#this fic literally started as a catchy title I couldn’t get out of my head… | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

neveralarch · 7 years

Link

I'm out of town for a wedding and briefly have no responsibilities, so I played this game where you make a playlist of all of the songs you stole fic titles from. The fun part for me is that I almost never do this, so there's only 18 + 1 songs over 7 years. There's also a BIG chunk of The Builders and the Butchers, because I made a good faith effort to name every single Welcome to Nightvale fic after their music.

This was a LOT of fun, highly recommend doing it. I want to hear other people's weird playlists! If you don't have access to Spotify I suggest youtube maybe? Song list and liner notes under the cut! Song title links to the fic it namesook.

1. Anonanimal by Andrew Bird Hold on just a second, don't tell me this one, you know, I know this one, I know this song, I know this one, I love this song I tend to name fics with odd catchy words and phrases, and this chorus sticks in my head like nothing else. 2. The End of the Over by The Duckworth Lewis Method The end of the over / The over is ending / The end of the end of the over is over In my head, this is the title to the fic about space cricket because this is a song about cricket from an album about cricket by a band named after cricket. But, no, this is the fic about Five having really inadvisable revenge/remorse sex with the Master - the cricket fic is Professional Foul, which isn't from a song at all. 3. The Very Model of a Modern Major General by Gilbert and Sullivan This is the easiest fic I've ever titled. 4. Summer in the City by Lovin' Spoonful Come-on come-on and dance all night, despite the heat it'll be alright This is the best title I've ever come up with, and I don't think anyone ever got the joke. But I knew. I knew. 5. Blood Gets Thin by Pete and the Pirates She behaves like she's on fire / On her tip-toes reach up higher / And if the doctor can't do tricks / You can use your normal fix This is another clever title that I think was born out of complete desperation to find a title, any title. I also absolutely couldn't remember what song I'd mined, since it was such a small fragment of a lyric, but fortunately it came to me right before I was going to post this. 6. I Want a New Duck by Weird Al Yankovic I want a new duck / Not a swan or a goose / Just a drake I can dress real cute / Think I'm gonna name him Bruce I just think it's fate that I wrote a fic about Bruce Banner turning into a duck, and Weird Al had already written its themesong. 7. The Night Pt 2 by The Builders and the Butchers It's a harder way to heaven on the rope you swing / and the night ain't filled with gentle things I started getting really into The Builders and the Butchers and Welcome to Nightvale at almost exactly the same time, and they really really fit together. 8. Red Hands by The Builders and the Butchers I was dreaming restless / And you were thinking of the rest I've actually used this song twice - the title of this Wimsey fic is also copped from here. 9. The Night Pt 1 by The Builders and the Butchers Your heart is in my pocket / and there's a lie inside my hand I managed to mishear this line in two different ways, which made it hard to figure out which particular song inspired the fic title. 10. Without Me by Eminem So let me just revel and bask / In the fact that I got everyone kissing my *** / And it's a disaster such a catastrophe / For you to see so damn much of my *** you ask for me? This is a podfic, so technically the original author chose Eminem, not me. But I'm happy to add the radio edit version to my playlist, for reasons that will be obvious if you listen the podfic. (There's also a linked clip of me swearing for ten seconds, which @einzwitterion recently played for her husband. My legacy.) 11. Find Me in the Air by The Builders and the Butchers You waited your whole life, said you're looking on for something / You look so hard and you never find nothing / and the chances run like sand through your hands 12. Black Elevator by The Builders and the Butchers And the cables break / You're sinking to the ground / No one here knows your name / And you won't be coming home The last of the great string of Builders and Butchers fic titles. Man, I miss how easy this was. 13. Team the Best Team by Doomtree Who want it more? It’s already yours It's really easy to tell when I integrated into the Twin Cities music scene. 14. Bad Moon Rising by Credence Clearwater Revival I hope you got your things together / I hope you are quite prepared to die This was on one of the greatest Teen Wolf fanmixes of all time, not an easy category to win. So I used it to title my niche Mountain Goats fic. 15. Take a Break by Lin-Manuel Miranda When the night gets dark / Take a break As a member of fandom in 2015, I was contractually obligated to use a Hamilton lyric as a fic title. 16. Ice on the Dune by Empire of the Sun I’ve been reaching all out darling / And I can’t operate now Tim Lincecum has used some weird stuff for his walk-up music. 17. Alle Jahre Wieder Kehrt mit seinem Segen / ein in jedes Haus / geht auf allen Wegen / mit uns ein und aus. I should title more fics with rough translations of German songs. So easy! So meaningful! 18. Open Your Eyes by STRFKR Open your eyes / Squeezing the palm of my hand / In these bodies, we are alone If I ever make a melodramatic true and forever OTP mix for Johannes Cabal and Zarenyia it will just be this song ten times in a row. I literally keep pasting different pieces of the lyrics into this section and then deleting them, I feel like I'm seventeen again and discovering that Mumford and Sons songs are really about Doctor/Master. Bonus track: What's Up? by 4 Non Blondes And I try, oh my god do I try The title of this fic is invented, and tbh is one of the best lines I've ever come up with and I think about it all the time. But the summary is straight up lifted from this song. Honorable mentions: I was convinced that Cosmic Galacticans was from a Bowie song, but apparently I made it up. Operator, Operator is from a toy switchboard my great-grandmother owned, which would say 'Operator, operator!' in a very scratchy voice when you turned the crank.

