Everything had been by the book, strictly governed. Sterile. Isi stood here now, her skin sticky with capybara blood and smudged with days-old dirt. Her braid was starting to come loose, and her shirt had a rip in it that she was yet to fix. But she felt more alive than she had as a knight. This wasn’t sterile, simple change. This was tangible. She could still smell the blood. She liked to be clean and tidy. But really, it had all been for show. Here and now, she had done something. There would be time to clean up later.

tagging @dragon-swords-prophecies and @ellatholmes for this one! your words are forever, rage, trial, fade

#tag game #manuscript search tag #wip dragonsong #dragonsong excerpt

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interrogatethecat · 2 years

Text

my faith is shaken, but I still believe

word count: 1.4k

something about the empty tiptoeing through cas’ tulips just hits, ya know? the rest is below the cut or on ao3!

Cas opens his eyes and he’s met with nothing.

“Ah,” he hears, “our little flower finally found the sun, didn’t he?”

Cas turns, and there it is. A cold stone throne, where the Empty lounges. Its legs are draped over one arm. It's wearing Meg’s face, lips quirked in a lopsided grin.

“I must say,” the Empty says, “that was quite a show. Honestly, I was expecting something a little more romantic. You know, moonlight. Candles. Sex in the back of that gas guzzler of a car he’s so fond of. I can’t say I’m surprised, though,” it continues. “One last time, Dean Winchester is saved.”

Any tension that was left in Cas’ body eases. Dean is okay.

“As he deserves,” Cas says.

“No regrets?” the Empty asks.

“No,” Cas says. “I made my choice, and I would do it all again. For Dean— for all of them.”

Cas isn’t sure what he expects to come next— a scathing remark, to be thrown into the infinite sleep of torments the Empty has promised him— but laughter certainly isn’t it.

“Oh, Castiel,” it says, “you’re a delight. You think you did the right thing? Truly?”

“Of course.” Cas is unshaken. Of course he wishes he could have stayed, wishes he could have said goodbye to Jack or Sam, but it doesn’t matter. Dean is okay. They’re all okay. There are few prices he wouldn’t pay to save them.

The Empty raises a hand lazily and the dark nothingness around them shimmers. Shapes begin to rise as a scene solidifies.

“What are you doing?” Cas takes a step back, but it’s futile. There’s no escape for him this time.

The Empty doesn’t answer his question. “Your happiness was peculiar,” it says. “I can’t help but wonder, why? Why die for Dean Winchester?”

“Because I love him,” Cas says, like it’s the simplest thing in the world. Because it is. Despite everything, despite all the ways they’ve hurt each other and the way it’s torn him apart, it’s woven into the fabric of his existence.

“Thank you,” he finds himself saying.

The smug, gleeful look on the Empty’s face slips for a moment before twisting into a sneer. “Thank you?” It swings its legs to the ground and starts moving towards Cas almost predatorily. Behind it, the throne disappears into the ground. “Thank you?”

“I may have been the one to summon you, but in taking Billie, you helped me save Dean,” Cas says simply.

“Oh, no. No no no no no.” Its face contorts into a grin that’s almost triumphant. “You think you saved him?” the Empty says. “Castiel, you broke him.”

That’s when the space around them clears and Cas realizes where they are.

The bunker’s library is still. Everything is as it was before Billie came, except for the laptop open on the far table, and the half empty bottle of whiskey beside it. And there’s Dean.

Cas’ feet carry him from the doorway, past the bookshelves, closer to him. He doesn’t remember this memory.

“It’s in real time,” the Empty says. “My very own play by play.”

“For an entity that wants to sleep, you talk a lot,” Cas says dryly.

Surprisingly, the Empty doesn’t scowl. Instead, it gestures towards Dean.

Dean picks up the whiskey and takes a swig of it, and Cas gets his first good look at him.

There are bags under his eyes. His hair is a mess. He looks awful, like he hasn’t slept or showered or eaten in days. His eyes have a new, haunted quality that they didn’t have before. He’s been crying.

Cas wonders if it’s because of him. His eyes drift from Dean’s face to his shoulder. A handprint— Cas’ bloody handprint, goodbye, Dean— sits there, and he knows.

“Dean,” he says, then stops.

Dean’s eyes are glued to the computer. He doesn’t react. There’s no twitch of his slumped shoulders. He doesn’t turn around to look at Cas.

