#Again let me know if I made any mistakes with the Portuguese | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

nanahachikyuu · 2 years

Text

five-star hotel // modern!ivar x reader (part one of two)

Summary: sometimes, love results in heartbreak. That’s just life, and there was nothing she could do about it. But what if the reason for her anguish was also the very same one that brought her so much bliss?

Pairing: ivar x reader

Type: miniseries

Warnings: angst, heartbreak

Word count: 3.325

Music insp.: Hotel Caro by Baco Exu do Blues & Luísa Sonza (at this point, let’s just assume me picking Brazilian artists is the norm).

A/N:

This is the first time I’ve written for Ivar, but the moment I listened to this song I immediately related it to him. I guess my brain is just wired to connect anything angsty with our dear Ivar The Boneless. It’s very different from what I usually write, and I am aware that this trope has been done a thousand times, but I wanted to give it a try

Please, listen to the song! I know it’s in Portuguese, like most of the songs I pick, but I believe it’s possible to feel the heartbreak just from the rhythm. Nevertheless, I loosely translated some of the lyrics that inspired the fic.

Gentle reminder that English is not my first language, and this was not proofread.

I'm thinking of you smoking a cigarette An empty bathtub, an expensive hotel Honestly, I’m tired If it was you who made a mistake, why do I feel guilty? (hotel caro by baco exu do blues & luísa sonza)

Y/N was over-the-moon excited when Ivar shared his plans with her.

She had been invited by her boss to work with her for a trimester at another branch and had jumped at the opportunity. But, as amazing as it was for her career, it’d keep her away from Ivar for three whole months.

Altogether, they had been apart for two months now, and there was still one more to go. So, when Ivar called to share the news, how he had already booked a hotel room for them, the best available in town, she was over-the-moon excited with the possibility of seeing her boyfriend earlier than expected, and, better yet, have a romantic weekend away with him.

Y/N had gone all in on his idea, even spending more money than she normally would in a dress she just knew he’d love. She had spent the hours before they’d meet getting ready, choosing the lingerie he loved to see her in, putting on makeup that made the colours of her eyes stand out, even watching a YouTube tutorial to master the technique. When Y/N looked at herself in the mirror of her small temporary bathroom, she felt powerful. She was ready to slay, and Ivar Ragnarsson was her chosen victim.

It never crossed her mind the fact that Ivar hadn’t contacted her the whole day, neither to confirm or cancel their plans.

She arrived at the hotel room early, wanting to surprise him. She wanted to see the look on his face when he walked in the room and saw her already there, waiting for him. Also, she missed him like crazy and couldn’t wait to see him.

There was an armchair in a corner of the room, and she moved it, so it was facing the door. Grabbing a bottle of wine she found in the minibar, she sat on the chair, legs crossed, and a glass in hand. The clock on the wall told her it was almost eight pm. Ivar would be there at any moment.

So, she waited. And waited. And waited some more.

It was nearing midnight when Y/N finally accepted that he was not going to show up. By that time, she had finished almost two bottles of wine, still sitting on that same armchair, staring blankly at the door. By then, she had stopped listening to the elevator, no longer perking up to every noise out in the corridor. Was that the sound of his crutch hitting the floor? Well, if it was, she didn’t care anymore.

The one thing she could not believe was that she was, once again, in that situation. She had trusted him with her heart one more time, and he had stomped it to pieces. Again.

She knew Ivar. She knew him better than anyone else, even better than his overprotective mother. She knew that if there had been an emergency, he’d find a way to contact her. If he couldn’t reach out to her himself, he’d send one of his brothers, he’d find a way.

Y/N remembered a specific episode a couple of months into their relationship, when they were supposed to have dinner at their favourite Greek restaurant. But he was over an hour late and all her calls kept going straight to voice mail. That was the first time she thought he had abandoned her. However, just as she was about to leave the restaurant, hungry and desolate, she spotted Ubbe. Ivar had had a minor accident that afternoon, and was in the hospital ever since, just as a precaution, but since he didn’t have his phone and couldn’t contact his girl, he had sent his brother to find her.

But this, left stranded in a hotel room, in a foreign country, when he was supposed to meet her? She knew better. He had every intention of leaving her. This was part of a thought-out plan, a meticulously crafted one. Honestly, she couldn’t even blame him for this one. What was it people said? Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice…

The first time Ivar pulled something like this, she had cried her heart out for days.

Y/N was telling her friends and family about this amazing guy she had met. All her friends noticed how smitten she was, walking around with heart eyes. Even her mother pointed it out when she brought him to a family festivity. Ivar had won over her mother and aunts the second he walked into her childhood home, carrying a small bouquet for each one of them. Y/N believed she was living the fairy tale she loved to read about as a teenager. Until she wasn’t.

One day, he simply disappeared. Ivar stopped answering her calls and replying to her texts. He had disappeared with the blink of an eye, as easy as that. When a week had gone by without any news from him, she decided enough was enough. After work, she went straight to his apartment. Y/N was going to make him talk, weather he wanted it or not. Civilized people had conversations and she was going to make him act like one for once in his life. However, when she got to his building, the doorman said he wasn’t home, and hadn’t been for the whole week. But he did leave a box for her to pick up, with all the stuff she had left at his place inside, she later found out.

That night, Y/N had gone back to her apartment and cried into the night. And the following days. She didn’t tell a soul about what had happened, how could she? How could she face her family and friends after everything she had told them about Ivar? She believed he was her very own Prince Charming, but it turned out he was just another jerk. Who believed in fairy tales, anyways?

For days, she regretted going by his place. She should’ve known better. If he wanted to talk, he’d come looking for her. All her life, she had judged her friends who always wanted to talk to their partners, to tell them how much they had hurt their feelings. Y/N never understood that need. She’d always argue that they knew that, they just didn’t care. Not receiving a message is also a message, right? Well, just look at how the tables have turned!

However, two weeks later, he came back. She had gone to the movies, her first outing since he left, and when she came back, he was sitting by her door, a huge bouquet of her favourite flowers in hand, one for each day they were apart. For hours, she let him apologise, beg her for forgiveness. He had gotten scared, he got cold feet. He loved her and didn’t realise how much he needed her until it was too late, how he couldn’t live without her. They could go away together, just the two of them and rekindle their relationship. But please, please, she had to forgive him, she had to accept him back!

It was the first time she had ever seen him cry, and the last one. That’s what had gotten to her, she had to admit. Seeing Ivar shed tears for her touched a place in her heart she thought he had damaged forever. So, she agreed. Y/N accepted him back into her life with the promise that he’d never do something like that ever again. If he had doubts about their relationship again, they’d talk it out, together, as a couple.

And just like that, they were back into their very own fairy tale. It was like they were never broken up at all. Their love was stronger than ever, and nothing could tear them apart. Or so she believed.

She just couldn't understand how they ended up here. Again. Y/N kept repeating the last months of their relationship in her head, trying to find the moment where things had changed. Trying to understand if she had done something wrong. However, she knew there wasn’t one. During their time together, Y/N hadn’t been anything but faithful. She knew Ivar had his own issues, even understood some of them; he also required attention, so much attention. Ivar needed someone who understood he wasn’t the easiest person to deal with, but that would devote themselves to him, nevertheless.

So that’s what she did.

Y/N loved Ivar, and there was never a day that went by where she didn’t tell him that. She’d repeat it to him until he’d get embarrassed, the tips of his ears turning red. She’d point out every little detail about him that mesmerized her. Be it his looks, his intelligence, his devotion to her and others he cared about.

She loved it when he’d frown his eyebrows when reading a book. How he’d always pick her favourite movies for them to watch before she even said anything. The way he’d defend her against his brothers’ mocking, even though she was pretty well capable of doing so herself.

In return, she’d keep her fridge stocked with his favourite drinks. She’d send his favourite lunch to his work every time she sensed he was so deep in his work that he forgot to eat. When his legs were hurting too much, Y/N would have his medicine ready, his work brought to him, his bed, or her bed, if they were at her apartment, clean and comfortable. She’d do all that without acknowledging his condition, because she knew how much he hated to feel incapable.

She hadn’t done anything wrong; she was sure of it. So, why did she still feel guilty?

What did he tell her once? Oh yeah, he might break a bone, but he could never break a promise. Oh, well. Apparently, she wasn’t included in such promise. Who would’ve thought? Not Y/N, for certain.

Lingerie the colour of late afternoon Who taught you the way to me? Lying is also hiding the truth Why didn't you take care of me? My darling, loving you so much is not good But it makes no difference I don't want your presence Don't trade me for anyone What is fighting good for? May you win

“Weren’t you going away this weekend?” Hvitserk asks his brother.

They were having their usual night out, just the brothers, and it wasn’t unusual for Ivar to tag along, even if he claimed to hate the city’s club life. But he was almost certain Ivar had mentioned something about travelling to meet his girlfriend.

Ivar takes a moment to realize his older brother was talking to him. But when he does, he just glares at the man.

“Trouble in paradise, I see”, Hvitserk remarks. Honestly, he was surprised it didn’t happen sooner. Ivar had the bad habit of pushing away everything that was good for him.

“Mind your own business, brother”, Ivar answers back, already regretting his decision to join his brothers at the bar.

“What did you do, Ivar?”, Hvitserk tries again.

“Why is it always me that does something wrong? Why couldn’t it have been her?”, the dark-haired brother rebuts back.

Hvitserk doesn’t bother with an answer, just stares at his little brother, one eyebrow raised. Sometimes he couldn’t believe the audacity of Ivar. The nerve!

The last thing Ivar wants is to talk about his relationship with Y/N, that being the very reason why he joined his brothers. Luckily for him, Björn got Hvitserk’s attention, distracting him from the matter momentarily.

The weight of what he’d done was heavy on his shoulders. He couldn’t shake off the image of her alone in that hotel room. When the hotel management had called him to let him know that his guest had arrived, like he had instructed them to do, Ivar wanted to cry. He wanted to get on the first flight, make up an excuse about his delay, and spend the rest of the weekend apologising to her.

But he couldn’t.

He was so sure what he was doing was for the best. Why postpone the inevitable? Just so he could have a few more memories to replay when he was laying by himself in bed, missing her warm body pressed up to his? No. Ivar wasn’t like that, he wasn’t one to avoid pain, life had built him like that. Thus, better than wait for his heart to be broken, he anticipated the result. He ended the relationship before it had the power to end him.

Ivar was about to open a bottle of whiskey to drown out his thoughts when he remembered his brothers were meeting up that night. At the time, anything seemed more appealing than spending the night by himself, thinking about her. So, he jumped at the opportunity. But now, sitting at a crowded bar, still nursing the same beer Björn had handed him when he arrived, and, worst of all, facing his brother’s scrutiny, he regretted his choice. He should have stayed home.

“What crawled up your ass?” Sigurd asks suddenly, noticing the sour look on Ivar’s face.

“Fuck off, Sigurd” Ivar snarks back. He was already at his tipping point, and if Sigurd wanted to start a fight with him, so be it. He needed a way to let out some steam anyways.

“I just asked a question, no need to get offended” his brother argues back, but the little smirk on his lips makes it clear that he knew what he was doing. He wanted to get a reaction out of Ivar, and he was about to get one.

“Come on, guys. Let’s chill, ok?” Ubbe, always the peacemaker, intrudes on their exchange.

Ivar could feel Hvitserk’s stare burning on the back of his head. He knew that his brother had not fallen for his bullshit attempts to distract him. He could never lie to his brother; he’d always see straight through him.

“Hey, Ivar” Hvitserk calls, “I’m not feeling too good. Think you can follow me home?”. It was clearly a lie. The man, being the designated driver, hadn’t touched a drink all night.

He debated his options for a second. It was already past midnight, and it would be next to impossible to get an Uber home. He could walk, but his legs were a bit sore from spending the day on his feet. But most of all, even though he didn’t want to be left alone with his thoughts, he also didn’t want to stay at that bar a second longer.

“Yeah, sure” is all he responds, before standing up, gripping hard to his crutch.

The drive home is silent, and he’s thankful for that. Hvitserk had the habit of opining on his life whenever he got the chance. But, as they grew older and closer, he also learned when not to interfere, and Ivar would be forever thankful for that, especially on a night like this. Not that he’d ever tell his brother that.

“Do you want me to go up with you?” Hvitserk breaks the silence when they arrive at Ivar’s apartment building.

“No!” he answers abruptly. As much as he was thankful for the get away ride, he didn’t wish to spend anymore second with his brother, because if he did, he knew he’d cave and tell him exactly what had gone down that night, and he was not up for the speech that would follow. “I mean, no, but thanks”, he tries again, in a much gentler tone, one that surprised Hvitserk as much as his abrupt response, if not more.

“Hey, Ivar” he hears his brother call for him, just as he was about to leave the car. Standing by the passenger door, Ivar bends down so he can look at him.

“Whatever happened, between you and Y/N, I know you two can work it out. Just have a little faith in yourself, ok?”.

Ivar doesn’t answer, just closes the car door, and walks towards his apartment.

It was hours later when Ivar finally dragged himself to bed. After he had gotten home, he wandered around the apartment, purposely avoiding his bedroom, the one place he knew he wouldn’t be able to keep Y/N out of his thoughts. They shared so many good memories inside those four walls, and now it felt like they were all coming back to haunt him. How was it possible that a place where once he felt so much peace, now left him suffocated?

Now, laying in bed by himself, Ivar wondered if what he did was really the best choice. If he had followed through with his plans like he had initially planned, he’d be with her right now. They would’ve gone to dinner, where she’d share with him all the news about her job, and he’d complain about working with his family. Then, they’d make their way back to the room, where he’d show her just how much he had missed her. Finally, she’d put on his discarded shirt, and lay in bed with him; her hands running through his dark hair, softly lulling him to sleep. He never had a good night of sleep as good as the ones he spent with her.

The images were playing out so vividly in his head, it was like it was happening right in front of him. Ivar could feel the tears burning his eyes, so he finally let them go. He’d let himself cry, just for tonight. Tomorrow, he’d put his armour back on, and move on with his life.

The fact that he kept himself away from what would’ve been her side of the bed wasn’t helping. But Ivar couldn’t bring himself to lay on her side. He was sure the pillows would still smell like her, even though it had been months since they last shared the bed, and the sheets had been changed many times ever since. Reaching out, he touches one of the pillows, fingers running through the soft material.

He never understood how someone could sleep with so many pillows, and yet he couldn’t bring himself to put them away. It was like a part of him expected her to come back. As if one day he’d wake up and find her sleeping peacefully by his side, hands tucked beneath her head, lips parted, hair disheveled. Every time he woke up first, he’d stay in bed, admiring her features, imagining what would it be like to wake up next to her every single day, for the rest of his life.

He knew he had made the right decision. Loving someone as much as he loved her couldn’t be considered healthy, and he knew their tragic fate was just around the corner. One day, Y/N would realize the mistake she’s made. She’d finally understand that he wasn’t who she deserved. She’d get tired of putting up with his sorrow ass and leave.

Or worse.

She could be lying. What if all this time they were together she was lying to him? What if all the times she had said she loved him, she wasn’t being truthful? What if she had already met someone new? She had spent the past couple of months by herself in a different country… Weren’t there a million rom-com movies about that trope?

