Sam lay in the center of his bed staring at the ceiling. He’d gotten Jack tucked away into a room of his own, and Dean was closed in behind his own door. Sighing, Sam rolled onto his side to stare at the alarm clock. Well after 2am, and sleep didn’t seem to be coming for him that night.
A damn shame, since the exhaustion was definitely there.
Sam flipped back the sheets and blankets as he sat up in the dim room. He reached for the light and switched it on, blinking in the sudden brightness. Dean would laugh at him if he knew, but Sam kept a stash of herbal Sleepytime tea in the bottom of his nightstand. Retrieving one of the little sachets, he stood and left his room, padding down the hall in bare feet.
Peeking into Jack’s room, he was pleased to see the boy curled up and sleeping soundly. A little burst of affection warmed his chest - Dean wouldn’t be happy, but Sam was already completely attached to Jack Kline. He wasn’t even sure why. Maybe it was similarity to himself; after all, once upon a time, certain people thought Sam was evil, that he would end the world. Maybe it was the similarity to Cas; Sam couldn’t help but see his friend in Jack’s mannerisms and the innocent way he tried to be like Dean.
Sighing, Sam turned away from Jack’s room, staring at his brother’s closed door.
Dean was drowning. Dean was drowning in a wave of grief so powerful he couldn’t even hope to swim upstream. Cas’s death was destroying his brother, whether Dean chose to acknowledge or not.
Sam knew it was. He knew, because he’d been there before. When Jess had died, it had felt like Sam’s world had died with her. Sam didn’t know how to explain to his brother that his grief would be different this time - because the way he felt about Cas was different. Dean refused to acknowledge that part of himself, and now wasn’t the time for Sam to shove his brother into that particular truth.
In the bunker’s kitchen, Sam brewed his tea and carried it back to his room. Just outside Dean’s door, he paused, ears picking up a soft sound from inside. He stepped closer to the door and his heart sank.
Dean was crying.
Not harsh, rough sobs. Soft cries, nearly muffled by the door. Sam could picture his brother, curled into a tight ball in the center of the bed with his arms wrapped tightly around a pillow. He lifted his hand to knock, freezing inches from the door as Dean sniffled.
Sam’s need to comfort Dean was so strong, it burned in his chest - but he knew Dean wouldn’t want that right now. Dean would want to be left alone, and Sam’s offers of a hug and a listening ear would be completely rebuffed, and likely met with anger.
Sighing softly, Sam wandered back to his own bedroom, settling in bed with his tea. He resolved to be there for Dean, just like Dean had been there for him. He’d be there when Dean was ready to talk.
Don’t drink it. It’s the nastiest tea I have ever had the displeasure of exposing to my digestive system.
What do you see when you close your eyes and think of a breakfast in Paris
fucking close your eyes and imagine it right now, dirtbag
do you see that goddamn croissant. fucking butter. delicious smells. classy atmosphere. rude people who hate you because you’re a tourist and getting your uncalled-for self in the way of their daily lives
yeah well throw all of that wasted effort out because this tea is not like any of that at all.
This crap’s only ingredient list is ‘mixed black teas, bergamot, lavender.’
So what does that make you think of
did you think of a refined cup of earl grey tea with a light floral, soothing scent
Well did you
quit thinking that’s not what it’s like either
this shit stuffs a whole sachet of your grandmother’s gross perfume up your unwilling nose, the kind with the chemical tang like a band saw made of the bones of parfumeries on your flesh. fuck this tea. fuck it. it literally just tastes purple. Like the most ugly chemical lavender taste, as if you murdered Barney the Dinosaur and left his faux-fur corpse to bleach in the inhospitable sun
if you snorted this stuff I bet you could die and descend to some kind of purple hell where we put all of Hawkeye’s failed costume choices
this purple liquid fucking impales you through the eye like you were baldr and it was goddamn mistletoe
tododeku; a not-so-surprising regular occurence in the class 1-A dormitory.
“Midoriya? What… are you doing?”
Midoriya brings a finger to his lips, making shushing sounds at Todoroki from where he’s crouched behind the large potted plant by the elevators. Todoroki’s not sure where those potted plants came from, but it does make the empty hallway feel more like a place to live and less like a government building, so. Playing along, Todoroki crouches beside Midoriya.
