#not enough has happened yet in the season I’m a bit bored | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

bianotbia · 11 months

Text

— 𝐃𝐑𝐈𝐏𝐏𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄 [𝐥𝐞𝐯𝐢 𝐚𝐜𝐤𝐞𝐫𝐦𝐚𝐧]

˗ˏˋ things start to get awkward when you find out that your boss is the face behind your favorite +18 account ˎˊ˗

⤷ a/n : I had a really though week and a lot of things happened so I got a bit unmotivated to get back to writing, but slowly I'll get back to myself <3 for now just gonna repost this fic from a writting collab about the daydreams I have of a dilf at work (luckly I still had it on my drafts)

⤷ contains : fem! reader x boss! levi, nsfw, work colleagues, modern au, age gap (reader is early 20s and levi is late 30s), dilf dilf dilf [wc: 1.8k]

⤷ now playing : ref:rain by aimer

Raining… under the umbrella one summer afternoon as a shower passed

Kissing… I gently kissed your wet cheek

I’m still longing for that season

The rain pours down the gray sky, it falls across the monotonous buildings and hits the windows of the office. As I look mindlessly at the world outside my thoughts wander through familiar places or better a familiar person – Levi Ackerman is truly a sight for sore eyes on this boring afternoon. Even though he's part of the higher ups, that didn't stop me from fantasizing about him during those never ending meetings, admiring the fancy suits he wears, thinking about the muscles beneath his fitted shirts and his slender fingers running down my back. "You're staring again" Mikasa appeared beside my desk "I wasn't! I was just… zoning out" she hummed and took a sip of her coffee "You know he's married… and has a kid right?". A deep breath left my lips as I looked back at some documents in front of me "As if I could ever forget about that" yet an obscure warmth still settles at my stomach when I see him passing in front of my desk every day.

Miss You… the scenes outside my window grow distant

Breezing… I saw a rainbow just barely vanishing

I just hope it doesn’t rain tomorrow

I’m at a total loss these days, with my head in the clouds

Nothing but you is a part of me

This endless rain keeps falling by the time I leave the office, as soon as I get home soaked and tired I head straight up to the bathroom and fill up the tub. Drifting under the warm water my mind starts to wander through complicated feelings again. For the past few months I discovered a certain someone that makes videos on an +18 site, through many nights I stayed up late with heavy breaths filling up my tiny studio, the sight of his skilled hands stroking himself with a halfly open button up was already engraved in my mind but his identity was still a mystery. However lately I've come to notice a few curious things, that the fancy suits he always used in his videos seemed eerily familiar, or that his muscular physique and silent moans were quite similar to a certain person I meet everyday at work. Someone that would never cross my mind when I watched those videos on such lonely nights. Perhaps he did appear in many fantasies, but not without leaving a tiny taste of guilt on the back of my throat after the shockwave of pleasure ran over me. These mixed thoughts along with the boiling steam from the bath made my head dizzy, yet I still lean it on the edge of the tub while my fingers find their way under the water and the image of him on top of me paints itself once again inside this lustful mind.

It’s still not enough

It still won’t fade away

Innocence remains in the palms of our joined hands

What a good thing we lose

What a bad thing we knew

These phrases soak through me like rain

As the end of the year comes closer so do the company reports and the planning for next year projects. A group of employees were called to be responsible for these activities and even though I ain't a higher up I still ended up involved at it, to much of my desire and dismay since our areas operate closely we were paired to work together, which made us see each other a bit more frequently than expected. Write the report, check up data, make it along the norm, revise everything, it's an endless work that feels like an even more dreadful task since I have to face him everyday with those videos flooding my mind each time we cross our eyes. Memories of the way my fingers worked as I watched him undress his shirt and unbuckle his belt across the screen on the night before remind me of the golden shine on his ring finger, an anchor that pulls me down to earth and makes it explicit he has a family and a life outside the company. Yet for some reason this golden ring wasn't there anymore.

It’s still not enough

I still can’t say

The “goodbye” from my dreams, back when I was counting the days

What a good thing we lose

What a bad thing we knew

If we had never touched, would we be smiling now?

I wanted to believe his missing ring was just my lustful mind playing tricks on me, the constant sound of the raindrops pulled me back from my reveries while I organized some things for the meeting we are going to have at his office. At this moment a notification popped on my screen – a new video was posted. My face heated up, I didn't want to open it but my fingers already clicked at it. The scenario seems quite similar to Levi's office and the suit the man was wearing was also strangely similar to his. As I take a glance at the clock it reminds me of our meeting which I'm almost late to. I knock at his door and a low voice tells me to come in, he carefully sorts through some documents and let out a deep breath when he sees me "You're late" I make my way to the chair in front of him "Sorry, I got caught up finishing a report" he lifts one of his brows and the shadow of a smirk appears on his lips. We start to discuss the priorities for the projects, but as much as I try to focus on it my eyes can't divert from a really specific bare finger and a very particular white stain on the seat of his chair.

Calling… beneath a sky where our white breaths alight

Freezing… the strong wind chills my hands and my weakness

So I hide them away in my pockets

No matter where I look, the days have passed me by

Nothing but you is a part of me

After an hour passed we both decided to take a break before heading over for the next topics. I walk over to the window to stretch a bit while Levi stays seated, he looks at his hand and leans on his chair "You seem a bit distracted today" his sudden remark gets me off guard "Huh, I-I am? Sorry I didn't even realize it". Even though I try to avert my eyes, his famous cold stare pierces through me entirely. "Do you think I'm stupid brat?" his face gets serious and I look at him shocked "I-I don't know what are you talking about". Levi gets up and slowly walks toward me "Oh you know… the stares, the sighs, the fidgeting fingers. You think I didn't notice you staring at my hand lately" I feel my face completely heats up as he gets closer at each step "Divorce isn't as uncommon as you think, brat".

I want to touch you again

But you’re just too bright

I instinctively turn away from the light of your kindness

I wanna sleep in your feeling

I wanna see you in the deep

These phrases from the song I sing now

Endless thoughts flood my mind as he looks at me like a scared prey "I-I think there was a misunderstanding" my voice comes out shaky "But I'm really sorry you're going through this, specially with a young child" his expression softens "We're trying to make the whole process the least traumatic for him. We have no hard feelings involved…". My heart aches a bit for being so selfish this whole time, it kind of saddens me knowing they were a happy family "... Well I'm sure he loves you both a lot" Levi sighs tiredly and runs his hand through his dark hair "Anyway enough about my private life you're changing the subject. Or do you think you'll get away with it?". My confused eyes met his once again "I already told you I don't know what you're talking about" he quickly closes the distance between us and grabs my chin and I'm finally cornered on his table "Show me your phone then. A few hours ago a certain video was uploaded on a site you might be familiar with and I was wondering if that was the report you were finishing before coming here". My heart starts to beat faster and a tingly sensation spreads on my core, the smirk on his lips widens as he notices my heaving chest "You watched it".

I ride that same road home, cradled by the bus

I see a dream I don’t think could ever come true

I wanna sleep in your feeling

I wanna see you in the deep

That season never makes its way back around

If I had remained just a bit more mature, I wonder what I could have said…

He presses his palms on the table caging me, his lip inches closer to my neck slowly making its way to my ear "You've been a very naughty girl lately, haven't you brat?" breath seems to vanish as his hands start to travel up my thighs lifting up a bit of my skirt. His slender fingers slowly trail over the heat in my core sending shivers all over. With swift and precise movements he takes over every inch of my body and mind, the warmth he slides inside me drips over my legs while his hot breath damps the skin of my neck. Hidden eagerness and veiled hunger walk along our touches as euphoria finally reaches our dampened hearts, now hanging on each other desperately trying to take back the air we didn't seem to need a few seconds ago,

It’s still not enough

It still won’t fade away

Innocence remains in the palms of our joined hands

What a good thing we lose

What a bad thing we knew

These phrases soak through me like rain

His lingering touch still makes me shiver as I rest my head on his shoulder, his calloused palms hold me firmly as I try to put my trembling legs on the floor. "I guess we both have been quite stressed lately… I wouldn't mind having you over for dinner" my fingers trail the nape of his neck "Both meanings of that phrase seem lovely, but don't you have to see your son tomorrow?" a scoff scapes his lip "After so many nights I spent awake over work you don't think I can pull an all nighter with you?" he traces my jawline and lifts my chin to finally meet his ice blue eyes "Can you keep your promises Mr. Ackerman?" "Don't worry brat, I'll teach you to work overtime".

It’s still not enough

I still can’t say

The “goodbye” from my dreams, back when I was counting the days

What a good thing we lose

What a bad thing we knew

If we had never touched, would we be smiling now?

#attack on titan #levi ackerman #levi x reader #levi aot #levi imagine #aot imagines #shingeki no kyojin #snk levi

53 notes · View notes

feralmoonlight · 2 years

Text

Oops today has turned into me musing endlessly on the spooky season Vampire Sun and Werewolf Moon (Same body, more like different mindset enough for Sun during the day to give Moon his own personality in the back of his mind, but it’s one single mind/consciousness and not two individuals) SO I’m just going to wordvomit the various blurbs ive been throwing at people today down here, enjoy. TO RECAP Good afternoon I am here to throw a horribly indulgent and stupid AU into the void of vampire!Sun and werewolf!Moon as a messed up 2 for 1 deal because this universe is painfully lacking on vampires afflicted with lycanthropy and in this essay I will-

You hadn’t wanted to move to a new town. This move was not by choice. But since you were still living with your family, when the decision came down hard with no room for arguments, and the roof over your head was in danger, what other choice did you really have? It wasn’t like your job was one of a kind, boring minimum wage that you could throw a stone in the new city and find something just as good. All of your best friends were online so that at least wasn’t a problem… One upside to this new location was the town itself at least? It was Old with a capital OH. The kind that made you imagine history was walking beside you on the streets as you explored. Details you never saw in today’s modern building decorated every facade, houses that were older than any of the residents reigned in their own unique glory. Some so opulent you couldn’t imagine moving in them, and some so run down it was a wonder they were still standing. You’d admit it was pretty cool, if you weren’t still fighting your ire at having your old life uprooted from under you. From up on the veranda of one of those more fancy looking houses, the occupant leaned against the railing, openly watching you with wide eyes as you meandered down the street. It was weird. Really weird. Weirder still when his hand shot into the air in an enthusiastic wave, way too much energy for such a hot fall afternoon. You offered a timid wave back. Interesting neighbors…

Unrelated, non robo au where sunny is this sweet daycare worker dude that is also a part time florist(MAYBE? possibly scrapped?) but he's also a full time werewolf and moon doesn't like company. Because spooktober

TLDR Vampire Sunny hires you on a whim to maybe do some casual yardwork for him cause the sun is icky and also maybe as a snack when he gets bored ish? But you manage to charm him enough the first time or two that he only takes a sip and is like. Mm Yes Good, I’ll keep this one around for a bit.

Unrelated I've decided that for the vampire/werewolf thing, I'm not going to really 'describe' human Sun, cause it feels weird. A seemingly ever grinning face, tall, large hands with long fingers, almost unnervingly thing but somehow way stronger than the lean frame should be capable of, an eccentric ruffly wardrobe that leans towards rich deep reds and vibrant golds... yes. But details about hairstyle, skintone, anything like that ain't gonna happen More ramblings under the cut~

I don’t know the source of this image, friend linked it to me off pintrest but it’s so spot on I love it so I cry. Also, sun is absolutely going to tie a little ribbon around your neck with a little sun/moon charm. Both a 'this is mine' and a 'leave it alone' billboard to others in the area Friend also linked me this Lunar Clock Thing

He has you doing all this work to make his yard look usable and welcoming and stuff but he only ever looks at it. Doesn't enjoy it. And no one seems to ever visit even though he's super friendly, what gives? You'd think such an old neighborhood everyone would know each other but no one seems to really talk about Sunny much Like at all. No one knows Jack about this guy Yet without fail, every time you pass by, there he is, stepping outside to wave hello and tempt you over for a chat[2:43 PM]Eventually finds out you do schooling at home and offers you his tutelage. Apparently this dude is also stupidly smart about a lot of things??

More excuses to make you visit, to have you linger. Sit closer. Definitely not lean against you with a slow deep breath, definitely not smelling you for some creepy reason. Not that you pick up on it. But he is a little less warm than you expected. The closeness is enough to set your cheeks on fire and he pulls back immediately, excusing himself to put on some tea(and get a soda for you. He started keeping those around just for you, you realized)

Always rushes you away before dark though. Says the streets are dangerous.

Very dangerous

Were!moon is basically a feral beast under the full moon but as it waned to nothing he has a cold clarity to him. Suns happy self sombers and while it's still the same mind, it's a different personality that takes over at night that pushes him to give into his more instinctual urges of all kinds

Sunset is a toss up on if he's safe or bordering into dangerous based on time of the month. You could probably survive when the night is dark with only some minor nibbling but after the halfway point your life is on the line. He will kill. For now. Time may change this

Oh, don't be fooled, this is already the case, and the reason (second reason) he didn't turn you into a one time snack. The fact you're absolutely delicious is definitely a first, an exquisite treat to be savored slowly, but it's after the second or third visit that the reason he was excited to see you come by after that wasn't purely because he had the hungies. The times you come in to sit down and spend time with him, at ease around him, laughing with him even... It's something he hasn't gotten to enjoy in years, if not a couple decades. The inner voice of Moon in his mind that tells him to protect himself, remember how humans hunted him, would still hunt him if they knew, the danger of it all... it's something to be wary of, but you... You don't shy away(much) when he rests a hand on your shoulder(without his influence), you come to him willingly, stay longer than is necessary, and what should have been just a simple effort to keep things tidy in his yard has, of your own doing turned into making it nicer. You've brought new flowers, he's seen you scrub old moss from some of the little statue figures that hide around the bushes, you even asked him about paint to touch up parts of the fence that had begun to rust to keep it in good condition(something you were meaning to do one of these nights, but just hadn't bothered the motivation). It's a friendship, true and true, even if you're unaware that you're befriending an actual monster that isn't out of the woods of ruining your friendship yet. He would truly be upset with himself it if happened.

Again.

Aaaand I think that’s all I really have at the moment for this, but take it and enjoy <3

#VampireWerewolf AU #SB Sun #Sundrop #SB Moon #Moondrop #Fnaf #security breach #this has a lot more fucking stuff to it in my brain than is written down #again #it keeps happening #i just love building AUs but the process of writing them out is so fucking slow aaaaa #feral rambles #feral writes #AU hoard

150 notes · View notes

galactic-glamour-girl-posts · 2 years

Text

Let's Rank the Animaniacs segments!

The order won't surprise you too much if you've followed me for a while or have seen a few of my Animaniacs-related posts (although my opinions on some segments have changed), but I figured it would be fun to rank them anyway (plus it relates to something I wanted to say regarding the characters, but I'll save that for the end). Sub series like Wheel of Morality and Dot's Poetry Corner don't count.

Segments I actively dislike

Worst - Katie Ka-Boom

"lol teenage girls amiright?" No. Shut up. This isn't funny. Her catchphrase is dumb (“I’m not overreacting, I’m a teenager!”) and honestly her parents suck too (“Teenagers should be locked away until they’re 30.”) This is easily the most mean-spirited segment on the show, it reeks of bitterness.

The Hip Hippos

The fat jokes suck and both hippos are boring characters with no real goal or motivation; but they are a genuinely wholesome couple and the idea of out of touch high class people being the stars of a segment is at the very least a good idea, they just botched the execution.

Chicken Boo

The Chicken Boo segments are an okay joke told too many times in the exact same way.

Buttons and Mindy

This segment is too mean spirited and is basically the same segment every time but I'm ranking them higher than Boo because Buttons and Mindy, as characters, are adorable and actually have personalities, unlike Boo (I'm aware Boo being like that is the point, but still).

Segments that are...OK

Mime Time

I think The Mime being such a bland character actually improves these bumpers. I don't feel too bad when he gets hurt because we barely know him and his bumpers are brief, so we don't see him suffer for too long. Although I do think the slapstick is kinda just...fine.

The Flame

These are little boring. I feel like the Warners do a better job with educational segments. These segments pretty much just exist to teach US history, but in a more tame yet in your face about how great they want kids to think America is way than when Warner segments would.

Randy Beaman Kid/Colin

It sure is...a bumper.

The Incredible Gnome in People's Mouths

This might be the weirdest premise of any Animaniacs segment, and that's saying a lot. It's alright.

Good Idea Bad Idea

Easily the best non-sub series bumper for sure...but it's still just a bumper.

