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thranduilland · 2 years

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Chasing Dreams

Some fanfic for this post.

The day Dream had haltingly told Hob about his 106 years of isolation, humiliation, grief, and trauma, Hob had made a decision. The day he watched the slump in Dream’s shoulders get somehow greater as he spoke in slow, self-deprecating tones of how he may as well cease to exist, now that humans no longer needed him, Hob had made a decision.

After Dream had sent himself back to the Dreaming, Hob had hurried off to work, to one of the old computer labs, where he’d sat down and burned various CDs with a playlist tailor-made for Dream of the Endless. Mixtapes the likes of which kids used to pass around in the schoolyards, but these were all for one person, with only one theme.

Halfway through his third cd he’d realized he didn’t actually have anything at home that would play CDs anymore. His personal laptop had no disc drive and neither did his X-Box. His car radio still had a disc-drive, but like hell he was gonna force his friend into a metal and glass box, not after learning the truth of his imprisonment. So, he had mixtapes, but no way to play them. That’s alright, he decides, as he continues on in his work, I’ll just make a playlist when I get home.

He does.

He signs into his Spotify account and creates a new playlist; he considers what he can title it. All of the mixtapes had ‘Dream’ with a number, but he thinks that might be too simplistic for what this playlist means. In the end, he settles on titling it ‘Chasing Dreams’.

He adds all the songs he’d loaded onto the CDs and then he adds more. Every song he can get his hands on from 1916 onwards that revolves around dreams, dreaming, the Sandman, Morpheus, the Lord of Dreams. Hell, he even throws in various songs about nightmares. He sorts the playlist by year, though he knows when he plays it, it’ll be best to play at random. There are so many songs, he knows already that he’ll never get all of them. Knows that Dream will probably never hear all of them.

Still, he builds the playlist.

Two weeks after his friend had opened his heart to him, he returns. Hob ushers him in and sits him down on the couch and then stares, rubbing his sweaty hands on his thighs as he’s suddenly hit with nerves. Still, he’s never let being nervous stop him before. So, he grabs his laptop and comes to sit down on the couch beside his baffled friend.

“Hob?”

“You said, last time, that humans didn’t need you anymore?” Hob says, watching the way Dream slumps in on himself, something haunted settling more obviously in his friend's starry eyes. “You’re wrong, Dream. You were missing, we filled in the gaps as well as we could, but we never stopped seeking you. We looked for you, ached for you, missed you. We sought you everywhere we went, in everything we did, Dream. We still do,” Hob promises, though he sees that doubt that writes itself into every line of his friend’s face. “Do you trust me?” he asks, heart in his throat. Dream nods, eyes wary, body tense, but that’s alright, Hob can work with that. “This playlist, it’s a journey through the last hundred years. With one specific theme,” Hob says, as he sets the laptop down in front of Dream and pushes shuffle play on the playlist.

The first chords of Hozier’s Talk start to play, Hob hums at that as he settles back into the couch. Some would say Hozier is a good first choice.

‘I'd be the voice that urged Orpheus When her body was found (hey ya)’

Hob would have agreed with them, up until Hozier’s voice sounds and Dream gasps, hunching himself over, arms hugging his middle. Hob leaps forward to pause the playlist, horrified by the tears streaming down Dream’s face and the agony written there.

“Dream?” he asks, soft, unsure. “Do you want me to stop?” he queries, but Dream swallows thickly, clenches his eyes shut and shakes his head.

“No, I wasn’t- I wasn’t expecting… no, it is alright. Please. Play it,” Dream says, his voice starting out soft, trembling, but gaining strength as he speaks. Hob hesitates, just for a second, before he decides that his friend knows himself better than Hob, so he pushes play and lets the song continue.

‘I'd be the choiceless hope in grief That drove him underground (hey ya) I'd be the dreadful need in the devotee That made him turn around (hey ya) And I'd be the immediate forgiveness In Eurydice. Imagine being loved by me!’

Dream cries silently through the entire song, looking like someone had stabbed him through the heart. If he hadn’t long outgrown the habit, Hob’d be biting his fingernails, still, the refinement doesn’t stop him feeling like an anxious puddle of goo as the last notes of the song fade out. He’s not entirely sure how to feel as Imaginary by Evanescence starts.

‘Paper flowers Paper flowers I linger in the doorway Of alarm clock screaming Monsters calling my name Let me stay where the wind will whisper to me Where the raindrops as they're falling tell a story’

It takes Dream a little bit to compose himself, but as Amy Lee sings, his head tilts to the side, a look of consideration on his face that Hob’s not sure what to make of.

‘In my field of paper flowers And candy clouds of lullaby (paper flowers) I lie inside myself for hours And watch my purple sky fly over me (paper flowers) Don't say I'm out of touch With this rampant chaos - your reality I know well what lies beyond my sleeping refuge The nightmare I built my own world to escape’

Dream seems to like Imaginary a lot greater than he liked Talk, or at least, it isn’t causing him to hunch over in pain, so Hob decides he’ll take that as a win, as he lets Amy Lee’s voice roll over him, humming along to the song. Evanescence had been a favourite of his for a time, he’d faithfully followed their career, attended every show that he could, listened to every new song.

The last chords fade out and the first chords of Sweet Dreams (Are Made of This) by Eurythmics starts to play. Hob huffs, already bobbing his head along with the music, the way he always has whenever he hears this song. It used to be on the radio everywhere when it first came out.

‘Sweet dreams are made of this Who am I to disagree? I travel the world and the seven seas Everybody's looking for something Some of them want to use you Some of them want to get used by you Some of them want to abuse you Some of them want to be abused‘

Hob watches Dream’s reaction on this, sees the small, fragile little smile that forms on his face as Annie Lennox’s voice falls over them. Hob decides this one is another hit as the song fades out and Dream On by Aerosmith starts.

“Oh, I think you’ll like this one. It’s a bit sad, but good,”Hob comments, shifting on the couch, Dream simply raises an eyebrow at him and leans back into the couch, getting more comfortable.

‘Every time that I look in the mirror All these lines on my face getting clearer The past is gone Oh, it went by like dusk to dawn Isn't that the way? Everybody's got their dues in life to pay, oh, oh, oh I know nobody knows Where it comes and where it goes I know it's everybody's sin You got to lose to know how to win’

Dream furrows his brow, frowning at Hob, who just smiles at him and motions for him to wait. The song hits into the chorus and then the bridge and Dream hums consideringly, his eyes shining. Hob beams at him and sings along with Steven Tyler, letting his eyes slip closed as he remembers the years long past. Dream On fades out, he can’t help but laugh as the next song starts.

“Oh, yes, I think you’ll like this one, too,” he says, with some amusement, Dream merely hums at him. Hob beams and starts bobbing his head in tune with the drum beat. “This one is called Enter Sandman,” he says, watching the intrigued smile that forms on Dream’s lips.

‘Say your prayers, little one Don't forget, my son To include everyone Tuck you in, warm within Keep you free from sin 'Til the sandman, he comes Sleep with one eye open Gripping your pillow tight Exit light Enter night Take my hand We're off to never-never land’

Hob can’t help the rush of giddiness when he sees Dream bobbing his head along with the beat, his eyes alight with joy.

‘Somethings wrong, shut the light Heavy thoughts tonight And they aren't of Snow White Dreams of war, dreams of liars Dreams of dragon's fire And of things that will bite, yeah Sleep with one eye open Gripping your pillow tight’

Dream smiles, a true, genuine smile as he listens, head still bobbing to the music. He seems to positively glow as the chords fade out.

“You were right, I did enjoy that one,” Dream admits, sighing softly. Hob waggles his eyebrows at him in amusement.

“Told you so,” he says, before he laughs as the next track starts. “Oh, boy,” he mutters, shaking his head when Dream raises an eyebrow. “You’ll see,” he promises, unable to hide his laughter.

‘Mr. Sandman, bring me a dream (bung, bung, bung, bung) Make him the cutest that I've ever seen (bung, bung, bung, bung) Give him two lips like roses and clover (bung, bung, bung, bung) Then tell him that his lonesome nights are over Sandman, I'm so alone (bung, bung, bung, bung) Don't have nobody to call my own (bung, bung, bung, bung) Please turn on your magic beam Mr. Sandman, bring me a dream’

Dream flushes, Hob laughs, which just causes Dream to look away from him, nose in the air, which just makes Hob laugh more. All the while, the Chordettes beseech his best friend to bring them a dream.

‘Mr. Sandman, bring me a dream Make him the cutest that I've ever seen Give him the word that I'm not a rover Then tell him that his lonesome nights are over Sandman, I'm so alone Don't have nobody to call my own Please turn on your magic beam Mr. Sandman, bring me a dream’

Dream refuses to look at him the entire rest of the song, but Hob’s alright with that, as he just can’t hide the too fond smile on his face. River of Dreams by Billy Joel takes over from the Chordettes and he finds himself singing along out of some long-forgotten habit.

‘In the middle of the night I go walking in my sleep From the mountains of faith To the river so deep I must be looking for something Something sacred I lost But the river is wide And it's too hard to cross’

Dream seems to like River of Dreams as well, as he starts to bob his head along to the music, though the little scowl on his face tells Hob he hasn’t been forgiven for Mr. Sandman yet. That’s fine, there are a few other fun ones that he’d thrown in, so if he gets lucky, they’ll come up in the queue.

Slowly, River of Dream’s fades out and it’s Hob’s turn to gasp like he’s been struck as the Gunner’s Dream by Pink Floyd starts. He likes Pink Floyd, but he’s carefully avoided many of their war songs throughout the years. Sometimes he can listen to them without any issues and other times they send him spiralling back to places he never wants to be again.

“Hob?”

“No, I’m okay. There’s just a story behind this song, is all,” he says, just as Roger Water’s starts to sing.

‘Floating down, through the clouds Memories come rushing up to meet me now But in the space between the heavens And the corner of some foreign field I had a dream I had a dream Goodbye Max, goodbye Ma After the service, when you're walking slowly to the car And the silver in her hair shines in the cold November air You hear the tolling bell and touch the silk in your lapel And as the teardrops rise to meet the comfort of the band You take her frail hand And hold on to the dream’

Hob clenches his fists in his lap and closes his eyes, before he wrenches them open as he realizes that’s a bad idea and like to throw him back to the war if he doesn’t have the visual reminders that he’s not there anymore. Across from him, Dream frowns, though his tilted head and the calculating look in his eyes tells Hob he is still listening to the music. Slowly, the song fades out and Hob lets himself relax, humming when Trees(Hallway of Leaves) by Sleeping at Last starts to play.

‘It's just beyond those trees... The place I've been dreaming of. Will you follow me? Trust me, I know where I'm going. It's somewhere here within the leaves... There must be some mistake... Trust me, I know where I'm going We'll cut a path out for us Through the green seas, We'll make hallways of leaves’

Dream looks intrigued and simultaneously baffled by the song the entire time it is playing, but he’s not reacting like it’s stabbed him through the heart, so Hob is taking that as a win. Though, he supposes Talk was still a win, too, because Dream hadn’t immediately run away, though he’s not sure if he should ask what about that song had set his friend off. But, he’s not sure if he wants to know the answer.

’I found a grave Brushed off the face Felt your light And I remember why I know this place I found a bird Closing her eyes One last time And I wonder if she dreamed like me’

Dream sucks in a breath, lets it out on a broken sob and Hob wants to launch forward and pause the playlist, like he had done for Talk, but Dream shakes his head at him, so Hob stops, sits on his hands to keep himself from doing so.

‘As much as it hurts, Ain’t it wonderful to feel? So go on and break your wings Follow your heart 'til it bleeds As we run towards the end of the dream I’m not afraid I pushed through the pain And I’m on fire I remember how to breathe again As much as it hurts, Ain’t it wonderful to feel?’

Dream is a mess throughout the rest of the song and Hob can only pray that the next one will be something better. He doesn’t know what about this song and Talk has upset Dream so much, but he wants to know, so he can be ready for any other songs that might trigger him, but he’s not sure how to ask that. Is less sure Dream would answer. He does get his wish though, as Amy Lee fades out to be replaced with David Bowie and his When I Live My Dreams.

‘When I live my dream, I'll take you with me Riding on a golden horse We'll live within my castle with people there to serve you Happy at the sound of your voice Baby, I'll slay a dragon for you Or banish wicked giants from the land But you will find that nothing in my dream can hurt you We will only love each other as forever When I live my dream‘

Dream perks up with this one, a small, soft smile forming, his eyes swirling with those stars and so many possibilities. This one has never been one of Hob’s favourites from Bowie, but Dream’s quiet enjoyment of it might, just might, change that for him.

All too soon, Bowie is replaced by Gary Wight and Hob smiles as this one is another he hopes will be a safe song.

‘I've just closed my eyes again Climbed aboard the dream weaver train Driver take away my worries of today And leave tomorrow behind Ooh, dream weaver I believe you can get me through the night Ooh, dream weaver I believe we can reach the morning light’

It is another hit, he thinks, as Dream hums along to the music, eyes closed, smile slowly forming and growing larger by the second. Hob’s not sure he wants the song to end, isn’t sure he wants the risk of another song knocking Dream down from the high. Though, as Learning Curve by Sleeping at Last starts, he’s hopeful this one won’t have any triggers, since it is still one of his favourites of theirs. Had always made him think of Eleanor and Robyn.

‘I had a good dream We built a home It was far from perfect, But we made it our own

We lived a good life, We gave and we borrowed It was far from perfect, But we made it our own’

Hob’s not entirely sure when Dream reached for him, but he finds himself tucked up against Dream, his hand clutched tight in the Endless’ own, with his friend’s head resting on his shoulder. He doesn’t say anything, merely squeezes his friend’s hand and hums softly as the song fades out to be replaced by another song, and then another, and another and another.

Before Hob realizes, the sun has gone down outside, the moon has risen, and they’ve been sitting there for hours, listening to songs. Dream is a trembling wreck now fully settled in his lap, arms wrapped around shoulders, his friend’s face hidden against his neck, though he’d never asked for the playlist to stop, so Hob had let it play.

He knows his friend is crying, knows from the cool wetness against his skin that he’d let pass without comment. He’d like to let things continue, to let the playlist play itself out entirely, but while they both are immortal, they do not have time for that. So, he digs his phone out of his pocket, unable to reach the laptop on the table with a lap full of Endless, and pauses the playlist.

“There are still more songs,” he murmurs, as Dream stills in his arms. “Hundreds, thousands. So many we will never be able to play them all, Dream. They’re all for you.”

“Thank you, Hob,” Dream says, his voice shaking where he still has his face hidden away in Hob’s neck. “I would not have known that I needed this, without you. Thank you.”

“Ah, duck, this is nothing. Just wait until you hear the poems, dearest friend.”

#Dreamling #Dream of the Endless #Hob Gadling #the Sandman #ptsd #my fanfic #fanfic #writing

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pluviatrix · 1 year

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AUTHOR ADDENDUM: ASTCB playlist analysis

hello and welcome 2 the playlist post! for those coming from the published fic hello and thank you for your curiosity and i hope my music taste is up to your standards. for those seeing this before the fic is published i would like to apologize for the abject confusion

when people have playlists with their fics i always wanna know why exactly they included those songs and i figured this would be a fun kind of fic extra like they used to include on movie CDs

lets go! playlist link here for the uninitiated

"Õhtu Ilu" -- Kammerkoor Head Ööd Vend

I don't speak Estonian. A quick google tells me this song is probably about desperately wanting the night to end so the sun will come out, which, given the naming pattern of the actual comic recently and the themes of depression in ASTCB, is surprisingly fitting. this was NOT intentional LKDSDFSDF

this song is really more of a mood setter if you get me. It has this quiet ethereal sound that's a little hopeful and a lot peaceful. i chose this song mainly to coincide with how I characterize wild + my whole experience w/ BOTW

2. "Anchor" -- Novo Amor

"Took the breath from my open mouth/Never known how it broke me down/I went in circles somewhere else/Shook the best when your love was home/Storing up on your summer glow/You went in search of someone else"

midna . cuz twi is super sad

also the whole ethereal quiet sound of this song makes it a moodsetter song. this playlist is split up into two parts, with a blend in the middle. twi with the others but without that intense connection yet, and twi healing. this song is securely in the former.

3. "Already Gone" -- Sleeping At Last

"And I want you to know, you couldn't have loved me better"

a haiku:

god god god god god

god god god god god god god

god god god god fuck

FURTHER READING: see below

4. "Light" -- Sleeping At Last

"I will always hold you close/But I will learn to let you go/I promise I'll do better/I will soften every edge/I'll hold the world to its best"

"'Cause you are loved, you are loved more than you know/I hereby pledge all of my days to prove it so/Though your heart is far too young to realize/The unimaginable light you hold inside"

Hey look at me. Sit down. Imagine we are sitting at the most comfortable couch in the world. look at me in my eyes. do u see? do you see the love here? the love that burns? that love that unmakes and remakes again, the love that rips your heart from your chest? the hope? that love which makes you better, that which gives you the last puzzle piece of what is you? that love that makes vows and verse and song of itself? you sit at their side and something incredible and divine clicks into place while you're just doing laundry and taxes. wild holds a heart in his hands and he doesn't even know it.

5. "Roslyn" -- Bon Iver, St. Vincent

this song is on this playlist cuz it fucks, end of.

ok actually it sounds really woodsy and i love the mood of it. but upon googling it the story of the song rings horribly appropriately.

6. "Tomorrow Will Be Kinder " -- The Secret Sisters

i chose this song for two reasons: its folksy almost-bluegrass feel (because of twilight's whole. gestures vaguely. yeehaw) and it's kind of a lullaby.

"Sorrow weighs my shoulders down/And trouble haunts my mind/But I know the present will not last/And tomorrow will be kinder"

Something about the sadness of the narrator and their unflinching hope. I don't know.