“I’m hiding,” whispers Midoriya. He glances around the plant. “From Kacchan.”
“Ah,” Todoroki says, unsurprised. “What’s he overreacting about this time?”
That tugs a smile out of Midoriya. “I wanted to get a drink from the kitchen, but I didn’t realize he was using it.”
“Bakugou can cook?”
“Oh, yes,” Midoriya nods, his curls bouncing in a very distracting manner. “Kacchan’s wanted to be the best in every class, including home ec. I think because everyone expected him to do worse in that class, so he tried even harder.”
Midoriya peers around the plant again, but no homicidal Bakugou appears. Yet. Todoroki wonders if he’s actually hearing muffled explosions coming from the stairwell leading to the common room or if Midoriya’s paranoia is getting to him, too. He flips over an idea for another few seconds. Then he turns to Midoriya.
“Do you want to come to my room? He probably won’t bother you there. And I have a mini-fridge, if you still want that drink.”
Midoriya widens his eyes at Todoroki. “You wouldn’t mind?”
“No. But if you don’t want to—”
“No! I mean I—Um, I’d like that. Thank you.” Midoriya scratches his right cheek, eyes sliding away.
Todoroki nods. “Come on.”
They check once more to see if the coast is clear, and then slip into the elevator. Midoriya is asking if Todoroki really has a mini-fridge in his room, wouldn’t that ruin the Japanese-style aesthetic he has going for his room, well I guess you could have the fridge inside one of the wooden cupboards and it’s not like you have to stick to the old-fashioned style completely; Todoroki just lets him ramble on, content to stand should-to-shoulder next to him.
shinee hosts a delivery mukbang (eating broadcast)
the spread: yangnyeom (seasoned) chicken with fried dduk (korean rice cakes), fried chicken, jjajangmyun (black bean sauce noodles), extra spicy ddukboki (spicy rice cakes), fried rice, tangsuyuk (sweet and sour pork), soondae (korean blood sausage), jokbal (pig’s feet)
totally his idea
could not sleep the night before bc he was thinking about what they should order and from where and morning needs to come faster
tbh he doesn’t really care that it’s a broadcast just that there’s piles of food in front of him and he’s so happy ^▽^
keeps blocking other members’ chopsticks with his own when they venture near the chicken (”pls hyung you are too old to be swordfighting like this” / key: “i s2g you only became like this after they named you the chicken maniac YOU HAVE NO ONE TO IMPRESS HERE”)
it’s darwinism, if you want to eat chicken be faster than onew’s speeding chopsticks of doom
lots of reactions while eating like gasping or humming
teases the camera by saying things like “doesn’t this look good~ it’s really good too bad you guys can’t taste it”
looks like a chipmunk bc his cheeks get really full as he just shovels food into his mouth
takes forever to chew whatever’s in his mouth so when he talks it’s mostly incoherent
stashed green tea ice cream in the freezer for dessert
mcing the event
reading out comments while he’s eating so not eating at a superhuman pace like the others
actually chews his food????
stabbed minho’s hand with a chopstick bc he was trying to take the last soondae off his plate
makes lettuce wraps with jokbal and feeds the other members
almost had to do the heimlich on taemin bc he was literally inhaling his food
completely focused on eating the entire time ㅍ_ㅍ
is this a mukbang or a competitive eating contest?? lmk minho??
when there’s no more food he’s like ????? who ate it all and blames the other members
well it’s a good thing in the middle of the mukbang he ORDERED MORE FOOD OH YEAH
ddukboki isn’t spicy at all, he feels no pain
it’s fire, he’s fire boi
he does chug a very large glass of water after which does NOT help
plucking and eating all the dduk from the yangnyeom chicken bc honestly it’s the best part (manages to bypass onew’s blockade somehow)
finished two bowls of jjajangmyun like nbd and still calmly eating with no intention of stopping
also pretty much ate all the tangsuyuk by himself (a lot more lowkey about food hoarding than onew is but he’s claimed certain foods as his bc they’re all “subtly” in his corner)
smiling v brightly at the camera like he’s not eating his body weight in food
Summary: Dan dwelling on the fact that he and Phil are a codependent couple
(a.k.a. just an unnecessarily fluffy fic)
A/N: Okay, so I don’t have any requests fully written yet (I currently have 5 requests, but I’m thinking of combining two of them), and I’m hoping to start posting those next week, but in the meantime, here’s a fic I wrote when DnP were on their holiday w Bryony and Wirrow :D
Also, title comes from, you guessed it, “Starlight” by Muse because I use their songs as titles way too much :D
Summary: When your grandmother bet that you wouldn’t be able to work in customer service for more than three months because of your bubbling anxiety, you were dead set on proving her wrong. Your best friend Youngjae got you a job in his friend’s cafe but it slipped his mind to mention how affectionate and distractive your new co-workers would be.