Honestly, the possibilities were infinite. So many things could happen. Just look at his father’s history. Ragnar married twice, had children, built a family. Both his wives devoted themselves to him, and still he wasn’t satisfied. Nowadays, he was just a shallow of the man he once was. He had so much and still couldn’t find happiness. What if that was his fate too?

No, he couldn’t end up like Ragnar. He was better than that. And that’s exactly why he did what he did, he had to remind himself. It was better to end things by his own terms than live by the volatility of other people's feelings. It was better to suffer now, when he was prepared, than be taken by surprise, be blindsided by her.

So, that was it.

Tonight, he’d let himself feel the pain of the breakup. He’d allow himself to remember all the reasons why he loved her so fiercely. All the little things that made her so unique in his eyes.

But tomorrow, it must come to an end.

Tomorrow, he was going to move on with his life, whatever it takes.

Taglist: @deans-ch-ch-cherrypie

#vikings imagines #ivar x reader #ivar the boneless x reader #ivar the boneless imagines #ivar imagines #modern ivar #ivar's heathen army #vikings fanfiction #vikings history #vikings #ivar the boneless #nanahachikyuu

107 notes · View notes

nekkomaa · 2 years

Text

The days when I wait for you

I hope to see you again and be able to take away all your pain and tiredness.

↓ Portuguese version ↓

Warning: Sadness, mention of near death, trauma. And I don't speak English so there may be spelling mistakes.

The front door was closed hours ago, no one has been through it since. Lying in bed looking out the window, catching a little glimpse of the street lights makes you feel alone.

Hoping to feel better, you hold your sweatshirt sleeve, taking a deep breath, feeling frustrated when his scent didn't come, just your scent. Michael… when are you coming back?

Michael never takes more than a few hours, his shift starting just before midnight and ending at six in the morning. Michael was usually there around seven in the morning, you would always greet him in the living room, sitting on the couch waiting for him to arrive before breakfast got cold, but today he didn't arrive, there were no hugs, there were no words of comfort There wasn't her scent… there was no Michael at the door waiting for a hug. There was no one to eat the breakfast you had made, so the breakfast was there, untouched, just like the lunch you forced yourself to eat at least a little bit, still hoping that Michael would arrive for lunch. you did it, when it didn't show up either you kept it in the fridge, not wanting to waste it.

If a day has passed, you are starting to conflict with your own thoughts. Is Michael okay? Did something happen to him?

Is he… ..dead?

Your call to Michael never came, it was just that woman on the cell saying the cell was off, or programmed not to take calls, you wanted to curse her, even if it wasn't her fault, even if it was just a recording.

It was raining, the cold weather making it all the more dreary. It was almost night again, you hadn't slept in hours, anxiety was slowly consuming you, thinking slow and tired, you were exhausted, you just wanted this nightmare to end and you could see Michael again.

When night came again you went downstairs and sat on the sofa, waiting for him again. When midnight arrived you were losing hope, wondering if it wouldn't be right to call the police and say that Michael is missing, but you gave up when you thought he might come back overnight.

So you kept it on the couch, with no one home starving and sleepy, you cringed as the thunder rang loudly echoing off walls that felt emptier than usual. The noise of cars on the street made you pay attention, hoping that at some point the noise was Michael's car. When you were about to be taken by sleep the noise of the keys woke you up, almost immediately you got up and walked towards the door, as soon as the door opened you faced the person behind the door.

“Michael…” Her almost desperate voice called out to him at least twice, hoping it wasn't a hallucination due to lack of sleep.

“It's me.” He replied, his tired, soggy figure standing in front of you, waiting for your reaction, Michael didn't dare move as you looked at him.

“I thought I was dead.” Your voice sounded low and broken, so you were crying as you held Michael's face. "Are you okay? Are you hurt? Why did you take so long to get back?!" You asked through sobs. Michael didn't answer, he just pulled you close carefully and hugged you, holding back your tears biting his lips almost making them bleed.

Michael was as desperate as you were, he was almost killed, narrowly escaping the ambush. He didn't want to make you more upset by telling you this, so he just kept silent.

"I'm sorry, I ended up getting you soaked too" Michael walked away from you seeing your clothes soaked, he tried to lighten the mood with a tired smile, trying to comfort youI

don't mind having my clothes dripping." You pouted with a sigh, bringing Michael into the house and closing the door, giving up on asking any more, knowing Michael wouldn't answer any more for now. "Let's take care of you first."

You took Michael to the bathroom, filling the tub with hot water.

"I'll get you warm clothes, remove these in the meantime."

"But what about you? Your clothes are wet too." Michael pointed at you, feeling bad that you were taking care of him more than you. You may not know it but Michael noticed you hadn't slept.

"You are more important to me, Michael. I can take care of myself later.” You walked out of the bathroom and into the bedroom looking for some clothes for Michael to wear. When he returned to the bathroom Michael was in the bathtub with his eyes closed.

“Take a shower with me.” Michael asked, pleading with his eyes, remembering a puppy wanting attention. You stared back at him and ended up giving in, taking off your clothes and getting into the bathtub with him.

“Never disappear for so long without telling me again.” He murmured, washing Michael's hair, letting his fingers run through his strands. "You didn't tell me you were hurt..." She looked down at his arms, small cuts and scrapes all over his arm. You hadn't noticed before, but Michael had a slightly deep cut on his cheek. Her heart sank as Michael arrived. In that state, you blame yourself for the bruises inflicted on every part of your body, blame yourself for your troubled mind. You shouldn't let him go to work when you know he could end your life in seconds.

Freddy fazbear would be the undoing from Michael, you knew but you couldn't stop him from walking out the door every night, you knew he would go even if you insisted he didn't, he had his goal and he wouldn't stop until he accomplished it. But you can't see"

"I'm sorry, I've been worrying you so much every day" Michael lowered his head letting the fat tears roll down his face.

just get out of this place, I can't see you dying little by little Michael. come a day when and you don't come back, please.” You begged hugging him.

"I'm sorry my love… but I can't afford to leave all this unfinished" Michael wrapped his arms around her waist hugging her tighter.

“When will this end Michael? This nightmare where are we living, will it end?”

"I'm not sure..." Michael hid his face in the crook of her neck "I hope so"

As soon as you lay down on the bed turning off the bedroom lights Michael grabbed your waist, laying his head on your chest listening to your heartbeat, feeling your heartbeats syncing, making you calmer. You clung to him as if you could lose him, stroking the damp strands of hair.

"I can't lose you Michael." You whispered, taking a deep breath, smelling Michael, that smell that made you forget about your problems.

"I can't lose you either, you're the only person that matters, my only family." Michael tilted his face up to his eyes sleepy looking at you. “I love you, you know that don't you?”

“Yes”

“I will always come back to you no matter what”

“Fulfill your promise like you always do Michael. Please”

“I will”

Michael always came back to you no matter what.

Even when his life almost slipped away for his fingers he managed, he kept his promise, he came back to you alive.

After all, you are Michael's home. And he is yours.

Links: Portuguese version | Spirit Fanfic

#michael afton x you #five nights at freddy's #fnaf #fnaf x you #fnaf x reader #michael afton #michael afton fnaf #michael afton x reader #fnaf x y/n #michael afton x y/n #micheal afton #michael afton imagine #fnaf afton #elizabeth afton #mike afton

73 notes · View notes

sweetpiccolo-blog · 1 year

Note

hey sweetie, here about the mashups

so, I have a lot of hobbies but here are my favorite ones: reading, writing, doing crochet, learning new languages and history, singing (but I'm awful) and going to the gym

I'm 1,61cm, have brown eyes and brown/dark blonde curly hair, right now it's a few inches down my shoulders.

fluently I speak Portuguese (cause I'm Brazilian 🫶🏻🫶🏻) and English. due to Portuguese, I can "handle" with Spanish and Italian. I also know a bit of french and some word/sentences in others like russian and German

I'm totally extroverted, I'm always making friends everywhere I go, I love talking and if you let I'll be talking bout my interests for hours. I'm also the friend who's always making jokes with everyone. and more than I hate, I'm the total ENTP stereotype. I'm a cancer

I love baking, cooking, showering, all the arts(painting, dancing, acting…), swimming, and for sure travelling. also, I'm a Mercedes fan since I started watching F1

it's not hate, but I'm not a big redbull fan. now about dislikes: small cities, step on the grass barefoot, camping and fish

already, thank you love and sorry if there's any mistake, my English is kinda crappy

OMG OMG OMG OMG OMG my fist ask! This totally made my day! Hi and welcome! I am so happy somebody asked for a match-up. Now I will try to find somebody who suits you based on what you given me. (and no worries, your English is great!<3)

This is only my opinion, so be sure to let me know what you think about it later : )

LET US GET STARTED!

Header by @dvluc

Your first match is...

☆LANDO NORRIS☆

First things first, I think you two being extroverted would not be a bad thing, I can see you talk about your interests for hours, exchanging opinions, just chit-chatting, but it would go on non-stop – if somebody else were with you they wouldn’t even get a chance to talk because you and Lando are in your moment and nothing can interrupt you.

About the languages you know, I`d say he would be absolutely amazed and ask you to teach him something. In privacy he would want you to talk to him in Portuguese because he likes listening to it. Also if go on a vacation together, he`ll totally let you handle all to foreign-language talk to show of how talented you are and how proud he is to have you.

Your zodiac signs are totally compatible – you have an unspoken understanding in between each other, you feel secure and comfortable with each other. Even though his emotions could erupt sometimes, you know how he feels and how to calm him down.

Making friends is not a problem and I don’t feel like jealousy would ever get in the way , you two trust each other enough.

When you two team up and joke around, oh boy, everybody with you is in for a ride, constant wheezing and cry laughing is gonna be present. Even when you are away, your messages are full of jokes and memes.

Gym would be a together activity. If there is a chance he is not away, he will take you with him.

Quality time would be the main love language with you two. Whether its backing or cooking, you bet he will be there trying to help you, but he only ends up making a bigger mess. When he gets home after another tiring travel, Lando will just lay next to you as you read for him out loud or watch you crochet.

About the barefoot in grass part, he would always carry you on his back to save you from the unbearable feeling! And then make fun of you for it – but jokingly.

Bonus: you and Lando would fall in love because of your shared hatred for fish. Love at the first sight as you yell out YUCK! in unison.

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

Your second match is...

☆Mick Schumacher☆

You and Mick would be the definition of See you again (okokokokok/lalalalala), he would just smile as he listens to you talk about what you love, just living in the moment and appreciating you.

The height difference here would be so adorable, don’t get me wrong.

He would totally teach you some more German and he would want you to teach him Portuguese.

I also see Mick trying to teach you surfing since you both share the love for sea and swimming.

I don’t see him liking big cities, but with you, it would be an absolute pleasure, because it means spending more time with you and listening to you.

Germans loooove partying, and you bet he will drag you out to a Karaoke or something similar for a date.

The power you have over him!! He could be having the worst day of his life but as soon as his eyes meet you, a wave of serotonin hits his entire body.

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

Hope you like it! : )

#match up #anonym ask #mick schumacher #lando norris #ln3 #ms47 #f1 x you #f1 #f1 imagine

14 notes · View notes

shukuchiisms · 9 months

Text

I logged in via phone today and just saw a Reply to my post about kumihos having both fox and human ears, made by @icykalisartblog and I would like to address some points made by the text.

While I don't believe the poster had any intentions to insinuate I was lying or something like that. we all know very well how the internet folk tm works, so let me clarify first and foremost that I never had any intention to spread false information and that I was just using the material I own to talk about my passion for those myths. Now:

[TL DR: Thanks for pointing those out and sorry for my mistakes, but it wasn't intentional in any way, since this one would look gigantic if I just replied on the original I gonna let this here]

The poster claims [and with some solid evidence] that the art I posted from the book Wunwudocheop (or my PT BR translated version at least) is, in fact, edited art from paintings by Shin Yuk-bok, AKA Hyewon, a satire/erotica painter from the Joseon era. And being honest, it is no surprise that they might be in fact, some of my sources had been incorrect in the past and might be so again, but regardless, those pics I posted are extracted from the version of a Joseon dynasty art book that I physically own.

So, just to reiterate, I had no intention to post misinformation of any kind, and I trusted the sources I own. Since I don't possess knowledge of the Korean tongue, I can't verify the correctness of those translations myself. Because like I said before, we all know how the internet works. and I apologize for committing such a mistake, and that at no point I alternated those images in any form.

Now, addressing these tags on the post in specific.

While I don't have the book Yojeon, Dokkaebi, Kumiho & Yulyeong" by Im bang & Yi Ryuk physically with me at moment, I have the Portuguese version in pdf, and it does have the exact the same text word by word I posted on the original, but in Portuguese of the "The salt seller and the fox" tale, as you can see here:

And while I don't doubt that could be discrepancies between the versions, I have no evidence that proves either translation is more correct than the other. Aside from the poster's insinuation that none of the books owned by them possess any tale mentioning that they have fox ears or tails, which gives no indication of which one is the most correctly translated material...(While if I had to guess, the Portuguese translations might have confused different versions of the tale and attributed them to a more famous author by mistake. Since it's not unheard of).

Nonetheless, Mayer, Frederick J still quotes this exact version of the tale in his own works, thus proving it was not a completely fabricated one.

The book Myths and Legends from Korea: An Annotated Compendium of Ancient and Modern Tales. [PDF version] Also has a direct mention of the exactly same tale:

The Mythica encyclopedia also brings the following text:

We can also consult the "The Tails of the Kumiho" text by Tayida Phanich:

So, while you do have a point and some of my sources might be wrong and even invalid in their points, the whole "Kumihos do have both fox and human ears" is still validated by other sources.

Anyway, I will go back and edit the original post when I get the time to remove the invalid sources and add new ones that still affirm the subject as being true.

#kumiho #gumiho #myths #reply #ooc #I'm honestly baffled with the fact those people sold a book with such battantly disregard #i trusted those !#I apologize once again #honestly had no intention to lie to anyone

5 notes · View notes

roxyandelsewhere · 2 years

Note

wow i just listened to the the josé mário branco timestamp for the dean edit that you did and it was really haunting and beautiful. was that just a recording of a concert/performance piece that he did? is there anything else of his that you would recommend?

helloo! yess it's so good right? so glad you liked it ^^ it is a recording of a live performance, yes, but he has so much more, he's an absolute icon. idk if you know portuguese but for anyone who does, many of his songs (including this one) are truly some of the best sources for some info about portugal in the years after the '74 revolution from a very left wing, mostly very frustrated and bitter perspective. and one thing that's amazing about him is that he voices what any left wing person who knows what happened is thinking, all the anger and the disappointment, but he's still funny. FMI is (to me) a masterpiece partly bc it's got it all, it makes you feel all the bad things you ought to feel but it also makes you laugh

as for other things by him:

Inquietação is a classic (the JP Simões version is also cool but i'm biased bc i love his voice)

Eu vim de longe, eu vou pra longe kinda fucks me up. it's about portugal after the revolution, and how the events of november 25th ruined the left-wing government expectations created by the april 25th revolution. and he says "when our party was ruined and november got its revenge, I looked at you and I understood, it was a beautiful dream that was over, someone here had made a mistake" and later "when finally I wanted to know if this much faith is still worth it, I looked at you and I understood, it's a beautiful dream to believe in, whenever everyone wants it too. I have this guitar in my hand and my life in my other hand, I have a great love scarred by pain, and whenever april passes by I give it something to help it along" (it sounds better in portuguese)

A cantiga é uma arma ("Singing is a weapon". think the iconic "this machine kills fascists")

Mudam-se os tempos, mudam-se as vontades. "and if the whole world is made up of changes, let's flip it upside down because the day is still a child" (again, sounds better in portuguese. it's a line I feel has been floating in the air all my life and I don't remember when i first heard it, i've just always known it)

Qual é a tua, ó meu. an iconic bop. it's literally called "what's your deal, dude". "what's your deal, dude, going around saying you're the boss. you have poked holes in freedom"

and this is already very long but trust me he has a lot of good songs. also fun fact this couple friend of my family once met him and they asked him to sign an album of his they had, and the album was marked as theirs with their names, it said "Ana & João". and he saw that and added "& José Mário Branco"

#sorry i took the whole day to reply to this it's been A Day and then i was finishing that playlist #but helloooo here's a small selection #i really wish there was a good translation to english of the entirety of FMI #josé mário branco #music #carolina got mail #anon

1 note · View note

midnightmavis · 1 year

Text

• About me •

Hey hey! Welcome to my page! This is my first time using Tumblr and I joined in to feed even more my delusional thoughts about fictional characters (wonderful, right?). So I decided to present myself!

