#there can be plenty of tragedy along the way and the end can be sad but | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

ambalambs · 10 months

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I ended up writing a little something on Asra for once and maybe its late enough now I dont have to be embarrassed to post it and have too many people see it xD but idk I just felt like sharing cuz he's fun to explore and ive been consumed with his voidsent's backstory lately. Again im not good at writing but im having fun with it :'D also Leon belongs to the lovely @e-dragoons u3u

Asra finally slumped himself down against one of the many trees on the Sharlyan campus. It was a particularly warm day so the shade was welcome. He took a brief moment to take in the scenery, the sounds of the nearby river rushing along, the birds in the tree above him, the wind in the reeds and leaves. For a moment if he closed his eyes he could almost trick himself into believing he was back home in the forest.

But reminiscing was not why he was here. He quickly gathered up the reeds he'd harvested and set about weaving himself a basket. It was a silly thing to be doing really, what with the more modern cultures having plenty of shops with baskets already fully made and available for purchase. But Asra needed something to occupy his time. Leon and the rest of the scions were conducting their heroic daring-do in the library and he was of no use in such an environment. Probably more of a distraction really. So he resigned to a moment to himself on the grounds and once these reeds growing by the river had caught his eye he knew exactly how to waste his time.

He expertly began to braid and weave the strands together in smooth and quick motions. It had been some time since he'd made anything quite like this but the fingers never forget and as he let them do the work his mind was left to wander.

He was suddenly reminded of the time he made his first basket. He was so young, a small kit at the time. His older sister had sat him down and helped teach him claiming they had to hurry up and make some while the berries in the meadow were ripe.

Thinking back now it seemed like such silly timing for a lesson when they should've just gotten already made baskets if they were in such a hurry.

But at the time he was too young to question it. So he followed her instructions as best he could and crafted a basket of incredibly questionable durability. But he was so proud and his sister seemed satisfied enough with his work that the two immediately set out to gather their quarry.

Once their baskets were filled to the brim, although some berries being consumed along the harvest, they began to make their way back to the village. But tragedy struck when the bottom of Asra's basket had come completely unraveled, spilling the entire contents of the berries within. It was only then did he realize he had been leaving a trail of berries along the entire trail and had been stepping on them the entire way. Feeling heartbroken at the loss and embarrassment that only a young child can experience, Asra had begun to cry. His sister had quickly ran to his aid and did what she could to dry his tears and gather whatever berries could be salvaged into her own basket. She somehow managed to calm him down enough to guide them the rest of the way back home and by then Asra had calmed down and the two were able to sit and enjoy the berries from his sister's basket. As they munched and Asra observed his destroyed basket mournfully, his sister promised to help him get it right the next time.

Asra smiled softly at the memory. Such a memory of his sister brought up others then. Small moments in their childhood. Most happy, some sad, some just silly. Moments that felt like an entire lifetime ago.

"You miss her." Asra jumped slightly at the familiar and unwanted voice inside his head. He suddenly realized his lapse of focus in the moment. Moments like this when he almost feels as though he's alone and forgets to keep the wall up in himself against his unwanted passenger were rare. He quickly ran a check over that wall and catching the small window that had formed within it. The wall itself was still firm, keeping the creature at bay on the other side. But it was there and it was watching and had gotten a full view of his reminiscing.

Asra paused in his weaving then and did a quick scan about his surroundings. It didn't seem like anyone was around to hear his mad ramblings so he judged it was safe to respond outloud.

"I do, yes," he said softly. Funny how responding to the voidsent lurking in his mind aloud made him feel less crazy. Anyone to witness though would no doubt feel otherwise.

There was a pause then. Asra held his breath as he waited for that brief wave of exhaustion to run over him. The telltale sign of the voidsent feeding off his own aether while his emotions were full of sadness and longing for those halcyon days. However that feeling didn't come and Asra, though suspicious, let out the breath.

"You claim to miss her but that seems awfully silly with how you little rabbits live," the voice finally continued. Its voice was uncharacteristically casual. Although in hindsight it had been as such more often lately, Asra noted. "When I found you hadn't you already left her?"

Briefly Asra tried not to think about the moment it had "found him" so he quickly shoved that memory down. He instead looked out at the water in the river before him rushing by, chewing his cheek in thought.

"It's different now, I think," Asra began. "Before, its tradition and my duty to return home every few years so it was always guaranteed I'd see her again. But now..."

Asra paused. Now...yes what about now? He glanced in the direction of the library. He thought about Leon then. Of all the places they'd already journeyed, the lives they'd saved, the lands they'd seen that he could never have dreamed existed. Before, when he was first burdened with this occursed creature bound to his soul, he believed he was still serving his duty to his tribe by taking the danger with him out of the wood. He even kept his forest name in the foolish belief that he hadn't technically left the wood if he was still protecting it by leaving. But things were different now. Felt different. The thought of leaving Leon and the scions caused more pain in his heart than the thought of never returning home now.

"But now it's harder knowing I may never return at all. That it means I really will never see her again," Asra continued. He waited again for that feeling of the voidsent feeding knowing this wave of emotions was ripe for the picking for it. But again nothing came.

After a moment the creature spoke again, "I see..."

Suddenly a flash of a memory that was not his struck Asra like a lightning bolt. He jerked at the suddenness of it, his hands gripping the half made basket in his hands. It was just a moment of a memory. As if he was looking briefly through another's eyes at a young man. His hair jet black, his eyes a soft green. He'd seen eyes like that before. They were a near match to the ones he'd seen belonging to his unwanted passenger but instead of the pale sickly green that matched that of moss on a pale corpse, these were soft. A color more akin to grass dusted by the frost of an early dawn. The young man was looking back at him and he flashed a bright grin, a laugh escaping him. Asra felt like he had to squint just looking at him. The man was so bright. Like he was a beacon of light.

But then there was a cascading wave of emotions that came crashing down upon him all at once.

Love. Admiration. Pride. Hope. Love. Pain. Loss. Grief. Grief. Grief. Love. Hollow. Anger. Betrayal. Hate. Rage. Rage. RAGE. RAGE.

And then there was one word that almost seemed to scream through his mind: Brother.

Just as quickly as the flash appeared it was suddenly yanked away. Asra gasped audibly at the abrupt absence of it, gasping for breath that he didnt realize he had been holding. It felt as if someone had struck him across the head and he was reeling as he tried to recover. It was only then did he realize the loud hiss that was ringing in his head. Asra found himself reaching out for that wall between them in his mind and felt himself recoil. It was not just the wall he had made now, no. There was a darkness enshrouding it, keeping himself at bay.

"I-I'm sorry," Asra stammered, not exactly sure what he was apologizing for. The brief moment of accessing a memory he wasn't supposed to see? For whatever caused these emotions that were clearly the voidsent's from a life before?

"Keep your pity, little rabbit, and leave me be," the voidsent snarled. The casual nature of his words before were now gone and the familiar animalistic venom had returned. Asra winced at the volume of it as it rang through his mind.

He tried to take a moment to compose himself then. Steadying his breathing and recollecting his thoughts. There had been times when the voidsent had let its own memories slip through. They were mostly ones of its mortal life, moments of its cruelty even then. They were never like this though. Something unbidden and so rich with emotions. So strong.

Finally after a moment of silence Asra glanced down at the crushed basket in his still tight grip. He relaxed his fists and tried to smooth out the weaves, finally sighing heavily as the tension in his mind began to calm. The voidsent was silent, curled within a corner behind the wall it had reinforced. Asra chewed on his lip a moment.

"Im sorry...It's hard losing someone you care about," he said. Not really sure why he felt the need to say it considering all the torment this creature had put him through. But all the same whoever that man the memory was, he...was good. Asra had felt certain of that and the man deserved some kind of word.

The only reply Asra received was a guttural snarl. He half expected more. Maybe a tear at his aether but again surprisingly nothing came.

Asra waited a bit longer, the silence becoming painfully obvious that this would be the end of their exchange for the day. He took one final glance at the library and the surrounding area around him self consciously hoping nobody witnessed whatever it was he just experienced. When it seemed he was in the clear he quickly straightened himself up against the tree, wiped the tears that were not his from his eyes, and tried his best to return to crafting the basket in his hands.

