#halfway through pride month and finally made something for it

[artsymeeshee]

More Aro Pines because I love dem 💚🤍🩶🖤

[jhyoos]

Save A Horse, Ride A Cowgirl 3

bronc rider abby x reader

mentions: romance, kissing, jealous abby, angst, lesbians being lesbians, time jump, proposal, marriage, lev mentioned

summary: you and abby have been together for 5 months.

notes : thank you guys for supporting me throughout this! its gonna be a long finale, but no smut. i wasnt exactly inspired to do so. i also didnt proofread this

part 1 | part 2

It’d been five months since Abby asked you to be hers—half a year since that night in a random Airbnb, all golden warmth and sleepy grins, the kind of night that felt like it could stretch into forever. And for a minute there, it did. You were so happy. Like… stupid, in-love, nothing-can-touch-me happy. The kind of happy that lives in your chest like fireworks on slow burn.

But then the season picked up, and Abby hit the road again—arena after arena, bronc after bronc, town after dusty town. You tried to keep that high alive, clutching onto the glow through glitchy Facetime calls and texts that came in at 2 AM. It wasn’t her fault—she was chasing her dreams. You admired the hell out of that. Still, it left this hollow little ache in your ribs. Like you’d been laughing too hard and suddenly stopped.

So you did what anyone trying not to drown in missing someone does—you distracted yourself. Nights out with Dina, Ellie, and Jesse turned into hazy parties, neon lights, and laughter that felt a little too loud, like you were trying to cover up the silence that always followed you home. You’d stumble in with smeared eyeliner and a phone full of selfies, only to meet the stillness of your apartment. Just you, your pounding head, and the echo of a love that felt too far away.

Your dad kept you grounded in the weirdest, most comforting way—parked next to you on the couch, both of you watching Abby on TV as she took yet another win. There she was, fierce and unshakable, the kind of woman who made dirt and danger look like ballet. You cheered for her from the safety of your living room, voice raw from pride, chest heavy from longing.

And then—like the universe finally decided to toss you a bone—she called you after work. Her voice warm, tired, but laced with something bright. “Babe,” she said, “I want you to come with me. For the last few competitions. Travel with me.”

You didn’t even hesitate. Of course you said yes. How could you not?

Because loving Abby was easy. It was the waiting that hurt.

And now? Now you were gonna close that distance, one dusty road and rodeo at a time.

The trips were like something out of a movie—dusty highways traded for high-rise skylines, small-town gas stations swapped with rooftop bars and glittering hotel lobbies. It was new terrain, but the same Abby, steady at your side, even when she was too busy to hold your hand. You met her team for the first time, all easy smiles and backstage chaos. Her manager, Manny, was this fast-talking, big-hearted guy who looked like he hadn’t slept since the 90s but still somehow ran the whole operation like a well-oiled machine.

The hotels? Insane. Plush robes, room service pancakes at midnight, elevators that whispered instead of dinged. You were swept up in it—this world she’d built, this life she lived on the edge of dust and spotlight. And when she rode? God. She was electric. Each competition was like watching lightning try to outdo itself. And she won—again and again, like the universe owed her.

But then finals came.

The moment you checked into that glossy glass-and-gold hotel, something shifted. Abby barely set down her bag before she grabbed her gear, threw on her hat, and kissed your cheek with a distracted “I’ll be back,” already halfway out the door with Manny. You sat on the bed surrounded by the emptiness of luxury, her absence suddenly louder than any TV could cover.

You didn’t see her again till sometime around 3 AM. The room was dark, cool, and quiet when you felt her—soft lips pressing kisses down your shoulder, warm hands tracing the shape of your body like she was memorizing it again. She tasted like rain and adrenaline. What followed was a blur of breathless moans and running water, bodies colliding beneath the steam. She fell asleep right after, wrapped around you like armor, only to wake again at dawn and press a kiss to your temple like none of it was real.

And then came the finals.

Before the event, she kissed you. Not just a quick “see you later,” but something slow, deep. “For luck,” she whispered, brushing your nose with hers. You wore the hat—the same one she gave you the first night you met at the rodeo, when you were just a pretty buckle bunny she couldn’t stop staring at. That hat had history. Sweat, stories, so much damn love stitched into the band it felt like it buzzed with it.

The arena roared.

You watched her enter the ring, all calm fury and perfect form. The bronc bucked like it had something to prove, muscles snapping like whips beneath Abby. The crowd held its breath—so did you. Every second felt like a knife’s edge. But she held on, knuckles white, jaw clenched, focus locked in. Until—

Her grip faltered.

It was a blink. A gasp. She slipped—hard.

The sound when her body hit the ground was sickening, a sharp crack that silenced the crowd. Her head bounced against the dirt, limbs limp for just a second too long. Your heart dropped straight through your stomach. The bronc was still raging, hooves inches from her skull before the handlers wrangled it away.

Medics were on her in seconds.

You couldn’t move. Couldn’t breathe. Just sat there in the stands clutching that cowboy hat like a lifeline, willing her to blink, to breathe, to move.

The hospital was cold in a way that had nothing to do with the air conditioning. It was the kind of chill that sank beneath your skin, into your bones, into that trembling, panicked part of you that refused to calm down no matter how many deep breaths you tried to take.

They rushed her through those sliding glass doors, sirens still echoing in your ears. You tried to follow—your legs moving before your brain even caught up—but a nurse stepped into your path, her hands outstretched.

“Ma’am, you can’t go back there.”

“Please, please—she’s my girlfriend!” your voice cracked, raw with desperation. “She needs me.”

The nurse’s face softened, just for a moment, but the rules were rules and you were left standing there, helpless, as the doors swung shut behind Abby. Like some invisible wall had slammed down between you and the only person in the world who made sense.

You found yourself beside Manny in the waiting room, both of you pacing, sitting, standing, pacing again. Time stopped making sense. Minutes bled into each other, stretched long and thin by worry.

You’d been staring blankly at the tiled floor when a voice cut through the silence.

“How’s Abby?”

You looked up. A man stood there—tall, sturdy, with a presence that carried weight. His eyes were locked on Manny.

“I don’t know,” Manny said, voice low. “They haven’t said anything yet.”

The man nodded once, jaw tight. “I’ll go find out…” Then his gaze shifted, landed on you. “You must be the girlfriend.”

There was a beat of silence, your heart tripping over itself. You straightened up, nodding, uncertain. “Yes, sir.”

His face softened just a bit. “It’s nice to meet you. I’m Jerry. Abby’s father.”

You blinked, startled, and reached to shake his hand—but he didn’t just shake it. He took it gently, and kissed the back of it with this old-school grace that caught you completely off guard.

“Come on,” he said, voice calm but full of something steady. “We’re gonna find out what’s wrong with her.”

You nodded, swallowing down the fear trying to rise in your throat like a tidal wave. You rose to your feet and followed him, step for step, as the halls stretched ahead of you like a maze.

The weight of that cowboy hat still rested on your head—Abby’s hat. Her heart. Her everything.

And all you could do now was pray you’d get to see her wear it again.

The hospital hallway buzzed with that sterile kind of quiet—machines beeping behind doors, murmurs of nurses, the squeak of shoes on polished linoleum. You walked next to Jerry, your hands clenched into fists so tight your nails bit into your palms. Manny trailed just behind, his usual confident stride dulled by the weight of the moment.

A nurse sat behind the front desk, eyes flicking between screens like she was watching a thousand lives play out in real time. Jerry stepped forward, that protective edge in his voice suddenly softer.

“Hi. Abigail Anderson—she was just brought in from the rodeo.”

The nurse clicked through the system, her face unreadable as her eyes scanned lines of text. You held your breath like the words on the screen might determine the rest of your life.

“She’s in the OR now,” the nurse said, her tone professional but kind. “Head trauma. CT scans showed a depressed skull fracture on the left parietal bone, just above the ear. The pressure was building fast—we had to move quickly. But the surgery’s underway now, and she’s stable.”

“Wait, wait—skull fracture?” you asked, your voice trembling, like the words tasted foreign in your mouth.

The nurse nodded, glancing at you. “It’s called a comminuted fracture. The bone shattered into fragments and was pressing against her brain. The swelling was dangerous, but the surgeon went in to relieve the pressure and remove the bone shards. So far, there haven’t been any complications. She’s responding well under anesthesia.”

You leaned against the desk, knees nearly giving out. Jerry stepped closer to you instinctively, like his body knew yours needed something solid to hold onto. Manny just stood there, hands in his jacket pockets, eyes glassy like the words were still echoing through him.

“She’s in good hands,” the nurse said, her eyes softening. “The team operating on her—some of the best we have. If all goes well, she’ll be out of surgery in an hour. Then it’s recovery. Monitoring brain function. But for now… she’s okay. We’ll keep you updated.”

You could’ve cried right there.

Stable. No complications. Okay.

It wasn’t over—but she was fighting, even now, even unconscious, just like always. Strong. Stubborn. Still Abby.

You nodded, swallowing the lump in your throat, and whispered, “Thank you.” You clutched the brim of her cowboy hat in your hands like a prayer, and sat down beside Jerry and Manny.

All you could do now was wait.

And hope.

The wait dragged on like time had molasses in its veins. Every second felt like it was trying to strangle you. You sat between Jerry and Manny, heart thudding in your throat, replaying every second of Abby’s fall over and over in your head like a broken film reel. The nurse had said an hour, but it felt like forever.

And then—finally—the surgeon stepped out, mask down, eyes calm. He spoke with Jerry first, quiet and low. You watched Jerry nod, the tension in his shoulders softening by degrees before he turned back toward you and Manny.

“She’s out of the OR,” he said, his voice like an exhale. “Stable, but real weak. She’s got a long way to go… but she made it.”

Manny covered his mouth with his hand, his relief visible in the way his knees buckled for half a second. You felt your body finally release the breath it had been holding since the arena.

Jerry reached out, placing a hand on your shoulder. “She asked for you.”

Those four words nearly undid you.

You stood on shaky legs, holding her hat to your chest like armor. As you followed Jerry down the hallway toward the recovery wing, the world blurred around the edges. The white walls, the nurses, the hum of machines—it all faded as you reached her door.

Jerry stepped in first, made sure everything was okay, then gave you a little nod and stepped out, letting the door ease shut behind you.

Abby was in the bed—pale, too still, with wires curling around her arms like vines and a monitor rhythmically ticking out the beat of her survival. A thick white bandage was wrapped around her head, just above her temple, stark against her golden skin.

Her eyes opened slow, sleepy. Dazed.

And when they landed on you, they lit up with something soft and star-bright.

“God…” she whispered, lips dry, voice hoarse. “It’s like I see an angel.”

You let out a broken little laugh, walking toward her like you weren’t sure your legs would carry you all the way. “That’s not funny, Abs,” you murmured, voice catching, eyes already stinging.

You leaned down and pressed a kiss to her lips—gentle, lingering, like you were scared she might vanish if you let go too soon.

She blinked up at you, eyes glassy but full of something fierce. “I know…” she breathed out, her voice trembling like wind through cracked glass, “…but I had to make sure you remembered how pretty you are.”

You laughed again, watery and disbelieving, forehead dropping to her shoulder. “You scared the hell out of me.”

“I know,” she whispered. “But I’m here. I’m not going anywhere.”

And right then, in that too-bright hospital room with the machines humming like lullabies and her hand barely holding yours, you knew—love like this didn’t break easy.

It bent, it burned, it bled—but it survived.

A few days passed, slow and tender. Abby’s color started coming back, her voice a little stronger each morning. You brought her breakfast with way too many syrups, fluffed her pillows like it was a full-time job, and sat by her side every time the nurse came in to check vitals. The machines came off, one by one, and the bruises on her face started to fade into soft purples and yellows like a sunset trying to disappear.

When the doctor gave her the green light to leave, you’d already made up your mind.

You extended the hotel stay—no hesitation. There was no way you were putting her in a car for hours when she still winced from bending down to tie her shoes. You didn’t care how fancy the hospital discharge paperwork looked. She needed time. Real time. Not just to heal her skull, but to let her heart catch up to the trauma her body had been through.

You made a cozy little nest out of the hotel room, full of takeout containers, ginger tea, soft music, and quiet, lingering kisses on her temple. You were patient. Gentle. You didn’t push her.

But when it came to bronc riding? That’s where the softness ended.

“Abs,” you said one afternoon, tucked beside her in bed, her head in your lap. “You can’t go back to riding. Not yet. Not for months. You almost died.”

Her fingers twitched against yours, jaw tight. “I know,” she said quietly. “I’m not planning on anything right now.”

It felt honest. Grounded. Like she was finally seeing what you saw.

Then Manny showed up, practically bouncing through the door with this grin that said everything’s changed.

“She won,” he announced. “Abby—you won the finals. They gave it to you. Even with the fall. You’re number one now. Top bronc rider in the league. You're officially the best.”

Abby lit up. Not just a spark—an explosion. Her whole face transformed. She sat up straighter, eyes wide, like every ache in her body disappeared in that one breath.

“No way,” she whispered, then louder, “No way! I did it!”

You saw it immediately—the way the fire flickered back into her eyes. Not just joy, but hunger. She was already reaching for the reins again, already leaning toward the ring.

And just like that, your heart dropped.

“No,” you said, firm. “You’re not getting back on that bronc. Not for months. You agreed.”

“Babe—”

“No!” Your voice cracked like a whip, sharp and scared. “You’re chasing death. You think being number one means it’s worth it? Worth nearly breaking your skull open?”

“It is worth it!” she snapped. “I worked my whole damn life for this. You want me to just sit here while everything I built fades away?”

“It’s not fading,” you said, trying to keep your voice steady. “It’s just pausing. For your safety. For us.”

She didn’t hear you. Not really. The gears were already turning in her head—future interviews, comeback rides, glory burning behind her ribs.

That’s when the fear turned into anger. A bitter, aching, sharp-edged kind of love that clawed its way out of your throat.

“Then fine,” you said, standing up, the hotel light casting your shadow over her. “If you get back a bronc in these next few months, we’re done. I mean it.”

Abby blinked, like you’d just slapped her.

“You’re giving me an ultimatum?”

“I’m giving you a choice,” you said, voice trembling. “Between the ride that almost killed you… and the person who sat in a hospital praying you’d wake up.”

The silence that followed could’ve cracked stone.

You didn’t want to leave her. Didn’t want to fight. But love wasn’t just kisses and winning smiles. It was boundaries. It was saying no when saying yes might cost everything.

And now… she had to choose.

Abby didn’t say anything at first. Just stared at you like she couldn’t recognize the weight of what you just said. Her breathing was shallow, chest rising and falling like she’d just taken a hit—but not from a bronc. From you.

You didn’t want to hurt her. God, that was the last thing you wanted. But watching her get tossed like that, head slamming against dirt, blood soaking into the ground—you’d never unsee that. You couldn’t just sit back and let her flirt with death again, not while calling it passion.

Her fingers clenched in the sheets, jaw tightening. “You don’t get it.”

Your heart cracked a little. “Then help me. Help me understand why being number one matters more than being alive, Abby.”

“It’s not about the title,” she muttered, eyes burning. “It’s about me. It’s who I am. If I walk away now… it’s like all the bruises, all the broken bones, everything I’ve fought for—it’s like it never meant anything.”

You stepped closer, lowering your voice, trying not to let it tremble. “It meant something. It still does. But it’s not worth dying for. And it’s not worth losing me for.”

Abby looked away. Swallowed hard.

You watched her wrestle with it—watched pride and pain and fear wage war behind those storm-colored eyes. And you knew this was deeper than just a sport. It was legacy. Identity. The only thing she ever truly called hers.

But you also knew that love meant sometimes being the anchor when the person you love is lost in the current. And right now, she was drifting.

You sat beside her again, softer this time. “I love you, Abby. That’s why I’m saying this. Because I want more time with you. I want to grow old with you. I want you in one piece.”

Her eyes welled up, but she blinked the tears away fast, like letting them fall would be surrender.

“I don’t know if I can stay off that long,” she whispered, voice cracking. “What if I lose everything while I’m gone?”

You gently reached for her hand. “Then we build it again. Together. But you can’t ride if you’re gone. And I can't keep standing by if you're choosing danger over us.”

There was another beat of silence.

Then finally, she exhaled. Shaky. Heavy.

“Okay,” she said, so soft it barely reached you. “Okay. I won’t ride. Not yet.”

You didn’t trust it fully. Not yet. But it was something. A crack in the armor. A promise, maybe.

And for now, you took her hand, pulled her into your arms, and let your heartbeat speak the things words couldn’t. That you were scared. That you were here. That you loved her enough to draw the line—and stand at it, hoping she’d cross back to you.

The months that followed were golden—soft-lit and slow, like the world finally let the two of you breathe.

Abby kept her word. She stayed off the broncs, at least for a while, and during that time, you two found something even more powerful than adrenaline or spotlight. You found each other—fully, deeply, without distraction.

Your nights weren’t wild or extravagant, but they were full of the kind of magic you don’t realize you’re living in until you look back. Takeout scattered across the living room floor, your favorite show half-playing in the background. You’d sit wrapped in a blanket, your head on her shoulder, her fingers absentmindedly tracing hearts on your thigh. Some nights, when the mood was just right, you’d throw on a slow country song and dance barefoot in the living room, her hands on your waist, your head tucked beneath her chin. Just two girls, in love, swaying under cheap lighting like it was moonlight.

One of those nights, when everything felt almost too perfect to be real, she pulled back mid-dance and looked you straight in the eye.

“You gonna marry me or what?”

You laughed. “Is that your proposal?”

Then she got down on one knee, with nothing but her eyes shining and a promise trembling on her lips.

“Yes,” you said, breathless. “God, yes.”

And just like that, the dream kept unfolding.

By the time the rodeo season came back around, Abby was ready—mind sharp, body stronger, heart steadier. She kissed you before her first ride back and whispered, “I’ll be careful. I swear.”

You believed her. And she didn’t let you down.

Month by month, ride by ride, she rose again. Not like before—more calculated now. Wiser. Safer. But still electric. Still Abby. And the crowds? They loved her even more for it.

When your wedding day finally came, it felt like time had slowed to give you space to soak it all in.

The garden was blooming—roses and peonies and wild little blossoms that caught the sun just right. The very place you’d dreamed of since you were sixteen, flipping through bridal magazines and sketching your future in a tattered notebook.

And your dress?

It was everything.

A backless mermaid silhouette, hugging you in all the right places, designed by you, sewn by your hands, born from your vision. Silk that shimmered like moonlight and lace like whispers. People gasped when you walked down the aisle, but all you saw was Abby—tears in her eyes, hands shaking, heart wide open like a promise she never planned to break.

You said I do with voices cracking and hands trembling and hearts racing. And when she kissed you—when she held you—it felt like every version of you that ever hurt, ever doubted, ever feared... finally exhaled.

Abby posted the wedding photos the next day, and within hours your dress was everywhere. Viral. Trending. Everyone wanted to know who made that dress. And the answer?

You.

Your online boutique lit up overnight. Sales pouring in. Clients requesting customs. And soon, you had a space of your own—a little shop with big windows and your name etched on the front like a crown.

Abby stayed right beside you through it all. She didn’t just support your dream—she believed in it. While she kept climbing back up the rodeo ranks, every fall she took was met with grace, every win with humility. It took time, sure. But eventually, she was number one again. No shortcuts. No risks. Just grit and growth.

Now, when you walk past your closet, you see that dress—the one you wore when you became hers forever—and you smile.

Because this? This wasn’t a fairytale.

This was earned. This was real. And this was just the beginning.

It had been a few years since you stood under that wildflower arch and promised forever, and now… you were Mrs. Anderson. A name that still made your heart skip when you caught it on letters, packages, little tags Abby left on the fridge when she forgot to kiss you goodbye.

The broncs were behind her now. Abby had hung up her saddle from competition, traded in the roar of the crowd for the quiet power of the earth. You both bought a patch of land so wide you could breathe in every direction—and turned it into something out of a painting. A white wraparound house with creaky wood floors and a porch that caught every color of the sunset. Behind it? Acres of open sky and warm earth. Horses that she raised with her bare hands. Cows with names. Sheep that wandered like soft little ghosts through the pasture.

Abby became a rancher like it was what she was meant for all along. Sunrise woke her before the alarm. She’d tie her hair up, pull on her boots, and disappear into the misty morning to tend to the land. She looked right out there—sun spilling through the trees, hay in her hair, humming old songs her father once sang while fixing up fences or brushing down the horses. She’d come back sweaty, tired, glowing. Sometimes you'd just sit on the porch watching her like a dream you never knew would come true.

And you? You had your boutique. One hour into the city, one hour back, but every mile was worth it. Business was good, real good. Clients with high expectations, influencers dying to wear your designs, and every now and then someone would come in just to see the “wedding dress girl.” You still sold online, but the shop was your world—mannequins draped in silk, sketches pinned to the walls, laughter between fittings. It was work, sure, but it was your kind of work. The kind that made your soul hum.

But everything changed the night you found Lev.