7. "Agoraphobia" -- Autoheart

this song marks the transition period. you'll see the energy ramp up and the mood get brighter from here on out.

"I know I’m getting older/But I’m told that I’m not/Momentarily out of my mind"

two words: Mentol illinois

8. "Sun Bleached Flies" -- Ethel Cain

"God loves you, but not enough to save you" and the other lyric "The more it hurts, the less it shows/But I still feel like they all know/And that's why I could never go back home/And I spend my life/Watching it go by from the sidelines/And God, I've tried/But I think it's about time I put up a fight"

this is probably obvious but im gonna say it anyway. yadda yadda link and the crushing expectations laid on the shoulders of a boy-saint, something something isolated from loved ones, something something leaving Ordon, something something depression, something something healing yourself kicking and screaming. idk

9. "Georgia" -- Phoebe Bridgers

sorry for the phoebe bridgers but it's a requirement to get full credit on the assignment of 'sad fic playlist.' this song could not be more clearly about romantic love but it is my gravest duty and strongest desire to twist songs about romantic love into my platonic found family schemes

"Georgia, Georgia, I love your son..../Georgia, Georgia, he has beautiful bones.../And sometimes in the pouring rain/He'll fall in the mud and get back up again.../He came up through the water without a sound/With my back to the shoreline, I dreamt that he drowned/I dreamt that he drowned"

can you see it?? can you see the BOTW Link connections i'm making here??? part of the reason this song is here is cuz of the absolutely heartrending BOTW animatic set to this song. please watch it it is so much. also the song is definitely about romantic love but the bittersweet tragedy of it all, the sense that it physically hurts the narrator..... yeah.

10. "Brothers" -- Penny and Sparrow

if you have ever in your entire life consumed fullmetal alchemist media and you know me in passing you know why this is on here. if youve read the fic even more so. for the uninformed's sake, though, here you go:

"If you cut your hand/I'm gonna cut mine/And then when we shake 'em/We'll be the same color and type"

and

"My skin still looks see-through/And I feel underneath like a fake.../Don't give up/Don't you quit on me"

this is such a cheap song to use here because. brothers. but the 'feeling like a fake,' the narrator getting talked down, etc. also the song is about brothers in bond and not blood so like double points

11. "Lament of Eustace Scrubb" -- The Oh Hellos

YEAH, YEAH I DON'T WANNA HEAR IT. same thing here. fullmetal alchemist people know what I'm fuckin ABOUT!!

"Brother, forgive me.../I know that I have gone astray/'Cause when I saw my reflection/It was a stranger beneath my face"

Twi doesn't feel like much of a hero. he feels like a failure, washed up at the ripe old age of twenty-five, trying his best, clawing his way out of a six-foot hole for the sake of the heroes he feels obligated to protect. and he loves. and he loves. and he loves. and he cries. because emotions and love bleed from twi like sweat in summer and tears come easy.

12. "Turning Page" -- Sleeping At Last

can you tell i like sleeping at last yet. more romantic love songs but this is MY CITY NOW. these are now about loving ur good bro(s) a whole lot

"I've waited a hundred years/But I'd wait a million more for you/Nothing prepared me for/What the privilege of being yours would do"

"If I had only seen how you smile when you blush/Or how you curl your lip when you concentrate enough/I would have known what I was living for all along"

"Your love is my turning page/Where only the sweetest words remain.../I surrender who I've been for who you are/For nothing makes me stronger than your fragile heart"

gestures at this trying to say stuff but i'm sobbing and snotting and sniffling so much that you can't understand me. they. wild n twi but also twi w everybody

13. "Roll Away Your Stone" -- Mumford & Sons

double sorry for the mumford and sons.

""Darkness" is a harsh term, don't you think?/And yet it dominates the things I seek/It seems that all my bridges have been burned/But, you say that's exactly how this grace thing works/It's not the long walk home/That will change this heart/But the welcome I receive with the restart"

and this is the line that got it added:

"Stars, hide your fires!/These here are my desires.../Marking its territory of this newly impassioned soul"

once again, twi healing again, letting people in, letting people help him, and letting himself want. "Stars, hide your fires" is also a reference to my favorite shakespeare play, macbeth.

14. "Rivers and Roads" -- The Head and the Heart

"A year from now, we'll all be gone/All our friends will move away/And they're goin' to better places/But our friends will be gone away.../Nothin' is as it has been/And I miss your face like hell"

...they have to say goodbye eventually. they all have their own families and lives. but they'll stay with each other in spirit.

15. "Almost (Sweet Music)" -- Hozier

i can't copy paste the whole song here, so i'm just gonna include this:

"Be still, my foolish heart/Don't ruin this on me"

he loves and cherishes them so much oh my god. he doesn't wanna ruin it. he's so scared of ruining it. theres some lines about 'getting your color back' but i'm not gonna retread the theme of healing again.

16. "Learn Me Right" -- Birdy, Mumford & Sons

ONE. justice for Brave (2012). TWO. didn't know this had mumford and sons. i included this because the whole brave soundtrack is intertwined with botw link and the world of botw. and also, this song is about platonic love specifically!! merida and her mom, not brothers, but still.

"We will run and scream/You will dance with me/We'll fulfill our dreams and we'll be free.../We will be who we are/And they'll heal our scars/Sadness will be far away/So I had done wrong but you put me right"

love love love, freedom freedom freedom, healing healing healing. Bettering each other. Realizing you're happy, especially when you're around each other. also the run and scream and dancing bit reminds me of wolf link and botw link shenanigans.

17. "Brother" -- Madds Buckley

you are gonna shit ur gd pants when you figure out what characters the artist wrote this song for.

"Oh brother, I see/You burn like me/The singes on our skin like a brand"

A lot of this song doesn't quite fit the sweet, all-forgiving relationship twi n wild have, but this line does. seeing each other in your own pains, recognizing each other, etc.

18. "The Last Goodbye" -- Billy Boyd

that's the guy from the lord of the rings! i don't have any lyrics to copy paste here, because all of them fit exactly. this song was selected specifically because of how it fits the goodbye scene(s). once again, they have to leave, but stick with each other forever.

19. "Of Everlong" -- The Crane Wives

this song isn't really here for the lyrics. i conceived it as a sort of credits song. its a peaceful little bookend that othu ilu started, and i love the folksy, peaceful feel.

the end <3

#astcb #and still the cradle blossoms #linked universe #mj chatters

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swirlgirl04 · 9 months

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Fortunately, I have no recollection of a time before Taylor Swift. I can only imagine how sad and dull it might’ve been. I grew up getting to hear songs like “Love Story”, “Tim Mcgraw”, and “Our Song” on the radio and I was completely obsessed with the way her lyrics itched my brain in all the right places. I would sit in my room by my karaoke machine reciting “our song is the slamming screen door, sneaking out late tapping on your window” on repeat, just because I liked how it all sounded together. I didn’t have any siblings to bother or responsibilities to fulfill so a lot of my early days were spent in my room listening to the Taylor Swift mixes my aunt would burn for me. I had probably prioritized learning the lyrics of those songs over whatever not-so heavy workload they had me doing in the second grade.

While I was a born swiftie, I’m ashamed to admit I wasn’t always proud of it. At the ripe age of 6 I couldn’t comprehend the idea of internalized misogyny, but ten years later I can look back and see all the signs. My favorite color was blue and if anything pink touched me I’d throw a fit; Barbie was my arch nemesis because the Monster High dolls with detachable limbs were just so much better; and Taylor Swift only wrote relationship songs. At least that’s what my dad told me when he caught me hiding under his kitchen table trying to recreate the effect of the Karaoke machine waiting for me back home. He wasn’t the only one I’d hear make comments like this and it certainly cut deep. What was so bad about what she was writing? Maybe it was because I was six, but I wasn’t reading much into Swift’s lyrics. I didn’t care what she was writing songs about, as long as Taylor Swift was making music I was going to listen to it. However, all the love I had for Taylor Swift couldn’t block out the hate of the rest of the world, so I just acted like I didn’t like her.

This all came to a halt about a year later in Target with my dad. It was his weekend to have me, which we always started with a Target run. We mostly stuck to the movie isle but I had wandered off to the CD section when I saw her. I had avoided talking to anyone about Taylor Swift until I saw her face staring right back at me in the famous Speak Now pose in a red Target exclusive T-shirt. (Looking back on it now I wonder if it was a hint to Red or just a Target collaboration) Surprisingly it didn’t take as much convincing as I thought it would and I had walked out of there with a new oversized Taylor Swift sleep shirt to wear at my dad’s. Of course now I have no clue where it is, but that shirt was important to me, and I think it’s significant to note that this is one of my earliest good memories with my dad that I can still remember. Despite him not being a certified Swiftie like myself (and openly voicing otherwise), he still realized how much I looked up to her and put aside his own poor music taste to get me the shirt. That meant a lot to me, and I realized I don’t have to care so much about others' opinions on what makes me happy. So from that day on, I shamelessly wore that Taylor Swift Shirt every weekend…until I threw up all over it. Sorry I was seven.

After that, I didn’t suppress the Taylor Swift love. I had always felt connected to her, and as a kid the idea of a teenage girl writing her own songs and achieving national fame for it was something that only happened in Disney shows. It was admirable and inspiring and I wanted to be her so badly. I would make up my own lyrics and melodies, pretending I was the girl with songs on the radio with all of the fans. When I got a little older, I would make stop motion videos with my toys to put her songs to and upload them to a secret YouTube channel I didn’t tell anyone about. Taylor inspired me to create at such a young age. She showed me that I didn’t have to wait to grow up to be able to express myself, and that’s something that’s stuck with me today.

I remember exactly where I was the day Taylor announced Reputation. I was in the seventh grade at my best friend’s house. Neither of my friends cared much for Taylor Swift, but as established earlier: I had learned to put that aside. Nonetheless we were all together when the snakes and dark theme took over her instagram account. Of course I was excited because this hinted towards a new album, but I couldn’t help being confused. Sure, I knew she wasn’t everyone’s favorite artist but had she seriously received so much hate that she had to completely delete her instagram account and defend herself with a new album? I decided to investigate and discovered the West/Kardashian lore that I had been oblivious to up until that point. How had no one stuck up for her? Why had the public let a grown man bully a girl ten years younger than him for nearly a decade? Taylor Swift became a debate topic overnight, and here I was having to defend her to a bunch of middle school boys. I realized they just don’t get it, and the girls that backed them up were just as bad. It was a crash course on the real world. Boys don’t respect ambitious and powerful women, and some girls would rather be with a boy than come up with their own opinions. I’m not insinuating that I cracked the code to misogyny, but my eyes had been opened. When Reputation came out it instantly became one of my favorite albums. It was a completely new sound for her, and it was so powerful to sing along to. She had two of the most famous and influential celebrities at her neck, and while most would back down and lay low, Taylor said “Let the games begin” in the opening song of the `album. Kanye West didn’t make her famous as he claimed in the controversial song “Famous”, and Reputation is Taylor Swift’s way of proving that to everyone. It’s an album where she embraces everything about her: the good, the bad, and the ugly. It’s Taylor’s way of completely taking control of her narrative, and she does it in the best way possible.

Reputation was the most successful album on the charts the week it came out, showing that putting all of yourself out there pays off. That people can still love, and accept someone with flaws. Taylor proved to me again that it’s ok to be shamelessly and unabashedly yourself, even when you aren’t perfect. One of my favorite music videos from Swift is “Delicate”. The way she practices her facial expressions and waves to people who never wave back hits close to home, but she continues the rest of the video completely invisible to anyone else. She’s free to run around and dance however she pleases, no validation needed. That was how I wanted to be, and is still what I aspire to.

When Folklore and Evermore were released, it felt as if she crawled inside my head and heart and put it to music. These albums felt vulnerable and personal, especially in songs like “Mirrorball” where she sings “I can change everything about me to fit in”. It circles back to those familiar feelings of desperately seeking validation; something Taylor Swift and I seem to have in common. High school was fun for me, but it was still hard. I had learned to cope with wanting this validation by just throwing myself out there. Taking on too many commitments and doing it with a 1st, thriving off of any comments that went along the lines of “I don’t know how you do it all”, only to come home and cry to the lyrics “and I’ve never been a natural, all I do is try, try, try”. It’s nice to hear that one of the most successful women in the music industry feels the same. Not only that Taylor Swift felt this way but also that so many people across the world connected with this song, which has now reached 300 million streams.It was the pick me up we all needed to get us through the 2020 quarantine that forced everyone to do some reflecting. The sister albums connected so many people through vulnerability, insecurity, and regrets. She plays on nostalgia while still giving hope for what’s to come in the future.

The Era’s Tour and the release of the Midnights album has felt like a victory lap for Taylor Swift and her fans. While her haters haven’t stopped, it’s hard to hear them over nearly 70,000 people singing her songs. It’s nice to know that Taylor Swift isn’t going anywhere anytime soon but up. I’m sure I’m not the only one who has been using this woman and her music as a safety blanket for nearly two decades, and I hope she continues writing songs and being herself to inspire more and more people to find acceptance and love for themselves as she did for me.

#hopefully #relatable #had to be done #for taylor #swifties #classwork

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theblogs2024 · 1 year

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Ways To Mend a Damaged Heart - Marriage Breaking Up Music

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feelin-woozy · 3 years

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Title: With Teeth Word Count: 1852 Pairing: Bo Sinclair / Reader Warnings: Gender-neutral reader

[ Ao3 Link | Previous ] 1997

The sound of some soft rock ballad fills the air around you, the bass gently thrumming through the marred wooden bartop. The waitress comes and sets the beer you ordered down in front of you. She doesn’t bother with a coaster, not when the bar is already littered with water rings. You express your thanks just loud enough to be heard over the music before you let your mind begin to wander once more.

“Well I’ll be damned.” Your ears instantly perk up at the sound of that voice. It’s a sound so familiar to you yet equally as foreign after years of not hearing it. It’s better than you remember; it fills you with the warmth of memories of your misspent youth. But guilt swiftly taints the softness shifting into something jagged and painful as it settles.

Turning your head, your eyes are met with a familiar face. He looks older but close enough to what you recall a seventeen year-old Bo Sinclair to look like. You catch the faint white lines of scars against his skin, and you wonder what he did to get those. You wonder if he let his brothers patch him back up. His eyes are that familiar crystalline blue, the anger is still there, but you can tell that he’s learned to hide it better. Even after all these years, you can see past his facade. He smells similar to how you remember, too, the stench of cigarettes heavy in his clothing, but there’s something new to his scent. You think it might be motor oil.

“Bo?” You say dumbly, staring at him with an almost starstruck expression. Your cheeks flush a soft pink when you realize that perhaps you had been staring at him for too long as you gathered your thoughts.

It wasn’t as if you hadn’t intended to return to Ambrose; you did, but every time you thought about it, something would come up. Your parents’ divorce had been the first reason that you hadn’t returned, though in hindsight, going then would’ve been perfect for escaping their drama. And then you got a promotion at work, and it was hard to find time off. Then there were the partners that came and went in your life. And as time ticked on, the idea of going back felt awkward; after all, by then, well over six years had passed.

Ambrose had become your own Garden of Eden, the whimsical youth that contorts your memories of the town, making it seem closer to paradise than the concrete jungle you found yourself in these days. It was a town you were tossed out of, albeit unwillingly, but it always felt that there was no going back. Ambrose had become nothing more than a footnote in your life.

You weren’t even sure if Ambrose was still there. Last you heard, the Sugarmill had shut down, and that was the only thing there that breathed life into the town. A part of you hoped it was lost to changing times, nothing but a ghost town filled with memories of better days and dark secrets. You hoped that Bo really did get out like he said he would.

“One an’ only.” Bo slots himself onto the stool next to you; the worn vinyl creaks beneath his weight. A hand curled around his glass of beer. It was already half empty. You wonder how you hadn’t noticed him when you had first entered the bar. “How ya been? It’s been what? Ten years?”

The way he says it makes the already sown guilt bloom into something plentiful. You can’t help but frown.

“Hey now,” Bo leans forward, lips twisting just slightly. The look he gives you sparks a familiar in the pit of your stomach, and you know he’s toying with you. He’s testing you and seeing how much you’ve changed. “I get it, shits different out here than back home. So tell me, how has it been?”

You eye him carefully for a moment before you let out a small huff of air and a bitter laugh. “Can I be honest with you, Bo? Shit fuckin’ sucks.”

He takes a slow drink from the glass, staring at you with a raised brow. “City life not all it’s cracked up to be?”

“It’s not, but I’m a contributing member to society now so I have that going for me. Guess you weren’t as bad as my mom thought you were.” You flash him a smirk, and he returns it with a slight curve at the corner of his lips. “Are you living in the city now too?”

“No. Vin, Lester an’ I are still in Ambrose.” He shrugs his shoulders before his eyes dart off to the clock on the far side of the wall before they meet yours again. “Was just about to start headin’ back home, then I heard your pretty little voice.”

“Really?” You kick yourself for the way your words drip with disappointment. It was at that moment you realized just how much you had missed Bo. The thought of leaving him once more made knots form in your stomach. You shift on the barstool, fingers drumming along the countertop before you swallow the lump in your throat and speak, “Shame. Think I could convince you to come back to my place tonight?”

“Mm.” Something flickers within Bo’s eyes at your words, and the curve of his lips transforms into something more wolfish. It’s a look that you know your mother would disapprove of. “You in the habit of pickin’ strangers up from bars often?”

“No, so consider yourself special.”

_____

It’s strange yet familiar having Bo Sinclair in your tiny little apartment. It reminds you of the times that he had snuck in through the window when you were teenagers. Where you would lay together on the small twin mattress, legs dangling off the side of the bed while listening to whatever music he decided to show you next.