#might end up deleting this tbh im so self conscious of my writing lol #still have that feeling where i feel silly about posting stuff too lol but alas #throws this into the void and runs away #lambs tries writing #asra fyth #oc ramblings: asra #final fantasy xiv

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soleilnomoon · 2 years

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Your request with Ace being a father pls its so cute and heartbreaking🥺 and how you mentioned Sabo at the end gave me an idea 🧍🏻‍♀️ how about, as Luffy thoughts, Sabo helps reader and Ace’s child and goes as much as he can to Wano ? He really loves his nephew and at the end reader sees Sabo as more than the uncle of her child (obviously it’s reciprocated). The child really loves his uncle too, Sabo tells him stories about his father. He knows Sabo isn’t his father but along the way, he starts seeing Sabo as such. And maybe it’s difficult for Sabo to be here because he’s a revolutionary? (some angst to spice things up) If they end up together with an happy ending it’s as you want 🥴 I just really loved your work, it made me discovered your blog thank you for your time ❤️

awww tomg it’s wild, i didn’t expect ppl to like it like that one, but i’m glad you did (◍•ᴗ•◍)❤ sabo is tragically family-oriented, so i can see this happening & i do love tragedy and romance, so i hope you have fun reading this one too ❤️ (also thank you, that means a lot)

1.8k, fem reader, sfw (a lil fluff if you look w binoculars & angst but not too too much), 18+ mdni, sabo is a big softie deep down what can i say, no real warning except that i'm sad over ace all over again

with the assistance of robin, luffy crafts a short, somewhat unintelligible letter to his only living brother; sabo’s face blanches at the contents, knowing exactly who it is without needing to see the childish signature at the bottom. without giving too many details away, he’s able to pick out the clues his simple-minded brother leaves him, not bothering to tell anyone where he’s off to before he seeks you out. with kaido out of the picture, it’s much easier to travel to wano — being second-in-command of the revolutionary army has its perks, along with plenty of danger. he knows this more than anyone — knows that he should be more careful, should consider what potential danger his presence might bring about, but he can’t help it.

when his memories resurfaced after nearly a decade, it took him some time to adjust. all of the things he thought were true suddenly felt heavy, dream-like, and maybe he’s started to reconsider the path he’s chosen in the name of justice. he packs light, travels like the wind — fast, ruthless, necessary — barely sleeps, the anticipation eating at him night after night.

because luffy assured you that sabo — the sabo that ace once thought was dead, from the story that sat with you for years, that made your heart break repeatedly, not just for ace but for your son, as well — is alive and well and that he will, most assuredly, take care of you.

it’s a comforting thought, one that you thought was made with good intent, but that you didn’t quite believe would be actually true. until, sabo stands on your doorstep, knocking repeatedly — eager, nervous, and a bit emotional. you’ve never seen what he looked like, so it takes you by surprise when a tall, blond man greets you with a grin — it mirrors luffy’s and ace’s, surprisingly. your older sister is out for the day, so she won’t chastise you for letting in a complete stranger, and your son is taking a nap, giving you both the time you need to get acquainted.

before he even tells you his name, you know who he is. his mannerisms are refined, yet a little rough around the edges — you assume he’s had formal training at one point in his life, but don’t actually press him for the answer. you mean to ask him to prove that he’s actually ace’s adopted brother, but his mini-me wakes suddenly, crying loudly, big, fat tears gliding down his chubby cheeks as he stumbles towards you.

sabo, in the middle of drinking the tea you so kindly prepared for him, chokes on the hot drink, spilling it down his dark shirt, standing from the table and unable to believe his eyes.

he’s seen a lot, working as a revolutionary, but this — this… this was too much.

even his reunion with luffy took him by surprise; he had to hold himself back in order to allow his younger brother to process everything. and now, the same is happening to him; again. as you tend to your son, sabo watches, doing his best to keep it together, fingers trembling so he balls them into a fist as he watches the scene before him. his eyes never leave you, which is a problem; one of the reasons why you fell so fast for ace was due to his uncanny ability to see more than he lets on. sabo is the same; that sharp perceptiveness unnerving, putting you on edge.

yet, you can’t bring yourself to tell him to leave. if anything, it brings a familiar feeling, one that you want to keep as close as possible. your son peeks at him from tear-stained lashes, blinking slowly, the unknown man should scare him, but he doesn’t. sabo’s gaze softens and he takes long, measured steps towards you both. like his father, your son is a pretty good judge of character, so it’s no surprise that he takes to sabo right away.

he crouches down to talk to ace’s son, amazed at how similar he is to the father he’ll never know. and, while sabo only has the child version of ace in his mind, he has no doubt that his sworn brother barely changed over the years. his smile never wavers, even as he picks his nephew up, even as he spins the child around, watching in amusement as he laughs and laughs and laughs. the sound is infectious, so you laugh too. and sabo, who spent a lifetime chasing away his inner demons, smiles genuinely, a warmth enveloping him, one that will keep him stable for many years to come.

you insist he stays over, and he doesn’t fight the invitation, wanting to talk to you more, to understand his brother — his motives, his dreams, his reasoning for coming to wano in the first place. it’s early in the morning by the time you finish your story to completion; sabo drinks it all up, content that ace knew a bit of happiness before he died, grateful for your role in his life. he places a large hand over yours, squeezing it gently, thanking you repeatedly, tears revealing a much darker truth that he thought he buried deeply.

so you sit with him by the fireplace, not wanting to leave his side, completely understanding that level of sorrow. life truly is as unkind as it is beautiful; despite all of those negative feelings, the ones that weigh you down late at night, you still manage to find some semblance of peace — in the form of your son’s smile, his morbid curiosity, his striking resemblance to his father in more ways than you can count. sabo, while he doesn’t think he deserves to be here, not when his brother died in the midst of battle, enjoys the time he spends with you and your son. he stays for much longer than he means to, and on his last day, he promises to keep in touch — going so far as to leave behind a sum of money for you.

it’s another three months before you see him again. your son has grown a bit more, is a little more of a handful each day, but sabo is all the more excited to see him like that.

he brings gifts for both of you, and even after you tell him repeatedly that he doesn’t have to, he insists on it. you don’t have it in your heart to refuse him — especially when he gives you those adorably stubborn looks, the ones that remind you of ace, the ones that mirror your son’s. it’s funny, you didn’t think you’d find comfort in the company of another like this again, but it gets harder and harder to say goodbye to him each time he visits. for your son, it’s equally devastating. he gets quite used to sabo’s presence, cries when he’s not around, likes when he gets to play with the man who you tell him is his uncle, but he insists is something more than that.

because you’re used to the stubborn streak your son has, you don’t fight him on it; mostly because a part of you understands how he feels.

sabo is quite charming, devastatingly handsome, highly intelligent, strong — you love ace, or loved, rather, and always will, but something about sabo’s presence feels just like home. with each visit, you miss him more and more; and one night you confess as much to him. it’s after you’ve cleared the table, after you’ve washed and dried each dish, after sabo’s tucked your son into bed, and you’re able to properly talk to him.

a moment of hesitation makes you think you’ve said the wrong thing, but sabo smiles at you, a bit sad, a bit hopeful, and wraps his arms around you, pulling you in for an embrace that feels much more intimate than it should be. instead of pushing him away, you bury your face in his chest, inhale his scent, commit him to memory — because you don’t know the next time you’ll see him again. you know the line of work he’s in is rather dangerous, and you know better than to keep faith that he’ll come back alive — life on the grand line is rough, unpredictable, and he’s wanted by the world government.

you sure know how to pick them, don’t you.

this doesn’t phase him one bit, however, as he’s made up his mind. he’s grappled with the guilt of falling for you for long enough. it gets harder for him to resist touching you, to stop himself from wanting to kiss you, from staring a little too hard whenever you’re within eyesight. when sabo wants something, he goes for it; and, besides, he’s sure this is what ace would’ve wanted. for you to be with someone who will take care of you — and your son — who will love you despite how messy your life is, who will protect you til his dying breath (something that terrifies you). you don’t realize you’re crying until he rubs his hand on your back, soothing you in soft tones, his voice deep, yet melodic, a lullaby that will keep you safe for years to come.

your heart yearns for what it can’t have; that’s what you keep telling yourself. even after he assures you that yes you can have what you want, that he won’t falter, that he’ll come back to you alive — he’s already died once, after all. the thought is laughable, a little romantic, and tragic. you want to believe him so badly, but can’t bring yourself to do so. he knows it’s an impossible dream; but if there’s one thing about sabo, it’s that he will make the impossible happen, no matter how long it takes.

his lips coast along the curve of your cheek, dropping an impromptu kiss there, before moving to the other side. you sigh, fingers clinging to his jacket, the tears neverending — you’re not sure when you became this emotional, but he continues to place soft kisses along your skin, until he gets to your mouth. he takes his time kissing you, mapping out the shape of your lips with his tongue, a hand on the back of your neck, holding you steady as he brings forth a need that doesn’t quite make sense to you. the kiss is a promise; that he’ll come back to you no matter what, that he’ll try to stay for longer next time, that one day it’ll be the three of you for real.

and you receive his kiss with a gusto, wanting to believe him so badly, and maybe — just maybe — things will work out. maybe you will get the happiness that you’ve been chasing, maybe you’re not as alone as you think you are. sabo is of the same thought, having not realized that his heart was missing something until he met you. it makes it that much more difficult for him to part from you, but he does it knowing that he has a goal in mind, that he’ll make it so you can be together without difficulty; that your son will have the family you want him to have, and that he, too, will have some semblance of happiness that won’t leave him raw and unfeeling afterwards.

#fic request #one piece imagine #one piece x reader #one piece x y/n #sabo the revolutionary #sabo x reader #sabo x y/n #do i love breaking my own heart thinking abt sabo and ace? yes; every day #one piece fic

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fracturedporcelaindoll · 2 months

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Dear diary,

I kept telling myself if I got to less for weight than gained some by enjoying something I like that it would be okay as long as was certain numbers on the scale, because as long as I wasn't fat in sense of obesity it's okay. The reality is so far though, I don't like how physically feel when I gain weight, I can tell and see the differences. ~

So that's not to say I won't enjoy some carbs or sweet desserts now and then, cause you know I want too and will. Its just realizing the cost and if its truly worth it as well as implementing possible additional workouts.

