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dyllpiccle · 2 years

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Dyllpiccle’s OCs Masterlist!

Hello, its occurred to me that I'm bad at actually sharing information about my OCs and their little universes, and I've been asked a few times for this, so this is a list of all my OCs.. ever. mostly.

I totally forgot I was doing this but I finally finished like 3 weeks later so enjoy.

Side note. I did not proof read ANY of this. If something is garbage that’s why.

They will each be organized by universe, have basic background info on them and an image! ill also include a playlist link if they have one :)

This is gonna be a Loooong post. Thanks!

I’d like to apologize in advance for the names of some of these universes. My friend and I accidentally got in the habit of naming our rps the stupidest least comprehensible and lengthy titles ever and they all kinda stuck so now I have plots with stupid names. Anyways.

BADABING BADAZAP

alrighty so this one is a world of my own creation, a rp thats currently happening with my friends an i. basically its a cyberpunk city setting set about 400 years in the future, but fused with a 1920s great depression kinda love for partying jazz and crime! It centers around two prominent crime families, the tawdry family (mine) and the capazellos, (my friends). There is a whole bunch of other important characters but for the sake of being brief thats the basic premise.

Atlas

TW abuse and evil guy problems, animal death

im obsessed with him. im obsessed with him. im OBSESSED With him i cannot stop thinking about him ever he is so full of issues he need a therapist so bad. hes the son of the Big Man, Enzo Tawdry, long time ruler over the lights district in the undercity. The family specializes in reselling (and gathering) bionic parts, and loaning them out to those who cant afford them for a .. steep price. anyways it should be no surprise from that job description that enzo tawdry is a DICK, and aaa very abusive and manipulative father. Atlas is his eldest son and his whole life, has been molded and shaped in his fathers image to take over the tawdry name and business. I wont get into it too bad but definitely took a long term toll on Atlas’s entire psyche. bla bla one time when he was a kid his dad made him shoot the sick stray dog he found and said ‘thats what happens to things you love atlas! they get worse and you have to put em out of their misery’ so you can imagine what thatd do to a guy. when he was 13, him and his brother mars, who you will soon learn was the rebel of the family, went out to a warehouse to goof off. mars had convinced him to go, and atlas didnt want to for fear of their father finding out. But atlas decided to go, he wanted to feel like a normal kid just for a moment, and do something stupid with his brother. so they went to a warehouse, which happened to be a rivals guarded warehouse. mars dared atlas to sneak in and touch a crate, and atlas giddily tried. when he got in and reached it, a guard saw him and fired a warning shot, which hit an explosive crate and blew up the entire warehouse, and half of atlas’s face. Mars in terror dragged atlas out of the rubble and brought him home through tears. He didnt know what else to do, so he brought them to their father and begged him to help. Their father yelled at mars to get out, called him a curse, and so he did. Once Atlas was conscious enough, Enzo lectured him too on how foolish he was to think he could do that. After that the brothers avoided eachother, Atlas fell further under his fathers wing and became a close replica to him. A couple years later, Atlas seperated slightly, as he fell in love with an opera performer in Paris. It was hopeless, but hed go and watch all her shows and spend his time there, as he loved the music. His father didnt like that atlas had a distraction, and something he cared about, so he literally DROPPED A STAGE ON HER (which this man has a tendency to do). Her vocal chords were severed (perhaps due to some very targeted ‘dropping’. Atlas doesnt really have anyone else to turn to, so he begged his father to do something as he was a bit in denial that it was his doing in the first place. His father agreed, but didn’t elaborate how, and the performer was brought home to work under atlas at his club as a performer, with a brand new cybernetic voice box. They are both very bad for eachother it’s a mess in there. A lot has happened since then but that’s the backstory.

Atlas playlist !

Mars

Mars is the second oldest, and bastard son of Enzo Tawdry. His mother was a performer, and when his father cheated and got her pregnant, y know how I said Enzo tawdry likes dropping stages on women who inconvenience him? Yeah he did that again but they both survived. Figuring out that Mars had lived, Enzo stole him from his mother, then raised him completely ostracized within the family. A lot of his story is shared with atlas above ^. He makes a lot of gadgets and will do work for just about whoever will pay him, definitely not strong on the family loyalty front but he’s always felt guilty about atlas, and feels a responsibility over him.

Mars playlist

Jaime

Jaime is the youngest tawdry brother and he is a little freak! I love him. Basically in this world higher education for anyone living in the undercity has been eradicated due to the severe economic depression everyone is in so apprenticeships are back and so is child labor. So this isn’t all that weird of a thing but Enzo tawdry needed someone to dissect bionic parts from stolen bodies and he was like hey my 16 year old son knows science, give that kid a knife ! So Jaime works in the morgue under atlas’s club and does his little dissection work. He’s great.

Jaime playlist

TTRPG CHARACTERS

ill go into universes individually for these ones cause theyre mostly all different but i still wanted to group em.

Harysin Faedra

TW for implied suicidal attitude, death, infant death

you know him. you love him. Mr Harysin Lawry Faedra. Ive gone over his dealio a whole bunch of times now, you can find it under my #DND tag, but ill go over it briefly (though it really deserves a deep dive). Harysin was born in a small village on the outskirts of a town called Neverwinter, a town run by different monasteries, and is thought of as the religious capitol. He was raised very simply, and like many of his peers was expected to become an apprentice to some religion and lead an honorable life. His parents always knew harysinw as a little different, but wanted him to lead an easy life so they steered him toward priesthood and becoming a family man. As his friends started to split off and get married, Harysin pulled a compulsive heterosexuality move and proposed to his best friend since childhood, Lillian. He was only 18 when he got married and became a priest of Helios, and soon after the two had a small child. When he was 19, Harysin and Lillian welcomed a beautiful baby girl, Roslyn, or Rose. The year after she was born, Harysin fell deathly ill with a mysterious lung infection. He was bedridden and no matter who they brought in, no one seemed to be able to help him. One night as he was dying, he prayed out for help, but someone else answered. He was desperate and delerious, so he made a deal without knowing the cost. When he woke up, they found their infant daughter had died in the night from a bad cough. Harysin told Lillian what hed done and she kicked him out, along with the rest of the village. With nothing but the clothes on his back harysin left, now with a new godlike companion in his head; Obara. He soon discovered that his deal was a bit of a compound interest situation, and very temporary. He could feel himself start to decay again the farther past his intended expiration date he got, and he felt he deserved it, so he just sort of walked around and traveled hoping hed fall over n die sometime. However one day when he was walking he found a fvillage that had been entirely decimated, and the only survivor was a little girl who was hardly breathing, a stake through her chest. He cradled her in his arms and, for the first time since the incident, harysin spoke back to the god hed made a deal with. He begged her to save the child. Having already made peace with his own death, he promised Obara anything shed like as long as she saved the child. and so she did. But harysin now had another purpose, though he thought itd be temporary, which was to watch over this child. Unfortunately, obaras magic required upkeep, and to keep them both alive harysin started to do weekly blood rituals. He took her to a nearby town, where he used his priestly status to build them a temple to stay in. However, since he was telling everyone he was a preist, people started to come to him for healing, and my boy harysin has a problem where he just wants to do whats good, and that is his downfall every time. Technically, he could help, with obaras magic. So he brought them into the temple. However, using obaras power required blood. an eye for an eye. He used his own for a while, but as demand grew this became unsustainable. This is when he got the idea. For one bad person, he could save 10 innocents. People who were ill not of any fault of their own. But the criteria would have to be strict, what constitutes a bad person? So harysin started to play god. He had his rules, he found his methods of how to screen people and get it done quickly. He built a blood well for obara in the temple of the basement. This is where he was when the campaign started, and theres plenty more that has happened since, but ill stop it here since this would be way too long if i kept going. Harysins Playlist!

Arkin This is for a different DM’s Campaign. Arkin (Jamison Arkin Lera Adler-Hausen) was born a twin, princes to the king of a small rainy province. The two were typical brothers, but unfortunately for Arkin his twin was born a few minutes before him, making him the natural heir, despite the difference being small. This caused Arkin a lot of jealousy growing up, and he often found himself second best to his brother. It only got worse when they got older, and closer to a reality of ruling, as they competed academically and in all other areas. One day, after losing a duel infront of his parents, Arkin ran out to the witch infested woods that surrounded the castle. there he found a coven who offered him power, and wanting that more than anything, he accepted. They brought him to a cavern that was lined with sharp glowing crystals, and lowered him into a pool. He felt the water fill his lungs and the rocks permeate his skin, and he lost conciousness. He woke up at the edge of the forest, in the mud and rain, and he walked home. He went in the front door, only to find his brother there standing in the hall. He saw how Arkin looked, and the black that filled th veins on his wrists, and he ran to tell his parents, knowing what hed done. Arkin panicked and grabbed his brothers wrist, but he broke free, and when he did, arkin reached out his hand toward his brother, and when he lowered it he saw he had turned his brother to crystal. Soon after, he heard his parents coming down the hall to check out the yelling theyd heard. Arkin took a horse and ran away, never to return. Now, nearly ten years later, he is still wanted, and battling the powers he got that day. They cause him visions, past and future, and pains in his body from what id loosely define as a mineral based symbiote. His powers are complicated so im not gonna elabroate too much but this boy microdoses on fantasy drugs to get em to shut up. if u wanna know more i will gladly share. Arkin Playlist!

Ferrer

This is actually the same universe as Harysin, different campaign. Ferrer (Ferrer Jakoby Laufley) was born in a little swampy village to two lovely parents. He grew up normal and happy till his mother fell ill around age 11, and when she passed away his father fell into a deep depression. He would hang around bars all day and ferrer would have to go collect him and watch after him and feed him. He met an old fisherman who lived at the docks, and soon would become a sort of apprentice under him, going out on the water every day and learning how to sail. After working with him for years, the fisherman passed away from old age, and ferrer felt that there wasnt much tying him down here. In an impulse decision, Ferrer gathered a few things and hopped on a cart that was heading out of town. He never said goodbye to his father, and he feels immense guilt for it since he was his fathers only caretaker and he loved him, but he knew it wasnt good to stay there. He soon joined a band of rogues, where he met his first boyfriend, who was ringleader and a massive dick to him. He was disrespectful and rude, and would make a fool out of ferrer infront of their peers. Ferrer grew tired of this and cursed him out one night, then left the group, and the stability he had there. Soon after this he met up with the party he now travels with.