Starbox and Cindy

This segment is kind of like Buttons and Mindy but since the protagonist is a bad person, his pain can actually be funny. It's also kind of like Pinky, Elmyra and the Brain if they didn't turn an iconic double act into an unremarkable trio. Hearing Cindy ramble about random stuff in the background is both cute and funny (I'll admit the Gnome probably should be higher because it's more of an original idea...but Cindy's adorable so I'm putting this higher lol).

Goodfeathers

I didn't like their first segment, but a lot of their later ones are OK, even though many over-rely on the whole "and then the Goodfeathers get hurt" bit. They're not much more than a (now dated) reference, and I think the writers realised this eventually because they clearly gave up on them at one point. They get no segments in season 3, only one in season 4, in season 5 they just get cameos and bumpers, and they show up really late compared to everyone else in Wakko's Wish. Pesto's the only standout character here to me, I don't really care for Squit or Bobby.

Minerva Mink

I like how she loves to wallow in self pity about how hard her life is yet is incredibly vain, manipulative and loves to be ruder than she needs to be. She's not a saint, but that's funny! I would've put her segments in the next tier if not for 1-the fact that she only has two segments so she never got to reach her full potential as a character and 2-the sheer amount of perv-pandering...which happens to be the reason why she only has two segments.

Segments I like!

Rita and Runt

Their segments can be hit or miss, but I think the bad ones aren't bad enough and the good ones are good enough to warrant them being this high. Rita and Runt are both likeable characters, their segments aren't the funniest but they have a lot of heart. Not gonna lie Rita's probably the best singer on the show.

Slappy Squirrel

She's basically what would happen if a Looney Tunes character ever actually grew to be old. She solves modern day problems with old school cartoon solutions, she's great!

Pinky and the Brain

In truth, if it weren't for their spin off series and the Animaniacs reboot these guys would probably be under Slappy. I've dedicated at least four long posts to these two I'm not going into further detail lol.

Best - Yakko, Wakko, and Dot

Chaotic good puppy children live out every kid's fantasy of fighting back against adults who mistreat them or others, what's not to like? I like that out of all the characters (aside from Slappy) they're the best homage to classic cartoons, between their designs and the fact that they often have entire segments that are homages to classic cartoons, like "The Girl with the Googily Goop", "The Warner's Vault" or "Yakko Amakko". Plus the Warners have one of the least formulaic segments on the show so that helps-great songs, cute sibling/family shenanigans, fun parodies, and just a whole bunch of zany chaos!

In all seriousness, the main reason I made this post is because a couple times I've seen people post/tweet something along the lines of "real Animaniacs fans like all/most segments" or "a true Animaniacs fan should like *blah blah blah* segments" and I just wanted to say...no.

If you only watch the show for the Warners, or just Slappy, or both Pinky and the Brain and Starbox and Cindy, or just Rita and Runt, Hip Hippos and Mime Time, or even literally only for Katie Kaboom, that's valid.

There's no quota for which segments you have to like. If you're a fan, you're a fan, no one else gets to decide that.

65 notes · View notes

beebopboom · 10 months

Text

Paranoia and Isolation

Aziraphale edition - mainly

(Now for this you are going to have to take the lockdown video as canon which I know I know it’s in that weird space but this is just for fun - take what you will)

Aziraphale’s and Crowley’s relationship quite literally has paranoia built into its foundation and that shit ain't just going to go away. Even in the Before the Beginning scene you see Aziraphale worried about someone listening in. However I'm not here to talk about the Before but the After, after Armageddon that is. On the bench you can see Aziraphale start to relax now that they have survived and really have no need to hide anymore until - until Crowley says it’s not over.

“No for my money the really big one is all of us against all of them”

Now for my money I’d say that put Aziraphale back into an "it's not over” mindset - that they still had to stay in their respective angel and demon roles to stay safe - and it’s followed with "time to leave the garden" or time to start all over again - and then crowley’s "temptation" to the ritz or putting himself right back into the role he has been playing for centuries

My point is that they have acknowledged that they will be left alone for a bit but eventually something is going to pull them back in - it's not over and it's still not safe enough to live out their forever together just yet - and they are just sitting around waiting for that something to happen, safe in their roles but now not trying to hide their relationship, at least that is to Aziraphale - it’s a fragile existence

Except they pushed it a little further than that didn't they? they were rather domestic and both planned confessions. why? what changed?

The pandemic happened and they didn't spend it together.

They had maybe a year of this new version of an old dynamic and they probably saw each other a lot until they couldn't. They were separated - largely due to themselves - but separated nonetheless. I mean my lord were they trying not to be but it wasn’t working because they were still trying to play into their roles. When the video was released it was about 2 months into the UK lockdown I believe and Crowley was already so very bored, planning on going to sleep if he couldn’t see Aziraphale. But I want to focus on Aziraphale because he was going stir crazy, he was restless. We see a lot of books most of which can be linked back to Season One and based on him saying he discovered a cookbook section I'd say he is just going through the whole shop, plus all the baking.

Now my point is in his isolation Aziraphale’s practically ingrained paranoia got ramped up and he didn't have Crowley there to bring it back down, so his brain latched on to what could happen to them next and he did what he’s best at - researching, starting with Tadfield. And he was writing it all down in a letter to Crowley (the contents of this letter haunt me, information? Love letter? Both? anyway) - the use of Esq (which I had to look up) is really interesting at this point in their relationship to because it is mainly used in a professional sense. But anyway Aziraphale, our angel that prides himself on his prophecy books, probably had a million ideas of what was coming and was narrowing it down by what happened in Tadfield

But then lockdown ended and they were able to see each other again so perhaps some of this faded into the background but didn't entirely go away. They get about another year before Gabriel shows up and man did they miss each other - those lines they had got so blurred and they slipped out of their roles even more - practically forgotten

And I’m not saying it’s just Aziraphale that is paranoid, I mean we see Crowley is also keeping an eye on Tadflied in the beginning of season two and his whole thing with Gabriel. But whereas Aziraphale’s isolation heightened paranoia had him throwing himself into trying to figure out what was going to happen so he could protect their future(*cough*cottage photo*cough*), Crowley’s had him trying his damnness to protect them as they were now so they didn’t need to concern themselves with Heaven’s or Hell's games - there was no point in it anymore, the whole angel and demon thing - so he dropped the act and started to just live (probably should have told Aziraphale that)

so like that is already so much miscommunication before they even meet up this season

and when the Metatron offers Aziraphale the job it really shined a light on that

It’s not something Aziraphale expects but good lord does it make his job easier in putting the last pieces together - now he just needs Crowley with him (I can do a final talk analysis later)

Except that doesn't happen because Crowley just wants to be done but Aziraphale is just so close and he is going to see this through

I mean before they even get to the lift he is trying to figure out and confirm what the next steps are. He definitely knew what The Second Coming was said to entail and his prediction that he wrote down in that letter was right - he had a plan

#3am ramblings #good omens #good omens 2 #good omens meta #good ineffable omens #aziraphale #crowley #aziracrow #ineffable husbands #ineffable spouses #good omens lockdown

8 notes · View notes

randomvarious · 1 year

Photo

Today’s mix:

Tech House Phenomena 3 by Dave Mothersole 1999 Tech-House

Gonna quote legendary electronic music opinion-haver Ishkur at length here in order to kick off this post, because he and I seem to be of the same mind when it comes to the mostly bad phenomenon that is tech-house music:

Somehow by incorporating the strengths of both Techno and House, Tech House succeeded in appealing to neither. So the result is something frustratingly banal and monotonous when it really shouldn't be...

Tech House straddles the razor-thin tightrope of something that doesn't have enough funky warmth for House yet not enough cold mechanicalism for Techno, so what comes out instead is something stiff, repetitive, and boring. It's such a disappointment, like the last season of Game of Thrones.

Tech House had real promise. It could have done great things with the tools it had. And it's something everyone hoped would happen, like feeding Scrabble tiles to a dog to see if it shits out a word. But instead Tech House wasted its potential on pretentious Berlin nightclubs and that aimless, meandering noodlyness that the Brits are fond of, like a 70s prog rock solo that goes on for way too long. Technically interesting but utterly soulless...

Tech House can be good. There is honestly good Tech House out there. I've even heard some. But finding it is a Herculian task of Sisyphian anguish in a Kafka-esque, Orwellian realm of Dostoevskian torment. It is possible to load up your music player with nothing but Tech House mixes, hop into your car, and drive to the other end of the continent and back and never hear the same song twice yet never hear an interesting song once. The odds of coming across decent Tech House are worse than needles made of diamonds in a rough full of haystacks.

So, a big yes to pretty much all of that. I'm always willing to give tech-house (and all genres, for that matter) a chance, but I usually end up being bored by it in the end, and this ephemeral 1999 mix from veteran UK DJ Dave Mothersole as part of London label Eukahouse’s Tech House Phenomena series is no exception. It's just always basically moderately interesting backbeats with nothing melodically interesting going on on top. Somehow, this CD has a 4.2 rating on Discogs though, which is pretty high, so while Ishkur says this music's appealing to no one, there are people who seem to actually really enjoy it. But I don't think I'll ever understand why, personally.

That said, there are a few rare occasions on this album when the music's good: San Jose, California's E.B.E. has a track that I've loved for a while now called "Distraught," and it's this dubby, electro-splattery groove that has no two bars on it that sound exactly alike. So, for a dance genre that's typically stifled by monotony, this one seems to stand out from the rest.

And the closer, "Luv Talking," from London's Pure Science, is pretty great too. It's something of an infectious party groove that already comes equipped with sampled bits of recorded revelers itself, so it sort of just has this naturally inviting post-disco house essence to it. And it appears to be exclusive to this mix too, besides its appearance on a 12-inch that's also called Tech House Phenomena 3 that was most likely released as a teaser for this mix.

So, if you'd like to hear that song in particular, or you're brave enough to admit that you actually love tech-house, you can message me for this mix, because I unfortunately am unable to find any kind of link for it.

And go check out Ishkur’s Guide to Electronic Music too. His website is a uniquely indispensable resource for learning about electronic music and the histories and sonic characteristics of its many niche genres. His depth of knowledge on the subject is incredibly vast, and his genre explainers are witty, funny, and insightful. Plus, the playlists he puts together for each genre are really good too, especially for the genres he enjoys, which seem to be a lot of them. I’m a really big fan of his work and his writings have definitely played a role in helping me develop my own eclectic and nuanced tastes in electronic music. Without him, this silly music blog I have probably would never exist 🥺.

Highlights:

E.B.E. - "Distraught" Bryan Zentz - "Binary Ritual" Pure Science - "Luv Talking"

#tech house #house #house music #dance #dance music #electronic #electronic music #music #90s #90s music #90's #90's music

14 notes · View notes

kidmachinate · 1 year

Text

Diablo IV - Things Will Get Better, Right?

Diablo IV was met with much praise upon being released. The game has an 88 top critic average on OpenCritic, and a 96% for critics recommend. This tells a very positive story…however, the people invested in the game past review impressions seem to have an altered version of this tale and it isn’t all sunshine and rainbows. Let’s talk about it. The campaign is great and refreshing. I think Lilith works as a villain and the whole her vs Inarius struggle front and center is an interesting backstory. Most of which can be understood even without playing the previous games. The cutscenes are amazing and the voice work is well done. It works. Even if you’re only realistically playing the campaign one time and one time only, as the game gives you an option to skip the campaign any time past the first. There also some key fights in the campaign that will be a nod to past games as well that add value for players keeping up over the years. Won’t say what because spoilers. It’s a deep enough story, disconnected from the feel of the past three games, but still had bits to enjoy from the past titles too. It is exciting enough on its own and leaves things open for those upcoming expansions and/or future titles. While people are likely gonna skip campaign after the first time, I like this one much better than Diablo III before it. This is the greenest side of the field. Let’s get into characters. To be perfectly clear, before I get into anything else, I’m not going to paint the same pretty picture many have. While I am still enjoying this game, I debate for how long. A previous (now nonexistent, unfortunately) review I had for Diablo III was titled In and Out of Diablo III. As is stands, and much of this is dependent on what happens with Seasons 1 and/or 2 of the game, Diablo IV may be a similar type of review. I may stay in longer initially than I did vanilla D3, but do I have the same patience to keep trying time and time again hoping the game improved months later? I’m not so sure. Let’s get right back to it because I got slightly sidetracked here. The characters! Another disclaimer, this is my personal take on each character. Barbarian is boring to me but up for consideration for Season 1 or to play the only character I haven’t made yet. No real opinion to offer yet. Sorcerer is my main and level 78. Feels satisfying to play and look at. Every element has a viable build. I originally thought this was the class most balanced, and in the sense of being able to use each element and multiple versions of each, is great. However, it is the weakest class in terms of survivability, they took away an enchantment slot since the beta, resists don’t work which is half the point of the intelligence state, and it doesn’t have the damage to help make up for that. Once you get to the true endgame, you need to play near if not entirely perfect, or wait for your defensive cooldowns or frost nova to come off cooldown. I’m playing and Ice Shards build and thinking about a Hybrid of Blizzard and Ice Shards soon. Druid feels real bad through level 50. It’s too damn slow. I’m just over that now but exhausted from what it took to get there, so I barely touch it. I’ve done less on my Necromancer and Rogue, however both already feel satisfying at early levels. I’ve got a Penetrating Shot and Bone Spear build for the two respectively. Rogue is exceptionally nice with mobility options because you don’t get a horse until Act IV of the campaign. That’s another minus point for the campaign I suppose. The classes I think are mostly okay but need some further tweaks to get to a point where all characters feel fun to play at any given point in the game. Which class is best will be figured out and change over time, but there are clear senses of what is fun and not right now. In the case of the not so fun classes, it feels bad. Sorcerer, which I will now call Sorceress from this point forward (because I have a female char and it was that in D2 dammit) is the most picked class, but stats show people drop the class after a certain point due to what I mentioned above. It’s no good. I hope this changes. I’d love to keep playing Sorceress but I don’t think needed changes will happen before Season 1 drops in less than a month. The character creator, while not in depth, having it at all is greatly appreciated. I have to state another good point. The devs have been very responsive and open to feedback at a surprising level. It almost make you think you aren’t playing a Activision Blizzard game…almost. While not all the changes we may want are implemented yet, there has been quite a few patches and hotfixes since before even the early/retail release, during the period of the open beta. That’s fantastic and a great sign. This does give me hope for the future…even if not immediate. The environment, characters (with changes needed and ever pending), and dev feedback all feel great. I genuinely enjoy and appreciate visually what I am looking at now since Diablo III’s original presentation. While Reaper of Souls made it better, this delivers the environmental feel closer Diablo and Diablo II. I approve highly…but you all reading this know better right? It was getting to this point. This is where the grass starts to get brown or rotten at the core. Part of this…or perhaps a big part of this may be personal preference but hear me out on this. Here’s the other half of the story.