I am not there yet but when I do reach my final weight goal, I'll likely celebrate and I don't know maybe I'll post some selfies here (tho body image issues and feelings of insecurity over flaws don't go away like pounds). ~

Italian is such a beautiful language, there are so many words that just sound better, more beautiful in Italian than say English, like my love, baby, kitten, beauty. Then the words that are just more fun like calling someone an idiot or stupid, just sounds better too in Italian, grandma/grandpa etc. ~

I watched a movie, it talked about how it was every Italian's dream to connect Silicy with the mainland by route of bridge. I don't know how accurate that actually is for majority of Italians opinions but I find the idea quite beautiful.

Just as in America, there are different states so varies the different regions in Italy, each beautiful in it's own way and each with it's own culture in sense of comparing city life/communities with rural communities/life.

Venice, is famous for so many artists, is it any wonder? Tuscany is beautiful as well, Sicily is it's own unique beauty. Not to mention all the smaller less known towns and areas. Each has itself history as well and I find it all so interesting. Perhaps it's in part to loving or admiring Italian artists, of course appreciation for architecture and literature as well. ~

Juliet and Romeo is a famous example, I wouldn't say I am a huge fan of Shakespeare, though do appreciate his talents as write. But the romance although ending in tragedy is so beautiful. There are other examples of tragic love in various tales and countries, whether it be historical or fairytale/fictional ones. There's the Greek tale of Orpheus and Eurydice, or what of the love between families and platonic relationships?

Such as Anastasia, unfortunately such myths of her surviving the tragedy that befell her family were just myths, illusions as she never escaped and did perish along with the rest of her siblings etc. ~

What is it about love that is so beautiful yet ends so bitterly that we can't help but find beauty in such darkness? The titanic with loss of so many lives, and why was it Jack was left to perish as he did his best to save the one he loved? ~

Is death that much to be shown as example of resolution of love? I think it harder to choose to live on after having someone you so dearly cherish die. It's in grief and loneliness that you may think death a comfort, to ease your mind, the pain, the sadness and all the stress or worries. But tell me love, what happens when you die? ~

So many questions and various thoughts as to what afterlife may be if anything at all are there and the world has yet to give a 100% answer that is the same.

I can tell you in certain the person you are today, all the things that make you the unique version you are stop existing when you die. We know what happens to our bodies when we physically die and as to souls, I won't list my personal beliefs but there are plenty of theories out there. ~

When you die, so do everything about you, to have loved that person so much you think death may reunite you. Let me remind you that is in the memories they live on and in your heart so if you die the part that remembers them ceases to exist as well. ~

There some cases where death with the being in the arms of your lover I think would be a great comfort such as in natural disasters like Pompeii, or in a war, where death is imminent and there is no escape so that in your final moments you could be with the one you love. ~

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qu-film-history-to-1968 · 7 months

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Musicals and Their Place in the Film Industry During Times of War

By: Alex Grinacoff

In terms of wartime films, I found The Gang’s All Here to be interesting in comparison to the other films I watched. When you think of war, you think of serious things and the potential threats and dangers that come along with it. With this film being a musical, there is more of a lighthearted feel to it. Song and dance are generally associated with times of celebration and joy, which completely differs from the reality of what World War II was.

The theme of war really isn’t that apparent throughout the film other than the fact that soldiers can be seen being both shipped off to war and then returning home. Most importantly, what can be seen upon return, especially with Andy, is that it seems like he wasn’t at all scathed by the tragedies of WWII. The sad reality is that many soldiers came home disturbed and not the same person as they were before leaving to fight in the war. I think the fact that this film is a musical heavily takes away from the true horrors of what this war brought to the American people, especially the soldiers.

So, based upon this, I think the only way this film is truly adapted upon a wartime purpose is the sole fact that soldiers are the main character. There is no serious depth in terms of the war and what was actually going on across seas where Americans were fighting every day to protect not only themselves, but the American people as a whole.

One thing I think this film touches upon greatly is the idea of love during times of war, which was an extremely big topic during WWII. Many women were faced with having to watch their partners leave to potentially never see them again. Although, this film plays on it differently as there is a sense of fake love and scandal amongst the trio of Andy, Eadie, and Vivian. This is way different than the utter sadness that many were faced with regarding this topic. With this idea of scandal, I certainly do think this film would have run afoul of the Production Code if it wasn’t a wartime film. This is because topics such as sex and adultery were really not seen as acceptable yet the scandal is essentially completely blown over with the idea of a war hero being present and a reconciliation that takes place towards the end of the film. Without the idea of it being surrounded around the topic of war, this definitely would not have flown.

After reading Koppes and Black, one quote I found from “What to Show The World: The Office of War Information and Hollywood, 1942-1945” reads “Although international themes increased between 1939 and 1941, social awareness remained dim. “Most movies are made in the evident assumption that the audience is passive and wants to remain passive,” noted the film critic James Agee;”. This is then followed by a statement that reads “Hollywood preferred to avoid issues;”. I think this quote helps to show how this musical and others like it at the time were solely meant to entertain the audience rather than actually juggle their minds with the harsh reality that was wartime during WWII. For instance, this musical incorporates plenty of extravagant visuals and costumes that most certainly catch the eye of the audience. I think this helps aid the idea of straying away from true conflict and reality. Rather, it brings a whimsical sense to the film that keeps the audience on their toes in a positive way.

#submission

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starlight-loki · 3 years

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Precautionary Surveillance (Loki x Reader)

Or, That Time You and Loki Became Friends

Word Count: 2.8k

Warnings: none :)

A/N: this is platonic (and gender neutral! :D )

As this is my first imagine, I kind of just wanted to establish how the reader first meets Loki, but I’ve got plenty more fluff in the works! ;)

also this takes place post-Ragnarok, but Infinity War doesn’t exist here, shHHHH

Despite the long list of risks and expectations that came with living with the Avengers in their compound, you never thought that babysitting Loki would be included. And yet, a mere two weeks after having moved into the compound, Tony sheepishly approached you with the news.

He didn’t word-for-word call it ‘babysitting’ of course, but you knew it was definitely implied.

“Think of it as... precautionary surveillance.” Tony had explained to you that morning as he packed a small backpack, supposedly containing enough supplies to last for a week-long mission. “Or if that’s too much, just be normal roommates. But check in on him every few hours. Make sure he’s not destroying anything. And don’t let him go out. Or to my lab. Or Bruce’s. Or the roof-”

“Okay, I get it Tony,” you rolled your eyes as you heaved out a sigh. “You want me to babysit Loki.”

Tony shrugged, and patted your shoulder empathetically before zipping up his backpack. “Your words, kid. Not mine. Like I said, it’s just precautionary surveillance, we’ll be back before you know it.”

“I don’t understand why you can’t just bring him along with you!” You protested, throwing your hands up in the air. “His fighting skills and abilities would be really useful for your mission, you know that right?”

You were fine with the fact that Tony and Steve weren’t confident enough in your fighting abilities to bring you along on missions just yet -- frankly, you were completely happy staying behind and burying your nose in a book. But now Tony wanted you to babysit Loki, going so far as asking you to log any ‘suspicious activity’ from the god. You thought the entire thing was ridiculous.

“You know why, Y/N.” Tony began sternly, slinging his backpack over his shoulder and starting towards the quinjet hangar. He was walking briskly, and you scowled as you had to practically run after him. “The New York Incident? The two-hundred or so times he’s betrayed Thor? That time he stuck his dad in an old folks home here and just paraded around Asgard in disguise for two years?”

“New York was nearly ten years ago!” You protested. “Look at him now, all he does is putter around the compound in sweatpants because you won’t let him out-”

Tony sighed loudly, cutting you off mid-sentence. “Look, I know you’re new here and you mean well, but we don’t trust him Y/N. Thor dragged him here because Asgard’s gone and there’s nowhere else for them to go, but Loki is not one of us. It’s going to be a damn long time before any of us think anything different of him.”

You glowered at Tony, fighting the tiny glow of anger that sparked in your heart when you heard him talk about Loki like that.

You had stolen glances at Loki last week when he thought no one else was looking, and you knew he was far from the dysfunctional maniac who tried to take over New York all those years ago. Sure, the dysfunctional part may still remain, but he was far from a maniac -- you could see that in his features when he sat on the couch alone that day, flipping through a small worn book.

He looked... lost. Empty almost, as if any possibility of a joyful life had been stripped from him. It hurt your heart to see someone sit with their own melancholy the way Loki did. The fact that no one else in the Compound trusted him -- evident from the fact that you were being put on babysitting duty this instant -- didn’t make things any better.

“Take care of yourself, kid.” Tony said, pulling you in for a fairly awkward one-armed hug. “Keep an eye on Loki, but don’t do anything stupid.”

You frowned. “What does that mean?”

“Just... keep your distance from him.”

Tony’s words brought the image of Loki sitting alone in sadness back to the front of your mind, and you decided right then and there that you were going to do exactly the opposite of what Tony was suggesting.

The first day felt like an eternity. Loki remained in his room with the door shut, and with no one else to chat with and pass the time, time seemed to crawl at an eerily slow pace.

You made pasta for dinner. You figured the sound of pots, pans, and kitchen utensils clanging every now and then as you cooked would summon the lonely Asgardian out of his room to eat at the very least, and you couldn’t help the little sting of disappointment that appeared when you finished your meal as alone as you had been earlier.

