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eremikas-bby · 11 months

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~Her Little Songbird~

OMG AAAAAAAAA-

I just had a random thought and dammmmmmmm

Mikasa x Singer! Reader is the best thing to ever happen. Just imagine having the impulse to sing and she would have the sparkle of adoration in her eyes, cheering you on!

I headcanon that she can play the piano/ the guitar, so she would put her simple skills to use just to hear your voice blend along with the melodies of each note she plays. (In her free time, she will surely practice to keep up with the piece you're learning.)

She totally would admire how the instruments would accentuate your voice even more, how the emotions of the song's aura is deeply felt with the combination of her playing and your voice, and overall, it's just a mystical and intimate moment...

DONT GET ME STARTED, SHE WILL HELP YOU WARM UP, TOO! It's a must and a responsibility for her cuz she wants to protect her baby's voice :<

She will try to match up the notes your mentor does/ she would research some challenging warm ups, and it will be VERY enjoyable!

An added bonus, she'll make you warm, freshly brewed tea before you get to sing at your recitals. (And also generally, when you just sing. She would buy a whole rack of it for you) [She has the w music rizz 😏]

Besides playing instruments as you sing, she also finds comfort in singing with you for funsies. You guys would sing pieces from the 80's, musicals, anime songs, and pop songs as duets! I could just imagine you, guys singing Burn For You from Brigerton, Put Your Head in My Shoulder by Paul Anka, and A Whole New World from Aladin.

OH HOW SHE WOULD EMPAHSIZE THE PUPPY WORDS AAAAAAAAA DOWN BAD FR OMG IT WOULD MOSTLY BE LIKE:

"Put your lips next to mine, dear~ And she'd smirk at you and giggle as she awkwardly sings the next line [Put your head on my shoulder by paul anka]

You both sing together while you're laying on her chest; She lovingly says, "I'm here, nothing can harm you, My words will warm and calm you.." And she would lightly stroke your hair as you gather some air to sing [All I ask of you from the phantom of the opera]

"I will never fall in love again until I found her." And you receive a tiny boop on the nose as she would pull you in to hug instead of proceeding- [Until I found you by stephen sanchez]

oh god im gay

Sometimes, she would caress you to sleep and hum some of your favorite tunes together,

But yeah! Yall are hopeless romantics for each other so I envision that loved theme songs as a stable. It's also fun to harmonize and play along with the notes of the song.

In conclusion, music bonds you together. She completes you, and you complete her 💗

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A/N: Oh god im lonely. And cringe but anyways, some scenarios for my fellow hopeless romantics :)

#mikasa x fem reader #singer reader #headcanons #mikasa ackerman #aot mikasa ackerman #snk mikasa ackerman #snk #aot #attack on titan #shingeki no kyojin #ainzey's late night venting #mikasa x you #mikasa x y/n #mikasa ackerman scenarios

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seljepw · 7 years

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Practical Animism

A/N: IT'S DONE! My entry for @butiaintgonnaloveem's Happy Big 50 Baby Challenge!! This one was so difficult fun to write. When I saw the song "All You Need is Love" by the Beatles on her list, I knew what I had to do. It just took a bit of a convoluted road from my brain to my fingers. Any-hoo, hope you enjoy!!

The gist: What made Baby into... Baby? What shaped her? Herein lies the story of Baby, from birth to Swan Song. Told in vignettes and gifs.

Warnings: I think there's like, two curse words in there? Canon violence, a little more angst than originally planed (oops), but we know it's all ok at the end!

Word Count: 2,600ish

"Real isn't how you are made," said the Skin Horse. "It's a thing that happens to you. When a child loves you for a long, long time, not just to play with, but REALLY loves you, then you become Real." -The Velveteen Rabbit

Everything has a consciousness. An idea of where it belongs in the whole of the Universe. Of what it Is and what it’s For. How much of an idea- how conscious- depends on love. The love you’re fed creates you. It’s as true with humans as it is for other animals, or rivers, or guns, or potted geraniums, or... me.

I remember the molten heat of my steel being forged. The delicious s t r e t c h of forming my steel into things. A chassis, an axle, my skin curved over the bones. But these aren’t really memories, per se, more like impressions of sensation. See, I hadn’t been Loved, yet.

Sal Moriarty- my first human- loved me, in his way. In the way that humans love things that make them feel good about themselves. He loved me like a mirror. I reflected him back to himself; taller, stronger, more righteous, with more hair and a bigger cock. But it wasn’t really Love (capital L). Poor Sal. He never really got the difference.

The first time I remember Love was in 1973. I was sitting in the lot at Rainbow Motors in Lawrence, Kansas, and my skin was getting just-this-side-of-too-warm in the sun, when someone touched me. Reverently. In a way that was NEW. A hand slid over me, and something in me reacted- a sleepy upward curling like a cat being scratched. A weight rested on my hood and, just like that, the part of me that was a Me began to stir.

“That’s not the one you want,” a voice rumbled. And I could hear miles of dirt and gravel and blacktop under my wheels. He pounded twice on my hood and said, “This is the one you want,�� and I felt a thing that was like a smile.