You were closing the shop, locking up after a long day, when you saw him across the street—skinny, tired, holding a half-eaten bag of chips like it was all he had. He had an edge to him, sharp-eyed and stubborn, but there was something in the way he looked at you… like he wanted someone to notice him. Just once.

You crossed the street.

You asked if he was okay.

He lied, of course. Told you he was fine. That he didn’t need anything. But you offered him a warm meal anyway, and after a moment—he followed.

You didn’t ask questions until he was fed, and even then you were gentle. He told you his name was Lev. Told you he was trans. Told you that when he came out, his parents kicked him out and said never to come back.

That was all you needed to hear.

You brought him home.

Abby wasn’t thrilled at first—she had that protective, guarded look in her eyes, the kind she got when something she didn’t understand wandered too close to her heart.

But Lev… Lev had a way of earning space. He didn’t ask for permission to belong. He just started helping. Fed the animals. Cleaned the stalls. Rode bareback like he was born to do it. He had a temper, sure. Wasn’t always polite. But he tried. And the animals adored him. And soon, so did Abby.

One morning, you woke up to find them both outside fixing the chicken coop, laughing at some dumb joke you couldn’t hear. Abby called him “kid.” He called her “boss.” They were thick as thieves before the month was over.

Now? He’s family. No papers, no courtrooms, just a quiet, unwavering truth that lives in the way Abby leaves an extra plate for dinner without asking, and the way Lev calls you both “moms” when no one else is around.

And the house—your wraparound dream of a house—it holds more now. More stories. More love. More late nights with country music floating through the windows, Lev asleep on the couch, Abby’s arm wrapped around you on the porch swing.

This life you built?

It ain’t perfect. But it’s real. And it’s yours. And in every corner of it… there's love stitched deep like the seams of your favorite dress.

A few weeks passed, and something in you couldn’t rest—not until you knew for sure. For Lev. For the little boy who’d carved out a home in your heart with more quiet resilience than most grown men could muster.

So you did the research. Dug into public records. Asked around. Made the calls no one wants to make.

You found them—his parents. If you could even call them that.

And you and Abby drove out to meet them, heart armored and expectations low. The moment they opened that door, you knew this wasn’t going to be the story with redemption at the end. Their eyes were cold, words sharper than knives, their hate so effortless it made your chest ache. They didn’t ask about Lev. Didn’t want to know how he was, what he liked, if he smiled more now. Just shoved the paperwork across the table like he was something to get rid of.

You signed it. They signed it. You left with your head held high and Abby’s fingers wrapped tight around yours.

You didn’t tell Lev. He didn’t need to hear what was said in that room. He didn’t need their words anywhere near his spirit. Instead, you poured your energy into something that mattered—his new start.

You enrolled him in the nearest school, made sure he had teachers who got it. Who respected him. You decorated a room just for him—walls painted deep navy with stars scattered across the ceiling, bookshelves stuffed with comics and space encyclopedias, posters of his favorite anime, and a beanbag chair so big he practically disappeared into it.

You and Abby surprised him when he came home. He dropped his backpack and just stood in the doorway, blinking like he couldn’t believe it was real.

“This… this is mine?” he asked.

“All yours, kid,” Abby said.

And just like that, your perfect family was whole.

Now, here you are.

The porch creaks beneath you as you sway in your swing seat, legs tucked up, your sketchbook balanced on your lap. The golden-hour light paints the ranch in watercolor—amber fields, soft shadows, the quiet sounds of life in every corner. Your phone rests on the little coffee table beside you, playing Luke Bryan low and lazy through the speaker.

The world is still.

Then—a kiss on your forehead, warm and soft like honey poured slow.

You glance up and smile. Abby.

She’s fresh from the barn, smells like hay and sunshine and the kind of peace you only find when you stop chasing the noise.

You scoot over, pat the swing, and she sits. You drape your legs across her lap, and she rests one hand on your calf, the other sliding up to rub slow circles on your knee.

“What are you doing out here so early, bunny?” she asks, voice rough and sweet like she hasn’t used it all morning.

“I had to drop Lev off,” you murmur, sketching another curve onto the page. “And I closed the shop today. Didn’t really feel like working.”

“Hm. That’s good,” she hums, leaning back, letting her body melt into yours. “You’ve been working yourself too hard.”

“So have you,” you whisper back.

She chuckles, soft and deep, and you tilt your head to look at her.

There’s something in the way her eyes hold yours, something so full, so steady, it presses tears to the backs of your eyes.

“You know,” she says, brushing a thumb across your ankle, “I never thought I’d have all this. You. A home. A kid. Love that don’t go nowhere.”

You close your sketchbook and set it aside, crawling up so you’re tucked against her chest, your heart beating in rhythm with hers.

“Me either,” you breathe, kissing the place just above her collarbone. “But I thank God every day I do.”

And under the golden sun, the slow spin of the earth, and the gentle strum of country music playing somewhere in the background—you sit, wrapped in each other, knowing you’re exactly where you’re meant to be.

taglist : @rhian88 @abbyslvrrr @hell0-ki55y @spritelova @abbyscoochiecruncher @smaugayra @chaikichainsaw @femme-historian @h2pinky @lilredbird101 @kirna-diane @viperineee @sincerely-forest @athena-winters13 @madsxh1022

[emilys-bangs]

made for loving you | e.p

Tags: established relationship, mom!emily, fluff (tooth rotting fluff), no use of yn

Summary: A slow morning with her baby—and a striking revelation—is exactly what the doctor ordered this weekend.

Word count: 1.3k

“I’d have a stable full of Arabian steeds, rooms piled with books, and I’d write out of a magic inkstand, so that my works should be as famous as Laurie’s music. I want to do something splendid before I go into my castle—something heroic or wonderful, that won’t be forgotten after I’m dead.” 

Emily frowns at the page, unintentionally trailing off into silence. Her eyes linger on the word dead. Innocuous and entirely meaningless to her four-month-old—and yet, with the sound of Eloise’s breaths next to her ear and the lingering scent of milk in the still morning air, it seems entirely too dark.

She covers it with her thumb and hears a small voice whisper in the back of her head, you’re being ridiculous. 

Emily ignores it. 

“I think that might be too heavy of a word for you to hear now, sweet girl. Shouldn’t add it to your vocabulary this early.” She murmurs, turning to look at a somewhat distracted Eloise. Her daughter is busy gnawing at the toy in her hand, legs restlessly kicking in the air, but her eyes are fixed on her mother. A warmth pulses in Emily’s chest. It travels up to her temples, effectively silences the nagging thought in her head.

She sets Little Women down and gently swipes some of Eloise’s hair away from her forehead. “Don’t you think? Maybe she could’ve said, “after I’m gone”, but Jo does have a flair for the dramatics, I’m sure you’ve noticed.” Eloise drops the toy with a rattle, mumbling a coo as she holds out her hand toward Emily’s face. Emily takes it before her nails dig into her cheek, gently helping her daughter roll until she’s halfway resting on her chest. “Mommy used to be like that, you know. When I was her age. Though it was more of a cry for attention than a personality trait, huh?” Brown clashes with brown, and Emily smiles as she brings a small hand to her lips. “Didn’t work too well for me, I’d say.”

Her back is starting to ache where it presses down onto the hard floor beneath her, but the discomfort seems distant. Insubstantial. There’s more else to focus on: her daughter’s slight weight on her chest, the sound of Eloise’s babbles gently bending the early morning silence. The sun slowly warms both of them up as it streams in through the windows. You’re still asleep—cuddling a snoring Sergio last she’d checked—and after nearly two weeks of being away, Emily can finally feel herself mend at the seams. 

Just this is enough. Reading quietly to her daughter (making up for lost bedtime stories) and breathing her in for a few still beats, feeling unintelligible baby babble getting stifled into her cheek—it stitches her back together. Soon you’ll wake up, and she’ll make you coffee and breakfast, and she’ll trap the morning in amber, preserving it in her memory. Something to keep her going when she inevitably leaves again.

But that’s later.

Now Eloise is trying to crawl onto her chest. She wiggles restlessly, trying to hook her leg onto Emily’s stomach. It doesn’t stay, the cotton of her onesie—or simply the lacking strength of four month old limbs—dragging her knee back down until it falls to the floor. Eloise whines, a tearless sob working in her throat.

“It’s okay,” Emily soothes. “You can do it. I’ve got you, Mommy’s got you.” When she tries again, fists clenched in her tank top, Emily gently nudges the backs of her knees until she slides onto her chest. “See, there we go.” She says, her voice warm with pride. “Big girl.”

Eloise smiles, the wobble in her lips smoothing out. She lets out a pleased coo, dropping her forehead down too hard on Emily’s chin and nuzzling into it. Emily stifles a wince. Her hand comes up to cup the back of Eloise’s head, the soft bedhead tickling her fingers. As she’s combing through it, she hears a door creaking open, then thudding closed. She closes her eyes, combs through one, two, three loose curls, then drags herself up from the floor.

Eloise babbles in her ear as she stretches the best she can, wincing at the pain in her lower back. Emily pulls an arm over her shoulder. Something cracks; Eloise stares, her eyes widening at the echo of a loud pop that could possibly be her elbow. 

Emily laughs quietly, dropping a kiss on her temple. “Just my bones, sweet girl. They’re too old for this, I think.” She shifts her onto her hip and pads into the kitchen. “Though I do think the rug needs changing. It’s too thin. I mean, I’m not that old, am I?”

She gets a babble in return.

“Exactly right,” Emily agrees. She flips on the kettle, “You always—”

Her phone rings. 

Briefly, her mouth goes dry. It’s the weekend. Her first weekend in nearly half a month. Emily’s eyes are half closed as she fishes it out of her pocket. Please, please, please—

“Hello?”

“Hi, is this Emily Prentiss? Eloise’s mom?”

Emily goes loose. The breath rushes out of her, dizzyingly fast, her frown taken over by a dazzling grin. It splits beneath her teeth, wide and unrestrained at two little words at the tail end of the sentence. 

Eloise’s mom.

Emily clears her throat, holding tighter to Eloise when she wiggles against her shoulder. “Yes. Yes, this is her. Eloise’s mom.”

“Great! I’m calling to let you know that she’s been taken off the waitlist. We’ll be ready for her by Monday…”

The rest of the call doesn’t take very long, but she still finds it hard to focus. Everything blurs but for the lingering sound of Eloise’s mom and the distant hum of the woman’s voice through the phone, telling her that the daycare opens at seven, closes at six, and that it’d be best if you could pack Eloise a change of clothes. Emily hums her affirmative, squishes the phone between her shoulder and her ear to hold Eloise’s hand back from reaching for the whistling kettle. 

It’s always felt a little surreal that she would be entirely responsible for a whole other person, but that fact is slowly starting to solidify. She’s a parent. A parent to a sweet little baby who has her eyes and the edges of your smile. This—being held safely under her mother’s chin, having sweet nothings whispered into her hair—is all Eloise has ever known.

And she made that happen. You both did.

She’s staring down at the infant in her arms when you come into the kitchen, sleep lines on your cheek, your coffee still unmade.

“What is it?” You mumble, eyes half shuttered to block out the light.

Emily hugs Eloise tighter to her chest. Her head slots under her chin, tiny hands clasping the thin straps on Emily’s shoulders. “I’m her mom.” She says quietly, the words muffled into petal-soft skin. 

Well, no shit. That’s what you should say. She’s been her mom, for four months—for even longer, if you’re counting the months she’d been growing under her skin. You’ve both been parents in every sense of the word, for about long enough to get used to now. It’s not exactly news, is it? 

But you don’t say that. Smiling, you make your way into the kitchen, tuck her hair away from her watering eyes, and reaffirm those three, sacred words.

“You are her mom,” you say. A knot stirs in the back of her throat, growing when you cup her cheek with a warm hand and drop a kiss on her forehead. “You’re her mom, babe.”

Emily closes her eyes, dampness lining her lashes. Her next breath gets caught in her chest. It rattles around in her lungs, hitching onto the edge of a rib and splitting as she breathes it out. 

She feels your arms come around her, hears Eloise coo as you greet her softly, and traps the image in her head. Soaks it in amber. Watches as you and her and Eloise get suffused with gold.

Just this is enough.

taglist: @suckerforcate @sickoherd @lextism @catssluvr @i-lovefandom @haiklya @justhereforthosefics @storiesofsvu @ashluvscaterina @basicallyvivi @temilyrights @professorsapphic @decadentcatcrusade @piiinco@jareavsheavn @mourningthewicked@heartoreadallthequeerthingz

[lyv-writes]

OKAYY WE NEED DAD!SPENCER REID‼️

okay so Reader is going out for the day for like a little girls day with her best friends and says bye to Spencer and the cute little toddler! Buttt then the toddler starts missing reader and Spencer isn’t sure how to handle it at first, but then he gets the hang of it! <33

AAAA this is so cute omg thank u for this!!! i hope i was able to do it justice <33

spencer reid x mom!reader

words: 1,395

warnings: none really! just spencer being a good step-dad to your daughter, fluff, baby crying, that’s it!! :]

୭ 🧷 ✧ ˚. ᵎᵎ 🎀

“Thanks again, Spence,” you say, pressing another sweet kiss to his lips before tugging your coat off the hook and making for the front door. “Remember, Lila is allergic to kiwi. And her bedtime is 8, no exceptions. She has to go to daycare tomorrow morning.”

You had spent the morning holding Lila, playing with her and soaking up her laughter as much as you could. Spencer knew you had never really been apart from her—going to work was one thing, but there was a guilt that came with taking the day for yourself. He watches with a fond smile as you ramble through the list that you had already repeated to him twice and does his best to reassure you, nodding along despite having already memorized it.

Pre-made food in the fridge.

Medical information on the fridge in case of emergencies.

Call if she gets too fussy.

“Oh!” You say, halfway out the door before turning back to Spencer, a smile gracing your face. “And don’t let her convince you to give her sweets after dinner. She’ll ask you for fruit snacks, all cute, then she won’t sleep and it will be hell in the morning.”

“No fruit snacks after dinner, got it,” Spencer said, following your line of sight to Lila sitting on her plush rug in the living room, toys surrounding her as she played. Your face softened, affection swimming in your eyes and he could practically hear the thoughts going through your head. Tucking a strand of hair behind your ear, he gently guides your face back to meet his eyes.

“We’ll be fine,” he says, tone soft as your shoulders sag at the understanding behind his words. “You deserve to have a day with your friends. I think Lila can handle playing dolls with me for a few hours.”

His phrasing made you giggle, picturing Lila’s pouting face, wagging her little finger at Spencer when he takes something too literally, or doesn’t do it the way she wants. For some reason, Lila is never happy with the voices Spencer does, and after a year-and-a-half she still gets that same little pinched brow whenever Spencer holds a doll in his hand, high-pitched voice mimicking a princess’s until she yanks the toy out of his hand with a firm, yet cute, “No, ‘Penth.”

Without fail, hearing his name in her little voice makes his heart soar, pride filling his chest even if she’s scolding him, wagging her little finger as she says it. He’d always been hesitant at the idea of being a father, whenever he pictured his future that was always a blurry part, but now he couldn’t imagine not having you and Lila in his life.

Searching his face, you finally come to the conclusion that he’s being sincere and a bright smile covers your face. Spencer had come to terms a long time ago, far before the two of you were even dating, that he would do anything to make you smile. A sense of pride wells in his chest knowing that the smiles you give him are just for him, a special glint in your eyes every time.

Between work, and Lila, there was hardly any downtime to just relax. Your evenings were often spent wrangling Lila into bed, usually with Spencer if he’s not away for work. Spencer made it a point to be home in time to have dinner with both of you as much as he could, slowly getting involved in her night time routine. She was 6-months-old when you and Spencer began dating, and while it took some getting used to at first, Lila began reaching for Spencer with a giggle and a giddy squeeze soon enough.

When your friends suggested a girl’s spa-day, Spencer was quick to encourage you to go. Having a toddler made it hard to have a social life, especially when your friends weren’t moms themselves. Lila had warmed up quickly to Spencer, which was the biggest relief, and it was hard to find a reason to say no when Spencer offered to babysit.

“She’s gonna be my daughter,” Spencer said, a fond smile on his face as the two of you spoke conspiratorially in the kitchen. “I already think of her as mine, I’d be happy to watch her for the day.”

Your heart swelled hearing his words, and you couldn’t help but say yes when he put it like that. Spencer, you, and Lila being your own happy little family was all you could ever ask for, and it meant more than Spencer could ever know that he had been so welcoming and understanding. He was a dream.

With a final glance at Lila and a sigh, you’re pressing another unhurried kiss to Spencer’s lips, that same lil dazed smile on his face that he got after every kiss, even after nearly 2 years. “Thank you, Spence. I love you.”

“I love you too,” he replies, pressing another sweet kiss to your lips, then your cheek, then your forehead—you were gonna be gone all day, he had to get his fill while he could. “Now go before you miss your appointment.”

With a final kiss, Spencer watches as you walk down the front steps, drive away, waiting until he can't see your car anymore before he’s turning around and closing the door behind him. When he looks up, Lila is already looking at him, eyes glancing between the door and him before her small voice is heard over the cartoon playing on the tv.

“Mama?”

“Mama went to the store,” Spencer cooed, lowering himself down to sit on the floor in front of her and her array of toys. “She’s coming back, don’t worry.”

“Mama s’ore?” she whispered in her small voice, her wide eyes blinking slowly at him before her lip began to tremble. It broke his heart to see her eyes, which looked so much like yours, gloss over with tears.

“Oh, honey, it’s okay,” Spencer said, scooping her up in his arms. “She’s coming back for you. She’ll be here soon!”

With a sharp wail for her mom, the tears that had been welling up began falling in big drops, hands gripping tightly to the fabric of his shirt as she cried. Hurriedly, he began to bounce her in his arms, mimicking the way he had seen you do it countless times. He’s shushing her in a soft voice, whispering soothing words in the hopes that they’ll at least calm your crying.

Spencer wracks his brain, trying to sift through the information he had gleaned from the parenting books he had been reading for the past two years—he had started as soon as he came to the conclusion he would ask you out. Would showing her pictures of you work? He didn’t want to make things worse by making her miss you more, but maybe seeing your face would soothe her.

Transferring Lila to one hip, he fishes his phone from his pocket and opens the album of your photos, showing her various selfies, focusing on pictures he has of the two of you. After a couple of minutes her sobs quieted to sniffles and soon enough she was swiping through the pictures herself and giggling every time she saw your face.

With her swiping, it landed on a video, one he had taken of you reading a story to her before bed. At the time he had thought the voices you were using for the characters were so funny, hiding his own laughter behind his hand so that he could capture the sound of Lila’s giggles.

Spencer watches as she giggles along with herself, laughing at the way she reacts when you tickle her tummy. Spencer cant help the fond laugh the slips from his lips at the sight, bright grin tugging at his cheeks at your rosy smile.

When you arrive home that evening, only the kitchen light is on downstairs, the faint light from your bedroom guiding you as you softly push open the door. A warm smile paints your face as you slip your phone from your pocket, taking quite a few pictures of Lila, fast asleep atop Spencer’s chest, her favorite book lying next to his relaxed hand. His soft breaths rustle the hair at Lila’s scalp, her hand loosely gripping the edge of his sleeve as she sleeps.

Tip-toeing around the room, you shed your clothes from the day, slip on some pajamas before placing Spencer’s book on the nightstand. Slipping softly under the covers, you curl yourself around Spencer’s side, hand resting on Lila’s back as you fall asleep, comfortable with the people you love the most.

[in-the-multiverse]

While almost everyone carves wooden things, Golden Fool went for shiny. He was the one and only goldsmith on the server and took pride in making beautiful jewelry. It was mostly for himself: dozens of bulky rings so he could flaunt a new combination every week, chandelier earrings ranging from gothic to floral, torque and festoon necklaces when he felt extra fancy, simpler and lighter necklaces on the days that called for a minimal (but still quite stylish) look

The gemstones that were skillfully embedded in them came from…around the server. Didn’t matter where, everything was his anyways. He stood clear of the “cursed” crystals the wizard man had. Ugly plastic

No one else was allowed to wear his jewelry. There were, however, very few exceptions

Milkman isn’t one to wear big, fancy shmancy gold. He likes how they look, but honestly- they’re too clunky and noisy for him. The first thing Fool made for him were gold buttons to replace the wack plastic ones on his jacket. Just a pop of color, a little glamour with a geometric pattern. Halfway through the smithing process, Fool had an idea for a matching gold patch on his hat. Then two extra buttons for the end of his jacket sleeves as well. He tailored them in with care

They were small, dapper, perfect, and Milkman loved them. His partner admired the new look in the mirror. There was an extra shine to him —and not just literally— confidence lit up his face, he had an extra pep in his step as he walked around the server, and those long hours Fool spent making the ornaments look just right became very worth it to see Milkman a little happier

Every now and again, Milkman came to him with a sheepish request for new gold. He promised he was doing his best to not accidentally fall into the void. It held up to be true. As the months went by, void deaths become scarce and the occasional creeper was to blame for lost accessories. And every time he asked for new ones: Fool gave the same deep sigh, crossed his arms and asked “So what design would you like this time?” Milkman always complimented the speed it took for them to be created, and he was delighted by the extra surprises thrown in

Fool didn’t tell him about the hidden chest filled with an array of golden buttons, patches, gemstone hat charms, and hat pins. He saw this coming

In the early days, Vintage wanted to wear dangle earrings with cherry wood flowers. It took a lot of trial and error. During a hangout, she carved off more than expected, kept trying to save it as a smaller design, kept misjudging cuts, until her earrings became sad little chunks. It had been a long week and she almost gave up on wood carving right then and there

Fool sat down next to them and shared a handful of stories where he screwed up gold smithing. Like- taking a sip of molten gold instead of the cup of coffee that was right next to it, or that time he sneezed while etching a very complicated pattern and continued one millimeter off, one exhausted afternoon he chipped off gold from his skin instead of his project—ouch—, and boy was he glad no one else was around the day his (unchecked) workstation collapsed on itself and he had to literally play the floor is lava. With each retelling, he was met with a surprised laugh and the frustration eased from Vintage’s shoulders. She wasn’t alone in making mistakes. If Fool went through it and still made amazing works, it wasn’t hopeless for her

He taught her a couple tricks to get 3d shapes a little closer to what she imagined in her head. Gold smithing and wood carving were very different processes, but any idea began at a sketch

Two weeks later, Vintage gifted him a charm bracelet. It was decently detailed and adjusted nicely to his wrist. Not shiny, but their pride at finally making something look cute and the time they spent on it was more than enough to graciously wear it. A couple days later, Fool surprised her with a beaded bracelet, gorgeously flower themed. They could be matching!