Ferrer’s playlist

Nigel MYYY BAAAABYYYYYY MYYYY BAAABYYYYY YOURE M-

So this was for a monsterhearts campaign!!! This is my rude little silly mischevious and strange and disturbing little boy Nigel O’gara, who is a ghost!!! his origin story is gross tw for death and me explaining gross stuff. Basically nigel pre death was a very normal sweet little nerdy boy with weird interests. very regular kid wore little sweaters. Anyways some bullies thought it would be funny to lock him in a locker, a classic. However there was a problem with this. which was that they did this right before a week long spring break and uhh staff was all gone so there wasnt anyone to come let him out like there usually was. Everyone was gone for a week and nigel had uhh. as you can imagine. a very slow and agonizing death locked in there. They found his body after spring break when there were complaints of a smell. so now hes a ghost and hes freaky on purpose as a defnense thing (it happens). I adore him. He is so funny.

Nigels playlist Michael Mr michael Dara is my mean little punk boy from a little campaign that was a DIY of my friends, basically they are teenagers they are superheros cue persona music. Teenagers invade ur dream world and they have magic powers based off their soul or whatever in there. Michael was orphaned by a house fire, grew up in foster care (this is all too familiar of a character shape for me), got in trouble with the law a lot cause of his anger issues and as ‘punishment’ was sent to a school where he has to behave himself and stay with a guy who watches him. He has fire powers and a cool phoenix bird that i think i named Apollo Michaels playlist

Markle

So I made this guy for a campaign that didn’t ever actually happen but I like him so bad that he’s sticking around. This is Markle, he was made for a sci-fi campaign, and he’s the son of a legendary thief. He grew up on a big city scape planet that was mostly used as a port location for shipping and storage and warehouse work, but had a very lively underbelly of crime. Those who live there are basically expected to die there, but Markle grew up with a father who was a legendary thief, an underdog for the masses that every aspiring criminal would tell tall tales about. There are countless stories about his quick escapes and badass moves across the galaxy. Growing up he was hardly home, and his mother was constantly worried about whether he’d come back or not. He was in truth an unfaithful, careless man, but Markle only saw the legend, and wanted to be just like him. However one fateful day, in a fiery explosion, his father didn’t make it home from a heist.

Pretty soon, despite his lovely mother’s wishes, Markle started on his path to become the galaxies greatest thief. He got his first body mod at 16, which scared the shit out of his mom. It was a large piece of metal down his spine that tapped into his nervous system, worked as an enhancement. From there he got a lot more to help his work, and he left planet soon after, and got quite the career as a thief under his belt. His biggest talent? his unbridled optimism that hell survive whatever. And so far, he has.

Markles playlist

DUSTY LAZER KIDS (DLK)

Its. Sci-fi western. Cowboys out in a fictional desert where aliens and technology are scattered about. We follow the plot of 2 rival bounty hunters chasing a third rival bounty hunter. They are all disasters.

Billy Cassidy

This is my pretty lady bounty hunter. Shes the sharpest sharpshooter in the land and known for it too, but the general public is also under the assumption that she is a man. She hasnt exactly pushed this image on purpose, but people kinda just assumed and she kinda just let them. She prefers it that way cause if she wears literally anything else people assume shes a normal person and she can go about her daily life undisturbed without some idiot trying to shoot her. She likes her work and she takes it seriously, and shes good at it.

Jodie

My little sand cat!! Another orphan im afraid. One day another bounty hunter, Mr Jonah, came along and found him in a sandy little shack with no parents. He scooped him up, (as well discuss he has a tendency to do this) and took him in as an apprentice. He gets very sleepy in the heat cause of his little desert cat genes and he likes a good glass of milk and a good fight. Meow.

Duncan Diora

This is actually Mr Jonah’s first passion project, a DIFFERENT kid he took under his wing quite a few years ago who is now an adult. Now i cant say that Jonah is the ideal father figure, but he sure is A Father Figure. Anyways Duncan's doing well, he is a sad drunk whos missing 2 limbs, has a dead fiancé and a passionate vendetta against the man who killed him. That man happens to be the man theyre hunting down now.

HALLUCINOGENIC BREAD (HLED)

I haven't drawn any of these guys in 200 years so have fun with the old art.

So this universe was a massive fantasy politics RP I made like 200 years ago. Its standard high fantasy stuff, basically everyone controlled different rulers of different kingdoms etc.. Mostly we had an elven kingdom, and a viking kingdom. Elwin

This boy was my main man! He’s a prince of the Elven kingdom, younger brother of the now King. Their father died when they were young in battle and their mother isn’t mentally stable enough to run a kingdom, so being the eldest his brother, Daran, took rein. However, he is the least competent king imaginable, Elwin definitely deserves the crown and basically runs everything from behind the scenes. Daran causes problems on purpose that Elwin has to clean up and gets no credit for, and for that Elwin is a gay little ball of stress. He is in love with his royal guard Rory too, who happens to be his best friend. They are very funny together. But uhhh basically Elwin and Daran end up getting in an argument when Daran proposes to declare war, Elwin is fed up and barges into the throne room to voice his opposition, Daran is rude and dismissive and says that if he doesn't agree, he’ll simply fire him from the position. Elwin is a trained soldier and, when Adrien grabs him to turn him around, Elwin takes out his sword and drives it through his brothers abdomen. On accident (?). Rory finds Elwin over the body, in shock, and quickly rushes him away and hides him in his personal quarters in the attic. Elwin is left freaking out, because technically, he is the only heir to the throne, and he just killed his brother, the king. That's about where we left off with him but I did have quite a bit of things planned. His playlist has 3 songs but here you go

Iona

So Iona is my little wild baby, shes a wild orphan of the village who likes to tame the local strays, for this shes earned the title “Iona the brave” and “iona the beast tamer” by other village children. Shes loud and unruly and LOVELY. She's been unofficially adopted by the kings son, Asger, which other members of the kingdoms ‘royalty’ generally despise. Theyre wonderful. Endre Luellason

Sooo This is Endre, whos the half brother of Asger and the bastard son of the king. you know how Vikings be. Anyways, he had a kid with a lady from a village that he later raided, and amongst the rubble found Endre. Feeling some kind of bad, he took him home, but his wife, the queen, was obviously uhh not happy about this. He grew up very much on the sidelines, a total runt amongst the other Vikings, he likes reading and poetry and... reason. However, his absolute golden retriever brother loves him, and the two get along well. Endre still has to sleep in the barn with the wolves though, which luckily is an easy feat for him since he gets along with the wolves swimmingly. due to uhh his lycanthropy condition. He’s a werewolf. Once a month during the full moon he takes a trip to go stay in an inn with his secret bounty hunter boyfriend miles away who keeps him from killing anybody. Literally nobody knows about this, Asger has no clue why he disappears every month but he’s happy whenever he comes back.

SUPERHERO GUYS

Amar Bagheri / Kid Death

Alrighty! This is my revamped superhero oc from like 9th grade but he’s edgy and cool now. I gotta be so honest for both of these guys I literally just wrote a summary a few posts ago so I’m just gonna copy paste it. I don’t wanna write it twice.

Tw for drug use / addiction / death

SO BASICALLY amars story is he was raised in an orphanage, which was fine, but got sucked into a bad crowd in the punk scene and eventually got heavily dependent on like. Heavy substance use. Uh one night after a party he got himself a cab to go crash in his little ‘house’ (he’s homeless but he had a Spot so he was headed there), and the cab got absolutely t-boned BAD by a truck. Unbeknownst to him some superhuman chemicals got into his stuff earlier and he basically died in the crash except he Can’t Die so he’s in this weird dead not dead space. He didn’t realize this was the case until he was getting the shit kicked out of him in a dive bar bathroom. I love him he’s so funny and lovely. His only superpower is that he Can’t Die other than that he has normal guy abilities and hits bad guys with pipes. He’s doin a little better since then if ur worried he may be dead but he’s clean mostly and living in a group home type dealio.

Amars Playlist!

Julian Romero / Lab Rat

Ok so once upon a time my boy Julian was a scientist as a Science Place and he discovered a chemical that could give people superpowers. He told his gay boyfriend lab partners Jon, and Jon took credit for it and became super cool and famous and used it to make child soldiers for the government. Also his son got into it and became the face for the Superhero Science Company Place. College. Thing. Anyways Julian didn’t like that so he decided to become evil and insane and seek revenge and now he DIYs his superpowers bioshock style with his own little chemicals. I adore him.

Julians playlist!

#dyllpiccle #dyllpiccle speaks #dyllpiccle ocs

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jadelynlace · 3 years

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When You’re Unmatched Art / Ink Drinker Modern Vikings AU Request [Ivar x F!Reader]

[you can find the reference for the tattoo Ivar did here. He thought he was being slick, but he most certainly was not. Ivar, your feelings are showing!]

catch up on the porno, I mean series, here.

requested by: @quantumlocked310 ♡

author’s note: thanks to this post, you’ll all be subjected to the written requests. brief mentions of smut under the cut, and love sick Ivar.

synopsis: Ivar finally figures out how to design your first tattoo.

✎

For this to be Ivar’s passion—his mortal life’s calling—he could not, for all of the seconds in the year, figure out how to design your tattoo. There had never, in his professional life, been a client that had given him complete and utter reign. No simple idea, no nudge in a specific direction, hint of any realm no where on the forefront. You told him to design you a tattoo to take up space on your thigh. And that was it. Even after he declined, saying there must be some idea you had, you shook your head and give him control. Total, and utter control. And it was almost too good to be true.

Ivar knew he was screwed, when an entire sketchbook’s worth of pages went torn, crumpled and tossed into the garbage can with failed ideas. Even Sigurd offered no help—not that he was the artistic hand Ivar needed, he was the needle pusher and piercer. Music selector and unruly greeter. Floki only offered his normal words of wisdom, a way of not answering the question but instead making Ivar look deep within himself. “Don’t think about it much, Ivar. Just let your heart and your mind run freely together.” Great. No help. Both of them were caged in a muddled pile of muck and mud and dead leaves and Ivar couldn’t pull them out.