By design, this game was doomed to fail in my eyes for as much as I like Diablo. I am mostly not a fan of open world. It truly takes a great world I’m legitimately interested, or some sense of actual purpose behind what I’m doing. Elden Ring accomplishes this even with its samey dungeons because I may get upgrade materials, new challenges, and a new boss (sometimes). With Diablo IV, most of its dungeons are like Elden Ring dungeons, except even less variety in the dungeons (if you can imagine that) a slight chance of getting something to upgrade your endgame gear and absurd drop rates. It doesn’t feel rewarding and the higher you push in Nightmare Dungeons to get better chances at stuff, feels particularly bad with my favorite class, Sorceress. Build variety takes a hit with Sorceress. You’re restricted to the same defensive options for each build to maybe keep you alive. It sucks. There are microtransactions and they are disgustingly priced, and you already paid for the game upfront. It isn’t pay to win however, so as much as this sucks on principle, it isn’t a huge deal. It’s a much bigger deal for anyone with addictive tendencies and to those people, I’m sorry. This sucks. Personally, I’m more concerned about what the game has to offer. I got sidetracked again while making other points. There’s more to this. Diablo IV leans more towards MMO while keeping the spirit of an ARPG game. I like having the extra stuff to do. Dare I say I even enjoy it? Yeah, I do. I like the world bosses (big group boss fights), world events (normal party size events to kill enemies), even watching terrible groups fail legion events because the are too slow (bigger group, kill groups of enemies in a set timeframe). The problem is when I should be doing either Helltide (sections of the map change in favor of collecting materials and fighting some bosses) to go towards better drops in chests in those areas, or should just simply be running nightmare dungeons because these samey dungeons are pretty much what matters in the endgame, everything else just feels like a chore. I await the important stuff. I suppose I forgot that this is also technically a live service game since it has a season pass and such, so again, by design, probably something I won’t like. Seasonal play hasn’t hit quite yet, so I dunno how I will feel about it. However, live service by design is not respectful of your time. What has to be one of the biggest offenders of wasting your time in this game is the paragon board. I made the decision to redo my paragon board. If you want to respec your character, it costs gold. I think it should be free but fine. No big deal. It refunds all nodes. All 58 of them assuming you have them all. You know what you can’t refund all of? Your 225 total paragon board nodes should you choose to respect. You have to go one by one and they all cost gold. Some you have to click twice to remove a rune attached to a node and then refund the node after removing the rune. Way to not respect a gamers time. I suppose storage is also an issue and gems don’t have their own bag, but they will be addressing this at some point around I think Season 2...so I guess they get a pass because they at least heard and addressed this. It’s not an issue for me. Yet. Play this game with friends if you like it but can’t stand all the in between stuff that mostly won’t matter when you’re doing endgame activities. That’s the best advice I can give. The foundation is here for a greater game (in my opinion) than Diablo III, but we’re not there yet. We need some further class balancing and a Tier 5 difficulty with actual different activities and/or new gear to chase for levels 80-100. By the time I got to this section before posting this review, my Sorceress is level 82. I’m not sure I care to get to 100 other than to say yay, I did it, pretty unenthusiastically. Uber Lilith, the level 100, play perfect challenge only gets you a horse skin. No thanks, I’ll pass. To stick a number on it to help make my point, this is a solid 6.5 to 7 out of 10 game. On days in which lag/rubber banding is a problem, even on people’s higher end PCs, I might even be inclined to put it at lower due to frustration, but I won’t. I think this is fair. If in Diablo III I was in and out of the game because I didn’t care for the overall scene or much at all, Diablo IV is the opposite. I love the overall scene and it is a good campaign, but what remains in the endgame, what matters in Diablo IV is an extension of how some people feel about real life. It’s fine…but you’re just going through the motions hoping it will eventually get better. I’d compare this to relationship you’ve been in too long but this is early in the game’s lifecycle. Things will get better, right? Right? We shall see.

#gaming #review #diablo iv #Activision Blizzard #Blizzard #diablo #live service #mmo #arpg #open world

7 notes · View notes

that-golden-lyre · 2 years

Text

I posted 1,112 times in 2022

30 posts created (3%)

1,082 posts reblogged (97%)

Blogs I reblogged the most:

@flowerflamestars

@ladynestaarcheron

@vidalinav

@hoax1918

@arinbelle

I tagged 245 of my posts in 2022

#nesta archeron - 29 posts

#thanksvember2022 - 28 posts

#nessian - 28 posts

#cassian - 24 posts

#the old guard - 17 posts

#dream of the endless - 16 posts

#the sandman - 15 posts

#hob gadling - 15 posts

#yusuf al kaysani - 13 posts

#dream x hob - 11 posts

Longest Tag: 114 characters

#what about the rest of us poor writing simps trying not to absolutely loose it everytime you post a snippet huh???

My Top Posts in 2022:

So we have another late one. May I start with the fact that this fic is a beautiful version of the “if you love me go to sleep, know your limits”, meme. And I ADORE it. It is wonderful and warm and Dream is in his soft boi era and I’m in love with it. The fact that Dream experiences every dream of every living thing and yet his feelings for Hob are SO STRONG that he NOTICES when he is not there is enough to make me cry. But Dream reveling in the routine of Hob’s life had me in a fucking puddle. The way Dream just wants to be a part of it as much as he wants to simply be present for it. You can feel the eons of existing in the way his feelings are described and that is once again a BIG favorite of mine. I love how Hob is so unfazed by him at this point in his life that he just figures this might as well happen but there’s still a little bit of embarrassment, not really embarrassment but…being unnerved for once? I don’t know how to describe it, but the way that Hob for the first time realizes that he’s sharing this tiny part of domesticity with Dream, but he’s almost too tired to be fully embarrassed about it. Anyways, if you love Dream x Hob domesticity as much as I do, READ THIS. Absolutely loved it! Thanks to @astrangebird for sharing! 💜💜

12 notes - Posted November 27, 2022

Oh no I missed a day....GUESS I'M DOING TWO POSTS THEN!!!!

For day 11, I give you an incredibly recent read! Oh, the way my heart actually skipped a beat reading this. I've said it before but when writers can portray the depth of years onto an ancient character the writing SLAPS 👏🏾. Listen kids, Dream of the endless is basically the pathetic meow meow equivalent to an eldrich terror. Reading fics about him is honestly a LARGE hit or miss for me. Because people will either treat him like a horny teenager or a boring old man. He's the collective unconscious of EVERY LIVING THING. That being said, the portrayal I have of him in my head is a pretty damn high standard. BUT SHIT @fellshish really hit the nail on the head for me. It's not that Dream never acts dumb about stuff, it's just the WAY he's dumb about stuff is so...well...different. The way that Dream's inner monologue is in SUCH denial if not only for the fact that as long as he has control then none of it is real. Until it is, until he wants it to be real so badly that he forgets a bit that this is HOBS DREAM. I absolutely love how at the end of it all, he gives the choice back to Hob. He stops trying to control destiny as if that wasn't what he's been doing this whole time. He surrenders...to Hob. And the romanticism of him surrendering to him regardless of how Hob reacts was just absolutely beautiful. Anyways, now that I have 1,000% spoiled this fic for you, you should STILL go read it! Thank you to @fellshish for sharing! ❣️

12 notes - Posted November 12, 2022

I don’t think you guys understand how much I needed this. Netflix has a habit of cancelling shows with representation in them and I’m scared for this show. Fingers crossed that the bastard son and the devil himself gets renewed for season two! 🥹 Now, this fic. I needed something to fill my head with after this show became my new hyper fixation of the week. The show is so much fun and I honestly love the poly vibes that I’m getting from the main trio! No love triangle, just a triad. As it stands this fic is like getting a warm cup of hot chocolate after being outside in the snow. After the emotional STORM that was that season finale, reading this was like tying a beautiful bow on top of a heartbreak. This fic had me yearning for the love these three have for each other in the darkest times. And hey, maybe this wasn’t the cheerful bow that other people want, but it’s the aftercare post massacre that I needed. Because maybe the bad times were the good times ❤️. So if you’re obsessed with this show just like I am, go give this a read! Thanks to @wandersmoklight for sharing! 💝

14 notes - Posted November 20, 2022

We’ve got something new folks! No nessian today! 😂 Okay, I will admit I watched the old guard movie before I read the comics but I’m SO glad I did!!! Props to @hoax1918 for the artwork it is GORGEOUS! This fic goes into an everyday detail that I absolutely love! I love how this just exposes the reasons they care for each other and how they got there. It’s a simple gesture, but they can’t help it! They’re literally magnetic. There’s something about the story that just brims with the electricity of the possible. I fully enjoyed just how hard they’re trying NOT to be fond of each other in public. But again, they can’t help it and I will forever love the pining in this dynamic. Nicky and Joe just have this sweet sadness about them before they become a couple and I don’t think I’ve found that in many other ships! So if you’re looking for a bit of ancient yearning definitely give this fic a read! Thanks to @shadowhannibad for sharing 💘

18 notes - Posted November 19, 2022

My #1 post of 2022

Ok I am still on my Dreamling domestic bullshit. Sorry not sorry. This really made me want to curl up by a fire and hug a cat. The way that this just slaps me in the face with the need to have someone care for me, the tiny details of everyday care just KILL ME. And that’s it isn’t it? That’s the love that Dream and Hob so desperately need, they want someone who will love every detail of who they are. I think that’s what they deserve! After centuries of pining and being alone, Hob doesn’t want to hold back! And Dream is venturing again into love when it has never turned out well for him, he’s afraid. The apprehension that this fic explores, the silent touches, and HILARIOUS timing on Dreams part. But Dream is never convenient is he? And Hob for all that he is has never bothered to care! Not when he was rich, not when he was poor. Dream just integrating himself into Hob’s life accidentally! Literally chefs kiss 💋! This fic really is just full of details that I continue to loose my mind over (because I definitely read it too many times). Sometimes after reading the sandman I forget that Dream loves quiet, yet so so loud. He integrates the person he loves into his very being. He has seen every for of love every living being has to offer. Love is a part of Dream as much as slumber. I absolutely LOVED every bit of this fic! And if you love Domestic Dream and Hob, you NEED to read it! Thanks to @wordsinhaled for sharing! 💙💙

33 notes - Posted November 25, 2022

Get your Tumblr 2022 Year in Review →

#tumblr2022 #year in review #my 2022 tumblr year in review #your tumblr year in review

9 notes · View notes

iwantmygun · 2 years

Text

Here’s a rant that’s 9 years too late, and it’s about season 7 episode 6: The Time of Our Lives; Castle & Becketts wedding.

Firstly, the writers must have changed. I heartily preferred the show when they stuck to logical explanations behind their plots versus season 6 where they started randomly adding little unexplained supernatural elements. Kate & Rick are magic enough on their own, I don’t know who chooses to watch murder mysteries hoping for some sci-fi twist. It just doesn’t fit and we, as an audience, were not asking for it. The episode which they crammed their wedding into was one of the loosest plots of any in the series, as Castle spends the entire thing in an alternate reality. And of course it’s speculative that he could have Wizard of Oz style dreamed it, but frankly I just consider it insanely lazy writing.

Secondly, why do our favorite MCs get the worst weddings of all freaking time? I guess I didn’t realize I’m watching a soap opera. They did it to Jess & Nick in New Girl, too. Like the audience can’t just enjoy a peaceful moment between their two favorite characters? With Castle, I remember watching their original wedding episode aired live, where they left us on a cliffhanger for an entire summer not knowing if Castle was alive or dead. I’m pretty sure I stopped watching after that. The writers were just dumb. They HAD US as an audience. They knew the ratings and how wildly popular the show was. Why couldn’t they just give us a goddamn wedding after we watched week after week for six years?! When they do find Castle in season 7, they never even find out what actually happened to him. He chose to have his memory wiped and they just accept that he chose to do that and moved right along past it. We never discover where he went, it was just thrown in there to ruin their wedding. At least the Captain Montgomery conspiracy made sense. At least Beckett being shot made sense. The writing just completely deteriorated. I’m picturing a bunch of bored ass writers in a room basically drooling and shooting the shit not even referring back to their own prior plot to keep the story at all relevant. Beckett has been through SO MUCH SHIT. She deserved a lovely wedding. She deserved to wear her mothers wedding dress, not just Martha’s blue earrings. THEY deserved better wedding vows. They said better vows earlier in an episode to which they did not refer back to, and they should have. Castle is a FREAKING WRITER yet he says the exact same copy and pasted vows as Beckett. Weak. It’s all weak. AND they didn’t even invite Lanie, Ryan or Esposito to their last minute wedding. They’re all mad about it, and they fucking should be. The wedding episode was a complete and utter cop out so obviously filmed in front of a green-screen, so we get this so-perfect-it’s-almost-ugly sunset as a background, and Becketts in slacks. Yay. The wedding we all deserved and waited YEARS for was sooo weak and forgettable that it took me rewatching it now to realize why I had given up and blocked it out. I don’t wanna hear any explanation behind why the writers did this. I just need to stew for a bit. 😤

#richard castle #castle #Kate beckett #abc #abc has bad writers #rick castle #katherine beckett #murder mystery #weak

2 notes · View notes

jackalsinthekitchen · 1 year

Text

pop report #5: endless summer edition (9/16/23)

a sundazed glance at Billboard’s top 20 from two weeks ago – bitch, I said what I said

Summer’s over, the heat from the proverbial kitchen and literal sun still burning the other cheek I feebly turned to both. Per tradition, we’re bidding the season goodbye with a smattering of typical plaints that it wasn’t long enough, or felt like it didn’t happen. But here in Texas, it’s in full swing by early May, with not much mystery over what we’re in for beyond what degree (Fahrenheit) of punishing. So yeah – we’re pretty sure it happened. Yet again, we thought we were ready for it, and yet again, it went a little harder on us than it needed to. Whatever else went down, that lucky old sun made it cruel enough to justify a now-ancient Taylor chorus shooting up the pop charts. Like anything else that shoots up the pop charts these days, reasons why were imperfectly clear. One more testament to the inimitable inhabitability of the One True Pop Star’s catchy canon, perhaps? My summer wasn’t my fave; I can still feel it from here.

I’ve barely touched this new blog o’ mine, which I dreamt of putting up for years – the present you ogle at through the shop window for ages only to take it home and unwrap it, and see all that built-up desire instantly brown with oxidization. While Jackals! still doesn’t have a hook, for the first four weeks of 2023, at a rate of productivity that was ultimately to no one’s benefit, I looked at the pop charts and decided to think out loud about what they meant. But the thing is, in a year when people are thinking about it more out loud than usual, nobody seems to know exactly what they mean. There are analyses trenchant and muddled, and scattered rebuttals to both, strewn throughout comments sections we’ll never read. I’m too bored to even try to recap what I think I know about how these numbers are measured. Even my late best friend’s agitated analyses resisted my comprehension. Why dull the aesthetic with the statistical?

Suffice it to say, there are so many theories about “gaming the system” floating around, it feels a bit like last election year. Most of the people on my radar are in some way convinced that one Oliver Anthony Music’s “Rich Men North of Richmond” won its surprise Billboard victory through nefarious right-wing interference – comparable, you hear, to that Jim Caviezel movie about (fighting) child trafficking, where people bought out whole theatres just to stick it to Brandon. It’s not about the music, they say, it’s about waving a righteous-anger rag, and the rallying cry might as well be coming from any red-faced red-haired Bible-belt boy with a banjo who caught the Qanon virus at très-unmasked family get-togethers. A more neutral friend points out that “Rich Men North of Richmond” hung in at a basically ungameable top 3 place on Spotify for a bit. It was all great industry all around: for MAGAfolk, thinkpiecers, Billy Bragg.

Times change fast, though, so even if a few people are still reeling from them, the Billboard chart – much less Spotify’s Today’s Top Hits, where Anthony has vanished – has moved on to its latest single-star infiltration. That star is Queen Zillennial Olivia Rodrigo, whose guts are is filled with readymade hits, and who may portend a long-awaited pendulum swing back to a more rockist zeitgeist. But because it still literally does not matter what I do here, I wanna warm up these lazy fingers some by casting an eye back to two weeks ago, a whole world away, when the charts looked a bit more like they did in the middle of swelter season. At the ground floor of that top 20 was the indefatigable fatigue-pop of “Anti-Hero”, my most favorite song, which does not seem to have engendered a self-reflection revolution here on earth. But hey, maybe people are just keeping quiet about it. Even Taylor is going through some shit.

#19 is “Thinkin’ Bout Me”, by Morgan Wallen, the, uh, hot-button country artist about whom many folks certainly have thoughts. I haven’t heard this song as of this point in this paragraph, and I suspect it’s not as good as Frank Ocean’s pillow-pop classic “Thinkin’ Bout You”, which is the next song you get when you type “thinkin bout” in the search bar. Mr. Wallen, a reformed butt-rocker, has a harder edge than many of his southern-pop peers, and an excellent article I linked to earlier in this piece, written by a (non-right-wing) writer who’s spent just a little more time with young Wallen’s proudly endless albums than I have, suggests his lyrics even bespeak hip-hop (gasp!) influences. Perhaps this explains some words he enjoys using. The beat of this one is ripped unaltered from hip-hop; the lyrics might pass too, if rapped, though not in what I perhaps unfairly call “truck nuts voice”. Wallen is feeling upset, and entitled, about a recent breakup in this enduring hit, not helping his case by singing the song like an asshole. (More on this later.)

Country really is in its butt-rock era, in a sense – the guitars are amped-up and grinding, the (male) vox are growly and real-ass proud about it. “Need a Favor”, by something called Jelly Roll that’s miles away from Morton, was cited recently in an AA meeting I attended by someone it caught unsuspecting on the radio. We’re a very talk-to-God crowd in AA, and contra Wallen, there’s a humility in this song that’s not matched at all by its sound, but which pushes its stridence into something resembling passion. I’ve just found out via Google/Wikipedia that Jelly Roll is apparently an “American rapper”. He looks like a heavier Post Malone – also an “American rapper” even though everything he puts out sounds just like a pop song – and has a narrative about being incarcerated many times, which also lends some poignant complexity to his hit’s hook. Verdict: annoying if you’re in the wrong mood, but not necessarily bad for your health.