After placing your own bowl in the sink, you grabbed Loki’s portion you had set aside and padded down the hall to his room. You tried to ignore the slight tremble in your hand as you knocked on his door.

“Loki?” You asked gently. “You there?”

You were greeted with a faint shuffling noise, but otherwise there was nothing but silence.

“I made you dinner. I haven’t seen you all day, you must be hungry... um... I mean, you don’t have to eat of course if you don’t want to, but I’ll just... I’ll leave this here at your door if you want it. No pressure.”

You felt fire rush to your cheeks as you cursed yourself silently for rambling, and carefully set the bowl of pasta on the floor.

“If you want anything,” you added quickly in a voice that was barely louder than a whisper. “More food, tea, some company... I’m in the other room.”

You stood frozen at Loki’s door for a moment, waiting for any sort of response. Earning nothing but more silence, you nodded to yourself before turning on your heel and heading back for the kitchen.

You looked back over your shoulder before you rounded the corner at the end of the hall, and the pasta bowl was gone. You couldn’t help but smile to yourself.

The second and third day passed much like the first. If it weren’t for the fact that Loki was constantly on your mind, it would’ve felt like you had the entire place to yourself. You would have enjoyed the quiet, but there was a part of you that couldn’t stop worrying about Loki.

After the god failed to leave his room once again, you brought dinner to his door which was hastily accompanied by another short little babble of an invitation to join you in the living room if he wished. Just like day one, you were greeted with silence and a meal that vanished out of the hall just before you turned the corner.

On the fourth day, you couldn’t get Loki out of your head no matter how hard you tried. Was he lonely? Bored? Did he sleep the entire day? Did he even sleep at all? The rooms in the Compound were just about the same: spacious, yet minimal in decoration. Everyone got a TV and a small bookshelf in the corner, but that was about it. Judging by the fact that Tony and the rest of the Avengers weren’t allowing Loki to leave the Compound, you figured he probably didn’t have much for entertainment.

Before you could convince yourself otherwise, you dashed off to your beloved little bookstore in the city. You ransacked the shelves for anything you felt Loki would’ve liked, as well as books you adored and would’ve wholeheartedly recommended to anyone else. If Loki was going to spend all day in his room, he deserved to have new books to keep him company, at the very least.

Two hours later you returned home, your shoulder aching from the countless books that were weighing you down in the best way, and to your surprise you found Loki with his back to you in the kitchen.

Was he... doing the dishes for you?

You dropped your tote bag of books to the ground in surprise, and Loki flinched almost imperceptibly at the dull thud that echoed throughout the open space of the Compound.

“Hi,” You managed breathlessly as the god turned and looked at you with wide eyes for the briefest second. You blinked, and just like that Loki had regained his cool composure. “You’ve finally come out of your room.”

Loki opened his mouth to reply, his eyes scanning the room as he searched for an excuse. After a moment of silence, he sighed.

“Thank you for the meals. I appreciate it.”

You took off your coat and hung it on the chair as you approached him. Your heart sank ever so slightly as you caught Loki take the smallest step back.

“Of course, I mean... we all gotta eat right?” You laughed quietly and looked away as you ran a hand through your hair. “You don’t have to clean up, I can do that.”

“It was the least I could do in return.”

The silence that grew between the two of you seemed to amplify with every passing second. Loki nodded, almost out of resignation, and began to walk back to his room without a word.

Now was your chance, if you wanted to make him feel welcome like you had hoped to.

“Wait!” Your voice came out more as a squeak and you tried your best to ignore the fire that rose to your cheeks. “I, uh, I got these for you.”

As you bent down to retrieve your fallen bag of books, you heard quiet careful steps as Loki approached you cautiously. He kept his distance, but leaned a little closer to you as you began laying all the books out on the table for him to see.

“I picked out a few books I’ve read and love dearly. I figured you could give them a try. And... I, uh, saw you reading Shakespeare last week, so I thought you might like these two.” You gestured to the novels closest to him. “They’re Ancient Greek tragedies.”

You glanced at Loki, and noticed how he picked up Oedipus Rex and began flipping through the pages carefully, as if the book were to vanish from his hands at any moment.

“I’ve never read this one before,” Loki mused quietly. Your heart skipped a beat as his steady gaze moved to meet your eyes. “When would you like me to return these to you?”

You blinked in surprise. “They’re for you to keep.” You smiled. “I bought them for you.”

You watched as gratitude, then confusion, then what almost looked shame flash across Loki’s features. He almost seem to clutch the book tighter in his grip.

“...Why?”

You pulled out the chair that you were leaning against and sat down with a sigh as you looked up at Loki.

“I don’t like how everyone’s been treating you.” You admitted quietly.

“So this is out of pity?” Loki asked cooly, nodding at the books on the table with narrowed eyes.

“No!” You exclaimed, shaking your head rapidly. “No, Loki, that wasn’t my intention at all. I mean, I’ve only been here two weeks and I could see immediately that everyone keeps their distance from you. You’re not allowed on missions-”

“Neither are you.” Loki cut in. You dismissed him with a wave of your hand.

“Yeah, but I’m the weakest link at the moment. I don’t count.” You replied quickly, trying your best to ignore the intrigue on Loki’s face as he gazed at you. “I saw you last week, reading your book. You looked so lonely. I thought maybe you just wanted some space, but I’ve noticed how the others treat you. Tony and everyone else, they leave you out of everything! They don’t try to include you in conversations at dinner, you wear the same two pairs of clothes everyday because no one’s bothered to get you any decent clothes besides sweatpants. Hell, Tony kept me off this mission to babysit you and it makes me so mad! You’re an adult! You deserve your own freedom, Loki!”

You slammed your hand down on the table in frustration, and winced as your words replayed in your head. You definitely went overboard this time. You should’ve just given Loki the books and left.

You were certain Loki was going to retreat back to his room as he moved away from you and around the table, but to your surprise, he sat down in the chair across from you, his hands clasped carefully together.

“Perhaps Stark is right, this is what I deserve.” He said quietly, breaking the silence that resided between the two of you. “I haven’t exactly been... welcoming to anyone.”

You shook your head. “You lost Asgard, your family... Thor brought you here with the intention of this being your new home. The least everyone could is treat you like a person, not a hostage. This isn’t a prison. You deserve so much more than that.”

“They don’t want me around.” Loki said simply.

“I do.” You held his gaze unwaveringly, and reached out to place your hand gently over his. To your surprise, he didn’t pull away. “I want you around. You matter to me.”

Loki sighed, his eyes fluttering closed for a brief second as he took in your words.

“Thank you.” He spoke slowly. “Your words -- and your actions -- mean more than anything Stark or anyone else has done in the time I’ve been here.”

You smiled in response, giving his hand a gentle squeeze before pushing his books towards him.

“You’ve got plenty of things to do while you’re in your room now.” You grinned nodding towards the books on the table. Anyone else would’ve missed it, but you caught Loki return your smirk for a split second.

“I think I would prefer to read my books out here... with company.”

The following day was nothing like the others. To your surprise, Loki greeted you with a small smile from his spot on the couch as you trudged bleary-eyed into the kitchen to prepare breakfast.

“You look tired.” He remarked quietly as you began searching the cupboards for something to eat. You managed a shrug.

“I don’t sleep that great most nights.” You admitted. You heard Loki get up from the couch, setting his book down on the coffee table gently before approaching you. He still kept some distance -- the kitchen counter did a good job of separating the two of you -- but he leaned in, almost grateful to be in the presence of someone who truly saw him.

“Me neither.” Loki chuckled. “Thor sleeps like the dead, but I rarely sleep well. That’s how my love for books began, actually.”

“Me too!” You exclaimed excitedly. “I’d stay up reading till 1 or 2 AM some nights as a kid. I’d have to use a flashlight and hide under the covers so I wouldn’t wake anyone up.”

That earned a genuine laugh from Loki, whose smile suddenly began to look like sunshine in your eyes.

“I used magic to see in the dark, but hiding under the covers was the only way I could read at night without waking Thor up.”

“You shared a room with Thor?”

Loki nodded, scoffing a little. “My mother thought it would help reinforce our bond as brothers. A lot of good that did.”

You leaned in towards him, your posture mirroring his as you rested your arms against the kitchen counter.

“Thor still loves you.” You said quietly, a small smile touching your lips for a brief moment. Loki rolled his eyes.

“Sure he does.”

“No, really. He wouldn’t have brought you here to live with him if he didn’t. You guys got here before me of course, but I’m sure he had to pull a lot of strings to get Tony to agree to have you live in the Compound.”

There was that silence again, like the day before, settling down gently between the two of you. You lowered your gaze to your hands.

“Sorry. I meddle too much. I should stop.”

This time, it was Loki who placed his hands over yours gently.

“No,” he replied softly. “You speak your mind, I admire that. It shows you have strength.”

“I don’t always feel strong.” You admitted quietly.

“Only the foolish admit their own strength.” Loki whispered.

“...Does that mean Tony’s a fool?”

“Your words, not mine.”

A laugh bubbled up out of you at Loki’s words, and as your eyes met his, you noticed the loneliness you had seen before was gone.

In their place was the warmth of a thousand suns.

The two of you stood there, hands intertwined almost as if to keep the other afloat. Loki’s hands made yours seem small, but his were warm and soft and surprisingly gentle.

You closed you eyes, taking as much of this moment in as you could.