Through every outing the band of brothers went on, you in tow more often than not, Ivar would be at the receiving end of your questions—how he was coming along with it. You had no deadline, you understood his craft took time, but you were far too excited to see. Then came the first hook up—Ivar driving you home because you were too many martinis in, you inviting him up but he declined because it “wasn’t a good idea, princess” and you told him you “weren’t his fucking princess” and he drove around the block twice before finally knocking on your door. Weight against the frame with his temple kissing it, apologizing playfully for his nickname and you invited him in. A game of truth or dare later, Ivar asked you how drunk you were when it was his turn. And you told him you were sober enough to make decisions, clear ones, and then he dared you to kiss him. You felt like a high schooler again. When it was your turn to ask him and he had picked truth, your one question was the end of the game:

“If I asked you to fuck me right now, would you?”

“In a god damn heart beat.”

He was more than screwed when you wouldn’t leave his mind, after you rocked his world and he used your name on his tongue to get himself off the next time his left hand was needed. And then he texted you, asking how your day was, that was it. And after a conversation, playful but real, he was over at your apartment with take out and beer and you two watched true crime and Ivar told you he had seen this one and tried to have you guess before the show told you. When you were right he said you were smart, when he silently figured out an equation in his head, how many liters to grams to degrees, or whatever the hell it was, you almost dropped your beer. He wrote it out for you to show you, a near different language across the page through algebra, and you told him he was smart. The tattoo idea clicked then. The minute Ivar realized he caught feelings, the tattoo idea became so visible he drew it in almost an hour.

There was never a nervousness with him when it came to the day of appointments, even with the most picky of his clientele, Ivar took it as it was gifted because he loved his craft too much to have these types of petty things take up hatred in his heart. But you walked through the shop, shortest of shorts on, a pair of flowing pants in your bag for the event that session went longer and nipped off into the chilling night time air, and both a coffee for yourself and a Red Bull for Ivar. He nearly wanted to throw the ink onto the floor because he was scared that once you saw the design, you’d laugh, you’d call him something pathetic and walk out, and it would be the last he’d see of you. Instead he handed you the artwork, and your eyes scanned the image for almost five minutes, mouth agape and holding it as if it were a map to the unknown, hiding gold and jewels and you asked him if you could keep the sketch. Even with it forever on your skin you nearly begged him for the original artwork, saying something about how you wanted to frame it. You’d never seen Ivar blush before, but you were sure he did when you said that.

The session wasn’t short—it was almost his full day’s work of hourly long needle dabs, buzzing and brotherly bickering between him and Sigurd. Intensive talks between you and him, explain to him the less than glamorous parts of your job, the funnier parts and the teenage humor of the men you worked with. Hvitserk’s track record for receiving the majority of patient vomit on every call and you watched Ivar laugh, smile more than you had known him too and you wondered if it was because of the machine in his gloved hand or if it was you.

Sigurd ducked out right before lunch, picking up with the three of you had ordered and your skin received the welcome break from the on-going buzz. You were quick to kiss Ivar once, lingering lips on his to thank him and he looked shocked for a moment, worrisome that his brother would see before he tossed the fear aside, shoving his tongue down your throat. When it was all said and done, dawned with the artwork on your flesh you couldn’t stop the smile. Neither could Ivar. He’d promised the sketch after he photocopied it for his portfolio and you went home with the sore leg but a full heart. He showed up late, just shy of midnight after cleaning up the day’s worth of work, buying a frame and bringing dinner for the two of you to eat. You couldn’t keep your eyes off of it, even in its red and swollen, tender state, you loved this tattoo, and Ivar took his time treating it for you. Even after his head spent time between your thighs, one hand plastered on the bare skin and the other holding yours. Even after you rode him, artwork in his line of sight and it made him finish quickly; watching the piece on your skin, your palms on his chest as he moved your hips for you. Your head tossed back as you moaned his name when you came, the heavenly sight and you were forever marked with his skill. The after care from the sex went beyond the closeness, holding you as the television played in the background; he spread the lotion over it, his entire hand nearly able to cup your thigh as he made sure to leave no line un-slathered.

“You know I’m going to want another one before this one even heals,” You said to him, craning your neck up to look at him.

“Yeah?” Ivar asked, his hand in your hair. “Where do you think you want your next one to go?”

“On my arm, so I can see it all the time,” You replied, leaning up to kiss the corner of his mouth. “Who knows, maybe I’ll just cover myself like you do,” You giggled.

“You’re perfect already,” Ivar said through a yawn, his eyes closing, head drooping against yours. “You tell me where you want ‘em, and I’ll do it—but you’re perfect already,”

Ink Drinker Tags:

@smileysam13579 @dreamtherapy @heisentwerk @angelofthenightposts @ill-skillsgard @youaremyfamiliar @unbetaedimagines @kathryn-jane @readsalot73 @skrsgardspam @lihikainanea @queen-sarang @anastasiaskarsgard @andmyannabellee @walkxthexmoon @flowers-in-your-hayr @peachyboneless @heavenly1927 @istorkyou @victoria-styles @quantumlocked310 @xbellaxcarolinax @mighty-ragnarssons @alexhandersen-marcoilsoe-fandom @queen-of-upshur @nanahachikyuu @fandomlifeandeverythingelse @ivarhoegh @a5hl3y5ibley @apenas-mais-uma-pessoa @youbloodymadgenius @love-all-things-writing @theanxietyqueen17 @trip2themoon @tgrrose @synnersaint

*please message me to let me know if you would like to be added or removed from my tag list. specifications for series/ones-shots/blurbs/etc. are also welcomed, as well as feedback.*

full masterlist can be found here.

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novantinuum · 3 years

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Interview with a Fic Writer

Tagged by @fordanoia, thank you so much! ;w;;

How many works do you have on AO3?

I have a total of 67 works posted on AO3. (Even more on my ancient FF.net account.)

Of these, 38 are for Steven Universe, 17 are for Gravity Falls, 8 are for Doctor Who, and 5 are for Trollhunters. (One of the Trollhunters fics and one of the Gravity Falls fics are the same story, though- it’s a crossover, ahah!)

Out of the bulk of them, most are one-shots.

What’s your total word count on AO3

271,227 words.

...damn, that’s pretty decent. Hot shit, Jen.

How many fandoms have you written for and what are they?

Oh hey, the answer I already gave above! Yeah, I’ve only written for 4 fandoms in my entire life. I’ve actually written tons more Doctor Who than I’ve posted on AO3, but it’s older fic I wrote when I was 12-18, so... not exactly up to my current standards of writing. There’s a reason I haven’t cross-posted many of those.

What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

1) Hollowed Moon (AKA the abandoned Spinel and Stevonnie one) with 2,709 kudos

2) Crack the Paragon, my long fic, with 1,398 kudos

3) Shattering Atlas with 627 kudos

4) Contact with 476 kudos

5) Bi the Way... with 279 kudos

Do you respond to comments? Why or why not?

I try my best to! I’ve made some friends before by responding back and forth in fic comments, so I always think it’s fun to engage with my readers in that way.

Fun fact: if you theorize or muse about lore in the comments of any of my fics, I will also muse about lore with you! I love discussing deep character/plot stuff, and sometimes even go in a bit deeper about my thought process while writing certain bits when people ask me about stuff.

What’s the fic you’ve written with the angstiest ending?

Probably either Shattering Atlas (mentioned above) or The Price of Freedom, since they’re blatantly Hurt, No Comfort. Even the angstiest of most of my fics tend to suggest a light at the end of the tunnel, but those flat out END in a depressing manner, ahah. Fun to write, but... damn. You were sure goin’ through it then, huh Jen? Pat pat. XD

Do you write crossovers? If so, what’s the craziest thing you’ve ever written?

I have posted a single crossover- the start of a Gravity Falls/Trollhunters fusion sort of thing where teen Stanley ends up becoming the trollhunter, and meets Blinky and Arrrgghh. I got 4 chapters and about 15K in before I got sucked into Steven Universe hell, so I never continued it. Wrote a pretty bomb ass fight scene for it, though.

(I co-wrote one other crossover when I was a teen with some friends at a sleepover- it was the most Wild Dumb Bullshit ever, pretty much throwing Spiderman and Sherlock and Bilbo Baggins and the Doctor into a room together and locking the door. @yourstylishmom I know you know what I’m talking about, uhsndghjdj w h e e z e)

Have you ever received hate on a fic?

Not that I can recall. The only strange comments I’ve gotten have been like... people debating about Spinel in the comments thread of Hollowed Moon...? That was bizarre. More amusing than anything, though.

Do you write smut? If so, what kind?

I mean, I HAVE written smut before. Your typical kinky bullshit. Have I posted it, though? No. Will I ever? No. It’s for my eyes, and my eyes only.

Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Not that I’m aware of.

Have you ever had a fic translated?

Nope!

Have you ever co-written a fic before?

I did do a lot of Fiddauthor RP with @the-ill-doctor back in my Gravity Falls era! Those were some lovely times. ;w; <3 A portion of those RPs have been shared in a fic format, too--> The Time We Lost, the Time We Mended

What’s your all-time favorite ship?

I don’t exactly have ONE all-time favorite, but the only ones I’ve ever sat down and created genuine content for are the Doctor/Clara Oswald, Ford/Fiddleford, and Steven/Connie.

What’s a WIP you want to finish but don’t think you ever will?

Hmmm. Second Skin. There’s only two more short chapters I need to write, but I kinda started writing that as a vent fic, and... I’m (thankfully) not in that mindset anymore.

What are your writing strengths?

I like to think that I write pretty decent character dialogue, and have a knack for capturing the voices of at least a few of ‘em. Some are definitely easier than others, though! Steven, Amethyst, and Greg tend to be the easiest for me when writing SU fic. And back in my Gravity Falls days, I found it easiest to write Ford and Stan.

What are your writing weaknesses?