With arms crossed over your chest, you watch as Bo’s eyes dart around your living room, his eyes moving over every last detail of your place. As if he was trying to relearn who you were through the possessions that you kept. You move past him and into your kitchen. You grab two glasses from the cabinet before setting them down next to the half-empty bottle of whiskey on the counter.

“So, what do you do, Bo? Last I heard Ambrose dried right up.” You ask, grabbing the liquor and pouring a moderate amount into each glass. His eyes turn to you, away from the collection of CDs that rest neatly on a shelf, and he smiles. A smile that leaves the hairs on the back of your neck to rise and gooseflesh to rise along your skin. It doesn’t help when he moves towards the edge of the counter opposite to you, reaching over and grabbing the glass. You watch the amber liquid squish as he brings it up to his lips.

“I kill people.” It’s said like a joke, but with the look in his eyes and that damn smile, you know that it’s far from it. It’s not a very funny joke either. You’re almost relieved to have the counter separating the two of you, but you know that if he were going to do something, that wouldn’t stop him.

“You’re serious, aren’t you?” You ask, watching his adam’s apple bob as he drinks. You mirror the movement, taking a sip of your own and nearly draining the half-filled glass in one go. It burns on the way down.

“That scare you?” He asks with a quirked brow as he sets the glass down.

You think for a moment as you stare at him unblinking. You would be lying if you said it didn’t, but at the same time, there’s something about it that just makes sense. It’s like all the warning signs were there from the start, he had always been a recipe for disaster, and this was the outcome. Your mother warned you that there was something wicked about him. You finish the rest of your whiskey before slamming the glass down against the granite countertop. “No.”

“You’ve always been stupid, know that? Since we were fuckin’ kids. It should scare you.” He rests his palms on the counter, the top half of his body overtaking the counter and encroaching on your space. You fight the urge to recoil. You notice the way his eyes sparkle, that mean look that never scared you as a child, suddenly making your blood run cold. But you steel your nerves, and just like when you were a child, you decide to sink to his level and lean in with a mean look of your own.

Bo laughs, the sound rumbling somewhere deep within his chest and bouncing off walls that box you in. His eyes narrow, and his lips curl up in the faintest of snarls. “You’re fucked up, real fucked in the head.” He spits the words at you, the top of his lips baring his teeth as spittle flies, and you can’t help but smile at him. You know Bo’s goading you, trying to make you see him for the monster he thinks he is, for you to think twice and back down, so he has an excuse to bash your head in against the countertop.

Bo wants to watch you bleed as you slip up and cut yourself on his edges. He’s waiting for the moment he can remind you just how mean he can be.

“And you love it.” You’ve said a lot of stupid things over your life, but you think this might be your magnum opus. It makes Bo’s face falter, eyes widening just a bit as his jaw goes slack. The gears are turning in his head; you can see the way he tries to process what you’ve said.

Bo Sinclair has his edges sharpened through years of hurt and trauma. You can only imagine they’ve gotten more jagged since the time you’ve last seen him, especially if what he said was true. But even now, even after all these years, you still manage to shock him with your unconditional positive regard. Your willingness to hit a home run every time he throws a curveball at you.

You’re banking on the fact that you have history to keep you safe because if you were anyone else, if you hadn’t known each other since you were eating bugs or using sticks as swords or sharing a drunken kiss just to see what it was like, you would be bleeding out over the cold off white linoleum. In some fucked up way, you think that maybe, just maybe, the two of you were made for each other.

His mouth opens and closes like a fish as he stares at you. With each passing second, the smile on your face twists and contorts a little, and for the first time in nearly ten years, you feel closer to yourself than you have since you left Ambrose.

“Yeah, I do.”

#House of wax #Bo sinclair #bo sinclair x you #bo sinclair x reader #house of wax 2005 #slasher x you #slasher x reader #my writing

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fascination-street-writing · 3 years

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Somewhere to Begin | Pannacotta Fugo x Ghirga!Reader

He has always adored you, like the sun and the moon and more - but he had a brilliant way of convincing you otherwise.

- 200 Follower Giveaway Piece iii for @idontlikerisottounlessitsnero -

Content Warnings: Not SFW Content, Post Break-Up, Emotional Hurt & Comfort, Regret, & Explicit Sexual Content (Aged-Up Characters)

You had promised your brother Narancia to never involve yourself directly with Passione; even the occasional stay for a meal at Il Libeccio made him antsy, yet you failed to see the harm in sharing a plate of bruschetta with Fugo, or a pot of hot tea with Abbacchio – two of his closest companions. It was only fair that you ought to spend time with the men who gave you unbridled protection at the behest of nothing more than goodwill and magnanimity. Not that you needed such security, but it kept street thieves from picking your pockets, at least.

You had promised him indeed, and now that he lies in the casket before you – clad in the suit from your mother’s funeral that you never thought to see him wear again – you intend to keep it. Giorno had offered to have an outfit tailored for your brother, but you refused him with consternation that your he would not be buried in something from the boy responsible for his death.

“No,” you had told him, cold as the wall of ice that has crept around your heart, while clutching the woolly material to your chest. “This one will do nicely.”

And so, the mortician severed the seam along the back of the jacket and draped a silk sheet over Narancia’s legs so that no one would be wiser to fact that his ankles stick out past the bottom hem of his trousers. It was bad enough that you could not afford the casket on your own. You knew better than to believe it when Mista told you that it and the headstone were paid for with the money yielded from the liquidation of Bucciarati’s assets. If that were true, then why not pay for a new suit, too?

Trish snatches a single white lily from the memorial wreath and tucks it between your brother’s still, clasped fingers. She hides her grief behind a pair of sunglasses that do not match the overcast weather that looms above your heads. You had not wanted to wait so long for the funeral – for two months, Narancia’s body had been left in the morgue to chill on ice, par Giorno’s insistence that the service must wait until his transfer of power over Passione has finished.

Thus, for two months, you had lain awake at night, shuddering at the melancholy and its melody that reminds you how you your brother died without saying farewell – his platonic little soulmate. Giorno may have his victories and suffer for them, but you would not let him entomb Narancia in the mausoleum with Bucciarati and Abbacchio.

“He’ll be buried next to our mother,” you said to the new Don with indignancy. “After everything you’ve taken from me, let me have this. Lascia che mio fratello torni a casa – let my brother come home.”

Your wish was granted, though you suspect it only so because he was growing tired of fighting with you over burial rights and passages. The congregation is kept small, consisting only of yourself, Mista, Trish, a tortoise named Jean-Pierre Polnareff, regrettably Giorno, and a handful of bodyguards, though the latter kept their distance from the immediate service; it would not come as a surprise to you, should you learn that the men in black suits were employed to protect their Don from the mournful sister of the deceased.

The handkerchief clutched in your grasp is damp with past tears. Not even your father had come, despite your pleading that he ought to pay his respects to his only son. Too preoccupied with his floozy of a new wife and her children from two previous marriages than to love his own – you never needed him in your life anyways, because you had Bucciarati. Now, you suppose that you must be a proper orphan.

You do not weep when the casket seals and cleaves the line of sight betwixt you and your brother forever. You do not weep when the mechanical apparatus lowers the coffer made of Osage orange wood into the steel vault that already holds your mother in oak. You do not weep when the gravediggers shovel the dirt mound back over the crest of opened earth.

You do not weep until Mista clasps your trembling hand, pulls you to his chest, and embraces you amidst the anguish that burns you alive. His is the consolation that you needed, but never thought to ask for, though it is not his touch that you long for. One by one, the attendees disperse for the train of luxury cars and you remain alone with the gunslinger who had been courteous enough to come without his oddly patterned beanie hat.

“Why don’t we get going?” Mista urges to coax you away from the gravesite – away from yourself and the suffocating agony. “Giorno’s having dinner for us all, back at the estate.”

You pull away. Rivets of mascara stain his white dress-shirt. “You can go on ahead,” you tell him, not quite liking the way your voice strains in your throat. “I’m not hungry.”

“Then, let’s go grab some coffee or something –”

“I’m fine, Mista.” He frowns and averts his gaze. “I have some things I need to take care of.”

“Oh?”

You tug your cardigan closer to your chest. “I’m going to collect Narancia’s belongings from our dad’s house. Not sure what I’ll do with it all, but I know it can’t stay there.”

Mementos of life, from when things were far simpler and your brother far more alive. Family photographs with tattered edges and holes of where your father should have been, wedged between unread and abused schoolbooks. Worn out blue jeans with patches of fabric scraps from your mother’s old dresses that you had sewn on for him. A collection of empty glass soda bottles. CDs and cassette tapes of Snoop Dog, Tupac, and whatever other American rappers had appealed to his tastes.

“Alright, I guess. Promise me you’ll call when you get there.”

Soon to be packed away in cardboard boxes and to be stacked precariously in the living room of your studio apartment – another gift from Bucciarati – with nowhere else to go. You simply cannot afford to rent a storage unit downtown.

“I will.”

Mista does not offer to help, because he knows you will refuse it. With that, he takes his leave of you in the cemetery. Left to your solitary devices, you clench your fists and stew on hatred and loathing for none other than Giorno Giovanna. You do not blame Narancia for his eagerness to trust the boy so quickly; his charisma, as appealing as it entreats to the willing, is an infectious disease.

If not for Giorno, your brother would have been buried two months ago. If not for Giorno, your brother might still be alive. And perhaps you must resent Fugo too, for what he has done – or rather, the lack thereof of doing; yet for everything, you are incapable of such feelings, as you have always been fond of each other. The optimistic heart within you stands that he has saved you from suffering more – that in his choice to stay behind in Venezia, it only meant you would not have to bury him, too.

Because surely, his unrestrained anger would have gotten him killed – if not before, then certainly after Narancia’s death.

With a quivering sigh, you turn from this dreary place and meet his illegible violet stare. A row of crackling headstones separates you from the boy whom you love more than life itself. Fugo clutches a pretty bouquet of daffodils wrapped with parchment paper and a white-string bow – your favorite flowers, though you wonder whether they are meant for you or your brother’s fresh grave.

You do not know, nor will you ever, as he sets the flowers atop the nearest monument and makes off, as if on sabbatical to you.

And it fills you with nothing more than bitterness.

“Everyone misses you,” Mista confesses between a sip of tea and a bite of strawberry cake. “You should come around sometime soon.”

Nearly a year has passed since the funeral, and you have yet grace anyone from Passione with your presence, with the exception of Mista for weekly sojourns to Il Libeccio to catch up on life – because, as you have learned, much can happen in seven days’ time. With each occasion of crossing the archway’s threshold into the private dining room at the back of the restaurant, you find yourself preening for two heads of black hair – one neatly combed and clipped, the other a sprawl held in place with an orange headband –, taut lips painted in black, and Fugo. And every time, you are left with the kind of disappointment that curdles your soul like sour milk.

“Who misses me, Mista?” you reprimand, pointing your icing-lacquered fork in his direction. “I barely even know Trish, and I have no interest in ever speaking with Don Giovanna again.”

You wish Giorno would call off the bodyguard who trails you every waking hour of the day; it makes you feel like a child who has proven herself untrustworthy to her parent. But you have done nothing deserving of such punishment. You suspect that his intent is an extension of the olive branch treaty that does not exist between you two – a reiteration of Bucciarati’s protection that should not have to be reiterated, because he should not be dead, either.

Or, alternatively, he wants to irk you so far that you might barge into his office one day – fuming with unspent determination to admonish him regarding his dominion over your life – just to trap you in a conversation wherein he might attempt to suspend your animosity towards him. Alas, you are simply not interested; you will scorn him, because it is all you can do.

“Forget I asked . . .” Mista trails off, swirling a dollop of whipped cream with his knife. “So uh, by the way, have you seen Fugo lately?”

Just the utterance of his name has you perking in your seat.

“No.”

“Hm, well, rumor has it, he’s working at the public library. Shaking people down for late fees or something like that.” It is not implausible to imagine Fugo in the position of extorting old ladies and young children for overdue fines – but, you know that it is only a jest. Regardless, he has always been the type of boy to surround himself with books instead of people. “Why not visit him sometime? He’s not affiliated with Passione anymore. Or, not now, at least.”

You stab at a strawberry. It bleeds beneath the weight of your fork.

“I mean, what’s the worst that can happen?”

Mista’s question is one that you ought to be asking yourself, as you sit here at the scratched pine desk of the library – pretending to study for an upcoming exam on the history of art in Pompeii – though you look up from your scrawl of notes every few minutes to see if Fugo should pass you by; perhaps pushing a cart of books to be put away, or branding return cards with a plush red stamp to mark the date in two weeks’ time.

You have seen him only once more since his implied attempt of reconciliation at your brother’s funeral. It was by chance that you should wander into the same café as him that day; and by extended odds that – while you stood over his table with a sad smile and a cup of coffee – he stood abruptly and left without finishing his own drink. He had not even bothered to wish you well.

Today, you catch him on your way to the reference section. The look of hurt in his eyes – like salt instead of sugar on the tongue – brings a scowl to your face. “Please, Panni,” you plead, and though your fingers ache to catch his hand with your own, you refrain for you know the gesture is a crossing of the line between you two. “Can’t we just talk?”

“No,” he says, so dry and unrecognizable. “I’m not getting paid to do that. Now, if you’ll excuse me.”

“Panni, I – Please, don’t do this. I already lost my brother: don’t make me lose you, too.”

A fuse switches in his head, and you have been the one to flip it. He clutches the encyclopedia in his hands with such fervor that his knuckles pale, and for a moment, you wonder if he means to hit you with it. And maybe he thinks it too, but he drops it atop the ground as soon as the thought crosses his mind. He takes a step back, as if you have scorned him – maybe, after all, you have.

The cover spills open, and the pages bend against the hardwood floor. You wish he would do the same to you – to disclose his grievances and let you in. Instead, it is the toxicity of acrimony “Don’t ever come near me again,” Fugo warns. “Haven’t you realized by now that I never want to see you again? Get out of my life – get out of my dreams – and leave me alone.”

You will save the tears for when you stand in front of the bathroom mirror tonight before bed to wash away your makeup from the day, amongst other regrets. But you will never understand the guilt that suffocates him – a noose that is just taut enough to keep him breathing – each time he looks at you, and even when he does not. You are everything he has ever wanted and more.

And you are the emblem of everything he has ever done wrong.

“I still care about you,” you tell him with an affirmation that will not fix the desolation. “Doesn’t that mean anything?”

He bites his lip and looks away.

“I know you’re hurting. I am too. So, can’t we heal together?”

“Are you stupid?” You grimace at his words. “I told you to go.”

There is no chance to dispute it, nor to bid him an aggrieved adieu, because he is gone again. Burying him might have been easier, after all; a corpse cannot remind you of what a fool you have become.

And so it seems to you that dying dreams are the best ones.

Adulthood is – as you have found in your years of treading its waters – a dreadful inevitability. You and your brother’s boxes have outgrown that compact studio apartment, though for years, you had made it work perfectly fine. When Giorno pulled the strings to terminate your lease and forcefully relocate you into a sizeable townhouse in the Chiaia district, you wanted to hate him for it – for his reminder that you cannot sever your connection to Passione. Yet, boggled down with university loans, you were in no position to turn down his assistance.

And he knew it, well.

A pretty townhouse located in one of the nicest regions of Napoli cannot bring Narancia back, nor can it attune for every bit of suffering incurred since his death; but if it is a strain upon the aging Don’s wallet, then it is all the better.

On the day of your fourth birthday spent in solitude, you treat yourself to a tub of gelato and a dress from the costly boutique across the street that you will never wear because you have no need to. It will hang in your closest amongst other unworn gowns, still pinched with price tags, that you have impulsively accumulated over the years – a hereditary habit of your mother’s that had caused more than a few spats between she and your father. You know your vice, but there is something so gratifying about it.

You sink into the tweed couch that does not quite match the architect’s vision for the living room – with its crown-mould white walls and hardwood floors the color of wenge; too clean and proper for what furniture you have kept from your former residence. Silver spoon clenched between your teeth as you page through television channel after channel, you balance that melting gelato on your lap. Perhaps you should have grabbed a straw from the kitchen as well.

The evening passes by, uneventfully so. You have spent it spoiling yourself and replying with fabricated enthusiasm to incoming text messages from study mates, who wish you well on this happy day – as if you have a reason to remember your twenty-first beyond the accomplishment of finishing the entire tub of would-be-frozen lemon curd without incurring a single regret or twinge a of brain-freeze. You have gotten rather good at knocking back shots without needing to stop for breaths, too.

At the ringing of the doorbell, you are torn from the real estate program that you have invested so much time these past few hours. Mista, no doubt – come to deliver a gift and takeout because he knows you have not eaten properly tonight. You have no room left in your belly, but whatever he brings will make for a decent meal tomorrow.

You do not bother to tidy up, and when you open the door, you wish you had. Illuminated only by the balcony light stands Fugo with a bouquet of daffodils, a bottle of sauvignon blanc, and a remorseful, sheepish smile upon his handsome face.

Get out of my life – get out of my dreams – and leave me alone.

“Uh . . . “ He trails off before he has even begun, perhaps taken aback by the widening of your eyes and the disheveled appearance that, despite your own judgement, he thinks to be the most beautiful vulnerability in life. He speaks your name with the kind of tenderness that you have not felt since you were teenagers. “Buon compleanno.”

You need not ask how he found you, because you know without question that either Mista or Giorno had told him. “Why are you here?” you ask.

He clutches the flowers a bit tighter. You do not move to take them; however, you have already decided on which vase you will place them in. “I wanted to wish you a happy birthday. And give you these.”

The bottle of wine feels far too heavy in your arms – and the daffodils, as if they might float off in an unforeseen gust of wind. “And, to apologize. For too many things that I can’t ever make right; although, if you’ll let me, I’d like to try.”