You can call me Midnight, my pronouns are she/her, and I'm 20+ years old. I speak English (which is not my mother language, so sorry for any mistakes I may make), Portuguese, and a little bit of Spanish.

I'm into a LOT of fandoms from animes to video games, but right now my main fandoms are: My Hero Academia, Genshin Impact, and Resident Evil. Some characters I'm really obsessed with right now are Dabi, Alhaitham, Leon, and Carlos Oliveira.

I've always liked to write but stopped some years ago. Now that I create this page (and have been spending these past weeks basically living on Character AI) I'm thinking about writing again, and I'm really tempted to start writing NSFW since I've wanted to try it for a while now! So yeah, you may find NSFW content here, either made by me or reblogged.

Anyways, as I said this is my first time using Tumblr so feel free to let me know if I'm doing something wrong xD.

Hope you enjoy your stay! (⁠｡⁠･⁠ω⁠･⁠｡⁠)⁠ﾉ⁠♡

0 notes

booklover4816 · 6 years

Text

“Will You Come Home?”

Summary: After a huge family fight, a certain level headed duckling makes an impulsive decision and runs away from home. Inspired by a prompt from this post

“Will you just please come home?”

The air between them was heavy as Louie waited for an answer to the question. The only sound coming from the other end of the phone was static, leading him to believe that either the line was dead or that his brother had hung up on him.

Though he would never admit it aloud, Louie was worried about Huey. Of all things, the youngest triplet had never, ever expected his older, more responsible, studious brother to run away from home. Truthfully, none of them had.

But regardless of their expectations, they had all been blindsided when they had woken up and noticed that Huey’s bed was empty, meaning he had run away in the middle of the night. He had been gone for who knows how long before anyone realized he was missing. He could have gone anywhere, and they had no idea where to start searching.

But really, they should have seen it coming after everything that had happened: Dewey and Webby’s revelation, Uncle Donald’s admission, Scrooge’s anger and the fight that had followed between the old billionaire and the oldest triplet.

Out of all of them, Huey had taken the truth about their mother, Della, the hardest. He had accepted the fact that they were orphaned long ago, but he always had harbored resentment towards their mother for leaving. He never wanted to talk about her because he was afraid of what would happen when they found out the truth. And what had happened four days ago, was Huey’s worst fear realized: the revelations about Della from their uncles had shaken up the whole family dynamic, which had robbed the eldest triplet of the sense of security he craved so desperately.

“I-I d-don’t think I can,” Huey finally stammered after what felt like forever. Though Louie couldn’t see, he was sure that his brother was on the verge of tears, if he wasn’t crying already.

“What do you mean you don’t think you can?” the youngest demanded through gritted teeth. “You’re like ten, Hubert! You can’t live on your own! You need someone to take care of you! Besides, Uncle Donald and Uncle Scrooge are going crazy trying to find you. They’re worried sick!” He hesitated for a moment before mumbling softly as an afterthought, “We’re all worried sick…”

And that was the truth. Everyone in McDuck Manor was going out of their minds with worry. They had no idea where in the world Huey was. He had left with no note or explanation of some kind. As a matter of fact, had Louie not happened to be near the phone by pure chance when it rang, they wouldn’t know if he was even still alive or not.

The world was a dangerous place, and while Huey was the most capable out of the triplets (and second most capable out of all the kids in the manor), that didn’t mean that he was immune from all the dangers out there. Scrooge had a lot of enemies who would love to hurt a member of the old duck’s family. There was also the whole “stranger danger” thing they had been taught about for as long as they could remember. Their teachers and Uncle Donald loved nothing more than to scare them by telling them all about what the dangerous people out in the world loved to do to kids who were all on their own.

There was a guilty silence on the other end of the line. Louie knew deep down that Huey never meant to scare anyone. Truthfully, he knew for a fact that his normally level headed brother had acted on sheer impulse, and now he was in so deep that he didn’t know how to get out of the hole he dug himself into. Hurt didn’t allow for rational thinking.

Huey wasn’t impulsive like Dewey. He wasn’t bold like Webby. He wasn’t a smooth talker like Louie. He knew he was in deep trouble when he got home, but he was more afraid that his family, especially Uncle Donald, would hate him for terrifying them like that. And while Huey could handle any punishment Uncle Donald and/or Uncle Scrooge dished out (a necessary skill with Dewey and Louie as brothers), he couldn’t, he wouldn’t be able to handle it if his family hated him.

“I d-didn’t m-m-mean—“ Huey began tearfully, but he cut himself off with a broken, guilt-ridden sob, which caused Louie to wince. Any doubt about this being a stupidly impulsive decisions on the older triplet’s end was instantly erased at the sound of his distressed cries.

“It’s okay, Huey,” Louie said softly. “I know you didn’t mean to scare us. Just please, come home so we can talk about this as a family.” He hesitated for a moment. “I-I know what we found out about Mom a few days ago was really messed up and it pretty much shattered the trust between Uncle Donald, Uncle Scrooge, and all of us. A-And I know it really hurt you, but it hurt Dewey and me too. We know what you’re going through. Please, Huey, just come home and we’ll deal with this together. Please. We’re so worried about you. I… I can’t lose you too.”

Huey’s breath hitched. Louie held his. The silence between them was deafening as the youngest triplet waited for a response from the oldest. Louie began chewing his lip nervously, something that he had been doing so often over the past few days that he was just reopening the scabs over and over again. The familiar metallic taste of blood filled his mouth as he waited patiently for Huey to say something.

“Louie…” the oldest triplet said hesitantly. There were so many unspoken things between them. The green-clad brother could tell that his brother was trying to figure out a response, regretting acting on his impulsive decision more and more with each passing second. The hole Huey had dug himself into was so deep that Louie believed not even he would have been able to talk his way out of it.

“Louie,” Huey repeated, his voice full of steely resolve, indicating that he had finally figured out how to respond to his younger brother’s heartfelt pleading, “I love all of you — I really do, but I’m not coming home. At least, I’m not coming home right now. I just c-can’t. Not after everything that happened.”

Louie felt something inside him crack. His heart began pounding angrily and his blood seemed to begin to boil. The edge of his vision began to turn bright red.

After everything he just said… He just poured his heart out, and this was Huey’s response. Couldn’t Huey see how much pain he was causing? How could he be— How could he be so— so—

“Selfish,” Louie snarled through gritted teeth, before speaking louder. “You’re being so freaking selfish right now! How can you do this to us? Do you even care how much you’re hurting us? Uncle Donald cried himself to sleep last night! Uncle Scrooge won’t even meet any of our eyes! Dewey just sits around and stares at the wall all day because he feels like he could have, he should have stopped you! All Webby does is look at maps and study your room for clues as to where you could be! Don’t you see how much pain you’re causing right now?! You can fix all this by coming home, but you won’t because you think that you were the only one hurt by what Uncle Scrooge and Uncle Donald said about Mom! Well, news flash! You’re not!”

He was vaguely aware he was shouting, but he didn’t care. He was just so angry. Angry that his mom left them. Angry that Uncle Donald had lied to them their whole lives about her. Angry that Uncle Scrooge didn’t tell them what had happened. Angry that Dewey and Webby were sneaking around behind everyone’s back, doing what they did. Angry that Huey just ran away from it. And angry that he couldn’t do anything to change what had happened.

Huey let out a heartbroken sob, causing Louie to forget his anger. Guilt immediately washed over him as he remembered that his brother was trying to deal with his own hurt, and snapping at him the way Louie just did wasn’t helping anything. He had to remind himself that Huey — the most responsible, level-headed triplet of the three brothers — never, ever meant to cause the hurt he did.

“Huey,” Louie said in a shaky voice, tears beginning to well up in his own eyes, “I didn’t— I’m so— I’m sorry, Huey. I didn’t mean to yell at you like that.”

He heard Huey sniffle on the other end of the phone line. “N-No, you’re right. You have every right to hate me. I shouldn’t have called; this was a mistake. I-I’m sorry I hurt you even more. I promise I won’t cause you guys any more pain.”

“Huey, wait!” the green-clad duckling cried, but it was too late. His pleas were meant with silence, and this time, Huey had hung up the phone, cutting off their connection.

He felt his legs give out beneath him as he let out an anguished sob. He wanted so, so badly to go back and change all this. He would give anything, anything to have Huey back.

“And that’s why I would prefer to stay here with you. At least, until this all blows over.”

José Carioca took a long drag off his cigar as he mulled over the story the young duckling had just told him, considering the final statement very carefully. He had no idea how his American friend’s young nephew found him — or even how he knew who José was to begin with as the duckling was practically a baby the last time the parrot saw him — but if he knew Donald, then he knew the duck was going out of his mind, worrying himself sick about Huey. After all, the boy snuck out in the middle of the night, bought a plane ticket to Brazil, somehow managed to actually board an airplane as an unaccompanied minor, got himself past customs, and wandered around God only knows where for a day before finding his way to José’s apartment in Rio de Janeiro by himself, all without Donald’s knowledge.

The parrot just shook his head. “I’m not sure this plan was thought through, was it, menino?”

Huey looked away in shame, becoming suddenly interested in the ground beneath his feet. José could see the tears welling up in the duckling’s eyes, giving him his answer. He knelt down so that he was eye level with the young boy. Carefully, he gently nudged Huey’s chin up so that they were making eye contact.

“Huey,” José said softly, “your tio, Pato Donald, is one of my closest amigos. And I know for a fact that you and your brothers are the most important things in the world to him. Why, whenever he and Panchito and I were on adventures around the time you all were hatched, all he could talk about was how he was going to be a tio. He was so proud and excited. You weren’t even here yet, but he already loved you unconditionally. I am a tio myself. I know how he must worry over you, especially since he is your guardian. Can you imagine how worried he is knowing that you’re not at home right now?”

“B-But I can’t go home,” Huey mumbled tearfully in response, avoiding the question he already knew the answer to.

“Não? Why do you think that you can’t go home?”

The duckling’s beak quivered slightly. José had a feeling that it had been doing that a lot over the past few days. Huey was nothing more than a child — a child who had gotten himself into a situation that he didn’t think he could get out of. It was all the more proof that he desperately needed his Uncle Donald, which meant that José needed to convince him to go home.

Of course the parrot had no intention whatsoever of letting Huey just waltz out the door and trust that he would get on the first flight back to Duckburg. Right now, he could tell that the duckling was distressed over something that happened at home, and emotional distress never translated into rational thought. Besides, Donald would never forgive José if anything happened to one of the his beloved nephews. Rio de Janeiro, as much as the parrot loved it, was no place for a ten year old to be wandering around by himself, especially a ten year old in Huey’s current emotional state.

Either José himself would be personally escorting Huey home or Donald would have to fly down to Brazil and pick him up. But before that could happen, the duckling needed to be reassured that everything would be all right; otherwise, this running away incident would only repeat itself, and next time the boy may not be as fortunate.

“I can’t go home because I’ve messed everything up!” Huey bawled. “Uncle Donald’s never going to forgive me for running away! Louie already pretty much told me that he hates me, and the others probably do too! They’re better off without me!”

He collapsed to his knees and started to sob desperately. He wholeheartedly believed that he had lost his family’s love, which he wouldn’t be surprised if that was the case after everything he put them through. He was full of absolute self-loathing for inflicting such a horrible pain on his family. He just wanted to get away from them after what had happened only days before, but after talking to Louie, he realized that they deserved so much better than him, so it would be for the best if he wasn’t in their lives anymore.

A look of sorrow appeared on José’s face. He knew what the young duck had just told him wasn’t true. He was absolutely sure that Huey’s family didn’t hate him, especially Donald. In fact, José knew it was one hundred percent impossible because there was absolutely nothing that any of his friend’s nephews could do that would make the duck hate them. Donald was just that kind of guy.

But he had his work cut out for him if he was going to convince Huey that his family still loved him. “You have not eaten all day, sim? Why don’t we go get some dinner, and you and I can talk.”

“Come on, pick up the phone.”

José leaned against his kitchen counter as he listened to the ringing on the other end of the line. It was well past midnight in Rio de Janeiro, and he had sent Huey to bed hours ago, which meant that it was probably past midnight in Duckburg. Perhaps they had all gone to bed? But knowing Donald, that was unlikely.

He had spent hours trying to figure out what he would say. It was no secret that Donald had a temper, so how did José break the news that the duck’s missing nephew was in Brazil without setting that temper off?

He was just about to hang up when he heard a click on the other end of the line. Somebody had picked up. “Hello?”

It wasn’t who José was expecting. Whoever answered the phone was a woman with a British accent. Obviously not Donald Duck.

“Olá. My name is José Carioca. I would like to speak with Pato Donald. I mean, Donald Duck. Is he there?”

The woman sighed. “Just a moment please.” There was a rustling coming from the other end of the line, and he heard the woman say, “It’s for you.”

“Hello?”

“Donald! It’s me! José! José Carioca!”

“José?! How did you get this number?” Donald demanded. He had given both Panchito and José his cell number and the number for the houseboat’s landline a long time ago, and perhaps José should have called one of those, so he was naturally confused as to how the parrot found the number for McDuck Manor. Scrooge didn’t exactly publicize it in Duckburg, let alone Brazil.

“It’s a long story, meu amigo. You may want to sit down.”

“Who’s José?” a young girl’s voice asked in the background on Donald’s end.

“Only Uncle Donald’s cool friend from Brazil!” a boy’s voice exclaimed eagerly in response. “Are you coming to visit, Uncle José? Is Uncle Panchito coming with you? How’s Brazil? Did you go to the Olympics last year? Do you still like soccer? Why don’t you call more often? How’s—”

“Settle down!” Donald barked, clearly annoyed at his young nephew’s questions, though José really didn’t mind. It was true he and Donald hadn’t spoken for a few years as the parrot was busy with his singing and the duck was busy raising his nephews. The last time he actually saw Donald was when the three boys were four or five; he and Panchito had flown up for Donald’s birthday that year. “You kids should be in bed anyway! Now, Joe, tell me exactly how you got this number.”