I don’t know how to write fluff. I don’t understand romance. I technically understand the CONCEPT of it, but I have never myself experienced what I would consider true romantic attraction, so I have no clue what that experience feels like. I tried writing romance once in Ticklish, a teen Steven/Connie fic, but I to this day have no idea if this is what it’s actually LIKE. XD

What are your thoughts on writing dialogue in other languages in a fic?

I don’t really have any opinion on this, truth be told. I’ve never really run into this in the fic I read- but I’m guessing it shows up in plenty of anime fandoms.

What was the first fandom you wrote for?

Doctor Who! That was the first fandom I read a fic for, too. If we’re counting unpublished fic that we wrote before we understood the concept of fanfiction, though... then the game Blinx the Time Sweeper *wheeze*

What’s your favorite fic you’ve ever written?

1) Crack the Paragon. It’s certainly the longest, most recent fic I’ve worked on- and I like to think the character work I’ve dug into with that is pretty neat.

2) Contact. This is the first true finished multichapter SU fic I have, and I think it’s cool to finally look back on this project as a cohesive short story, and be proud of myself for seeing it to the end.

Tagging (if you’re super bored and would like a fun thing to do) fellow writers:

@mimik-u, @fanfoolishness, @infriga, @abel-quartz, @endae

#jen rambles #tag meme

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whumpster-dumpster · 3 years

Text

Tag game by @bad-behavior

List your top three whump tropes and tag people.

Whoever gets tagged gets to say how they feel about your top three tropes.

After finishing that, they then list their top three tropes, and the tagging cycle goes on!

I’ve been tagged by multiple people so I’ll address them in one post! Beware, it’s a long one!

@bad-behavior:

1. Bad caretakers

2. Cynical and mean Whumpees that don’t know just how much they need a hug.

3. Sleep deprivation, and exhaustion induced illnesses

1. I do like it sometimes, but I have to be in the right mood. I like caretakers who are bad by accident and then feel guilty about it once they realize.

2. I usually prefer a sweet and vulnerable whumpee but I’ll beat up some of the dry, cynical ones too, if I have a villain who can break them easier than they ever anticipated.

3. EVERYTHING I EVER LOOOOOVED

@novawhumps:

1. Unconscious, fainting, getting knocked out all that stuff

2. Whumpee having an oxygenmask and they are desperatly trying to get it off

3. Environment whump. A building that collapses earthquakes, getting trapped in a fire. Being trapped in the water.

1. YES, YES, YES, YES, YES, YES, it’s everything I love!

2. I love oxygen masks, but usually prefer the moment when the whumper (or caretaker) is holding it onto the whumpee’s face and they surrender to it

3. That’s some good stuff! The building collapse is probably my favorite out of the ones you mentioned. The claustrophobia of being trapped under debris in the dust and the dark...Oof.

@whumpwillow:

1. Painful wound cleaning. I just love the tenderness, the intimacy (platonic or otherwise) of being up close and comforting the person while taking care of their injuries, the flinching at the antiseptic, the gentle hands dabbing cuts on the face. good stuff.

2. Messy recovery. non-linear progression of the whumpee working towards getting over their trauma. self-sabotaging themselves. getting angry at caretaker and then feeling guilty about it and hating themselves even more. it’s good angst.

3. Enemy to Caretaker. perhaps in a hero x villain context, or just some good ol’ fashioned rivals, one of them needs help and goes to the other. Perhaps the enemy is the only one around, and perhaps the whumpee just has that much of a shitty support system that their enemy is the only one they can think of to go to, but just...yes.

1. I love the intimacy too! Especially when the caretaker’s soothing them in a soft voice while they work, Whumpee gritting their teeth but resisting the urge to push their hands away because despite the pain, they know they can trust them. Good stuff!

2. Yes, always. Recovery is messy. Recovery can take a long, long time. Recovery affects everyday life. It’s good to see it explored.

3. Ehh, I’m not as big on this one. I’d rather it be a frenemy than a real enemy. I feel like legit enemies should stay on their own side XD

@the-metalhead-chick:

1. whippings

2. brandings

3. being collared

1. I don’t have any big feelings about whipping most of the time; I think I’d rather see the scars from it afterward than see it in the moment, I don’t know why

2. I like it a little more than whipping! It’s not a huge favorite but still enjoyable! The screams while they’re being burned are legendary!

3. Yessss! Especially if the whumpee frantically claws at the collar, trying to pull it off! Fun times.

@whumplance:

1. pet whump

2. non-human whumpie, but I especially love it when whumpie has feathery wings

3. Whumper pretending to be an incompetent caretaker. the levels of deceit and betrayal in that is just.. mhmhnmm👌🏻

1. That’s a lot of fun! It’s interesting to see just how far it can go. When the whumpee eats and drinks out of dog bowls, that’s just the lowest of the low and I love it.

2. I usually prefer robots as my non-human whumpees, but winged whumpees are great too! Those poor babes getting their feathers ripped out or their wings clipped, that’s so angsty!

3. I haven’t seen much content for that trope so I’m not sure how to feel about it, but a whumper undercover always has potential.

@thinkingofausername:

1. Whump aftermath. No matter how good the actual whump/hurt is, I’m waiting for the comfort. Painful caretaking, soft caretaking, long recoveries, wounds that never heal, whatever - gimme

2. Breakdown. Whether it be the whumpee finally received some gentleness, or they’re delirious, or they’ve had a nightmare - let them break and let someone hold them!

3. Strong caretaker. Have they been hurt before? Are they the medic? Are they the leader? In any case, they’re the rock, they’re there for others, but who’s there for them?

1. I love myself some comfort but I will confess sometimes I like to beat ’em up and go XD It can be funny to see the readers react in outrage at a cliffhanger.

2. YES, please and thank you. No matter how stoic or strong or angry my whumpee is, they are guaranteed to break down and cry and be held at some point if I have anything to say about it!

3. My favorite kind of caretaker! Ever! The one who would do anything to protect the whumpee, who’ll pour everything they have into making them feel safe and taking the pain away -- even at the cost of causing themself pain.

@twistedcaretaker:

1. The Box BoyVerse. Just *vaguely gestures* everything! This is the most charming, and attractive part of whump for me. I love the whump community as a whole, and I especially love the partakers of the Boxyverse and just a special breed of sickos💖💖

2. Inhuman Whump. Particularly winged whumpees. Particularly vampires, demons, and angels in that order.

3. Heroes x Villain to Lovers😂 yeah. Just leave me in my Wattpad days of shame alone!

1. I haven’t really come into contact with much of this universe, which is probably shocking to everyone XD It sounds fun in theory!

2. I don’t often delve into demon/angel whump so I’m kind of ambivalent to it, but hey, that means more for you!

3. Naaah. Not really my thing.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Okay, so here are a few of mine!

1. Fevers! The haziness, the delirium, the glazed eyes, the sweat beading down the whumpee’s face, sticky damp hair, the chills, lukewarm baths and cool compresses -- it’s all just a great Aesthetic.

2. Feeling each other’s pain through a soul bond. Not something I see as often, but the caretaker stumbling as fear and pain fills them, the urgent sense that something is wrong, the whumpee’s in danger, they need to find them now -- and imagine if Whumper found out they can cause both of them pain at once! Two birds with one stone!

3. Manhandling, especially when the whumpee is grabbed by the hair, the face, or the throat. It can be intense, it can be creepy, it can leave some great bruises...Plus it’s a good way of measuring how defiant or submissive the whumpee will be.

My brain is a little dead now, I can’t think of anyone to tag. If you want to do this, feel free!

#whump #whump community #tag game #long post

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kaminobiwan · 4 years

Text

in sickness and health

pairing: obi-wan kenobi x jedi!reader

summary: Confined to a day in bed, Obi-Wan is enlisted to keep you company. Featuring mild spoonfeeding I make no apologies

a/n: First off, THANK YOU FOR 300 FOLLOWERS! WOW oh my goodness that happened so fast. I’m still working through the prompts from my 175/200 follower celebration (of which this is a part of), and I can’t wait to figure out a way to celebrate this milestone as well! I’m so grateful to all of the support and love I’ve gotten so far; your kindness and readership means the world to me, and I’m so glad to share my stories with you :-) Without any further ado, here is the return of Padawan!Obi....and if you’d like to join his fanclub, might I direct you to my co-president @highlycommendable lovely dove

Before I forget, taglist masterlist all that shite. Enjoy my bubs

On his way back to the dormitories after an early morning meditation session, Obi-Wan hears arguing.

Though it’s not uncommon to hear discord in the wing of the temple where the Padawans make their residence, it isn’t the usual ruckus of Quin and Kit wrestling, or Shaak Ti demanding to know who had taken her Akul-tooth headdress again.

This time, it’s the voice of a Master filling the halls, berating his student with fond persistence.

“Padawan, my word is final.” Obi-Wan turns the corner as Plo Koon raises a talon at a figure huddled in blankets in the doorway. “You are too ill to travel.”

“But I’m almost better! And Shaak’s told me so much about the Togruta, and I want to see how big of an Akul she’s killed!” He recognizes the protests coming from your distinct yet muddled voice, and his vision confirms his guess as you come into sight, fabric draping across your body like a spirit. “I promise I’m fine, Master, please!”

Despite his mouth being completely covered by his breathing mask, Obi-Wan can almost detect the makings of a smile across the Jedi’s features. “The healers were adamant, my student. You’re to rest one more day. Perhaps, instead of stories of Akul, you can detail our sightings of the neebray mantas to your peers. I assure you, they are much bigger than any Akul you hope to see.” Abruptly, he turns to Obi-Wan in a way that makes him think the Master had sensed his presence long before he’d approached. “Padawan Kenobi, if you’re not terribly occupied, I have a favor to ask of you.”

Obi-Wan comes to a stop in front of the pair of you, your eyes dragging to his frame after shooting a disgruntled glance at your Master. “Master Koon?”

“I’m set to depart for Shili within the hour, and unfortunately, this one,” he gestures a robe-covered hand towards you, “is recovering from a mild case of Balmorra Flu and will be unable to accompany me. I would appreciate it immensely if you’d monitor my student to ensure that she does, in fact, fulfill her last day of bed rest.” Obi-Wan notices as you bristle at the notion of being babysat like a child, but says nothing as Plo continues. “The healers have been kind enough to deliver medicine and food. You’d need only to stay within the room.” Before Obi-Wan can reply that he’d have to seek the approval of his own Master, Koon finishes for him. “I’d be happy to request an excuse from the rest of your duties, but if I’m being quite honest, I’m aware that most of your training for the day has already been completed.”