Next in my discovery journey is finding out who the War & Treaty are – they’re a Black husband and wife who weave country and rock into more traditionally Black styles like soul and blues. It makes sense that they’d team up with Zach Bryan, one of the better and, dare I say it, more soulful heavy country hitters hanging out in the high end of these charts. “Hey Driver”, which doesn’t trouble you with electric guitars or even drums at the top, is really stirring. The juxtaposition of tW&T’s full-bodied harmonies against Bryan’s voice, which crumbles once it hits the air, is gorgeous, and the lyrics boast a complexity rarely troubled with on most of these hits. It’s all sincerity, but for the most part, I feel like it earns it. Though the Billboard charts continue to exhibit a kind of separate-but-equal mélange of genres, this sort of crossover still feels rare – even if so much pop, R&B and country takes production cues from hip-hop.

At #16 (we’re at #16 btw) is the ever-restless, currently-somewhat-exhausted Miley Cyrus, whose tired but empowered “Flowers” is already one of pop’s great breakup anthems and stands as one of the songs of last summer. I spent some time in Ms. Cyrus’ canon last spring for a piece I’m proud of, but it didn’t dispel the impression I’ve always had that behind that fabulous voice and insouciant demeanor is not a very clear artistic vision. Cyrus swings from new tack to new tack, and unless she’s put a truly fantastic single together – she does this every so often – there’s always a trace of “unconvincing” there for me. “Used to Be Young” is scarcely different. A piano ballad, something she seems to personally favor, it has an air of reflective weariness (cf. “Malibu”) and light penitence (perhaps for She is Coming?). The media was rarely kind to her, but the hurt only comes out in her songs. The hook is solid, if a little programmatic (“you say I used to be wild, I say I used to be young”), and the music narrowly avoids sappiness with an atmospheric, beaty arrangement. And the fact is, when she starts to belt, she thins out her competition.

“Religiously” by Bailey Zimmerman – I would’ve typed “Blake” based on his face and sound if I hadn’t looked twice – is another revved-up, growly country song about having been deserted, and unlike Mr. Wallen, Zimmy doesn’t wink at you that she was super wrong to leave. The chorus – “I ain’t got the only woman who was there for me/religiously” – skirts patriarchal discomfort, but the lucky among us have had a deeply patient, unwaveringly supportive partner, so the regret is broadly relatable. The religious content is also rather muted – not like this is worship music or anything, though I guess it could pass if it were cornier – weaving the spiritual and secular in a seemingly seamless way. But it’s not not corny. It’s not clear if BZ has a sense of humor, and while his voice has some nice gristle to it (a la ZB), like most of country’s current heavy hitters, the music sounds straight from the factory (a factory with mandolins).

Lil Durk (feat. J. Cole)’s “All My Life”, #14, is also corny, but not enough to drag it down. The slow unfurl of its polysyllabic ruminations (there’s an element of hip-hop the rest of pop would do well to absorb), the classic-Kanye style kids’-choir hook, the simple, gorgeous chord progression: this is a song that aims to make you cry, and more or less earns it. Cole’s climactic middle section about slain young rappers is the highlight, of course; never were more brilliant pop stars cut down too soon than in the modern rap era. But the whole thing has a humility and sense of dynamics that arrests you the whole way through, even the verses you’re not following perfectly between choruses. There is a problem here, though – the single’s sweet sugar was harvested and glazed over by none other than Dr. Luke, one of music’s accused whose charges seemed credible enough to strip him of his license to practice. Can’t Ke$ha count on us?

#13 is “Flowers”, and #12 one of three fantastic hits from the indisputable movie of the summer. Barbie was fainter for me than I wanted, though I’m not sure how much more subversive – it’s quite subversive! – it could’ve been while still nailing the something-for-everyone thing. And anyway, what do I know? I’m just a Ken (or perhaps an Allan). “Barbie World”, the #12 in question two weeks ago – remember, this is all two weeks ago, I make the rules here – is the weakest of the trio. It’s a trap-haze interpolation of the old Aqua hit, a great song which nevertheless felt so aggressively hyper back in the ‘90s, it could hit like a form of torture in the wrong mood. Nicki Minaj, my original 2010s hero, hasn’t helped herself personally for a bit, but her effortless, earth-scorching command, even at a low temperature, is a perfect vessel for the universal empowerment this theme and its film intend – “all of the Barbies is pretty” indeed. #6 on this chart is Dua Lipa’s mint-condition, made-to-order disco anthem “Dance the Night”, the sort of banger that feels like it’s been around forever. The last Barbie hit, Billie Eilish’s startlingly canny “What Was I Made For”, a ballad that astounds a little harder every time it languidly unfolds, hung in at #22.

Oliver Anthony Music had dropped just outside the top 10 at this time. Part of my picking an earlier chart is that I wanted to write about him; that said, I don’t know that a single song has had more written about it in the recent past, and all in one week. Much was made of Anthony(whose beard conceals his build)’s irritation with people who use taxpayer-funded welfare to buy cheap treats. In fact, his fatphobia is the clearest toxicity in the lyrics, though the reference to “minors on an island somewhere” – as if the U.S. government did a thing to keep Jeffrey Epstein from hurting people – codes conspiracy theorist. But all the carping about his fishy success belies the fact that the song sounds great. Mr. Music’s voice is searing and powerful, the stark banjo and the outdoor ambience a production coup, and if it wasn’t so clear he was coming at this from the wrong place (though to be fair, he’s abjured any party affiliation), it would speak to the great open secret of U.S. politics, which is that bullshit pay is everybody’s problem, and these wedge issues, however serious, are there to distract us from uniting against our oppressors. As Billy Bragg put it in his pitch-perfect rebuttal, “join a union”. We’ve just been reminded strikes still work.

Having already touched on #6, I’ll breeze through 10 to 7. 10 is Rema & Selena Gomez’s “Calm Down”, an Afrobeat-graced pop hit with a vibe much resemblant of Bad Bunny and other recent Latin pop. Gomez’s post-Waverly Place penchant for coming on like she’s absolutely done with everything and is too tired to be bothered anymore suits the single’s quiet storm perfectly. “Vampire” is Olivia’s current piano-kissoff coup, and you already know how much it doesn’t suck. Gunna’s “Fukumean” gets stuck in my head here and there – well, just the “Fukumean” part – and I always subsequently wonder what it sounds like on the radio, where you still can’t quite say exactly what the fukumean. The music feels generic if peppy; the lyrics are conventional hip-hop aggro-bravado. SZA’s “Snooze” is no snooze, but also no “Kill Bill”.

I went through a breakup this summer, right around the time Morgan Wallen’s “Last Night” blew up. His music is insistently catchy and melodically brawny, so for a short time “no way it was our last night” was sort of a pet chorus in my head. But this deteriorated quickly, paying attention to the rest of the lyrics – said night was booze-fueled, not the most relatable or charming thing for a grateful recovering alcoholic, and once again, Wallen’s greasy cockiness is an automatic turn-off. There’s very little indication that his ex wants to stick around, much less that Wallen, whose cultural function is primarily as a “cancelled” superstar half of the country is propping up in retaliation, has done a lot of self-interrogation about it. The song really does sound great, and its hook is invincible, but once again, it isn’t exactly good for you.

The late-breaking triumph of Taylor’s “Cruel Summer” would also leave a bad taste if the song weren’t one of her best. I say this because of the recent scenario in which our new pop hero Olivia Rodrigo had to pay Swift, whose business acumen seems genuinely frightening, for a touch of inspiration from this song (a chanted section…?) that could be ungenerously interpreted as some sort of theft for which some sort of repayment is in order. Their lawyers worked it out, but bad blood feels inevitable; Swift famously supported Rodrigo in a deliberately maternal way when “Drivers License” (sorry, “drivers license”) hit, but it’s not impossible to imagine that zillionaire cipher feeling a twinge of jealousy from which a few petty things might result. Rodrigo’s evasive responses in interviews seem to give credit to this suspicion.

Into the top #3, and here sits one of my favorite curios, Luke Combs’ musically beefed-up but lyrically unaltered cover of Tracy Chapman’s “Fast Car”. Combs absolutely has truck nuts voice, and I’m still not clear what people who prefer that voice above all others do when he drops the line about his time as a checkout girl. It’s hard to pinpoint anything nefarious here; Combs has just sent an influx of money into the bank account of a more-or-less forgotten Black female singer-songwriter – though that song endures, and is now living in the high reaches of the charts, because it’s fucking fantastic. But then, I haven’t read any thinkpieces about it, and I’m getting about as tired of writing as you are of reading, so we’ll move on.

My boy Zach Bryan and our girl Kacey Musgraves are (well, were) at #2 with their gently broken collab “I Remember Everything”. With its soft bass-drum pound, quiet strumming, slowly sawn violins and swaths of echo, it sounds a bit like mists floating grimly over fields (antebellum, perhaps? Nah, not for Kacey). Here are two of our deftest, most openhearted country stars, and, finally, a country breakup hit with not a kernel of corn, setting its scene through pure suggestion instead of beating you over the head with a big new cliché in a sack full of old ones. Its magic dispels a little the closer you look, but it really works. So does the unflappable Doja Cat’s “Paint the Town Red”, noted by chartwatchers as the first rap hit atop the hot 100 in a hot minute. As with “Dance the Night”, once DC rolls in over the music, the song feels classic and eternal. Not unlike Dionne Warwick’s “Walk on By”, the source of its sample – a 60-year-old hit of such intense and incongruous fragility, it’s astonishing how well they worked it in. In the Spotify age, all pop is eternal. To that end, any summer whose soundtrack is woven into your soul is endless.

1 note · View note

enchantedaniel · 2 years

Note

Happy Monday December 12th, we’re halfway to Christmas Eve!! 🎄❤️

People say “Life is what happens when you least expect it.” And I always brushed that off, because while there may be moments of unexpected happenings, life goes on right? Well last week I was proven differently, as I unexpectedly got a call if I wanted to go and temporarily work at the publishing house. That wasn’t on my bingo card and it drained me. Not the work, but the fact that I had to shift my entire clock to getting up earlier and not having the amount of free time I had. I know ‘boo-hoo’ hahaha. But there is a point to this…

I’ve been filling my calendar with a bunch of social activities for the past few months. A shit ton a concerts (2023 literally almost has at least one every month), seeing movies with friends, having dinners, not sitting still. And I’ve been doing that to combat my seasonal depression. The ending of winter and winter itself are far too cold to go and be outside all the time, which means I’m prone to locking myself away and coming out of social hibernation once the sun starts shining (and funny enough the F1 season begins). And now with the disappearance of some of my free time, that prevention of seasonal depression felt under pressure.

There was a point.. and I haven’t made it yet. Gosh, don’t you ever get tired from my motivational Mondays? I mean I would get it! RIGHT THE POINT! The point I wanted to make was that I highly recommend for you to try and do social things as these days grow darker and colder. Go see a movie, go take a walk, go have dinner, do something to combat the cold feeling creeping into your soul. And most importantly do it with someone you love and want to keep in your life. Someone who warms your heart, because I promise it will make the end of the year just a tad bit more manageable.

I could never get bored of your Motivational Mondays funnily enough I went to go see a Christmas movie with my family before I became unwell, we also made some Christmas wreaths (TIP: if you touch use actual pine wear gloves, it hurts)! (Sorry for the late response, I had work and then I became unwell! I have literally slept non stop 😭)

0 notes

shazzeaslightnovels · 2 years

Text

September 2022

(Series: Lycoris Recoil)

No, I still haven’t finished Youztisu 8. I’m getting there.

While this season didn’t have as much to offer as last season, I did really enjoy every show that I watched and was excited to watch them every week. There was one exception to this which was Hataraku Maou-sama which I put on hold after episode 7. I took a break from the show while on holidays and I fell behind it by 3 episodes and when I finally got around to episode 7 all I could think about what was how bored I was watching it. And I actually like volume 4 more than most people did but the execution was so lackluster for me and I did not want to go back to it. I will still finish it later but I needed to take a break. It’s a shame as I’ve been wanting this sequel for 9 years but I can’t say I’m surprised that it ended up being disappointing, given the change in studio and the general quality of the light novels after volume 2. I can’t say I was excited to see a 3rd season announced.

Shadows House 2: This was a very compelling sequel with an intriguing mystery and some great new characters. I do think that it moved a bit too slowly at times and it’s a shame that it ends on a note that feels even more unfinished than the first season did but I’ve been meaning to pick up the manga anyway so whatever. Still a really enjoyable season that shows off the talents of the animators and the voice actors.

Danmachi 4: This one isn’t finished yet but I’ve been enjoying this one a lot. I do think that the more recent episodes suffer from some low budgeted animation but the strength of the source material still manages to carry it. The light novel is better but the anime makes for an enjoyable watch nonetheless. I don’t know how long this season is meant to go for. I’ve heard rumors that it will be 22 episodes but I haven’t found anything official to confirm it (granted I haven’t looked far). If this is the case, hopefully the anime won’t become unwatchable due to budget issues in the second half.

Lycoris Recoil: I really enjoyed this anime overall, largely due to how much I loved the main cast, particularly Chisato and Takina and their dynamic. I had a blast watching it every week. I definitely think there was more potential to explore the setting and interrogate the whole premise of teenage girls being turned into assassins. There was a particular part where Mika mentioned that Lycoris tend to stop being active when they turn 18 and there was no further explanation as to why that is or what happens to them. It’s just briefly mentioned and glossed over. I do think it was a missed oppurtunity to explore that premise further but as is it’s fun action series with incredibly charming leads that I was super invested in and that was enough for me. I will picking up the light novel volume once I’ve cleared a bit more of my backlog.

Digimon Ghost Game: Recently, the show has focused on Hiro more and more to the point where several episodes will just have Kiyo and Ruli make a single appearance or not appear at all. It reminds me of a tv show where a character just won’t appear in an episode because the actor is busy and the other characters will have a throwaway line to explain their absence. It also reminds me of the Adventure remake but I don’t mind it as much because I don’t have an older, better show to compare it to and because I don’t care about Ruli and Kiyo all that much. I like them well enough but the show never really felt like it knew what to do with them. Ruli wanting to find “something” was alluded to in early episodes but hasn’t come back since and Kiyo felt like he was starting to have a character arc with him becoming braver but his cowardliness tends to be used as comedic relief more often than not which resets most of that character development. It’s not like Hiro is any more developed but at least I feel like he has a point to exist. That’s definitely the weakest point of this season: as much as I enjoy it, I can’t say the human characters are very well-rounded. It’s a shame because they definitely have potential but they’re not used well. Thankfully, the Digimon themselves have more than enough charm to make up for it and I’m still able to really enjoy it each week and get excited for every new episode.

Love Live Superstar 2: I wasn’t enjoying this anime as much as I enjoyed the first season for the first half of it. While I liked the new characters well enough, I didn’t care much for their introductory episodes and I questioned whether they really needed to exist. But I am really enjoying the second half and I’m glad we get to see more of the original team and how the new members fit into their dynamic. Episode 7 & 9 were particular highlights. I am also a big fan of the new rival Wien who is perhaps the most threatening rival in all of Love Live. I’m really excited to see how this season ends.

Next season, the only new thing I’m set to be watching is the second half of Spy x Family but I’ll probably pick up a couple of other shows. I feel like HiDive has snatched up most of the shows that I was interested in this season (like Bibliophile Princess) but I’m sure I’ll find something.

#September 2022 #Reading log

1 note · View note

luvnami · 3 years

Text

𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞 - wahh it’s here! can’t believe my brainrot of osamu teaching a cooking class turned into this long fic lol... i hope you enjoy it!! it was fun crafting the story with my beta readers and i put a lot of effort into it!!! itadakimasu <3

𝐛𝐞𝐭𝐚 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐬 - @forgetou @amjustagirl (muacks 2x) + tq to everyone who helped me with the banner!!

𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠 - you’re suna’s younger sibling, food, heartbreak, angst but happy ending, mentions of stabbing (joke), kita dances to ‘ice cream’ by selena gomez and blackpink, mentions of alcohol, mentions of blood (brief), suna beats (redacted) up

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 - miya osamu x gn!reader

𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬 - you fall in love with miya osamu once more, but you’re afraid of getting hurt again.

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 - 5535

𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐦𝐢𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬 | 𝐤𝐨-𝐟𝐢

1. Cook the rice according to your rice cooker, then transfer the cooked rice to a separate bowl to cool it down.

“What ya want t’do is scorch the soy sauce.”

The class presses themselves against Osamu’s workbench as they scribble down notes on their recipe printouts. Their lips purse to ooh and aah at his cooking skills, though you’re pretty sure that they’re more interested in how his biceps flex when he flips the wok with a trained flick of the wrist.

You stand at the very edge of the group. It’s better than getting close with a group of hungry housewives, really. If grocery store and department mall sales have ever told you anything, it’s to never get in the way of what a seasoned housewife wants. Unfortunately for you, you haven’t learnt the way of being a homemaker just yet.