“I wish they’d let you outside.” You sighed quietly. “There’s so many shops and restaurants I think you’d like. You’d love Central Park, too.”

Loki frowned. “When is everyone due back?”

“In two days. Why?”

You got a smirk in response. “Let’s go now.”

You let out a surprised laugh at Loki’s suggestion. It thrilled you to see this side of him.

“We can’t! Tony’s got cameras around the building, he’ll see us if we leave.”

Butterflies filled your insides for a brief moment as Loki suddenly winked at you. He raised his hand, which had begun to glow with a green hue, before snapping his fingers. Green sparks flashed briefly from the windows as he did so.

“I believe Stark will be needing to replace his cameras once everyone returns. Where do you suggest we go first?”

#loki #loki x reader #loki imagine #loki laufeyson x reader #loki hc #loki headcanon #the avengers #tony stark #platonic #loki x gender neutral reader #loki oneshot #marvel imagine #mcu loki #the avengers imagine #thor ragnarok

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disturbedbydesign · 3 years

Text

The Widow and the Wolf - Chapter 3

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x dark!exWidow!reader

Summary: After Natasha Romanoff took down the Red Room, the former Widows scattered to the wind. Raised to be a killing machine and released into the world with nothing and no one, you decided to use your newfound autonomy to take down the bad guys of your choosing. But now Natasha is riddled with guilt for leaving you on your own. She wants to recruit you, rehabilitate you, make you part of a team again. But the rest of the squad has reservations, and no one is more against you than Bucky Barnes.

Warnings: Graphic violence; Mentions of domestic violence, rape, pedophilia, human trafficking, child sex trafficking; eventual Dubcon (not Bucky); eventual smut; slow(ish) burn enemies-to-lovers. [More warnings will be added as necessary but these are the Big Bads.] 18+ only, no minors.

If you prefer to read on AO3, you can do so here.

Chapter Three

If you had a home, it would be Bucharest, even though you despise the place. It was the first place you went when you got free, because you know he’s here somewhere, conducting his evil machinations from the shadows, shielded by layer after layer of vile men across the globe doing his dirty work. There are plenty of men out there deserving of your particular brand of justice, but no one more so than the Viper. Sometimes you think that, if you can just find him and take him out, you might be able to move on—try to make a normal life for yourself, whatever that looks like. You don’t allow yourself to think about what will happen if you finally achieve your life’s goal and it’s still not enough for you.

You remember everything about the day you learned of the Viper’s existence. You were just 7 years old, one of many little girls packed into a shipping container. You had no idea how long you’d been in there or how long you would be in there. It smelled rancid, and there was never a moment of quiet. Most of the girls were screaming or crying, but a few (like you) were silent, just observing. You don’t know who sold you from your orphanage and shipped you off to Dreykov and you never will. What you do know is that you had no family to miss and no one to miss you, so you didn’t understand what the others were so upset about. From the very beginning, you adjusted to life as a Widow almost effortlessly, which is its own form of tragedy.

Others, though, they were stolen away from people who loved them. This seemed a foreign concept to you when you heard about it from the tiny, sobbing girl huddled next to you in the shipping container—the girl who told you about the Viper, the girl who would become your first and only friend until Dreykov took control of all of your minds. Once you were given the serum, your memories were locked up inside your own heads—none of you could have talked about your past lives even if you’d wanted to. Your words were not your own. You didn’t know what was real and what was planted there. Sometimes you still don’t, and nothing terrifies you more than that.

You have no idea how many little girls the Viper funneled to Dreykov over the years, but it was probably a decent amount. His real bread and butter had always been sex trafficking, and he’s still doing it—on an even larger scale if your intel is correct (which, of course, it is). But he won’t be operating for much longer, not now that you’re so close you can almost taste the venom. You were barely 8 years old when you decided you would kill him, and now you have your chance. You are so close, closer than you’ve ever been, but he keeps slithering out of your grasp. And so you’re in Bucharest, again, looking for answers, again. But you have other business, too—almost as important, if not more so.

You head to the safehouse on the outskirts of the city. The building doesn’t look like much on the outside, but you’ve made sure the inside is comfortable enough for the women and children who live there. The matron greets you at the door and you hand her this month’s envelope, which contains enough cash to feed everyone for the next two months, keep the lights and the water on, and some extra to fix the plumbing issues that have been plaguing the building since you bought it.

The building can house about 40 people comfortably—it’s not nearly enough, and you’re determined to create as many safe spaces as you can, but it’ll do for now. For now, you have to select your charges according to a very strict criteria: they are all women and children (and the children of women) who have been bought and sold by the Viper. Some of them escaped on their own; some of them had assistance from you and the very few people you trust in the city. But all of them have suffered, and all of them have information that you need. Individually, it’s not much, but the more women you talk to, the more pieces of the puzzle you have to work with.

Besides for the cash drop, today you’re here to see the newest resident: Irina, a 19-year-old beauty your Bucharest contacts had managed to snatch from one of the sex clubs. Irina was delivered to the Viper at 12, and her life since then has been an endless nightmare that you can’t think about for too long without feeling physically ill. She’s sitting by the window in the living room, cupping a steaming mug of tea, when you approach her. You walk towards her slowly, and when Irina looks over at you, there is recognition in her eyes even though you’ve never met.

“You’re the Widow,” she says.

“Not anymore,” you reply. “But if that’s what you’d like to call me, go ahead. May I sit?” She gestures to the seat opposite her and you settle in for a chat. “I’d like to ask you some questions, Irina. Is that ok?”

“The others told me you’d be coming.” She speaks softly, her voice hoarse from screaming or crying or both. “I know what you’re trying to do. You’ll never catch him, you know.”

“I disagree,” you say, “but I need more information.”

“Alright,” she agrees, “if you think it will help,” and you begin the gentlest of interrogations.

Irina tells you that for the first several years after she was taken, she hadn’t heard anyone mention the Viper. She thinks that a lot of the girls probably knew about him or came directly from him, but no one would talk about it because it was too dangerous or traumatizing (or both). Things were different at her last club, though. When you ask her how many of the girls at Delirium knew about him, she tells you that several of them had passed through him somewhere along their journey. One of them—one far too young to be working there—even admitted that she’d been with him only two months earlier.

Finally, after all this time, you’ve got a clear line from point A to point B. You feel it in your bones that Delirium holds the answers, that if you can just get in and poke around a bit, you’ll be able to find him. You take Irina’s hands in yours and thank her for her help, and then you hear it: heavy footsteps coming down the hall. No woman or child in the building weighs enough to make a sound like that, and no men are allowed on the premises. You know who it is before you see him.

*****

Bucky watches you enter the building from his position on the roof across the street. His contact had told him that there were whispers of a Widow safehouse at this address, though no one would dare set foot within 10 blocks of the place to find out. Bucky doesn’t believe the rumor, though. He knows you work alone, that you pride yourself on it. He assumes this is just one of many places where your targets meet their ends, and he knows enough about Bucharest to know that there are a lot of men in this city who fit your modus operandi.

Still, something is off. It’s not an empty building. There have been women and children coming and going all morning, and nearly all the apartments seem occupied. Why would you choose to do your dirty work in a place with so much activity, with so many innocents around? That seems not only impractical but beneath even you. He’s lost in these thoughts, checking each window with his binoculars, when he settles on a beautiful young girl staring out the window, looking desperately sad. She turns to look at someone he can’t see, and then he sees you emerge from the shadows and take a seat opposite her.

There’s a softness to your face—a gentle kindness—that knocks the wind out of him. Bucky can’t take his eyes off of you, analyzing your body language and facial expressions to try to figure out what the hell is going on. This is the last thing he expected to see, and he tells himself that this woman must be hiring you for a job—except the woman is nothing but a broken child and doesn’t look like someone who would be taking out a hit on somebody (and certainly not someone who could pay for one).

It’s unnerving, watching you this way, and Bucky is no longer sure that what he’s doing is right. There’s something about your interaction with this girl that makes him feel like a voyeur, witnessing an intimate moment that he should not be seeing but that fascinates him nonetheless. Still, he’s here, you’re his mission—albeit one he took upon himself—and he needs to finish it. By this time, Natasha and Steve are almost certainly on their way, and Bucky needs to get to you before they show up. He went rogue and committed to this plan; now he just has to execute it. He’ll deal with the consequences later.

Bucky makes his way across the street and around the back, where children’s toys litter the small yard of weeds and dirt. When he gets to the back door, he notices that it isn’t the usual ancient rusted lock that one finds on the old buildings in this neighborhood; it’s brand new tech. There’s a pretty decent security camera setup around the building, too.

What the hell is this place?

Bucky has two choices: he can rip the door off the hinges, or he can scale the building and climb in the open window on the top floor. You’re going to be homicidally pissed either way, so he might as well not destroy any property—you may be a monster, but the other tenants here look like civilians, and he doesn’t want to sacrifice their security in his quest to bring you in.

Bucky makes it into the building and weaves his way through the hallways. Along the way, he runs into a few women, and each one of them freezes when they see him. They are shocked and deathly afraid—a look he knows far too well—and they scurry back to their apartments and lock the doors. With his hair cut short, baseball cap pulled down, and leather jacket and glove hiding his prosthetic, it doesn’t seem possible that all of these women would immediately recognize him as the Winter Soldier. That’s what it feels like to him, though, and it’s a gut-punch sensation he does not like at all.