Vintage adored it and showed it off to anyone who stopped to have a conversation with her. When the others yearned for a cool shiny thing like hers, she gave a sweet smile and teased them for being on Fool’s enemy list. Because even if birch was on neutral grounds with someone, it was only a matter of time before crime and chaos fell their way. Anyone who wasn’t a friend was kept at arm’s length. Which meant— no shiny for youuu

One day it disappeared. Must’ve gotten lost in cherry’s god awful storage system. Vintage felt so, so sorry they lost it. They knew Fool spent precious time on it and they’d hate to be a bother asking for another one. But Fool shrugged it off, it was no biggie, really. In fact, it gave him the opportunity to indulge in designs he sketched out. By the end of the week he made a new friendship bracelet, charm necklace, and cuff ring that suited her unicorn horn nicely. Vintage was so happy she nearly cried, she thanked him over and over and promised to keep them in a better place

A few weeks went by, and she was utterly distraught at losing them. All of them. She swore up and down they were in her enderchest, she did wear them out one fancy evening, must’ve forgotten to put it back. They said they checked all over cherry kingdom and retraced her steps, but no shiny :(

Again they lamented to Fool, and again he workshopped another few accessories to replace those. By the 4th time, he started to question her genuineness. His gifts never lasted longer than 3 weeks, it seemed more like a scheduled “disappearance”. It was by chance he spotted her strolling on the edge of the shopping district with her new jewelry. She clasped them off, held a fistful of his work over the edge, and let it drop

He stopped talking with Vintage after that. She’d been acting weird lately anyways. Their handcrafted bracelet went to the void, too

And when Milkman accused him of working behind his back— oohhh

Fool stormed up to the hidden chest and melted everything back into a pot of liquid gold. It was his and he could do whatever he wanted with it. Have it ready to be refurnished into new accessories for himself. Milkman would never get anything new, either

When the Halloween Ball rolled around, he made sure to wear the most exquisite gold he’s ever made. He wanted eyes on him. He wanted people to feel jealous when they looked at him. He wanted admiration like no other and hoped it would draw the others to him. Novelty was the gateway to trust. Just. Everyone to give him another chance

Look at how incredible his gold smithing was! Didn’t you want something shiny too? Didn’t you want to be his friend?

Eyes definitely looked in his direction. But the longer the night dragged on the more self conscious he became. People kept their distance. Fool swatted away any naive hope that dared fester in his lonely soul. Of course they did. They should. Everyone was hiding something, exchanging whispers and glances that could only be about him. How dare he dress himself as a spectacle, and beckon attention when none of them deserved it. Everyone had a weird thing going on with them. Everyone had it out for him. What else did the void want? More of his jewelry? His kingdom? They had to be working together. They wanted to take more from him. He couldn’t trust these…these—

A glint of gold called to him

Amongst the crowd, a singular hat pin shined underneath the chandelier lights. Milkman was lost in his own world, giggling and dancing with someone else

Fool heard the gold on his skin crack and crumble

The greedy one having a love language of gift giving was a pretty big deal

The Librarian knows this, and they know they aren’t here to be a replacement. They leave his goldsmith workshop alone

Let it collect dust

[bugs1nmybrain]

Mommy's Boy: Shigaraki x Fem!Reader~Mommy Kink~☆•°♡☆°●♡

As always, Minors do NOT interact!

I remember saying how I thought writing Shigaraki fucking you in front of Dabi was out of pocket, but I've pretty much thrown all humility out the window at this point. Upsidaisy.

Updated: Nov 26th, 2023

Traits about the reader: Medium to big boobs, curvy, thick thighs, implied to be either shigaraki's age (20 in this) or older, implied to be on birth control, bad at playing video games

Notes: NSFW/smut, mommy kink, sub/switch Shigaraki, fem reader, shy and moody Shigaraki???????, Shigaraki loves boobs, awkward reader and Shigaraki interactions, spanking (reader receiving), tit sucking, vulgar language, mutual masturbation, slight degrading, a sprinkle of praise, hair pulling (Tomura receiving), no condom, reader and Shigaraki play GTA 5 in the beginning, kinda cringe tbh, season 4 era Shigaraki

I know each of my fics always end right after sex I'm so sorry. I'm going to have to get better at some plot after sex because I feel like it's so cliché.

"You suck!"

Unfortunately for you and Shigaraki, there was only one controller for the PlayStation. He had wanted a gaming date but there wasn't much you two could do together, so you had compromised by taking turns on GTA (story mode by your request).

Tomura watched as you continued to knock into every car in your line of view. You'd back out of a car you had hit only to knock into another. When you finally made it to a mission that required shooting, you were doing halfway ok, but only because of the auto-aim mechanics to be completely honest. However, the cops just showed up, and now it was you (Trevor), Franklin, and Lamar against a shit load of police. Shigaraki hoped and prayed you'd start catching on, but you just kept on dying.

"GTA 5 is easy! How are you fucking up this bad?" Shigaraki ponders in a near-genuine tone.

"It's been a while! I haven't played for maybe over 6 months."

"It's not even hard whatsoever, I don't get this. Give me a turn."

"You played like 4 minutes ago."

"Yes, but you're bad at this and it's making my head hurt. Give me that stupid controller," Tomura, without your input, snatches the controller out of your hand and plows through the mission for you with ease. You slouch on his shoulder and mope, your feelings hurt by your own pathetic gaming abilities.

"Maybe we should do something that we could both do. Why do I want to just sit here and watch you play GTA all night?" You whine. Shiggy responds with an annoyed groan.

"Take it then! It's not my fault you're shit at this. Maybe try a strangers and freaks mission," Shigaraki drops the controller on your lap. You breathe in and set your waypoint to Vinewood Boulevard. Tomura observes you drive so cautiously that it's almost worse to watch you drive so slow than to smash into cars.

Tomura sighs in agitation and slumps his chest against your back, wrapping his arms around your soft tummy and burying his face in the crook of your neck. He hugs you tight as he watches you fuck up your game and turns his attention away from your awful playthrough to something that he'd consider you to take more pride in.

Tomura glances at the v-neck of your black shirt that looked like his, only short-sleeved. He allows himself to look at your tits while you're distracted. He's had some pretty good self-restraint today, he'd say, as the push-up you were wearing was driving him fucking crazy. They looked so hot and the complexion of your skin gave them a lovely glow. He felt like a pathetic little bitchboy, wanting nothing more than to touch them and bury his face in your tits. It was a good thing you were so distracted by GTA because he was scoping the terrain out to plot his next move.

He felt embarrassed. The two of you have had sex many times, but he still felt annoying to want to appreciate your tits. Would he seem like a little bitch with mommy issues or something? Oh well, you were his girlfriend, right? If you didn't like it then you'd need to find a better toy to play with, though the thought fueled his blood because Shigaraki hadn't ever found anyone that took interest in him like you did.

There was no helping it. He was already growing a boner and you were already feeling it press against your ass as you sat in his lap.

"Tomura?"

He felt a shock surge through him, knowing full well why you were calling his name. So he didn't answer.

"Tomura, are you okay?" You giggle teasingly.

Don't do this to him, he thought. This was supposed to be a simple gaming night. But who was he kidding? 9 times out of 10 your dates ended in kind of sex.

"What gives you the impression that I'm not?" He says in an embarrassed tone. Was he feeling flustered? Cutie.

"Because something's poking me."

"Haha."

You laugh, a little surprised that he's not trying to come back with some cocky monologue like he always does. You turn around to face him to see the cutest scowl on his face. He's clearly frustrated and the boner in his pants only makes it cuter. You take it upon yourself to straddle his lap, resting on his thin frame with your thick thighs. The outline of your crotch presses against his bulge and he grunts in response.

"What's wrong, Tomura?" You coo at him and begin stroking his hair tenderly. You're going to kill him, he swears. His gaze stays stuck on the TV screen as your player stands outside of the Los Santos hospital, but you turn his face to look at you instead. "Why are you being so moody?"

"Your tits have been distracting me all day," he pouts with a flustered face, his eyes now making their way toward your cleavage.

The immediate cackle you respond with almost softens Shiggy's cock all the way, feeling insulted.

"I'm serious," he says with a grumpy voice.

"Really? Is that all, baby?" You smirk with a nurturing voice.

"Pretty much."

Taking Tomura's neck, you kiss his nape gently. He cups your hips with his hands, leaving some fingers up so as to not harm the only person who has both shown him love as well as not piss him off to no end (well, for the most part). You begin grinding on his cock which creates heavy, frustrated sighs from him.

You continue to play with Tomura's hair, messaging his scalp in between your fingers. He tilts his head backwards with a drawn-out whine as if he hasn't been touched in his whole life. That notion wasn't entirely false, before you Tomura hadn't received physical affection like this from anyone and assumed he never would because of his quirk. You were such a lucky catch for him. Maybe it was why he was hesitant to say his needs, he was scared he'd weird you out and that you'd ditch him.

Damn, when did he start caring about how somebody else would feel about his actions?

"What's wrong?" You ask caringly.

"I told you what's wrong."

"Oh, right. What can I do to make it better?"

"Mm.." Shigaraki stares at your chest and back up to you, hoping that you would pick up on his desires without him having to say it. He felt so cringy right now, like a little subby boy begging for access to your tits.

He gives up on trying to be nice when you continue to play dumb. You were doing it on purpose, for sure. A part of you loved seeing Tomura shy and polite like this, as he was usually so abrasive. He tugs on the V of your shirt and whispers in your ear, "are you too numb to get the idea?"

"And what's that?" You banter.

"Bitch. What am I supposed to tell you? That I want to suck on your tits?"

"Is that what you want?"

"Shut up!!"

"It's okay," You laugh. "You don't have to be embarrassed. I know you've got mommy issues."

"What of it? Is that a problem for you?"

"No," you giggle. "Do you need me to spoil you, baby?"

"Ew."

"I'm trying."

Tomura cackles, his broody demeanor. He squeezes your love handles and buries his face in your neck again.

"It's not my fault that you've got the body of a MILF. How am I supposed to react?"

"Wow, what a compliment."

"It is a compliment," Shigaraki snickers as he begins kissing your neck and down your chest. His hands travel from your love handles up to your waist, gripping like his life depended on it. "So, are you going to let me indulge or what?"

You giggle are stroke his long hair as he hums in question, embarrassed by his request, but somehow honored.

"Knock yourself out."

"Mmm, thank you mommy.."

"Oh my god you didn't just say that."

"Just roll with it."

Shigaraki takes a finger and tugs at your V-neck, but is disappointed at your bra. He reaches underneath to unclasp the back and yanks it out from your shirt. His attention focuses back on your tits. Tomura pulls your collar down to reveal one. He wastes no time and begins sucking tenderly. You can feel his cock growing more inside his pants, so you start grinding on the fabric, causing him to grunt while your tit is in his mouth.

Tomura pulls the other breast out from your shirt, taking a moment to gawk at them before going for the other. He teases your other nipple with his fingers. You hadn't realized how sensitive your tits really were as his tongue was flickering against your nipple causing a dripping arousal to seep through your underwear. You whine at the pleasure.

"Is this making you feel good baby?" You ask sultrily to Tomura. He responds with an eager "Mhm" and continues sucking. After what seemed like forever he lifts his head up and pulls your face down to kiss him, his saliva-coated mouth being a lovely adhesive between your lips.

"Your tits are so cute, mommy.."

"When did I consent to this mommy treatment?" You giggle.

"You're literally the one who told me I have mommy issues! Don't make me feel like shit for this."

"I'm not!" you laugh. "I'm just teasing."

You kiss him and continue to tug at his hair, "Does my baby boy need mommy to take good care of him?"

"Yes please.."

"Please, who?"

"Please mommy.."

"Mm.." You lift off of his lap and take your leggings and shirt off, leaving your full figure out for him. He puts up a finger to signal "wait" and reaches over to his bag on the floor and pulls out his special gloves. Fuck what would he do without them? He needs his hand condoms if he's gonna thoroughly make love with you.

"You're so sexy," he says, trailing his fingers to your wet cunt as he begins stroking your clit. You whimper in excitement and begin to pull down his pants. His cute cock slips out, standing proud with pre-cum already leaking out from the tip. As he continues toying with your pussy, you stroke his sensitive cock which creates lovely scratchy moans from his throat.

"God..that's it...," Shigaraki his horny, pulsing cock out on your clit, rubbing circles on it rapidly. You moan out lightly, grinding your clit against his fingers to create more friction. You rub his dick in fast as he submissively cries out in pleasure. Your clit twitches in familiar waves of pleasure once he begins sucking on your tit again.

"Is mommy gonna cum?" Tomura teases, releasing his mouth from your breast to only go to the other.

"Mhm!"

The look on his face when you began falling onto him as you came was unlike him. Tomura snickers in pride, pulling you in for a kiss while you kept stroking his cock.

"I think you deserve some privileges," you coo at him, and you sit on his lap yet again.

"I do? Have I been a good boy?"

"Mhm. Very good boy."

You circle your groin around Tomura's leaking cock as he whines out in pleading.

"Please, mommy..."

"Please mommy what?"

"Fuck me. Fuck me mommy, pleaaaase...."

With a pleasant hum in your throat, you reach down to rub Tomura's cock, then inserting it inside of your dripping cunt. Tomura groans loudly at your gooey, wet walls and attempts to push his cock deeper into you, begging for you to fuck him. To his satisfaction, to begin to bounce on his cock in rhythm, and Tomura swears you're going to drive him insane.

"Mm..does my baby boy like this? Does he feel good?"

"Fuck, yes...," Shigaraki moans. He watches intently as your tits bounce while you fuck him. He smacks your ass in frustration, shocking you.

"I guess I'm a bad boy, then. Are you gonna punish me?" He chuckles maniacally.

"Tomura, that wasn't very nice of you," you squeal, pulling at his hair in response.

Without speaking you begin bouncing on him in a quicker pace than before. Shigaraki holds around your waist tight as he thrusts, trying to savor every inch of your pussy. You were so fucking tight, but so wet too. Your cunt always made him leak, but tonight it was driving him mad.

"..fuck me...fuck me harder, mommy!"

"MmmMM! Fuck! God, mommy, you're gonna milk me.."

You oblige, hopping on him while you clench your walls, purposely trying to milk him.

"That's it, baby. Cum for me. Cum inside of mommy's pussy."

You definitely didn't have to tell him twice. Tomura sufficates himself into your neck as he holds you tight, fucking you until he finally cums deep. His orgasm is intense and long, as he continues to pump you full of cum for many seconds.

Panting and sweating, Shigaraki kisses you once more before you lift your pussy off of his cock, cum oozing out onto his lap. He snuggles in your arms and you stroke his hair. He whines from his cock that's still throbbing after his orgasm.

"Did that feel good, baby?" You ask with a nurturing tone, kissing his scrunkly forehead.

"Uh-huh...I don't know if I've ever came that hard."

"Mommy told you she'd take good care of you."

"Okay stop it. That shit is over and done with," he laughs and flicks your forehead. You rest your head down on his chest while he holds you tight, breathing heavily as he pets your skin.

"I love you," Tomura says and kisses your head as he yawns, sleepy from his orgasm.

"I love you too, Tomura."

"Next time Daddy's gonna have to do something special for you."

[fandomfablesunleashed]

Jealously, jealously

Ace x reader (she/her)

Chapter 10 of And they were roommates - Modern AU series

We're probably about halfway through the story. Yay.

Thanks to anyone who is reading this 💕 Hope it doesn't suck that much 💀

The reader was jealous—it was time for Ace to suffer a bit too. I'm trying to build tension between them before everything finally explodes

Ace had always been a bit possessive of you, although he hadn’t realized it at first. It was a subtle feeling, a twinge of discomfort that lurked beneath the surface of his easygoing demeanor. He told himself it was nothing, just a trick of his overthinking mind. He prided himself on being easygoing and not sweating the small stuff. However, it wasn’t until he saw you talking and laughing with another guy during a night out that he finally realized the depth of his jealousy.

The sight of you, radiant and smiling as you chatted with the stranger, hit him like a punch to the gut. Your laughter—a sound he cherished—was now directed at someone else, and it hurt more than it should. He knew he had no right to feel this way, that it could even be a friendly conversation, but the more he looked at the both of you, he saw that the guy was clearly flirting with you.

Ace took a sip of his drink, trying to shake the feeling, but it lingered, an itch he couldn’t ignore. He told himself he was overreacting. So what if you were flirting with someone? You had every right to. You weren’t his. Yet, the longer he watched, the tighter the knot in his chest became. He hated the way the guy leaned in closer, the way your eyes sparkled when you smiled. And most of all, he hated the way it made him feel—petty and insecure.

He couldn’t take it anymore. He muttered a quick excuse to the group he was sitting with and rose to his feet. Every step toward you felt heavier than the last, his mind racing with half-formed plans and excuses for why he was doing this. The closer he got, the harder his heart pounded, his palms growing clammy despite his determination to appear calm.

He arrived just in time to hear you laugh at something the guy said. That laugh—a sound he normally loved—felt like a slap in the face now. Clearing his throat a bit louder than necessary, he stepped into your line of sight.

“Hey,” Ace said, attempting to sound casual despite the tightening in his chest. “Mind if I interrupt for a minute?”

You looked a bit confused, glancing between him and the guy. “Uh, sure. What’s up?”

Ace nodded toward the stranger, who immediately picked up on the vibe and excused himself, leaving you alone with Ace.

As soon as the guy walked away, you turned to him, an expression of bewilderment crossing your face. “What’s going on?”

He took a deep breath, trying to regain some composure. “I just…”

Ace hesitated, his confidence faltering now that he had your full attention. He couldn’t bring himself to admit how much seeing you laugh with another guy had bothered him. Instead, he blurted out the first excuse that came to mind.

“Uh, I wanted to talk to you about the electricity bill,” he said, wincing internally at how ridiculous it sounded. “It… uh, it seems higher than usual.”

You stared at him, your brow furrowing in disbelief. “The electricity bill? That’s what you wanted to talk to me about? It couldn’t wait until tomorrow?”

“Yeah, I just… I noticed the charge was a bit higher this month.” Ace mentally kicked himself for his lame excuse. He could see the gears turning in your head as you scrutinized him, your eyes narrowing slightly as if you suspected there was more to the story.

“Alright,” you finally said. “I’ll take a look at it tomorrow. Is that all?”

He could feel the weight of your gaze, and he knew he had to wrap up this conversation before he inadvertently revealed his true feelings.

“Yeah, that’s all,” he said a bit too quickly. “Just wanted to let you know about the bill.”

You gave him a bit of a frown but didn't push further. With a small shake of your head, you muttered something under your breath and turned back to your drink.

Ace tried to act nonchalant, but under his cool exterior, his heart was racing. He was a bigger idiot than he thought, getting jealous like he had rights to do so. He tried to shove the feelings aside, telling himself it was a silly and childish reaction. You were your own person, free to talk and laugh with whoever you wanted. 

“So, umm…having fun?” he asked awkwardly, wanting to have your attention for just a bit longer. Or all the time, hopefully. 

You turned back to him, raising an eyebrow at his sudden change in tone. “Yeah… I guess,” you replied slowly, clearly trying to gauge where this was going. “Are you?”

“Yeah, yeah, all is good.” He gave you his usual smile, but it didn't reach his eyes as it usually did. “Looked like you were having a good time.”

Your eyes narrowed again, though not in an accusatory way—more like you were trying to read between the lines.

“Hey,” you said, your voice soft but pointed, “what’s going on? You’re acting… off.”