“Fugo, I . . . I don’t know.”

“Please, [Y/N]. That day in the library, all those years ago . . . I never stop thinking about the horrible things I said to you. It killed me – it ate me alive; I thought for all this time and before that you hated me, because of what happened to Narancia. Because I wasn’t there to save him.”

“It hurt when you told me to get out of your life, but I listened, and I did it.”

He brings the heel of his hand to swipe at the tears in his eyes. The curling of his other fist is a gesture that terrifies you – although, not for your own sake. “I couldn’t face you. I was scared to look you in the eye, because I thought you hated me,” he mutters like a broken record as his voice cracks with agony. “I thought you hated me, because of him.”

He stops, throwing his head back with a groan. The apple of his throat bobs up and down as he chokes down a sob. He refuses to look at you when he speaks again – too afraid to come undone before he has made his peace with you, his greatest loss. “We were young. Probably too young to even understand what love really meant. But, dio dannazione, you were the most important thing to me, and I understood that more than love.”

His words have always held the capacity for swaying you, as if they replenish the empty spaces within. It is why, as you open the door wider, you let him fill you once again. Fugo contemplates the crannies of your living room, hovering above the couch that you insisted he take a seat upon – he remembers when you bought it, because you had dragged him to the furniture outlet that day. He pretended to be annoyed, though in truth, he was beyond elated that you had chosen him over Mista, or even your brother.

“I guess I should put these in a vase,” you say about the bouquet of flowers. “They’re beautiful, Fugo. Thank you.”

He nods, suddenly entranced by a photograph of Narancia that sits atop the fireplace mantel. You do not notice his unease.

“I’ll grab us some glasses, too.”

You find your vase in the kitchen cabinet niched into the alcove above the refrigerator. Its emerald swirls glisten under the twine of the recessed lights that add no character to the room. So much for a birthday spent in reclusion, you chide alone. Deep within you sits a fire that longs to ignite – to send Fugo away in some thwarted act of retribution for the very loneliness he inflicted upon you years ago; as if to say that the rejection suits you well.

Of course, you cannot deny that your heart leapt into your throat when you saw him standing before the front door, a vision of a man who still held those inklings of boyish charm that you fell for in your adolescence. They say you should not dote over the first person beyond your mother and father to call you pretty; it is weakness to complacency. Your life has never been one of convention – and so by that right, who there is to insist that you must abide?

Bearing a content grin, you trim the stems one-by-one to better fit the vase. In synchronous rhythm to the next, the green stalks bounce from the cluttered countertop to the floor. You have only just stuffed the flowers back into the vase when the shattering of glass resonates its way into the kitchen.

The photograph of Narancia lies amongst bits of broken frame and wreckage. Face buried in his palms, Fugo crumples until his knees meet the ground; he shakes, as if smothered by a chill. When his hands fall to smack the coffee table – baring his grief, in all its pandemonium – you catch them and force his arms around your waist instead; his fingers lock together, holding you in place. He whimpers against your stomach. Already, you can feel the wetness of tears through the fabric of your overstretched shirt.

“I’m sorry,” he mumbles. “I’m sorry, [Y/N]. I’m sorry.”

Your own fingers curl through his strawberry blonde hair – a means of stability as you too have begun to cry. “It’s just a picture frame,” you promise, and it is the grandest thing he has ever heard. But it is more than a box made of wood and glass – it is an impossible longing. “I’m not upset at you.”

“I . . . Okay.”

Mindful of the mess, you rock him backwards until he is lying down. You join at his side, take his hand into your own, and wait in silence for the moment when his misery will dissipate for clarity. Regardless of the circumstances that have brought him here tonight, you are grateful for it – even if your birthday is spent wallowing in irrevocable regret.

Above all else, you know that he has always adored you, like the sun and moon and more – but he had a brilliant way of convincing you otherwise.

Your thumb coaxes over the back of his knuckles. “There’s a crack in your ceiling,” Fugo announces, nonchalant and monotone.

“Where? I don’t see one.”

He raises an unoccupied finger, and you follow its gesture to the corner of the ceiling, just above where the moulding meets. It is no longer than the length of hair from his head, and quite honestly, not an underlying issue of foundational complications. Still, you indulge him. “Oh, wow. I never noticed.”

In this hasty repertoire of patterns, you fall into stillness again. “Panni,” you whisper with the utterance of his endearing name. “I’m glad you’re here.”

He squeezes your hand.

“But it’s getting late. Why don’t you stay the night?”

Truthfully so, you cannot send him on his way in such a state of disarray.

“I can make up the couch for you, if you’d like.”

“Yes, please,” he murmurs.

However, you do not make it far because he has – inspired by a need to express his devotion and apologia – pulled you atop himself, hands braced on your hips as you balance on bent knees and grasp his shoulders. Tenderness is becoming of the boy – no, the man – who looks up at you as if you are the embodiment of everything good that exists in one life to the next. It is a side that he has never shown to anyone other than you.

You covet it like a piece of cherry-flavored candy, even when you lean down to capture his lips and nip at his tongue that likewise explores the long-forgotten caverns of your mouth. It is a distraction of meaning and not; from the broken frame, loss, and perhaps everything in between. Every attempt to catch a breath of air is met with resilient protests of needier touches and not before long, you lie on the couch – shedding your clothing like the skin of the woman you no longer wish to be – and let him in.

Bare chest to bare chest, you cup his hardness as he places his fingers to your untouched folds. You mean to tell him that you love him, but the penetration of unpracticed digits to your core stifles the very thought from your scattering mind. In dark closets and empty rooms, you two have had your share of imprudent experimentation with one another’s bodies in the past – and nothing more than warm, tentative touches that lead to girlish giggles and boyish huffs.

Fugo pinches your nipple, drawing a plush gasp from you; it urges him to do it again until at last you are throbbing with need from your lower half, your pelvis jerking upwards to meet his for the stimulation of wanting. His breath ghosts your face, and you think you smell wine – a drink for good luck, you think, because despite the distress manifesting in his soul, his mannerisms are otherwise as habitual as you might recall from moments of normalcy.

It feels wrong – to be filled with such wanton, salacious desire within the very hour that you have both spent in mourning of your brother and everything else that has been discarded to the wind, to be picked up by someone else. Yet tonight, you will not sleep with Fugo to forget your blue heart, nor for celebration’s sake as you embark upon another year of being – you will sleep with him, because you have grown tired of learning how to end your days without him.

“I haven’t . . .” You trail off, mesmerized by the way his violet eyes look at you; though puffy and stained red from crying, you take them in as he cocks a brow, imploring you to finish your thought. “I haven’t been with anyone else since you.”

“Good,” he sighs, and you think he is trying to hide a smile. “Me neither.”

Braced by his arms, you are flipped onto your stomach. The tweed upholstery bites into the soft flesh of your breasts with each jostle elicited by the curling of a finger within you. You push backwards until you swear you can feel his fingers against your cervix.

“Oh my god,” he groans, flexing out as if to move deeper. “Ti senti così bene.”

“If it feels good, then do something,” you whine, hands dug between the cushions for support.

But, to your chagrin, he takes his time to admire the way your folds pulsate around just two fingers. You glisten like a gem – his gem. Indignant with petty annoyance, you pull away and straddle the lithe, albeit toned, legs that dangle off the edge of the couch. Arms thrown around his neck, you sink down until you have reached your fill of his manhood.

“I did tell you to do something,” you sigh at Fugo’s displeasure, biting your lip as you adjust to the size of his shaft. “Didn’t I?”

He kisses you once and moves grasp your backend. You savor the feeling of him ingulfing you. “I was distracted.”

You would laugh if not for the anticipated bulging inside you as Fugo buckles into your heat. The sight of your jostling breasts with each bounce of you on his cock is a page of some heavenly doctrine – one that he should study and commit to forever. He moves with strength that he reserves for moments of rage, and even his fingers dig into your skin hard enough to leave bruises for the days to come. You do not mind; they will help you to remember the best night you have had in years.

With a cry that blossoms into a moan that tells him that he has treated you well, you ride out your orgasm and slump against his chest in your own exhaustion. When he reaches his peak, he slides out; you reach for him – dampened with your slick – and finish him until white pearls bead at the tip and trickle over your working fingers.

Foreheads pressed together, you flash tired grins before settling against the cushions, your head pressed to his chest and his arm braced around the small of your back while his fingers trace shapes against your perspired skin.

Panting, his heart skips every few beats – like a song, sung only for you. Content with that which has returned itself to you, you fall asleep to the sound of this lovely little love affair.

| 4966 Words |

#pannacotta fugo x reader #fugo x reader #pannacotta fugo #jjba reader insert #jjba x reader

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ocw-archive · 2 years

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'STARSKY' PREMIERE GETS PEOPLE TALKING ABOUT OWEN WILSON'S 'SINGING' (2004)

LOS ANGELES — So how does Owen Wilson's take on "Don't Give Up on Us Baby," a hit for original "Hutch" David Soul, compare to the '70s original?

"There's no comparison," his "Starsky & Hutch" co-star Ben Stiller reported at the movie's premiere Thursday, "because Owen Wilson, first of all, just to get his voice even close to on key, they had to put him through one of those computers and he broke two of them."

"David Soul has a great voice, and I have a terrible voice," Owen admitted. "I mean, you can't even call it a 'terrible voice,' because it's just incredibly tuneless."

"And then, of course, when he sings the song, there's almost a soullessness in his eyes," Stiller added, speaking specifically of the scene in the movie where Wilson picks up a guitar and belts out the sappy tune. "It's almost as if 'The Manchurian Candidate' was singing to you. He's just not really a very charismatic singer and he doesn't really sing in tune, either, so the whole thing is sort of a disaster."

Nevertheless, the tune will find its way onto the soundtrack for the movie, a comedy take on the classic 1970s cop show, written and directed by "Old School" mastermind Todd Phillips (see "Big Collars And Even Bigger Pimpin' On The Set Of 'Starsky & Hutch'").

"I almost got more excited about [being on the soundtrack] than my salary," Wilson joked. "I was like, 'I'm gonna get residuals? Whoa, how much can I get?!' That's the thing I've latched onto the most."

Snoop Dogg, who provided one of his own cars to the filmmakers in order to bring that "extra flavor" to street informant Huggy Bear (see "Snoop Plans To Outdo Michael Jackson's 'Thriller' Video"), isn't sweating having competition with the film's music. "It's sharp, it's slick, you know what I'm saying? I can dig that," he said of the track. "There ain't no limit to what he can do. Owen is the man. I've liked him in everything he's done."

"Snoop was great to work with," Wilson reciprocated. "I became good friends with Snoop and especially good friends with his spiritual advisor, Don 'Magic' Juan. In fact, he gave me a big gold diamond chalice for champagne that has my name in diamonds or rhinestones on the side."

Another person at the premiere in a unique position to judge Wilson's musical abilities (or apparent lack thereof) was Carmen Electra, who has a small part in the movie. After all, she is married to a rock star. "Owen Wilson was so adorable, he worked so hard on that song," she said. "Just to watch him actually sing it, and he played guitar, sort of, it was sweet. It was cute."

"I plan to burn CDs of it and put it out on my own label," joked her beau, Dave Navarro. "It's phenomenal."

Wilson admitted he was nervous to have the original Hutch hear his take on "Don't Give Up on Us Baby," or for that matter, see him reprising the role he loved as a kid on television.

"It's like him playing Abraham Lincoln or something," joked his brother, Luke. "It's pretty cool. [David Soul]'s definitely a guy we grew up watching. It's pretty funny to see Owen playing Hutch."

Stiller was visibly nervous standing next to both of the show's original actors, who he had just learned hadn't yet seen the movie. "I was wondering why they were so friendly when I first saw them," he laughed as he made his way down a red carpet that also welcomed Vince Vaughn, Juliette Lewis, Jon Favreau and Rachel Bilson of "The O.C."

"The humor in the movie comes out in Owen and I attempting to be as cool as they originally were in the show," Stiller pointed out. "Hopefully they'll see that and understand that we couldn't be who they are, because they just have a natural thing. And we did our natural thing."

"Starsky & Hutch" hits theaters March 5.

#article #2004

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mikaze-discord · 3 years

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HEAVENS: Love letters

Soooo this is the last of the love letter, I really must reiterate how thankful I am to the people who responded to my message. Specially thankful for the people who ended up writing for one of the boys, all of the love letter writers are so cool. If you wanted to write your own love letter for your oshi then feel free too!! Utapri Tumblr is kinda dead.... but! I hope you enjoyed the love letters

Please enjoy under cut!!!!!!!!!!!!

EIJI OTORI

From Anon:

Eiji Otori is another member of HEAVENS and he is a down-to-earth type of character. One can say he is a cinnamon roll as he looks out for HEAVENS and his brother, Eiichi. Eiji talks in a formal manner to people outside of HEAVENS and addresses them by their surname like the time he worked with Tokiya for Mighty Aura, or when he was working with Camus and Masato for Feather in Hand. Around HEAVENS, Eiji talks casually, calling them by their first name. He is very mindful of other members of HEAVENS and Eiji keeps an open mind for ways to improve his skills as an idol and to help out his bandmates come to a solution where both sides agree. Eiji speaks very fondly of the people he works with formality and a lot of respect.

What I love about Eiji is his relationship with his brother, Eiichi Otori. The two have a strong bond as Eiichi looked after and took care of Eiji when growing up. The two of them are inseparable and do a lot together while looking after each other. Personally, their sibling bond is what I wish to have with my sibling as well, even though we're complete opposites like day and night! Their interactions are easily seen throughout the anime, you can even see their sibling bond show the most through HEAVENS Radio as Eiichi and Eiji are the co-hosts. If there is anything that I'd like to know more about Eiji, it would be about his hobby, gardening. He has a lot of knowledge on plants and perhaps agriculture. It'd be nice to see HEAVENS talk about their hobbies one day. But all in all, Eiji is a great character that I appreciate with a heart of gold!

From Anon:

Eiji Otori, the 4th member of HEAVENS is one of my two most favorite characters in Utapri. I was originally drawn to his kind and gentle demeanor, that made him such an easily lovable character. He was introduced in the 4th season of the anime in the cross idol unit episodes. The way he treated Tokiya besides knowing he was part of the rival idol group ended up becoming an essential part of Tokiya’s later character growth. Although Eiji is meant to be a foil for Tokiya’s character their personalities are completely polar opposites, their devotion to wanting to be an idol being one of the only similarities besides level headedness. Eiji is his own character, right down the way he speaks to the way he sings. Eiji seems to always carry the group in a loving and family-like way, even going as far as having domestic hobbies like gardening and baking. We always see him and even hear the way he interacts with the other members of HEAVENS on the radio show as if they were an inseparable family. Eiichi, his older brother and the leader of HEAVENS loves him in a way that is so complex but Eiji will always love him back with every fiber of his being to the deepest parts of his soul. There is a deep connection between the brothers that is so beautiful that even poetry couldn’t express, it’s more profound then words can show. It’s a bond they share that only they know, like a secret.

However, even then there is so much more about Eiji that makes him such a wonderful character. When it comes to myself, Eiji hits a bit close to home in a more personal way. Perhaps that is also a factor in why I love him so much. I empathize with him and I can see through his eyes in ways only a younger sibling would know. As a younger sister to a sibling who has always been in the spotlight in some form of way with a big presence, I always lived in her shadow, but I admired her and cared about her above anything else. The way Eiji feels about Eiichi is something that I can personally relate with and understand. Eiichi is an essential part of Eiji’s character and the anime does not lack to show this, nor does it lack to show that Eiji is just as much an essential part of Eiichi’s character. It’s more obvious in the radio show that is hosted by the two brother but it’s not fully ignored either in the anime. I love how Eiji interacts with all of the characters, and seems to find ways to treat everyone with kindness even if they aren’t kind to him in return. He admires those who show a deep love for the things he does, and respects those who are more experienced then he is. He’s always eager to learn

and please. He’s the kind of person you’d always want around and you’d want a hug when things get rough. Eiji is definitely the most pure hearted character of all the Utapri characters. And, I’ll always stand by that through and through.

VAN KIRYUIN

From @whereisvanderwood:

Kiryuin Van. Where to start? He’s cocky. He’s cocky as all hell. There’s something in his air that is poised yet undignified. Childish yet mature. The man is founded on juxtaposition, not dissimilar to a painting of Picasso. His ability to be unique in an industry that begs for individuality, to rise above a tidal wave of competition and stand apart from other fish in the sea, is awe-inspiring. Expectation is dead to him; though the oldest member of Heavens, the weight of bearing the role as ‘most mature’ or the ‘parent’ of the group couldn’t be further from his concern. He is only any dimension of himself he wants to be at any given time. Dumb bitch by morning, bad bitch by night. Much like his bandmates, his confidence and intimidating aura is unwavering. He claims his victory before a race begins, and I couldn’t say if that undying faith in oneself is a skill or a sin. Whatever it is, he owns it. He shamelessly, unapologetically owns who he is and shares it with his fans, friends and enemies.

Also, he’s hot. He’s very appealing to the human eye. His ruggedness reminds me of a warm blanket in winter. His voice, oh his voice. If the world was about to blow up and he just said “No it won’t”, in his own way, I think I’d believe him. Regardless of what he says being juvenile or mature, he’s always authentic. No sugar coats, no little white lies, only genuity. As just said before, he is who he is and wouldn’t change for anyone if it wasn’t in his own best interest. Who couldn’t love a guy like that?

YAMATO HYUGA

From @kusagiiiii:

I'll be honest, I used to forget Yamato exists alot LMAO I fell in love with him when I was looking at a HEAVENS group photo! I think he is a very stronk,very cute and a very soft boy! in some ways haha he's my type

I honestly wish there would be more story on the HEAVENS boys since they all seem like they had a pretty rough past so yee that's basically it~

From Sammy:

Everybody, listen up! It’s Sammy here! Are you ready for some strong appreciation? Let’s shout it out! Yeah!!