When he gets to the sitting room, the girl you are with has the same look of terror, and for a moment, so do you. But you snap back to yourself quickly—having gone from soft to terrified to hostile within a span of about 15 seconds. Before he can react, you stomp towards him, grab him by the jacket, and hiss, “Not here.”

Bucky hears you speak to the girl in Romanian, “Don’t be afraid, Irina. He’s a friend,” although he knows you think him anything but.

The second you get him into the hallway, you’ve got your knife to his throat. Even with your cold blade nicking his skin, Bucky fights the impulse to disarm you. He doesn’t want to fight you. He knows that he’s intruded on something here, though he doesn’t know what, and he actually feels guilty. He could break you in half if he wanted to, but he lets you pin him to the wall—lets you feel like you’re in control.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” you growl.

“You know why I’m here,” Bucky replies, but he doesn’t know—not really, not anymore. “What is this place?”

“It’s somewhere safe,” you say, “or it was until you showed up. No boys allowed, Soldat. Time to go.”

You catch him off guard when you flip him around and throw him through the nearest door, and before he can regain his balance, you kick him straight through the window and into the yard two storeys below. The fall is nothing to Bucky, and he knows that you know that, but it certainly made a statement. He looks up at the broken window he’d just crashed through and sees you peering out with a satisfied smile on your face.

Bucky calls up to you, “I just want to talk.”

“Bullshit,” you snap.

“I mean it,” he says, and he actually does. “You can pick the place.”

He watches as you consider his offer, weighing your options—you obviously don’t trust him, but it’s clear that the sanctity of this location is important to you. Now that he’s violated it, you can’t just let him wander off. You agree to meet with him that evening—in public, at a club in Old Town.

“Come alone, Soldat,” you call down to him, “and if you tell anyone about this place, I’ll throw you out a higher window.”

Bucky tries to hide his tiny smile but he knows you see it, just like he sees the little quirk of your lip just before you disappear. He hoists himself off the ground and brushes himself off. When he turns to leave, he sees a little girl holding hands with her mother. He has no idea how long they’ve been standing there, but the girl is pointing and giggling at him.

The little girl asks, “What happened to him, mama?”

“The Widow’s bite,” she replies.

*****

“He’s not going to hurt her, Natasha,” Steve says as he prepares the Quinjet for landing.

“She might not give him a choice,” she replies, strapping herself in. “What the hell was he thinking coming here alone?”

“I don’t know,” Steve says. “There’s something about this girl that’s really gotten under his skin.”

Natasha looks at Steve, asking the question with her eyes she wouldn’t dare say aloud, and he picks up what she’s putting out.

“He’s not the Winter Soldier anymore. All of that programming… it’s gone. You know that. He’s just Bucky now.”

Natasha nods in agreement, but a part of her still has questions—not whether the deprogramming worked, she knows that it did, and she trusts Bucky with her life. No, Natasha’s concern is what is going on inside Bucky’s head. He was doing well, he was adjusting, he was finally ok, but the existence of you seems to have triggered something in him that the words never had. The words made him cold and empty and ready to comply, but you—you make him think, and Natasha knows how dangerous it can be to dwell too much on things you’ve left in the past.

When Steve and Natasha arrive at Bucky’s old apartment, it’s empty, but there are small signs of life—the indent of a head on the pillow on the floor in the corner, an apple core just starting to brown. He’s been there, and recently. Natasha and Steve don’t know who he would still have contact with in Bucharest, so they are left with nothing to go on. Bucky knows how to cover his tracks, and he left them just enough crumbs to get them to Bucharest but not enough that they could find him when they got there.

“He wants us to trust him,” Steve says, “to wait for him to bring her back here.”

“I can’t just sit around waiting for something to happen, Steve. I have a really bad feeling about this.”

“So what do you suggest we do?” Steve asks.

Natasha sighs and looks out the window. “I have no idea,” she replies, and that’s when she sees it: a piece of graffiti spraypainted on the wall of a building down the street—a coiled snake ready to strike.

The memory hits Natasha like a freight train. She knows that symbol. She knows what it means. She knows exactly who you’re looking for and it seems absurd to her now that she hadn’t thought of it before.

“Let me make a call,” she says. “I think I know why she’s here.”

#bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes smut #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes #sebastian stan #dark!reader #dark!fic #the widow and the wolf

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wondernimbus · 4 years

Text

play pretend — draco malfoy

pairing: draco malfoy x female!reader

prompt: in which two people are forced into marriage; reader falls in love. draco doesn’t.

a/n: hi listen to the song dusk til dawn if you wanna get into ur feelings while reading this .. anyways enjoy!!!

No matter how much Draco tried to deny it, part of her had always known that unwanted feelings lingered. Feelings from the past that should have been left there but weren’t—feelings that shone through during the most intimate moments; underneath bed covers, when Astoria’s name would slip past his lips instead of hers, or afternoons spent out by the garden when she would catch his eye and find him looking at her in a way that made it so painfully obvious that he was trying to find something in her that he could love.

The first time his and [Y/N]’s families had ever met, Narcissa Malfoy had pulled her away from the dining table to tell her in a voice of caution about a girl named Astoria Greengrass; the very same one Draco had fallen in love with during his time at Hogwarts. The girl came from a wealthy family, but one that was not wealthy enough—her blood was pure but her name not as well-respected as that of the Malfoys’ (word had leaked of an early ancestor having married a Muggle). Simply put, she was, though close to it, not good enough for Draco. The history of her family line and her insufficient wealth just couldn’t make the cut; Astoria Greengrass wasn’t good enough to wed into the Malfoy family—regardless of how much Draco claimed to have felt for her.

And so Astoria and Draco’s story ended with tragedy; with separation and arranged marriages to anyone but each other. Astoria wedded a man of her status; someone who could afford to marry her, and Draco to [Y/N], who had never known love until she met him—the very person who couldn't feel the same for her.

She'd wedded Draco fully aware that mutual feelings of affection were the last of any of their families' concerns. As long as no Muggle blood besmirched each others' family trees and the purity of blood was carried on further into newer generations, petty things like love hardly mattered.

Except somewhere along their forced time together in a lonely manor by the countryside—a dowry from her family to the Malfoys—[Y/N] began to look at Draco as less of the man who had been forced into marriage with her and more of a man she could learn to love. And so she did; she learned and loved and found a comfort in him that she had never been expecting to. It took time, yes, but once she took that courageous step and the floor gave out underneath her feet and she fell for Draco faster than she could even blink, she couldn't stop.

Because once you start to love someone, you are done for. You won't be able to pull yourself back out.

Maybe that's why Draco can't forget that one Astoria Greengrass. Maybe that's why he can't quite look at [Y/N] the way she wants him to. Maybe it's why, when [Y/N] foolishly tells him "I love you" in hopes that maybe this time he'll say it back, he doesn't.

[Y/N] wants to be angry. She wants to be able to grasp Draco’s shoulders, shake him to his senses and scream at him to forget Astoria, you can never have each other but you have me and I love you and I want you to be able to say the same for me so please just let go of her. But to set her pride aside and ask something like that of him takes plenty of courage��courage that [Y/N] isn’t entirely sure she has.

So she sits and pretends like everything is fine. Tells herself that the man she loves loves her back when she knows he doesn’t. And he knows it too.

Playing pretend—she’s gotten quite good at it over time.

—

When Draco holds her at midnight and presses himself close to her, it's like he's trying to imprint himself onto her very skin, trying to ingrain part of himself onto every inch of her body he can reach. And in a way, he does, in patches of faint red and purple and dark blues that mark her skin wherever his lips go.

They almost never talk at night. They're much too busy wrapped up in each other's arms and legs to bother with words. [Y/N] threads her fingers through his hair and pulls him in and Draco kisses her so hard it's like he's trying to make up for everything that he can't give her; kisses with passion that isn't quite driven by love but rather desperation for something—someone—he can't quite have.

And it hurts because [Y/N] knows that when Draco groans into her mouth and tightens his grip on her waist and glides his lips down her skin, it's not her face in his head. And it's not her name that leaves his lips, either, when the night progresses and they are drunk in one another's touch.

But [Y/N] is okay with it—or so she tells herself.

She has Draco. She's happy. She loves him, even though he doesn't. She is happy.

She has to be.

—

Jealousy.

That's what [Y/N] feels.

[Y/N] has never met Astoria Greengrass but she is pathetically jealous of her. She is jealous of everything about Astoria that Draco fell in love with, whatever that might be. And it's ridiculous because she doesn't even know what she looks like or how she is; all that [Y/N] knows about her is that she must truly be something else to have captured Draco Malfoy's heart and to still have it in her hands after all of this time.

An arranged marriage and a year forced apart—you'd think that that would be enough for Draco to move on.

They've been together for a while. Draco still looks at her like he's not really seeing her. He doesn't love her, and [Y/N] isn't exactly sure he ever will. Every day she wakes and hopes that by some miracle he has opened his eyes and has begun to finally see past the future she knows he still fantasizes about with Astoria, but that is yet to happen. For now [Y/N] is helplessly in love with a man who has his heart set on someone else.