You’re unemployed, right in the middle of a month and a half-ish long transfer between jobs. You currently stay at your brother Suna’s place — which is really just an apartment filled with dirty laundry overflowing from its seams.

Turns out Suna himself is a bit of a gossip. He told Kita who told Atsumu who told Osamu that you’re stuck at his place 24/7 with no friends or entertainment in the lovely city of Nagano. It’s just mountains and trees as far as the eye can see all around — and there’s only so many hikes you can take each week.

“Why don’t you take a cookin’ class?”

“Cookin’?” Your face screwed up in confusion. “ What for?”

“So that you can actually pull your weight around the house and make me something to eat.”

You chucked a pillow at his head and began to list all the things you did while staying at his apartment. Laundry, cleaning the floor, doing grocery shopping (even if it was only instant noodles and snacks), finding his disgustingly sweaty socks under the sofa and many other important chores, thank you very much.

Besides, you weren’t as eager when you saw who was the one that would be holding the classes. With his picture plastered across the front of a pamphlet, your heart dropped into the pit of your stomach. Years of chasing his dreams and training in a kitchen had done Osamu wonders.

You had half a mind to smack Suna in the head with the yellow, glossy paper, but instead you quietly tucked it into a corner of the guest room to look at later. You were sure Suna hadn’t forgotten your history with Osamu just yet — but perhaps he assumed that enough time had passed to heal your wounds.

Either way, there’s no going back now. That’s how you ended up at Osamu’s ‘Cooking class for homemakers — you can do it too!’, except you aren’t a homemaker. You shift your weight from one foot to the other as the sound of sizzling soy sauce fills the air. Osamu pauses for a while before beginning to mix the rice with the sauce, wielding his spatula and wok expertly like weapons.

“Miya-san, you’re amazing!” someone gushes.

He lets out a bashful laugh. “This is nothing. I’m sure everyone will be able to do this by the end of class today!”

You wonder if he’s ever considered being a teacher. The demonstration on how to make shrimp fried rice is soon over and everyone returns to their benches, eager to try out the recipe. You are no different. Scurrying to your bench at the very back of the classroom, you exchange glances between the printed recipe handout and your tray of ingredients.

“Need any help?”

Osamu’s voice and looming presence makes you jump.

“Woah! Careful there,” he chuckles, his fingers gently prying a knife out of your hands.

Unconsciously, you had raised it in shock when Osamu snuck up on you. The knife now lays safely on the tabletop and you feel the eyes of the entire class boring into you.

“Sorry, Miya-san. I didn’t see you,” you apologise meekly.

“Don’t worry about it, I shouldn't have scared ya like that. And no need for the formalities! You’re my friend’s sister, afta’ all.”

Oh goodness. You half expect the class to pick up their pots and pans and run at you right this moment. You swallow back the half hearted ‘Osamu-san’ that rises in your throat. Your heart trembles in your chest and for a second, the silence that weighs heavily between the both of you turns awkward.

“Miya-san! Could you help me with this please?”

You’ve never been so glad to hear Tachibana’s sickly shrill voice before. Osamu is quick to wave goodbye to you before hurrying over to her bench, a smile still on his face. You breathe a sigh of relief.

You make a mental note to tell Suna that Osamu should just stick to placating those housewives and leave you the hell alone. The last thing you want is to have blackmail spread around the neighbourhood by these gossipy housewives, or worse, have their daughters hunt you down and chop you up into pieces.

Whatever. You’re just here to learn how to make shrimp fried rice and then go home to your annoying older brother. Besides, it’s not like you’ll be here for long. Miya Osamu just happens to be the local heartthrob, the handsome and eligible bachelor chased by anyone single and ready to mingle. You have absolutely nothing to do with someone so popular and good-looking. And for goodness sake, he’s your brother’s high school friend and your… Well, you know.

Your face burns and you pick up the knife again, grip tightening on its handle. You begin chopping at the onions with renewed determination.

(Later on, when you bring back a tupperware of fried rice for Suna, he looks you in the eye and asks “Shrimp fried this rice?”.

You shoot him a glare.

“I fried this rice.”)

2. Prepare all the fillings that you are going to use and set aside, such as pickled plums or tuna mayo. Prepare your seaweed sheets.

What you don’t expect is for Miya Osamu to show up at your doorstep the next day with boxes of food, cartons of drinks and a very noisy brother of his in tow.

“Rin, where can I leave the drinks?” Osamu yells.

“Rin, can I play your PS5?” Atsumu shouts.

You think that they are very different, the Miya twins. Suna takes a minute to finish putting on some clothes (you had answered the door, thankfully. No one wants to see Suna Rintarou in Pikachu boxers) before bursting out of his room.

He’s quick to smack Atsumu’s ‘dirty little setter hands’ away from his precious Playstation, directing Osamu to what constitutes the apartment’s kitchen — a second-hand fridge and the building-installed gas stove that works only if you hit it hard enough. You’re surprised that neither you or Suna haven't died of a house fire or gas poisoning by now.

It doesn’t take long for the other Inarizaki alumni to arrive at Suna’s apartment in a series of doorbell rings. Kita even brings along a large bottle of sake, to which everyone cheers loudly. You don’t understand why they had chosen Suna’s place to have a reunion party. Seriously, wouldn't Onigiri Miya or some other izakaya have been a better choice?

However, there’s free flow of drinks and lots of yummy snacks, so you decide to let the noise wash over you and stand by the food table to pick at the trays of pizza, fried chicken and other finger food. Aran even offers you a drink, smiling sweetly before going off to wrangle Atsumu from trying to initiate a beer chugging competition. Some things just never change, you suppose.

“Having fun?”

You jump and nearly drop the plate of food that you hold.

“You have a horrible habit of scaring people, Miya- Osamu.”

His first name comes out awkward, tumbling off of your tongue as you use a pair of chopsticks to carefully pile back some mentaiko mayonnaise onto a slice of tamagoyaki. Osamu settles into the crook of the kitchen counter next to you with a playful grin on his face.

“Do I really?”

“Don’t forget that the first time you did that, someone nearly got stabbed.”

You pop the tamagoyaki into your mouth. It’s delicious — the egg’s sweetness balances out the salty sauce. You wonder if there’s enough left on the tray for seconds.

“How’s the reunion going?” you ask nonchalantly, and shuffle a few centimetres away from him.

You hope Osamu doesn’t notice that. He does, however, but chooses not to comment on it. He brings up a hand to scratch at his neck, his shoulders slumping ever so slightly. He’s close enough for you to get a whiff of whatever cologne he’s wearing. Your head spins for a second.

“Oh, none of us have gotten drunk just yet. I’m pretty sure we’ll be playing beer pong or something later on.”

You steel yourself against the urge to look at what Osamu is wearing. Don’t look, don’t look, definitely don’t look. Miya Osamu is, has been, a dangerous man to fall in love with. You can’t afford to-

Perhaps gouging your eyes out would have been a better choice in theory. Even a glance from where you stand beside him is enough to see that not only is he wearing a tight, black T-shirt, Osamu also has a pair of sweatpants on. Is it a sin to wear sweatpants? Probably so, especially with the way it makes your throat run dry.

“Beer pong, huh?” You try your best to mumble somewhat nonchalantly. “Who won the last time?”

“Kita.”

“Kita?!” you gasp.

Even that’s enough to make you forget about Osamu and his stupid (and very sexy) sweatpants.

“Yeah, right? That was the first time he participated. All of us got left drunk in the street, so we decided to do it at someone’s place this year.”

You let out a soft laugh at the thought of a bunch of grown men piled over each other on the road. You don’t particularly like the thought of cleaning up after them tonight, though.

The lack of words between you and Osamu descends into snorts of laughter that trickle in from the tiny living room. Aran throws his head back, drink nearly spilling out of his cup. Ginjima laughs so loud you see Omiomi cover his ears and Suna holds his phone up, filming every second of Atsumu’s defeat.

Osamu opens his mouth as if to ask you something.

“C’mon! Yer killin’ me, Kita-san!” Atsumu yells, socked feet and waving arms trying to match the onscreen character’s movements.

Kita, on the other hand, is scoring perfect marks without as much effort wasted. You giggle to yourself as he moves his hips, shaking them here and there. A small smile quirks his lips upwards as he finishes with a flawless ending move on ‘Ice Cream’, the Just Dance characters fading into oblivion on the screen. Atsumu crumbles to the floor in defeat.

Osamu’s lips form a straight line as he watches you laugh along, raising a hand to cover your mouth. He curses Atsumu’s birth and swallows back his embarrassment.

“Did ya see that, Osamu? Oh- Kita-san is so good at everything!” you gush.

“Atsumu just sucks.”

When you laugh, Osamu thinks something in his chest lurches. Regret makes his head go foggy and leaves a sour taste in his mouth.

3. Place cling wrap over a rice bowl. Place some of the cooked rice over the centre of the cling wrap and make a well.

“No way ya got a love letter!” Atsumu yelled.

“Ya get yer fair share. We share t’same face, why shouldn’t I get some?” Osamu retorted, rolling his eyes.

Suna watched as the twins began to gripe and argue about who was the better looking sibling again. Nothing unusual, really, given how this occurred every odd day of the week.

“S’gotta be a prank. No way someone likes a loser like you,” Suna mused.

In retaliation, Osamu threw him a stink eye. “You two are just jealous,” he sniffed.

The letter had been written on pretty pink paper, all hearts and cute handwriting as his secret admirer asked him to meet them on the roof after school. Not that Osamu wasn’t affected by it, of course. It always rubbed his ego the right way to know that someone preferred him over Atsumu. Though, it wasn’t like he was interested in anyone then. It only took a second before Osamu ripped the letter in half.

“Woah woah woah! Yer crazy! Whatcha gonna do if some pretty girl gave that to ya?”

Atsumu’s eyes widened in shock, almost reaching forward to grab the shreds of letter that Osamu had torn up.

“Does it matter? S’not like I’m interested in datin’ right now,” he replied.

“Seriously? What if she’s like, super duper hot!”

Osamu’s face screwed up. “Are ya a horndog?”

Just as Atsumu was about to shout at his dear brother again, you opened the door to their classroom and hurried in. You had a bento box in hand and a cute pout on your face as you placed it on Suna’s table.

“Rin! You forgot your bento at home again!”

“Oh.” Suna blinked. “Thanks.”

“Seriously, you gotta stop forgetting your things! I can’t be bringing them to you all the time-”

“Hey, Suna.” Atsumu perked up, referring to you. “Would ya go on a date with Samu or me? Me, right? Definitely me!”

Your face flushed with heat. “Huh? What are you talking about?”

“‘Samu got a love letter in his shoe locker this morning. Cliche, huh?” your brother said between bites of his lunch.

“Mm, yeah. Cliche,” you mumbled.

You looked around anxiously for any sign of the love letter. Was it in Osamu’s bag?

“Can ya believe he tore it up?” Atsumu laughed.

“What?”

Your heart felt like a stone in your chest as you froze, your blood running cold.

“Yeah! This dumbass doesn’t know how t’appreciate anythin’,” he replied, smacking Osamu on the back of his head.

His twin responded with a muffled growl as he continued to scarf down his absurdly large bento. You fiddled with the cuffs of your sleeves, staring down at your feet. You were quick to bid the third years goodbye as you fled their classroom as an inexplicable ache spread through your chest.

You didn’t focus on your classes for the rest of the day. The fact that Osamu had torn your love letter, written with all your heart and soul as you crumpled draft after draft last night, tipped you over the edge of your fantasies and had you plummeting straight into reality.

“Oi.”

You looked up from your feet, glancing up at Suna. The both of you were swapping your indoor shoes for outdoor ones, but you had absentmindedly stopped in the middle of slipping your right foot into a shoe. It was nearing the time where they closed the school gates, so there weren’t many students around save for the odd volleyball club member.

“What’re you doing? Put your shoes on properly,” he huffed.

“Sorry,” you said quietly, and slammed the locker door shut once you were done.

You walked a few feet ahead of Suna as you approached the school gate. Your head drooped with each step, tears beginning to mist your eyes. You willed yourself to hold it in till you got home, till you were in the safety of your bedroom to start sobbing your little heart out. Suna tugged on your wrist.

“Are you crying?” he questioned.

You shook your head quickly, rubbing your eyes with the back of your sleeve.

“Oi. Answer me.”

This time, his voice was a little softer, yet held a mixture of irritation and anger behind a crumbling wall of apathy. Who had been the one to make you cry?

“It’s nothin’,” you choked out. “Let’s just go home.”

You turned your face to the side as tears continued to roll down your cheeks, muffled cries turning into heartbroken sobs. Something inside of Suna’s head clicked.

“It’s Miya Osamu, isn’t it?”

You had to bite on your lower lip to stop it from trembling.

“That bastard tore up your letter, didn’t he?”

You gave Suna the tiniest of nods. He let go of your wrist and whipped around, eyebrows furrowed together. Not wanting to date was one thing, but treating your confession like dog shit was something else. Fortunately for him, the Miya twins were changing their shoes in the getabako.

“‘Samu!” Suna yelled.

The gray haired male looked up with a face of confusion.

“Suna? Whaddya want-” Osamu wasn’t able to say anything more as Suna’s fist collided with his face.

Atsumu jumped back with a yelp as the both of them crashed to the ground. Your hands flew to cover your mouth.

“Rin! Stop it!” you cried out.

You dashed over, tripping over your own feet as you tried to pull Suna away from Osamu as they traded blows. It took the work of you, Atsumu and Ginjima (who had been unlucky enough to pass by) to tear the two apart, and even then Osamu was still struggling in his brother’s arms to be let go.

“What t’hell, man!” he snarled.

Suna wiped his nose, glancing briefly at the crimson that stained his school uniform. The adrenaline was beginning to run low and pain began to settle into his fists and ribs. His shoulders heaved with each breath, and your hands clutched his shirt.

“Rin. No more, please,” you begged, pressing your forehead against his back. “No more.”

Suna hated the way your voice trembled as you spoke. He didn’t think it was fair for you to bear the burden of pain while Osamu got to walk away unscathed, leaving you broken in pieces. His fist curled up again.

“It’s not worth it, Rin.”

Suna took in a shaky, deep breath.

You were right.

Miya Osamu wasn’t worth it.

4. Put about 1tbsp of the filling of your choice on the centre of the rice and cover it with rice.

A week comes and goes after the annual Inarizaki reunion. You’re still finding sticky stains on the floor, as well as food wrappers tossed behind the sofa. Suna sends the group chat a video of you yelling at all of them while wielding a mop with so much fervour Aran asks if you broke it. Atsumu actually apologises and Osamu offers to come over and help clean up. The entire group chat flames him immediately.

As per last week, you walk into Osamu’s cooking class at 2p.m. on a Wednesday afternoon. It’s hot outside, droplets of perspiration rolling down your nape. The cool air-conditioning of the classroom is much appreciated and you don your apron behind the gaggle of housewives. You catch snippets of their conversation as they put their items in the cubbies provided.

“Tanaka-san, did you see the mushrooms that were on sale this Monday?”

“My son is attending this cram school this summer. Here’s the address!”

“My father-in-law keeps complaining about the heat…”

“Good afternoon, everyone.”

“Miya-san!”

Everyone perks up when Osamu walks through the door. They’re quick to surround him, asking how his day had been. You look tired, take this ginseng drink! It really revitalises your spirits! Did you get a girlfriend yet, Miya-san? My daughter is single, you know!

You watch as Osamu walks behind his bench, all smiles and “Is that so, Shigeru-san?”. Polite enough to please them, but not enough to make them think that he actually wants to go on a date with their 34 year-old daughter who’s a tired office worker looking out for potential husbands like a hawk. He lets out a heavy exhale, using his cap with the Onigiri Miya logo on it to fan himself.

“Hot today, isn’t it?” he chuckles.

You think that maybe he’s the one that’s making this summer so warm, especially with the way that his shirt clings to his figure and his flushed cheeks that make him look adorable.

Wait.

You do a double take. Ah, adorable. You must have meant that heart-print apron that Tanaka is wearing today. It is pretty cute, and you wonder if you should ask her where she got it from later on. Definitely not Osamu with his perfect smile that would make anyone’s heart skip a beat, and definitely not when it’s directed at you.

“Gather around everyone! We’re going to be making gyoza today!”

The demonstration goes as usual — Osamu impresses the housewives, they gasp and someone even touches his forearm and asks “How did you get so strong, Miya-san?”. Not that you care, of course. You certainly don’t. What you’re more concerned about is how Osamu manages to make wrapping the fragile gyoza seem so easy.