He opened his mouth to deflect, to brush it off with another excuse, but the sincerity in your tone stopped him. He looked away, focusing on a random spot on the floor as he searched for something to say—something that wouldn’t completely expose the mess of emotions roiling inside him.

“I’m not acting off,” he finally muttered, though even to his ears it sounded unconvincing.

“Right,” you said dryly. You crossed your arms, leaning back slightly as you regarded him. “So you just randomly show up, pull me away from a conversation, and ask about the electricity bill? Totally normal.”

Ace sighed, dragging a hand through his hair. He could feel the conversation slipping out of his control, but he wasn’t ready to back down. Not yet.

“I just thought—” he began, then stopped himself, frustration bubbling to the surface. “Forget it. It’s not important.”

You frowned, clearly unsatisfied with his vague response. “If something’s bothering you, just say it. I’m not a mind reader.”

His chest tightened at your words. He wanted to tell you everything—to admit how much he cared, how much it had gutted him to see you with someone else—but the words felt impossible to say. What if it ruined everything? What if you didn’t feel the same way? He liked living with you. He didn't want to lose it.

Instead, he took a step back, forcing a tight smile. “I didn’t mean to bother you. Go back to your conversation. I’ll catch you later.”

“Wait,” you said, wanting to understand what just happened, but he was already gone. 

The night continued, and Ace attempted to keep himself occupied, socializing with other friends and trying to forget about the scene he had interrupted. But throughout the evening, his eyes kept darting back to where he had left you. He found himself making excuses to walk past where you were, occasionally stealing glances in your direction, hoping to find you with your friends and not smiling at another guy.

He felt like a fool, acting like some kind of protective guard dog. But he couldn't help it. The thought of some other guy making you laugh and smile the way he did made his stomach twist in knots. Deep down, he knew he had no right to feel this way. You two weren't a couple—you were just roommates and good friends. 

As the night began to wind down, Ace found himself standing by the door, leaning casually against the frame as though he wasn’t silently tracking your every movement.

When you finally finished saying your goodbyes and made your way over to him, he forced a relaxed smile, though inside he was a tangle of contradictory feelings.

“Ready to go?” he asked, his voice deliberately casual.

“Yeah, let's go.”

Ace nodded and pushed the door open, stepping out into the cool night air. He shoved his hands into his pockets as he led the way back to your shared apartment, trying to keep his stride easy. But his mind was anything but calm. He hated how he was behaving, but he couldn't seem to stop the jealousy from overpowering his common sense.

Ace could feel your eyes on him, sharp and assessing, and it made his skin prickle. He knew you were piecing together his strange behavior, likely running through scenarios in your head. The thought made him want to say something—anything—to break the tension, but the words caught in his throat.

Eventually, it was you who spoke, your voice cutting through the quiet with gentle concern.

“Are you okay? You seem a bit off tonight. Usually, you’re the life of the party, but tonight you’ve just been… tense.”

The genuine worry in your tone made his chest tighten, a pang of guilt settling in as he scrambled for an answer. He forced a dismissive wave of his hand, pairing it with a weak smile.

“Yeah, I’m fine. Just tired, that’s all.”

It was a blatant lie that he could only hope you’d accept without question. But as your eyes narrowed slightly, he knew you weren’t buying it.

You knew him well enough to recognize when he was not being truthful.

“Sure,” you said, your voice laced with skepticism. “But it seems like it’s more than just being tired. You’ve been on edge the entire night. Did something happen?”

You deserved honesty, but the thought of admitting the truth—that his odd behavior stemmed from jealousy—made him recoil. He forced a laugh, though it sounded hollow even to him.

“Honestly, I’m just tired. Long day, that’s all.”

You studied him for a moment, your gaze piercing. He could see the wheels turning in your head and could feel the heat of your scrutiny.

“If you say so,” you said finally, though the doubt in your voice lingered. “But you know you can talk to me, right? If something’s bothering you, you know that, right?”

You weren’t prying or accusing; you were offering to listen, to help. And yet, he couldn’t bring himself to open up. Admitting his jealousy would only make him seem possessive and irrational—traits he didn’t want you to associate with him.

“I know. But honestly, I'm just a bit drained. I'll feel better after a good night's sleep, trust me.”

You nodded, but the doubt lingered in your eyes. You knew there was more to his behavior than he was letting on, but you didn’t push further.

“Alright,” you said softly. “But if you change your mind, remember I’m here to listen.”

Ace swallowed the lump in his throat. Seeing your earnest concern only made him feel more like a jerk.

“Thanks,” he replied, avoiding your gaze. “I appreciate it.”

When you reached the apartment, the tension hadn’t lifted. Ace fumbled with the keys, his hands suddenly clumsy as he unlocked the door. He wanted to apologize for how strange he’d been acting and offer some explanation, but every possible excuse sounded empty. Instead, he stayed silent, the words trapped behind a wall of self-doubt, leaving the air between you charged with everything he couldn’t say.

You stood there for a moment, staring at the closed door. Something was clearly bothering him, and the strained excuse of being tired didn’t sit right with you. But without more to go on, you let it go, hoping he’d open up in his own time.

Inside his room, Ace flopped onto his bed with a frustrated sigh. What was he doing? He’d spent the entire night acting like a lovesick idiot, hovering in the background like some jealous boyfriend he had no right to pretend to be. He felt pathetic, ashamed of himself for letting his emotions spiral so wildly.

He didn’t just want to be the person you came home to after a long day. He wanted to be the one who made you laugh, the one who shared your smiles, the one who held your attention the way that guy at the party had.

Ace hated feeling this way—feeling jealousy and possessiveness over someone he didn’t even have a defined relationship with. Yet no matter how much he tried to reason with himself, he couldn’t shake these feelings.

Next chapter

[television-overload]

of our own making

(an X-Files fanfic)

Chapter 16/34 - mailbox

[Read on AO3]

Once, when Dana was twelve and already filled with the ferocious independence of a teenager, she tried out for the school play and was cast as the lead role. This, of course, she told absolutely no one.

She was lucky neither of her brothers was at the same school at the time, or her secret wouldn’t have lasted a day. Instead, she claimed to have joined an after-school study group, and simply told her mother to pick her up an hour later, please and thank you.

This went on for about a week, until one night after she’d gone to bed, Maggie went into her room to check on her. Her strong-willed youngest daughter had fallen asleep on top of the open script book, halfway through meticulously highlighting her lines on the page.

The jig was up.

Maggie debated the merits of waking her and dragging the truth out into the open. ‘There’s nothing to be embarrassed about,’ she might say. ‘Why didn’t you tell me?’

But then, Dana could never be forced to do something when she wasn’t good and ready to do it. Maggie knew her daughter well enough to know that.

In the end, she left the bedside lamp on, left her daughter untucked on her bed, because even the slightest thing out of place would tip her off—maybe even force a confession out of her. Maggie didn’t want that.

Dana would tell her someday. When she was ready. Until then, she’d continue on as if she were none the wiser, supporting her in whatever way she could from a distance.

She finally came clean the morning of the big play, which was admittedly later than Maggie had expected. Looking back, though, perhaps she should have known. Dana was always a stubborn one. 

“Mom? You know how I said I joined that study group?”

Maggie had acted surprised, but made sure to show her enthusiasm. She had shown up to the play with a bouquet of flowers to give her afterward, hugging and kissing her with all the sincerity and pride a mother ought to have.

Dana had performed brilliantly, and although she decided that acting wasn’t for her, she had at least tried something new. That was a lesson Maggie had always tried to impart on all her children, but it was Dana that seemed to take it to heart, sometimes to the frustration of her parents. 

Strong-willed and independent, that was their Dana. She’d face the unknown, even if it scared her. Only, she’d do it by herself without ever asking for help. That was her way.

Later—years later—she told Maggie that the reason she hadn’t told the truth from the beginning was that she was afraid she wouldn’t be any good, or that people would make fun of her. There’s an inherent insecurity that comes with trying something for the first time, and Dana dealt with that by hiding herself away until she was absolutely certain she could do it. The play was just one example. There were countless others throughout her childhood that she could point to. Even her move from medicine to the FBI was marked by the same pattern.

And now, staring at the mailbox in the lobby of Dana’s apartment building, Maggie gets the distinct impression that she’s in another such situation right now.

She sighs.

‘Dana Scully,’ the mailbox reads. With Fox Mulder’s name tacked on at the bottom.

She’d tried calling first. Really, she had. After the last time, she truly didn’t want to drop by unannounced. But no one had answered, and all she wanted was to bring by an early birthday present before heading out to San Diego for the next month, so here she was.

She’ll have to just mail it. Just like she’d let the highlighter marker dry out, left without a cap on all night long when Dana was twelve, now she would leave her daughter to her secrets, having the faith that she would entrust her with them when the time was right.

There are a number of reasons Fox Mulder could be living at her daughter’s apartment.

Selfishly, Maggie hopes and hopes it’s for the reason she’s always thought it could be, if only her daughter and that partner of hers would finally open their eyes.

-.-.-

“Hi sweetheart. I thought I might stop by, if this afternoon is alright with you. I have your birthday present. I’m leaving to visit Bill and Tara tomorrow, you know, so I just want to make sure you get it. Call me back when you get a chance. Love you!”

The answering machine beeps, and Mulder looks up from his place on the couch to see Scully looking ghostly pale.

“That was from this morning,” she says, worrying her lip between her teeth as she glances out the window at the darkened street outside. “I don’t know why she didn’t call my cell. I hope she didn’t stop by.”

Mulder wonders, sometimes, if this secret keeping thing is worth the anxiety Scully suffers over it. In his opinion, definitely not, but it’s not his decision to make.

“I haven’t seen a gift laying around, so I think we're still in the clear,” he supplies helpfully, hoping that will be enough to appease her for now.

It works, at least a little. She shucks her coat and collapses beside him on the couch, heaving a tired sigh. Working late on a weekend isn’t her favorite perk of the job, Mulder knows, but sometimes it’s unavoidable.

Hence his desire to find replacements for them both. Sure, he might have blindsided her with that part of the plan during their interview, but that’s only because he knew she’d have fought him on it if he had brought it up. No matter how many times he tells her he’s okay with stepping back from the X-Files, she still doesn’t fully believe him. Well, what’s new?

“I should probably call her back,” Scully says unenthusiastically, lifting the phone from its cradle. 

While it rings, he reluctantly gets to his feet, making his way to the kitchen to heat up some leftovers for the both of them.

“Hey, Mom. Just returning your call,” he hears her say a moment later. “No, I was at work. We got called in to help with another unit.”

Mulder tosses a bowl of chicken and rice into the microwave, then gets out all the fixings for a salad.

“You didn’t come by, did you?” Scully asks as evenly as possible.

He can’t hear her mother’s response, but he can tell by the softening of Scully’s posture that her answer had been a favorable one.

“Yes, that's fine. If you want, I can drive you to the airport tomorrow. You can just give it to me then… Are you sure? Well, alright. Say hi to Bill for me. Bye, Mom.”

Mulder sets the salad bowl on the kitchen table, watching her worriedly as she hangs up the phone. “All good?” he asks.

Thankfully, his words seem to snap her out of the tense position she'd been sitting in. “Yeah,” she says with a sigh. “She already scheduled a taxi to pick her up in the morning.” 

That wasn't really what he was asking, but he's treading into dangerous territory if he wants to push her much further. Scully makes her way over to the table and takes a seat, still apparently lost in thought.

The clink of plates and silverware being set out fills the silence that falls between them. He really doesn't want to ruin their evening after a long and somewhat stressful day at work, but he can't stand to just sit and watch her worry. Maybe he can try just one more time to get her to see the light.

“Scully,” he starts carefully, absentmindedly trailing his finger through the condensation on his water glass to avoid her stare. “I really think you should tell your mom.”

If the atmosphere had been tense before, that's nothing compared to how it is in the wake of his words.

Immediately, she freezes, her fork poised above a piece of chicken. He goes back to eating solely to have something to do with himself other than stew in the hot waves of anger he feels radiating toward him. He won't look at her. That will only escalate things.

“I thought you were with me on this, Mulder,” she says after a moment, her tone dangerously low.

Yeah. He had been. In the beginning, before they really started this process. 

But now, things had been moving along pretty smoothly, and even Scully had been uncharacteristically optimistic lately. They've met with a birth mother, for goodness sake, passed through meetings with the agency like seasoned professionals!

He'd been a fool to think that would be enough for her to loosen up a little.

“I know it's not my place to say one way or another what you should do,” he says, chancing a look at her and wincing at the hurt look on her face. “But, Scully, how long can we put this off? We'll be parents in a few months, don't you want her to be a part of this process?”

“You don't know that,” she says loudly, her eyes flashing in alarm. “You have no way of knowing that this will work out. Nothing is set in stone.”

Does she not think he'll wait as long as it takes to make this happen? If Krista doesn't work out, they'll just wait for another birth mother to come along. It isn't the end of the world.

“Then, when?” he asks impatiently, pleading for an honest answer from her lips.

Scully's eyes harden. He can see the effort it takes for her to steady her breathing. Her piercing stare causes a sinking sensation in his stomach, and he knows what's about to happen before it does. 

Her jaw tightens, and she gets to her feet, her chair scraping harshly against the floor, all without breaking eye contact.

“Come on, Scully, wait,” he tries, his shoulders slumping. She stalks off without another word, leaving her half finished meal to grow cold on the table.

The door to her room slams shut behind her.

He tosses his fork onto his plate in frustration, the metal clanking sharply against ceramic. Dinner is over, and his appetite is gone anyway. With his elbows perched on the table, he drops his head into his hands.

He's tried to see this from her perspective, but it's hard to be the driving force of optimism between the two of them all the time. He just wishes she could let herself believe, not only when they get good news, but all the time. There's so much happiness waiting for her if only she'd open her mind a little. He’s waiting for her.

He pushes his chair back, grabbing her plate and glass of water and trudging toward her bedroom door.

“Scully?” he says softly, tapping lightly on the door with the glass. His forehead comes up to rest against the door frame, and he listens carefully for any sign of her. 

Nothing. 

“Scully, I'm sorry,” he tries. “I didn't mean to upset you, I just—” The right words feel just out of reach, and so does she. He closes his eyes, shaking his head regretfully. “I just hate seeing you so anxious. I want to help, but…”

He trails off. Sighing, he sets the plate on the ground outside her door, the glass standing beside it. Half full, he notes.

“I'll leave your dinner out here, for when you’re ready,” he says, loud enough that he knows she can hear. Then, “I'm sorry.” 