And at some point she has become angry, but not at Draco nor the woman he loves—no, she is angry at herself. She catches sight of herself in the mirror and hates what is staring back at her. She goes up to her reflection and frowns and contemplates what it is she's missing. If the sight of her own face is revolting to herself, then it is no doubt that others feel the same way—including Draco��and is that why he can't love her? Because of how ugly she is? Or is it how she acts? How she speaks, how she laughs, how she smiles, how she is?

Whenever Draco disappears to "clear his head" and [Y/N] is left alone, she finds that the manor is too small to hold the vast amount of nothingness spilling out of her at the seams, so she goes out into the highest balcony that overlooks the sea and breathes in as much of the salty breeze as she can until the feeling in her chest doesn't quite feel as suffocating anymore.

It's not the marriage she'd been hoping for all of those years ago when she was a naive child who believed in fairy tales and happy endings. But at the very least, she loves. And she is grateful to Draco for allowing her to know what that feels like, even when he can't quite give it back to her.

—

But hearts are made of soft things, tissue and blood and muscle. Things that break and wound easy. Things that tend to scar instead of heal. There is only so much you can do until a human reaches breaking point and their heart gives away, and [Y/N] finds herself one Thursday evening with blood dripping down her knuckles and shards of glass scattered on the floor.

"What happened?" Draco's voice is soft, imploring, almost loving but not quite. It's always almost. Almost what [Y/N] wants. Almost how a husband should love his wife. Almost.

"Tripped," [Y/N] winces. Draco kneels down in front of her from where she's sitting on the toilet, hands gently caressing her own to inspect her blood-smattered knuckles. It's a terrible excuse; how do you trip and punch a mirror?

But Draco doesn't question it, and [Y/N] doesn't have to tell him that she'd looked into the mirror and despised what she saw so much that she'd been overcome by an irrational anger and began to beat her fists against her own reflection until the glass splintered and the skin of her wrists did so along with it.

Draco tells her to wait, so she does, sitting in the cold bathroom by herself with blood dripping down her knuckles onto the floor until Draco comes back with a cloth in one hand and a pouch of healing ointments in the other. Once he's cleaned up the mess on the floor, he kneels in front of her again and, quietly, gently, he begins to wipe the blood from her hands.

"Does it hurt?" Draco murmurs. His brows are drawn in the middle in a slight frown as he tries his hardest not to press too hard. He pauses and looks up at her, and his eyes are gentle, almost loving. Almost.

[Y/N] forces out a painful laugh. "Nothing I can't handle."

A smile tugs on the edges of Draco's lips. "As expected."

Then he quietly resumes nursing her wounds, and [Y/N] doesn't realize that she has started crying until she tastes the tears on her lips. Draco notices but doesn't say anything.

And because she is pathetically in love and she wants him to feel the same, when the cuts on her wrist have been bandaged and Draco is tucking away all of the tubes of ointment in his pouch, saying something about being more careful the next time (even though the both of them know fully well that her tripping was an excuse), [Y/N] tries again and says, "I love you."

Draco freezes for nothing more than a split-second, but [Y/N] notices—her gaze is fixed on him intently, helplessly trying to gauge a reaction that part of her knows won't come. But she wishes it would.

Her wishes are unheard. Draco nods, turns his head just a fraction of an inch to look at her out of the corner of his eye, and offers her a sad smile.

Almost.

—

"No, listen to me, Draco—I am TIRED!"

"And you don't think I am?"

"I know you love her—Merlin, of course I know, I see it every time you look at me—but I'm asking you to try to love m—"

"You say it like it's easy."

There is a sob rattling in the back of her throat. [Y/N] swallows it back down and turns away from Draco like he hasn't already seen the absolute mess of tears on her cheeks.

Draco stares out of the window, jaw taut and his fists clenched so tight at his sides his knuckles have gone a ghostly white.

"I knew we were getting married but I never expected much beyond a sealed contract and an agreement between our families—I never expected to fall in love with you but I did so here I am now asking you to do the same for me."

A beat of silence. "You're not her."

Another swallowed sob. A brand new fissure in her heart that joins the thousands of others. "I'm sorry."

More silence. Then: "I am too."

And then Draco leaves first, because he always does.

—

Their fights don't last long. Days follow and Draco and [Y/N] go about as they always do, pretending like the gaping void between them isn't there. Whenever night comes, Draco will roll over and press a quiet kiss to the back of [Y/N]'s shoulders, snake one hand around her waist, and whisper I'm sorry, and [Y/N] will turn and drag her lips against his until Draco captures them in his own and they are stuck in that endless loop of want again.

Draco kisses the breath out of her and she kisses him back. Kisses him enough to make up for those few terrible minutes of anger she'd accidentally let loose days ago. Kisses him with love, with passion—with everything Draco doesn't have.

When she gasps for air and Draco pulls away and trails his lips down her neck, leaving a trail of what feels like pure flame behind in his wake, she digs her nails into his shoulders and holds him in place. In a strained voice she says: "Look at me."

He doesn't. Draco kisses her throat and against her will she sucks in a desperate, shuddering breath, and the air sounds like Draco's name. "Look at me, Draco," she repeats, fingers pressing into his skin more insistently.

This time he stops and pries his lips away from her skin and hovers over her, eyes searching hers.

"When you're with me," she begins, eyes dark, breath coming quick, "I want to be the only one inside your head. I want you to look into my eyes and see only me."

His grip on her waist tightens; her hands twist unsteadily in his hair, gaze clearing just a tiny bit as she says, "Please."

And then he is dipping down to kiss her again, lips parted, breath rough. Somewhere in between their almost frantic kisses he whispers a response, and [Y/N] is much too lost in the feeling of his skin on hers but she thinks that Draco might be breathing words into her skin. They sound like apologies—sound like I'm sorry, sound like Astoria.

[Y/N] throws her head back as Draco brushes his lips over the curve of her collarbones and whispers something audible this time, and this time it sounds like I'll try. Feels like hope. Feels like a door opening to something.

Feels, for the first time, something more than almost.

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whump-town · 3 years

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The Unforgiving Tide

Today I got my first dose of the Covid vaccine so to celebrate I wrote Mortch h/c because I love it and I can't help it. It's also centered around one of my favorites-- Route 66 so enjoy the pain assholes

No warnings or anything just the normal stuff

Derek Morgan knows one thing for certain and that is that there is absolutely no way that anything about love is a choice. The absolute light of his life, the person who puts a pep in his step and gets him through the day is Penelope Garcia and that is who he would choose. Day in and day out, it is Penelope and he loves her to the ends of the Earth but love, as Derek has come to understand it, is very much so not about choices. Rarely is it ever the easiest and that’s, of course, the option Derek has been given. Because while Penelope fancies the worst type of men and the prettiest women Derek gets her polar opposite.

Which is strange because he knows he’s heard somewhere that love like his balances out in some ways-- that Aaron and Penelope should have more in common. But Aaron looks like if the Grim Reaper walked among them and Penelope as if one person could harness all that is the rainbow. Well… maybe that’s only for straight people and those not screwed by life into falling in love with brooding, silent idiots like Aaron Hotchner.

None of them say it, and he’s acutely aware that he’s mostly the reason why, but it feels strange without Hotch here with them. Dave unflinchingly keeps them moving on, doesn’t push at Derek’s coiling rattlesnake of a mood, but he keeps them in motion. The others need it because this is the part of the job that they stumble over. The part that requires they leave certain things behind. Today it’s Hotch not even an hour after seeing his limp form moved from the conference floor onto a stretcher. When they’d watched for seven and a half minutes as he lay on the floor unresponsive. Deaf to Dave frantically calling out his name, to JJ trying to squeeze his hand to make his fingers curl back around hers.

Derek had sat on the plane looking at all the signs he’d managed to miss. The WebMD page pulled up on his screen so he could flick back and forth between his messages with Aaron and the symptoms listed out on the page. Felt his stomach churn as each symptom made its way into their conversations from the week. How Aaron had known something was wrong but Derek hadn’t, he wasn’t even concerned. He’d let Aaron turn food away and didn’t press on that like he should have. Aaron had told him his blood pressure was low, anxiously rubbing at his fingers and his voice going breathless with his struggle to admit that. Derek had… He’s become blind to the countless, never-ending problems with Aaron’s body and now Aaron’s having emergency surgery for something Derek should have seen. Alone in Virginia while Derek hunts down some girl who likely doesn’t want to be found.

Because Derek hadn’t seen.

He hadn’t known.

“He’ll be okay,” JJ whispers, squeezing his fingers the same way she had Aaron’s. He looks down at their joined hands, hears Dave calling out for Aaron again. Hears the silence of his own thoughts, remembers that he’d just stood there. Maybe the problem isn’t Aaron at all…

Somehow he ends up angry, not at himself, but at Aaron. The doctors are always warning him about things like this. Dips or rises in his blood pressure are detrimental to his body, he can’t regulate his body temperature like a normal person. He has to have so much caloric intake daily. When he doesn’t meet that level he’s playing a very dangerous game with his body. Throw in the anticoagulants that he takes, the Lexapro, the steroids that bombard his body to fight off the arthritis swelling in his right hand. There are so many more and Derek can’t even begin to name them, Aaron can’t either. If he misses a dose their day crashes to the ground.