Your fingers pinch at the thick dough, eyebrows furrowed together. No matter what you do, your filling keeps spilling out of the wrapper and so you’ve opted to try out for a thicker piece this time. Not that it really matters — Suna will be the one suffering from food poisoning if it turns out bad, anyways.

“Ah, yer made it too thick,” Osamu says as he strolls over.

You tense up as he leans over your shoulder, peeking at the chubby gyoza in your hands. You pretend not be affected by how close he is and continue pinching the wings of the dumpling shut.

“They keep bursting,” you sniff.

“Maybe ya put t’much filling?” Osamu suggests. “Here, lemme show ya. Put tha’ one down and grab a new wrapper. Yeah, just like that.”

You stiffen as Osamu flours his hands and cradles your hands in his.

“Here ya go. That’s t’much, scoop out some more. That’s it. Now gently…”

Blood rushes to your face as you feel the warmth of his skin seep into yours, his hands rough from years of training and cooking. Scars adorn the tips of his thick fingers and knuckles. You suddenly feel the urge to gently trace them with your thumb, to ask him how he got each one of them.

Would he let you? Let you so close, that perhaps you would be the one to know every single thing about him?

“You did it!” Osamu says cheerfully.

He suddenly pulls away, making you plummet back to reality. A perfectly made gyoza sits in your hands.

“I’m looking forward to tasting your gyoza later on. Now keep trying!”

You’re left dumbfounded as Osamu walks away to help out the other housewives. They stammer and blush when they get too close, but he never holds their hands in his own, never smiles as gently as he does with you.

You place the gyoza on a pan and put the lid on with a little bit more force than what is necessary.

5. Wrap the cling wrap over the rice and squeeze and mould it into a triangle shape with your hands.

You try not to make contact with Osamu after that. Attending his cooking classes becomes a game of cat-and-mouse, where you try to tell him ‘I don’t need any help, Miya-san’ and watch him crawl away in defeat. In fact, you decide to skip the lesson on making hamburgs and instead spend the afternoon watching television.

After all, from what you’ve learnt in the past, Osamu is nothing more than trouble. You think it’s worth the sacrifice now to put some space between the both of you so that you don’t end up heartbroken a second time.

Though, you do feel a little bad. Just a little bit. One day when Suna’s out at training, you hear the doorbell ring and Osamu’s voice ring through the genkan. You hear his feet shuffle by the door and a heavy thump outside before he leaves. You only open the door when you hear his car pull out of the apartment building’s carpark, and find a packed bento lunch for you in front.

You try to pretend that the bunny cut apples and sakura shaped carrot slices don’t mean anything.

“Ah, Suna-san! Where were you last week?” Tachibana titters as you step into class for the final lesson.

“I wasn’t feeling very well,” you lie. “I think I caught a summer cold.”

“Oh dear, that sounds terrible!” the ladies chorus together.

You think they’re probably just glad that you didn’t get in the way of their beloved Miya-san. You tug your apron over your head, and ignore Osamu when he greets everyone. His eyes linger on you for a little too long during the demonstration — to the point that he actually burns the skin side of his salmon fillet.

Osamu skirts around your bench like a nervous puppy when the demonstration is over. You don’t seem particularly keen about talking to him, though the tips of your finger tremble when he finally plucks up the courage to stand next to you. It’s not close enough for your elbows to touch, but close enough that he can whisper to you without anyone else hearing him.

“Hey,” he begins, uncertain. His voice wavers slightly.

“Hey,” you reply, wary of what he might say.

“Are you okay?”

You take a moment to think, tipping the sake bottle carefully to measure out an exact tablespoon of it. He wonders when your hands have seemed so delicate, so small. He aches to hold them in his own again.

“I’m okay.”

“That’s good.”

It’s quiet, again. Just like that night in Suna’s apartment, with all the noise of the reunion going on around you, except this time it's the clanging of pans and utensils, paired with the chatter of many ladies.

“I was thinking…” Osamu stares down at your hands, turning the measuring spoon over so that sake splashes onto the hot pan with a sizzle. “Maybe we could get a drink together after this?”

You cover the pan and watch its surface cloud up with condensation. You hide your shaking hands by digging them into the pockets of your apron.

Osamu swallows. Perhaps he had been too direct with you; scared you off with how quickly he was advancing. Or did Suna tell you to be careful of him? That he didn’t want you falling in love with him a second time? There’s no lie about it, that Osamu had been a grade A asshole back in high school.

But he loves you now; has loved you since then. Would you be willing to give him a second chance?

“Osamu,” you breathe.

His shoulders relax slightly when you don’t call him by his last name.

“I don’t know what to do.”

Your voice comes out timid, scared. Osamu’s heart crumbles at the edges. He wonders if you would hate him if he reached out and took your hands in his once more. You’re both adults, perfectly capable of rational thinking if only your hearts hadn’t gotten in the way. Love hurts, they said. You want to agree.

“We can start it out slow,” Osamu suggests.

“I’m supposed to start my new job next month. I won't be in Nagano for much longer.”

“I’m opening a branch in Tokyo.”

“I’ll be busy settling down. We might not get to see each other often enough.”

“A little is better than nothin’.”

“You’re my brother’s friend.”

“Now, yer just picking at nothing, babe. Didn’t you have a crush on me back in high school, too? That didn’t stop ya, did it?”

Your heart wrestles with your brain, insisting on comfort and that love will always come in the form of someone that isn’t Miya Osamu. You’ll find someone, but will they be better? Will they send food to your doorstep, or send you stupid photos of dogs he saw on the street? Will they chase after you relentlessly for years, will they be Osamu?

A lump forms in your throat and you wonder if this, has been, is love. You tear your heart out from within you and let it cling to your sleeve, as pathetic and scared it is. You don’t mind if it hurts. To never hurt is to never have lived, to never have loved.

By this point, your eyes have misted up with tears and it hits you- You’re about to cry about your crush in the middle of a cooking class attended by middle-aged ladies. You’ve never been more embarrassed.

“Really?” you whisper, looking up at Osamu with glittering eyes.

He ignores the “Miya-san! I need your help!” that rings out in the background. He smiles gently.

“Yeah, really.”

A tear slips down your face. Osamu lets out a breathy chuckle as he swipes it away with his thumb, giving your shoulder a squeeze.

“We’ll talk properly after this, alright?”

You nod numbly. You watch as he hurries off to Shigeru, gasping when he sees how she had completely butchered her fillet. He turns back to you, trying to hold in a snigger.

You giggle.

Osamu thinks he wants to hear that laugh forever.

6. Remove the cling wrap and cover the bottom of the rice triangle with a nori sheet and set aside.

“One extra large bonito onigiri with spring onions!” you cry out from the counter.

Back in the kitchen, Osamu and another part-time worker scoop steaming rice out of large vats and use their hands to mould them into perfectly shaped triangles. A scoop of filling goes in and a strip of seaweed is wrapped hastily around the onigiri before it's sent to you to package. You place the onigiri carefully into a box and slip it into a paper bag with the shop’s logo on the front for a take-away order.

The shop is filled with customers even on a Wednesday afternoon. The clock shows 2p.m., past lunch time, yet you can see a queue that snakes out of the shop and down the alleyway.

Another long day ahead, you think to yourself.

“It’s our turn!” a little girl squeals as she takes the bag from you, opening it up to peer at the huge onigiri inside. “Mama! ‘giri!”

Her mother laughs and pats her head. “Don’t forget to say thank you, Haru.”

The girl turns to you, eyes sparkling. “‘Fank you, Miya-shan!”

A cheery grin almost splits your face in half. Miya-san. Four years on and it still makes your stomach flip whenever you hear that Osamu’s last name has become yours. It was an easy decision for the both of you to get married, really. You had loved each other for years and all you wanted to do in the end was to spend the rest of your lives together.

You quit your office job just before you got married to help Osamu out with the new Onigiri Miya branches. It took some getting used to, but the familiar customers and bright smiles that you see just by serving onigiri each day makes it worth it. It’s tough work, no doubt. But doing what you enjoy with the man you love is more rewarding than it ever could be.

Though, it’s not like your relationship has always been smooth sailing. There are days when you bicker over something stupid (like how you always forget to close the lid of the rice cooker), or when Osamu insists that he isn’t overworking himself (although his eyebags tell otherwise). But love’s a recipe with a few secret ingredients, and you’ve come to master it over the years.

“Come back soon!”

The shop is filled with the fragrant scent of freshly cooked rice and bonito flakes being stir-fried into furikake. Customers perch on tiny stools as they scarf down onigiri of different shapes and sizes, licking their fingers clean. A plush toy of Onigiri Miya’s mascot sits on the counter next to a potted plant that Atsumu bought (which is surprisingly still alive).

A photograph of the third Tokyo branch’s grand opening hangs on the wall. You and Osamu hold up a bouquet of flowers, smiling toothily at the camera, your wedding rings glinting in the sunlight.

“One medium onigiri with tuna mayo, coming right up!”

You jump as Osamu shouts out the order suddenly and you nearly drop the onigiri that he hands to you.

“Woah, careful there,” he chuckles, a hand ghosting the small of your back.

“You have ‘ta stop scaring me, ‘Samu,” you huff and roll your eyes playfully.

Osamu grins at you and the edges of his eyes crinkle up. You place the onigiri safely into its packaging and place it on the counter for a customer to collect, before turning back to plant a kiss on his cheek. Osamu’s face flushes pink and he hurries away, mumbling something about bonito flakes.

Your heart soars in your chest.

Yeah, it has been, will be, worth it.

7. Repeat the same steps as above to use the rest of the rice with other fillings that you prepared.

#haikyuu x reader #haikyuu fluff #haikyuu angst #haikyuu fic #miya osamu #miya osamu x reader #miya osamu fluff #miya osamu angst #miya osamu fic #osamu x reader #osamu fluff #osamu angst #osamu fic #hq x reader #hq fluff #hq angst #hq fic #hq osamu

582 notes · View notes

fanmoose12 · 3 years

Note

hiiiii🤗🤗 just wondering,have you ever write a levihan au where one of them is a school/university athlete and the other is like their admirer or besfriend, that never fails to come to every single match and is the loudest cheering audience? you know how it goes hehe..

this idea just pop in my mind and i just have this idea where levi is like the top player be it any kind of sport (ehem! how bout basketball😏 or maybe volleyball 😍) and hange is like the secret admirer who came to cheer for him in every match, although hange tries to be discreet an all that, levi notice her anyway bcos she's famous(hange's a school president i think😁), and clever and kind and pretty and on top of that he also has a crush on her.😳😳

p/s: just an idea., and i reaaally hope this ask gets to you. THANK YOU VERY MUCH😙

With but a few minutes left before start of the game, Levi scans the bleachers, his eyes narrowed and gaze focused. He knows what - who - he's looking for but- he can't find the person he expects to.

He looks over gym once more, this time slower, more careful. And still he doesn't see the glint of glasses and the mop of brown hair.

Where the fuck is that insolent four-eyes? Why Levi can't see her?

Usually, she sits in the first row, claps the loudest, cheers the loudest, fucking jumps every time Levi's team score.

...Not that Levi pays much attention to shitty glasses or what she's doing. She's just... hard to miss.

And that's precisely why he noticed that she's absent during tonight's game. There is no other reason - obviously, Levi doesn't expect, wait or want for her to show up. And he doesn't care where she is, he doesn't worry that something might have happened.

Four-eyes probably forgot about the game. Or is caught up in her studies. Or maybe she got sick of the volleyball or him and-

Okay, alright, maybe, he does care about four-eyes. Just a little bit. It's not serious. She's just... a sort of a lucky charm for him. Whenever she's present at the game, they always win.

Naturally, it's not in any way connected to his desire to impress her. Who would want to impress some dorky nerd anyway? Although... as nerdy as she is, four-eyes is certainly... an eye-catcher.

Not that she catches Levi's eyes, of course, but her face is- pleasing to look at. Maybe. Kind of. Levi doesn't look at her, doesn't stare in fascination.

And he doesn't care if four-eyes shows up for the game or not.

They'll win anyway, they always do.

---

They lose the first set. Spectacularly. Shockingly. Shamefully.

Levi scowls as he trudges back to his team, his head hanged low to avoid the annoyingly pleased smirk on the face of the captain of the opposing team. Zeke is way too gleeful for someone who has lost all the previous matches in the season. So, yeah, maybe, the Scouts are not at their best today. They'll still give Warriors a run for their money in the second set.

Probably. If Levi manages to get his shit together.

"Everything alright?" Mike, his teammate, asks.

Levi grimaces instead of answering.

Is everything alright? No! Because he spent the entirety of the first set, wondering where the fuck four-eyes is. If she got bored of volleyball, she could have... told it to his face. Not just abandon him like that, without any kind of warning.

And it's stupid, unreasonable, Levi doesn't remember ever having as much as a conversation with her, but- he feels like he was dumped.

By a person he had exchanged all but a couple of words and a few dozens of meaningful gazes with. Certainly, his loneliness is reaching new heights every day.

The giant scoreboard taunts him, yet another evidence of his loss. Levi glances at it - as briefly as he can - to check when the second set is going to begin. Levi curses - less than a minute left.

Fuck. So, another embarrassment awaits him?

And just then, when all hope leaves and Levi's spirits lower, that's when four-eyes enters, waltzes inside the gym, hastily shoving people aside to get to her usual place in the first row.

What a fucking asshole. He almost lost another set because of her- her absence, to be precise.

But for now - the game is afoot.

When the game is over, after Levi wins, he'll have a couple of words with four-eyes.

---

After thirty minutes of running, jumping and sweating, Levi's team wins the second set. By a landslide.

And then they win the third one too.

Levi briefly pats Mike's shoulder, high fives several other team members, gives Zeke a victorious smirk and a middle finger, and then leaves the celebration to seek his goal.

Which allows them - thank fuck - to win the entire game.

Four-eyes is by the exit when he catches up with her.

Levi seizes her elbow and stirs her aside, away from the curious gazes of other students.

"You were late to the game," is the first thing he tells her.

Four-eyes opens her mouth. Promptly closes it. Then opens it again.

"You noticed?" and then, before Levi can give any sort of reply, she adds, with no small amount of bewilder, "So what if I did?"

Four-eyes seems lost, even more confusion appearing on her face. "I... don't follow."

"So what?" Levi gasps. So what, she asks! How dare she! "We almost lost because of you," he hisses.

Levi curses. Then turns away from her. Runs a hand through his hair. Right words still elude him.

He tries to explain anyway.

"We always win when you're present at the game. And when you didn't show up at the beginning..."

"Oh."

"Yeah," he nods, pleased that four-eyes is smart enough to catch up with him.

"So you're saying..." the confusion is all but gone from her face, eyes and voice. Now she's showing him a brilliant smile. "That I'm your lucky charm?"

No. Of course, he didn't mean that. He didn't, right? Levi rewinded their conversation. Fuck, perhaps... he did mean that.

Shit.

Well, anyway, what's said is said. No point denying it, it'll only make it worse.

"Maybe, you are," he grunts at last. "So if it won't inconvenience you terribly... don't be late to the next game. I'll... treat you to dinner after that."

Instead of a joyful outcry Levi expected, four-eyes cocks an eyebrow. "Are you that desperate to win?"

"That," Levi agrees, tilting his head to compensate for the difference in their heights. "And I also want to... get to know my lucky charm a little better."

"Oh," four-eyes blushes, adorably so. Something inside Levi's chest tightens, his stomach fluttering pleasantly. "If that's so, I'll be sure to arrive early."

Levi nods, a bit numbly, not knowing what else to say. Four-eyes helps him with that as well.

"See you later," she promises, and disappears into the crowd.

Levi watches her go for another moment, then goes to return to his team.

He smiles as he rejoins them. They won this game, and with four-eyes' help, they'll win another one.

---

It's the end of the season and the tensions are high as ever. Scouts are facing Warriors once more, and the shadow of their last game is as ominous as ever.

Warriors think they can push a little more, and the victory is theirs, along with a championship.

But Levi knows better. His lucky charm, his four-eyes is by his side, and when Hange kisses him, whispering 'good luck', Levi knows for sure - there is no way he can lose. Not when Hange is watching him.

And when he scores the last point, he does it for her.

#levihan

132 notes · View notes

imagining-in-the-margins · 4 years

Text

Here to Misbehave (Finale | S.R.)

Summary: It’s Halloween, and there are a lot of things on Spencer’s mind.