Obi-Wan schools his own features in haste from revealing how impressed he is. Though, he really shouldn’t be surprised. Plo Koon was legendary amongst the younger generations for both his intuition and skill with a lightsaber. Still, he pauses.

“There’s no cause for worry, young one, she’s not contagious any longer. The sickness is in its last stages.” The Kel Dor assures him, somewhat humorously, but that’s not why Obi-Wan is hesitating.

He’s nervous — he’s never spent much time alone with you. It’s not that you’re unlikable, or intimidating — okay, maybe you are a little — but actually, you’re quite popular with the rest of his crèchemates. He’s only had the opportunity to spend time with you in the midst of his other friends, and the times you have had conversations by yourselves, he gets an uncomfortable twist in his stomach that he’s not sure he likes.

But Obi-Wan is a good Padawan. Trying to be, at least. And Master Koon is close friends with Qui-Gon.

“Certainly, Master.” He gives a slight bow at the middle of his waist. “I would gladly be of service.”

The Jedi nods at him gracefully, and bids a soft farewell to you as he departs the conversation and the dormitory wing. You mutter a goodbye of your own moments after, followed by what Obi-Wan thinks is a variation of be safe. Then, you turn haughtily into your bedroom, retreating with your nose high in the air. He follows with a smirk of amusement.

“Sorry you’ve been sidelined.” He offers, as you face plant dramatically onto the bed. You bounce head-first into the pillows, and he can feel the irritation radiating off of you. “I know it that goes.”

You lift your body enough to place your chin in your hands, and regard him with a softening quirk. “It’s okay. I was just excited to get out on a mission again after my last one got cut short. This wretched flu.”

You flop onto your back, but Obi-Wan can sense your resentment quickly fading as you pull up the sheets to your chest. He notes that you already seem to be complying with your Master’s orders, grateful at the thought of not having to force you into bed. Another thought passes through his head, reminding him of the specific name Plo Koon had mentioned earlier.

“Balmorra flu? Weren’t you on Dantooine?”

“We were. Unfortunately, the illness is not limited to the planet for which it is named. But how it made its way to Dantooine, the middle of nowhere, I’ve no idea.” You sniff harshly. “It’s a shame, too. I wanted to take some time to admire the grasslands, but Master Koon wanted to get us back to the temple before I got worse.” The pout on your face morphs into a far-off look, and while you’re daydreaming, he takes the time to admire you. “It was majestic, Obi-Wan, the rolling plains, the rivers — you’d have loved it, I think.”

To himself, he smiles warmly. Here you are, sinuses stuffed to the brim and wallowing in the discomfort of sickness, yet you still found it within yourself to think of him. He can see why you’d been spoken so highly of by the others before he’d had the courage to befriend you.

You had a good heart.

“I know what you mean.” He presents you with a new tissue as you toss a used one into the wastebasket by your bed, and you watch him speak intently. “Once, on a mission to Alderaan, my Master told me he’d save time to hike one of the mountains if we finished early. A meditation retreat, of sorts. We did, but just as we were prepared to go, I came down with nerf-pox. A youngling sneezed on me in the middle of the assignment.” Disdain paints his appearance, and you cough out a laugh at him behind your fist as you reach for something off your bedside table, where a steaming bowl and cup of water sits.

“To the experiences that disease took from us,” you raise the cup in the air as if you’re making a toast, and although he’s not holding one of his own, he mimes the action with a grin. “Here’s to hoping we’ll get to do them someday.”

As you raise the drink to your mouth, Obi-Wan can’t help but notice the way it trembles in your hand. Eyes narrowing, he takes in the slight shake of your arm. “You’re quite weak,” he moves closer to take the cup from you and set it back on the table. “I think I should feed you.”

Your eyebrows knit in defiance, but he’s already holding the bowl of soup, stirring the spoon in its depths. Immediately, his nose wrinkles in distaste.

“This smells horrible.”

You sigh in agreement, leaning your head back against the pillows. “Rootleaf stew. Master Yoda’s personal recipe.” As he lifts the utensil to your still-moving mouth, you add, “Thankfully, it doesn’t taste as bad as it stinks.”

He snickers quietly as you drink the liquid down with a small noise of disgust. Your face seems to relax after a minute, however, and he hopes the warm broth is soothing your throat. He offers you a bit more, but this time, you stare straight at him as your lips close around the spoon, and his wrist falters when you peer at him from beneath your lashes.

Soup dribbles down your chin and neck as you squeal in surprise, the heat of it making you jerk back. Obi-Wan drops the bowl onto the table as he frantically snatches up tissues to offer you between panicked apologies, not trusting himself to dab the droplets on your skin away himself.

“Sorry! I’m so sorry, I —” he stammers as you clean up what you can, blinking at him in amused surprise. You don’t look angry at him, but stars, does he feel bad. “Ah, I didn’t mean to. So much for helping you.” From the shoulders up, he burns bright with remorse, but you shake your head amusedly with bright eyes.

“It’s okay. I probably would have done the same to myself. You were right, I am too weak to carry anything.”

Sheepishly, Obi-Wan picks up the stew again, but places it in his lap for a moment as he waits for his body to stop freaking out, for lack of a better term. It’s good timing, too, because you promptly break into a hacking fit, coughing violently as he winces in his seat. After you blow your nose loudly, you seem to notice his expression, because you suddenly turn self-consciously away from him.

“I’m sorry, too. I can’t imagine I’m a pretty sight to see as of right now.”

He disagrees. Surprisingly, your physical state hasn’t been too affected. And even in spite of your slightly ruffled exterior, you’re still exuding the same liveliness that he can’t help but find attractive. In his mindlessness, Obi-Wan’s mouth acts before his brain as he responds. “I think you’re always pretty.”

You both freeze, eyes meeting in shocked gazes as he attempts to backtrack. “I — I mean, you’re a pretty sight to see —” Nope, that’s worse, kill me, Maker, kill me now —

“Obi — it’s okay,” you cut him off from embarrassing himself further, though your own voice is shrill. “I appreciate the compliment.”

His face flushes again, this time at the nickname more than his stupidity. He stares resolutely into the swirling broth as he fiddles with the spoon, and deafening silence fills the air between you as you both look anywhere but each other. Soon enough, though, you’re brave enough to break the quiet. With an even braver comment of your own.

“You know, you’re not too bad-looking either,” he peers at you cautiously, and your eyes are kind, offering comfort. He breathes out a long sigh, but manages a weak smile in return.

“Thanks,” he mumbles, and you nod at him easily. He’s jealous of the way you’re expressive, yet so effortlessly at ease in any scenario — someday, he swears, he’ll nail down his composure. He’ll be in complete control of his every emotion and have the coolest demeanor of all the Jedi.

Just, not today.

Obi-Wan forces himself to steel the muscles in his arms as he brings another spoonful of soup to your waiting mouth, and exhales in relief when he successfully avoids causing another mess. Unfortunately, it seems that you’re intent on making one, because as soon as you swallow, you’ve got another remark that you deliver all too casually for Obi-Wan’s liking.

“In fact, I’d say you’re the prettiest Padawan in the Order.”

He spills the entire bowl across your sheets.

#AND HE MAKES HIS RETURN!#rini writes #obi wan kenobi x reader #obi wan kenobi imagine #obi wan x reader #PADAWAN!OBI NATION RISE UPPP #sweet boy he is so cute #here is fluff for you guys before I release a really sad piece tomorrow #but until then ENJOY #rini reaches 175!#THANKS AGAIN FOR 300 I'LL HAVE A CELEBRATION SOON

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scullydubois · 3 years

Text

Only the Light: Ch. 21

Hello, here is my ‘I didn’t plan for updates to take two weeks, but it always works out to two weeks’ post, right on time. Almost finished with this journey, thank you for sticking around <3

As Mulder helps care for his ill partner and her child, he enlists the Lone Gunmen to investigate the circumstances surrounding Scully's diagnosis. He and Melissa pay a visit to the three men, then Mulder gets an unwanted surprise back at apartment 42.

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

As Scully’s world has shrunk, the amount of love in it has grown. This is small consolation for the hell she’s enduring, but it is the only antidote. She realizes this now that she’s staring down the abyss: all the knowledge in the world won’t save you, and wealth is nothing but a false comfort. What will live on are the parts of herself she’s left with others. Her goal for her remaining time, however long that may be, is to hold tight to those she loves...not to slip away until her heart stops beating.

This is hard when she already feels like less of herself. She’s doing chemo twice a week at Georgetown, and it’s brutal. She knew it would be...her only other choice is to get that gravestone of hers re-engraved.

Meanwhile, Mulder pushed all other work aside to get in contact with the Mufon women. It only took him one day to do so, but Scully doesn’t know that, and for now, she doesn’t need to know. He’s keeping what he’s learned so far to himself...Betsy Hagopian is dead and has been since shortly after Scully saw her. Penny Northern is sick and not responding to treatment. A handful of other women, abductees like Scully, have developed rare cancers too.

It’s not something he knows how to talk about, such despondency. His world has always hinged on hope. That’s what his work on the X-Files is to him, one big leap of faith toward his sister. Or was, before Scully came along. It’s not that she diverted him from Samantha...no, she turned a very personal quest into something larger than him. Or her, or any one person they worked with. She pared it down to its core value, its overarching mission: the truth. Because the truth may hurt at first, but given time, it heals. And it is the only path to healing. This is what he’s learned from her. And now, he’s got to do everything he can to pass the revitalized world she’s shown him onto her.

The arrangement falls into place without any friction: Missy handles the chemo run on Monday mornings, and Mulder leaves work early on Thursdays. Emily spends Mondays with her grandma, and Thursdays too when Missy works the night shift.