#fanmixes by me #technically!#fic title song meme

14 notes · View notes

saving-people-shipping-things · 7 years

Text

Falling Around You: Part 3

Title: Falling Around You

Pairing: Sam x Reader

Summary: Sam pines away for the reader in secret, but when she loses all memory of hunting and monsters, he’s forced to rethink how to approach his feelings.

Theme song: “Over You” by Ingrid Michaelson

Word count: 3,360

A/N: What is it with me and one shots that turn into series??? Anyways, this is my first Sam series, and I have to give a huge shoutout to my beta @idjitmonkey for helping me to avoid Sam sounding like Dean (#DeanGirlProblems). This is the THIRD AND FINAL PART (ahhhhh!!!!) of the series for @impala-dreamer and @idreamofhazel ‘s Sam fic challenge. My prompt is the quote “We are far from perfect, but we are good.” I was finally able to use it in this part! :) Thanks for coming on this long and twisting journey with me!

Part 2

You didn't say one word. Not one word.

Dean tried to get you to speak, to react, to show that you were still with them all the way home, because that's who Dean was. He was the last one to stop trying. But Sam and Bobby knew better. They knew there was no coming back from whatever had happened to you. At least not now.

“She's basically living in a sort of conscious coma,” Bobby said. They had you arranged in a comfortable manner in your bed, sitting up, staring out the window at nothing. “That's how the other victims were. Not right away, but some of them later on did this exact same thing. It was all over the papers. They'd be triggered by something, get a burning sensation in their head, and go catatonic.”

“So she can't hear anything we're saying?” Sam asked.

“Don't know. But she's unresponsive.”

Sam insisted on sleeping on the floor of your room that night, just in case something happened. Nothing did, unless Sam lying awake for five hours before finally drifting off into a nightmare counted as something. When he woke, sweaty and confused, you still stared at the same spot out the window where the sun was rising.

Bobby tried to feed you breakfast, but you barely swallowed anything and wouldn't chew anything more solid than watery eggs. From then on, he only fed you liquids. Dean would check in every half hour on the dot, which meant he'd stand in the doorway and study you for a minute, then shake his head and mumble to himself as he walked away.

As for Sam, he only left the room when Dean literally dragged him from it to shower and put on a fresh change of clothes. But he could not get his brother to eat, no matter how hard he tried.

“Dude, starving yourself isn't going to help anything,” Dean said when night fell and Sam hadn't had a bite to eat all day.

Sam shook his head and clicked through another hunter forum on his laptop. He'd propped himself near the foot of your bed where he could watch you and read articles that had the possibility to be helpful to the situation. “There's no time.”

“We have all the time in the world now.”

“How do you know it won't get worse?”

“Sam, just eat something.”

“I'm busy, Dean.”

Burying himself in his research was the only way Sam was able to feel helpful. Nothing else distracted him enough. Nothing else temporarily filled the hole in his heart. The pain from his bullet wound didn't even do enough to take his mind away to different places.

When Sam's eyes burned from looking at a screen for so long and he couldn't sleep anyway, Sam would pick up the nearest novel and read to you. It was the only time he allowed himself to sit next to you on the bed. Whether or not you could comprehend your surroundings was beside the point. He hoped at least some way, somehow, you might be able to hear his voice and hang onto the words for some comfort the way he'd hung onto yours for so long.

Three weeks passed. You didn't improve, but you didn't get worse, and it pained Sam to even count that as a win. None of this should have happened in the first place.

“Sam.”