Word Count: 9,7K I got a little carried away
This was stuck on my USB ever since July but I never got to around finishing it OOPS
With a small yellow sticky note
crumpled in your left hand, you made your way down the street. The
note kept getting more crumpled with each time you double-checked it
to make sure you were going in the right direction. Youngjae’s
cursive handwriting had faded from black to light grey on the yellow
paper, the address barely distinguishable.
The journey to the cafe your best
friend had gotten you a job at seemed dreadfully long. It was as if
the cold pavement would never end, each stone laughing at your
Well, would you look at that –
you found the place.
In front of the cafe stood a
young man that wasn’t exactly tall in height. He kept humming along
to a song cheerfully as the broom in his hand moved from side to
side. As more leaves, trash and dust was brushed aside, a small
colorful welcome mat appeared in front of the door.
The man in front of you stepped
back a bit, his eyes locked on the mat, before putting his hands on
his hips in satisfaction. He grinned, “There you are, Mindy!”
“Mindy?” You couldn’t help
but ask quietly, not entirely in control of your body apparently.
In surprise, the young man looked
up from the mat before offering you a smile, “I’m sorry – we’re
still closed. Come back in twenty minutes!”
“Does Choi Youngjae work here
by any chance?” You asked and held up the note your best friend had
given you, “He gave me this address.”
His eyes widened along with his
smile to the point of him looking almost creepy. He leaned against
his broom, “Are you (Y/n)? The girl that is going to be working
“And you are?” You blinked.
It was kind of uncomfortable not knowing the name of a person that
obviously is familiar with yours. He opened his mouth to answer, a
smile still on his face, but not everything always goes according to
“Jackson!” Sounded a familiar
voice right after the door opened., “I thought I told you I need
your help in the kitchen?”
The young handsome man in front
of you sighed, his smile finally falling, “But I had to free
Youngjae blinked at him before
repeating, “You. Kitchen. Help. Now.”
“Yes, sir!” Jackson saluted
him before running into the cafe.
As he went, Youngjae looked at
you. As if it was magic, a wide smile appeared on Youngjae’s face,
#208 - For anonymous & all the people that wanted this
A fic about: Being the girl with a good stash of tea. American Sign Language. And Van McCann.
Note: Thank you to the many people I spoke to about this fic (particularly J, Em, and Kasey). I truly hope that this is what people wanted and that it’s nothing but pure and inclusive and good.
You jumped out of your skin when he tapped you on the shoulder. The reaction startled him and he flinched. He started to speak, but his hands crossed his face too much and his words weren’t fully enunciated. You couldn’t read it; all you could do was put your hand up in a motion to stop. He did and his eyebrows pulled together in confusion. You pointed at your ears, then shook your head. The realisation splashed across his face and his cheeks went from a milky white to a rosy pink. His pretty freckles still stood out though. You were better than most at noticing small details like that.
He started to speak again, but slower, and you were used to reading the words he formed. “I’m sorry.” You nodded. After pulling your phone from your bag, you opened a new note and typed All good. Did you need something?
Handing it over, the boy read and grinned. He said, “Good idea,” but started to type it out anyway. Good idea, sorry
He held it up and you nodded. Some1 says girl in stripe shirt knows where good tea is ????
Handing the phone back to you, you laughed. You were definitely the girl in the striped shirt with the stash of good tea. You nodded at him. It was clear he had a lot of questions, top of the list probably was ‘why is a girl that cannot hear backstage at a music festival?’ but he’d have to keep those to himself.