Thursdays become something of a spiritual day for Mulder. The hours of approximately 3-10pm are spent doting on his partner--in her apartment, and then his car, then the hospital and his car again, and finally, back to her apartment. Mama Scully brings Emily back around eight, and if Missy’s not home, Mulder gets the honor of the bedtime ritual. The domesticity of it all tethers him to reality, maybe for the first time in his life. He’d give anything to change the circumstances, but it’s humbling to feel--for once--that he belongs on Earth.

It is on one of these Thursday evenings that Mulder could swear he feels his whole life trailing behind him, leading him to the present. The end of the year is creeping up in its usual fashion, which means the outside world is a blanket of darkness before the stoves of countless suburban homes have even been started. Having settled her comfortably into bed with a pile of pillows, Mulder carries his partner a glass of water and pulls the wastebasket to her side; this is their routine now.

“You doing okay?” he asks, lingering as she takes a sip of water. It will soon be time to make himself scarce so she can sleep.

She nods, gurgles a garbled affirmation. Mulder turns to go, and her heart leaps to her throat. “Will you stay?” she spews, embarrassed by her need.

“Of course.” She’s unaware, apparently, that when he leaves it’s for her, not him. He approaches her bedside, lowers himself carefully beside her knees. “Any particular reason?” he murmurs, examining the sunken spaces beneath her eyes.

“I just...wanted to talk to you,” she says, and Mulder thinks there might be a bit more color in her cheeks than there was yesterday.

“Okay.” He leans in and sweeps a strand of hair off her forehead so lightly that Scully doesn’t even feel it. She’s apprehensive about being touched these days, and he has taken this knowledge to heart. She is grateful, and to show the extent of this feeling, she strokes his hand, allows him to take hers in his. He runs his thumb over each finger as they continue.

He wants to ask what she’s thinking about, what it is that has so graciously extended his stay in this room. But he knows that she’ll get to it, that she has nothing to keep from him now.

There’s a sincere serenity on her face that he’s never seen. And after a minute or two, she begins. “I didn’t think it could happen--and it certainly doesn’t make much sense-- but right now, I am happier than I have ever been.”

A string on Mulder’s heart, tightened to its prime, bursts without warning.

She caresses the back of his head. “It’s so trivial, Mulder. So much of what we call life isn’t living at all. Or at least not the important kind.”

He lifts his gaze, eye contact conveying more than he could with words.

“But I’ve thought about the parts of my life that are living, and all of them, in some way, come back to you.”

Mulder shakes his head, feeling too flattered. “That’s not true…”

“You can believe whatever you need to,” she whispers, “but it is the truth, and I am eternally grateful that you happened to me.”

He tries to cough away some tears, which works about a quarter as well as he hoped it would. “Hold on, little lady.” He pats her hand in response to her smile. “I think you happened to me.”

Scully’s chest flutters in laughter. “Did I?” These subtle things have always been so important to them.

“You walked into my office, remember.”

“Well, I guess it would depend on who changed the most due to the other’s influence then,” she reasons.

Mulder just gives her a look.

She smirks. “Okay, so maybe I happened to you, but you…” she chews her lip, and this could be any other day of any other year if she weren’t bedridden. She picks out her words-- “You completed me.”

Mulder spills forward, finding his footing and spinning into the middle of the room. “Holy fuck Scully, are you trying to kill me?”

“We’ve been searching for the truth. That’s the truth, Mulder. I wanted you to know.”

He sets his jaw. He won’t burst into tears in front of her, not when she has all the reason to cry and yet has been so strong.

“You should get some sleep,” he tells her, hoping to expedite his exit from the room.

“I will. And it’s okay to be sad, but not for me. My life is as whole as ever.”

He nods, though he doesn’t agree (what’s new?). He knew Samantha for eight years and has been sad for twenty. He’s known Scully for half that--so he gets at least a decade of mourning.

“Sweet dreams,” he says, resting his hands on the door frame. “I’ll bring Emily in when she gets here.”

“Okay.” She closes her eyes, smiles. “Love you.”

“Love you too, DKS.” He blows a kiss and slips out, heat flooding to his face. This is the first time she’s said that unprompted, and is that what the threat of imminent death does to you? Pries you open?

He wonders. Whose love is saving who?

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

The primetime line-up is flickering over the television when Mama Scully arrives with Emily, passing her granddaughter to Mulder like the family heirloom she is. They exchange a few words in short breaths, reserving the air supply for their dear Dana. Mama Scully agrees to come see her daughter this weekend rather than interrupt her much-needed rest now, and Mulder is suddenly single parent-slash-babysitter; the specifics elude him.

Perfumed with baby powder from her grandmother’s overly enthusiastic hand, Mulder concludes that Em needs neither bathing nor changing. She doesn’t seem very keen on sleep either, seeing as how her little voice keeps calling out Moldy! and her little fists clobber his shoulders. Still, he will keep his promise. He carries her into the room she shares with her mother, stepping lightly lest the floorboards creak.

As he circles the bed to lay the child beside her sleeping mother, he winces at the mess in the trash can. Good thing he moved it into place though Scully had seemed okay. He hadn’t heard any retching, and it saddens him that he wasn’t there to hold her hair back. He settles Em into place, makes a mental note to rinse the can on his way out.

Her characteristically light sleep lightened further by her illness, Scully stirs from the shift of Emily’s weight against the mattress. She rolls toward the free side and flutters her eyelids open. Her smile is reflexive.

“Hello baby girl,” she purrs. She lays a hand against her daughter’s polka-dotted onesie. “Did you have a good day with Grandma?”

Emily answers with some fluttery babbling and gropes for her mother’s nose.

“I don’t think she’s very tired,” Mulder remarks, hands in his pockets. He smirks. “We should really find out what your mother feeds her.”

Scully pulls her lips into a grin, exhibiting a great deal more effort than she did just moments before. She blinks, rubs her eyes, and seems to go out of the world for a second. Then she sets her gaze on Mulder and speaks dreamily--”Will you tell us a bedtime story?”

“Oh!” Mulder scratches his chin, having expected his dismissal. “Do you think that would help…?”

Scully presses her head into the pillow. “I’m not gonna be able to fall back asleep until she does.”

That is a yes, served with some condescension.

“Okay, well, let me think.” He perches on the side of the bed. “Regrettably, I did not get my degree in bedtime stories.”

“Just say what you know,” Scully mumbles. “We’re the only ones listening, and the goal is to put us to sleep.”

“I hope that’s not a comment on my conversational skills,” he teases, smoothing the sheets.

Again, there’s a look of otherworldliness from his partner. She is somewhere else.

“Go on, tell us a story,” she hums, her surprising lack of impatience attributable to an equal lack of wakefulness.

“Let’s see…” He stretches out, perching on his elbow by Scully’s feet like she did in the first motel they ever stayed in. Emily sits herself up and grasps for him. He laughs, lets her latch onto his fingers.

“There once was a little girl who loved horses and bugging her brother,” he begins. “Now, I’m sure she sounds like just about any little girl out there, but I promise, she was as unique as they come.”

Scully closes her eyes and tilts her head back to listen.

“She always said she wanted to be a butterfly when she grew up so she could spread her wings and fly. And her parents would scoff and tell her that would never be possible, but she believed. She believed it would happen.”

Emily babbles along, adding her own colorful commentary.

“I know, I know right?” Mulder muses to the little girl. “The parents were such jerks.”

He tickles Em’s stomach, then remembers that he’s supposed to be helping her go to sleep. He kisses her temple and begins stroking her knee, hoping to achieve a hypnotic rhythm.

“And so one day, this little girl...well, this little girl got to go on an adventure. She left behind her house and her family, and she got to go up to the sky and see the stars, and it was everything she wished for.”

Scully opens her eyes slowly. Mulder’s focus is centered on Emily, who stares up at him with the awe of a museum-goer seeing the Starry Night. It is as if they are the only two in the room, and this gives Scully great comfort, for she can imagine them having a life after she is gone.

“The girl’s family was sad because they didn’t know where she went. The girl’s brother missed her the most, but it was okay because the girl was happy. She got to fly through the sky like a bird or a plane, and she achieved the dream that her parents thought would never come true.”

Em’s breathing begins to slow into sleep. And thank god, cause he’s running out of story to tell.

“Lay down, little girl.” He guides her onto her back so she can drift off without difficulty, then clears his throat softly.

“Some say that if you see a light in the night sky, that’s this little girl, floating among the stars, living her dream. And her brother, well, he’s pretty fond of that thought. He just wants her to be happy.”

Silence falls over the room like a throbbing sensation of unknown origin. Emily’s eyelids struggle between open and closed, and Mulder knows she will soon be out. Scully’s baby blues, meanwhile, peer at him with such unflinching intensity that he suspects she has fallen asleep like that. It is haunting, but it becomes much less so when she blinks and he realizes that she’s looking at him, that she heard the whole story.

“Is that what you wanted?” he whispers, half expecting her not to answer.

“It was beautiful, Mulder. Samantha lives on.”

He smiles from his eyes...oh, of course it was obvious, his little tribute to his sister. Scully said to work from what he knew, and this myth is something he’s used to keep himself going since his family realized that there would be no happy reunion with Sam. He’s happy to share his fantasy; such escapes are needed now.

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

Melissa’s heart leaps when she opens the apartment door to an empty living room. The TV drones out its slapstick laugh track, contributing to the ominous atmosphere. She’d expect to see Mulder taking up a restless refuge on the couch, or maybe sneaking a late night snack to Em. Her sister should be fast asleep by now, her little world able to slacken its hold on her. Unless she is no longer afforded such luxury…

Missy rushes toward Dana’s bedroom, her purse still on her shoulder. In the doorway she slows as her eyes adjust to the lack of light. And thank goodness because three silhouettes catch her eye; a medium one buried under the covers, a large one strewn diagonally across the bed, and a small bump barely visible on the far side. A snore of unidentifiable origin is the only disturbance. Missy smiles to herself. All the missing persons are accounted for and well. She can continue with the blissfully bland routine of her night.

She washes her face and brews some chamomile before settling on the couch with the week’s issues of Mad Magazine and Vogue. Yes, she contains multitudes. She’s up to the Spy vs. Spy comic when Mulder strolls in, yawning.

“I guess my bedtime story was effective.”