Sam lifted his head from his laptop on day twenty-two. Dean stood in the doorway at his usual time, but his eyes weren't on you. He beckoned for Sam to follow him. “It's time to go.”

Though the words were vague, Sam found the deeper meaning in them. It's time to let go. It's time to go home.

Sam shook his head. “I'm not leaving.”

“Sam, she's not getting any better—”

“But she's not getting any worse.”

Dean sighed and rubbed between his eyes. “Bobby agrees, too. There's nothing else we can do.”

Sam tugged at his hair to keep himself awake and alert before the words on the screen started to blur again. “You don't know that.”

“I know it's been three weeks and you can't spend the rest of your life waiting for something that may or may not happen.”

Sam didn't look at him.

Dean sighed again. “I'm going to the car. I'll wait for ten minutes. If you want to go home, you know where to find me.”

Sam waited for the screen door to bang shut before he moved. Dean was right, and he hated when Dean was right. He hated it more when it meant he'd have to face what he'd never be ready to face.

When he stood up and looked at you, he knew you may never wake up. You may never understand a word of what he said while you were in this state. But he would burn up from the inside out if he kept the words inside. Somehow your glassy look that went straight through him made his heart beat faster than if he knew you were listening.

Sam set a Snickers bar on your nightstand. Did you move? No, just his eyes playing tricks on him again. Why was he so nervous? It was like speaking to a sleeping person.

“I thought you might be hungry if—when you wake up,” Sam said. He ran a hand through his knotted, greasy hair. “I know chocolate always hits the spot for you.”

Could that have been a twitch of your eye? Sam gave his head a firm shake. No, it was stupid to keep hoping. It would only delay the inevitable pain. “I—I'm sorry, Y/N. I never should have—well, there's a lot of things I shouldn't have done, but I won't list them now. I'm just sorry for getting you in this mess.”

He leaned over you to place a hand on the back of your neck, press a gentle kiss to your forehead. He lingered there for a moment, trying to think of more things to say before he left, but nothing summed it up as well as the three words that stood the test of time across all cultures. He brushed them across your skin with gentle strokes of his lips, a whisper. “I love you.”

There. He'd finally admitted what Dean and Bobby had suggested more than once. And like your steady state, he didn't feel good or bad about it. Somehow that was worse than feeling awful. Leaving you eternally staring out the window, his words hanging in the stale air, felt final and unsettled all at once.

He wished more than anything that you could say one word, any word, to show that you'd heard. To show you were still here with him.

Sam closed the door behind him. Dean looked surprised to find his younger brother making his way to the passenger seat, but knew better than to speak as he pulled out. There was nothing he could say to improve the situation, so he let the silence be enough.

“She's awake.”

It had only been eighteen hours since they'd left you. Bobby's voice on the phone was breathless, but nevertheless, his words were understood.

“What?” Dean leaned closer to the phone, despite it being on speaker.

Sam didn't even bother to bookmark his page as he abandoned his research to also stand nearer to the phone.

“She's awake,” Bobby repeated. “Like—real awake. Walking, talking, eating . . . She's asking for you boys.”

“We'll drive over.” Sam stuffed his hands in his pockets. They were damp and trembled with each exhale. He couldn't dare to hope, fully and without fear, but still hope tugged at him like the chorus of a catchy tune he couldn't push away no matter how hard he tried.

Dean cast a look toward his brother, one without expression. “Yeah. See you tomorrow, Bobby. Tell Y/N hey from us.”

“Drive safe.”

“What do you think woke her up?” Sam tossed his book from hand to hand. “After all this time?”

Dean shrugged. His eyes didn't leave Sam as the younger Winchester paced the room. “Who knows? Could've been us leaving, you know, the change in the environment or whatever. Could've been the curse only lasts for so long. Something someone said . . .” He trailed off.

Sam made up some mumbled excuse to leave then. He didn't need Dean insinuating anything to add to his already jumbled ball of nerves. As soon as he was alone in the hallway, a smile won its fight onto his face.

He was going to see you tomorrow.

Bobby was outside when Sam and Dean drove up to the old junkyard. He, like Sam, couldn't help a sly grin.

“She barely slept a wink last night,” was Bobby's greeting as he led them inside. “Kept asking what time you were planning on rolling up. I don't think I've ever seen her this excited.”

What did that mean? Sam couldn't help but wonder if he should take this as a good or bad sign. Or maybe nothing at all. Maybe you didn't remember anything, any of it, any of what he'd said.