A/N: Here it is, everyone: the end of the story. Thank you so much to everyone who’s read this far. I greatly appreciate all of you, and I hope you enjoy it! Couple: Spencer Reid/Fem!Reader Category: Fluff/Smut (NSFW, 18+) Content Warning: Penetrative sex, light D/s, mostly fluff! Word Count: 7.5k

—————————————————

Autumn has widely been considered the season of change. It is an understandable characterization; from the shifting hues of the leaves to the wildly fluctuating temperatures, few things stayed consistent in the fall. Perhaps that’s why someone who loathes change, someone like me, finds the season so thrilling.

It’s like the Earth and the Sun made a pact to make changes more predictable in their own unique, chaotic way. The breeze becomes biting and the days become shorter, but for these downfalls, we are granted a beauty and calmness that can’t be rivaled by any other season.

But she wasn’t a season, and when it came to my attention and appreciation, there were few choices that were easier to make.

“Spencer. You’ve got to be kidding me.”

(Y/n)’s face was half covered by the cup she held tightly with both hands, but I could picture the hidden expression perfectly, regardless.

“What? We don’t have to agree on everything.”

The truce was received poorly, her response a heavy scoff and a shake of her head. I tried to follow along with her suddenly heated words but couldn’t contain the stars in my eyes that often accompanied my daydreams. If she did notice, she stubbornly ignored the adoration to continue, “I understand you’re a genius or whatever, but I think your opinions on cider and cocoa are... wrong. They are wrong.”

It was my turn to feign displeasure (I hoped hers wasn’t real, anyway), clutching tighter to my own drink that I found myself defending on a park bench with dozens of strangers as an audience.

“An opinion can’t be wrong!” I chirped, only hating the way my voice jumped a little bit. After all, it was hard to hate it when it made her giggle. But despite how much sweeter the liquid seemed when I drank it in the presence of her smile, I also knew that she wouldn’t appreciate my immediate agreement. So, I pushed back just a little, “It can be misguided or ignorant but not outright wrong.”

“Unless it’s yours, on this topic,” she shot back without hesitation.

I tried to flash her a pout, hoping that maybe it would work for me like it did for her. It did not. Her eyebrows shot up and her jaw dropped open with another laugh, and I decided that I preferred that outcome, anyway. The longer my bottom lip stuck out, the wider her smile got. I waited to stop until her eyes closed and turned away, just long enough for me to let the full force of my affection show before she noticed.

She saw it, anyway, in the form of a similar smile spread over my face when I softly admitted, “Fine. You’re right.”

“Oh, I know.”

Her tongue peeked between her lips, and I found myself thinking less of cider and cocoa and more about how unbelievably lucky I was to find someone that I never felt the need to prove anything to. A person that didn’t care if I held all the answers.

I might’ve continued down that sappy train of thought, but it was hard to do while she had hoisted herself halfway over the table to try and grab hold of my cup right as I went to drink from it. Of course, she had failed to take into account just how big the table was, and just how close I was willing to come to falling before I let her drink from my cup right after she’d criticized my preference of fall flavors.

For a second, I really thought she might climb onto the table to win, but the judgmental looks from the parents in the park must have beaten her desire to win. As forlorn as humanly possible, she fell back into her seat with a loud “Hmph!” which really only managed to elicit an equally immature giggle from me.

“Shut up,” she laughed before shoving my paper plate further into my chest, “And eat your stupid pie.”

All I could think as she grabbed my fork and stabbed the middle of the piece to try to lift the entire thing at once, was that I was right about one thing: Autumn, in all its vitality and beauty, could still never compare to her.

That thought persisted through the pumpkin patch, growing in intensity as she skipped through the vine-laden path like a regular fall fairy. It was much easier to get lost in her there, crouched and inspecting foliage. Her arguments regarding gourds were much less spirited, with her watching me wide-eyed and curious as I explained the stages of pumpkin growth and all the different uses for the fruit.

I still let her make the final choices, opting to analyze her selections and tease her for them later, instead. That was the plan, anyway, to continue the competitiveness lest she gets bored with me before the day was over. When she walked past me holding open the passenger side door, I thought it might’ve already happened.

But then she just placed the pumpkin into my hands so she could open the back door. Before I could even move, she carefully removed it from my arms again and placed it in the seat.

“What are you doing?” I said through a very amused chuckle.

She was decidedly not entertained by my confusion, stopping to turn to me with a bored, frustrated expression. “I’m buckling him in,” she explained slowly, like I might need the help. Then, to add insult to silly injury, she added, “Duh.”

I was too distracted by the details to tackle the absurdity of it all.

“Him? It’s a boy pumpkin?”

“Obviously. Look at him,” she snorted, finally clicking the seatbelt in before tenderly petting the top of the lucky little gourd. Once she was convinced it would be as safe as she could make it, she allowed me to begin to escort her into her proper seat.

“You know it’s safer on the floor, right?” I asked before she’d slipped past me. I wrapped an arm around her, pulling her away from the car so I could enjoy the warmth of her before it was replaced with the dry air of the engine.

“How dare you,” she balked with an open mouth that was just begging to be kissed. By the time I got close enough to try, though, her hand fervently shoved my cheek away. I tried to laugh, but she used the same hand to cover the noise, trying and failing to convince me she was being serious.

“Why don’t you just hold him?” I mumbled against her palm.

That was enough for her to abandon my embrace altogether. With a scoff and a roll of her eyes, she pried my arms off of her and finally made her way to my passenger seat. I didn’t fight her too hard, even taking the time to shut her door like my mother always insisted.

The mercy was not returned, with her eyes narrowed into a playful disbelieving glare that I hadn’t seen in some time. My mind was brought back to the first time she ever let me know she was jealous, bickering over blondes and preferences while she sat in the very same place. And, just as before, she was still wearing the same raggedy old sweatshirt of mine.

“If this is any indication of how you’ll be with a human baby, I have dramatically overestimated your competence,” she droned, obviously unaffected by the stars that appeared in my eyes every time I looked at her.

“The one and only time you’ll ever be able to say those words. I hope you enjoyed it,” I joked. A funny enough joke that she couldn’t help but smile through her facade.

“Don’t worry,” she chuckled, “I did.”

The day could have ended there, and it would have been enough. Honestly, I couldn’t think of a single thing that wouldn’t be better with her there. In a way, I think we were trying to prolong the high of ‘hooky,’ finding even the faintest interest in an activity as enough of an excuse for a detour.

… Which was probably how we found ourselves in our third park of the day. After all, I loved any autumnal vision, so how could I decline an opportunity to let them serve as a backdrop for watching her? And that was an accurate description of how I spent the day. It might sound boring, and if it were anyone else, it probably would have been. But no matter how often I saw her, I found myself learning new things about her every single time. Each freckle and scar became a part of the high-definition collection of memories that I would never let myself forget. The most beautiful images that kept me sane in the face of evil and filth.

“Do you see that?”

For a moment, I thought she might have read my mind. But then I realized that her eyes were still fixed forward, stuck on the horizon ahead of us.

“See what?”

“That,” she pointed, “Right there.”

My eyes followed the line, finding nothing but an area of carefully manicured, yellow grass and trees already set to rest for the season. It must have been clear to her that I was lost, because her pointing became more animated and her voice rose as she shouted, “Right there!”

“The giant pile of leaves?”

“Uh-huh.”

Then, in all of my obliviousness, I just sort of stared. Even when her hand grew tighter around mine and her feet started to move faster, I didn’t put two and two together until it was too late.

“What about— No! (Y/n)!” I shouted, cutting off my own train of thought and only barely letting go of her in time to watch her jump straight into the collection of fallen foliage that some poor landscaper had obviously worked hard to gather.

I have to believe that even if that unlucky, underappreciated individual saw what she’d done to their hours of work, that they would forgive her. It was hard to feel anything but joy at the sounds that came from the pile. Yet I approached her cautiously, with both hands in my pockets to avoid the urge to throw myself into danger with her.

“You’re a terror,” I said, settling for a crouched position in front of her. Still able to see her but far enough from her grasp that she had to crawl through a wall of leaves to come nose to nose with me. “This is literally the scariest thing you’ve done all season.”

“Come on in, the water’s fine,” she purred.

As enticing as the offer was, my mind was too preoccupied with statistics of spider and snake bites, not to mention the possibility of ticks still scouring the landscape for any last second hosts. The answer was easy.

“Absolutely not.”

With another exhale of pure displeasure, she threw her body back into the leaves, burying herself into a mess of yellows and reds that somehow only made her look even more beautiful. The chaotic scene matched her energy well, and the harm she was doing was minimal considering I was absolutely going to search every inch of skin for any marks later.

The only thing that was more appealing to me than watching her make an absolute fool out of herself in a pile of leaves was the intense urge to tease her about it. So, taking a regrettable seat on the grass, I sighed, “I think I’m going to have to arrest you for trespassing.”

There was a loud gasp from the center of the pile, followed by a scuffle of flailing limbs among the foliage.

“You don’t own this leaf pile! I do! I am queen of the leaf pile!” she screeched.

“Alright Princess,” I subtly corrected, “whatever you say.”

As promised, I didn’t put up a fight. Even when she finally got a hold of my hands and dragged me into the madness with her. I followed her no matter what nonsense she demanded, just as she had with me so many times. Granted, my desires weren’t nearly as dangerous or strange. They were pretty much just a collection of foreign films and reading that always lulled her to sleep.

But that day there was no sign of her energy waning. The early sun faded and we kept going. I’m not sure how, but she managed to enjoy herself in the D.C. landscape of bars and blaring car horns despite not being able to indulge in anything herself. Although she did half-heartedly attempt to trick me into buying her drinks in several different establishments, I think she was honestly proud that I avoided the drinks altogether. It was a nice reminder that sobriety could be something enjoyed between the two of us, regardless of the environment. However, we didn’t let that stop us from jumping into a crowd of very drunk women who had insisted we join their haunted tour of the city.

“Are you scared?” she whispered into my ear. The feeling of her warm breath against my skin caused a shiver to run down my spine, ruining any credibility I had in my response.

“No. Why would I be scared? It’s just history.”

“Are you sure?” she asked again.

“Yes!” I insisted with the worst possible timing. Because just as soon as the word had left my lips, I felt the distinct sensation of fingers running down my neck and arm opposite to her. I was so convinced that’s what it was that I even spun around with a yelp, crashing into at least three different people just to find a very startled woman with the worst hung scarf I’d ever seen.

(Y/n) had already put two and two together and was lost in an absolute fit of laughter. There were already tears forming in the corners of her eyes as she doubled over, barely able to stand through it all. Because there I was, her 31-year-old FBI agent boyfriend, screaming over a scarf.

“Laugh it up,” I droned. And she did. She kept laughing through any attempts at a response, and after the initial embarrassment wore off, I couldn’t help but join her.

“I hope you know you chose me. You chose this man!” I shouted, gesturing to the people around us who had already forgotten about our shenanigans, “And everyone knows it!”

“I’m sorry I can’t—” she wheezed, pausing to take a necessary breath that was all lost with another bunch of giggles “—You’re a fucking FBI Agent!”

“Well I can’t shoot a ghost, can I?” I mumbled through the hit to my ego. But any suffering was quickly dealt with as she threw dramatic arms around my waist, pulling me close and protecting me from any other errant scarves that might show up.

“I love you so much,” she said.

“I’m glad you’re having fun,” I returned with a quick kiss on her forehead. And even if I implied otherwise, I think she knew that I was having just as good of a time as she was. In fact, it was one of the most relaxing days of my life, which was saying something, considering how much walking was involved.

But no matter how tired we both were, I still had one last place to take her. It took her a while to figure out why the route felt so familiar, but I wasn’t ready to ruin the surprise. I wanted to watch the realization dawn on her. She didn’t disappoint.

“The Mayflower?” she asked with a bit of a bashful laugh before looking up at me through narrowed eyes, “Feeling nostalgic, Dr. Reid?”

“Yeah, a little bit. Thought it was more romantic than the club,” I offered, trying to shrug off the nervous butterflies that burst through my stomach. “Not by much, mind you.”

Although I got the feeling that she didn’t know, or perhaps just didn’t remember, that wonderful night from almost a year ago was one of the most important days of my life. I knew it then, too. From the second I set my eyes on her from my pitiful place against the bar, I knew that she would ruin me.

“Nothing screams high end romance like an alley and a little light law breaking,” she sighed. I almost missed it, too preoccupied with the way her arm tugged me tighter so she could rest her head against my shoulder.

“I can take you home if you’d rather.”

“Hmmm. Depends,” she hummed. Then, turning her head up to me with that playful look that always turned me to putty in her hands, she purred, “How much longer do you think you can wait before you just have to have me?”

I sucked in a sharp, sarcastic breath, eyeing her just long enough for her to start to fume, I let out all the air with a defeated sigh, “I guess we’re staying.”

That serene sort of teasing continued past the reception desk and all the way up the elevator. If there were other people there, we didn’t bother noticing. We were too busy watching one another to even look away long enough to find our room. Doubling back through the dizzying hallways until we found the elusive number, we finally settled into the only vaguely familiar layout of beige and tan.

She was much quicker at it than I was. Before I’d even finished washing my hands and checking exposed skin for bugs that I was convinced had hitched a ride from the leaf pile, she was already stretched out on the bed in nothing but a tiny piece of lacy cotton and her favorite sweatshirt. The sight made me stop, lost for breath and logic of how I was lucky enough to be there with her again.

“See something you like, Dr. Reid?” she teased through giggles, no doubt recalling the same memory as me.

My answer didn’t need to be said, but I said it, anyway. She deserved to hear it.

“Yes.”

With arms outstretched, she sleepily begged, “Come here.”

But I couldn’t.

“Not yet… I just… I want to look at you like this a little bit longer.”

How could I move on from this moment, when it was the best I’d ever felt? So overwhelmingly safe and at home despite being in a strange, sterile room. I had no desire to move any inch of me if it meant that this image would persist for the rest of my days.

“You getting all romantic on me?”

“Always,” I chuckled. Her usual disgust for my sappy behavior didn’t show itself, overpowered by the gentle curve of her lips and hands that were becoming more and more insistent to be held. Eventually, I had to move, knowing that it was the only way to hold her.

My body reacted the way it always did when it found her. All of the tension dropped from tired shoulders, desperate to touch her more. To feel the imprint of her body pressed against mine, a mess of heat and need and love.

She was the one to kiss me first, and for a moment I let her do it without reciprocation. I wanted to feel how her touch became softer and shier as she realized what I was doing. That I was spending all of my energy memorizing the way her lips parted as she tried to hold back a giggle against my almost-still lips.

“What’s happening in that big genius brain of yours?” she murmured with eyes half open but still containing universes.

“I’m just thinking of all the things you’ve done to make me fall in love with you.”

I thanked all of the gods in every pantheon that made her too tired to tease. Instead, she just laughed, playing her part in bringing us back to that night we met.

“Like quote Picard?”

“We still haven’t watched Star Trek together,” I whined.

The sound must have stirred something new in her, because she rolled us over to take her seat on my lap. She hung over me, looking down at me, hopeless and breathless at the feel of her thighs under my hands. My heart started to race, but I didn’t know why.

It wasn’t until she spoke the words that were already running through my mind, “We’ve got time. Picard can wait.”

Everything about it was effortless. Our bodies had fallen together and mouths found each other exactly like every romance novel has ever tried to tackle the metaphor of gravity.

But if we were an orbit, it was not a binary like the traditional notion of two equal souls. Despite the nickname I’d chosen for her, nothing about her soul was small. And even though she burned bright, she wasn’t anything like the fiery combustion of a star.

She was a home. A thing so full of vitality and life that I would love to watch for whatever time I had left. I was just a moon, loyally following her and trying my best to shield her from whatever might try to harm her. To protect her when she needed rest and to lead the tides to kiss her when she wished. I would be her shadow, shining a light onto her even in the darkest time. All that I asked for in return was a spot beside her.

‘One day,’ she had said before, ‘if you will have me.’

But it was never a question. Not for me. And if she really needed me to answer it for her, I was happy to give her that. I hadn’t been waiting for even a year, but it felt like a lifetime.

“Yeah, he can,” I repeated, quiet and with such a heavy waver that I’m surprised she could understand the shifting inflections. Even if she didn’t, she knew that something had changed in those few seconds of silence.

“What’s up, Spencer?”

I didn’t know how to answer. How to explain what I was feeling. But I grabbed hold of one hand, clinging desperately to her and guiding her to the heart that felt dangerously light. The rapid pace of its beating still not enough to alert her of the true cacophony of my thoughts.

“Are you okay?”

The answer was yes. Because no matter how loud and chaotic the sounds inside my head were, they all lead me to the same conclusion.