That's the last time he ever brings it up.

~~~

Lovely tag list ♡: [if you would like to be added or removed, let me know!]

@today-in-fic @ao3feed-msr @agent-troi @angegova @baronessblixen @calimanc @captainsolocide @clo-thespin @cutemothman @danasculls @deathsbestgirl @edierone @enigmaticxbee @figureofdismay @frogsmulder @gillian-anderson-in-the-tardis @hippocampouts @invidiosa @monaiargancoconutsoy @msrafterdark @numinousmysteries @primrose19 @randomfoggytiger @skelavender @skylarksong @stephy-gold @teenie-xf @the-redhead-in-a-dress @vincentsleftear

[radomq-xanga]

🎧💻 you never really know

it’s halfway through pride month, and i wanted to share something kind of personal.

i’m a trans male and pansexual. my mom is super religious, and for a long time, that made me afraid to come out to her. i didn’t know how she’d react. i kept thinking maybe she’d get mad or shut me out. but the truth was… i didn’t *know* what she’d say.

and when i finally told her…

she accepted me. completely.

i’m still kinda in shock, but in the best way possible.

what i’m trying to say is—even when you’re scared out of your mind, it’s worth it to be brave.

you don’t know how someone will react until you give them the chance. sometimes they’ll surprise you.

so if you’re thinking about coming out—when you’re ready—know that you’re not alone. and that you deserve to be seen.

💬 leave a comment or message if you ever need to talk.

🌈 stay soft, stay brave.

[cleolinda]

Weekend links, June 2, 2024

My posts

My mom was in a car wreck this past week, but she’s okay and it looks like insurance will pay for the massive damage to the back third of her whole-ass car, and it won’t be totaled. Panic-inducing, and my mom’s a little spooked about getting back out on the road, but it’s going to be okay, I think. 

I was going back through my #pride posts to find things to seasonally reblog, and I remembered I’d written this post about Donna Summer and Disco Demolition Night.

Reblogs of interest

Politics: Felonies Georg is the first U.S. president to be convicted of a crime! in court! a lot!

Speaking of birdsrightsactivist, who is featured in that post, it turns out that she is a delightful evolutionary biologist who coined the word “birb.”

Hot Vintage Lady Poll finals: It’s Eartha Kitt vs. Hedy Lamarr. Be advised that it’s a 24-hour flash poll, as the men’s was. Bring it home, Eartha Nation. 

Kick off Pride Month with this massive To Wong Foo post that gets better and better every time someone adds to it.

Hozier Watch 2024: A ethereal white butterfly crashed the Noblesville show, presumably with an urgent message from the Faerie Queen (Florence Welch). 

More from hellenhighwater’s minotaur sculpture trilogy.

An extra hour in the brick pit: yet another scam event in Britain. Although I’m halfway to believing that’s just the Official DashCon Ball Pit LEGO Kit.®

I am truly truly sorry to inflict this on you, but you need to know about Ogtha, an important Reddit saga. Think Snapewives, but Kafka. And then telling your parents about it in the language of her people. 

Rooster Goncharov

How a budgie tells someone to get the fuck out

“Unbelievably huge dragon d[ISCOUNT]”

Calculus Made Easy

Wake up, babe, new cat color dropped

The Velocipastor is so much

Darth Maul, second worst nightmare

I cannot impress upon you enough what a cultural icon Winona Ryder was in the late ’80s.

That said, I now want you to read this in her deadpan Lydia Deetz voice.

“No one’s really buying AI”: I am filled with a very specific kind of joy to hear that teenagers are already calling AI-generated images “boomer art.”

Contemplating this Eurasian red squirrel and his delicious apple for a while is self care. I mean, I sure felt better. 

Video

If you have ever wanted to get in a time machine and go directly back to 1994, IMAGINE A WORLD WHERE TIME DRIFTS SLOWLY

Elephants love making music, and we don’t deserve them

Pallas cats in pumpkins, because Halloween is everyday

The sacred texts

The “Backrooms” image/location from the original 4chan thread has been found. Side note, I keep meaning to post something about Kane Parsons’ new video series, because it’s very different from Backrooms and yet the absolute terror of the liminal is still there. 

While we’re here, would you care for an heirloom dancing Spider-Man?

Personal tag of the week

#pride, since I enjoy posting things for Pride Month, although at the rate we’re going, I and/or my family might be struck by lightning any moment. Here’s hoping my tag flourishes.

[tomjamesavery]

What a world. Harry finds himself on a somewhat spiritual journey, or to put it simply, a train to a place he hadn't been to before, yet he isn't quite sure what really brought him there. He soon finds the culprit, a culprit with red hair and brown eyes. Bringing him a long overdue reunion with an old friend that might even (probably(definitely)) be more.

Chapter Three out now: Read the full third Chapter on: AO3 FFN Or start from the beginning Here is a little snippet from the Third Chapter:

“You know, I think I never quite grasped how much I need you.” His eyes met hers, and she knew he meant the words.

“The last few months, while being important for me to finally find myself, have also made me realise, that this self-isolationism could never make me happy in the long run, it never did.”

For a second he attempted something akin to a weak smile, yet decided to abandon it halfway through. Ginny didn’t need a show, she knew he wouldn’t have meant it.

Her prowess in understating his every expression surely dictated her next few words.

“Well-” “-When I expected you coming here -I was quite sure of it being before Christmas- I also expected you coming on the simple terms of having missed us, me, your friends and family.-”

She leaned back in her armchair, the wood creaking quietly, thankfully relieving the situation of some of its strenuity, as she continued in an overly pedantic tone.

“-Which also gave me ample time to confer with myself over it.-”

She took a deep breath, almost managing to entice his eyes to snap to her heaving chest.

“-And In the end after a labourous and tedious dive into my own mind as much as into yours, as I pride myself in understanding the way it works, better than anyone else, including you-” 

Harry knew that whatever came next would be unparalleled in what he could only describe as Ginnyness.

“-It took me a good fifteen seconds to come to the gravely onerous conclusion that-“

She turned her gaze serious as Harry already started to roll his eyes.

“-That all your problems are easily solvable by just showing up here, and opening your damn mouth, eventually at the Burrow too, but let’s keep it here for now, you great great prat.”

[babbiweeb]

love in bloom-kyojuro rengoku

(anime in gif:howls moving castle)

tw:n/a 

initial tags:pre-established reader background, kyojuro rengoku, ruka rengoku, female reader, demon slayer:kimetsu no yaiba

genre:romance, fluff & comfort, meet-cute

story playlist: 

something about you-eyedress ft. dent may

little bit-lykke li

ophelia-the lumineers

slow dancing-v

fall again-loona

authors note:well of course–i just had to write a flowershop au! kyojuro and a flowershop keeper? oh yes yes! flame boy and flowers all in one! i hope you guys enjoy, talk later! 

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

Fall brought the bountiful harvest every season, allowing us to plant less and adapt to the changes of the world. Less planting, little time in the sun as the days grow short–an ideal environment that forces us to adapt to the change. Though, some see change as something they are unwilling to welcome. Change could be a poison to those who crave routine and structure. 

However, as the leaves fall, the season brings forth the option to start anew. The cycle of nature serves as a reminder to us all that nothing is ever constant–be ready for the change as life waits for no one. 

We simply must carry on. 

__

Cosmos

The hustle and bustle of the town created an atmosphere similar to that of a working hive. Everyone seems to always have something to do as well as ensuring said task is completed quickly. Unexpectedly, this environment works out for the greater good of the community. An organized mess of the working class kept busy in hopes to maintain balance.

Just then, the quaint shop down the long strip of buildings had finally seen their first customer of the morning. Perhaps it would be best to say that said keeper works by her lonesome self. A woman that little know of, and yet, that same woman is seemingly selfless. This shop had been passed down by her family–she takes such pride in tenderly caring for all that surrounds her. A perfectly peaceful life is led by this kind woman.

__

Y/N-

“Y/N?”-The chime of a small bell rings faintly, followed by a much older voice. 

“Ah! Mrs. Hayashi–good morning! What brings you by?”-Walking towards the front of my shop, I meet one of my best customers halfway. An elderly woman who resides with her family at the edge of town–right by the forest line. She has always been so kind to me!

Frantically, she speaks once more–she’s always been known for theatrics. 

“Goodness dear! My grandson–as you know, has been courting one of the shrine maidens. It seems he is ready to take the next step and ask her to marry!”-She spoke with urgency as she began pacing around, looking through my early morning selection of freshly cut flowers. Mrs. Hayashi usually made sly comments regarding the young men in her family. Always reminding me that they could be potential candidates, I wonder–

“Though, secretly, I prayed that she wouldn't be as interested. Then maybe, just maybe, I could have you a part of my large family!”

Nope. There it is.

Her fragile, soft hands caress my face as her fingers pinch the apples of my cheeks. A red tint followed soon after she once again tried convincing me of marrying one of the many young men available. Warmth flushed throughout my supple face as I couldn't help but smile–

“M-Mrs. Hayashi! T-That is fantastic news! But I fail to see what you are requesting from me!”-I spoke tenderly as I slowly backed from her grasp. Her hands held by mine as I stood across from the elderly woman. With a firm squeeze, her smile brightens. 

“Oh how silly of me! Of course! I’m not here to play matchmaker today!”-She teased.

“I was hoping you could make a simple bouquet for my grandson! One that would surely make this maiden swoon!”-Before I could even get a word in, she simply could not help herself.

“You know, since you wont marry him!”-Her tease is all in good fun, but a part of me understands that she is quite serious. She tried for months to get me at least in the same room as him–but to no avail.

“Oh please! You know I’m not currently looking! Besides! I know practically every man in town! I would know if any of them caught my eye…”-I snicker as my laugh fills the room. 

I’ve never been opposed to marriage. I just never found time to truly settle down. Nor has a man deemed me worth courting. At least, that’s how I see it. Perhaps this is just my slight insecurity talking on my behalf. Though, seeing the joy and pure love of the young couples around me truly stings the heart. To be completely enthralled by the grasp of love–I wonder what that would be like? 

Her pout speaks a thousand words as I continue-

“I will make a marvelous bouquet for the couple! I am positive she will say yes! She will be the perfect wife for him–offer more than simple roses and seeds!”

Within an instant, her demeanor switched. As if she understood a hidden pain within-

“Oh dear. You bring this cold world such joy, more than you realize. Your own perfection comes from simply living. Never forget that.”

Harmony. That is what I felt. She didn't offer much, however, what she said was more than enough. I told her she reminded me of the cosmos. She embodies the beauty of order, balance, and harmony. The language flowers speak has always been fascinating to me. So much can be said by a simple bud that hangs from a stem. Words to me are almost unnecessary-

Soon, after a brief moment of banter, Mrs. Hayashi leaves me with the request to finish this bouquet by late afternoon. Happy to fulfill, I bring along a wide basket as it rests on my hip. A small meadow remained my secret for the longest time. There are only the select few that know of this small garden of eden now. The vegetation there, even during the harsher seasons, seems to always supply the most beautiful growth. 

As I walk through town, all is the same. The many faces I’ve grown to familiarize myself with all greet me with warm smiles as I pass the crowds. Children run across the road as laughter and talk fill the streets. With every passing face, my eyes eventually trail to the very end of the strip. A group of the local youth surround what seems to be a man with brightly colored hair. Bright, just like the sun–

Curiosity grows within me, but my legs seem to still lead me away. Holding up the hem of my yukata, I step onto the dirty path that strays away from prying eyes. 

“I wonder why so many surrounded him?”-My mind is filled with all sorts of thoughts. It isn't often we receive visitors that are worth such a crowd. Who could he be? 

__

Kyojuro-

“Greetings! I was wondering if you had a local florist? It seems my neighboring town keeper has unfortunately closed up their shop!”-My voice had filled the ears of those around me. A booming request as I feel my face brighten. 

I have never been to this town before. It’s rather quaint. Character lies here, that much I can tell!

“A florist you say?”

 “Oh yes! We have a wonderful florist! She makes the most beautiful bouquets!” 

Many voices speak over one another, though one captured my attention rather quickly-

“Mrs. Hayashi had just requested her service! She may still be out, but her shop is just up there!”-One youth had pointed towards the end of the road. My eyes find a small shop, decorated from top to bottom with plants and blooms. 

With a smile, I bow slightly to the young group. Lifting myself slowly, I thank them as I take a step forward. She may be out huh? Perhaps I will wait by her shop then! Looks of interest follow my trail as I pass by the crowd–it seems this town is yet to know the presence of a demon slayer. I chuckle to myself as I come to realize how strange I must appear in my uniform. My hand rests at the hilt of my sword as I approach the shop, sitting comfortably on the bench out front. 

Her shop seems perfectly clean. The sweet aroma of flowers fill my senses as a wave of peace washes over me.

She must be a lovely woman. One that has been taking care of this little shop for years, decades even! I must show my appreciation to the elder-

“Y/N! Y/N! You have a man waiting for you!”

My thoughts are interrupted as I look to my side. My eyes find the sight of one of the young kids latching themselves to the hip of a woman in pale green-

She looks just like a dream. The conversation of the two goes mute as my fiery orbs capture her. That basket? It seems to be full of quite a bit of stems as part of them are covered by a sheer cloth. Could she be?

Within a moment of pure tranquility, our eyes met. Her smile had taken me by surprise as she seemed so comfortable at the sight of a strange man sitting down by this shop. Soon, her figure comes to meet me. Standing across from me, just by the front entrance, she greets me-

“So I’m told I have yet another request this morning? Please, come in!”-Her voice is calm. Her words give away what I had suspected prior. So, she is the flower shopkeeper.

“Ah yes! Good morning! Thank you for inviting me in!”-With a quick bow, I lift myself walking in toe right behind her as she reopens her shop. 

She placed her basket down atop a workshop table that is full of vases coming in many different shapes, designs and sizes! Just then, I found myself looking all around her careful shop. Plants hang from even the ceiling! Vines trailing down wooden posts and into pots full of greenery. 

She has quite the green thumb. I am in good hands–

“Sir? Are you alright?”-Her voice pulls me back down to reality as I look back at her.

“Hmm? Oh! Yes! I’m quite alright!”-My boisterous laugh echoes as I smile.

“I apologize if you were speaking to me! I do not mean to ignore you! I was simply taking in the atmosphere! It seems I still get quite lost in thought.”-My laugh now a chuckle as I catch myself. 

My ears perk up for just a moment as I hear her own laugh. It’s reassuring.

“Oh! That’s alright! I’m glad you have taken an interest in my little world of green chaos!”-Playfully, she teases her own workstation as she begins to unpack her basket. My eyes never wavering-

“Sir, what is it you need from a florist today?”-She continued as she worked by her table, seemingly prepping for a bouquet. I feel myself fluster at the prospect of being called “sir” repeatedly. Given that we seem to be within the same age range, surely we can drop formalities? 

“Right! Before I speak on that, allow me to introduce myself! My name Is Kyojuro Rengoku! I overheard one of the children calling out your name! Y/N? Is it?”

“Yes! That is my name! It is a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Rengoku!”-An itch had almost been scratched. To be called Mr. Rengoku? She is well mannered, but boy does she make me feel old. 

“Just Rengoku is fine! Or even Kyojuro! Please spare me, surely I don’t look that old!”-I chuckled slightly as I looked into her eyes, almost pleading.

Her laugh fills the room once more before her voice carries- 

“I see then! I shall spare you the formality, Kyojuro. However, if we are speaking based on looks, would it be too much if I asked you something?”-She stopped moving entirely as she gave me her undivided attention. Without another word, I shook my head up and down, anticipating her question. 

“That uniform? What exactly does it symbolize? You wear fire proudly, and I must say I am quite interested.”

Yet another one of my speculations had come to fruition–this town is mostly unaware of the existence of our work. Though, I have piqued her interest. 

“Ah, a keen eye you must have, for how could anyone notice my subtle look?”-I laugh once more alongside her as our banter continues playfully. 

“I am a demon slayer, working for my master to ensure the safety of civilian life. Officially, I am known as Kyojuro Rengoku: The Flame Hashira.”

A proud smile creeps onto my face as I witness her eyes light up with curiosity and adoration. How sweet.

__

Y/N-

Kyojuro Rengoku, The Flame Hashira? What an incredible title, and well, judging by his uniform–he has status. He must rank quite high within this organization. How curious-

“Amazing! A demon slayer? I have only ever heard stories! I won't pry for any details, just know that you have my gratitude!”-I spoke with such confidence as I felt my body grow warm. I am now face to face with a demon slayer, one who must be quite strong! I must fulfill his request with the utmost care! 

“Ah well thank you Y/N. You are too kind! I shall take your gratitude to heart during my battles!”-A faint red hue dusts along his cheeks as he speaks. A brief, gentle hum escapes my lips as I acknowledge him completely. 

He is gentle and strong willed, that much I can tell-

“Now then, what can I do for you?”-I spoke excitedly as I continue to wrap Mrs. Hayashi’s order. A delicate bouquet flushed with an assortment of pale pink cosmos, bright orange marigold, and white cornflower. All coming together to make a bouquet full of peace, purity, and fertility. Perfect wishes for the young couple-

I wish them well after tonight.

“You see, I wish to buy a bouquet for a very special woman. A beautiful woman who holds a special spot in my heart–my mother.”-He speaks with such fondness. The love he feels for the women who had blessed him with life is palpable. How sweet.

“In fact, I would love it if you included that flower there!”-He walks close to my station, pointing to the blooming cosmos.

“Pink matches my mother well. I always thought that she would look lovely in such a pale color! What exactly is this bud called?”-He asks, swiftly pulling me into the world of botanical knowledge. He is so quick that I fail to notice the hint of sadness that had crept up.

As if this had been my subconscious attempt at alleviating the tension, I smile as I hand him an extra bud. His fingers brushing up against mine as he takes hold of the stem. 

“That is called a cosmos. They come in all different colors, and shapes. The cosmos for most, symbolizes harmony, order, and balance. I believe this would be quite the flower for your mother.”

“Oh my! How lovely! I did not realize flowers could mean such wondrous things! Perhaps you are correct! These may suit my mother after all!”-He spoke with his usual cheerful voice once more, bringing a sense of calm within me. 

Caught by surprise, his hand reaches for me in one quick motion, placing the blooming bud just above my ear. The delicate petals nuzzle close to my hair as it remains snug. My eyes widen slightly as I feel my cheeks grow much warmer than before-

Why? Why does he do this? Is this simply a friendly gesture? An overly friendly gesture towards a woman he had just met? 

The chime of a bell rings–

“Oh my! My apologies! Am I interrupting something?”-Mrs. Hayashi had announced her presence with a mischievous tone shamelessly dripping from her voice. 

As if I thought I couldn't grow any warmer, my body soon felt raging heat. Fate truly loves playing with me-

“M-Mrs. H-Hayashi! Goodness! Y-You a-are early! You said you would pick up by this afternoon!”-My stutter has become apparent now as I shy away from him, creating a short distance between us.

“Well dear, the local children had informed me of a man waiting by your shop! And of course, being the ever so worried old lady, I just had to stop by and ensure your safety!”

Please. Gods. Here is my plea. Save me from this woman's dramatics! 

Kyojuro had cleared his throat, making himself known fully. As if he is hard to miss to begin with-

“Oh see! Everything seems to be just fine. This must be the young man! Let me get a good look at him!”-Just as she does me, her fragile hands reached for his cheeks. The apples of his face being pinched and loved on. 

“Oh! Look at how handsome! And a man of uniform?”-Her gaze trails back to me with a sly smirk as the gleam in her eyes grows. Whispers fall from her as she nudges at the prospect of something more.

“You know–Y/N has quite a bit of suitors! One of which had been my own grandson! She is quite beautiful, however, I find the men of this town not worthy of her company. Perhaps, we will see you often?”

The lies of this woman! I’m not giving a lick of my next batch of fertilizer! 

By now, I feel lost in my own world, doing all that I can to tune the embarrassment down. My shy gaze every so often finding him as my delicate hand fidgets with the ends of my hair. 

“Kyojuro, I apologize on behalf of the crazy village lady! I implore you to run while you can!”-Darts of my serious glare now focused entirely on her as my flushed cheeks fade.

Then, a moment of silence as the two of us look at him. The dead air broke as his boisterous laugh relieved the tension felt throughout my body. 

His laugh is utterly contagious.

“Ladies please! I must take my leave! Mrs. Hayashi, was it? Ma’am you have truly brightened my morning! I may return often just for your humor!”-His laugh continued on even in between words. The way he treats people is unlike anything I have ever seen. Understanding and truly kind-

My heart filled to the brim with pure warmth as I watched on in complete awe. He truly is like no man I have met before.

For once, Mrs. Hayashi stayed quiet, as he respectfully left her side. Returning to me, his eyes looked into mine, making me feel as if I was the only one here. His undivided attention, now mine, even if just for a moment. 

“I shall return later to pick up my order! Please, take care until we meet again.”-His smile was unlike the others he had shown me prior. This one has matched his eyes perfectly. His orbs of fire had almost sparkled as we locked on one another. 

“O-Oh! Yes, yes! I shall see you later on then…”-My voice just above a whisper as I dip my head–a sign of respect.

“Thank you, Kyojuro”

With one final look, he took his leave, the chime of my bell signifying my hope to see him again–and again, and again.

__

Kyojuro-

What was that? That moment of time felt lost as I stared into her eyes. I had no problem upon meeting her. What changed? Or is it that this warmth had always been there, and I just failed to sense it? 

“How silly”-I spoke aloud to myself as I made my way back onto the road. Perhaps time to myself adventuring around a new town will help ease my thoughts. 

Her touch still lingers on my fingers from when we brushed against each other. I wonder about this woman. It seems she has taken over my mind–while knowing absolutely nothing of her. Do I see myself coming back here? Do I see myself coming back to her? I smile to myself as I place my hands above my head, sketching the tense muscles of my arms- 

I believe I will make time for this one. 

–

“Oh, so he’s the reason that you neglected courtship within town! Y/N I never even realized! I must say, he is far more handsome than my own grandson!”

“Huh? No! Mrs. Hayashi! This was just one big misunderstanding! We are not courting one another, nor do I know him! In fact, we just met today…”

There is a fondness in her voice, a hint of longing as she gently removes the cosmos from her hair. Admiring the flower as she speaks, and somehow, the petals seem brighter. The flower seemingly has a greater meaning to her now-

“Uh-huh…right of course! Well I suppose I shouldn't fill the air with any more of my crazy village lady ideas! If you say it’s just one big misunderstanding, then I believe you! A shame though–watching you two became such a lovely sight.”

Her smile widened as she relished in this new feeling. 

 The elderly have much to offer the youth–especially wisdom. Ever so observant, it is clear to all looking in, that this indeed infatuation. 

Though, Mrs. Hayashi will keep this to herself and offer her own wisdom much later–maybe.

“Alright my dear, thank you very much for putting together such a beautiful bouquet! This will be perfect for the young maiden! I truly hope my youngest grandson secures himself a wife tonight!”-With that, she pays for the young woman’s service as she takes the bouquet, keeping it close to her heart.  

At a moment’s peace, Y/N catches herself briefly, gathering her thoughts. Soon after, her hands work to create the most wonderful bouquet in regards to such a woman–a woman he is blessed to have been born from. 

“What a woman she must be”

__

Y/N-