Before he could let his thoughts run wild, more than they already were, you barreled into the room and into the boys.

Dean let out an oof, catching an elbow to the ribs like Sam had.

“Oh my God, it feels like forever since I've seen you,” you said, squeezing them both tight. You stepped away to get a good look at them, like it had been months since they were last by your side. “I mean, I know I've seen you, but it was weird. It didn't count. I couldn't really see you, not like this—”

“Slow down,” Dean chuckled, ruffling your hair. “You just got your conscious thought back. We don't need you wearing out on us again.”

You giggled, light and carefree and back to your normal self. Sam didn't realize he was staring until you looked back, but he couldn't help it. It was like seeing a reflection in a mirror, only it wasn't a reflection of himself, but of all the things he wanted to be. All the traits of a person perfectly made.

“What?” You said, more quietly.

“Nothing,” Sam said. “It's just good to have you back.”

“You better have brought me some chocolate, Winchester. I'm starving. That one Snickers you left on my nightstand was not enough sustenance after weeks of just broth.”

Sam held up his hands in preemptive defense. “I was going to stop by the store on the way here, but they were still closed when we left.”

You sighed dramatically and rolled your eyes. “Those bastards.”

Two clunky, run of the mill, meaningless words.

But for Sam, it was the sun breaking through the storm.

At some point in the day, you and Sam were alone. The sun was low in the western sky and everyone's stomachs were rumbling. Dean and Bobby ran to get takeout while Sam took on the job of setting the table and you handled the “stay put and don't do a damn thing” task Bobby had given you.

“Are you sure I can't help?” You asked from your curled up spot on the armchair in the other room.

“You heard Bobby.” Sam obsessively re-straightened the already straight silverware. “If you so much as lift a finger, he'll flay you alive. He really wants to make sure you're rested up.”

Your groan elicited a grin from Sam. “But I wanna help.”

Sam waited a beat before responding. “Then you can keep me entertained while I neaten up around here.”

“How so?” You shuffled into the kitchen, leaning against the doorway.

The dishes in the drying rack were already drier than the Sahara, but you didn't have to know that as Sam rubbed them off with a towel. “Tell me how much you remember.”

Your eyebrows furrowed. “From the whole memory curse thing? I mean, I don't remember much, seeing as it was a memory curse and all . . .”

Sam turned to push a few plates into the cupboard where they belonged. His pulse was so quick and erratic, he wondered if you could see it leaping against his throat. “So you don't remember anything?”

“I wouldn't say that.” You fiddled with the hem of your shirt where a loose thread hung. “I remember going to that old house, touching the crown . . . then there's a big blank space.”

He was playing with fire, but he had to know. “And nothing after?”

Lifting your eyes to meet his, you were as unreadable as Dean the day before. “Pain. A lot of pain. And then staring at nothing every day for what feels like forever.”

That didn't tell him anything, and you weren't bringing it up, so Sam tried to drop it. He really did. He nodded and put the last dish in its place. “Well you're back now. That's what matters.”

“Yeah.”

Sam found that he couldn’t concentrate on keeping up a happy face, on any semblance of normal at all. “I have to do something. Let me know when they come back.” With his vague excuse and long strides, he hurried out of the kitchen toward the screen door.

“Sam, wait.”

Your pale skin and endless eyes rooted him in place. You stared for a long time, and Sam was incapable of being the first to break the contact. Neither could see what the other was thinking, but both knew, somehow, on a deeper level. They knew in the marrow of their bones, in each pulse of their heart, in each expansion of their lungs.

“I—” You whispered, but your words stuttered to a stop, tongue faltering. Sam finished the words that would have followed in his head, no matter how naïve and desperate it was, how foolish.

“What?” Sam prompted you. He had minutes, seconds before he gave up entirely.

“I don’t know. Everything was so cloudy when I was stuck in that bed. I don’t know if I dreamed it.”

Sam shook his head, throat tight. “You didn’t dream it.”

You were across the kitchen in one fluid movement. Your arms flung around Sam’s neck, feet lifting off the floor to the tips of your toes so you could reach. He caught you, gripped you tight, stumbling back not from your weight but from the shock of your reaction. Your breathing was ragged in his ear as you spoke.

“I love you, too.”

He pulled away, all of his instincts at odds with each other. Some said to run, others said to say something back, others still said to stop thinking and just kiss you already. But the instincts that won out made him say, “What?”

Smooth, Sam. Smooth.

Your lips twitched into a smile, but it was as wobbly as Sam’s legs were. “I—I said I love you, too.”