“Mmm.” Missy scoots her mug over so he can prop his feet up. Dana hates feet on furniture, but she’s got a child in the house now, so she’ll have to let go of those judgments. “How is she?”

“Oh shit.” She’s jogged something in his memory. “I meant to grab the trash can on the way out.”

Missy knows what this means. “I’ll get it in a second.”

Mulder nods in silent gratitude, relaxes back into his spot. “She seemed livelier than usual when we got home.”

It hits him that he said home, not back. And well, it is Scully’s home. What about him? He sleeps on the couch and he doesn’t pay rent...that’s how he lived at Oxford, though he gets the feeling that it’s not as evergreen at thirty-three years old.

These days, he only goes to his place on Sunday nights to get (what he considers) a week’s worth of clothing--two work outfits (hey, he never really sees anyone but Scully anyway) and one casual outfit that doubles as pajamas. He bought a bunch of fish feeding tablets so all he has to do is drop a few in on Sunday and the fish are set for the week. As far as he can tell, at least. None of them have floated to the top of the tank yet.

“And Em is all good?” Missy confirms.

Mulder nods. “Your mom takes good care of her.”

“I think I know the answer to this, but do you want some tea?” Missy asks, flashing her mug.

“No, no, save it for yourself.”

“Alright.” She flips a page in her magazine. “Just let me know when you’re ready to kick me out. Since I’m kind of in your bed and all.”

“I should be telling you that,” Mulder counters. “You don’t mind me staying here, do you?”

“Not at all.” Missy lays the magazine on the table. “It’s important that you’re around.”

“Really?...For what?”

“For who,” Missy corrects. “Emily needs you to give her balance, and Dana...she just needs you. You’re the safety net under her tightrope.”

“Oh.” This metaphor grounds Mulder better than gravity ever has.

Missy seems to sense this and takes the opportunity to profit off his vulnerability. “So what’s gone on between you?” she asks, an eyebrow arched.

Mulder squints at her. “Huh?”

“I keep waiting for Dana to kick you out or get irritated about you being around all the time,” Missy says with honest simplicity. “But instead, she lets you take her to chemo and fall asleep in her bed…”

“Well, I think the former is more ideal than the alternative, which is that I watch her child,” Mulder replies. “And I fell asleep on the bed, not in it.”

“Okay.” Missy sips her tea, keeps her eyes on him.

It’s pointless for Mulder to try to keep secrets anymore. He wrings out his hands. “If you must know, when you dropped her off at my apartment after her appointment, we... came to a mutual understanding.”

“Ah.” Missy is not surprised by any of it. Of course it happened. Of course her sister hasn’t mentioned it.

“Why are you just asking about this now?”

“Cause I expected my suspicions to be proven wrong, and that hasn’t happened.”

Mulder nods, taps absentmindedly on his knee. “Actually, I have something I’ve been meaning to talk to you about.”

“Oh?” She’s intrigued. The enigmatic Fox Mulder, divulging on his own accord.

“Don’t get excited, it’s not good.”

Damn. Missy reels herself in. “About Dana?”

“About what happened to her or...what is happening to her. It’s about the Mufon women.”

Missy curls her legs beneath herself. “You reached them?”

He nods. “Well, Penny Northern’s hospice nurse picked up when I called. She’s got stage four tumors throughout her body that migrated from her nasopharynx.”

“Holy shit.”

“Yeah. Apparently most of the other abductees have cancer too. And Betsy Hagopian--the woman who Scully saw in the hospital last spring--is dead.”

Missy’s gaze drops to the floor. “So the invasive procedures that the abductors did are killing these women.”

“One doctor’s treating them all--he’s supposed to be a specialist--but it doesn’t look like he’s having much success.” Mulder pauses, his mouth partially open.

“What?” Missy presses.

“The Lone Gunmen and I have been looking into him, and we think that he might have been involved in the abductions.”

Missy barrels forward. “You think he did this to them on purpose and now he’s letting them die?”

Mulder nods solemnly.

“Well, we have to stop him. We can’t let any more patients go to him, especially Dana…”

“I know. I’m going down to see the Lone Gunmen tomorrow after work if you want to join me.”

Missy contemplates. “I have the lunch shift tomorrow, so I could. What would we tell Dana?”

“I’ll say that Skinner is keeping me late to go over some paperwork. You could say whatever, she’s not going to question you.”

“I hate to leave her alone for so long, but...yeah, we have to do this.” She leans back, takes another look at Mulder. “You might just save a lot of women, you know.”

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

Missy feels unseen eyes bore into her as she and Mulder approach the basement entrance of a helter-skelter building. She doesn’t recognize the part of town they’re in, and she doesn’t ask.

Mulder hits the button on a call box beside the door. Before he can speak, a voice leaps out at them.

“Howdy Mulderoony.” Mulder recognizes it as Frohike’s voice. “Glad to see you made it safely.”

A variety of locks and chains are undone, the door pulled open.

“Join our ménage a trois,” Frohike says, ushering them in.

“We can’t stay long,” Mulder tells them, squinting as he adjusts to the darkness of their realm. “You guys forget to pay the electric bill or something?”

“We’re conserving electricity,” Byers says, a shadow in the corner of the room. “It’s good for the environment.”

“I didn’t realize the environment was on your list of concerns.”

“It should be on everyone’s list of concerns,” Byers throws back matter-of-factly.

Mulder slides his hands into his pockets. “Touché.”

Ringo comes forward from the darkness, his hair as tressed and greasy as ever. “Well lookie here. Dana Scully in the flesh.”

Frohike inserts himself between them. “You can’t be serious, pool boy. That’s not her, I’d know her anywhere. It is, however, an equally lovely woman.” He takes Missy’s hand and kisses it. “My lady.”

Missy participates with amusement until Mulder brushes Frohike aside.

“Okay boys, lay off. This is Scully’s sister Melissa. And I believe she’s taken.”

Frohike bows. “A lucky man.”

“Woman,” Missy corrects.

“Oh. Excusez-moi."

Tucked in the darkness, Byers scoffs at the childish antics. “Come on, let’s cut to the chase. Lives are at stake.”

“I’m glad to see someone has a brain around here,” Mulder quips.

Ringo pats Mulder’s shoulder. “Not all of us got a full-ride to Oxford, but hey, I’d say we’ve done pretty well for ourselves.”

“Calm down, Ringo. You’d still be the smartest member of the Ramones.”

Like an unleashed dog, Ringo lunges forward, and Byers and Frohike pull him back. They are quite used to this.

“You can insult me, but never speak ill of the Ramones!” Ringo growls.

Mulder puts his hands up, smirks at the permission he’s been given. “Happily.”

Missy clears her throat, her amusement wearing thin. She’s like her sister in this way.

Mulder gets the memo. “Right. Can the trash talk, we’re here to catch a criminal.”

“If he is, in fact, a criminal,” Byers remarks.

Missy frowns. “Haven’t you proved that?”

“We’re connecting the dots, but we haven’t completed the picture yet,” Byers replies.

Mulder circles around to Byers’ monitor. “What have you got?”

“This doctor, Scanlon, isn’t just an oncologist,” Ringo begins, as if Mulder asked him. “His name is associated with the Lombard Research Facility.”

Mulder and Missy both give him a look. More, more!

“A high security medical research center in Allentown,” he clarifies.

“We’ve hacked into some of the security cameras,” Frohike tells them. “We’d have to get in to see for ourselves, but the activity is rather suspicious. The same men, in and out, at odd times. Whatever they’re storing in there, it’s significant.”

“Then let’s get in,” Mulder emphasizes. “You be the eyes and ears, I’ll be the legs.”

Ringo nods. “We’re working on it.”

“We need to observe their weekend patterns before we make any moves,” Byers insists. “We don’t set up our missions to fail.”

“Fine, but as soon as you’ve reached your confidence threshold--”

“We’ll call you,” Ringo promises.

“What are you expecting to find?” Missy asks, frenzied. “Will it help Dana?”

Frohike drums his fingers on the desk. “That’s the plan.”

Byers nods. “We can’t be sure exactly what we’ll find, but the connection is clear: Scanlon was involved with the abductions, and he’s exploiting these women for his own benefit.”

Melissa shivers involuntarily. “It’s amazing that you’ve figured this out.”

Ringo twirls a pencil through his hair. “We have a lot of free time on our hands.”

Mulder takes a shot at the mini-basketball hoop they have, misses. “And you’d better use it all to implicate Dr. Scanlon’s ass.”

Frohike does a two-finger salute. “Aye aye captain.”

Mulder thumbs toward the door. “Now we’ve gotta get out of here before the smell sticks to us. Scully will know exactly where we’ve been,” he smirks.

“Can’t argue with that.” Frohike shows them to the door. “Give the lady my regards.”

“Will do.” He turns back, exchanges a serious glance with each man. “Sort this out, boys.”

Just as quickly as they came, he and Melissa step out of the chambers and ascend back into the sun’s dominion. Entrusting those three with the well-being of a woman they love so much is far from ideal, and yet, they’re throwing all their faith into it.

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

Mulder slides his key into the door of apartment 42 shortly after seven on Sunday evening. He hasn’t been in for a week, and yet a vivid scent of...smoke sticks about the place. And a wrinkled mess of a man to go with it.

The old man lifts his chin. “I’ve been expecting you.”

Mulder is no longer naïve enough to be taken aback by Cancer Man’s ambush. He shrugs and slides his coat off. “Well, you are in my apartment.”

“I’ve heard that your partner is very sick,” CSM says, his steps so clunky that Mulder wonders whether the downstairs tenants will complain.

“What grapevine did you get that from?...Or are you the one growing the grapes?”

“It saddened me to hear. Agent Scully is a valuable member of the Bureau.”

Mulder nods. “You here to pass on your condolences? Cause I’m pretty sure you could just send a card.”

“I’m here to propose a solution...The doctors say your partner’s sickness is incurable. This is not true.”

“Smarter than the doctors, are you?”

“In this case I am.”

A bitter laugh rises from Mulder. “So I’m supposed to believe that you were involved in sickening Scully, yet you want to save her?”

“We all have our regrets.”

“And I have no reason to trust you.”

“Upon learning about her child, I feel a deep need to intervene.”