“Picard can wait, and we have a lot of time,” I tried to explain through a dry throat that was only growing tighter with the unwieldy weight of the feeling.

“Yes…” she mumbled back, just as trepidatious and nervous as I was.

Just like I was. Because we were. We were connected by some force, whatever you want to call it. Whether it was a chemical or psychological or heavenly connection, I didn’t care. I wanted her to know how I felt. To know that there was nothing that would ever tear me away from her.

“But I don’t… I don’t think I want to wait.”

After a couple more seconds of silence, she answered with a knowing stare, “… What?”

From my position underneath her, I was able to reach over just enough to grab my jacket. Of course, it helped that she moved with me, clearly curious and terrified of the possibilities. But a good kind of terror… I hoped.

My confidence grew as her legs gripped tighter around my hips and her hands shot up to cover her chest with balled fists pressed against one another. I heard the friction of her skin as her body started to shake in a different way, with an adrenaline that I hadn’t seen from her in even the most dangerous situations.

But when I pulled a small velvet box from the internal pocket, everything stopped. She became completely still. Her eyes were wide and frozen on the object in my hands, only to look away when she heard my voice.

“(Y/n).”

“Where did you get that?” she asked like she hadn’t just seen me pull it from my jacket. The same jacket that I wore every time that I was with her. The wool fabric that she’d swaddled herself in on a number of occasions, none the wiser of how much heavier it was for me when I wore it.

“I know this is really random, a-and to be fair, I wasn’t expecting it, either,” I said through the most awkward laughs I’d ever produced (which was saying something), “I mean, I knew I wanted to marry you, I’ve known that for quite some time, hence the ring.”

I paused, but got nothing in response. Nothing except her lips quivering from their parted position, and her nose twitching as she tried to settle on just one expression. But it didn’t matter how she contorted her face; they were all exactly as they should be. Because they were all her.

“But today, with you… I-I’ve never been that happy in my life. Jumping in leaves and fighting over fall flavors and I—“

Her eyes stopped bouncing, settling with my gaze and robbing my lungs of all air. She made up her mind, deciding to leave everything exactly as it was. The honest truth of the overwhelming storm of every emotion that had been experienced in the little time we had shared together.

The knowing that everything had happened exactly as it should have to bring us here.

“I love you so much,” I whispered, careful to make every word as genuine as they were, “And I know that we have all the time in the world left with one another… but I don’t want to wait any longer for you to be my wife.”

“Ask me,” she answered immediately and abruptly.  

“Okay,” I laughed, endlessly entertained by how she could sound so aggressive even when we were both at our most vulnerable, caught in the nexus of our love.

“Um… Will you… marry me?”

There was no hesitation. No worry, no fear, and no doubt.

“Yes, you stupid old man!” she outright screamed, throwing arms around me even when it meant we both slammed against pillows and the headboard. She didn’t stop squealing even when she kissed me, struggling to find more of me to hold onto.

After she decided that tugging on my hair was the best way to express her affection, I managed to break away just long enough to shout, “Wait! I have to put the ring on you!”

“Then put it on!” she yelled, thrusting her hand in front of my face and practically slapping me in the process. But none of the pain mattered. Nothing was even recognizable outside of the feeling of her sweaty, shaking palm resting against my fingers.

I noticed for the first time that I was also trembling. I took the time to focus, slipping the ring over her finger. But once it started to safely slide into place, my eyes returned to watch what I knew to be happy tears fall over her cheeks. I wiped them away, but they were replaced with the wetness from my face when she brought us together again with a long, gentle kiss.

A calmness came over the room like the feeling following a storm. A clean slate with soil enriched for growth. A hope for a future forever changed.

“What do we do now?” she asked, biting her bottom lip and holding tight to my hands.

The answer seemed clear enough.

“Whatever we want.”

—————————————————

Is this really happening?

I stared at the diamond shining back at me with a clarity that had to be a metaphor for my heart. In the vague reflection of yellow light and us, I felt a warmth that doesn’t normally accompany metal. My finger’s new companion felt so comfortable in its new resting place. A constant reminder of the man I called home.

Then I turned back to him, unsure how I was supposed to move on from this moment. I never wanted to leave, but I also needed to move. I compromised and settled with my face against his chest, listening to the heartbeat he’d just dedicated to me. In that peaceful quiet, I heard him speak so softly I wasn’t sure I was meant to hear it.

But I did.

“You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me,” he said with fingers dancing through the ends of my hair, “I can’t wait to spend the rest of my life with you.”

And for once, the thought didn’t feel like a burden. In fact, it felt like freedom. I was finally free to be who I was without worry that I would be alone. Without worrying that I would be too much or too little to please him.

I was enough.

Enough.

“I love you,” I said, tasting salt from tears I hadn’t even noticed were falling.

Curiously, and in a rare role switch, Spencer was the one who took a blatantly affectionate display and turned it into something else. Pulling me away from his chest, he dragged me up until he could drag his lips over my jaw.

“Don’t cry, little girl,” he cooed with what I could only imagine was a wicked grin, “I haven’t given you a reason to yet.”

Something about that gruff rumble in his throat caused my skin to ripple with goosebumps. Every inch of me burned with flames that could only be put out by his touch. I chased after his lips with my own, but he was insistent on trailing down my throat. He knew I would be powerless to him. I wouldn’t be able to argue when my hands were knotted in his hair and my hips were already rocking helplessly against his erection.

“I want you to fuck me,” I seethed. My blood was boiling from the heat I felt within, and before he could even answer I was already working at the buttons on his shirt.

“Oh? You don’t want me to make love to you?” Spencer laughed. As if that had ever been our style.

“No, I want you to take what’s yours.”

He responded to the demand by pushing me from my seat, forcing me onto my back on the other end of the bed. I wasn’t going to complain, either. The new position allowed me access to his belt, which I unbuckled before he even had time to laugh.

“Are you really challenging me right now, little girl?”

But despite the taunt, he did nothing to stop me. His hands were also busy removing my clothes. And just like before, our nakedness was reciprocated. With each lost layer, I should have felt lighter, but I didn’t. I felt so powerful, so aware of how our bare bodies twined together.

“Here, of all places? Do you remember what I did to you that night?”

How could I ever forget?

“I’m not the same girl you had in your bed then,” I purred. We both knew it was true, although not in the way I was implying.

Because Spencer had changed me. Irrevocably. He taught me so much — not just about physics, literature, or criminology, either. He taught me about kindness, softness, and vulnerability. He taught me how to trust that someone could hold me without the intention of letting me go. More than anything, he taught me that I didn’t have to learn these things alone. Even the smartest man I’d ever met needed help with them sometimes.

Then again, something told me that Spencer wasn’t in a very humble mood. Perhaps it was the fact he’d pinned me down again, with his hands clumsily gripping hard enough to leave crescent moons in my forearms.

“Don’t flatter yourself,” he growled with a small, chaste kiss, “You’re still just a fucking brat.”

I wasn’t feeling bratty then, though. Especially not as I felt the head of his cock pressed against me, just hard enough to feel the resistance of my body. He waited there, no doubt taking pleasure in the way my whole body squirmed underneath him. My hips bucked, but he managed to keep a cruelly steady distance.

“You’re so precious when you’re needy,” he mumbled. And although I stubbornly avoided looking him in the eyes out of protest, he forced my face towards him again, anyway. “Go on. Say please.”

“Fuck off,” I whined through a prominent pout that did me no favors.

“Say it.”

“Please!”

I managed to make eye contact, but it was fleeting. As soon as he thrust forward into me, my back arched and I lost myself in the pillows. My hands found him, though, leaving angry red welts over heated skin. If Spencer was at all affected by the pain, he made no showing of it. His pace continued, steadily forcing our bodies together until I trembled in his hands.

He would hold me there, at my limit but not pleading for him to do anything different. With tender hands, he would fuck me until I swore bruises would follow. But I never felt unsafe; I felt cared for and cherished in a way I’d never known. I trusted him to know my limits better than myself.

I trusted him with all of me because I had already seen that when given the chance, he would do whatever he could to protect me.

The love I felt must have shone through my eyes because his hips got slower, drawing out each movement. My hips rose in tandem with his, allowing me to feel every inch of him inside of me.

“This body belongs to me now and forever,” he whispered.

It always has.

“You belong to me.”

And I felt it. The undeniable string of fate that tied us to each other. I could feel his every emotion as his fingers brushed over my throat. I melted under his touch, completely consumed by the love he felt for me. The kind of love that people spent their whole lives searching for only to come up empty. That powerful thing that drove gods to war and men to madness.

The only feeling that could tear down every wall that had been carefully crafted to protect myself. Because I didn’t need them anymore. Spencer’s arms would take their place, holding me through the storms that might follow the same way he had carried me through the ones that led us here.

“Yes,” I breathed, “I’m yours.”

For forever and whatever comes after.

The words were truer than they’d ever been before, and Spencer took it as permission to let go of any remaining hesitation. The slow, gentle thrusts became faster and our moans echoed in the small room without a second thought to the poor patrons in the rooms surrounding us. Because if they felt what we did, they would understand. Spencer still tried to hush the sounds, crashing his lips over mine in a sloppy, frenzied kiss.

I was suddenly reminded of every romantic story I’d ever heard. They all spoke of feeling so close to someone that they felt like an extension of yourself. I wasn’t sure if it was completely true, but there was no denying how at home our bodies were. The way our tongues wrapped around one another and how our noses bumped so gently in the chaos was unmatched by any meeting driven by lust or need.

His hips met mine over and over again, no matter how hard I tried to keep him closer. Even when my hips chased his to be held longer, Spencer was persistent in the ruthless pace. Because like me, he was lost in the euphoria. I knew it from the sound of his whimpers and the way he bit my lip just a little bit harder.

“Tell me what you want, little girl,” he begged. Not ordered. Begged.

“You,” I answered without any doubt, “I just want you.”

His response came even faster, even more desperate and scratchy as it came through his lips into mine.

“You have me. For the rest of my life and whatever comes after, I will take care of you.”

There was nothing left to say. I could feel the truth and force behind the words as he fucked me harder, eliciting one more quiet cry from me in the sound of his name.

“Spencer...”

When he returned the call, though, it wasn’t with any name I’d heard from him before.

“So you better get used to this feeling,” he said through a smile that I felt on my lips before he drew back. He looked me in the eye as he buried himself in me, tensing to hold himself back just a few seconds longer. To see the look on my face and let that be the feeling of us giving in to each other for the first time in our new story.

“Because I’m never going to grow tired of this, Mrs. Reid.”

Mrs. Reid.

That was going to be my name.

Mrs. Reid.

That was the only thought running through my mind as I felt the coil in my gut snap and all of my muscles tense around him. There were no whorish sounds left in my lungs, only little whimpers and whines as I tried to claw him closer. Spencer gave up his visual in exchange for kissing me while he finished. My walls held him so tightly that I felt each pulse and every place where his release filled me. But nothing was more compelling than feeling the way his lip quivered between mine as his body fell onto mine with no grace required.

Spencer could act hard all he wanted, but I felt the way he craved softness. Safety. Love. All things I was happy to give… for a price.

“Say it again.”

“Say what again?” he replied sleepily but animated enough to have a healthy dose of snark. Snark that earned him a rough nudge of my elbow into his ribs.

“You know!”

But naturally, the genius had to play dumb. With a happy little hum, he snuggled closer to me, burying his face into my neck so he could mumble against the skin, “You’ll have to be more specific.”

“Please,” I sighed, “for me?”

He seemed to contemplate the plea for a little while longer, with wiggling toes I felt against my shins and a happy sigh that breezed over my neck. I tried to take in those small things while I waited, knowing that while I had a lifetime to learn them, this moment would never come again.

“Fine,” he finally settled, propping himself up to give another soft kiss followed by the most beautiful sound in the world.

“Only for you, Mrs. Reid.”

—— The Next Morning ——

Waking up next to Spencer with a ring on my finger was literally waking up to find my dream come to life. And sure, his light snoring and constant wriggling under the sheets he continued to pull off of me weren’t perfect or picturesque, but they were real. The same way that he chirped when he felt my legs wrap around him in his sleep and only woke when he heard me giggling.

His eyes fluttered open, taken aback by something that he saw. Although I would blame it on the sunlight filtering through the curtains, I was sure that he would give me all the credit.

“Good morning,” he slurred.

“Hi,” I answered with a smile and an attempt to pull him closer. But my hand was stopped by his, squeezing my palm between his fingers before dragging my knuckles to his lips. From there, he laid a gentle kiss over the diamond he’d placed there the night before. Although it was strange to be outshone by a rock, I let it go for now.

“I know you shouldn’t sleep with it on, but it’s so nice to see it’s still there,” he said with a heavy breath before lowering our still joined hands to rest against his heart. I could feel the way it beat a little bit quicker as I came closer, and I wondered if this was really what it would be like forever.

“I couldn’t resist wearing it.”

“You know you can still change your mind, right? We haven’t told anyone.”

“I haven’t changed my mind,” I replied unlike every time before. There was no teasing, no joke or anger or sadness. Just a pure, unadulterated joy.

… Of course, the question did bring up an entirely new anxiety. It did feel a bit silly, but it needs to be expressed.

“Have you?”

“God, no,” he laughed. Like he’d only asked the question to see the way I might panic. But as soon as I heard his assurance, I knew it was the truth.

My mind started to drift back to that first morning we spent together. It felt like a lifetime ago, but everything still felt so very much the same. I wondered if there were things I would change if given the chance. It wasn’t until after I ran through the laundry list of things that we would have been better off without that I realized I’d asked the wrong question.

It wasn’t a matter of what I would have changed, but what I would have kept the same. And the answer was simple. No matter what I would face in my life, I just wanted it to be with him. Everything would be okay as long as I had him.

However, when I tried to kiss him, Spencer still seemed hung up on the things he would have changed. Our lips didn’t connect for even ten seconds before he broke apart, happily laughing through the words, “This is so much better when I’m not hungover.”

“Old man.”

He didn’t argue back, wiggling under the sheets until our chests were pressed together. I took it as a very poor attempt at a power play, because instead of craning my neck to look up at him from my spot, I simply climbed his lanky figure until our noses were pressed together.

“Your old man now,” he corrected, followed by my own clarification of, “You were always mine, Dr. Reid.”

“But now you get to show everyone.” He grinned, letting go of my hand to roam over the curves of my body. His daily attempts to memorize each version of me he held. After a few more moments of silent reverence, I asked the question we’d have to face eventually, lest we face even more awkward, embarrassing moments with the team.

“Who’s gonna tell everyone?”

He barely even considered the options before he shrugged.

“Let’s just… wing it.”

I paused, certain that I’d heard it wrong. “You, Spencer Reid, would like to ‘wing it?’” I repeated, barely able to get the words out without laughing from the absurdity of it all.

But he was quick to assure me, “Yeah, I do.”

“Alright. Whatever you say,” I sighed. I figured that it wouldn’t be worth it to plan right now, anyway. It wasn’t exactly our style. If anything, we would find the perfect time completely by accident.

“You know what we should do first though?” I excitedly announced to the best audience a girl could ever ask for.

“What?”

“Coffee,” I drawled. To which he quickly answered, “I love you an ungodly amount.”

Taking full advantage of that admission, I shoved the poor soul who’d shackled himself to me forever away as I ordered, “Go turn it on. I am craving shitty hotel coffee in bed with my fiancé.”

“Fine,” he resigned with a smile while rolling out of the bed, “Spoiled brat.”

“Your spoiled brat!” I shouted back from safe under the covers that I could finally get back in his absence. They weren’t as good as him, but they would be enough for now. I buried my face into his pillow, snickering as I heard a very tired Spencer call from the bathroom, “Forever mine!”

Just as the sounds of running water filled the room, I lifted my head at the distant sound of familiar chiming beside me.

“Is that my phone?”

I didn’t answer, paralyzed in my place as I felt the most intense sensation of deja vu I’d ever experienced. Right there on the nightstand, I saw the name Hotchner.

Spencer was quicker this time to leave the bathroom, but just as he turned the corner, a thought must have stopped him. Because he paused, staring at me with hotel sheets gathered around me and his phone against my ear.

He didn’t try to fight me for the device. In fact, he didn’t move at all, watching from a few feet away with a smile I’d never seen before. The kind that I felt so deep inside of me that I realized this was what they meant to share a soul with someone.

“Hello,” I spoke softly and filled with love, “this is Mrs. Reid.”

The End.

—————————————————

Epilogue

#spencer reid #spencer reid series #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid smut #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid request #reid request #criminal minds self insert #criminal minds smut #criminal minds imagine #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x you #dr spencer reid #spencer reid self insert

601 notes · View notes