Where do I begin when it comes to Yamato? It took me a while to actually like him. At first, I wasn’t a fan of how he was when he first showed up in the anime. I still remember when Yamato was one of the few HEAVENS members people really didn’t like or care much for, next to Eiichi and Nagi.

I used to be one of those people too with Yamato. I found him to be very stubborn, but over time after listening to HEAVENS Radio; The Drama CDs; Watching Maji Love Kingdom, etc… I came to realize there’s so much more to him.

I’ve learned a lot more about him, especially through role-playing as him, and my love for Yamato skyrocketed. Even with all the new content that’s been coming out for HEAVENS lately like Black Garden and Endless Score, my love grows even more every day. Yamato sneaked his way up to being one of my best boys.

Yamato is HEAVENS’ Strongest member. (Seriously, how the heck does this boy train everyday and do so much of it?!) He’s not always aggressive and violent. He’s actually a really thoughtful person who cares about his friends a lot, even being very protective of them. Yamato is the kind of person that’ll immediately stop what he’s doing, and only think about how to help the other person feel better.

A lot of things tend to be overlooked for him cause of how he’s written in the anime, and there’s fans who only pay attention to that. Not even giving the extra content a thought or a single glance.

As Ryuya’s younger brother, Yamato has his own insecurities, especially since he’s always seen as just a shadow. He’s been trapped in darkness where he feels he’s not good enough to be appreciated and loved as his own person. He doesn’t know what to do and which path to take. Yamato only became an idol just to defeat and finally be better than Ryuya at something. I feel that goal is still there, but it’s not a major one like before. Now, Yamato has people like the other members of HEAVENS, the angels, and the other idols. He found his light and happiness.

Overall, Yamato is the kind of person he wants everyone to be proud of. He wants to always share his strongest power and energy, carrying the burden of everybody’s smiles. Wanting to see those around him happy and be the best they can be.

Another part that I really like about Yamato is whenever he gets embarrassed. I can’t help, but find that really cute cause it’s something we don’t see or hear out of him a lot.

There’s also the times he demonstrates how much he loves food. Even though he overeats and knows he can’t help it when he’s hungry, I really liked when Yamato stated that if eating makes you happy, go for it. Just make sure you train afterwards to burn off calories. It helps people feel good about themselves.

Even the times when Yamato struggles with difficult words, specifically English and kanji. It’s embarrassing for him to admit, but he knows he’s not good at that sort of thing. What I really like about this is HEAVENS is always willing to help him, even Tokiya and Cecil. They help keep things simple and easy for Yamato to understand.

There’s a lot you can say I just simply vibe with when it comes to Yamato, and I love him. Hope everyone enjoys this long appreciation of this strong boy, and I hope you all love him too!

SHION AMAKUSA

From Anon:

When I saw Shion for the first time, he caught my attention with his beautiful appearance. His cream-white hair, his periwinkle eyes and his pale skin were a wonderful combination that I just couldn't ignore. Physically, he was exactly the type of character I love… Even his hairstyle is great! And what to say about his pretty face! To me, he looked like an angel.

His style in clothes is something I also like about him. With all this mixed, the only word I can use to describe him is "perfect".

But, of course, there's more than just physical appearance. Shion's way of speaking, as we all know, is quite… Particular. And those beautiful words made me be more interested in this boy, even if they were a bit difficult to understand. This characteristic is something that, in my opinion, makes him special, not only in his group but among all the groups.

That poetic way of speaking is a beautiful combination with his voice. When he speaks I find it so mystical… And when he sings his solo songs I feel relaxed and even a bit emotional. He's not an angel just physically, he also sings like one!

But what made me love him completely was his personality. To be honest, at first I didn't understand why he acted so hostile to Cecil and signed with him, but when it was explained later I could see his point of view and I felt sorry for him, for how he was feeling and the big sacrifice he was making if we take into account his thoughts.

Loyalty is something I value a lot, and Shion has a huge loyalty towards his friends. After that incident, he changes his way of thinking and he starts getting more friendly to the rest, something I find beautiful.

I also find him very cute, an extra point for me to like him. His -sometimes- childish attitude is adorable! And how he acts around his friends… So lovely!

I also feel a bit similar to him in some aspects, such as listening to the same song again and again, liking birds or even usually feeling sleepy, besides other things. These similarities make me feel connected in some way with him.

Shion is a very special character for me, and I can't wait to see more content about him, to know more about this wonderful boy, for example, about his family, where he is from, how he ended up in HEAVENS, how he started to speak the way he does… There are a lot of things we don't know yet and I hope we can get more information about Shion soon!

#utapri #utanoprincesama #uta no prince sama #eiji otori #otori eiji #shion amakusa #amakusa shion #kiryuin van #van kiryuin #hyuga yamato #Yamato Hyuga

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daeliariddle · 3 years

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In defense of SessRin.

"The SessRin is pedophilia."

“They are father and daughter. He was her protector. "

"But the girls got married young, they already received marriage proposals at the age of 13."

“But in Japanese folklore, the yokai took the girls and later married them. It is part of their culture. "

Can we stop tagging the SessRin on all these things? Because these things do not help the couple, nor the terrible antis arguments that speak of manipulation, of how Sesshoumaru marries the "girl he knew and raised", and that "he waited for her to grow up to make her her wife ”. Because they turn out to be like the pro arguments, in the end they become a euphemism for what we criticize.

Let's leave behind the antis arguments that contradict themselves, that if they are only a fraternal or parental relationship, and then say that there is grooming, because he woos her with kimonos, the cd-drama and other hints of how couple A will develop FUTURE.

As proshippers that we are, we must also leave behind the arguments about the Japanese culture, because we reduce the ship, we forget about Sesshomaru and Rin as individual beings.

The SessRin is much more than any argument, for or against it. It is not the relationship of a human girl devoted and given to everything a daiyokai says; Antis, stop staining the relationship that way. Here, Lolita does not apply. It's not the relationship of a daiyokai who must raise a human girl to learn how to be a parent, either. The SessRin is nothing they write.

It is just the story of two completely different beings who met in their worst circumstances. Mortally wounded, marginalized by her people; and that despite everything, they had a gesture of empathy and compassion for the other despite the stigmata, hatred and prejudice.

Try to give food, clean wounds. Insist on helping. Ask a how you were. Look with genuine interest. Smile.

The SessRin is just two people who wanted to accompany each other, in the most disinterested way there is. She is the girl who wants to always be with the only person who had more consideration for her, in her way, and she is the monster who learned to see the good things in humans, in the most innocent way of her.

Let's stop dirtying their relationship with the fact that "she would do everything he told her to", because he would never do something against her will, wasn't their disinterest in each other clear? They are not father and daughter, they are not brothers, he is not an “adult cajoling a girl”, they are just two companions who were only a few months together, and each one will go their own way until she wants to be with him again. In love or not, he will seek a way for her to heal her wounds as well, as he has done.

And if they want to be together, what stops them?

We must stop reading ourselves as the worst face of Ned Flanders, do you, antis, do not see much fiction apart from Inuyasha / Hanyo No Yashahime? We are used to novels, anime / manga, movies, series where they deal with forbidden loves, immoral ones: Adultery, age difference, teacher / student, love triangles, stepbrothers, incest, boss / employee, humanoxser of hundreds of years. Why are they so upset about the SessRin when, ironically, it's the relationship where the character with authority never forces her henchman to anything she wants? It's like they don't really know the pairing, and it shows because they only criticize SessRin.

The SessRin is not shipped for whatever reasons they give, it is shipped because of the relationship and the way of being of each one, which makes them related. Don't you shipe a crack couple just because you imagine their relationship? It's easier than you think, people shipe because they want to shipe and that's it.

And it is incredible that, Sunrise despite showing what you criticize and want to avoid (the relationship of Tamano and Homura) you put back the SessRin, which is the least toxic ship in Inuyasha / Hanyo No Yashahime. The obsession.

That resentment for the ship is not healthy, it makes them hypocrites. Let people ship at ease. And enough with the argument that real life is wrong and what we think if it were a case happened as is, because it is ridiculous. There is no point of comparison in fictional characters with real people. I can't imagine if Inuyasha happened in Ancient Egypt, surely the characters and fans will be treated as incestuous for something that was common there, despite the fact that no one currently shares that belief. Learn to separate your taste from you, as a person.

So proSessRin, let the antis write whatever they want. And this I will put it strikingly:

⚠⚠⚠ Do, don't do, or stop doing anything Sesshomaru for Rin's well-being, the antis ALWAYS, I repeat ALWAYS, will see it as a way to manipulate and access her.

The SessRin had to be given as Rin was a child, like it or not, in order to see how Sesshoumaru was curious about the innocence and naivety of humans, in their purest form. And at the same time, that you, antis, realize this. Because if Rin had been an age more in line with Kagome's, then you would have misjudged their pure relationship. We would mistakenly think that Sesshomaru fell in love with Rin because he got horny with her if Rin was a teenager. ⚠⚠⚠

If I need to write something else, I will leave it in comments, that I always forget to write something.

Enjoy that the SessRin is canon, it is enough to say at convenience what is canon and what is not, and measure the same yardstick if you just have another ship where "they have filler scenes", because in the end they act like what they criticize.

And yes, I blocked some because they are still foolish in not understanding the ship. They are not worth it that way.

I don't care about the cultural. The cultural thing is that we must stop thinking that it is correct, we must think that Sesshoumaru is not human if he wants, and he had to adapt to concepts that are alien to him, and get away from Rin because of the affection (platonic and innocent) that he had it. Why are antis so foolish to see love romantically or sexually, or to see it as father and daughter? They are basic.

And no, anti. I did not write this for you to answer me, because I know that you are going to see everything wrong with your mentality full of poop. So do not waste yourself in offending me because I put a brake on you. You, harassing and attacking other people for a ship are trash. I'm sorry. Yes, I used your favorite hashtags, I will not remove them. I am in my right. You can move on from me and now. Just as I block them. Or is freedom of speech just for you, to harass us? Don't be unfair.

And remember: let the antis burn like Homura.

#sessrin #anti sessrin #anti sesskagu #anti sesshome #inuyasha #hanyo no yashahime #sesshomaru x rin #sesshomaru and rin

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sukipershipper · 3 years

Note

Can you spill some of ur bugsnax hcs?

I assume you mean with the characters, in which case, Yes of course! Bear with me though that all of these are going to take place Post-Snaktooth Island. I might do some headcanons on what happened on the island but for now take these.

(SPOILERS AHEAD IF YOU HAVEN’T SEEN THE END OF THE GAME, I also apologize for it being so freaking long...I actually did not intend on that)

FILBO

They all lived in a small but very prosperous town, said town doesn’t have a name cause Mun isn’t creative enough to make one yet

After being elected Mayor, Filbo had learned to become more assertive with others. His role as Mayor of the small town involves him doing a few small tasks, like cleaning up the streets or helping with lessons at the schools

Other times however he is brought into meetings to plan celebrations, opening new buildings and ways they can develop the community.

His meeting council includes Floofty, who is always helping him out in terms of his decisions.

His office has all of the trinkets and maps from Liz’s adventures, as well as pictures of everything they did on Snaktooth and all the pictures she and Eggabelle have of each other.

Filbo constantly sends out letters in bottles to Snaktooth in the hopes that Liz and Egg will find it and write back. He is still waiting on a response from them

When he gets bored, he often just draws in a spare journal he has. He does this in meetings or when he’s at a lunch with the others

He had a statue of Liz and Egg made and placed in the center of the town to help remember them and what they stood for

WAMBUS/TRIFFANY

Wambus and Triffany live in a small country home just outside the town next to the beach and a small grotto.

The place has a large amount of land for Wambus to start a farm with all sorts of sauces. The beach they live next to has a big cave with all sorts of secrets that Triffany is willing to discover.

Reconnecting with their kids has been a challenge, seeing as they left quite abruptly. The kids did eventually start coming around though.

Wambus is a very good cook, lots of people headcanon it and I headcanon it too. The man can make a mean roast. Only reason he never did it on Snaktooth was because the food was already walking around so he had no need to.

Triffany may look like a stick but she’s actually quite strong. On the same levels as Wambus and Chandlo? Maybe not. But she has punted several people before.

She is also very unconventional in her methods, resulting in lots of Scars and broken bones. Wambus had tried bandaging her up before but after failing 15 times he just called Floofty.

Speaking of Floofty, the couple have a very good relationship with the scientist. Floofty often helps Triffany with collecting samples or attempting to help Wambus with growing crops, though those attempts often result in Wambus yelling and Triffany trying to calm her husband down.

FLOOFTY

Floofty now teaches at the towns school, they’re a very talented professor and many of the students they teach have delighted in their work. Though other teachers find the methods very...unconventional.

Though Floofty is still quite cold hearted to most of the grumpus’ they have learned to be more cheerful towards certain Grumps. One of which being Snorpy and the other being their students.

Many students ask how Floofty lost their leg, to which they reply: That information is irrelevant, but if you truly wish to know then speak with the Mayor

When Not teaching they’re usually helping Snorpy out with anything involving the Grumpinati. Though they aren’t really of much help considering their methods

They definitely are considered a cannibal, Floofty was once seen carrying an arm (no one knows if that was theirs) and took a little nibble of it...then spat it out and complained that it was too salt

They are always helping Filbo out in terms of his mayoral duties.

GRAMBLE/WIGGLE

Gramble and Wiggle share a small little two story home in the town. The house is decorated with all sorts of flowers and different patterns on the fence

While Wiggle is always busy touring, playing music, Gramble became the local veterinarian for the town. His experience with the Snax actually prepared him for the animals.

He also has a small little puppy, ten times better than any of the Snax he had

Gramble still does keep pictures of Sprout around his room, as much as he hated knowing he harbored a parasite in his home, he still missed the little guy. (I am fully convinced the one at the end though was Sprout)

He and Wiggle began dating right after they settled into the house together, believing that it was much needed change for the both of them.

Gramble knits sweaters for Wiggle since she goes out touring so much, he also knits plush versions of the Snax he kept back on Snaktooth. It was the biggest mistake he made, cause now he envisions them staring at him and wanting to murder him

Wiggle always tries to help him when it comes to his nightmares. Playing white noise or ASMR videos so he can go to sleep

Her songs are very well received and she has quite a lot of publicity. Do The Wiggle is still one of her best selling numbers, but she has some love for her other pieces too.

She is always asked to sing at events by Filbo, and of course she never says no. One of her favorite things to do is get one of the kids to come up and sing Do The Wiggle with her since it’s one of the best songs in their opinion

She has a ring box tucked away in her dresser, she’s waiting for the right moment to pull it out on Gramble and propose

CROMDO

Cromdo is doing much better in life, opening up a successful karaoke bar and gets quite a lot of business from some of the guys in town.

He also showed the less serious side of himself a lot more, and once he let down such a defensive guard he was able to get further in life, albeit he still has a long way to go

He and Beffica still don’t get along, but they’re on better terms than they were back on Snaktooth

He hasn’t completely dropped his ways though, he’s still a big old Scumbag (and we love him for it). Often he tries to make a profit off something miniscule like an old bottlecap.

Though Cromdo is still a scumbag, he helped Filbo and Buddy set up Filbo’s campaign to get him elected

Cromdo still tries stealing Triffany’s stuff and Wambus fucking yeets him all the way into town. How he has no broken bones from that is still a mystery to everyone.

BEFFICA

Beffica is now a photographer for the local newspaper, probably not a good choice in many of the Grumps opinions

She is however much better than she was on Snaktooth, and does have a small friend group outside of the Snaktooth Island group

Her old friend group has tried getting in touch with her but she’s very reluctant to talk to them again

Many of the older grumpus’ have basically adopted her because she’s still very shaky after everything, they didn’t expect her to be so shaky but life is surprising.

Her favorite person to go to though is Triffany, for the pure fact that she and Triffany just talk about guys and it’s the best chat ever

She and Filbo are on much better terms, and she may or may not have some feelings hidden for the new Mayor but we will never truly know

She and her ‘Bestie’ go out for Boba tea all the time, a truly fun experience for the both of them

CHANDLO/SNORPY

Chandlo takes Snorpy out on morning runs all the time, he’s proud that his bro is taking baby steps into letting the outside world embrace them

Oh, Snorpy is also He/They now, I honestly feel like it fits them

Snorpy and Chandlo moved to a small little apartment complex for now. The home is very quaint and the two have little designated areas for all the stuff they have.

They also had to make room for Floofty as the sibling insisted on staying with their brother for...reasons

Chandlo goes to library a lot to learn new techniques to help Snorpy, but he also secretly reads up on articles about the Grumpinati in the hopes to help Snorpy destroy them one day

He and Floofty have made a strong pact over the fact that Snorpy must be protected at all costs, no exceptions

Snorpy is a lot more open about what he does now, often asking for advice from Chandlo about his inventions and whatnot.

Neither of them are good cooks, they both try but both almost always burn the complex down so they just ask Floofty to do it

Snorpy actually bruises very easily, he is a literal tomato. So he doesn’t always participate in many physical activities but he does try his best

When Snorpy does bruise, Chandlo goes into full panic mode as he doesn’t know how to tend to wounds. No one ever told him that you can put ice to make it go down quicker

They are married, they have all the paperwork signed and the rings to prove it

SHELDA

She does still go by the name Shelda as people aren’t quite used to calling her Shellsy Woolbag

She actually took up dating when she encountered an old friend of hers, such friend does not have a name because as stated before, Mun is not creative

Shelda has a lot of books and meditation CD’s in her shelves, she also has a Tape Player so when she goes out on walks she can listen to some of the best audiobook readings

She and Floofty get a long a little better, sometimes Floofty will give her insight as to what the world is to THEM and Shelda shares a funny story in return, one that does manage to make Floofty laugh surprisingly.

