Aqua Utopia｜海の底で記憶を紡ぐ
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@godforsakenthing-blog
A brief update: They’re going to take my three week old niece off of life support some time next week. Her brain damage is too severe, she would have no quality of life. I just have no urge to do anything right now, I’m sorry this has made an already long wait for replies even longer.
I don’t know when I’ll be back, but I do check IMs if anyone needs anything.
🌺 SEND THIS TO 10 OTHER BLOGGERS YOU THINK ARE WONDERFUL. KEEP THE GAME GOING 🌺
YOU GET OUT OF HERE, YOU WONDERFUL HUMAN BEAN, I LOVE YOU.
❝ i will come back from the dead for you. ❞
Siken Starters: (Accepting)
“How about you just don’t die?”
Liv does this, sometimes. She delivers soft statements, or maybe even jokes with that same struggling determination that she faces down ghosts and her own monsters with.
It scares him. Like she knows she’s going to leave him behind, and is just trying to soften the blow.
❝ you wanted happiness, i can’t blame you for that, and maybe a mouth sounds idiotic when it blathers on about joy but tell me you love this, tell me you’re not miserable. ❞
Siken Starters: (Accepting)
He’d stay if he could.
She’s the first time he’s thought about it in a long time, that nebulous idea of a ‘real life’. But there’s no such thing for him, and damned if he’s going to get Scotty killed because he can’t stay gone.
The kiss lingers. It tastes like goodbye, and the bittersweetness of her coffee.
“You take care of yourself, you hear me?”
❝ i just don’t want to die anymore. ❞ ; jack ryan
Siken Starters: (Accepting)
The kid is huge. Even bigger than Sam. And God, he looks like him too. But the kid carries more innocence across the curve of his brow than Sam ever had the luxury of keeping.
And he’s looking at Dean like Dean might have some kind of answer for him.
“You won’t.”
A white lie. He doesn’t know what the kid has been through, or if he can really keep him safe. But it’s been decided. Dean pats the hood of the Impala.
“I won’t let anybody hurt you.”
❝ i want it back now, baby. i want it back. ❞
Dean’s not sure which revelation comes first.
The one that Sam is a guy, through and through. That it’s not a phase, or an act of rebellion, but that his little si--brother is really a man.
Or the one that his brother is a beautiful man and Dean can only handwave away so many bar bathroom and gas station blow jobs he’s given out before he has to admit he bats on both teams. Both of them hit him with startling clarity, a one-two punch while Sammy is stepping out of the car to go back to his girlfriend, his perfect college life, and far, far away from Dean.
He digs his nails into his palms until blood is drawn.
Blood that he smears against his baby’s leather seats. (He’s sorry sweetheart, he’ll clean you up right later.) “Sam?”
His brother turns (brother, brother Dean wonders how the hell he ever looked at Sammy and saw anything else) and there’s suspicion at the corner of his eyes. Waiting for Dean to blow up, or take a pot shot, or something.
He deserves the knife between the ribs that the thought gives him.
Don’t go. Don’t walk away from me. Come back. Please, Sammy. I want it back. I want you back.
“We made a hell of a team back there.”
Sam tosses a ‘yeah’ and a smile his way, pity scraps, and walks away.
' happy birthday, de. '
They’re outside of Jackson Hole, Wyoming.
The sky is massive, split wide open over the tops of their heads. Dean’s legs are warm from the still ticking engine as it cools, his back chilly from the glass except from where Sam’s shoulder is pressed to him.
It’s beautiful outside, and it’s quiet, and Dean didn’t think he’d ever make it past thirty, let alone rounding the bend to forty.
He doesn’t deserve this. That much, Dean knows. He doesn’t deserve his brother’s trust, or an actual home address, or any of the other things that have been handed over to him as of late. (It feels like being fattened up for the kill.)
Dean takes a pull from his beer bottle, and shifts his weight enough to knock into the wide berth of his little brother. “Thanks, Sammy.”
Happy Birthday, Dean Winchester / 1.24.1979
❝ tell me we’ll never get used to it. ❞
Siken Starters: (Accepting)
He shouldn’t trust the guy. He’s a fed down to the bone, Dean can all but see it written in his DNA. But there’s something in his eyes, some gut feeling that Dean can’t shake.
(The guy reminds him a little of Henriksen. Dean doesn’t want this to end the same way.)
“I never have, and I’ve been doing it my whole life.”
He shrugs, wiping soot and blood from his cheek. It was worse like this, when the monsters looked like people. Made it harder to sleep at night.
Dean throws the match, and lets the fire swallow the silence.
❝ who am i? i’m just a writer. i write things down. ❞ ; alan wake c':
Siken Starters: (Accepting)
There is not enough booze in the world for this.
Dean scrubs a hand down his face, but he’s already gone through silver, and splashed holy water in the guy’s face. He’s not anything Dean has come up against, at least.
“Yeah? Then you wanna write down why the hell you look like me?”
❝ that sounds overly valorous. ❞ (( I am mobile and it is hard to navigate blogs on it...I hope you are accepting of new interactions/not mutual exclusive/crossovers! If not, feel free to ignore! ))
Siken Starters: (Accepting)
His sound of agreement is almost lost to the swallow of whiskey burning down his throat. Dean’s pretty sure the guy is talking about whatever they’re saying on the television above their heads, but he hasn’t been paying attention.
“It don’t pay to be a good guy.”
He knows that from experience.
❝ i don’t have to answer that. ❞
Siken Starters: (Accepting)
“Mmhmm.”
You’ll have to forgive him, Detective. Dean is feeling smug as all hell that you of all people is pleading the fifth on him.
(He’s going to take credit for it with that thing he did with his tongue a couple of minutes ago.)
“Whatever you say, sunshine.”
❝ i don’t really blame you for being dead but you can’t have your sweater back. ❞
Siken Starters: (Accepting)
He gets it. Honest to God, Dean gets the need to joke and take the edge off of things, because feeling stuff too hard could drown you. But he’s just clawed his way back out of his own grave, and he’s still caked in the sweat and dried mud from it.
He needs the embrace, the warmth, the closeness. “Fuck off, I love that jacket.”
❝ you wanted happiness, i can’t blame you for that, and maybe a mouth sounds idiotic when it blathers on about joy but tell me you love this, tell me you’re not miserable. ❞
Siken Starters: (Accepting)
“I do love this.”
But the truth of it is, he can’t tell Eli that he’s not miserable. Because Dean’s life has become this smear of grey, hard edges lost to too much grief and too much anger.
It’s been bad for so long, he can’t seem to remember if he was ever happy.
But if this is as close as it gets?
It’s good enough for him.
❝ that sounds overly valorous. ❞
Siken Starters: (Accepting)
“Don’t hurt yourself over there, junior.”
Dean’s eyeroll is a full bodied thing. He tosses the towel over his shoulder, and turns back to the stove.
“It’s just a pancake, man. I’m not offering you my hand in marriage.”
❝ i don’t have to answer that. ❞ ; john w.
Siken Starters: (Accepting)
“Yeah...I know.”
But before his disrespect can settle in, Dean heaves a sigh. “I mean, yes sir.” He kicks his feet off of the side of the bed, and heads for the bathroom to get the first aid kit.
Things have been strained as hell since Sammy left for college, and Dean would do just about anything to cut the tension out.
He just wants to see his old man smile for once.
“But it makes it easier for me to know what to get out of the first aid kit if you tell me what got ahold of you.”
y'ever wonder why you have no regulars on here, or friends, or why you're avoided. jw.
Wow, so someone was pissed off at me four months ago?? and I’m not sure why?? But I have friends?? and regulars??
...huh.