The owner of the voice lifted my hood by way of a greeting, and I tried to creak one back.

"327 four barrel, 275 horses. A little TLC and this thing is cherry." It wasn’t a listing of my parts, it was a recited prayer. Said with veneration, even though it was memorized. “Trust me, this thing’s still gonna be badass when it’s 40."

You promise? ‘Cause I’d like that. It was my first coherent thought.

Mary didn’t quite know what to make of me at first. She was expecting something different, after all. But when she and John settled into my front seat and took off on that first drive, I could tell she liked me. There was a warmth, maybe. Or hope? She loved me because I was her escape route. Her way out of a life she wasn’t happy with, anymore. She was the one who decided I was a “girl”, by the way. I don’t know why. But she was right.

“Hey, sweetheart,” she’d say to me, early in the morning, before her brain was awake enough to think that talking to a car was strange, “where are we gonna go, today, huh?”

There were days she woke up in my backseat, John’s head on her shoulder and a cramp in her back. Before he woke up, it was just her and me. She’d run her fingers across the stitching in my vinyl, or reach up to crank down the back window- slowly, so it wouldn’t wake her mate. I tried to breathe in some fresh air for her. I could tell she was something special. After one of those mornings, I noticed she started getting heavier. Not just in weight, but in something else, too. The way I carried people, she carried… promise? That promise of adventure. That warm voice reciting me like a prayer. It was on it’s way.

I remember the first time Dean moved. We were leaving the grocery store with Mary’s most recent cravings (cheese crackers, a snickers bar, and hot sauce), and John had just fired up my engine. I began my rumbling, saying Hello, when there was a lazy sort of turning over, somewhere. And I remembered the reverent hand on my hood at Rainbow Motors. And the sound of miles of road. Mary didn’t say anything, but I felt her… shift. Not physically. But like when my seats are adjusted. Or a gear shifts in my transmission. Mary had changed configuration. I felt her grip my doorframe, over the open window. Her other hand was on her round middle. Hello! we both said to the little soul as John backed me out of the parking space.

"What are you smiling at?” he asked. My gears shifted to Drive, and we were moving forward.

"Nothing… I… I really love this song!” Mary turned my volume knob and my speakers sang louder.

"All you need is love… Da da da da da!..."

“Okaaay,” John said slowly. I think he knew something was up, but it was Mary, so he let it slide. “You know, I’ll never get your whole Beatles obsession."

“It’s not an obsession! I just… I like the sentiment.” And she began to sing “Love, love, love is all you need…"

John smiled at Mary and did that thing where they mixed their fingers together.

I think Mary taught me how to be a mother.

I carried Mary as she carried both of her boys- Our Boys,really- until they were ready to be people. And then I carried them to the hospital so they could start being people. And we all went on adventures to the grocery store and the movies and the park. And Mary and Dean would sometimes sing to the tiny, wiggling thing that was Sam in his car seat (usually when the Beatles were on my radio). And I was something like happy. But I knew something else was coming. I could still feel those miles of road coming at me- just over the horizon. A weight in my trunk that wasn’t there, yet.

And then came a night of rain and fire . And the Winchester males sat on my hood, and poured their sadness into me. And I began to change, again. I became something more than a vessel. John’s military training kicked in and I became a fortress. A base of operations. A place from which to wage his war. He would drop the boys off and ride me into battle. I got a little of my bloodthirstiness from him, I think. That phantom weight solidified- settled into my trunk as he piled in weaponry and talismans- the tools of his new trade. I learned to carry myself differently- put more power into my back wheels. I learned to carry myself like the warrior he needed me to be.

Those miles of road. They had found me at last. The dust of dirt, the grind of gravel, the baking heat or freezing cold of asphalt. They worked their way into my tires, and became part of me. Dean and Sam grew up while we drove those miles. Dean would always ride in the back, early on. He always slept with one hand on his brother’s car seat. Just in case. Sometimes Sam would wake up crying, and Dean needed to comfort him right away. He always hated to see Sam wake up scared.

Dean knows about nightmares. I don’t know if he ever told anyone how many times he started awake sweating, dreaming of fire. But I knew. I would try and rumble a little deeper, then. To comfort him.

As we drove the distance and fought John’s war, Dean and Sam built new parts of me. There are little plastic tickles in my vents, sometimes. The boys put them there. And the tiny green toy wedged in my ashtray. (I think that’s what it must feel like to have something stuck in your teeth.) The scars that they carved into me- their initials under my skin like a tattoo. My gifts from my boys. I carried them, and their gifts, and their daddy, until I became a Home.

When Dean learned to drive, I helped. Well, I tried to throw my weight around a little to make it easier for him to move me. I don’t know how well it worked, but I tried. I always try. When something breaks in me, or needs adjustment, I try to let Dean know. He’ll lift my hood, in that creaking Hello like his first greeting, and I try to talk back.

"It hurts when I move this. I need some oil, here. This belt is too wobbly, can we fix that?" He always understands. He Loves me.

John officially gave Dean my keys on his 18th birthday, but I think I had always belonged to Dean. Since that day in the sun at Rainbow Motors. He is Mine.