People don’t often see her get out much, possibly because she’s always busy writing up her experiences and whatnot

She is Buddy’s comfort and the one that they room with currently, she is actually very good company believe it or not

She and Buddy also love writing little stories together as practice for her next book, and they also exchange drawings and doodles they’ve done over the course of the day.

And that’s pretty much it!

#bugsnax #the whole snaxcast #filbo fiddlepie #wambus troubleham #triffany lottablog #floofty fizzlebean #gramble gigglefunny #wiggle wigglebottom #cromdo face #beffica winklesnoot #chandlo funkbun #snorpy fizzlebean #shelda #shellsy wooldbag #headcanon #headcanon dump #really long #spoiler warning #sorry again for it being so lengthy

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scullydubois · 3 years

Text

Only the Light Ch. 18

Scully, Mulder, and Missy travel to California to meet Emily and wrestle with the future.

------------------

The echo of Scully’s heels against the linoleum is almost enough to drown out her racing heart. Mulder’s thumping steps and her sister’s daintier ones help too, but their collective power does nothing to ease Scully’s awareness that the Earth circles the sun at a thousand miles per hour. Today, she’s feeling every bit of it.

The three of them round a corner, and a broad-shouldered man and tiny-waisted woman come into view. Agent Feniston and the lawyer, this must be. Outside of conference room C--as planned.

Straightening every disc in her spine, Scully extends a hand and exchanges a firm shake with each of them. Mulder and Melissa hang back.

“Dana Scully,” she declares. “Thank you for seeing me.”

“That decision rested with the foster parents,” the male agent insists. “As does any from this point forward.”

“Yes, and I’ll be sure to thank them as well,” Scully acquiesces.

“Hello, Ms. Scully.” The lawyer uncrosses her ankles. “I’m Tanya Joyce, you can call me Tanya. As a representative of the state of California, my priority is guarding the child’s wellbeing and ensuring that any choice made is what’s best for her.”

“Of course,” Scully murmurs. “Thank you for being here.”

Tanya thumbs toward the closed door of the conference room. “Brian and Cecily are eager to meet you. The foster system has extremely limited information on little Emily. Your testimony will help us all fill in some blanks.”

Scully nods. “Me as well...this is as much a surprise for me as all of you.”

“Are we to understand that you were not aware you bore a child, Ms. Scully?” Agent Feniston asks.

“Yes, sir. I know it’s quite hard to believe, I feel the same. I was missing for a period of time last year and was comatose when I returned.”

“Yes, and how long was that period of time, Ms. Scully?”

The edges of her lips fall. “Approximately five weeks.”

“So is it safe to assume that though the child shares your DNA, you did not carry her?”

“No sir, not that I know of. I believe that my eggs were harvested, and she was...well, she comes from one of those.”

The agent hums a note of acknowledgement. “As I told you over the phone, the federal database contained no viable DNA match of a father.”

Scully nods. “Yes sir, and I have no knowledge of what sperm may have been used.”

“Noted.” He rubs his neck. “We were lucky, we only found you because you were in the missing persons database.”

“I had no idea I was still listed there,” Scully says. “I’ve asked the FBI to remove it.”

“Well, it was a stroke of luck for us,” the agent tells her. “This little girl’s foster parents encouraged the state to pursue child abandonment charges against whoever left her. She was found outside a local care center at two weeks old, as I’ve told you.”

“Yes.” Scully purses her lips. She imagines a baby with her eyes, nose, toes, chromosomes crying on a nondescript doorstep...she and Mulder did not know what they were doing when they said they wanted the truth.

“We’ve already confirmed your story with the FBI,” Feniston continues, “and we have proof that you were working on cases in the east at the time of Emily’s delivery to the foster center, so you are free of any child abandonment charges.”

“Wonderful,” Scully replies, but really, those were the least of her concerns. “May I see my daughter now?”

That’s the first time she’s ever said that sentence, and she didn’t expect terror to shoot up her spine. Is this what it is, having an extension of your life outside your body?

The lawyer steps forward. “I’ll introduce you to Brian and Cecily, they’d like to speak with you first.”

Scully does not like the way that sits in the air. Still, she musters a smile. “It would be my pleasure.”

---------------------------

Mulder and Melissa make themselves at home on a pair of leather chairs outside the conference room. They have been the pall-bearers keeping Scully aloft as her crushed dreams reinvent themselves as high hopes. They don’t understand how it happened any more than Scully herself: one phone call turned into multiple consultations with Agent Feniston, then Tanya and California Social Services and finally, DC social workers who performed background checks and prepared forms so that Scully could come here today to meet her baby and, God-willing, bring her home.

It doesn’t happen this fast, it never does--different voices said these same words to them a dozen times. And yet, barely two weeks after Agent Feniston’s fated voicemail, here they are. On All Hallow’s Eve, no less. Just in time for Emily to complete her first rotation around the sun.

They both play contrasting yet crucial roles in Operation Miracle Baby, as Mulder dubbed it. Dana has sobbed into Missy’s shoulder every night for the past two weeks; happy tears (her baby! she has a baby!), sad tears (she has a baby…and she didn’t even know...), scared tears (a baby! a baby, Missy! probably already walking, and maybe even talking if she’s exceptional...). The situation--and its implications--are impossible to reconcile in such a short time, if at all. Scully’s petite frame could not physically contain it.

Mulder’s the comic relief, the distraction, the reminder that nothing can be so grave if there's still breath left in your body. He bought a CD of nursery rhymes and stuck in it his beat-up office radio, playing it through the day while Scully labored over this form or that and he pretended to alphabetize the case file drawer. Now, he hums himself to sleep every night with one of those rhymes; he’s hoping this new skill will come in handy.

He would’ve bought toys and baby clothes too, but Melissa made him swear not to in case the adoption falls through. And she’s right, he can’t bear to imagine the pain Scully would feel packing those away. For sale: baby shoes, never worn hits you no matter who you are. Still, he has a stuffed UFO and a Build-a-Bear fox (yes, he went in and filled it himself) hidden in his closet, and he hopes they won’t go to waste.

Operation Miracle Baby has been as covert as anything Mulder’s ever been involved in. He, Melissa, and Mrs. Scully are the only ones in his partner’s circle with any knowledge of what’s going on. No one else, in Scully’s words, matters. Trinity too has received a full briefing from Missy and is ecstatic about her girlfriend potentially becoming an auntie. Skinner was told it was a family emergency--and well, it is--though surely he’s suspicious about both of his agents requesting time off. Bill Jr. has no idea they’re in San Diego, though they may seek “refuge” (the air quotes are Missy’s) at his place if the proceedings drag on.

This is a triumph or failure to be shared only with those most beloved, that’s what Scully said to them the night before they boarded the plane. Mulder has never been included in anyone’s most beloved before. It feels pretty damn good.

----------------------

The perky lawyer raps on the conference room door, opening it in response to a voice on the other side. Scully’s breath catches….a strawberry-haired infant rests in her mother’s arms (Scully hates to think it, but surely this woman is more Emily’s mother than she is), pulling at a lock of the woman’s blonde hair.

The woman turns her way, and Scully gets her first glimpse at Emily’s face. Emily. Her baby. She wondered the whole flight here whether she would feel a connection….a sense of recognition...upon laying eyes on her daughter. And my god, it’s like some chained section of her heart has burst open, flooded with all the good feelings of the world. Icy blue eyes and cherub cheeks...that’s her baby. That’s her baby.

She watches as her baby is passed to a woman in a CA Social Services button-up who slides past Scully in the doorway like she’s not even there. Scully has a split-second to notice the dimples on her daughter’s cheeks, but that’s it. Emily’s gaze misses her entirely.

Tanya strides toward the couple in the room, Scully following behind.

“Mr. and Mrs. Lace, this is Dana Scully, Emily’s biological mother.”

“We’re so glad to meet you,” the man says, shaking Scully’s hand with a firm grip. “I’m Brian, and this is my wife Cecily.”

“Thank you for speaking with me,” Scully tells them, shaking Cecily’s hand in kind. “I understand you’ve cared for Emily since shortly after she arrived at social services.”

“Yes,” Cecily confirms. “She came to us when she was a month old. Raising her has been an absolute joy.”

Brian nods. “She’s the second infant we’ve fostered. We adopted our first one, Andrew, when he was a year and a half.”

“I didn’t realize you had another child,” Scully converses, feeling out of her depth. “It must have been quite a transition, taking Emily in.”

“It sure was, but she’s an angel, truly,” Brian says. “We couldn't fathom that someone could abandon her and get away with it, that’s why we contacted Agent Feniston.”

Cecily chimes in--”We were told the chances of finding a DNA match in the federal database was slim. We didn’t expect to learn that you were unaware of Emily’s existence!”

“Yes, I’m still coming to terms with it all,” Scully replies. “I’m grateful that you’ve given me the opportunity to see her, at the very least.”

“When we heard your story, we knew it would be heinous of us to say no,” Cecily says, offering a sympathetic smile.

“You’re an FBI agent, did we hear that right?” Brain asks.

“Yes sir, I’ve been with the Bureau five years now.”

“You live in DC?”

Scully nods. “Around the corner from the National Mall.”

“That’s exciting!” Cecily pipes up. “How did you find yourself having Emily in San Diego?”

“I actually have no idea, Mrs. Lace,” Scully murmurs. “My family lived here when I was young, but I haven’t been back since. Coincidentally, my brother lives not too far off.”

“Wow,” Cecily gasps. “They weren’t kidding about you being a missing person.”

“No ma’am.” She went from a missing person to missing a person. No wonder she’s spent the past year feeling so empty.

-----------------------------

Mulder and Melissa get only the slightest moment to catch their breath before a child that is unmistakably the progeny of Dana Scully is carried into the lobby. Her hair curls around her ears in a cute mushroom top, her tongue dancing in her mouth like it has a mind of its own. They stare; they know better, but fuck it, if any baby is worth staring at, it’s this one.

“Is that--?” Mulder whispers.

“Yeah,” Missy breathes.

They’ve both seen the pictures, they are well aware that it’s her. They say these things for the awe of it.

“She’s…” Mulder’s eyes are wide. “She’s bigger than I thought she would be. Not fat, I mean. Just...a whole tiny human.”

“She is, isn’t she?” Melissa smiles at her niece, who is now seated on her caretaker’s lap across the hallway. Emily’s big eyes blink at her, containing silent judgements. How like her mother she is.

Missy elbows Mulder. “I bet she orders mushroom pizza and then picks the mushrooms off because apparently ‘the cheese tastes better than on the regular cheese pizza,’” she muses, naming one of her sister’s quirks.

Mulder likes this game. “I bet she vehemently denies the existence of extraterrestrials only to secretly believe that her dashing partner is right,” he offers.

Missy smirks. “I bet she would find this game very stupid if she understood it.”

“I’m all in on that one.” Mulder mimes pushing a pile of poker chips into the center of a table.

Missy laughs, looks toward her seat partner with soft eyes. “She’s gonna be a great mom, isn’t she? Dana, I mean?”

“Oh yeah.” Mulder clasps his hands in his lap. “We should be so lucky to have a little Scully in the world.”

“Mm-hm.” Missy focuses on his face, watching for the slightest move that might give his thoughts away. “And she’ll be able to do it alone, do you think?”

“Well, I’m sure she’ll need some help from Mrs. Scully, and you, and…” he trails off before adding his own name, but Missy’s mind fills it in reflexively. “She’ll need help,” Mulder finishes, “but yeah, she’ll be incredible.”

The details have already been parsed out. As a single mother, Scully is required to list a guardian who would take custody of Emily if something were to happen to her. She listed her mother as the primary one--the social worker told her it’s best if it’s someone who has child-rearing experience--and Missy as the secondary guardian. She would, after all, already live in the child’s household.

Then there was the matter of the job--its extensive time requirements, travelling, and danger level were all of concern to the agency. This came as no surprise to Scully; a single female FBI agent does not make the ideal adoption candidate. And though she hasn’t yet spoken to the Bureau, Mulder has promised her they’ll work something out. It can be like your leave of absence, he assured her. You tackle the paper trail and I’ll focus on following the suspect’s trail. Easy-peasy.

That’s what he says to her, though he’s terrified of losing her as his partner...Of her being reassigned to something simpler or leaving the Bureau entirely. She could teach at Quantico, that schedule would be a hell of a lot easier than running on Mulder time. Agent Scully can pack for hastily-booked flights at midnight then catch them at 7am, but Emily’s mother couldn’t. He will have to reckon with this if all the pieces fall into their graceful place. He’ll have to figure out how to rearrange their partnership for her, or even worse, how to live without her as his partner. Or maybe even at all.

---------------------------

Scully glances at her shoes, then summons the courage to meet Mrs. Lace’s hazel eyes. “I hope you will consider my request. I know it’s not up to you entirely--the court will have the final say--but my abduction experience has left me unable to have a biological child, so learning of Emily was truly a miracle of the highest order.”

Her voice clips as she takes a breath. “I understand that it would be a huge sacrifice on the part of your family, and that you’ve developed a bond with Emily over the past eleven months. I just ask you both to please...think about it.” Tears twinkle in her eyes. She made it, thank god, she made it without breaking down! She’s rehearsed that speech ten times over.

Cecily lays a hand on her husband’s arm. “Of course, Dana. It would be a painful sacrifice to us, you’re correct, but we understand that you’ve flown across the country to be here, and that you’ve brought witnesses to testify to your character, so your commitment is clear. We’ll listen and make as compassionate a decision as possible.”

Scully’s lips creep into a smile. “Thank you. I appreciate that.” She steps back, the weight of imminent sobs settling over her chest.

“Ms. Scully has already undergone most of the requirements needed for adoption,” the lawyer tells Mr. and Mrs. Lace. “Medical clearance, psychiatric clearance, criminal background check, and home study. In the spirit of her unique circumstances, California and the District of Columbia have agreed to cooperate to make the process as smooth and expedient as possible, if you should choose to surrender Emily to her. I don’t mean to sway your decision in any way, just to give you all the available information.”

The couple nods. “Thank you, Tanya,” Cecily answers. “We’d like to speak with the first witness now.”

Scully balks. She expected more questions, a barrage of them, as intense and prying as if she were testifying in front of Congress. And she was ready for that--she was prepared to do whatever they asked of her, to show that there are no lengths she wouldn’t go for Emily. She’s already documented every detail of her life for social services and given over the necessary specimens to prove that no, she’s not a drug user, and yes, her thyroid is hyperactive, but she takes medication for that and her doctor will confirm that it’s under control.

And if they wanted to know more, she’d tell them. She’d tell it all. Her deepest, darkest secret (telling Daniel that yes, he should leave his wife & kids...all for her, to be with her), the most petty thing that haunts her (stolen cigarettes, smoked on the family porch at 1am), what she wants to say most but can’t (I love you)...a part of her was taken to create Emily. She would give the rest away to keep her.

There was a moment, in one of the drab little interrogation rooms at DC social services, where Scully was met with a question that lunged toward her like a time-bomb. Pull the fuse, pull the fuse it taunted her. See what happens. Instead, she played it off. Pretended she didn’t hear its doomed tick. Feigned none the wiser. No, she isn’t aware of any potential medical condition that would inhibit her life expectancy or ability to care for a child, she told the nice woman. Thank god they got the chip out of her neck before it showed up on any x-rays.

She snaps back to reality, watching as the conference door opens, and her sister enters the room.

“Thank you, Dana,” Tanya says, and she assumes that’s the lawyer’s way of telling her to get out, so she does. Outside the room, she settles next to Mulder in a seat that’s still warm.

“How’d it go in there, champ?” he chatters. “You need some water or anything?”

Scully’s not listening. Her eyes are trained on the baby girl across the way with hair too auburn to be brunette that’ll require a smattering of box dye every two weeks to qualify her as a soulless ginger.

Emily’s eyes land on the woman she does not know is her mother, studying this new face with an infant’s usual curiosity. Mulder has realized by now that the little girl is of much more interest to his partner than he is, and he watches as mother and daughter wave to each other.

Scully lets out a laugh so strangled that for a moment Mulder thinks it’s a cry and jumps to comfort her. He relaxes back into his seat once he sees the joy on her face.

“She’s a sweetheart, huh?” Mulder wisecracks as the young girl jams her fingers into her mouth.

Scully beams. “She’s a baby, that’s her way of learning the world!”

“Hey, I’m not knocking it. That’s my personal preference as well,” he says with a lop-sided smile.

“Yeah, well, she’s not licking evidence,” Scully quips.

Mulder shrugs. “A man can’t help his oral fixation. Haven’t you ever heard of Freud…?” he lets it slide off his tongue.

Scully rolls her eyes. His inability to maintain an appropriate manner is nothing if not inspiring.

She gestures toward Emily. “You’re already encouraging bad behavior. Tsk-tsk,” she teases.

“That’s my job as--hey, wait. What’s she gonna call me?” If you get custody, of course passes silently between them.

“I don’t know, Mulder,” Scully says, watching her daughter out of the corner of her eye. “I hadn’t really thought about it.” That’s a lie. She’s sat up during the night trying to decipher Mulder’s relation to Emily. He would certainly be the male authority in her life, but that doesn’t make him a father figure. Right?

Scully adored her father because he was the head of the family, and he embraced the responsibility, always making sure they had what they needed. While her mother was often the one doing the grunt work of caring for them, her father provided for them. His long deployments with the Navy protected them. Scully understood his sacrifice and loved him for it

That’s not how it would go with Emily. If she were so lucky as to get the child, Scully would be the caretaker and the provider. A two-in-one deal with a high price. What would that mean, for Emily? Scully could do it, she believes that. Not that it would be anything less than utterly exhausting, but with a little help from her mother and her sister, she could make do, and they say it takes a village to raise a child anyway, so what’s so bad about that?