“Well…” he hesitated. He still wasn’t exactly sure how he should go about this. It might be better to just rip the bandage right off. “Your sobrinho, Huey, gave it to me this evening.”

“Um… Did he just say Huey gave him this number?” another boy asked. José realized Donald must have the speaker on.

“Be quiet, Louis,” the first boy scolded.

“Don’t call me ‘Louis,’ Dewford,” the second retorted. The two boys were Donald’s other nephews for sure

“Knock it off, guys,” the girl told them.

“I see,” Donald said softly, ignoring the three kids. It was the kind of softness that set off the alarms in José’s head. The duck was trying to rein in his anger. “And where exactly did you happen to cross paths with Huey?”

José gulped nervously. “Rio de Janeiro. He showed up on my doorstep this afternoon and is sleeping in my guest room right now.”

“Wait, wait, wait,” Dewey said in shock, “Huey, our Huey — the one who practically lives and breathes the Jr. Woodchuck Guidebook, that Huey — is in Rio de Janeiro? As in Rio de Janeiro, Brazil? That Rio de Janeiro?

“No, Dewey, he’s talking about Rio de Janeiro, Nebraska,” Louie replied sarcastically. “Of course he means Rio de Janeiro, Brazil! Where else do you think Uncle Donald’s Brazilian friend is talking about?”

Another voice, one laced with a heavy Scottish accent, cut off Dewey’s retort before a fight could break out between the two brothers. José figured that it was Donald’s Uncle Scrooge, the richest duck in the world. Even in Brazil, Scrooge was famous for his adventures and wealth. Of course, even when the Three Caballeros rode, back during Scrooge’s adventuring days, Donald didn’t like to bring up that the old billionaire was his uncle, despite the fact that the two ducks were adventuring together at the time.

José put two and two together, and figured out how Huey bought the plane ticket. He probably swiped Scrooge’s credit card, figuring with his billions, surely his great uncle would miss the few hundred bucks. And being as usually reliable and trustworthy as he is, Huey’s family would have never thought to check credit card statements. The thought that he would steal money from his wealthy great uncle and leave the country probably never crossed their minds, especially after he blind-sided them.

Donald still had said nothing, even during his other two nephews’ bickering. If José had to guess, either Donald was still trying to process the fact that his nephew was in Brazil or he was trying to prevent himself from exploding with rage. The parrot had to admit, parenthood had really changed his friend for the better. After all, three mischievous triplets plus Donald’s explosive temper would not be a pretty combination. He would have had to learn some anger management techniques, or at least be able to redirect his anger to something other than his beloved nephews.

“How long has Huey been in Brazil?” Donald finally asked.

José shrugged. “Eu não sei, meu amigo. He showed up on my doorstep around five o’clock in the afternoon, but I have a feeling he’s been here longer than that. But trust me, my friend, if had known he was here—”

Donald sighed. “I know, Joe. This isn’t your fault. Is Huey okay?”

“Sim, sim. He’s shaken up, but he’s fine. He and I, we had a nice, long conversation over dinner,” the parrot informed his friend. He hesitated for a moment before adding, “I don’t think he’s actually sleeping, so I can get him, if you want to speak with him.”

“I know he’s not sleeping,” Donald replied. “Put him on.”

“Okay, just let me go get him,” José said, nodding, before adding softly, “And Donald…don’t be too harsh on him. I don’t think he meant to cause the trouble he did. I think he created a problem that he didn’t know how to fix. He’s just a scared kid.”

He carefully set down the phone on the counter before Donald could reply and headed towards his guest room where the young duckling was. He had half a mind to turn around and tell his friend that the boy was asleep and to call back in the morning, but he knew that would only be delaying the inevitable. After all, Huey had to eventually face his family, and Donald and José had to make arrangements as to how he was getting home.

He knocked on the door. “Are you awake, Huey?”

There was no answer. Maybe he really was asleep, though he could simply be ignoring his uncle’s friend in hopes that he wouldn’t actually have to talk to his family. José was sympathetic, but he knew it was probably better for him to talk to Donald now when the older duck was tired, as opposed to the morning when he would be fully rested.

José knocked again. “I know you are awake, meu pequeno amigo. Your Tio Donald wants to speak with you. He’s very worried.”

There was silence for a moment before the parrot heard soft, hesitant steps on the creaky hardwood floor. Slowly, Huey opened the door. His eyes were rimmed red and he was sniffling, indicating that he had been crying again. José said nothing as he offered the duckling a small, reassuring smile and lead him to the kitchen.

“The phone is on the counter,” José informed him.

Huey walked over to the counter and reached for the phone, but he quickly stopped himself. He flinched and quickly withdrew his hand, contemplating on whether or not he should pick up and talk to his uncle. He turned around and looked a José, a helpless look in his glassy eyes. “W-What do I say?”

The parrot shrugged. “I can’t tell you what to say, but you should say something. Better to get it over with sooner rather than later.”

The duckling didn’t like this answer, but he grabbed the phone. Chewing his lip, he slowly brought it to his ear. “H-Hello? … I’m fine, Uncle Donald. Yes, it’s really me.”

He was silent for a few moments as he listened to whatever his uncle was telling him. Tears began to well up in his eyes again as Donald continued to talk. José could only imagine that his friend was lecturing his young nephew. Huey let out a choked sob. “I’m so sorry, Uncle Donald! I didn’t mean to scare you like that! I wasn’t thinking! A-And I just didn’t know what to do!”

He began to cry as he listened to whatever his Uncle Donald had to say in response. José knew that Donald wasn’t yelling — he’d be able to hear if he was. But perhaps, Huey would have rather been yelled at than had to listen to his uncle’s disappointment.

“Okay… Okay… I understand,” the duckling mumbled tearfully. “H-He’s still here… Okay, Uncle Donald… I will… I love you too…”

He handed the phone back to José before going to the table and sitting down. “Alô?”

“Listen, José,” Donald said wearily, “I don’t know what time I’ll be there, but I’m planning on catching the next flight to Rio. Can I trust you to take care of Huey until then?”

“É claro, meu amigo. I would be happy to,” José replied. “Just call and let me know when you get here.”

“Yeah, I will. I’ll see you tomorrow. And please make sure Huey gets some sleep.”

“Don’t worry about it, Donald. I’ll see you tomorrow. Boa noite.”

“Goodnight to you too, Joe,” Donald said before hesitantly adding, “and thank you. How can I ever repay you?”

“Ah, it was nothing, meu amigo. I know you would do the same for me if it was one of my sobrinhos. But regardless, de nada. I’ll see you tomorrow. Tchau!”

And with that, José hung up the phone. He turned to Huey, who had his face buried in his arms on the table. The poor kid looked so miserable. The parrot walked over and put a hand gently on his shoulder. “Come on, Huey. It is time for bed. You’re tio says to get some sleep, and he’ll see you tomorrow.”

He watched as the duckling wordlessly got up and trudged towards the guest room, fearing tomorrow. Really, José didn’t blame him. Who knew what kind of trouble he’d be in once Donald arrived?

The parrot pulled out one of his signature cigars, mentally reminding himself that he was supposed to be quitting, and that his dear friend would murder him if the duck ever found out that he had been smoking around his nephew. But after the day he had, he needed a smoke.

God forbid if he ever found himself in Donald’s position. He wouldn’t be able to handle it.

“Are you mad at me?”

The obvious answer was yes, Huey knew. He had stolen his great uncle’s credit card (something that he would have to sort out with Scrooge when they got home, Donald told him), ran away from home, gotten on a plane to Brazil without his legal guardian’s knowledge, wandered around a huge city in foreign country for a whole two days before letting anyone know he was alright, scared his family half to death, gotten someone who was a complete stranger to him involved in their family drama, and made his uncle fly all the way to Brazil to pick him up and take him home.

Donald had every right to be furious with him. In all honesty, the oldest triplet wouldn’t be upset if he ended up on the receiving end of his uncle’s infamous explosive temper. He would completely deserve it. He wouldn’t be surprised if his Uncle Donald even hated him for running away like that.

Donald acknowledged Huey out of the corner of his eye before returning to the paper he picked up in Rio. The older duck didn’t understand a word of Portuguese, but he was pretending he did in order to control his temper. He hadn’t said a word since José had left the airport. The oldest nephew wasn’t sure if that was a good thing or a bad thing.

Huey bit his lip and looked away in shame. “I’m so sorry, Uncle Donald. I didn’t mean to scare you like that. I just wasn’t thinking. It was stupid of me to run away.”

There was a moment of silence before his uncle responded. “You’re right, it was a very stupid thing for you to do. You could have gotten hurt or worse. You could’ve been killed. You made us all worry. We had no idea where you were or even if you were still alive. I’m extremely disappointed with you.”

Somehow, Uncle Donald’s “disappointed dad lectures” (or at least what Huey assumed were the type of lectures that dads gave when their kids did something bad) were worse than facing Uncle Donald’s temper. When it came to anger, that was something that Huey shared with his uncle. Huey was the one who had inherited his uncle’s temper, though he was slower to anger and had a lot more control over it. In fact, Huey would rather his uncle be causing a scene, screaming incoherently at him because he could deal with that so much easier than the silent, bitter anger that usually accompanied these types of uncle-nephew talks.

“But,” Donald said as he continued, “you’re not completely at fault.”

Huey turned and faced his uncle, his eyes widened in shock. “B-But I chose to run away.”

“Yes,” Donald agreed, “but I know how hurt you were finding out those things about your mother.”

It was the first time since the argument five days ago that Della had been brought up. Huey knew his uncle didn’t like talking about her and he understood why. Della had been Donald’s twin sister. He had a lifetime of memories with her before she vanished. How did he talk about what happened with her children when she was a complete stranger to them? When they didn’t know her the way he did? When ten years later, it was still too painful look back on all those memories?

But now, Donald knew it was time to address the elephant in the room. He knew it was the only way to even start to fix the mess that Della Duck had created when she left ten years ago — whether or not she had ever intended to create the problems that resulted from her choice to take the Spear of Selene. “You kids always idolized her,” Donald continued. “I should have told you sooner, but I guess I just didn’t want to knock her off this pedestal you put her on. Besides, sometimes it’s better to just move on.”

Huey studied his hands to distract himself. He knew that Uncle Donald was referring directly to him with that last sentence. When Huey was little, he always tried to imagine what it would be like for his mother to waltz back into his life. It was his birthday wish every year for three whole years.

But when he was six, he decided that it was best to put Della to rest and stop wishing for her to come back. It was just too painful and too disappointing with every year that passed. So, Huey had accepted that he and his brothers were orphans, and all that they had in the world was each other and Uncle Donald.

For his seventh birthday, he told Uncle Donald that he wanted to have a little funeral for Della (and their father, whoever he was), so that he, his brothers, and his uncle all had some sort of closure. It was the only time he could ever remember his uncle actually addressing her absence to Dewey, Louie, and him.

“W-What did you put in that box? You know, the one we sent out to sea?” He could distinctly remember the old cardboard box, with “Mommy and Dad” scrawled sloppily on the top by three seven year-olds with a box of magic markers. Donald had taken it in the middle of the night and duct taped it shut; however it was heavier than an empty box when they cast it out to sea at the “funeral,” so the three boys always knew their uncle put something in it.

“Just a few of your mother’s clothes that I never got around to throwing out. I figured that wouldn’t be too damaging to the environment,” Donald replied. “Don’t change the subject. I know you weren’t thinking when you decided to run away. I know how hurt can make you make stupid decisions. That still doesn’t make what you did okay, though.”

“I know,” Huey replied solemnly. “I really am sorry, Uncle Donald.”

“Stop apologizing,” Donald scolded gently. “You’re in huge trouble when we get home. You have to pay Uncle Scrooge back for the plane ticket, so you’ll have to talk to him about that. As for your punishment for running away, you’re grounded until I say otherwise. You’re lucky I’m so understanding, otherwise it would be much, much worse than that.”

“I understand, Uncle Donald.”

“And Huey?” He looked at his uncle, who gave him a small, sad smile. “We’re not done talking about your mom. When we get home, we’re going to sit down with Dewey, Louie, and Uncle Scrooge and have the talk we should have had the day we moved into the mansion.”

He pulled Huey into his arms and started stroking the top of his head. The duckling wrapped his arms around Donald and buried his face in his uncle’s shirt, breathing in the familiar, comforting scent of his parental figure.

“I was so worried about you, Huey,” Donald whispered in a shaky voice that told the oldest triplet that his uncle was on the verge of tears. “I love you so much. I don’t know what I would have done if something had happened to you.”

“I love you too, Uncle Donald,” Huey replied softly.

The two of them sat like that for a while, uncle cradling his beloved nephew, never wanting to let him go again. While things were far from okay, they were starting to look up. It would be a long road to recovery after what had set these events in motion, but they would make it through together as a family

A/n: Disclaimer here, I don’t speak a word of Portuguese (very basic Spanish and German, a few words of Slovene, and intermediate Italian, yes; Portuguese, not at all). I used an online translator, so it might not be 100% accurate (especially since online translators don’t always show the different dialects, so the words might not be completely right for Brazilian Portuguese). Seriously, I can barely spell the word “Portuguese” half the time, so if I have butchered any part of the Portuguese language, whether it is a completely wrong word or a word not used in Brazilian Portuguese, please let me know right away and I will happily fix it.

Obviously, all these characters belong to Disney. I saw the Duck Family Fic Challenge on tumblr and got inspired (I modified the dialogue a little to fit, but at least three lines of dialogue came from that prompt post), so let me know what you think. Seriously, please leave a review and let me know what you think. This is only my second Ducktales fanfic (and my first time writing José) and I’m a little shaky on the characterization, so any feedback at all would be greatly appreciated.

I hope you all enjoyed!

~booklover

Translations: Menino- boy Tio- uncle (Meu) Amigo- (my) friend Não- no Sim- yes Olá- hello Sobrinho- nephew Eu não sei- I don’t know Pequeno- small Alô- hello (I read that it is used to answer the phone in Brazil) É claro- Of course (I’m not 100% sure about this because it doesn’t look right; it looks like “it is clear” but that could be my Italian leaking through) Boa noite- Goodnight De nada- You’re welcome Tchau- Goodbye (I believe this is a very informal way to say goodbye)

123 notes · View notes

sohotthateveryonedied · 3 years

Text

Dad...I’m Bilingual

Read here on AO3!

Summary:

Dick hums—a quiet, sleepy sound. He’s drifting, but only slightly. The painkillers are doing their job. “It’s dumb,” he says. “I can beat up bad guys an’ stop an apocalypse, but I can’t even tell my own dad I’m bilingual.”

Bruce just stares at him. Realization kicks in a moment later. “Do you mean bisexual?”

“Yeah, bionical.” He said that, didn’t he? Bruce must be getting slow in his old age.