Sam let out a breathy huff of a laugh. “You’re crazy.”

“No, I mean it.” You slid your hands down to find his, squeezing. “I love you.”

Flames. Heat. Your face engulfed in a crimson blaze.

Sam pulled his hands from her, and yours fells to dangle by your sides, suddenly lifeless and defeated. “You shouldn’t,” he said.

“Sam Winchester, don’t you dare tell me what I should and shouldn’t feel.” Creases deepened between your eyebrows, the same ones that made an appearance whenever Dean teased you about your short stature. “Why would you say anything to me if you weren’t going to let me say it back?”

“I didn’t think you would.” He stuffed his hands in his pockets, slumping forward a little like maybe he could curl in on himself and fade away. “You’re better off without me.”

“How the hell can you say that?”

“If you hadn’t met me, none of this would’ve happened to you in the first place. You wouldn’t have lost weeks of your life lying in a bed like some sort of prisoner.”

You took a step forward to close the distance Sam had tried to put between you. “If I hadn’t met you, that shifter would’ve killed me. Do you know how many times you’ve saved my ass? You’re the best thing—”

“Stop.” It was meant to be firm and final, but it came out weak with a crack in his voice. Somehow the fragility of the word made you break off more than any shout would have. The skin seemed to strip away from Sam’s bones, leaving only the raw parts of him, the honest ones. “Y/N, I’m not good for you. I haven’t been good for anyone in a long time. Those nightmares I’ve been having—every time I sleep I see you on the ceiling, burning. I can’t risk anything happening to you. It’d end me.”

This time when you took Sam’s hand, it wasn’t tight, it wasn’t possessive, it wasn’t anything at all except for two broken people needing the touch to heal. Calluses and scars and bumps and edges rubbing against each other, not even close to smooth, but that only meant those two people were mending.

“Sam,” you murmured. “We are far from perfect, but we are good. You’re good. If you can’t see that, you’re going to have to be stuck with me until you do.”

His hand shook in yours, barely, but you felt it. You put your other hand on top, steadying the tremors. The corners of his mouth lifted up.

“I don’t think I could get rid of you if I tried,” he said.

You beamed, the kind of brightness that could only be achieved by showing all your teeth. “Nope.”

Before you had time to prepare yourself, Sam was kissing you. He was kissing you slowly and carefully like he was scared he’d break you if he went too fast. Your fingers got lost in his thick hair, tugging at the roots, telling him it was okay. And neither of you knew how long you’d blocked out the rest of the world and stayed blissfully unaware in yours, but at some point you were pulled apart by the sound of two deep voices.

Bobby dropped the takeout on the table. “It’s about time,” he said, just as Dean grimaced and groaned, “Right where we eat? Really? Come on, guys.”

“Don’t you people knock?” You teased, trying to distract from your deep red flush.

Bobby raised his eyebrows. “In my own home? I don’t think so.”

“Here, let me help you,” Sam mumbled, busying himself with setting out the food so he didn’t have to make eye contact with either of the other men.

Dean continued to grumble loudly about your scandalous activities in the eating area, sometimes around a large bite of food so only half the words could be made out. Bobby rolled his eyes and said several things under his breath, probably something along the lines of exasperation at Dean’s indignation. Sam didn’t listen. By the twinkle in your eyes as you smiled at him from across the table, he didn’t think you did, either.

You and Sam were the last ones in the kitchen, cleaning up after dinner while Dean and Bobby discussed the latest werewolf attacks in Michigan.

“I think I’m still hungry,” you said as you dried off the dishes.

“I’m pretty sure Dean and Bobby polished off the fries,” Sam had to break it to you.

You sighed, tossing the towel aside and leaving to clear the rest of the table. “Those bastards.”

Sam smiled and closed the fridge. You hummed to yourself as you moved about the kitchen, oblivious to the softened expressions on Sam’s face, to the fact that maybe he’d be able to sleep tonight, to his thoughts that maybe it’d be okay.

You did a double take as you looked over your shoulder. “What are you grinning at?”

He shook his head. “Nothing.”

“Dork.”

You resumed your off-key, humming rendition of the “Sherlock” theme song, a bounce in your step when you put the dishes away.

Yeah. It’d be okay.

Send me an ask to be added to the tag list(s)!

Tag list for all future fics: @eileenlikesyou-maybe

Tag list for Falling Around You: @abbessolute @sammy-salamander @impossible-box

40 notes · View notes