The Empty stands smugly off to the side. It’s leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed. “So. Still confident you made the right choice?”

“Yes,” Cas says. As much as it hurts to see Dean like this, he’s alive. Dean cares so much, Cas never doubted he wouldn’t grieve, but soon enough, he’ll move on. Even if he’s miserable now, he’ll be happy someday, and that’s what matters. Alive and with a future he deserves.

“Take a look at what he’s watching,” the Empty suggests, eyes glittering.

Cas is on autopilot as he steps behind Dean’s chair. The air is knocked out of his chest and he forgets how to breathe when he sees what’s on the computer screen.

It’s them.

They’re standing in the dungeon, facing each other. Dean glances toward the door, then back to Cas. Cas can’t see his face, but he knows that he’s smiling.

He forgot about the camera they kept down there.

Cas watches as the Dean and him in the tape get closer. Watches as his hand comes up to grip Dean’s shoulder. Sees Dean fall to the side and how the Empty emerges, how he’s enveloped by it and disappears.

And then he watches Dean rewind the clip.

The dungeon door slams open, and Cas is carrying Dean as they stumble inside. Grabbing a knife out of Dean’s pocket, painting a sigil on the door—

The Dean not in the video takes another drink.

Cas tears his eyes away.

The Empty has been watching contently. “You gave everything up? All for this one—“ it gestures at Dean’s defeated form, “—broken human? Is this what you call saved?” it prods. “You never saved him, Castiel.”

“That’s not true,” Cas says. His voice isn’t as strong as he tries to make it.

“It is. Ever since you first laid a hand on him in Hell he was lost.” The Empty revels in the way Cas stiffens. “You’re cursed, Castiel. You can’t fix what’s broken because you are broken. You try and you try and you try to save Dean Winchester, but all you do is destroy him. The cracks in your chassis slice him open again and again, and you call it love.”

Cas hurts. It’s impossible not to, hearing the Empty’s words, feeling how they dig under his skin, because he’s thought these things a thousand times before. Watching Dean take another drink from the bottle makes his heart squeeze painfully.

But he made the right choice, he reminds himself. He did the right thing. Dean is alive. Grieving, but alive. He’ll be okay. Him, Sam, and Jack will help each other through this. He will be okay.

Cas holds onto that truth, gripping it tightly.

Dean rests his head in his hands, looking away from the tape for the first time.

Cas is on autopilot when he draws closer, resting a hand on Dean’s shoulder that he knows Dean can’t feel.

“I’m sorry,” Dean whispers hoarsely. “Fuck— Cas, I’m so sorry.”

Cas frowns. Dean has nothing to be sorry for. This was Cas’ choice. He’d make the same one again.

“I should’ve— I shouldn’t have gone after Billie. I shouldn’t have let you go with me.” Dean swallows. “I should have told you that I—“ He cuts off.

Cas can feel the Empty’s gaze drilling into him, even if he’s not looking.

“Why did you leave?” Dean shakes his head. “You sonofabitch. I told you not to. I love you. Probably should have told you that, too.”

Cas stills.

“I’m gonna,” Dean continues suddenly. “Cas, I hope you’ve got your ears on. I’m coming to get you, I—“

The world folds in on itself and Dean disappears. There’s nothing but Cas and Empty, now. He barely notices.

Dean loves him.

That fact doesn’t surprise him as much as maybe it should. The same way Cas is composed of creation and stardust, Dean is composed of righteousness and love. Cas just never thought Dean would love him like that.

Dean loves him.

“I hope you’re happy, Castiel,” the Empty says. “I hope you’re happy that you broke his heart. I hope you enjoy knowing that you’ve ruined him.”

“I saved him,” Cas says, sure. “And now it’s his turn to save me.”

The Empty doesn’t have a response to that. It just scowls and waves a hand.

Cas sinks into sleep as the nothingness consumes him and he dreams.

tag list: @glowstickcas @blue-eyed-cutiepatootie @angelscas @floral-cas @castielsbeeslippers @dune-echo @gayhuckleberryinatrenchcoat @fellshish @bestiarum @top13zepptraxx @linaraiscorner @theedorksinlove @destiel-is-canon-i-guess @sansasworld

let me know if you want to be added or removed :D

#I meant to write this months ago but oops #rewatching s13 does things to a person #spn #castiel #dean winchester #destiel #my fic #my writing

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