I don’t know when I really finished becoming Real. It’s such a gradual thing, like falling in love, and you don’t really notice that it’s happened until you act on it without thinking. There were so many years. So many miles. So much blood and joy and fear and singing.

When Sam left for college, Dean drove me to a dark stretch of road, and we pulled over, and he cried. I tried to find a radio station that was playing the Beatles.

A little later, when we hadn’t heard from John in a while, we went to get Sam, again. I like to think it was that plastic rattle in my vents that helped Dean make the decision to drive to California, but I don’t know for sure.

Then it was old times, once more. Me and my boys, off on our adventure. Clarity of purpose. I was smashed and Dean rebuilt me. Dean left for a little while, and Sam took care of me. It wasn’t the same, but we made it. Then Dean came back to me, and the adventures started again. And more years passed. More fights and more blood. The sound of them laughing. The weight of them on my hood, as we all silently watched the stars.

I carried angels and demons. I listened to the boys fight and talk and dream. I soaked it all up. All that Love. And then I was ready.

When the apocalypse came- the first one, I mean- that was the day I realized I was awake. Real. Whatever you want to call it.

Sam had run off somewhere. Only it wasn’t Sam anymore. It was Lucifer. And when Dean ran after him, I was there to carry my boy to what we all thought would be the last war.

We drove all night to get there. Back to Kansas, of course. It all had to end where it began, I suppose. As we drove, Dean poured his fear into me. It was like he had woken up from another nightmare, and found that this one was real. I tried as best I could to help. I threw myself forward so we could get there faster. I rumbled deep and low to let Dean know I was there. That he wasn’t alone. We got to the battlefield just as the sun was rising.

We sat on the top of a hill at the Stull Cemetery entrance while Dean took a few deep breaths. There was Sam. I could see him waiting in the overgrown field below us. And the other one… Adam? Well, Michael wearing Adam’s face. This was really happening. They took a step toward each other and it was time. Dean squeezed my wheel and turned the key and I roared as loud as I could across that brown grass and still air. Dean slid in the cassette he had picked (always the music fan- from the womb, in fact), and when he turned up the volume, I hollered through the music. And we rode into action.

That last fight. What can I say about it? It was… it was the single worst thing I’ve ever seen. Because it wasn’t really a fight. My baby never threw a single punch.

When Lucifer threw Dean, I caught him. Broke my windshield, but I did it. It got bad, after that. Lucifer used Sam’s fists to break Dean. I think he did it so bloody and hands-on just so Sam could feel it. Every punch shook me, too. I felt the vibrations as the bones in Dean’s face shattered. I think I even heard Sam screaming, from somewhere far off. Like a train whistle in a thunderstorm. I tried to scream, too.

“Sammy, it's ok. It’s ok. I’m here. I’m here. I’m not going to leave you!” Dean spit through his own blood and broken mouth. How many times had I heard that whispered in my backseat? Dean peering over the edge of his brother’s car seat, patting his head, lulling him back to sleep?

That was it. That’s what did it.

You pour enough love into something, and it Becomes.

I had a Name. And a Purpose. And a Soul. And my babies needed me now more than ever. I was their mother, their fortress, their home, and now they needed a beacon. So I did it. I moved.

By myself.

I strained against the rigid steel of my skin, and against the laws of physics. With shrieking, wrenching effort, I stretched my roof up a fraction of an inch, into a shaft of sunlight. Angled it towards Sam’s train whistle scream. Made sure he could see that little army man. A smile around something stuck in my teeth.

And there was Sam, again.

“It’s ok, Dean. It’s gonna be ok. I’ve got him,” Sam wheezed against the strain of holding onto his own body. He threw that magic key they had made, and punched a hole in the world. The pit caved open, and across the deafening, howling wind, my boys looked at each other one last time.

I held Dean upright against my door, so he could say goodbye. So we both could. In that moment, I think we all spoke the same language. We Loved each other.

And then Sam threw his body and Adam/Michael’s into that hole, and it was over.

It felt like everything was over, actually.

After the cage door closed, I think Dean and I both broke, a little. I held on as long as I could, rumbling a lullaby while we dragged our way to a new life. I had to get him to that Lisa woman he had talked about. She sounded safe and kind. Just what my baby needed to heal. But when Dean parked me in that strange garage and went off to love the woman called Lisa, I couldn’t stay awake anymore. The strain of moving- of Becoming- had taken a lot out of me. I needed a good, long sleep.

And besides, Dean had Lisa to look after him for a little while. She could care for him while I slept. And when he was ready, I would be, too. Those miles of road weren’t done, yet. Probably never would be. But I did know that when they came, I’d be there. Mother, fortress, home. And to the man who had Loved me alive, I would always be Baby.

I guess Mary was onto something. In the end, all you need is Love.

Tagging: @butiaintgonnaloveem, thank you for this amazing challenge. @icecream-and-gadreel- here's the fic I was complaining about. @mamaredd123, my lone forever-tag. Thank you for your patience.

#happy big 50 baby #spn challenge #spn fanfic #spn fic #Baby #Impala #Dean and Baby #practical animism #writing challenge #baby's big 50 #happy big 50 baby challenge #spn #The Winchesters #swan song

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