The chime of the bell rings throughout my shop, sending a wave of excitement through my body. 

Why am I so excited? I couldn't possibly be this giddy! Especially over a man I had only just met! That’s right! This is just pure excitement from meeting someone completely new!

I tried so hard to rationalize my own fleeting feelings, but everything seemed to fade as I met his gaze once again. 

“Welcome back stranger!”-I spoke out as I finished the final wrap of his bouquet. 

“Ah–thank you! I hope you worked well despite the distractions!”-His laugh echoed all around as he approached. He wasn't entirely wrong, usually, I find it most difficult to focus–especially with her around. Though, this bouquet seems very important to him, which in turn motivated me to create something perfect! 

“W-Well I typically tune that one out as best I can! However, I appreciate her company nonetheless, she is a great woman!”-Drawing back my stutter as best I can, I continued holding back what I truly wanted to ask.

“Would you truly only return for her humor?”

Or could there be more? Should there be more? Do I want more? 

“Did you enjoy yourself in town?”

His laugh faded as he spoke. “Oh yes! This town is most enjoyable! I find it hard to believe that I have yet to stumble across this place until now.”

He must live nearby then…perhaps in the town over? What prefecture would that be I wonder. 

“I’m glad to hear such kind words of the place I’ve grown up in! We do have some wonderful places you should discover! Like the gardens and parks! Nature is ever so lovely around this time! Vibrant yellow and orange leaves coating the streets…”-As I drift off into my own little world full of autumn dreams, I slowly lift the wrapped bouquet and hand them to him. A small smile curves onto my lips as I admire my work all over again.  

A calm fills the air as he takes hold of the bouquet, all while I fail to realize how he now directs all his attention to only me. 

“You have such a beautiful way of thinking. I never thought to take the time to simply enjoy the changing colors–perhaps one day soon I will.”

“O-Oh, well t-thank you Kyojuro! I suppose it’s much too easy for me to become dazed while I’m out and about!”-A gentle strand of hair tickles my face as I tuck my hair directly behind my ear. My cheeks have flushed into an adoring tint as my urge to hide has faded. 

“H-How d-do you like the bouquet? I truly hope it is to your liking!”-I continue.

His eyes trail to every bit of the delicate sight. The colors compliment each other, filling the eyes with such soothing energy. A smile tugs at the corners of his lips-

“Pure perfection”

“You clearly have put much effort and thought into such beauty! You have a talent my dear! I appreciate this immensely!”-His words flowed from his lips as his praise filled my heart to the brim. But then–what was that? “My dear”? 

Brushing this off entirely, I continue to fluster as I take his compliment head first. 

“Goodness, thank you! I really hope your mother enjoys this gesture! Send my regards to her!”-A sigh escapes his mouth as he held the bouquet in one hand, while reaching into his pocket with the other. 

“I will…now then! How much do I owe you?”-Tilting my head ever so slightly to the side, I smile.

“This one is on the house! Please, just deliver this to her! That is all I ask!”

Dumbfounded, his wallet in hand, he continues quickly after me-

“No! I couldn't possibly leave you with nothing at all! Please, allow me to-”

“You have left me with much more than you think. I insist you take this gesture as a token of my gratitude.”-Way to be subtle–though, something tells me this has gone over his head. A short and comfortable silence grows as we simply eye one another. I seem to have grown all too familiar with his gaze.

“F-Fine. With such persistence, I doubt I can argue against this any longer.”-He chuckles, putting his wallet back into his pocket as he now holds the bouquet with both hands–close to his heart.

His footsteps return as he turns to walk away, leaving me stumped at the sudden loss of attention. Frantically, I round the corner of my workshop, standing feet behind his trailing body. My mouth hangs open, though the words fail to leave me. As the bell chimes one last time by him, he reads my thoughts–will you return? 

“Y/N. You are a commendable woman, one that I will seek out often. So please, get used to my presence.”

My eyes widen as I look at his back, admiring the earnest man in front of me. He will return for me, even if just for my service–I am happy.

For once, light in my life had brightened, fueling my soul with something to fight for. There could be more. I want more. 

He is most extraordinary, very kind–How curious to feel so liberated.

“Yes, Kyojuro. Thank you Kyojuro.”

__

Daffodil 

A light drizzle of snow blanketed the town with a piercing color of white as many prepared for the events to come. The time of rebirth is felt throughout the community as joy fills many hearts far and wide. December, the month we all look forward to as families gather around in celebration of new beginnings. 

Laughter fills the air as rumor has it–the local beauty had found herself someone worthwhile. Off and alone by a bed of daffodils, her hands pluck from the root. Her breath is visible as the harsh cold gradually grows. Her mind travels to the warmth of a hearth, or perhaps, the warmth of a certain hothead. 

September. Fate brought them together, allowing the most tender meet to take place amongst the growth of cosmos. Not much was said that afternoon, though, he kept his word. The fall season brought on many more moments together. 

To reminisce proved to be just enough to bring on a rush of warmth from head to toe. She melted under the thought of just him.

__

Y/N-

The hush of whispers grow silent as I walk through the crowd of familiar faces. The looks from those who I have come to regard as family have become all the more transparent. It’s as if they all no longer care to hide what they truly think. I suppose I should feel happy. Happy that so many wish just that all for me. 

“How silly.”-I spoke with a slight smirk creeping upon my lips as my walk came to a halt. Without turning, I continued. 

“I know you’re there. You can come out now!”-As if on queue, my words sent the herd. The feeling of ice cold hitting my back fills the air around me with my screams. A shiver sent up my spine as I registered what had just happened. 

Laughter once again fills the air as the children surround me, snowballs in their tiny hands. Brushing off the snow that stuck to my overcoat, I swiftly placed my basket full of daffodils down. My own hands now scooping the small pile of snow-

“Oh! Now you’ve all done it!”-I couldn't help but join in the fun as I turned chasing down the local kids. Snowballs flying back and forth-

“Who’s idea was this? Huh?”

“Big brother! Big brother made us!”

Of course! That big lug always putting the children up to no good! I felt my smile widen as I finally caught up to the small children, wrapping my arms around the three. Snuggling close, I make sure to drop the three kids into the pile of snow. Cries of “sister” pour from them in between laughter-

A cough grounds me back to reality as all four of us stare up to the man of fire. 

“I believe this belongs to you my dear?”-My basket, now in his possession. 

“Big brother!”-The arms of the children leave my sides as they all get up quickly to hug him. Left on the ground, I take my time to look at him. He isn't in his usual uniform, rather, he wears casual attire with a thick overcoat. Snowflakes sat in his hair as the apples of cheeks became that of a rose. 

“So now that you’ve plotted the children against me, you steal them? How cruel Kyojuro!”-I chuckle as I slowly pick the hem of my yukata, ready to lift myself from the cold ground. 

“Never! We love you too sister! But brother is much stronger!”-The tease never ends, and to prove their point, his hand reaches for me. His strong, large hand now waiting for me.

“Oh you know everyone adores you! Come now!”

Everyone huh? Hmm-

My small hand meets his as I place mine in his palm. His fingers wrapping against my skin, pulling me up in one swift motion. The warmth of his body combined with mine as we stayed quite close, now sent an invitation to the children to cuddle up. Nothing in this world could take me away from his comfort. 

“Hello Y/N.”-He spoke softly as his smile brightened. A certain fondness lingered- 

“Hello Kyojuro.”-The snickers became all too common the more he visited, even the children played into the game of the grown. Despite the loud protest, I have always told everyone how we are simply friends. Besides, the life of a Hashira, proves to be too stressful. As he has described it, it seems as if romance is hung up for now-that thought alone always pulls at my heartstrings.

“How have you been since our last meeting? I hope all is well!”-Before he could speak, the children had hugged our legs tight just before saying their goodbyes. With this motion, this gave us a chance to finally take a step back away from each other–a chance we decided to ignore. 

“I have been well! I have many stories of my most recent missions, if you are interested?”

“Oh! That would be fantastic! I’ve always enjoyed hearing more of your life! You live so differently compared to me!”

He chuckled-”Ah, well! It's times like this I wish I lived a much simpler life. I must say, I am quite envious of you Y/N!”

He places my basket further up his own arm as he takes a step back, leading us back to my shop. 

“Envious? Of me? But whatever for? Surely the life you lead is quite fulfilling! Most nights I lay in bed, wondering what it would be like to just be out there!”-As we walk side by side, my hands fall, dancing around his. 

“While you are correct about my life being fulfilling, especially as a Hashira, I can not help but wonder myself. To live a life just as my mother described. My mother had always advised me to use my strength for good, which I hope I have done–but then, there are moments I catch myself thinking of her and my father.”-A short pause in between his thoughts kept me on my toes as I anticipated his story. 

“They were always so happy. The love within them aired out beautifully, surrounding our home with such joy. That simple, domestic life–do you ever dream of such a thing?”

I had to think for a moment. Was this truly my desire? To live peacefully like he described? I never gave it much thought, even though that was almost an expectation of women. I could never chalk this through, especially if I found the one made for me. 

“I suppose I have dreamt of this once or twice. I never expected you to be so fond of this idea–it’s endearing to hear a man speak this way.” 

“W-Well y-yes it has been lingering throughout my mind for sometime…actually-”

A sudden shift within him as he caught himself. He wanted to say something, but this hesitation had stopped him. I wonder? 

“Uhm…speaking of my family, I would like another bouquet please! If you aren't too terribly busy!”-This definitely wasn't what he originally intended on saying. There is something else. 

“Ah, another bouquet for your mother I presume? She is a lucky woman to have such a thoughtful son.”

“Yes. Quite a lucky woman indeed. I haven't seen her in so long since my missions have picked up!”-He spoke as he picked a stem from my basket. 

“These are different from the last bouquet you made me! What are these called?”

I giggled softly as I took the flower from his grasp-”Yes very different! These flowers are in season! They are called daffodils!”

“How pretty! Just like the last bud, does this flower also have some kind of meaning? You must tell me!”

“Yes actually! Flowers truly speak a language all on their own! Most commonly, in our region, they are regarded as joyful flowers! As well as symbolizing rebirth and new beginnings!”-I spoke as I gently placed the flower above his ear. Drops of snowflakes fall and land perfectly on the bright yellow petals. An instant flash of memory hits me like a wave–he truly is too kind. 

Words fell short as we continued to walk, nearing my shop. It was as if I had left him utterly stunned, even as we found shelter from the cold. Ever the blind, his eyes sparkled as he watched me by his side. 

“My side–where she belongs.”

__

Kyojuro-

Rebirth and new beginnings she says. Mother? Is this a sign you give from beyond? Surely the language of nature speaks to me just as you would have. She’s so kind–just as you were. 

“I would like to thank you Y/N. You have truly been wonderful company these last couple months. I have been rather dull lately. Feeling as though I have been missing something.”

“You have nothing to thank me for! I am simply just as happy to be in your company as you are me. Everyone deserves a bit of understanding.”

Our conversations flow like the river, constant and gentle. We have only grown fonder the more we stay together. By her side is where I feel most cared for. Worries of my duty fade effortlessly the second she speaks. It’s almost scary how easy it became for me to-

“Now then! How about I use some of these freshly picked daffodils? Your mother never ceases to amaze me! The way you speak of her is beautiful! Tell her I wish her the best!”

Shaking my head slightly, I smile as I once again lose myself in her. 

“I’ll be sure to say so the next time I visit!”-Quickly, I continue.

“So then, what can I do to help? You say your life here is simple! I refuse to believe you! Your talent takes up your time, I believe it! So please, teach me how to be a florist!”

Her giggle surrounded me as I pulled out a stool, sitting close to her workshop. My eyes glowing eagerly as I watch her every move. 

“So the mighty Hashira wants to learn how to handle flowers? Well I suppose you can be my very own student!”-Her giggle grows into a laugh, as she prepares my very own station. 

Now this will be interesting!

__

The snow outside began to fall much more as it stuck to the ground. The large bay screen gives the two a view of purity. A blanket will soon cover, but even still, many ready themselves for festivities. The conversation became everlasting, there had never been a dull moment between the two. They were always so quick to keep up with one another. 

His hands worked alongside hers as they both made their own version of a daffodil bouquet. But of course, she was the expert. Never to be deterred from his own work, he kept up, admiring her along the way. 

__

“Now see, the folds go here! When wrapping, be sure to crease the edges so that this process goes smoothly!”-Her touch has strangely become all too familiar in such a short amount of time. Those small hands guide mine as we simultaneously fold the wrap, tightly keeping the flowers in place. 

“You’ve got it! See?”

“I owe this knowledge all to you…little flame.”-Her hands left mine as she remained close. Her gaze found mine as our eyes met. A pleasant surprise had been written all over her face. Perhaps this new nickname had been all too much for her? Too much at once? 

“Thank you…Kyo!”

Her reassuring smile had sent a wave of butterflies to take over. Perhaps I am not too much for her. And that nickname? My name said like that? I felt my cheeks flush as I slowly shook my head up and down, acknowledging her. 

Mother. I feel content. 

The ring of the bell chimes through, grounding me back to reality as we both slowly pull from one another. 

“I knew those kids would tell me the truth! Hello Kyojuro! Long time no see young man!”

On queue, here is-

“Mrs. Hayashi! Hello!”-I spoke while Y/N had made her way by her side. A slight bow by the both of us as a sign of respect- 

“Yes hello Mrs. Hayashi! What can I do for my best customer?”

As the two spoke, my eyes trailed down to her hand carrying a decently sized bag- 

“Mrs. Hayashi, I do not mean to interrupt, but what is it you have there?”-I asked as my curiosity got the best of me.

“Oh yes! This is what I had in mind for your shop! Such a good boy! Reminding this elderly woman why she's here!”-She laughs as her bag opens wide, revealing multiple carefully tied steams of green.

“The local townspeople decided it would be a wonderful idea to introduce yet a new tradition this holiday season! I hear most other towns have already adopted this!”

A gasp escapes the lips of the woman standing close to me. Y/N’s eyes had sparkled as she picked one branch up gently. 

“Mistletoe!”

Mistletoe? Have I heard of this before? I feel this is rather foreign to me. Though, I must have read this somewhere before! 

“Mistletoe? What is that Y/N?”-She turned to face me with the beautifully tied plant in hand. 

“Mistletoe is a plant some hang above entrances as decor for the holiday season! I find it quite beautiful, especially tied with ribbon!”

“Oh come now! Don’t forget the best part Y/N! So modest!”

“The best part?”-I questioned soon after as my thoughts escaped from my lips. What could possibly be better than using this plant as decor? It is a simple concept, no? 

Y/N remained silently flushed as my attention now directed towards the elderly woman-”Mistletoe is a new tradition taking over our quaint town, it is especially popular with the youth! It is simple really! Two stand under the plant and share a kiss!”

A kiss? A kiss. What in the world? I have never heard of such a tradition? Yet, it has become popular during the season? I suppose this could be a romantic gesture! How would she feel if-

The apples of her cheeks have turned into a glowing red. It seems she knew more than she had initially let on. I wonder why she left this part in the dark? Soon after this thought, my eyes immediately found the mistletoe in her hands, and how close we were-

“Y-Y/N? A-Are you alright?”

I spoke softly as my concern grew. She had remained silent since the realization. A kiss is truly harmless. Just two souls exchanging a bit of warmth–but then, why do I feel so differently when I picture us doing just that? 

“Y/N my dear, if you won't kiss him! I will!”-Swiftly, the delicate hands of the elderly woman cup my face, squishing me and bringing me forth. Her paper thin lips plant a short kiss upon my cheek–satisfying the tradition.

I must admit, a part of my heart craved something more than this. This new sense of tradition filled my senses and overwhelmed my thoughts. Mrs. Hayashi pulled away as she snicked, the subtle warmth had left my cheeks as I wiped off the trace of her. 

This kiss wasn't what I had expected. My eyes never once waived away from her. Her lips look so full, they seem to be ever changing. Some days I come to visit, her lips are redder than usual, or even pink! Her features change slightly–I like that about her. A woman who always keeps me on my toes. A woman who I can admire through and through. A woman full of mystery. 

I wonder what her lips feel like? 

“Alright! I’ll leave you kiddos to it! I just had to drop this off for you my dear Y/N! You both take care now okay? Stay warm, it’s really coming down now!”-Mrs. Hayashi’s presence had left, though our goodbyes were nonexistent. I couldn't stop looking at her. I want to be able to read her.

What was she thinking about? Why was she so quiet? 

“Y/N? Hey, you've grown so quiet! Please tell me you’re still there!”-I teased playfully as I put a little more distance between us. She must be overwhelmed. 

“H-Huh? Oh! Yes! My apologies! I tend to tune out that one when she gets to her theatrics! I really must put my bell around her neck!”-Her apologetic look had spoken on behalf of the elderly woman’s behavior. Though, this is something I have gotten used to. Mrs. Hayashi is a kindhearted woman, but yes, she can indeed be a bit much! 

Though, maybe I’ll thank her one of these days. Her little show had given me much needed insight. 

Y/N, I truly believe I can in fact read you. I see you now. Wait for me.

__

Peony

Spring had indeed sprung as trees filled with blooming cherry blossoms, adding much needed color to what had been yet another harsh winter. Spring brought on a new sight of optimism as the new year promised rebirth. 

Each falling petal landed gently upon the streets, rivers, and even into the hands of young couples who expressed their passion through such delicate gestures. To kiss a petal, sharing it with the one you love in hopes to share a moment of privacy. 

A new found motivation had taken over as in her eyes, she believes everyone deserves a bit of kindness. Though love, true love was something you had to fight for-

Just as the seasons come and go, nothing remains the same. You must fight for what you deem worthy. 

__

Y/N-

“So then, what do the blossoms in the trees mean?” Surely even the branches speak to one another!”-His ever growing curiosity grew exponentially as the snow melted. Always in the mood to learn much, much more. 

I smile before picking the perfect spot, just atop a small hill-”Well, I find the symbolism of cherry blossoms to be quite morbid. They serve as the constant reminder that life truly is fleeting. To symbolize life and death. They live only so long, still–they are the embodiment of beauty.”

The rustle of grass below becomes faint as we both lay out the blanket, swiftly claiming our spot. His hands drop the picnic basket right in the center as I cozy up, crossing my legs further tightening my yukata. 

“You make such a tantalizing point. Life is fleeting–always passing us by no matter the circumstance. However, that is the beauty of being mortal. Both growing old, and passing away: these are the things that make being human beautiful.”

My eyes widen as I come to terms with his words as they ripple through my mind. He has always spoken so eloquently. He has such an airy way of speaking–a way of bringing comfort even during the most tense of moments. I will always appreciate him because of this.

“Oh actually! I don't think I ever asked you what your favorite flower is! You’ve filled me with such knowledge, and I am yet to ask you what you find interesting!”-He spoke, continuing the lighthearted tone as he unpacks the basket. A display of finger foods and dessert soon decorate our blanket.

A giggle fell from my lips as I spoke-”You are quite alright! Hmm? If we are talking about the current season, I would have to say the peony is one of my favorites!”

“A peony? I want to say I have seen that flower! Yes! If I can recall, there is a portrait of my mother and father! Her yukata featured multiple buds, one of the patterns looked mighty stretched as her belly carried me!”-He laughed loudly as he spoke fondly of his family.

“Ah, well, if the bloom seemed rather large to begin with it could very well be a peony! The petals are soft to the touch as they ruffle over one another! Your mother has wonderful taste, as the peony is one of my favorites!”

“I can see why! I always believe my mother to be as beautiful as that bud. I would often find myself looking back at that portrait! Please! Do tell me what they mean!”

“You are ever so kind Kyojuro! Especially when speaking on behalf of your family! It seems you have found part of the meaning of the peony. Happiness, honor, and love.”

“You flatter me so Y/N!”-He spoke softly as his fingers teased the rim of his cup, his voice trailing off to the distance leaving room for me to continue. 

“I have known you for quite some time Kyojuro, I mean what I say. My hope is for you to fulfill the wishes of the peony. As you find all three, that would truly solidify my own happiness my friend.”

I felt as though I was ready to pour myself to him, giving him all the more reason to have faith in his journey. To find the one that will bring him peace in its purest form. While kind, he holds back something. If anyone is deserving of happiness, it is him.

“And what of you? Why haven't you been spoken for just yet? I can’t seem to remember a time where you boasted about the pure bliss of sheer romance!”-His cheeks turned into a tinted red as his eyes focused back at mine. A glossy layer adding such a beautiful shine to his fiery gaze. 

“Hmm? Why, these are quite loaded! I suppose I am yet to find someone willing to share their life with me.”-Lies fall from my lips just like poison. My heart has spoken for me since day one, but fear drags me back.

“Well, how about this–just like a peony, I wish you happiness. I wish you goodwill and purity. I am sure you will find all the answers to those never ending questions very soon.”-Goodwill? So it seems he truly has been keeping track of the many flowers that bloom throughout the seasons. 

My lips curved into a smile as I simply brought my head down, acknowledging him with a soft nod. Our wishes to one another nuzzled deep within, bringing a sense of fondness. 

If only you knew.

__

“A second visit this week? My, my! What could the occasion be? I fear you will lose your status as Hashira with all this sneaking away!”-I couldn't help but tease him as I swept my porch, starting up my spring cleaning.

“Oh ha ha! They couldn’t get rid of me even if they gave it a valiant effort!”-He spoke confidently as he stood tall. His uniform is wrinkle free and clean. He just got on with no duty! No wonder he decided to show up today–poor thing must be bored. 

“Your confidence never ceases to amaze me! What can I do for you? Perhaps it is time for yet another bouquet?”-I spoke as I continued to sweep my front end. 

“W-Well no…actually. I was hoping I could take you somewhere? J-Just to y’know…”be out there”!-Within an instant, my hands halt their movement as I turn to look at him. He remembers my dream? My dream to simply be free to do as I please? To see our world beyond my own town. 

I remember that conversation. We kept going back and forth even after that day! Always brainstorming different ideas of what we could potentially do together! 

“Kyojuro? Goodness! Yes! Let me pack up shop!”-Dropping my broom quickly, I immediately waste zero time in collecting myself and closing shop way earlier than typical. The chime of my bell rang twice. 

The first being when I rushed through, reorganizing my mess while moving all around. Buckets of flowers pushed to the side, as I put up each vase left out atop my shelves. 

The second chime rang as I slowly made my way back out to him. A glance at my own reflection as I pass by a small mirror that hung right by my door–alone with him and away from town? 

There is a first for everything.

__

Kyojuro-

That chime rang through my ears as my attention drew back to her. Not much time had passed since, and yet, she came out looking much different. The flush in her face had become apparent, as if she no longer wanted to hide herself. 

Good. 

“Ready little flame?”-I held out my arm instinctively, almost as if this felt right to begin with. A simple nod gave her away as she shyly hooked her delicate arm around mine. Oh goodness, if only you knew. If you knew much sooner how I felt, I wonder how many times I would have been able to keep you this close. 