When he wakes up, the first thing that Dick’s sluggish mind can latch onto is how tingly his tongue feels. His taste buds buzz like someone poured a can of Pepsi into his mouth while he was sleeping, bubbles tickling the path down. Or maybe pop rocks. Or tiny little bumblebees, their legs scritching and scratching the surface they tread. The tingling spreads outward, Dick notices as he careens toward the wakeful part of wakefulness. Mouth to neck to torso to fingers to the cement block that he is pretty sure used to be his right leg. Soda and pop rocks and bees, the whole way. A quiet, questioning groan slips through Dick’s heavy lips. He cracks his eyes open and squints, blinking against the unforgiving brightness of the room he’s in. “Mm. Bruce?” A nearby chair squeaks. “Dick? Are you awake?” Bruce’s voice is uncomfortably close, booming in the short space between them. Dick grimaces. “C’n you...back up? Your breath smells like meatloaf.” He opens his eyes fully and is greeted by Bruce’s lined face, bags sagging under his eyes. They’re in a hospital room, white walls and white sheets.

Bruce’s meatloaf breath huffs once in amusement, then retreats. “I’ll take that to mean you’re back up, then.” In his lap is a magazine laid open to a page that’s all squiggles and bumbled lines. It matches the rest of the room. Dick’s head swims.

The numbness has receded mostly now that Dick is back online, but his stubborn cement leg takes longer to reboot. “Feels like I died. Then came back to life. Then died again.” His mind churns slush and soup. “You did just get out of surgery,” Bruce tells him. “Leslie said you’ll be woozy for a few hours.” Dick frowns. “I can’t feel my leg.” He has to parse his words carefully, his mouth working slowly like his muscles have melted into molasses. “I should hope not. You just had your knee put back together.” That part sounds...somewhat familiar? Dick has mismatched memories of surfing a stop sign across Clayface’s back, then sirens so loud and so close they split his head in half. He remembers Leslie yelling into one ear while the other listened to Bruce and Steph arguing about a video she uploaded to the Batman Incorporated Twitter account. That was completely irresponsible, Bruce said, out of his Batman suit and in one of the backup outfits he has stored in Leslie’s office for nights like that one. You’re lucky he only broke his knee. That stunt earned the Bat brand fifty Twitter followers, Steph snarked back. I need a goddamn vacation, Leslie said. “Tim left to crash a jet ski in the harbor,” Bruce continues, though Dick doesn’t remember asking, “so your alibi is taken care of. Jason and Cass went to track down the pudding cart, and Alfred took Damian home to sleep.” The half-drawn curtains make it hard to decide if that’s a sunrise or a sunset he’s seeing. Either way, it speaks to long hours of sitting and waiting and hoping. “I think…” Dick licks his dry lips. “I think they cut my leg off?” It feels like it. Did Leslie take his leg away as punishment for being dumb? Is the hospital hiding it from him? Bruce snorts. “Then what is that?” He gestures to Dick’s leg, the entire thing encased in weighty layers of gauze and plaster. “An imposter,” Dick says. Duh. “They gave me fake metal parts like Vic.” Dick slumps against the pitifully flat pillow behind his head. “My brain feels fuzzy. Did they take stuff out of my head?” That would explain the foggy memories and the way all of his words swim away from him like he’s been plunged underwater. Underwater hospital. Now there’s an idea. “You’re on painkillers,” Bruce says plainly, licking his thumb and turning the page of his magazine. “Heavy ones, it looks like.” Dick can’t remember if painkillers are supposed to feel like bumblebees buzzing around inside his thoughts. Maybe they’re made of honey. “Y’know, last time I woke up all confused in a hospital room, a bullet stole secrets from my head.” Bruce looks pained. “I assure you that all of your secrets are intact this time around.” Dick hums. “You should...take the painkillers out.” “Why is that?” “‘Cause I don’t wanna spill stuff.” Bruce frowns. He doesn’t say anything for so long that Dick wonders if he spoke in Portuguese by mistake. Bruce places his magazine on the plastic chair beside him. “Well, I can’t take out the IV because you’ll be in pain, but I promise you that the room is safe. Tim checked for bugs.” Why a bug would be in the human hospital, Dick doesn’t know. He shakes his head. The front pieces of his hair fall into his eyes, but his arms are too tired to fix it. “That doesn’t work, ‘cause then...then you’ll know. And that’s bad.” “This isn’t about your secret identity, is it?” Another head shake. “I might acci-mentally tell you ‘bout how I spilled tapioca on the Batmobile’s seats.” Bruce’s eyes widen. “That was you?” “Yeah, but don’t tell Bruce, ‘kay? You gotta promise.” Bruce rubs his temples like he’s sleepy. “I spent ten minutes yelling at Jason for that. I made him clean the seats.” “Yeah, ‘cause you’re an asshole.” Dick huffs, blowing at his pesky bangs until Bruce rolls his eyes and pushes them back for him. “Thank you.” “I appreciate you telling me about the tapioca. We’ll talk more about that when you’re sober.” Dick makes a face. “The whole point’s that I can’t tell you about the tapioca. It’s a secret. I’ve got too many of those—a whole big fuckin’ army of secrets. And it’s too many. No fun when you can’t share ‘em.” “What about Nightwing?” Bruce asks. “‘S different. You already know that one. I can share it.” “But you can’t share the other ones,” Bruce finishes. Dick snaps his fingers. “Zactly.” Bruce studies Dick—his bundled-up leg and the clear bag hanging on the hook beside his bed, pumping drugs into his bloodstream. “I should let you rest.” He starts to get up, the action somehow guilty despite there being no inherent guilt in vacating a chair. Bruce can pour guilt into anything if he tries hard enough. “You wanna know the worst part?” Dick continues on like Bruce hadn’t spoken, words spilling freely over compromised lips. “I could tell you. I could. But I’m a scaredy cat, so I can’t.” Reluctantly, Bruce sits back down. “I don’t know about that. I think you’re very brave.” “I’m not. If I was, I’d be able to tell you, because I know you’ll still love me no matter what I am, and I’m still scared. And that’s what scaredy cats do. They run away.” When Bruce’s face wears that expression, that gentle turn of his mouth and that pang in his eyes, Dick is stricken by memories of being nine years old. He’d go out every night in the Robin suit, wearing it like a suit of armor and trusting that nothing could hurt him. Bruce would be there by his side, protecting his Robin from harm at all costs. His soul wrapped around Dick’s like a second layer of armor, and it was then that Dick started to wonder if it was possible to have two fathers. “There’s nothing wrong with being scared sometimes,” Bruce tells him now. “There is if you’re a superhero.” “Even then. Sharing a secret can be a scary thing, even when you know it’s safe. That’s why they stay secret for so long.” If Dick didn’t know any better, he’d think that Bruce already knew what Dick desperately wanted and didn’t want to say. But not even Batman can read minds. Dick hums—a quiet, sleepy sound. He’s drifting, but only slightly. The painkillers are doing their job. “It’s dumb,” he says. “I can beat up bad guys an’ stop an apocalypse, but I can’t even tell my own dad I’m bilingual.” Bruce just stares at him. Realization kicks in a moment later. “Do you mean bisexual?” “Yeah, bionical.” He said that, didn’t he? Bruce must be getting slow in his old age. Bruce leans back in his chair with an odd, bemused expression. It’s not an angry one—more like when he’s cracked a case and lets the truth soak in. What case he’s cracked, Dick doesn’t know. Puzzlement morphs into something soft. “Okay. You’re bisexual. That’s not so bad.” “Yeah. But it would change stuff if you knew.” “Not exactly,” Bruce says. “You’re still you, Dick. Nothing’s changed—not really.” “Mm.” Dick’s chest warms. That must be a delayed effect of the painkillers, surely. “Maybe I’ll tell you sometime, then. Later,” he amends. “When my head’s not full of mothballs.” “Sure, son.” Bruce reaches out to ruffle Dick’s hair. “Whenever you’re ready to tell me, I’ll listen.”

#HELLO FOLKS HAPPY FATHER'S DAY #i didn't even tend to post this on father's day but y'know what it makes sense #there's never enough good dad bruce content out there #dick grayson #nightwing #robin #batman #bruce wayne #batdad #batfamily #batfam #bisexual dick grayson #bi dick grayson #fanfiction #fanfic #dc comics #pride month #lgbtq #bisexual

299 notes · View notes

golden-barnes · 3 years

Text

Tongue tied

Spencer Reid x F!Reader

Summary: Y/N helps out with a case and Doctor Reid becomes a man of few words.

Word count:1.1k

Warning: Some mention of the case, that I created nothing too explicit

A/N: This is sorta set on season 7 of criminal minds but with a made-up case. Not the best work but I wanted to talk about it.

“The limits of my language mean the limits of my world.”

– Ludwig Wittgenstein

It’s been over 5 hours and they had nothing. They had hit a dead end in the case. The profile just didn’t fit. On paper, they were looking for a white male in his late 30s with a severe case of mommy issues yet nothing. There was something missing, something that they weren’t getting. They even had voice recordings but even the genius doctor Reid couldn’t find any clues that would lead to them capturing this sick son of a bitch.

That’s why Rossi decided to call in someone to maybe find another perspective. He brought her to the station they were working in. To see the team shaking their heads and filling up their coffee mugs because it has been a rather long day. They turned to look at Rossi and the mystery woman. Spencer was intrigued by her. She walked with confidence and stepped into the station with certainty.

“Team, this is Doctor Y/L/N. I think we could use a new set of ears to solve this.” The woman gave the team a small smile and a wave. Spencer felt his chest tighten a bit.

“Call me Y/N please.” She said sitting down next to the young doctor and gave him a warm smile.

JJ replayed the voice recordings and the Y/N was paying very close attention to what the unsub was saying. Spencer already knew what he was saying. He was reading the little prince, at least fragments of the dialogue. That said nothing about the crimes he had committed. Just that he has read the book at least once in his life and that he was a sick man.

“He’s bilingual. Probably speaks more than two but I can only assure you that he speaks English and French, probably learned both languages simultaneously. Forced by a parent or because they have a non- English speaking parent. I suspect it’s the mother by what Rossi told me. ” Y/N declared once the audio stopped. Spencer looked at her with wide eyes. Morgan scoffed at her.

“What type of doctor are you?” Morgan asked. She smiled at him.

“I’m a linguist but I specialize in Romantic languages, such as French, Portuguese, Spanish and etcetera. This is sorta my area of expertise. The unsub has problems with some pronunciations. Like with the word the, there’s a slight eu sound. The sound of the schwa or silent e. He also subconsciously pronounced important in french. Well, at least the first sound. He probably read the little prince in french. Several times. He is probably accustomed to reading the original version, so these mistakes are subconscious. Hell, he must have memorized it.” Y/N rambled

“Great, it’s like another Reid,” Emily said in a whisper. JJ stifled a laugh and Morgan chuckled. Both doctors lowered their heads. Spencer wanted to tell his friends off for embarrassing him in front of a woman like that. But before he could even open his mouth, a cop from the precinct entered the office.

“There’s been another murder.” The man said before rushing out.

“Okay. Rossi, JJ, and I will go to that new crime scene. Morgan and Prentiss, I want you guys to check the one before that, see if we missed any. Reid, stay here with doctor Y/L/N, check if there’s anything else you can find in the recordings. Something that we can nail this profile with.” Hotch said, grabbing his things from the desk. Everyone hurried out the door and left the two doctors alone.

Spencer’s hands were getting clammy. He didn’t know why he was so nervous. It was just a really beautiful woman who took his breath away the moment he saw her and now he is alone with her to solve a case. Get it together Reid! He noticed she hasn’t said anything. She looked deep in thought.

“What are you thinking about?” Spencer asked in a low tone. Y/N looked at him and he felt his breath hitch again.

“If he learned both languages simultaneously, it means the household was bilingual. Or that-”

“In his house, they spoke English but he lived in a french speaking country.” Spencer finished saying. The missing pieces of the case finally revealing themselves. Y/N started to pace around looking at the boards. Spencer just sitting there, petrified with the possibility of making a fool of himself.

“Military families!” She exclaimed and grabbed his forearm from excitement. But let go quickly when she saw Spencer’s shocked expression

“Opps sorry. But yeah, he could be a military brat, whose parents were stationed in France. It would explain his tactfulness and how he is so good with weapons. It makes sense right?” If Spencer wasn’t infatuated with her before, now he definitely was. Y/N kept looking at him with doe eyes. Is this how a heart attack felt like?

“I’ll- uhm call Garcia and see if there’s any man whose parents were stationed in France. Uhm you can wait here.” Spencer sturred. Y/N gave him another warm smile.

“Okay, I’ll be here waiting.” She said sitting down in one of the chairs.

Y/N was right. It was a man whose family was stationed in France. His mom was the soldier and basically questionned everything he would do. Another white man with severe mommy issues, just that he knew how to do counter measures. She had figured it out in 0.3 seconds while it had taken the team 5 hours. Reid couldn’t believe what he saw. It was as if the woman was drawn exactly from his dreams.

“Ah there she is! Bella!” Rossi exclaimed going to hug the woman that had been ruling Spencer’s mind.

“Thank you so much doctor for your help.” Hotch said, you could almost see him smiling. Everyone else started to congratulate and thank Y/N for her help. But Spencer hadn’t say a thing.

Rossi nudged the silent boy genius. Reid almost didn’t even feel it, he was too captivated with the other doctor.

“She’s really smart, right?” Rossi whispered to the young man, who only nodded his head.Rossi slipped a paper in Reid’s hand. It was phone number with Y/N’s name written on it.

“She’s also single and available. Call her.” He said quietly.

“But-”Spencer tried to protest but Rossi shused him.

“Call her!” said the older man in a commanding tone. Spencer gulped and looked at the paper in his hand. He looked up to see Y/N looking at him. She gave him a smile. Maybe he might call her.

#spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x you #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds imagine #criminal minds fluff #criminal minds fanfiction #spencer reid fanfiction

412 notes · View notes

sugako · 3 years

Text

sweetness

osamu xf!baker!reader sum: your unrequited crush on the man you sell to is weighing heavily on you until one little party later it isn’t an issue cw: 18+ minors dni, a lil fluff, a lil angst (reader is sad bc they don't think samu feels the same), mentions of drinking/alcohol/party (no one is drunk during), kinda confessions, first time with each other, nipple play, oral (receiving) wc: 3.5k a/n: hi !! uhh i have had this is drafts for months bc i struggled to post it and idk why,, it's def a little longer than usual and little more plot-heavy(ish) but i hope you all enjoy pussy king samu <3

It felt as though you were admiring him from a distance even when he was standing right beside you.

The afternoon that the owner of Onigiri Miya had called up your small bakery to partner with his business you had been overjoyed. Honestly, you were still happy, it was just tinged by something deeper or different now. You were certainly still happy to sell your goods through the business, but your feelings had really gotten the better of you.

The day, actually the moment you met Osamu you told yourself to get over the petty crush you had developed within minutes of meeting him. His big, tall frame made you feel as though he could wrap his arms around you and everything would be okay. His pretty, steely eyes and soft features relaxed you, made you feel at home.

A week later you were groaning into your pillow when he texted a simple, polite compliment about your baked goods. Desperately, you hoped that the fuzzy feeling would melt away any day now.

Every single time you had to see him again and again to drop off your bi-weekly delivery, the feelings didn’t fade. If anything they grew stronger. The quick, comfortable banter you shared made your chest fill with molten gold that always seemed to harden into a tough little peach pit, strangling the words from your throat whenever you got back into your car.

A month later you were crying to yourself at 2 AM about how you couldn’t get over him even though you hadn’t even been close to a relationship. It was impossible. How were you supposed to get closure from someone you were merely business partners with.