Since she’s filling those roles herself, that leaves...well, Mulder could be the fun uncle, that fits him. Bill Jr. isn’t gonna cut it, and neither is Charlie, considering that he’s god knows where. Besides, it’s unlikely that Mulder will get a chance to know a biological niece or nephew. He and Emily could fill missing pieces in each other’s lives.

Scully’s eyes trace the contours of her partner’s face. “Do you have a preference about what she calls you?”

“I was hoping for His Royal Highness Fox Mulder of Martha’s Vineyard--is that too much?”

Scully lets a strand of hair fall over her face. “It might take her awhile to get her tongue around that.”

“Or it’ll speed up her speech acquisition,” Mulder replies.

“Oh, you’re a child-rearing connoisseur now?”

Mulder twiddles his thumbs. “It is my goal to raise the first kid to transcribe canine language into English.”

“Really? I wasn’t aware of that,” Scully tells him, a smile flitting on her lips. It’s this kind of banter that keeps her sane. A few minutes out here with him, and she’s forgotten that what happens in that conference room will dictate the rest of her life.

Across the hallway, Emily giggles at the air, and it fits, doesn’t it? Here she is, already laughing at Mulder’s jokes like the Scully girl she is.

------------------------------

It feels like a prisoner exchange when witness number one in their civil-that-sure-feels-like-a-criminal case joins Scully back in the hallway, and Mulder is called forward “to the stand.” He swears he found a penny in the parking lot this morning & promises to bring back good news. Scully’s pretty sure he made that story up, but she’s no less hopeful that it’ll come true.

Returned from her brief stint in captivity, Missy dives right into a discussion of her niece: “Look at her, Dana, she looks just like you!”

“Well, she does have fifty percent of my DNA,” Scully concedes with an admiring glance at the little girl.

“Have you gone over to see her?”

Scully shakes her head. “I didn’t think that would be proper.”

“Are you kidding me?” Missy retorts. “First of all, Brian and Cecily are very nice people, and I’m not supposed to say this, but I think there’s a chance that Emily will be yours. Secondly, this could be your only opportunity to interact with your daughter and you’re not gonna take it?”

Scully bites her lip. Her sister knows how to craft an argument. “Alright, but you have to back me up.”

“Trust me, I wanna see her just as badly as you.”

Scully steels herself, then approaches the woman in the polo shirt. “Hello.” She does a polite half-wave, which she’s never done before and which makes her feel ridiculous. “I’m the potential adoptee, and I was wondering if I could say hello to this precious little girl.” It all feels completely out of character, like she’s reading lines from a script. But this is it, this is her reality.

The woman’s face offers little in the way of recognition. “You can have a supervised visit with her, yes,” she recites, as rehearsed as Scully.

“Great.” Scully claps her hands together. “May I take her to my sister right over there?”

The woman nods. Scully lays her hands on Emily’s waist and lifts the girl gently from the woman’s lap. She is heavier than Scully imagined, or maybe just heavier than she hoped. Every ounce is a reminder of unseen existence and unwitnessed growth.

Emily does not balk, just stares up at her mother with those probing eyes.

“Hi baby girl,” Scully coos to her daughter as she settles her against her hip. “Can you say hi? Have you got that one yet?”

The girl blinks. “Ma-ma.”

Scully crooks her neck, tries to reign in her racing imagination. All babies do this at this age, don’t they? Calling every woman mama and every man dada. Emily’s no exception. And yet...for that to be the first word her daughter has ever said to her. God winked at her, and she’s glad to have caught it.

The pair makes it to Missy, who blows a kiss in Emily’s direction. “Hey there little one.” She extends her index finger, and the girl latches onto it.

Scully cradles her baby’s head, Emily’s fine hair soft beneath her fingers.

“She’s even-keeled for a baby,” Missy remarks, wiggling her finger and watching Emily crack a smile.

“Yes,” Scully gurgles out of the sheer joy. She settles into her chair with Emily in her lap. “Do you know what she said to me?”

Missy looks up. “What?”

“Mama.” Scully dons a triumphant grin. “She called me mama.”

“Oh, no way!” Missy squeals. It’s a bit too loud and sudden, making Emily jump. The ladies laugh, and Scully pulls her daughter in closer, kissing the crown of her head. She still has that baby smell; the freshness of new life and all its purity. Scully sighs. It must have been even stronger when she was born.

Scully closes her eyes. If she had one chance to pause life somewhere along the way, to linger in a perfect moment longer, she would do it right now and she would never regret it.

“My baby…” she breathes into Emily’s ear, hoping it will stick. That one day she’ll remember and find her way home, should she need to.

A warm tear slides down Scully’s cheek and lands in Emily’s lap, a dark drop on the girl’s corduroy pants. “Mama loves you, Emily.” She tightens her embrace. “That’s me,” she sniffs. “I love you, Emily.”

Observing this, Missy feels that she is an interloper and slips off to the bathroom, leaving mother and baby to have their moment.

Scully strokes the girl’s tiny palm with her thumb. She has missed so much already, and my god, she could miss so much more. What is love, if not sacrifice? Hadn’t that been the takeaway from each week of Sunday school?

The conference door opens, and Scully finds herself irritated that life has failed to pause. Oh, what wouldn’t she do to take the reins from God, even for a moment? She looks up at Mulder, doe-eyed as he processes the optical illusion that is Emily and her mother. Said mother sees the tenderness on Mulder’s face as he comes to terms with this sight, and something in both of them breaks, and something else opens.

Mulder approaches quietly, apprehensive about ruining the moment. Little does he know, he’s not ruining it; he’s completing it.

“Hey,” Scully swoons. “How was it?”

He’s too earnest to crack a joke right now. “Less nerve-wracking than I expected,” he murmurs. “Brain and Cecily are good people.”

Scully can’t help but wonder if they’re hammering this point about Brian and Cecily to make her feel better when the gavel falls in their direction. Mulder directs her train of thought away from this when he kneels in front of Emily. His eyes are as soupy as ever, Scully notices; she could sink right into them.

“May I?”

Scully chuckles under her breath, like a stranger has just asked if they could pet her dog. “Of course, Mulder. Say hi.”

Over the past weeks, Mulder spent considerable time anticipating this initial interaction. First impressions are important, after all, and there is no one he has wanted to impress more than this sweet girl. Ultimately, he decided that he didn’t care what their meeting was, as long as it would be. And now that he’s here, knelt in front of his two favorite girls, he’s ready to make a promise.

He envelops Emily’s closed fist with one hand and uses the other to caress Scully’s palm. “I want you to know,” he begins, shifting his gaze between mother and daughter, “that I’ll always be here for you.”

He looks to Scully, realizing that Emily is unable to comprehend what he is saying. “Regardless of Brian and Cecily’s choice, I am prepared to make every sacrifice so that you two can be a family. The family you deserve to be. I know what it’s like to not have that, and christ, Scully, I’m not letting you go through that. You’ve had enough for one lifetime.”

Scully’s face puckers. She is moved on a dimension that transcends the spiritual, if such a thing is possible. She closes her eyes, lets the tears slip out, then softens her focus on him.

“Thank you, Mulder...Fox,” she effuses, needing to heighten the intimacy. “Emily and I…” she kisses her daughter’s temple again. “Well, you know. You already know.” Her voice is somber almost, reminiscent of a wedding vow’s binding utterance.

Mulder smiles up at them, pats Scully’s hand. “I know. Me too.”

There are many phrases that could fill her blank, but he chose his favorite, and he’s got an inkling that he’s right.

Scully sucks in a breath, and it’s the first one that has ever counted. Earth is new to her, again.

The door opens a second time, and the lawyer approaches with Brian and Cecily behind her.

“Mr. and Mrs. Lace would like to take some time to think about their decision,” Tanya announces. “You will understand, they hope…?”

Scully nods, swallowing back a lump in her throat. She would like to break into a tantrum, throwing chairs and screeching every obscenity she knows. Begging please, please, don’t let me miss another heartbeat. Let me live in this Heaven I’ve found. But no answer is better than an immediate rejection, so she screws her lips into a smile and gives away two more handshakes.

“Thank you, Mr. and Mrs. Lace. I’m grateful for this opportunity.”

#you guysss i have been excited for this chapter since day one!!!#it only gets more emotional from here ahhhh #hope you enjoy <3 #i am hugging anyone who reads this #only the light fic #missy and scully fic #the x-files #txf fic #txf #fox mulder #dana scully #melissa scully #mine

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leossmoonn · 4 years

Text

Polar Opposites [Spencer Reid]

masterlist

pairing - spencer reid x fem!alt!reader

type - fluff

note - hey, guys! this was a request! hope you enjoy it!

summary - spencer takes you out to meet his friends and they learn how different you are from him.

————

*gif isnt mine*

I looked at myself in the mirror, trying to decide if I liked this outfit better, or the one I had just tried on. Tonight my boyfriend, Spencer, was taking me out clubbing to meet his friends. And right now, I was looking for an outfit.

The one I had on right now was a long t-shirt that I sewed together to be a romper. Fishnet tights, a belt that went along my waist with chains hanging from the sides, a necklace Spencer had given me, and Doc Martens. The other outfit I put together consisted of red and black plaid pants, a regular belt that I put a chain through, a black cami top that had a rose on it, and a black jean jacket.

My style was... different to say the least. A lot more alternative than what a usual adult wears. But, I loved it. I was able to express myself better this way.

I heard Spencer and I’s apartment door open. Spencer called my name and I told him I was in the bedroom. He walked in and his eyes widened.

“Woah, who told you you could look that good?” He smirked.

I smiled and walked over to him. “I did.”

I wrapped my arms around his waist and pulled him in for a kiss. He put his hands on my back, pulling me closer. I pulled away after a few moments, wanting to catch my breath.

“Is that your final outfit decision?” He asked. I smiled as he knew that I probably picked a out bunch of outfits before this.

“Hm, I’m not sure. You like it?” I asked and twirled around.

“I love it!” He exclaimed and eyed my body and the curves that the belt accentuated. My cheeks burned slightly and I led him to the bedroom to see the other outfit.

“Well, if we are gonna dance you might get too hot in the jacket and pants. But other than that, it’s your choice,” he shrugged.

I thought for a moment. “You’re right. I’ll stick with this.”

“Sounds good! I’m gonna go get ready,” he said.

I nodded and he turned his head before he left to the bathroom.

“Have I told you you looked good yet?” He asked.

“Hm... not in those exact words, no,” I chuckled. He laughed, “Well, you look ravishing.”

“Thank you, lover boy,” I winked. He chuckled again and then left to go to the bathroom.

I sighed happily and sat down on our bed. I truly felt like the luckiest girl in the world to be dating Dr. Spencer Reid. Us two were so different and due to that, a lot of people wouldn’t picture us together. But we ran into each other on the street - five months ago - , me accidentally spilling my coffee on him. I apologized profusely, but he said it was his fault and offered to buy me a cup sometime. I, of course, said yes and the rest was history.

I think what made us work was, well, I found him incredibly attractive. His fluffy hair, soft eyes, inncocent nature, and intelligent mind. We also shared a similar childhood it seemed. I was bullied for being different and knowing every word to My Chemical Romance and Linkin Park songs. And Spencer was bullied for being a child prodigy. But in my eyes, I didn’t understand who would bully him. He was a true gentleman, best friend, and incredibly sexy fact-spitter.

While thinking, Spencer’s hands wrapped around me. I smiled and turned to kiss his cheek.

“Ready to go?” He asked.

“Mhm,” I hummed. We both got up and I took a look at him.

His hair fell around his eyes and his lips held his perfect smile. He was wearing a dark-purple dress shirt and black pants.

“You look handsome,” I smiled.

“Thanks, babe,” he said and entertwined his hand with mine. Butterflies flew around my stomach and my knees went weak. Even after being together for almost half a year, he still had the same affects on me as he did from the beginning.

He grabbed his car keys and we went to the car. As we drove to the bar, I sang along to my MCR CD. Even though Spencer didn’t like this type of music, I still found him mouthing the lyrics.

We arrived at the bar and my palms started to get sweaty. Spencer opened the door for me and I thanked him and slowly started walking to the door. A wave of anxiety washed over me as I saw his friends sitting and talking at the bar.

“Hey, they’ll love you,” Spencer said, reading my mind.

“I hope so,” I said and took a deep breath.

Spencer led me over, saying hi first.

“Hey, guys! This is my girlfriend, Y/n,” Spencer smiled.

They all looked at you with friendly smiles and wide eyes.

“Hi, it’s so nice to meet you!” I smiled. “You must be Emily, Derek, Penelope, and JJ?” I guessed.

“Spot on! I see Spencer has talked a lot about us,” Emily smiled.

“Yeah,” I laughed. “I wanted to be prepared.”

She nodded and then Penelope went to speak.

“I love your outfit and style!” She exclaimed.

I smiled and felt myself relax slightly. “Thank you! I’ve always been one for being different.”

“Oh, me too. Hence all the bright colors and green eyeshadow,” she giggled.

“Oh, awesome! And the eyeshadow looks great!”

“Why thank you. I think we are gonna be great friends.”

“Me, too,” I giggled.

“So, Y/n,” JJ started. “How did you two meet?”

“Oh, I spilled my coffee all over him and he offered to buy me another sometime,” I explained.

Derek smiled and clapped him on the back. “My man! You know, pretty boy here used to be all books, but now he has some game!”

Spencer blushed and muttered a ‘thanks’.

“Really? He’s always had game,” I chuckled.

“If you knew me a couple years ago, you wouldn’t have thought so,” Spencer chuckled.

“Well I would’ve loved you either way,” I smiled and kissed his cheek.

“Oh you guys are adorable!” Penelope gushed.

“Thank you,” I smiled.

“Do you want some drinks?” Emily asked.

“Yeah, sure!” I smiled.

“Great, what would you like?”

“Um, a Manhattan,” I answered.

“Sounds good. And an Old Fashioned for you, Spence?” Emily asked.

Spencer nodded. I got out my credit card but they stopped me.

“We invited you out. It’s on us,” JJ smiled.

“Oh, uh... you sure? We can split the bill,” I suggested.

“Yeah, we’re sure. Next time you can pay for all of us,” Emily winked.

I laughed, “Okay, deal.”

“Let’s go find a seat,” JJ said. We all nodded and followed Derek and JJ while Emily and Penelope ordered our drinks.

“So, what’re your interests?” JJ asked.

“Oh, I’m interested in art. I’m actually an Art Gallery Dealer, and I paint and draw, too. I love music, that’s also another big part of my life. I’m kind of in a band, too,” I answered.

“Oh, really? You any good?” Derek asked.

“Eh,” I shrugged. Spencer rolled his eyes and smiled. “She’s being modest. She’s the lead singer and guitarist. She’s amazing.”

I blushed and held Spencer’s hand under the table.

“Wow, mind if we see you sometime?” JJ asked.

“Not at all,” I shook my head.

“Great!”

Emily and Penleope came over with all of our drinks.

“So, what did we miss?” Emily asked.

“Y/n, here, is in a band!” JJ exclaimed.

“Oh, really? That’s fun,” Emily smiled and took a sip of her beer.

“What kind of music do you play?” Penelope asked.

“Alternative Rock,” I said. “Ah, I should’ve known,” Penelope laughed.

“So have you ever liked the alternative style?” Derek asked.

“Ever since middle school. I guess you could call it emo, too. But it’s a fun way to express myself. I was bullied, but I always knew that it’s good to be different,” I explained.

They all smiled.

“Wow, that really cool,” Emily said.

“Thanks,” I chuckled.

“Hey, there’s karaoke here! I know your band isn’t here, but we’d love to hear you,” JJ smiled, changing the subject.

I laughed nervously and Spencer squeezed my hand for support.

“Sure,” I said. I downed my drink and stood up.

“You’ll do great!” Spencer said and gave me thunbs up. I laughed and went up to the DJ.

“Hey, are you doing karaoke right now?” I asked.

“Yeah! Wanna be the first contestant?” She asked.

“Yeah, sure,” I smiled.

“What song, sweetie?”

“Helena by My Chemical Romance,” I said.

“You got it. Here’s the mic, good luck!”

I thanked her and grabbed the mic. I went on the stage and immediately looked for Spencer. My eyes locked with his and he gave me another thumbs up. I smiled at his support.

The intro started and I took a deep breath and put my hand on my stomach.

“Long ago, just like the Hearse you die to get in again. we are so far from you, burning on.” I sang.

As I went on, people came in front of the stage, crowding around. Spencer and his friends came up. Penelope and Emily were singing along even.

“Well I've been holding on tonight. What's the worst that I can say? Things are better if I stay. So long and goodnight. So long and goodnight,” I sang and loosened up. I moved my head and body with the music.

As I sang onto the next verse, almost the whole club was jumping around and singing the lyrics. I smiled and I felt my confidence build up.

“Can you hear me? Are you near me? Can we pretend to leave and then. We'll meet again. When both our cars collide,” I sang into the mic, getting louder with each word.

“What's the worst that I can say? Things are better if I stay. So long and goodnight. So long and goodnight!” I jumped around. “And if you carry on this way. Things are better if I stay. So long and goodnight. So long and goodnight!”

I finsihed the song and inhaled loudly, catching my breath. Everyone clapped. Derek, Emily, and Spencer whistled. I smiled and went off the stage. The group met me back at our table.

“Wow! You are talented!” Emiy laughed.

“Thank you. I took voice lessons for 12 years,” I chuckled.

“It payed off,” Derek smiled.

The rest of the night consisted of dancing and talking more. I felt myself grow tired and decided to go home with Spencer.