As we walk side by side, neither of us has spoken a word since our departure. This peaceful silence as we continued our stroll was perfectly welcomed as we simply enjoyed one another.

Mrs. Hayashi had met my eyes as I watched her walk on the opposite side of the street. Her arm interlocked with her grandson as he accompanied his new wife. Her eyes sparkled as she lowered her head slightly, silently giving her blessing. The happiness felt had easily transferred over to those closest to Y/N–she is truly one to leave an everlasting impression. 

“If I may ask, where do you plan on taking me Kyojuro?”-The silence broke as her gentle voice spoke up, eager to know our destination. 

“I intend for our destination to remain a surprise, but I can assure you, we aren't far off. I just hope you don't see me differently after today. You mean a lot to me Y/N.”

Her arm tightened around mine as I heard a slight hum escape from her lips. 

“Full of surprises I see? What did I do to deserve such a wonderful man by my side?”-Her words were effortless. 

“By your side? Hmm! Perhaps this is where I belong?”

“Perhaps…”

Her voice trailed off leaving room for our imagination to run wild-

Eventually, the street became a dirt trail, full bloom cherry blossom trees line up the path. Torii standing tall as we both approach- 

“Kyojuro? Is this?”

“Yes. Shall we?”-Taking a deep breath, I kept her by my side all while bowing slightly. A sign of respect to the dead. She had followed suit, and every now and then, her eyes would find me once again. 

Our walk soon came to a slow pace as we reached the end of the trail–we’re here.

“Kyojuro?”-She spoke softly as she soon came to realize.

“This is where I come often to visit my mother. Sometimes I visit with my younger brother, Senjuro. He was so little when our mother passed.”

We stood across from her tombstone. The Rengoku family name engraved-

“He remembers little to nothing of her. He relies solely on my own recollection of such a courageous woman. She filled me with so much love.”-As I fell to my knees, my hands clasped together as I began a silent prayer. 

__

Hello again mother. I hope you are well. Today, I have brought the one I have been telling you about for the past few months. 

Mother. I am content. Since your passing, my days have felt incomplete without your bright presence. But somehow, the heavens have blessed me after roaming alone for so long. I do not know what I have done to deserve such light, but I promise, with your blessing–I shall remain by her side.

Mother. I am in love. Since your passing, you have never once left my heart. I think of you day and night. But now, I have made room for another woman who holds a special place in my heart. I hope I make you proud mother. 

Please, watch over us.

__

As I reopen my eyes, the light fills my senses. Slowly, I turn to witness the most beautiful girl I have ever seen. Her head stayed low as she prayed right alongside me–her heart is pure.

I wonder what she is talking to you about mother? I hope she means well, especially when talking about me! I’m still just as boisterous as ever! I’m not as picky now as you may remember me to be mother! She has taught me a lot about flowers! The language flowers speak is simply beautiful, I wonder if you ever knew such a fact. Flowers speaking? Foreign I know! 

But, I wouldn't have it any other way with her. 

Her head rose as she finally laid her respect down. A smile curved upon her lips as the wind picked up, blowing through her delicate locks. In an instant, her gaze meets mine. Though, something once slightly hidden now made itself known. Her face spoke a thousand words-

“Kyojuro. This is beautiful. I want to thank you for bringing me here today. I shall forever be grateful to meet the woman who has raised such a tender boy.”

My eyes had illuminated the fire that I kept at bay within me. She truly understands me. There is no malice here, Y/N sees me. Just as she did. My memories are joyful because of you mother, but now, I wish to create new ones with her-

“I must ask, however, the bouquets? Two dozen roses? I don’t recall you placing this order with me!”-She gasped playfully as she placed her hand over her heart. 

“Have you found another?”

Never.

“Oh goodness no! I simply wanted to continue the surprise!”-I chuckled softly as I firmly grabbed the end of one specific bouquet. The roses are still tightly kept in their place. 

“Roses are special, and can be given year round. Like many other flowers, the rose carries its own symbolism. For instance, I gifted my mother an assortment of colors, as to signify how I feel so much more than love for her. Gratitude, compassion, and friendship are just a few feelings that I hope reaches her from beyond.”

“Ah, I see that you truly have taken this to heart. How exciting Kyojuro!”-Her voice lingered as did her eyes. Knelt by my side, she shifted towards me. Her cheeks had dusted into a beautiful hue, adding on the most desirable color to her smooth skin. Her mouth had opened ever so slightly as she continued eagerly. 

“A-And the red roses?”

I couldn't help but feel a shiver run down my spine as it soon became my turn to flush. There is no going back now–as if I ever would. 

“An observant eye you have always had my little flame-”

Give me the strength to make her mine mother. 

Just then, the wind had picked up, sending a herd of cherry blossom petals to fly through. Whether by sheer coincidence or not, something from beyond our world had spoken to me. The warm spring air acted as my guide as it carried a small petal snug into her locks. My guard had loosened as my gaze softened at such a wondrous sight. 

My hand raised slowly as I plucked the gentle petal from her hair. My fingers dared to linger-

“The red rose symbolizes all that make a potentially great love story. True romance captured all in one bloom. Passion, desire, admiration–everything I feel, for you.”

The Earth within that moment had stopped moving. The world around stood still, becoming something we never knew before. The woman that sits across from me now has my heart at the palm of hands–I belong to only her. 

“Kyojuro Rengoku…”-My name fell from her lips as a hushed whisper. The look in her eye is something I will lock into memory. A new one, like I had wished to create. 

“Y/N, please, accept my confession with care. My heart now lays vulnerable in your hands.”-My fingers that dared to linger, now caressed her supple cheek as I felt her lean into my palm. Our warmth sets our bodies ablaze. 

“Kyojuro Renogku. You have always had such a way with words, rendering me utterly speechless. In return, I vow to always take care of your heart. I accept you with open arms.”

__

The hint of a wind chime rang somewhere along the distance as the man sat across from the woman of his dreams. The look of unadulterated love had crept up slowly. That wind chime, a familiar tune from a distant memory of Kyojuro. 

The bouquet of love was now shared in between the two as the distance had soon closed. Their foreheads had linked together as they shared a moment of pure bliss, finding comfort and warmth within each other. 

“Mother. Springtime made way for rebirth.”

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

authors note:well hello there. teehee! okie okie! so what we think? i'm super happy with the way this all came together! especially the goat mrs. hayashi lmaooo! fun fact, she's based on an actual filo woman i knew growing up. filipina's get more ruthless the older we get man. very persistent! (where are the grandbabies?) i wanted to also add in some seasonal fluff because my head has been in christmas land since june. (hashira christmas hc's incoming?) please send kelp. oh oh! and of course! i had to pay respects to one of the many best mamas of kny! ruka brainrot is also really real guys. i love the rengoku family so mach wah! alrighty! time to work on some more kny stuff! thank you for taking the time to read! take care and until next time!

word court:10224

many thank! -babbi₊˚⊹♡

-09/25/23

[toomanyrobins2]

Back to School

Summary: An orphan all her life, Y/N is simply too old to remain at The Bowery Home any longer. That is where an anonymous patron has swooped in to send her off to college and all he requires…a monthly letter of her academic progress.

Based off the book and musical “Daddy Long Legs”

Pairing: Bruce Wayne x Reader

last part // series masterlist // next part

Notes: I'm finally getting around to updating this fic! If you would like to catch up and get more consistent updates to this story and others I would go to by AO3!

All of August, Bruce waited and waited for a letter and one never came. He’d driven Clark crazy asking him to call on his parents and make sure that Y/N was well. Hearing that she was indeed perfectly healthy only made him want to tear his hair out more. Everyone around him was waiting for him to boil over, and yet he continued to pace.

When halfway through September when Alfred appeared at his study door with a letter in hand, Bruce nearly crawled across the desk.

28th August 

Dear Batman,

I am so sorry for forgetting to write you this month of August. It seemed that every time I sat down to write, something else would arise and draw me away. 

I was weighed yesterday on the flour scales in the general store at the Comers. I've gained nine pounds! I no longer feel like a gangly orphan, drowning in someone’s leftover dress. Let me recommend Kent Farm as a health resort.

Yours ever,

Y/N

 

September 1st

Dear Batman,

I hope this letter finds you as well as I feel. I truly believe you have delivered me to an oasis and in it, I have discovered the meaning of happiness. Being offered such freedom after a life of rigidity has revealed to me that the secret to happiness is to just enjoy this ride. To not let the journey be tainted by pride and not to mourn the past.

I plan to enjoy this life and I will not rush to the end when there is so much good to discover. I want to run through the hills and listen to the wind rush through the trees. I want to see the world and write about everything I’ve learned and I have you to thank for such a discovery. 

Happiness, it seems, unfolds when we learn to be still amid the constant motion of life.

In essence, the secret of our happiness is not elusive—it is clear, near, and here. It is a culmination of these realizations, a blend of living in the moment, embracing challenges, and finding joy in the simplicity of being. I hope my ramblings make some sense to you and I hope that you have felt even a bit of the joy that you have given me.

Wishing you all the joy,

Y/N

 

September 25th

Dear Batman,

Behold me—a Sophomore! I came up last Friday, sorry to leave Kent Farm, but glad to see the campus again. It is a pleasant sensation to come back to something familiar. I am beginning to feel at home in college, and in command of the situation; I am beginning, in fact, to feel at home in the world—as though I really belonged to it and had not just crept in on sufferance.

I don't suppose you understand in the least what I am trying to say. A person important enough to be a Trustee can't appreciate the feelings of a person unimportant enough to be a foundling.

And now, Bats, listen to this. Whom do you think I am rooming with? Barbara Gordon and Harriet Rutledge Kane. It's the truth. We have a study and three little bedrooms—voila!”

Barbara and I decided last spring that we should like to room together, and Harriet made up her mind to stay with Barbara—why, I can't imagine, for they are not a bit alike; but the Kanes are naturally conservative and inimical (fine word!) to change. Anyway, here we are. Think of Y/NAbbott, late of the Bowery Home for Orphans, rooming with a Kane. This is a democratic country.

Barbara is running for class president, and unless all signs fail, she is going to be elected. Such an atmosphere of intrigue you should see what politicians we are! Oh, I tell you, when we women get our rights, you men will have to look alive in order to keep yours. Election comes next Saturday, and we're going to have a torchlight procession in the evening, no matter who wins.

I am beginning chemistry, a most unusual study. I've never seen anything like it before. Molecules and Atoms are the materials employed, but I'll be in a position to discuss them more definitely next month.

I am also taking argumentation and logic.

Also history of the whole world.

Also plays of William Shakespeare.

Also French.

If this keeps up many years longer, I shall become quite intelligent.

I should rather have elected economics than French, but I didn't dare, because I was afraid that unless I re-elected French, the Professor would not let me pass—as it was, I just managed to squeeze through the June examination. But I will say that my high-school preparation was not very adequate.

There's one girl in the class who chatters away in French as fast as she does in English. She went abroad with her parents when she was a child, and spent three years in a convent school. You can imagine how bright she is compared with the rest of us—irregular verbs are mere playthings. I wish my parents had chucked me into a French convent when I was little instead of a foundling asylum. Oh no, I don't either! Because then maybe I should never have known you. I'd rather know you than French.

Goodbye, Batman. I must call on Harriet now, and, having discussed the chemical situation, casually drop a few thoughts on the subject of our next president.

Yours in politics,

Y/N Abbott

 

17th October

Dear Batman,

Supposing the swimming tank in the gymnasium were filled full of lemon jelly, could a person trying to swim manage to keep on top or would he sink?

We were having lemon jelly for dessert when the question came up. We discussed it heatedly for half an hour and it's still unsettled. Barbara thinks that she could swim in it, but I am perfectly sure that the best swimmer in the world would sink. Wouldn't it be funny to be drowned in lemon jelly?

Two other problems are engaging the attention of our table:

1st. What shape are the rooms in an octagon house? Some of the girls insist that they're square; but I think they'd have to be shaped like a piece of pie. Don't you?

2nd. Suppose there were a great big hollow sphere made of looking-glass and you were sitting inside. Where would it stop reflecting your face and begin reflecting your back? The more one thinks about this problem, the more puzzling it becomes. You can see “with what deep philosophical reflection we engage our leisure!

Did I ever tell you about the election? It happened three weeks ago, but so fast do we live, that three weeks is ancient history. Barbara was elected, and we had a torchlight parade with transparencies saying, 'Gordon for Ever,' and a band consisting of fourteen pieces (three mouth organs and eleven combs).

We're very important persons now in '258.' Harriet and I come in for a great deal of reflected glory. It's quite a social strain to be living in the same house with a president.

Bonne nuit, cher Bats.

Acceptez mez compliments, 

Tres respectueux,

Je suis, 

Votre Y/N

 

23rd October

Dear Bats,

I find myself once again pondering your appearance. I know you are not bald, so now I am destined to wonder what color your hair is? 

How old are you? I know you won't tell me but you can't stop me from wondering

Where are you now? How goes your day? And are your sporting silver or grey? What are you like? Who could you be? 'Cause I have imagined a kindly old man of at least ninety-two. 

On my own I can only imagine. But if we could meet It would lift my heart beause I'd know the colour of your eyes.

The silly thoughts that dance through my mind,

Yours in curiosity,

Y/N

From the desk of Mr Bruce Wayne

The dim glow of the Wayne Manor study cast long shadows as Bruce Wayne found himself unable to escape the haunting thoughts that lingered in his mind. The weight of his deception, the web of half-truths and concealed identities, weighed heavily on him, disrupting any chance of finding solace in the embrace of sleep. Frustration gnawed at him, and in the quiet of the night, he decided to confront the turmoil within by putting pen to paper.

Seated at his desk, Bruce began to write, the ink flowing from the nib of his pen as he poured out the thoughts that had plagued him for far too long.

Dear Y/N, I've been meaning to write to you for quite some time, but with no success. It felt rather dishonest writing to you as Bruce Wayne when all your letters were being written to me as Batman. So I put it off. I shouldn't have done. But I did. Your discovery of my connection to Kent Farm has made a confession all the more necessary, yet I still don't know whether to write to you as Bruce telling you I'm Batman or Batman telling you I'm Bruce. Either way, I feel I shall be a terrible disappointment to you. What can I say? What would make sense? I've made a mess of things at your expense. My little deceit is haunting me now. All I want is to tell you the truth, but I just don't know how. How can I manage to soften this blow when you know the color of my eyes? I am in agony, guessing what you might do once you find out I have thoroughly lied to you. Would you forgive me? I write this to you only because it's late and I can't get to sleep as I think of the hurt in your eyes. I feel like an idiot, knowing the color of your eyes and not revealing to you that you already have the answer to every question about my appearance. Yours in the sincerest of regrets, Batman Bruce Wayne Bruce

Folding the letter with a sense of finality, Bruce tucked it away in his desk, knowing that he couldn't send it. As dawn approached and the night's shadows slowly gave way to the light of a new day, Bruce found himself still grappling with the uncertain path that lay ahead, wondering if he could ever find a way to bridge the gap between the man behind the mask and the person he longed to reveal himself to.

[cleverhottubmiracle]

Last summer, while shooting a movie in South Africa, Sam Rockwell got a call from Mike White. The creator of The White Lotus needed an actor to deliver a standout monologue halfway through the show’s third season in Thailand, and had his sights set on the 56-year-old actor to deliver it. At the time, Rockwell had already been working on a monologue for another project, and worried that taking on another one (and flying thousands of miles across the globe to deliver it) might cut into his preparation. But after two of the show’s cast members—his partner, Leslie Bibb, and best friend Walton Goggins—urged him to jump at the opportunity, Rockwell relented. “I was sort of teetering,” he tells GQ. “And then I made a few pitches to Mike and we decided to do it.”The collaboration proved fruitful. In the season’s fifth episode, Rick (Goggins) rolls up to Bangkok to reunite with his old friend Frank (Rockwell), acquire a handgun, and pursue the person who killed his father. But the transaction quickly devolves into a trauma dump when Frank reveals the true, hedonistic nature of his time in Thailand. Over a few uninterrupted minutes, he chronicles the twisted details of his former sexual deviancy, shares an existential awakening about his own race and gender, and explains how the experiences forced him to embrace a Buddhist lifestyle of sobriety and detachment. Rick can only sit in stunned silence.Rockwell’s sordid but sincere monologue—and his dynamic, unpredictable presence over three more episodes—earned immediate buzz online, spawned plenty of memes (mostly from Goggins’ incredulous expressions at Rockwell’s litany of perversities), and crystallized the season’s exploration of the theme of enlightenment. A couple months removed from the show’s finale, Rockwell hopped on the phone during his recent, bicoastal press tour to unpack that monologue, working opposite Goggins, and joining White’s circus.GQ: What was your initial discussion like with Mike about taking this role, especially with the time commitment?Sam Rockwell: Yeah, it was only two-and-a-half, three weeks, but it was more about how to approach the role and if I could get off book with the monologue and stuff like that—and just that fear of sucking.You still have that fear, this late in your career?Oh, yeah. I pride myself on my preparation time, and so you just don't want to shortchange that because then you don't have to think about acting. You just show up. If you show up prepared, you do less acting. You live it a little more and it's more fun that way.When you read the script for the first time, and started talking with Mike about it, what was your reaction to the monologue?Well, it had the shock value. I'd been sort of prepped on it a little bit, so I was expecting something weird. But it was really cool and I dug it. It was really more about making the rest of the part work, you know? The rest of the part needed some finessing. The monologue was pretty much intact the way it was when I read it. That was less of the issue aside from the memorization, and I didn't have a lot of time. You want to have like three months for a two-and-a-half page monologue, and I had about four to six weeks maybe. That wasn't really ideal in order to know it—and then really know it.Do you start with memorization first, or from a character perspective and get that part down?I do both at the same time. I just do the mechanical part of it, which is memorizing by rote. And then I work on it with an acting coach. If I have a dialect, I work on dialect or if there's research that needs to be done. In this case, I'd researched most aspects of the character for other movies, like sex addiction, expat stuff—I'd already done that. The sober aspect—I'd done a movie called Drunks where I went to AA meetings, NA meetings. And so Buddhism was really the only thing I didn't really know about. So I watched some documentaries and read a little bit about that and learned how to pray and stuff like that.Did you also know anyone in your sphere, or lean on any specific pop cultural references, to help you understand this kind of guy better?Yeah, yeah, yeah, sure. Well, I'm very much a film nerd. So I draw from lots of films or documentaries. I think Apocalypse Now was coming to mind. But there's a danger with the monologue that you might do it like the Dennis Hopper character in Apocalypse Now. And I think, actually, in reading it more and more, I realized that it had to be more like the Martin Sheen character, or the Brando character. You know what I mean? Because the monologue is already just fucking wild. The exterior is more masculine, more conservative. And [the idea was] to juxtapose the inward femininity of the monologue.And there was a kind of a presumption in the script that Walt and I had sketchy backgrounds—that we had maybe been ex-military and that I'd give him a gun and we might have been mercenaries. You just don't know. So I got a Navy SEAL tattoo on my forearm and they put some scars on my face and I shaved my head. I was kind of lean at the time, and I thought that that would be a good juxtaposition to Walt, who had long hair. We were well-matched for that. Mike White does a very clever thing with that monologue. He encapsulates the entire season with it and this character—the conflict between our tendency to be selfish and our search for spirituality. He kind of brings what the season’s all about to a head.Yeah, because you're talking about getting off the never-ending carousel of lust and suffering.Yes, that's right.You mentioned your acting coach. I read that Terry Knickerbocker helped you with this a bit and that you used the Meisner technique. What about that method is helpful for you and how did you end up using it for something like this?The Meisner technique is a very practical technique to work on text and it just provides you with a vocabulary to your toolbox. And so if you're doing Shakespeare, for example, it's like another language so you might have to paraphrase—what we call “what ifs.” The Meisner technique is more about the “what if,” not so much the “what happened.” Strasburg, which is known as The Method, is more about emotional memory, sense memory, which is real experiences from the past that actors actually had and calling upon trauma for an emotional prep before you enter a scene. Whereas Meisner argues that you can't draw upon your real life all the time because a lot of the stuff that your characters do, you've never done. You have to use your imagination. That's more about the “what if,” the fantasizing and the daydreaming. But that's a big part of any acting.What do you daydream and imagine for something like this? What helps you get into a character who's got this bizarre sexual predilection?I mean, I think that we've all had fantasies about things. And I think that in this case, the guy is a Buddhist. He's a recovering sex addict and a substance abuser. And ex-military. A lot of things that I'm not. The biggest thing was the enlightenment of the speech. And that's the thing that Terry and I worked on. For some reason, there was a tendency to be depressive with it. And that was the wrong way to go, I think. And I kept instinctively wanting to go in that direction because maybe there's trauma there. But the whole point of the monologue is that he's enlightened now. So it's actually a very positive monologue. That was the danger. Those were the traps.And in that sense, it really is like the Dennis Hopper monologue in Apocalypse Now. He is saying, “Hey, man, this is the answer. I found the answer to life, and it's not easy, but this is the road I went down. Let me tell you something about it.” And so I guess whatever that was in my life, or whatever I think that could be in my life, I would fantasize about that. And the closest I've had to enlightenment is any kind of endorphin you would get from being on stage or doing something in a film where you have a revelation—you're doing a scene and you can't stop crying. Stuff like that.That's a very important part of it. I couldn't do the monologue without Walt. Walt is my tennis player.Yeah. How helpful was it to have a friend opposite you the whole time?Oh, incredibly helpful. We've been friends for such a long time. and we were playing friends in the show. And, you know, Walt and I have seen things in real life that I wouldn't even know if it really happened unless I called Walt and said, “Hey, did that really happen?” And he would say, “Yeah, dude, that really happened.”Do you have an example of that?I couldn't tell you, or then I'd have to kill you [laughs]. Just crazy shit that we've been through over the past ever since we met on Cowboys and Aliens. We were in a helicopter and later had margaritas with Harrison Ford! And we're like, “Wait did that really happen? Did we just fucking fly in a helicopter with Han Solo?” Shit like that. Rick and Frank have that similar thing—this kind of Butch/Sundance thing with the two of them. And I knew immediately that Walt and I would have that innately. And I think Mike knew it and Leslie knew it. And so that was very helpful. And then I could make him laugh. He could make me laugh at any given moment. I didn't ad lib, and it wasn't used. But at one point, I'm saying goodbye to him. I said, “You got my number?” He says, “Yeah.” I said, “Lose it.” And he started laughing. Having Walt there was essential.Well, his reactions to this monologue add so much humor to the scene. Did you recognize how much that would impact the reaction to it? The coverage of him produced lots of meme material right away.Yeah, yeah. Well, I mean, the monologue is very funny. I recently went to a thing and they were screening the monologue and it was getting a lot of laughs. I was like, “Oh yeah, this thing's funny.” It is. I mean, I knew that, but kind of nervous laughter, too, you know? I think it makes people uncomfortable.How many attempts did you get for it on set that day?Well, I joked with Mike White and the producers that I might possibly need an earwig, a teleprompter kind of thing, because I was fearful that I wouldn't know the lines. But Leslie came to visit me on the other movie and drilled me on the lines and ran them over and over again on Safari in Africa. They did have an earwig prepped, but I never needed it. I did the first take in one take in a close-up. Mike asked if I wanted the close-up or the wide shot first, and I said, “Let’s do the close-up.” I wanted to keep it fresh for everybody because there's a sense of performance for the crew and for Walt and I wanted the freshness to be on my close-up so that I was experiencing the monologue, because he's revealing this really secret part of himself and it should be a little scary and confessional. If we'd done it the other way around, it just would have been stale and boring, you know? But I wanted it to be a little dangerous and scary in my close-up. It's all about the camera.I'm trying to envision you watching gorillas on some safari as you're thinking about this monologue.Well, it was elephants and leopards and hyenas and lions. But yeah! She was helping me while looking at animals [laughs].How difficult was it to kind of keep this under wraps?I'm shocked that it didn't get out. I'm fucking shocked. They said they were going to keep it a secret, and I was like, “Yeah, right.” And I thought for sure I'd end up on the poster or something. I was like, “Yeah, OK.” But we had a rider contract written into it. I think it served them better. I think they wanted it to be a surprise. There was more hype that way. There was a good strategy.Did you know that this was going to be a bigger role beyond the monologue, or did it start to develop more as you worked with the character and Mike saw what you were providing?No, it was all there on the page. We changed some of the stuff. I pitched a bar fight that we shot where I defend this trans waitress, a “lady boy” being hassled by these Russian guys. And we got into a bar fight, and I beat up these guys. We choreographed it, shot it, and then it was cut. But it probably didn't belong in the show. Source link