You cursed the way your heart sped up when you got a new text from him. Over and over again you had to remind yourself that it was purely business.

Onigiri Miya (Osamu): Hi, do you want to swing by tomorrow? Lunch is on me

Fingers swiped over the keyboard, groaning as you asked what you should bring for the restock, not realizing it had been two weeks already.

Onigiri Miya (Osamu): Everything is selling fast, but I won’t need anything for a bit, just wanted to chat not about business

Without hesitation you agreed. Even if you were sure he didn’t feel the same, it wouldn’t hurt to keep up a personal relationship with a business. The fact that he had texted you deep into the night without prompt didn’t make it into your busy mind.

Those two little texts were how you found yourself taking a deep breath outside the Onigiri Miya a little after the lunch rush. You stepped into the nearly empty building, immediately greeted by Osamu’s soft, low voice.

“I have to run to the back, but I put a plate for you out.” He calls, disappearing just as the door closes behind you.

It’s painful to admit how your heart swells at the gesture. Your favorite onigiri of his is neatly plated in front of a corner seat at the bar. The two other people on the opposite side of the store are quietly chatting, paying no mind while you settle into your seat. Before you can take a bite he’s bustling back in.

“Sorry ‘bout that, got a call.” He says, leaning over the counter in front of you. The way his broad chest is squished by his shoulders.

“No worries.” You say just before biting into the food. He snatches one of the rice balls from your plate, but your mouth is too full and you’re too grateful to protest. “So,” you begin after you swallow, “what did you want to talk about?”

You can’t tell whether the air is thick with awkward tension or if it’s just you.

“I mean, obviously not business.” As you speak, a strangled, little chuckled forces its way out of the back of your throat, but you take another bite of food before it gets out of hand.

He’s silent for a moment, slowly chewing his food. Maybe savoring it or maybe thinking, you can’t quite tell which.

“Can you take nights off from the bakery? I remember you saying ya do a lot of baking and prepping at night.” His expression is impossible to read and you want to tell him that this is, at least for you, business talk, but you hold back and simply answer the question.

“Well, yeah, if I needed to. Uh, why?” You catch how his shoulders tense and lower, his eyes shifting across the windows in the front. Unfortunately, his own anxiety does very little to quell any of your own.

“My brother is having a party and I’m… obligated to go, but I won’t know many people there, they’ll all be his teammates, so I was wondering if you would like to go with me? If you don’t have a… I mean, if you don’t have any plans.” His expression remains still, but there’s a small flush in his cheeks that you catch on immediately. Something in your heart softens with hope.

“You’re twin volleyball brother?” You ask, biting back a smile. “Also, you’ll have to tell me what time the party is and then I’ll let you know if I have plans, but I’m probably free.”

The flush deepens as he recognizes his mistake and slowly blinks, shaking his head. “Yes, ‘Tsumu, the volleyball brother. And the party is next Friday. Around nine.”

Within the limited time you’d spent with him he’d told you about his brother and his old friends. Confidence growing, but not quite steady, you uneasily treaded into your next words.

“Yeah, I’m not working next Friday actually, so that sounds good. Should I text you for the address or…?”

“Meet me here, I can take you. Best to take the train, but it’ll be easier if we go together.”

Deep in the center of the city, standing close enough to smell the soft fragrance of cologne, you still weren’t sure how easily you had ended up here at the house party filled with strangers hosted by your customer’s pro athlete brother. It was a little much to think about if you took too much pause. Before you could slip into your own brain too much your cheek smushed into the thick muscle of Osamu’s solid back that had suddenly stopped moving, and as you sputtered out an apology the door swung open without him even knocking.

“Hey! Did you really not a-” The blonde mirror image of the man standing directly in front of you eats whatever words are about to spill out of his mouth when he notices you peeking out from beside Osamu. Realizing how ridiculously childish you must look tucked away behind him, you clear your throat and step out so you’re by his side instead.

“Hi, I’m y/n.” You say politely, extending a hand for him to shake. Atsumu’s eyes flit between you and his brother, not bothering to hide a smirk.

“Oh, I know.” He finally says when he takes your hand. Out of sheer embarrassment or maybe anxiety, you feel pricks of heat chase out to your fingertips. The sensation is only compounded by Osamu’s feather-light touch that grazes the small of your back as he tries to lead you past his brother.

“Really,” you start, with a sly little smile, “he’s told me about you’re very impressive-”

“Okay.” Osamu says a little too sharply. He’s glad you’re at ease, but less glad that you’ve immediately taken to lightly teasing him with his brother. “Let’s head in.” The warm breath of his whisper jolts through you and you find yourself nodding, letting his touch lead you.

Just as the door is closing behind you and the excruciating reverb of the music seeps into your ears, you barely catch what Atsumu mumbles before he slips into the crowd of people. “Maybe you’ll finally show her how much ya like her.”

Osamu doesn’t respond, and for a second you think maybe he didn’t hear him, but the way his fingers dig into your back tells you otherwise. You simply pretend that you heard nothing, pointing to the drink dispensers lined up on the kitchen counter across the room. After a quick drink of the sweet, burning mystery drink and after Atsumu started to keep his distance - too busy hounding his one teammate with the dark curls whose name you couldn’t quite remember - things went smoothly.

Time passed quickly, helped on by the dozens of new people you were introduced to. The small talk and repetitive questions had you mentally winded, but Osamu’s constant touch whether on your elbow or back or shoulder grounded you. Instead of feeling your heart race as it usually did when he was near, you only felt calm.

It all came crashing down sometime deep into the night when most of the guests had headed home and those left over passed out, scattered everywhere about the house. Well, everywhere aside from the neat guest bedroom tucked away toward the back that Osamu had pulled you back to when the last man (who had drunkenly tried teaching you how to say ‘volleyball’ in Portuguese) had finally passed out.

The single drink you had gulped down hours ago was long gone from your system, but even without it you still found it easy to speak with him, even as his arms inconspicuously wrapped around your torso and brought you down to lie beside him on the bed. Staring up at the ceiling for a moment while the two of you remained in short silence, a thought came to your head, another thing you want to tell him or ask him. You’re not sure which because in the next moment, when you whip your head to face him, he does the same.

If you had been any closer your faces would’ve smashed together. Any farther away and you wouldn’t be brushing lips. Just as soon as the touch begins, it ends with you scrambling away, stopped from falling off the bed by his strong arm wrapping around and pulling you back to his chest. The silence thickens with every second that neither of you speak, but he thankfully breaks it within the minute.

The words fumble around the front of your mouth like your mouth is numb. “I’m so sorry that-!”

“Well, that wasn’t really a proper kiss.” He says plainly, a smile barely etching its way onto the corner of his lips.

“N-no, it was not.” You whisper. It doesn’t quite feel real when he kisses you for real, and for a second you’re worried you’ve deluded yourself. You sigh into his firm touch, finally releasing the tension in your chest and letting your own lightly trembling hands trace up the space between your chests to settle against his. His body is softer than you had thought it would feel, somehow so much more comforting and homey than you could have imagined.

After an endless moment, his mouth strains against yours as he forces himself to pull away with a little huff. Your eyes find his, bright and hopeful, and still a little bit surprised. Between all your personal longing and resignation that he didn’t feel the same, you hadn’t noticed the way he smiled more when you were nearby, the little blush that dusted his cheeks when you complimented his cooking that first time, and so much more.

“Wanted to do that for a long time.” He sighs, leaning his forehead against yours and letting his heavy eyes close. Hiding your grin in his chest, you nod, wrapping your arms around him and snuggling in closer. When your knee glides against his thigh in an attempt to get more comfortable and flush to him, he clears his throat. “We should get changed if we’re going to sleep here. I have extra clothes in the dresser.”

“Okay.” You nod slightly, not wanting to move just yet. He seems to be with you because, despite his own words, he remains exactly in place with his grip just as tight as ever around your waist. “...Samu?” You finally ask, pulling back far enough to look up at him.

“I wanna kiss you again.”

“Okay,” you repeat, “then kiss me again.” The crooked, giddy smile you’re giving him seems to tense him up even more.

He inhales deeply through his nose, eyes darkening as they flicker across the planes of your face. “I wanna, but I don’t want to push this unless you feel the same.”

If your tired heart could vibrate any harder it would probably be bursting out of your chest.

“Well, I feel that we should kiss again,” you press a peck to his cheek hoping it’ll steady your next vulnerable words, “because I’ve thought about you a lot, and I really like this.” You emphasize your words by glancing down at the negative space between your bodies and running your hand up the built expanse of his shoulders.

Humming, he cradles the back of your head, gracefully moving to straddle you and ghost his lips over yours. “In that case, tell me when to stop.” The hot breathy fan of air from his whisper barely hits your cheeks before he’s pressing a deep kiss against your lips.

You slot together like perfect puzzle pieces, limbs finding the just the right spots to fit into. Mouths move desperately, passionately and without thinking your fingers start dancing under the hem of his shirt, brushing against the hot skin beneath. With a tempered groan, he uncouples his lips from yours, kissing along your jaw and quickly moving to trace down your neck. The kitten nips and licks against your collarbone send electricity through your bones, forcing you to flex into him, hips awkwardly jutting forward for something more.

“You… you, ah, are so perfect.” You pant, eyes blinking wide open when the calloused tips of his fingers roughly trail under your shirt, up your sides, stopping just short of your chest to flip your shirt up.

Groaning so quietly you barely hear him, he buries himself between your breasts and sighs against your skin. “Yer even more beautiful up close and without all this,” he pauses for the briefest moment to undo your bra and lift it over your head with the shirt, “extra stuff on.”

Scoffing out a short giggle, you relax back, watching how his eyes drink you in as though they’ve been starved. “By extra stuff you mea-!” The quip is promptly cut off by the feeling of his mouth latching around one breast, the other being tended to by his opposite hand. Not a moment later he pulls away, smiling as you let out a pitchy whine.

“Yer pretty mouthy when yer comfortable, huh?” He mumbles, lips ghosting over your nipple while the one in his hand continues to be teased.

“N-no,” you rush to disagree. Judging by the eye roll he gives you, he doesn’t seem to believe you, but he doesn’t say anything more, simply bringing his attention back to your chest.

The way his suckles tiny, bright purple marks into your skin sends heat pooling into your stomach, hips noticeably grinding up against him now. As the seconds drag on, he doesn’t seem interested in anything other than your tits, enamored with the way they feel in his hand and mouth. It’s almost too much, and you feel your stomach tightening with every moment the teasing continues.

“Samu,” you whine softly, “samu, please, can’t s’too much, really need…” The words are jumbled and garbled. You can’t quite sort your brain to come up with anything coherent, distracted by the wet pooling in your underwear and the weight of his body crowding over yours.

“Sensitive tits?” He coos with a sharp glint in his eyes, gears obviously moving in his head for the future. “That’s okay,” he continues while pressing a soft kiss to each of your breasts, “What do you really need?”

“Need you to touch me.”

For a second, his mouth opens but he doesn’t speak. You fear he’s going to tease you, make you explain in lewd detail how bad you need him and where you want him to touch you, but he doesn’t. He simply nods, truthfully too caught up in the intoxicating feeling of your body and too impatient to feel you for the first time to drag this out.

“Good girl, I’m gonna take these off.” He starts, hooking his fingers under the waistband of your pants and underwear to take them off together. Without hesitation, his eyes travel between your legs. “Such a pretty, little cunt.” He hums already squeezing in between your thighs. Obviously distracted, he peppers little kissed up the sensitive skin on the inside of your thighs, still caught up staring at your soaking mess.

“Samu, please…” You whine. While you know he isn’t purposefully teasing, well you don’t know but you don’t think at least, it’s just as frustrating. Your knees lock around his thick shoulders, pulling him closer to your heat.

“Okay, okay, pretty girl.” He grumbles, lapping right at the crook of your thigh and hip. There’s a split second of tense silence wherein he carefully spread your lips admiring the glisten of your slick under the dim light of the lamp. Your entire body is tense with anticipation, legs shaking as they struggled to spread around his wide frame.

And just like that quiet moment is over - he laps you up so desperately and greedily you’re twitching under his grasp, clawing at the wrinkled bed sheets below you for anything to ground you. He doesn’t stop when he shifts your legs over his shoulders and wraps his hands around the bottom of your tummy to keep your jostling hips in place.

When you finally look back down to grab his hand, keeping a vice grip around his fingers, you also glance down for the first time. His dark, hazy eyes meet yours and you completely relax at last.

The feeling doesn’t last long, not when he pushes his tongue into your tight, unprepared hole, slurping all he can get and pushing in as far as he can go. Osamu’s eyes roll to the back of his head at the sensation, your cum dribbling down his chin and coating up to his nose that keeps brushing against your throbbing clit.

With a solid, squelching pop he tears away from you. “Taste so good,” he heaves, lips coming back even as he’s speaking, ghosting over you. He buries himself in your cunt again, this time focusing solely on your clit, cycling through different motions until he finds the one that makes your hips strain under his sturdy hold.

“Feel so good!” You sigh. “Please, please wanna cum.”

Smirking against you, he takes the hand you’re not clinging to back under your thigh and props it against your ass, slowly teasing a finger in. Absolutely gushing now, it slips in easily. You can feel his smile grow again for a moment before he refocuses on your clit, motions speeding up and increasing the pressure with which he worked. It’s impossible to not shudder under him now, especially with one arm only holding you down.

“C’mon, pretty girl, cum.” He murmurs, easily hooking a second finger into you, pumping and curling them in time with his tongue. As he feels you flutter and cream he can’t help but rut into the mattress, cock swelling from the taste of you. The pressure inside is too much and your want to let go is pushing you closer and closer, although it’s his mouth and fingers that really push you forward.

“C-cu-!” The words get trapped in your throat, overtaken by a hushed moan you struggle to bite back, trying - but very much failing - to be mindful of all the half-sleeping people strewn through the house. He slowly brings you down, fingers winding down and tongue lapping up your swollen clit while you convulse at his touch in time with the fluttering of your cunt.

At last, you have to drag him off, needily tugging up on his hands until he lets go. You try to pull him in to kiss, but he hesitates, his strength far outweighing your weak, blissful one and he hovers above you. There’s no reason to ask because almost immediately his fingers that were inside of you, absolutely drenched, come up to his mouth so he can make a show of sucking them dry for you.

“Taste even better than the stuff you make.” He sighs, letting you drag him down to your face. You can smell and taste yourself so strongly on his damp lips, it clouds your already hazy senses.

“Hmm,” you manage out, when he rests his entire body weight against yours, lips pressed into the side of your head. It’s only when you go to shift that you feel him pressing so incredibly hard and flush to you exposed skin through his soft pants, that you perk up. “Samu,” you begin brushing your fingers through his soft, dark hair, “can I...wanna help you.”

“Mhmm,” he nestles against your neck, kissing over the spots he left behind earlier, “in a minute, pretty girl, we have a lot of time ahead of us.”

#osamu x reader #miya osamu x reader #osamu miya x reader #osamu smut #miya osamu smut #osamu miya smut #hq smut

142 notes · View notes

bookstaninthesoul · 3 years

Text

Thanks To Her

WORD COUNT: 1.088

SUMMARY: Azriel wants to confess to Elain and receives help from his mother

Okay, first of all, I want to apologize for any grammatical mistakes. English is not my native language, so I did it in Portuguese (my native language) and then I translated to English. That was my first fanfic. So I hope you like it!