“Well, it was nice meeting you, Y/n,” JJ smiled.

“You, too,” I said and returned the smile.

“See you at work, guys,” Spencer said.

————

The Next Day *2nd POV*

“So, you met Reid’s girlfriend?” Rossi asked.

Emily nodded and sat down. “They are like polar opposites, but she’s so sweet.”

“How so?” Hotch asked. “She’s more alternative,” JJ explained.

“Hm... wait, is that her over there?” Hotch asked and pointed to the conference room’s window.

The team saw you giving Spencer his lunch. You were dressed in a blue bad black plaid skirt, crop top, with tights and your boots.

“Wow, she is different,” Rossi said.

“But he looks happy,” Hotch grinned slightly.

“He deserves it,” JJ smiled.

They all looked at the two of you, smiling fondly.

“I’m glad he found her,” Emily said.

“Me, too, Em,” Derek smiled.

————

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heart-eye-harrington · 4 years

Text

i wanna get stuck in your head

(gif credit to @harringtown, thank you!)

Summary: There was so much you wanted to tell Steve, but the words always seemed too scary. When an even scarier situation arises and you find yourself trapped in a Russian base, what do you have to lose?

Word Count: 1.7k

Warnings: A few curse words, implications of death

Author’s Note: Hi! Based on the song pancakes for dinner! I hope enjoy! I love you!

⋆★⋆★⋆★⋆★⋆★⋆★⋆★⋆★⋆★⋆★⋆★⋆★

The soft hum of distant machinery and Russian chatter filters into the small room you’ve found yourself in. Blinking through the fluorescent lights and tears is all you can manage with the thick leather straps keeping you bound to the chair. What feels like hours of screaming has robbed you of your voice, leaving words and cries stuck in your throat, forcing them to tumble around your head. It’s you, your thoughts, and an unconscious Steve Harrington.

When you were first thrown in here and your voice still worked, you tried for two things; pleads for help in the off chance someone would hear, and for Steve to wake up. In some twisted way, you were thankful they had you strapped together.

If you’d been left apart you wouldn’t be able to feel his soft breathing or the warmth trapped beneath his skin. The small indications that his injuries, though bad, weren’t bad enough to make him lose himself. If you were apart you’d be losing your mind wondering if he were okay. At least with his back pressed against yours, he was here, even if he wasn’t.

Your head falls on Steve’s shoulder, tears freely flowing like raindrops down a car window. They race one another down your face and onto the fabric of his sailor uniform.

There were so many things you wanted to say to Steve but never found the courage to, and the realization that you might never get to causes your eyes to screw shut, squeezing more tears down your temples. You’d never been forward, not wanting to cross any lines.

There were moments where you tried saying something else instead. After hearing his off-handed comments to Robin about nightmares, you made an effort to ask him how he slept, covering his shifts on the days the nightmares were bad. When he’d talk about bands he liked, you listened, even getting him a new Queen CD after his got scratched.

There were glimmers of hope that he was doing the same, maybe even feeling the same way. After learning that you’d bike in the dark after the closing shift, he insisted on driving you home, even oh days he wasn’t scheduled. Whenever he went to the vending machine he’d buy you a cookie, the chocolate chunk kind, because you stole a piece of his on your first day at Scoops.

But that was it, small actions with nothing explicitly being said. He was probably just being nice, nothing more. You were reading too into things, like an English teacher who took their job way too seriously.

You’re jostled from your thoughts when Steve rolls his shoulders, carrying your head with his movements. He groans, letting the waves of pain escape through the small noise.

“Steve?” your question barely a whisper, both for his benefit and yours. Any noise leaves your throat stinging and his ears pounding.

“Hey”, his voice groggy, head still slumped forward. You sniffle, quickly trying to compose yourself. Steve was always the brave one, as you just saw with him stepping up to deal with rude customers and even more extremely charging and fighting the Russians guard. The least you could do was be brave for him now.

“Are you okay?” you will your voice to come out louder, more solid. He answers you, not initially taking notice of your shaky performance.

“My ears are ringing, and I can’t really breathe. My eye feels like it’s about to pop out of my skull, but-” he sucks in a breath, just speaking winds him, “-ya know, apart from that, ya know, pretty good.” You sniffle again and nodding, then realize he can’t see you. You hum, not knowing what to say or do. The moment of silence is all Steve needs to process what’s going on with you.

“What about you? Are you okay?” He tries to push through his unsteady voice, trying to find a more solid, comforting one. Steve lifts his head enough to look straight in front of him, wishing he could see your face. He knew you were never completely honest with your words, but your eyes always gave away what you were really feeling. He knew it was a clique, but he could look at your eyes for hours, trying to crack the case of your hidden thoughts. But instead of getting playing 007 as he usually does, he’s faced with the stark contrast of a metal door and fluorescent lights.

“I’m okay. Just, ya know, never saw myself in a situation like this,” a deep breath fills your chest, puffing it out in an attempt to dislodge the weight settled inside. “I never knew what I pictured, never really wanted to think about it, but I thought I’d be older. I thought I’d have grown old with someone.” You curse your damn nose for running again and the sniffles it caused. Steve shifts, craning his neck in vain to try and see you, to comfort you.

“Hey, it’s okay. It’s okay. Don’t cry, please,” his voice soothing, soft yet delicate, like an old teddy bear so well-loved the stitches become exposed. “Listen, we’re gonna get out of here. I just need to think.” The strength is back behind his words, conviction trying to drive his point home. His words do register, but your mind is somewhere else. It’s screaming to say something, what do you have to lose? Your stuck what must be miles under Hawkins tied together by a foreign enemy. The words you want to say somehow seem scarier, so you opt to say something else instead.

“There was so much I wanted to do.” the words float out before better judgment can stop them, your head still leaning against Steve’s shoulder.

“And you’re going to. C’mon, we’re gonna get out of here.” Steve seems a bit more frustrated, not exactly thrilled with the direction you’re taking. His brain continues to race, eyes jumping around the room as he looks for any way out. While he becomes more frantic, you only seem to relax. Steve’s focused on the present, while you’re off in dreams of the future, of what could have been.

“I want to eat pancakes for dinner. I wanna watch a T.V. show together, and when we're under the weather we can watch it in bed. I wanna go out on the weekends. I wanna dress up just to get undressed.” the window into your daydream now wide open, the air catching the visions and letting them flow. They hang there a moment before tugging at the corner of your lip. As quickly as it opened, the window snaps shut and reality sinks back in.

“I’m sorry, I just think that I should probably tell you this, in case something happens, something worse than this.” the weight of your words sinks into Steve’s heart, and you’re able to feel the slight difference in his breathing.

Images dance in his head of you using too much syrup for pancakes as the glow of his kitchen lights catches your grinning cheeks. He hears the static of a tv as you laugh at how overdramatic he’s being over a common cold, but play along to indulge him. You’re dancing at house parties, happiness twinkling in your eyes as he tries to slow dance to the pounding upbeat music. He sees his reflection in the mirror as he does his hair for an obscene about of time, just for you to stand behind him and rustle it undone.

After all that, he realized you never the words, but he knew.

A weight sits on his chest as he feels your tears land on his shoulder.

After flirting with customers all summer, he realized he was never saying anything. Sure he spoke to them, and he thought the words were true, but they were hollow. He was saying something with evening drives when he picked you up and played the cd you got him. He was saying something when he bought you cookies. Most importantly, you were trying to say something all along, but he was never listening for it.

Red hot embarrassment burns the rope holding the anchor in his stomach, which burned into a new blaze behind his eyes. If he was determined before, he damn sure was now. He shifts against the restraints, cursing at their tightness.

Before he can say anything to you, the Russians return.

⋆★⋆★⋆★⋆★⋆★⋆★⋆★⋆★⋆★⋆★⋆★⋆★

The reflections of the mall’s neon lights melds with the emergency crew’s on the wet parking lot. You stare at it all from the back of the ambulance, tugging the blanket they paramedics had given you tighter. Your well-check was quick, you were luckier than most you’d escaped the night.

You watch how the rain catches the vivid color before you feel a presence next to you. You turn to see a bandaged Steve giving you a weak smile, which you return. There’s a moment of comfortable silence before you speak up.

“I’m sorry if I crossed any lines while we were down there. I just-” you huff, squeezing your eyes shut as if your eyelids could hide you from your actions. “I had to say something.”

“Are you hungry?” A small smirk plays Steve’s lips as he looks at the confused expression on your face, knit brows and all. You’re not sure what you were expecting, but not outright avoidance.

“Cause I make some mean pancakes.”

The offer causes a light laugh and your eyes to meet his. He’s smiling like a dork, obviously proud of himself. Joy washes over you, warmer than any emergency blanket ever could. You throw your arms around him in an awkward side hug, face smushed into his chest despite his soiled uniform.

“I’d love some.” your words muffled through the fabric and his arms wrapped tightly around you. Nothing else needed to be said as his hands rub up and down your back. Words would eventually come, but for now, the promise of pancakes for dinner was more than enough.

#steve harrington x you #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington fluff #steve harrington x reader #stranger things imagine

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nightowlfandom · 4 years

Text

Shoto Todoroki- Quirkless

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So the person who requested this asked for a reader who thought they didn’t have a quirk, but in a fit of rage and sadness, she discovers she has an affinity for fire, and goes on a rampage. Shocked by this, Shoto who is the only person who hasn’t bullied the reader confronts her...and then she said I could do what I wanted from there. (She also requested that the reader have a fire quirk like the Human Torch from The Fantastic Four...suspend your disbelief, I’m just lookin out for my people.”

Leggo.

...

“Ack!” you groaned on pain as you hit the ground. Lucky for you, you managed to break your fall before you landed right on your face. A round of laughs echoed around you.

“Get out the way Quirkless!”

You silently stared down at the ground as you heaved yourself up. Quirkless. That was your name around here. You were moreover at the Academy for journalism. Talking about other heros (or villans) would be your future. You, along with the other quirkless students were bullied to hell. Except for Izuku, it was like he was the main character in his own show or something.

Before the embarrassment could set in, a hand came into your field of vision. You looked up and saw Shoto holding his hand out to you. You must have looked silly staring at his hand like it would burn your skin or something. You slowly reached out, praying this wasn’t a joke.

To your delight, it wasn’t. Todoroki helped you stand to your feet. “Are you alright?”

You could only nod in response and do nothing else.

“Thanks...” You began to speed down the hall. It’s okay Y/N, just get to your class and get there quick.

...

“Alright class! Now we’re gonna talk about getting good pictures of poses!”

You boredly leaned into the palm of your hand. You weren’t really interested in flashing a camera in some random hero’s face. You found yourself drifting in and out.

“Y/N!”

“Yes?” You instantly snapped back to reality. The teacher was staring right at you.

“I know this isn’t the most riveting lesson, but try to save naptime for lunch.” he joked lightly.

“Oh, sorry.” you replied, full of embarrassment. You sat up and tried to pay attention. However as you did, you felt a hot gust of air envelope your body. Was it always this warm? Pretty soon, you started sweating. It was way to warm for comfort. You shook your head, trying to brush it off. However the feeling soon. returned.

“Y/N?” the teacher looked at you again. “Are you alright?”

“I...I don’t know.” you replied, your voice hoard.

Before you could speak again, a classmate put a hand on your forehead. “She’s burning up!”

“Take her to the nurse. Quickly!”

...

“You’re body temperature is through the roof.” the nurse showed you her thermometer. “See those numbers, that’s not normal sweetie. You might have a fever or worse.”

“I was fine this morning.” you tried to explain. “I just need... to go back to class.” You hopped off the counter.

“Young lady I really think we should run a few more tests-”

“I’m okay! I promise!” you put your hands up assurance. “I just have to take it easy.”

You didn’t give the nurse a chance to respond and you swung around the corner and left. Lucky for you, the lunch bell had rung. You were going to go straight home for lunch, you couldn’t deal with anyone else today.

You had turned a corner again only to come face to face with Shoto again.

“Sorry!” you dug your heel into the floor to keep from ramming into him.

“No. I almost bumped into you first.” he apologized. “Are you alright? I saw your friends taking you to the nurse earlier.”

“Oh I’m fine!” you tried to muster up a polite smile. “I’m just a little warm. That’s all.”

Todoroki didn’t smile often, so it was a shock to you when the corners of his mouth turned up the slightest bit. “Well we wouldn’t want our star journalist to fall sick. I don’t know very many people who can make others look as good as you.”

Was that a compliment? Did he just say that? Were you dreaming?!

“Oh...you’ve seen my works.” you said, ignoring the blush rising on your cheeks

“I have. They’re immaculate.” he replied with that same sideways smile. “I’m glad I found you, I wanted to ask you something.”

“Oh...Actually I really have to go. It’s kind of important.” you lied. “You can ask me tomorrow!”

Without another word you ran the opposite direction, praying he didn’t notice the glaring crowd of students behind you. Todoroki sighed. You ran off again. He had no idea how he was going to ask you on a date when you couldn’t even stand still for more than 5 seconds...maybe tomorrow like you said.

... (The Next Day)

Fate had a different choice for you than normal when Bakugou stopped you before you could even walk into the building

“Hey Quirkless!” he stopped you in your tracks. Dear God, what did he want now?!

“Can I help you?” you raised an eyebrow at the explosive asshole in front of you.

“Heard somethin’ interesting about you today!”

“And what could that be?” you raised an eyebrow.

“Your parents are heroes, but you’re not!” he bursted out in a fit of laughs. “I bet they were so upset when they learned their child was meant to be a nobody!” he held his stomach as he hunched over. He kept laughing, so loud that you found your blood quickly boiling.

“Shut up.” you said lowly. Your reaction made him freeze.

“What did you just say to me?”

You found yourself grabbing his by the shirt collar and pushing him against a pillar. “I said...SHUT. UP!” You screamed.

Before you knew it, that spike in heat had returned. Suddenly, your hands erupted in flames. The embers traveled up your arms, to your shorts before they began cascading down your body. Yellow completely took over your vision and the fire grew larger and larger.

“What the hell?!”

Bakugou’s voice sounded distorted and choppy, like a scratched up CD. You instantly released him from your grasp, stepping back from him. You studied your hands...which of course were on fire as was the rest of you.

“....Is that Y/N?” “Y/N? That Quirkless girl?”

Your head shot in the direction of which a crowd was forming. It wasn’t long before the teachers came rushing out of the building. “Y/N!”

“STAY BACK!” your voice came out in a growl. You were fed up, you were miserable, and you’ve had enough. “Get away from me!”

“Y/N we just want to help you!”

“I don’t want help....” you sniffed a little. As your emotioned flared, so the the fires until you couldn’t see anyone anymore.

“Y/N just calm down.”

Where was all this help when you were getting thrown against lockers and getting expired milk poured on your head?

You stood in the circle of flames , glaring out out at the havoc you caused. Flames erupted and glossed over trees. All you could see was red. You were blinded by rage. The teachers had tried, but failed. All anyone ever did was fail you in one way or another.

Quirkless...Quirkless..Quirkless.

The students stood in the sidelines, watching in horror. Most of them had known you, a good chunk of them responsible for your bullying.

There was nothing they could do without getting fried. Except one person.

Shoto pushed his way to the front of the crowd and began running head first for the roaring flames.

“SHOTO!” “What is he doing?!” “IS HE AN IDIOT?!”

The young Todoroki didn’t listen, he kept running. It’s not like the fire would hurt him. He entered the circle of fire and didn’t expect what he saw. You were sitting on the ground, hugging your knees. You were sobbing uncontrollably.

“Y/N!” he rushed to your side.

“...Go away.” you murmured coldly.

“What?”

You looked up at Shoto. Despite being completely on fire, Todoroki could make out your tear stained cheeks. “I said go away.” Your eyes were completely white, so it was hard to tell if you were looking him in the eye or now.

“Damnit Y/N.” Todoroki tried his bust to freeze the flames around him, but they grew larger and larger. “What happened to you! If this fire gets any bigger you could destroy the whole school!

“I don’t care!!” you snapped, the fire engulfing your body even brighter than before. “Why should I care about anyone else. No one here looks out for me. N one here cares.”

“Y/N, you don’t have to do this.” Shoto tried to reason. “You aren’t alone! People do care!” he tried to hold out his hand.

“DON’T LIE TO ME!” You snapped, the flames growing more and more. Although the embers engulfed your body, your felt nothing now. You were completely numb on the inside.

“Y/N, I care about you!” he finally said.

“Bullshit!” you held your hand out and quickly melted the ice block that he had set up around you. “You’re just as bad as they are. You’re just like them! Who could ever love someone like me?” you asked coldly. “Not even last week, everyone was looking down on me, insulting me for being quirkless...and now you’re telling me that now all this is happening. People actually care?”

“I care about you. your teachers care.” He said. “I’ve always cared.”

“Don’t lie to me.” you repeated, only this time you sounded weak. Defeated almost.

“Y/N.” He said softly. He reached out his hand again, his fingers glowing a bright white color. You felt his hand on your cheek. “I wouldn’t lie to you.”

Shoto watched as your face and hair, which had been completely engulfed in fire had dissipated, revealing your flushed and tired face. You suddenly felt a wash of pain over your chest. The fires around your completely vanished as well, leaving everyone to stare at the two of you.

It wasn’t long before you blacked you. Todoroki had caught you before you hit the ground.

“Get her to the nurse, quickly!”

“Move out of the way!”

#anime x reader #anime imagines #anime scenarios #anime headcanons #anime x reader imagines #anime x reader scenarios #bnha #bnha imagines #bnha x reader #bnha todoroki #todoroki x reader #shoto todoroki x reader #todoroki imagine #shoto todoroki imagines #shoto todoroki bnha #todoroki x reader imagines #imagines #x reader

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