[norajworld]

Last summer, while shooting a movie in South Africa, Sam Rockwell got a call from Mike White. The creator of The White Lotus needed an actor to deliver a standout monologue halfway through the show’s third season in Thailand, and had his sights set on the 56-year-old actor to deliver it. At the time, Rockwell had already been working on a monologue for another project, and worried that taking on another one (and flying thousands of miles across the globe to deliver it) might cut into his preparation. But after two of the show’s cast members—his partner, Leslie Bibb, and best friend Walton Goggins—urged him to jump at the opportunity, Rockwell relented. “I was sort of teetering,” he tells GQ. “And then I made a few pitches to Mike and we decided to do it.”The collaboration proved fruitful. In the season’s fifth episode, Rick (Goggins) rolls up to Bangkok to reunite with his old friend Frank (Rockwell), acquire a handgun, and pursue the person who killed his father. But the transaction quickly devolves into a trauma dump when Frank reveals the true, hedonistic nature of his time in Thailand. Over a few uninterrupted minutes, he chronicles the twisted details of his former sexual deviancy, shares an existential awakening about his own race and gender, and explains how the experiences forced him to embrace a Buddhist lifestyle of sobriety and detachment. Rick can only sit in stunned silence.Rockwell’s sordid but sincere monologue—and his dynamic, unpredictable presence over three more episodes—earned immediate buzz online, spawned plenty of memes (mostly from Goggins’ incredulous expressions at Rockwell’s litany of perversities), and crystallized the season’s exploration of the theme of enlightenment. A couple months removed from the show’s finale, Rockwell hopped on the phone during his recent, bicoastal press tour to unpack that monologue, working opposite Goggins, and joining White’s circus.GQ: What was your initial discussion like with Mike about taking this role, especially with the time commitment?Sam Rockwell: Yeah, it was only two-and-a-half, three weeks, but it was more about how to approach the role and if I could get off book with the monologue and stuff like that—and just that fear of sucking.You still have that fear, this late in your career?Oh, yeah. I pride myself on my preparation time, and so you just don't want to shortchange that because then you don't have to think about acting. You just show up. If you show up prepared, you do less acting. You live it a little more and it's more fun that way.When you read the script for the first time, and started talking with Mike about it, what was your reaction to the monologue?Well, it had the shock value. I'd been sort of prepped on it a little bit, so I was expecting something weird. But it was really cool and I dug it. It was really more about making the rest of the part work, you know? The rest of the part needed some finessing. The monologue was pretty much intact the way it was when I read it. That was less of the issue aside from the memorization, and I didn't have a lot of time. You want to have like three months for a two-and-a-half page monologue, and I had about four to six weeks maybe. That wasn't really ideal in order to know it—and then really know it.Do you start with memorization first, or from a character perspective and get that part down?I do both at the same time. I just do the mechanical part of it, which is memorizing by rote. And then I work on it with an acting coach. If I have a dialect, I work on dialect or if there's research that needs to be done. In this case, I'd researched most aspects of the character for other movies, like sex addiction, expat stuff—I'd already done that. The sober aspect—I'd done a movie called Drunks where I went to AA meetings, NA meetings. And so Buddhism was really the only thing I didn't really know about. So I watched some documentaries and read a little bit about that and learned how to pray and stuff like that.Did you also know anyone in your sphere, or lean on any specific pop cultural references, to help you understand this kind of guy better?Yeah, yeah, yeah, sure. Well, I'm very much a film nerd. So I draw from lots of films or documentaries. I think Apocalypse Now was coming to mind. But there's a danger with the monologue that you might do it like the Dennis Hopper character in Apocalypse Now. And I think, actually, in reading it more and more, I realized that it had to be more like the Martin Sheen character, or the Brando character. You know what I mean? Because the monologue is already just fucking wild. The exterior is more masculine, more conservative. And [the idea was] to juxtapose the inward femininity of the monologue.And there was a kind of a presumption in the script that Walt and I had sketchy backgrounds—that we had maybe been ex-military and that I'd give him a gun and we might have been mercenaries. You just don't know. So I got a Navy SEAL tattoo on my forearm and they put some scars on my face and I shaved my head. I was kind of lean at the time, and I thought that that would be a good juxtaposition to Walt, who had long hair. We were well-matched for that. Mike White does a very clever thing with that monologue. He encapsulates the entire season with it and this character—the conflict between our tendency to be selfish and our search for spirituality. He kind of brings what the season’s all about to a head.Yeah, because you're talking about getting off the never-ending carousel of lust and suffering.Yes, that's right.You mentioned your acting coach. I read that Terry Knickerbocker helped you with this a bit and that you used the Meisner technique. What about that method is helpful for you and how did you end up using it for something like this?The Meisner technique is a very practical technique to work on text and it just provides you with a vocabulary to your toolbox. And so if you're doing Shakespeare, for example, it's like another language so you might have to paraphrase—what we call “what ifs.” The Meisner technique is more about the “what if,” not so much the “what happened.” Strasburg, which is known as The Method, is more about emotional memory, sense memory, which is real experiences from the past that actors actually had and calling upon trauma for an emotional prep before you enter a scene. Whereas Meisner argues that you can't draw upon your real life all the time because a lot of the stuff that your characters do, you've never done. You have to use your imagination. That's more about the “what if,” the fantasizing and the daydreaming. But that's a big part of any acting.What do you daydream and imagine for something like this? What helps you get into a character who's got this bizarre sexual predilection?I mean, I think that we've all had fantasies about things. And I think that in this case, the guy is a Buddhist. He's a recovering sex addict and a substance abuser. And ex-military. A lot of things that I'm not. The biggest thing was the enlightenment of the speech. And that's the thing that Terry and I worked on. For some reason, there was a tendency to be depressive with it. And that was the wrong way to go, I think. And I kept instinctively wanting to go in that direction because maybe there's trauma there. But the whole point of the monologue is that he's enlightened now. So it's actually a very positive monologue. That was the danger. Those were the traps.And in that sense, it really is like the Dennis Hopper monologue in Apocalypse Now. He is saying, “Hey, man, this is the answer. I found the answer to life, and it's not easy, but this is the road I went down. Let me tell you something about it.” And so I guess whatever that was in my life, or whatever I think that could be in my life, I would fantasize about that. And the closest I've had to enlightenment is any kind of endorphin you would get from being on stage or doing something in a film where you have a revelation—you're doing a scene and you can't stop crying. Stuff like that.That's a very important part of it. I couldn't do the monologue without Walt. Walt is my tennis player.Yeah. How helpful was it to have a friend opposite you the whole time?Oh, incredibly helpful. We've been friends for such a long time. and we were playing friends in the show. And, you know, Walt and I have seen things in real life that I wouldn't even know if it really happened unless I called Walt and said, “Hey, did that really happen?” And he would say, “Yeah, dude, that really happened.”Do you have an example of that?I couldn't tell you, or then I'd have to kill you [laughs]. Just crazy shit that we've been through over the past ever since we met on Cowboys and Aliens. We were in a helicopter and later had margaritas with Harrison Ford! And we're like, “Wait did that really happen? Did we just fucking fly in a helicopter with Han Solo?” Shit like that. Rick and Frank have that similar thing—this kind of Butch/Sundance thing with the two of them. And I knew immediately that Walt and I would have that innately. And I think Mike knew it and Leslie knew it. And so that was very helpful. And then I could make him laugh. He could make me laugh at any given moment. I didn't ad lib, and it wasn't used. But at one point, I'm saying goodbye to him. I said, “You got my number?” He says, “Yeah.” I said, “Lose it.” And he started laughing. Having Walt there was essential.Well, his reactions to this monologue add so much humor to the scene. Did you recognize how much that would impact the reaction to it? The coverage of him produced lots of meme material right away.Yeah, yeah. Well, I mean, the monologue is very funny. I recently went to a thing and they were screening the monologue and it was getting a lot of laughs. I was like, “Oh yeah, this thing's funny.” It is. I mean, I knew that, but kind of nervous laughter, too, you know? I think it makes people uncomfortable.How many attempts did you get for it on set that day?Well, I joked with Mike White and the producers that I might possibly need an earwig, a teleprompter kind of thing, because I was fearful that I wouldn't know the lines. But Leslie came to visit me on the other movie and drilled me on the lines and ran them over and over again on Safari in Africa. They did have an earwig prepped, but I never needed it. I did the first take in one take in a close-up. Mike asked if I wanted the close-up or the wide shot first, and I said, “Let’s do the close-up.” I wanted to keep it fresh for everybody because there's a sense of performance for the crew and for Walt and I wanted the freshness to be on my close-up so that I was experiencing the monologue, because he's revealing this really secret part of himself and it should be a little scary and confessional. If we'd done it the other way around, it just would have been stale and boring, you know? But I wanted it to be a little dangerous and scary in my close-up. It's all about the camera.I'm trying to envision you watching gorillas on some safari as you're thinking about this monologue.Well, it was elephants and leopards and hyenas and lions. But yeah! She was helping me while looking at animals [laughs].How difficult was it to kind of keep this under wraps?I'm shocked that it didn't get out. I'm fucking shocked. They said they were going to keep it a secret, and I was like, “Yeah, right.” And I thought for sure I'd end up on the poster or something. I was like, “Yeah, OK.” But we had a rider contract written into it. I think it served them better. I think they wanted it to be a surprise. There was more hype that way. There was a good strategy.Did you know that this was going to be a bigger role beyond the monologue, or did it start to develop more as you worked with the character and Mike saw what you were providing?No, it was all there on the page. We changed some of the stuff. I pitched a bar fight that we shot where I defend this trans waitress, a “lady boy” being hassled by these Russian guys. And we got into a bar fight, and I beat up these guys. We choreographed it, shot it, and then it was cut. But it probably didn't belong in the show. Source link

[garyalanhidalgo]

Pride Prep: Love IS Welcome Here! Queer Sanctuaries & The Hotel Cairo

Kamusta, fabulous readers! Hello, again…

Can you believe we’re already halfway through May (and 2025)? Nevertheless, Pride Month Prep is also in full swing! I’ve already delivered the queer dish on soap operas and tackled the thorny issue of ageism in Hollywoof and our own community. Thank you for coming back for something truly fundamental to LGBTQ+ history and experience: Sanctuary.

It’s that feeling of walking into a place and knowing…knowing…you can breathe. That you can finally be yourself, fully and unashamedly. That last adverb was critical for me. Someone who grew up in a conservative town that today still debates over pride flags. For much of the 80s and 90s, I edited my existence, pretending to have a crush on girls when I fell in love with boys. It wasn’t until I worked in Hollywood, my big dream, that I started to meet real-life out and proud queers like me among many, many allies who made coming out myself almost logical and natural. Yes, I make fun of Hollywoof and its foibles only because of my deep love for my first taste of, as the Hotel Cairo co-owner, Xenia Xavier labelled them:

“Hotel porter?” Xenia said skeptically to the paparazzi. “Don’t you recognize the seventeen-year-old actor who played Mr. Roman’s son in Autumn of My Discontent? I set aside my reservations about same-sex marriage ceremonies being the next evolution for the Hotel Cairo, but as we can all see, LGBTQXYZs are simply out of control, especially these outsiders from Hollywood.”

I waited to exhale until the mid-nineties, thanks to work. Sure, everyone was larger-than-life and even troublesome. That provided the contrast I needed to say goodbye to normalcy, to straightforward, to straight. I wouldn’t officially come out until later in the decade after I’d discovered and gone to gay bars in the queer hub of West Hollywood. It was where I could be me without fear or judgment. As you can see, it wasn’t overnight, even if I’d already accepted I was gay wholeheartedly. It was the rest of the world’s, my world’s, turn to accept it. And safe havens, especially made for queers, new and old, made it easier, safer, and as I’ve described, more natural to come out of the closet. No wonder, for generations, creating and finding these safe spaces has been a cornerstone to LGBTQ+ history and our community’s well-being and survival.

It brings me back to The Hotel Cairo and its upcoming June relaunch. Yes, that countdown.

"Love is Welcome at the Hotel Cairo"

Once More, Spoilers Ahead! Mostly, thematic, like one of the novel’s driving forces, being the hotel’s cute-as-a-chipmunk new manager, Fabian Flores. You have been warned. Anyway, his big initiative is Love is Welcome at the Hotel Cairo, as this excerpt teases:

“I wonder what’s next on the agenda?” Hughie impatiently whispered. “All love is welcome at the Hotel Cairo.” Fabian beamed with pride as he read the title of his five-hour presentation.

Of course, you won’t need to sit for five hours like Hughie Roman and the other shareholders to find out Fabian’s goal isn’t just about good hospitality. It’s a proclamation. It’s about purposefully creating an environment where all love stories are welcome. He wants all guests to feel safe, seen, and celebrated for who they are and who they love. For Fabian, it’s beyond business as usual. Despite its two gay owners and numerous queer staff, the Hotel Cairo is located in a conservative town in a red state. The third co-owner happens to be an enigma. As quoted, Xenia warns against Hollywood-types like Hughie but married, divorced, and quietly inherited some hotel shares from a Hollywoof best of breed. Meanwhile, the manager she handpicked envisions a sanctuary for anyone denied the wedding of their dreams even if same sex marriage was legalized all the way back in 2015. Too bad he needs anti-marriage gay divorcee, Hughie!

“Say no more. Let’s just enjoy our lunch. We’re almost there. “ “At least you get plenty of exercise by always walking from one place to another on this vast property.” Hughie ogled him from head to toe but suddenly stopped before Fabian noticed. “Keeps one deliciously fit.” “If you don’t mind, you may have some insights I could use for my presentation next week.” “Are you planning to make a YouTube ad and need my advice as an artist?” Hughie asked, flustered by the invitation. “Maybe you want me to star in it?”  “No, I thought you could share your experience planning your wedding. Do you have any advice?” As they stopped in front of the mansion, a self-loathing so substantial consumed him that he wanted to vomit.

The majority shareholder’s initial reaction to Fabian’s plans for the Hotel Cairo doesn’t bode well for business or for the remotest possibility of romance. If Mr. Roman would only embrace the spirit of “Love is Welcome,” he’d have a better stay.

A History of Havens: Why Queer Sanctuaries Matter

Fabian’s fictional love-in has deep and significant roots in real LGBTQ+ history. Decades of it. In the mid-nineties, I was lucky to live and work in liberal Los Angeles, but I grew up in a conservative area of Southern California where I went to a Catholic school through high school. Sure, everyone was friendly, but I wore armor even among the many acquaintances whom I’d later cross paths with in West Hollywood. Remember, we grew up in the eighties. We had to stay in the closet for our well-being and survival. But society’s hostility towards queer folks stretches back further to times where the vitriol was more venomous and the danger ever present. That’s why the legendary gay bars, like Stonewall, came to be. Queer people needed a space where they could just be. Stonewall Inn’s patrons famously fought back against police harassment in the 1969 Stonewall Uprising, a pivotal moment in the LGBTQ+ rights movement. At the end of the day, they weren’t just places to drink and socialize but where information was passed, where we found our chosen family, and where you could hold your partner’s hand fearlessly. Once upon a time, the only place for same sex PDA.

In researching the upcoming 1990s-set mystery series Fantabulous!, I was surprised to learn that Roosterfish, a queer bar I visited while living in Marina Del Rey at the time, opened in 1979. A forty-minute drive away, West Hollywood’s oldest gay bar was Mother Lode, also opened in 1979. While Weho’s LGBTQ+ community extended beyond the bars, including bookstores, coffee shops and community centers, all providing access to queer books, support, and history, 1979 Venice was not the artistic, touristy Venice of the nineties or today. As their history states, crime, drugs, and violence plagued Abbot Kinney. I can only imagine what a lifeline the queer bar was if you lived on their side of town. Back then, I had no idea just how important Roosterfish or any of the queer bars I frequented as a newly out gay man were in the fight just to exist, to love, and yes, laugh. So, the more things change…

We Still Need Queer Sanctuaries!

Just because we can get married now doesn’t mean everything is better. Yes, the LGBTQ+ community has had many victories we can be proud of. The history of queer people has always been about celebrating the victories, but we’ve learned, through just as many heartbreaking experiences, we never get to sit out. Today, 2025…they’re still banning books with LGBTQ+ characters…they’re still threatening marriage equality…they’re still disrupting plans for June Pride…

We still need our queer sanctuaries to be there. Whether it’s a welcoming historic hotel like the Hotel Cairo or the fabulous gay bar called (what else) Fantabulous! (coming soon in my next series!), safe spaces for the LGBTQ+community remain so incredibly important. They can be a neighborhood comunity center, an online group, or a messenger chat with the queer folks and allies you know–it’s key to our well-being and survival in a good deal of ways:

Find folks like us and form a chosen family.

Feel safe in being you and loving you.

Find essential resources and support.

To just relax, exist, and express without hiding or editing.

To embrace queer history: hard-won victories, heartbreaking failures, to just breathe in the courage of the past, to fight for the future

“This is my mommy, Pearl Aguilar, and her fiancée, Galatea Ellis,” Rosa proudly announced her parents. Straight away, Pearl Aguilar chuckled in an ear-splitting but terrific manner that froze Hughie in his tracks. “Excuse my excitement, Mr. Roman. Rosie gave me your autograph, but I didn’t think I’d ever end up meeting you before you went back to Hollywood. To think I met both Richard Hunter and Toby Hunter from Autumn of My Discontent. Today is my dream come true.” “Don’t forget you’re marrying the love of your life today too.” Gal sweated. “Forgive me, honeybunch, but Richard Hunter has been my crush since he arrived in Autumn Valley, seeking revenge on his ex-lover Kendra Kane.” “Rosa mentioned you’re an Autumn fan,” Hughie said. “I was a fan. I was furious when you went into a coma after your ex-wife shot you. I was hoping you’d wake up. If only she didn’t sleep with your doctor, so he’d pull the plug. I thought you at least deserved to win an Emmy for your last scene.” “Richard Hunter’s life sounds just as screwed up as ours.” Fabian grinned at Hughie. “That scene had me bawling. I almost threw the remote at the TV when they pulled the plug and the monitors went—” Pearl mimicked small beeps that lead up to a long, continuous one. “Can I hug you, Mr. Roman?” “Please, call me Hughie.” Hughie leaned down so she could give him a protective bear hug. “We’re family now.”

Pride is About Sanctuary Too

As we continue our Pride Prep, we can’t forget that raising our rainbow flags, gathering for the parades, and celebrating who we are as a queer whole and as LGBTQ+ individuals, is very much sanctuary too. Gay Pride has its own epic history I’ll save for a post next month. It commemorates the Stonewall Uprising but has become so much more worldwide (like I said, epic). Late nineties me first celebrated it in West Hollywood, so proud to be finally out and with my LA community. 2025+ me feels the same love on a grander, GLOBAL scale via social media.

The spirit of Fabian’s “Love is Welcome” campaign is the spirit of Pride. Every day, I write and hope to share another story, I go all out (pun intended) to capture the same spirit, including the blog post you’re reading here on GaryAlanHidalgo.com.

Let’s Keep Prepping!

June’s around the corner! Help relaunch The Hotel Cairo by reading it in time for Pride. If you enjoyed it, leave a review. If you had problems with it, I’d love to hear that too. Lets keep the momentum going:

Reflect: What spaces have become sanctuaries in your life? Share in the comments!

Sign-Up! My blog is only a taste of the LGBTQ+ content here. Get free online works, including deleted materials and new short stories direct to your inbox.

Follow Along: I’m on Facebook, Instagram, and Bluesky where we can continue the conversation. It’s like a 24/7 Pride celebration!

And Next Week? We’ll wrap up the Pride Prep series by talking about why we need “Love & Laughter” especially during tough times. Blog Post #1, I hardly knew thee. Are we really at #4 next week? Stay tuned!

Salamat/Thanks for being a part of this community, a virtual sanctuary we’re building together. Know that Love IS welcome here!

Love & Laughter,

Gary Alan Hidalgo