Elriel Month Day 1: Rosehall

Azriel was desperate. What would he do?

It was going to be days since Azriel was trying to confess his feelings to Elain, but he didn't know how! He thought about giving her flowers, but he already gave them every day. He thought about buying jewelry, but it would be very futile.

He wanted to do something special for her, to her. But he didn't know exactly what.

They had been friends for so long that he had done everything he could during those years. Staying in the garden with Elain for the afternoon until the sun went down was one of his favorite pastimes. But he wanted to do something new, something special.

He thought and thought and thought ... but nothing came into his mind.

"Grrrr." he roared, for the twelfth time in 5 minutes.

"Why are you so angry, Azriel?" Rhysand asked. His ears were asking for help of his friend's sounds. "Something happened?"

"No, don't worry. I'm just in a bad mood." he said. He was in need of help, but Rhys wouldn't be the person to ask for it.

"Okay then." Rhys said, shrugging. He knew his brother was lying, but he would not interfere in his problems.

The two continued their work while Azriel continued to think about what to do.

After passing the reports to Rhys, he flew to his house. He was tired and in a bad mood. "How wonderful!" snorted again. He didn't want to take out his frustrations on his mother.

He arrived home, opened the door and found his mother sitting by the fireplace.

"Son, what happened?" she barely looked at his son and knew something was wrong. Damn maternal instinct.

"I'm fine, mom." he said. He didn't want to fill her with his worries.

"Don't lie to me, boy. I know when you need something." okay, Azriel has come to truly hate the maternal instinct.

But he needed help. What harm would it do to ask his mother? He decided to do so.

"Okay, I really need help with something. I'm in love with a female. I love her with all my being and I wanted to confess to her, but I don't know what I do to make the moment special. Any ideas?" Azriel spoke all at once, barely breathing in the process in which he recounted a summary of his concerns.

"Got it. Have you thought about giving her flowers?" his mother asked.

"Yes, I already thought. But I give her flowers every day, I need something new. No flowers, no jewelry or chocolates." he said, already discarding all the ideas he had had that his mother would probably quote.

"So, then bring her here!" she said, calmly and directly.

"What?" Azriel was confused. Bring her to Rosehall?

"Bring her here. Prepare dinner, show her the house and at the same time having fun, confess your love for her. It's simple." the woman spoke calmly.

"But ... what about you?"

"I will go out during dinner time, then I will return to the house. It will be all right, son. Trust me. I will help you prepare everything."

Azriel relaxed his shoulders and smiled.

°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°

"Let's go!" Azriel said to Elain, taking her hand.

"I'm anxious. What do you want to show me so badly?" she said, excited by the mystery. Azriel had arrived in the garden and told her that there was a surprise for her.

"You'll see! Are you ready?" he asked, picking her up to take off.

"Yea!"

They flew to the place, with Elain's hair dancing in the winds and Azriel with extreme happiness on his face.

They arrived at the place and entered the house, the girl already asking what the place was.

"This is Rosehall. It is a very important place for me and I wanted to bring you here. I want to have dinner and have fun with you, so I decided to choose this place" he replied, with a wide smile on his face.

Elain had never seen him smile so much.

"Oh, I loved it! Come on, I'm hungry!" she said, causing the male beside her to laugh.

They went in, settled down and enjoyed the dinner made by Azriel and his mother.

When it was time for the big moment, he felt more nervous than ever. His hands were shaking, but he tried not to show it. The chill in the belly established its place as he looked at his beloved and began the speech.

"Elain I ..." he was interrupted before he could finish.

"I'm in love with you!" shot Elain, unable to contain her voice. That dinner gave her the courage to finally open her heart.

"What?" Azriel was paralyzed. Did he hear what he really heard?

"I love you, Azriel. I love you for a long time. That you invited me into this house and spent that time with me, made me tell you how I really feel about you. I can't help it. I know we're friends, but I couldn't stop these. You are the most amazing male I have ever met, I shouldn't be surprised that I fell in love with you. " she said, her cheeks flushed.

Azriel was in shock. So it means... that Elain had feelings for him too?

"Elain ..." started to speak. But he was interrupted again.

"I know that ... I shouldn't. But I couldn't help it. I also know that you may not respond to my feelings, but I want you to know that it's okay. I don't want it to affect our friendship." she said, again. Now, redder than a tomato.

"Elain, can I speak?" said Azriel, laughing at the girl's despair. She was so cute!

"You can ..." she flinched.

"I love you too." he said, laughing. The moment was so light that Elain's whole body calmed down.

"You... love me too?" she asked, biting her fingertip.

"Of course I do! I brought you here to confess to you, but you were quicker." he said, still smiling.

She couldn't help herself. She jumped onto Azriel's lap quickly and hugged him tightly. The two laughing with happiness while they were protected by that bubble of love.

"I said it would be all right." a strange voice said, behind them.

"Mom? Are you back?" Azriel asked, still with his arms around the girl.

"You guys have been holding each other longer than you think." she said laughing. How cute they were.

"Lady?" Elain asked, embarrassed. "Are you Azriel's mother?"

"Yes, I am, dear. Nice to meet the girl who makes my boy daydream." she held out her hand to Elain, who took it and smiled.

"The pleasure is mine, madam." she replied, smiling.

Azriel then laughed again and pulled his mother into the embrace. After all, everything had come true because of her.

If you liked it, please reblog it. It helps me a lot! ♡

#pro elriel #elriel fanfiction #elriel fanfic #elriel #elrielmonth #elrielmonth21 #pro elain #elain acotar #elain archeron #pro azriel #azriel acotar #azriel #azriel × elain

76 notes · View notes

shes-coming-clean · 3 years

Text

Green Day Documentary Reviews Pt 2

The last one of these seemed to make people happy, and because my brain refuses to think about anything but this band right now, might as well do something productive with that. So here is part 2!

Today’s doc: Green Day: Born To Be (2016)

I decided to get this one over with because I didn’t remember liking it the first time, and wow, it’s even worse than I remember. So this review is going to be a lot more negative overall because oof this one pisses me off. Honestly, one of its strongest qualities is that its only 24 minutes, so at least you don’t have to suffer too long.

Pros

* It focuses on their lives from childhood up through American Idiot and includes a decent amount of detail.

* They don’t have any present day interviews recorded specifically for this documentary, which means they have to get really creative piecing old interviews together to tell a coherent story. And they do that well...about half the time (more on that later)

* There are Portuguese subtitles so that’s nice. We love accessibility in this house

* There is a mention of Two Dollar Bill! Love to see it. Unfortunately, they get the nickname wrong and call him Two Dollar Billie (How do you miss the play on words there?) but still, it’s a nice detail to include

* They actually discuss Billie and Mike’s childhoods in some detail. Tré does not get the same treatment but A for effort - 2 out of 3 aint bad.

And that’s it for pros. On to the cons. We’ll focus on the nitpicky stuff first

* This video only has audio in one ear if you’re using headphones, which is kinda unusual for this channel, so I wonder if there was some kind of mistake uploading it.

* They only seem to have footage from the Dookie era and onward so when they talk about stuff before that, they either use a mix of a couple of old photos of the band, generic stock footage, or more modern video clips. I understand that you have to work with what you have, but this is kind of distracting when you’re hearing the narrator talk about their informal audition for Lookout Records, but you’re hearing and seeing the Good Riddance music video. Like, I’d give it a pass if the song at least commented on or shared an emotion with that part of the story but it just feels random. They really don’t seem to have put too much thought into when they use certain clips, so the performances on screen aren’t always from the time period they’re taking about - even later on in the story. This, and the lack of a clear structure can make it hard to tell what year/era they’re talking about at any given moment.

* They have to rely on past interviews to do a lot of the story telling, but once again, they don’t always care too much about time period and will clip sections out of context. For example, they take a clip of Billie from roughly ‘95 talking about how the last few years have been crazy, and make it about their career downturn in the early 2000s, even though you can CLEARLY see he’s younger than in the other clips.

* There is a narrator who fills in the parts of the story not conveyed in clips which is a good choice...except that he’s really annoying. I can’t tell if it’s his voice or the script he’s been given, but either way, it’s not great.

* The narrator says that all three band members divorced or separated from their wives in the late 90s/early 2000s, except...that didn’t happen. Billie and Adrienne had a rough point, sure, but they didn’t separate or divorce.

So far, most of my critiques have not been massive. I still probably could’ve enjoyed a doc at least a bit even if it had those problems, a lot of which seem to be due to a lack of resources and having to make do with what they had. I can understand that. The same does not hold true for this next part, which is, how they framed the band’s jump to a major label and the years that followed.

Every band, actor, or public figure of any kind will usually have some kind of signature question or complaint that everyone either levies against them or debates. Green Day’s is basically “are they real punks or are they sellouts?” At this point, I think this question is pretty stupid and I have a lot of problems with the mindset behind it (I think it has a lot to do with classism and sexism, but that’s for another time), but it’s part of the band’s public persona at this point, so any documentary has to at least touch on it. Most docs tend to frame the backlash against the band after they sighed with Reprise as the petty complaints of jealous gatekeepers who were pissed that the band was inviting normies into their punk club. Basically, there was nothing Green Day could’ve done about it - it was going to happen either way.

But this doc takes it for granted that Green Day absolutely sold out, and not just that, they fundamentally changed and stopped being punk. Which, like, are we listening to the same album? The only real difference between Kerplunk (released before they signed with a major label) and Dookie (their major label debut) is that the second had an actual budget. The sound and subject matter is very very similar. They were never super “hard core” to begin with - in fact, it was their catchy melodies that made them stand out. Nothing in their style changed. Honestly, I would argue that Dookie has a lot more songs about being angry and punk than Kerplunk does. The only difference is its higher production quality. So, when this doc says things like they “lost their hard fought identity” I honestly don’t know what the hell they’re talking about. And this isn’t just me being a fan. The doc says they changed, it says they stopped being punk, but it doesn’t offer any evidence to substantiate that claim. We’re just supposed to hear the ominous music and the out-of-context clips (which were mostly self-deprecating jokes) and believe it.

When they do provide details, most of them are wrong, or at very least, misleading. For example, they claim that the backlash only happened after the band released the second and third singles off of Dookie, “Basket Case” and “When I Come Around” respectively. It claims that the first single, “Longview” was punk enough to make fans happy while the other songs weren’t, which...ok - I just don’t think you can claim “Longview” is any more punk than the other songs. Honestly, it’s kind of a departure from their normal sound into a more jazzy style. I don’t think you can argue that it’s any more punk than “Basket Case” unless you’re claiming that singing about masturbation makes something inherently punk. Like, what are we even defining as “punk” at this point? Also, the backlash started long LONG before any song off the album had ever been released. It started as soon as they signed with Reprise, so claiming it was because people didn’t like the music is just dishonest.

Overall, I really feel like this doc has a very strange tone, especially for a piece of media supposedly promoting their newest album (Revolution Radio). It pays lip service to how great and accomplished the band is, but takes every opportunity to trash them. Because it goes so hard on the “they sold out” narrative, it implies that the success of American Idiot is just because they got lucky that people liked the product of their lack of artistic integrity. I am more than ok with criticizing a band - even one I like, and I don’t mind when a doc does try to do more than just praise Green Day, but those criticisms have to be backed up. And the whole question of “selling out” is just so so stupid at this point. This doc came out in 2016 - was the most pressing issue that year really whether or not a band stopped being punk 25 years ago?

So, thanks for coming to my ted talk. I hope you liked it and if there’s any other Green Day docs you want me to review next, please let me know. These have been a lot of fun to write and I’m so happy that people seem to like it.

youtube

#green day #billie joe armstrong #mike dirnt #tre cool #alliereviews #green day doc #punk #punk rock #pop punk #dookie #american idiot

19 notes · View notes

lissalizzie · 3 years

Text

Okay so a couple of days ago I made a post about how I couldn't write fanfics about Chishiya because I couldn't imagine him as a guy who would be in a romance without sacrificing his girlfriend for a card or visas, and some very cool person suggested me to write an angst...AND I DID ahahahaha.

Ookay, somethings you should know now: I'm Brazilian and I speak Portuguese, I learned English by myself and this is the first time I try writing anything in English so IM SORRY IF I MADE ANY MISTAKE

Second thing would be

THIS IS ANGST SO IF YOU DON'T LIKE IT OR IF IT MAKES YOU FEEL BAD OR UNCOMFORTABLE PLEASE DON'T READ IT

It also contains death, psychological manipulation and violence

Please dont romanticize it too, it's not a romance story, it's just the conditions I imagined for Chishiya to be involved with someone

Chishiya x Reader

You were hurt... So hurt you couldn't even begin to explain that feeling.

It was true You were somehow grateful because you were alive at least... Your friends couldn't say the same, and neither all those people you saw dying every fucking game. But you just couldn't... Not to think about how pointless was being alive and alone at that place... Alive, alone and fucking in love with a person who had an Ice cube in a shape of a card in the place of his heart.

You knew from day 1 when you met Chishiya and Kuina at the Beach, when that boy with the mysterious look came to you for the first time for "a talk" that nothing good could come from that. Nothing, except, maybe, for Kuina's friendship... She, who was the first person who notices the mess you was doing and tried to stop you... As the great blind stubborn you were, You just didn't listen at the time... You was at a fucking game world, playing for your life almost everyday, dealing with deaths and losing people... Missing the ones you loved the most, those ones you didn't even know if were or weren't alive... You could deal with a stuck up boy, because that's everything you thought he was... Your mistake... Well, You've recently discovered You're pretty damn good in making mistakes here.

Chishiya discovered yout feelings because at some point you couldn't manage to fight for your life and hide it... He noticed and started to be there for you after every game, specially the harder ones. He didnt talk anything, he just was there... He didnt touch you either, but he got to spend more and more time looking at you while you both were on bed... Those eyes, just as cold as him.

You didnt touch him, but you imagined he would be just as cold as that look... But you also believed he would be that deep... Like oceans. Chishiya was a grey ocean that you wanted so much, and every day more, to know...

You was so fragile, so fragile when he touched your skin for the first time, twice... The first time with his hands that wasn't cold at all which just made you want him nearer... The second time with the lips that came from your face to your mouth.

The boy must've planned that for weeks, you could see that now, in fact, now you understand that must be the reason why he looked so much at you. You was that school subject Chishiya probably didnt have any interest on but really had to study to pass the test... So he did... And you did...

And for the first time since you fell into that hell you felt alive, you felt like someone, just one person was there, and that Chishiya cared... And that he would do for you just as much that you would do for him.

You were so blind and in love... He started saying things about plans and you were so happy cause you thought that meant he trusted you... The first time he mentioned you on a plan you couldn't stop smiling, you were finally a part of someone's life there, it was like having a purpose again... And also being with him felt so much like action and... Not knowing about the next second because he was so... cloudy.

God, if only you could talk to yourself in the past, if only you have stopped for a second and gave that situation a better look... You felt so dumb now...

Well when he asked you to go to that place at night you... Just went, because you trusted him with your life by now. You knew somewhere deep in your heart that you shouldn't... Not just him but anyone... But it was a need, you were alone for a long time and then you found him... And then he started acting that way with you... He caught you out of guard...