“Mmm.” Mulder begins to pace. “And by learning about her child, do you mean when Scully’s ova were removed and fertilized without her knowledge? Because I have a hard time believing that you didn’t know a thing about Emily until Scully got custody.”

“Certainly I did not foresee Emily ending up in her mother’s custody.”

“What was the purpose then, of Emily? To terrorize a woman by taking away her bodily autonomy?”

CSM shrugs. “That’s not my area.”

Mulder scoffs. “Okay you old freak. Tell me how to save Scully’s life or get the hell out of here.”

The wrinkled man folds his hands. “She had a silicone implant removed from her neck. Put it back in.”

Mulder freezes. “Are you serious? That’s your miracle cure?”

CSM nods. “It is the only way to save her life. Removing the implant is what caused the cancer in the first place.”

Mulder steps forward, getting in the old man’s face like a middle-school bully. He’s ready to throw a punch--honestly, ready to kill the man--if need be. He could do it. Easily. He could.

“What does the implant do, Cancer Man?”

“Believe it or not, it is meant as a sort of inoculation. It offsets the negative effects of any tests performed during the...time away.”

“Uh-huh, and what do you get from it?”

“Who says I get anything from it?”

“How else would you know that she had it removed?”

“I am everywhere, Agent Mulder.”

Mulder loses his thinly-veiled calm, wraps his hand around the man’s saggy neck. “You fucking pervert, I’ll kill you! I’ve killed a man before just like this. Tell me the truth.”

“This is the truth,” CSM wheezes, not intimidated by his rapidly deteriorating air flow. His cold, hard eyes stare into Mulder’s. “You wouldn’t kill a man over nothing, would you?”

Mulder squeezes harder, his fingers gripping the man’s pulse. He watches the light drain from his victim’s eyes. All the old bastard does is smirk at him.

Angered by this more than anything, Mulder releases the man so suddenly that his bony body is thrown into the wall. He keeps his footing, stumbles forward.

“Get out,” Mulder growls. When he doesn’t respond, Mulder pokes his finger at the door. “Get out now!”

CSM dusts himself off and walks out, the pompous smirk never leaving his face. Mulder slams the door shut behind him.

There are certain truths he cannot escape. If Scully has made him believe in Heaven, CSM has made him believe in Hell.

#sincerely hope i did the lone gunmen justice lol #also i feel like this chapter is...a normal episode amount of angsty instead of the slow paper cut of the last chapter #the x-files #only the light fic #missy and scully fic #txf #txf fic #fox mulder #dana scully #melissa scully #mine #eww this looks weird w/the tumblr update!!#read it on ao3 lol

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soundsof71 · 3 years

Note

for the album thing: born in the usa :)

I could write a book about any of Bruce’s records from Born To Run to Born In The USA. I did in fact write my grad school thesis using Nebraska as the hook: ”Vehicles of Grace: Automobile Imagery and Salvation in the works of Bruce Springsteen and Flannery O’Connor” LOL which is one million percent true.

In fact, I bought Nebraska on my first day of class in grad school (a whole story by itself), and BITUSA came out as I was finishing my coursework two years later. It’s hard to overstate how hard this one hit, but my reaction was kind of complicated, so I’ll tell ya all about it.

the first song from this album I heard: “Dancing In The Dark”, which came out as a single before the album. Followed immediately by “Pink Cadillac”, its b-side. We played the SHIT out of that song in particular, far more than the A side, and were dumbfounded that it wasn’t on the album.

do I own the album?: Obvs, but there’s a story. Of course. My girlfriend and I bought it on vinyl the day it came out in June (we weren’t married yet, but we’d merged our record collections the previous year LOL), then for my birthday in August, she bought me a CD player for like $800 (they were expensive as FUCK when they first came out -- and $800 was even more of a fuckton of money back in those days, especially for a couple of grad students), with one CD, Born In The USA. That one CD was more than reason enough to spend the dough on a player.

I still have that CD, along with the ticket for show where we saw Bruce on our honeymoon in England, at St. James Park in Newcastle, in June 1985. He’d just gotten married too (the first time), which is a whole ‘nother story too. Oh, and I still have the sweatshirt from that show! I'll post a picture of all this some time.

my favorite song: Wellll....here’s where it gets kinda complicated. Bruce had a notoriously hard time picking songs for the record. He’d recorded something like 50 songs for the album, and once he cut the list to 30 or so, he kept asking people he trusted to pick THEIR favorite running order. (Dave Marsh talked about this in his book Glory Days: Bruce Springsteen in the 1980s, and I haven’t heard it much discussed since then.) It’s hard to argue with the finished results, but you know what? I kinda do, still, all these years later. LOL

My favorite song OF the album, no question, is “Shut Out The Light”. (Check my tag for this song to hear some more about it.) It was first released as the b-side to the 7 inch single of “Born In The USA” (remarkably, the third single from the record), and wouldn’t show up on CD until 1998 on the Tracks anthology. Tracks was 4 CDs in all (should probably have been 6 discs, and COULD have been 10), but I bought the whole thing for THIS.

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My favorite song ON the album: “Downbound Train.”

my least favorite song: “Darlington County”.

a song I didn’t like at first, but now do: “Dancing In The Dark”. I’m not alone in this. Miami Steve famously HATED the song at first, and only came to appreciate it after years of playing it live. I still remember never more eagerly anticipating an album in my life, and never being more upset by the advance single. I was devastated.

Here’s why. Born to Run came out when I was 15. “Gotta get out while we’re young!” The romance of escape, with the last two songs, still grandly romantic, hinting at its costs.

Darkness came out when I was 17. Narrator: “They did not escape.” LOL Ghosts, bitterness, compulsion, cursed by God. His estranged wife’s eyes “filed with hate for just being born”, while “Tonight I’ll be on that hill ‘cause I can’t stop.”

The closest thing to hope: a whispered “Tonight my baby and me are gonna ride to the sea / and wash these sins from our hands.” I was a senior in high school and the dream was already dead. Awesome. LOL

The River came out when I was 20. The only hope is domesticity. Too bad that it’s suffocating and you’ll fuck it up. LOL Want to wash the sins from your hands? Sorry, the river is dry. “Is a dream a lie if it don’t come true / Or is it something worse./ that sends me down to the river?” Yikes!

The shows for this album were astounding. The album was soooo much darker than it first appeared, and the catharsis in the performance was rewarding, sure, but almost unbearable. You were left broken and crawling by the end of the night. In a good way. LOL

Nebraska came out when I was 22. Murder, mental illness, ghosts, more murder, compulsion, and as a treat, a little more murder. LOL

The one song I couldn’t stand was “Reason To Believe”, because I didn’t believe there was one, and I didn’t believe he did either. But boy did I love the album as a whole. Like I said, my grad school thesis started here, because I had too much to say about Nebraska and the sweep of Bruce’s literary roots and spiritual impulses NOT to write about it.

(Not shockingly in retrospect, and a blessing for us all that he went through with it and is still at it, but Bruce’s therapy started here too.)

So from 1975 to 1984, things got darker and darker and darker. It was beautiful. LOL And hey, this was MY LIFE we’re talking about, too! From 15 to 24, I was listening to Born To Run, Darkness, The River, and Nebraska practically on a loop, and the more hopeful stuff was becoming less and less resonant.

Sure, there was Rosalita and Thunder Road and Badlands, plenty of dancing and pumping fists, but I was dwelling in darkness, and living for it. On my best days, I was wounded, not even dead LOL but I barely listened to Born to Run by the end of this span. It was mostly Darkness and Nebraska.

I couldn’t wait to hear what was coming after the highest body count in recorded history on that album. LOL I knew it wouldn’t be acoustic again, but man, he was cutting closer and closer to the bone each time out. How much farther could he possibly go?

And it was....Dancing In The Dark? What the actual FUCK? Practically fucking disco or something? WHA....? I loved dance music, especially in the 80s, but I didn’t need it from Bruce. I had that from other people. Oh well, at least the b-side was cool, so maybe the album won’t bite. LOL BUT THEN PINK CADILLAC WASN’T ON THE ALBUM. FUCK.

The album didn't bite, of course, but it took a looooong time to get over this huge dual disappointment of a chirpy disco single by an artist I barely recognized, and whom I now felt I could no longer trust to manage his own creative mission.

My wife wrapped her head around it first (as is usually the case LOL). She dug it as the closest Bruce had yet come to putting his actual self in a song. The narrator is a writer, anyway, unlike every other song he’d ever written about jobs he never held for a single second (an observation that would form the bedrock of Springsteen on Broadway 40 years later).

Now, I totally dig it. If you’re naughty enough, I might even post my ukulele cover of Dancing In The Dark. LOL

a song I used to like, but now don’t: None. The songs I loved, which is most of ‘em honestly, I still do. Everything about this album has gotten better with time for me, and nothing about it has gotten less so.

my favorite lyric:

From “Shut Out The Light”: Oh mama mama mama come quick I've got the shakes and I'm gonna be sick Throw your arms around me in the cold dark night Hey now mama don't shut out the light

From “Downbound Train” The room was dark. Our bed was empty Then I heard that long whistle whine And I dropped to my knees, hung my head, and cried

Bruce was gonna try to give me a happier record, but I was having none of it. LOL

For the record, “Downbound Train” is my wife’s favorite track on the record by FAR, at least partly because it sounds like a band version of a song that could have followed Nebraska. I prefer Shut Out The Light because I heard the story of my own mental illness in it for the first time, but yeah, Downbound Train is amazing.

I only saw it live once at the time (in Newcastle, June 4, ‘85), but it really comes to live onstage -- true for all of Bruce of course, but this album more than any other imo.

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overall rating out of 10: Then: 8. Now: 9.2. The shows were unbelievably good (we saw three shows in three different countries on that tour) and it sold a buttload, but I still couldn’t shake the feeling that after the run of Darkness - The River - Nebraska, that this was a missed opportunity at best.

Time and distance heals all LOL and I now love it. Not more than the four before it, but more than anything since. A masterpiece, by any standard.

#bruce springsteen #born in the usa #shut out the light #dancing in the dark #nebraska #ask #essay #downbound train #darkness on the edge of town #Anonymous #youtube

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