It was silent, you didnt understand why you should be there, but the fact is that you were so afraid. Chishiya only said to be there and walk... It wasnt that much, but just as fast as you got there, you felt something on your back and then everything was dark.

When you woke up, you were in a room and Niragi, just with a couple of other important people -you just knew they were important because they were with the Hatter, the only one you could recognize besides Niragi because of the colors of his clothes.- You barely could see, actually, your eyes were still dealing with the lights.

- So that's the little bitch, huh? - You could listen to Hatter's voice. He came near of you and showed you a couple of cards. - Trying to steal from me ? You bastard really thought you could steal from me and just run away ?

You just didnt understand, you didnt had any card with you. You knew what happened to traitors and you always gave your cards to the beach just as you was told.

-B-But... I give my cards to you, I know I do. I'm not dumb

- Oh honey, dont play the stupid card. We found the cards with you, you were running away... You have many here... You haven't been to all this games lately, have you ? Have you been stealing from someone else, darling? - Hatter seemed to be genuinely angry and you were so afraid to say anything.

-I...

- Yes... - And you heard that familiar voice... That was Chishiya but you were hoping he would only come to help you... - My cards have been disappearing as I told you. I connected that it happened after every game I played with her after we became close... That's when I came to talk to you... - That was so much information you couldn't even handle. Chishiya betrayed you, lied about you and used you as his little toy just so he could... Distract people while he was doing whatever he was really planning and wasn't telling you... It was so clear... Oh God you felt so dumb and now it was like all your fights for being alive in that place had no value at all... Because you let yourself get caught by that stupid feeling...

Chishiya looked at you with the same cold eyes as always, no guilt... You wasn't expecting any, not after that.

- Well.. Death for the traitors, that's what you've been told - Hatter was just ready to give the orders to Niragi and you didnt really think you deserved to die by the hands of such a disgusting person

At that point you could only cry cause you knew it wasn't worth it to try arguing... Chishiya was too damn smart and there would be no evidence of mistakes if you knew him...

- She was stealing from me, right ? So I think I have the right to end this with my own hands? - Everyone got so surprised because Chishiya wasnt exactly the kind of guy who got involved with the dirty part of the job.

- Are you sure about this ? - Hatter never really doubted about Chishiya because he knew how much about himself he didnt show people... So Yes, killing someone because of a couple of cards didn't surprise him at all, maybe because he would do the same. - Whatever... Just be done with it by the morning... And dont even think about playing any kind of game Chishiya... You could be the next one.

Chishiya wasnt even listening. Niragi seemed literally so frustrated but, at some point, all people left.

Chishiya caught the gun that was above the table and came near you. You were crying silently but so hard... - What do you want? You wanna torture me now? Seeing me playing the stupid in love all this time wasnt enough for you? You want to literally kill me? How did you do that? - You were screaming, at that point you didnt care if someone would hear.

- You don't understand, right? - And then he showed a couple of cards, this time, one of each... Oh god... He literally used you to get Hatters's cards. - I'm sorry you made the wrong choices... But I needed to to this... I want to get out of here just as much as you... About the plan... You know I have access to the cards after the games... It's not that hard to steal the repeated ones, they don't pay that much attention on them... And also, just after I did it, I came to talk to Hatter about my card disappearing so the he wouldn't miss anything... It wasnt that har actually, it was just a distraction... But you know so much about me and my plans so I couldn't let you alone with Niragi or any of those people cause they're so dumb they might believe you and that's would be a problem for me... So

- You bastard, What do you think you are? God? You think you can just come and sacrifice people? - You wanted to beat him so hard it almost gave you the strength to break that stupid string around you. He just smiled that way you used to love but now make you nauseous.

- If I were god... I wouldn't allow people as easy to manipulate as you to live with the others, darling... Dont blame me for trusting the person everyone told you that shouldn't be trusted... Now... Let's get this done. - He pointed the gun at your forehead and you screamed as you closed your eyes.

- Please... Please Chishiya. I didnt mean anything for you at all?

- There's no meaning when there's no feeling, y/n... You're not in high school, you're playing for your life, and so am I... And you lost. I'm so sorry for you. - For the first time he seemed to be nervous but you couldn't see much anyway... He pulled the trigger... And then it was over.

#alice in borderland #chishiya #imagine #chishiya x reader

107 notes · View notes

joshslater · 4 years

Text

Beached

Similar stories and bonus material on my Patreon.

It's really amazing how the beaches can be so empty when the weather is this good. It's technically winter or spring or whatever, but that just means you can spend all day on the beach without getting heatstroke or sunburn. No one else appears to agree with me though. Someone is walking a dog in the distance in one direction, and some surfers are ignoring the warnings of big waves in the distance in the other direction. Like that would be bad thing in their minds, though just right now it isn't as windy as in the morning. Volatile weather is another drawback of spring weather.

I don't think it is the weather that is keeping people away though. This whole plague thing is really messing with people. The hotel was almost deserted and the room dirt cheap. Flight was cheap too. The plan was to go here with Will, but he chickened out at the last moment. Probably the positivity rates of their "second wave" or whatever. The tickets were refundable, only way they can sell anything these days, but I had already made up my mind to go here. Spring in Rio is better than summer at home, and the summer is decidedly over now, where you are never sure in the morning if you need jeans and hoodie. Here it is shorts and T-shirt every day, and the water is really nice when the waves aren't fatal. I really thought it would be colder the way the ocean looks.

As I walk along the beach in solitude I spot a gaudy, cheap beach chair also alone in the sand. I look up towards the road that goes along the beach. Sometimes there is a bunch of chairs or stuff chained together, waiting for busy days when the owner can charge a coin for a tourist to sit on it, but I don't see anything up there. I take a seat and look out over the crashing waves. There is a zen-like quality sitting on a lone chair on a vast beach, alone in a different country, watching the waves while the warm spring sun smiles down on you. No birds or animals around either, so you just have the white noise of the ocean keeping you at peace. I had fernet and coke in the lobby bar last night and evening has been going slow even before this, but somehow I felt I deserved a break from doing nothing.

I lost track of how long I was sitting there. I have all week after all. I'm taken out of my trance by someone behind me talking agitated in Spanish. No, Portuguese probably, as that's what they speak here. I turn my head and a stereotypical Brazilian beach greaser steps into my view. He wears a loose, pink tank top with Copacabana printed on the front. It reaches almost far enough to hide his green speedos that peeks out every step he takes. Brazilian tan, white teeth, black, slick hair, and a swagger that comes equally from acting macho and years of bodybuilding that prioritized looks over range of motion. "What?" I ask him, mostly just to tell him to speak English.

"This is your chair?" he asks. "Yeah," I say tentatively. At least I'm using it right now. It really was calming to look at the ocean like this. "No. No, it is not your chair," he says in an accusing tone, visibly upset. "You want to sit?" I don't need any trouble. It's soon time for lunch anyway. I start to raise myself from the chair. "No, you sit! You sit!" he almost screams at me, and I fall back into the chair.

I'm confused. Did I sit down again, or did something push me down? He steps towards me, and I again try to get out of the chair, but I'm somehow not strong enough to lift myself. He grabs the front neck of my T-shirt and pulls it up over my head. My arms do nothing to stop him. He then grabs hold of the legs of my shorts and pulls them sharply forward. Again, I can't do anything to stop him. I can move my body, sort of, but it's sapped of all strength.

If things were weird up until now, it just turned impossible. Instead of my Hanes underwear I wear black speedos with yellow print "ca-rio-ca" in front. How the fuck did they end up on me. He doesn't waste any time, but just bunches my clothes together in his hand and angrily marches off towards the road behind me. "Hey! HEY! I don't want this fucking chair." I shout at him while making another failed effort to get out of the chair as he disappears out of view. It's like being stuck with your ass in a big bean bag. I just can't get up somehow. I try to rock sideways to knock the chair on its side so I can roll out of it, but again with no success. Exhausted I fall back into the chair.

It's a cheap-looking foldable beach chair. Some green tubes as a frame with some blue and yellow nylon fabric as a seat, suspended between the tubes. I could see how someone would pick it out for its "Brazilian" colors, but all the shades were totally off compared to the flag. It couldn't be more than $10, probably much less down here. Why would anyone make such a fuss over it? I touch my magically appearing speedos. They appear completely normal. Some type of high tech stretchy fabric with yellow print on top. As I touch the print on the front of the speedos there is like a shock wave through me, like I rubbed the exposed head of my dick. I quickly move my hand back to the dainty armrests, but the damage is already done, at least for now. I can feel the blood inflating my dick, at least partially.

I look back at the ocean, trying to distract myself. I still see the surfers way off in the distance to one side, but I don't see anyone in the other. I'm a bit limited in my field of view though, reclined in the beach chair. Dammit, and I was about to have lunch. Fuck! My wallet is in the shorts. My phone, my credit cards, my cash, my hotel room key, all in the hands of some dude made of muscles and STDs. If he doesn't come back I'd have to walk back to the hotel, wearing only speedos like a fucking douche, tell the lobby staff to get my passport from the room to identify me, and issue a new key card. Then I have to take the laptop and block the credit cards and the phone SIM. I hope you can do that online. If nothing else you can call 800 numbers from Skype, I think. But first I need to get out of this fucking chair.

I make another failed attempt to get up. How can this be happening? Did he poison me somehow? Perhaps I just need to relax for a bit and regain my strength. That doesn't explain how my underwear was swapped out. Perhaps I'm making this more complicated than it has to be. These could be two unrelated events. Perhaps the speedos were somehow in my room, and somehow I put them on this morning without thinking about it. I think I've seen something similar in a store back home. "CA" could just as well mean California. This pair could have been forgotten by someone and then mixed into my laundry somehow, packed in my travel bag by mistake, and then ended up on me without me thinking about it because of the fernet. No, that doesn't make a lot of sense either. If you remove all impossible explanations, the remaining one, however improbable is the right one. It's just so very fucking improbable.

I want to drop it. Thinking about it more won't solve anything, and my current problems notwithstanding the day is still very nice. The slow burn of the spring sun, the smell of sand and salt, the soothing white noise of the ocean, and the wide visuals to go with it all. If I just let go of my predicament it was easy to relax again. That's what I needed to do, right? Just look out and feel the sun rejuvenate me. Despite it being essentially just indoor temperature, I've managed to get a tan. I trace the skin from my knees and up with my eyes. No, this is wrong. I should have tan lines where the shorts and T-shirt ended. I've only been sitting here topless for ten minutes, twenty at the most. There's nothing to tell time. The surfers are gone.

And I really shouldn't look this good sitting down. I don't sit down with a flat belly. I can't remember that I ever did, not that I really paid a lot of attention to how I looked. I try to stand up to have a better look, but only manage to lift a few inches before falling back. "Merda!" I say out loud. Not only did I fall back into the chair, but I managed to pull something. There's a cramp in the abdominal muscles that hurts like hell. I squirm in the unyielding chair and arch my back to make it stop, which results in both my legs cramping at the same time. I let go and fall back into the chair, and raise my legs up and try to shake them. I tense and relax the muscles over and over to make the feeling go away.

When it finally goes away I feel exhausted. I certainly don't want to feel that again. It's like a cosmic force doing everything to keep me in place, docile, and watching the ocean. While I want this to all be over I don't feel like I want to put up a fight. I scratch an itch on my face and feel my beard. I know I shaved less than... I know I shaved this morning, whenever that was. I've done that every morning from when I started to grow facial hair. I know nothing that looks worse. Nothing that looks more like you are taking a shortcut, or don't care. Yet I could clearly feel strands of hair all around my mouth and up the sides of my face. Not just stubble either, but fingertip length beard. The kind that doesn't look like a planned and neatly maintained beard either, but an accidental one. I didn't think I could freak out more when my hand touched the hair behind my ear, and I frantically felt the rest of my head. It was clearly a curly mess, and not just wavy but a tight curl. My hair is straight.

"Olá!" one of the two young surfers greet me. I'd been too preoccupied and had completely missed them walking across the beach towards me. They looked very similar, same height, same short cropped pitch-black hair, handsome white smiles, black and blue Mormaii wetsuit. My startled mind feels blank. I have no idea what to say to them. Somehow, inappropriately I can feel my dick stirring again. "Você quer foder?" I shout back at them. I have no idea what it means. They just keep walking, shaking their heads and ignoring me. What the fuck is going on? Can't I control myself anymore? I haven't since I sat down, I realize. This fucking chair is ruining everything.

I'm angry with it. I start hitting it. At first I'm just feebly pounding the armrests, but then work myself up to start hitting anything I can find. I'm banging the tubes, I'm pulling the synthetic fabric of the seat, I'm trying to pry the joints free. I'm only hurting myself of course, though not bad enough for any visible bruises. After some minutes someone has had enough of my tantrums and I feel a searing pain across my chest, back, and right ribs. I cry out in pain. My noise is met by the constant noise of the ocean. When it stops, just as suddenly as it started I look to either side and all I see is empty beach in both directions.

I'm almost afraid to look, and it is difficult to see well, but the skin has discolored where I felt the pain. On the right side of me is a sentence tattooed in cursive. I can't tell what it says. On my front chest is another large tattoo saying something almost as difficult to read upside down, just below my chin, also in cursive. "Live fast, die young" I think. I can only imagine what platitudes are on my back. "Carpe Diem?"

My legs are hairy. They've been that for years, but now they are black pubes kind of hairy. Did that happen just now as well? What's with the slow walking? Just do all the things to me and be over with. Arms are hairy too. I'm not even going to be upset anymore. I'll just sit here until it ends, whatever that means. Listen to the ocean and let the sun do its thing. Holy shit, that isn't suntan. I have a different skin color for sure. No. Not upset, just listen to nature and come what may. Let the sun sparkle in the water.

I can also see a sparkle from my right nipple. I feel drained, dazed, and dumb. Did the nipple piercing come with the tattoos and I had just missed it, or did it sneak up on me somehow? I don't really care. I slowly reach for it with my left hand. It feel an explosion of sensations as soon as the vibrations of my touch reverberate into the nipple. It shoots right into my balls, into my spine, into my brain, into my dick. Not quite an orgasm, but definitely not not an orgasm. I can feel the cramp again. The muscles on my front all contracts, but this time it isn't really painful. It's more like when you exert yourself during sports.

As before I arch my back to flex the chest and abs differently to make it go away, but the cramps just spreads. I can feel it in my back as well, and my arms, then finally in my legs. It's like those youtube videos where you can see the muscles moving under the skin all on its own. I just turned to the side and rolled in the sand, unable to control anything. It wasn't pain, but definitely not not pain.

When it finally stops I'm on my back in the spring warm sand, exhausted, panting, looking into the blue sky, hearing the waves crash down at the edge of the beach. I somehow know before I see it. My arms are almost twice as muscular as this morning, my chest and abs chiseled, and my legs are massive.

The sun is getting low. It is probably getting close to dinner time, though it sets early. I sit up in the sand, looking in both directions down the beach. There's nothing but sand. I know how to walk back to the hotel, though I can't remember the name of it, and I think I know what my name is, but I'm pretty sure nothing on that passport will match me. I don't feel like going there though. I really, really need to find someone to fuck. Or be fucked by. I don't care.

299 notes · View notes