He needs that medicine to survive and Derek doesn’t need to be told that somewhere along the line this can be accounted for. That he’ll find one too many of something in one of those prescription bottles pushing the cabinet’s ability to stay closed. A doctor’s going to tell him Aaron’s weight has dropped again and they’ll probably put him on some special diet that makes him miserable. Have him choking down thick smoothies choked full of spinach and vitamins and some special blend of chalk.

Where was Derek?

He’s in the kitchen with Aaron, they eat ⅔ of their meals together. Derek checks these things so how did it slip by him? How did he miss something so in his face?

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

Time is very warped but he knows the intensity of the pain eating up his body. Overwhelming heat spreading through him, breaking his skin out in a cold sweat that leaves him shivering and moving wounds that he can’t see but he can most certainly feel. His dry lips part and he grunts, eyelids too heavy to do more than flutter but he can see the blurred outline of someone by his side. Can track pale flesh to where it’s connected to his own.

“Hotch?” a cold hand presses to his face, a finger brushing through a tear that slides down his cheek. “You’re okay.”

That’s not really the question, not the most pressing thing on his mind. Memories tangle in his poor understanding of past and present. Tasers and gunshots and stabbings-- he can’t discern what has happened with what already did. Bits of tragedies creating a confusing web he finds himself ensnared in.

He sees blonde hair, feels those cold fingers ghosting along his skin. “Garcia?” he asks because he needs one solid piece of truth to hold onto. “What happened?” She won’t lie to him, he trusts this blindly. There’s something about the two of them, with or without Derek in the equation, that draws them to one another. A safety he finds in all her brightness, like turning your face to the sun and he is everything that she is not but there is always safety in his shadows. A place she can tuck herself into to escape being known for just a moment and just be.

She squeezes his fingers, bringing feeling to them. The movement is something to focus on, something real where only hazy snippets have made themselves known. “I don’t--” she’s uncertain if she’s allowed to tell him. The risk of upsetting him far larger than her want to please him by telling him. “Everyone’s ok. We’re all okay.”

His hum of understanding comes delayed, his presence of mind slipping. He wants to press on, ask more questions, and know exactly what she means by everyone and what “okay” constitutes. Not because he doesn’t necessarily trust her but because he isn’t sure how many people is everyone. Jack? Did he hurt his own son? Is Emily here? Did he hurt her? What about Dave? He feels distanced from Dave but he won’t forgive himself if he hurt the other man. And what of Derek? Oh… Derek, would she really tell him if he were hurt?

She presses her palm to his forehead, working her fingers through his soft hair. Smiling when he turns into her, closing his mouth and giving in. Stopping this futile fight. “Just rest,” she assures him. “You’re okay.” He thinks, passively as she presses a kiss to his temple and tugs the blankets closer to his chest, that she’s being too tender. Too nice. He hasn’t got the proof just yet but he’s too tired to push for more.

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

Derek goes home as soon as they land in Virginia, he can feel their eyes on his back as he moves to his car without comment. They got Samantha Wilcox and now his job is done, nothing he does anymore has to be something that they see and he cherishes the thirty minutes it’s going to take to get home. Thirty whole minutes to do what he needs to. Cry or scream or punch something and all without Spencer’s sad eyes following him or JJ trying to be supportive. He just wants to feel unabashed and freely, without consequence.

He turns the volume of his CD up, tears form and the last thing he wants to hear are his own sobs. He’s not focused on the music, he just needs something loud and distracting to get him home. The CD starts to play and quickly, harder than what’s necessary he turns it off. It’s Aaron’s and angry tears that he can’t blink away swell in his eyes as he thinks about how much he hates the song “Back In the USSR”. It’s just bad music but Aaron loves it.

And he’s back to thinking about reality and not this bubble of nothing he’s trying to convince himself he has. Aaron’s go-bag is with Penelope but there are other things that he needs that won’t be in there. Derek realizes that he has no idea if the hospital will need Aaron’s other prescriptions or just what all he should bring to the hospital. He really doesn’t know anything at all but home is safe and it’s not the hospital so heads there.

He grabs what he knows Aaron will want.

Aaron’s worn copy of Anna Karenina is sitting on his nightstand, his reading glasses on Derek’s. They once had a case to go in but Derek doesn’t waste time looking for that, just tucks one of the sides into his shirt. He goes to his own dresser and pulls out a flannel. Aaron has plenty of his own, and ones that fit those abnormally long arms of his, but he’ll prefer this one nonetheless. Not that it’s special, it’s just Derek’s. There are other, nonessential, things that he grabs mindlessly trying to think about those stupid lists Aaron’s always making for this exact case scenario but he can’t remember everything.

Derek grows flustered and with a thick sigh, tears swelling in his eyes, he throws himself across their bed. His chest hitches and he moves until his face is in Aaron’s pillow, breathing in that distinct smell of his soap and detergent. This is his fault, isn’t it? He can’t begin to think about how many times Dave warned him something like this would happen. That loving Aaron means things like this and watching his back. That this isn’t fieldwork and he can’t let his guard down the second he thinks the dangers over. And he’d promised Emily when she left he could handle it. He loves Aaron so it shouldn’t be that hard and she’d smiled so sadly when he said that and now he wishes he hadn’t understood why.

His phone buzzes in his pocket and he has half a mind to ignore it. Whatever it is can wait but he doesn’t want to miss anything with Aaron. “Hello?” half his face is still pushed into the bed.

There’s a crackle over the phone, something being moved and Penelope’s voice just slightly distanced. He’s just about to speak again when the sound gets clear. “Sorry!” she offers. “Hotch looked cold so I was fighting the blanket monsters in the closet to save him!” She sounds just breathless enough that he can imagine her standing on her tiptoes trying to fight down a blanket from somewhere too high.

He knows there’s no way Aaron asked for a blanket. “How is he?” Derek asks softly.

Penelope sits herself down in the visitor’s chair and looks over at Hotch. He’s sleeping, hasn’t so much as moved a muscle since he woke up. “Confused,” she sighs. She’s not really sure if he had looked cold but she can’t stand just sitting here and watching so she had to do something and besides, Hotch is always cold.

Derek hums.

“Are you coming?”

The others are all probably there already. He knows he’ll use this trip home as his excuse but he could have asked any one of them to collect these things. They wouldn’t even need him to tell them where things are, wouldn’t even need to be told which things to get. He’s just stalling and he knows it. “Yeah,” he pulls Aaron’s pillow close. Wrapping his arms around it like it’s the body of the man he wishes so badly were here right now. Then Derek could think about something else-- the way Aaron’s legs get tangled in the bedsheets or the fact that he drools when he’s sleeping really, really good.

But Aaron isn’t here.

“Yeah, yeah I’m coming.”

He’s met with tears. Spencer stands before him, shaking the limb of a tree in the wind of a great storm. The kind that would wake Aaron in the middle of the night, enticing him with the sharp whipping sounds and the crashing of distant trash cans. Forcing Derek to wake up shivering, wondering where Aaron’s dragged himself off to. He’s fairly certain he no longer knows how to sleep without Aaron there-- without the feeling of his comfortable weight settled against his hips. Aaron always sleeps so close to him, never more than an arm’s length away.

The tears that hit Spencer’s cheeks are like the fat drops that ping off the windows. The harder ones always startling Aaron until he can self-consciously glance at Derek and see if he noticed. He always does. Spencer pulls his mouth open, moving his jaw like the hinges of an old front door.

“Is he dead?” Derek doesn’t feel up for waiting for all the foolishness of whatever nonsense Spencer’s come up with. Whatever it is that he’s gearing up for can wait, Derek only cares about one thing.

Reid glances to the floor, “I-- I-- He’s, ugh, Garcia’s still back with him.”

Good. Derek squeezes Spencer’s shoulder as he passes but doesn’t say anything. Spencer doesn’t do well with this business, the realization that the people he loves crack. They stumble and they fall and they get hurt and Derek doesn’t feel like lying. Because Aaron is like this a lot and Spencer won’t believe him anyway.

He passes Dave and he gets a good supportive nod. “I called Emily,” Dave tells him. “I think she’d appreciate it if you called her back later.”

Derek nods his head, she’ll likely want to speak to Aaron. He can already hear that argument but it’ll be good for someone to be angry with Aaron. God knows Emily won’t be pleased. It’ll give Aaron something to focus on, an argument to win while everything else falls in around him. Because he already knows Emily’s going to threaten to come home but Aaron won’t let her. Derek smiles as he thinks about that, she’ll wait a week he already knows. In a week she’ll be down here and she’ll be met with one of Aaron’s tired sighs while she vehemently denies she came home to make sure he was really okay.

Derek doesn’t understand why they can’t just say express worry like other people.

Penelope greets him with a tight hug as if she’s squeezing all the bad feelings away. He lets her try but she pulls away and knows she was unsuccessful. “He’s been very well behaved,” Penelope tells him brightly. As if they’re talking about Derek’s mischievous toddler. “Almost… snugly.” He’d let her hold his hand, turning himself in towards the comforting hand she’d placed against his cheek. No one else’s definition of warm but for Hotch that’s… it’s pretty snugly.

“Mmm,” Derek knows he’ll get the moody, if not clingy bits of Aaron but he’ll be okay. “Thank you,” he tells her sincerely, squeezing her hands and sinking into the hug she wraps him into. “He doesn’t like--” he can’t get the rest of the words out, choking on tears. Aaron hates waking up in the hospital. Derek’s seen it enough to know. It’s too disorienting but a familiar face always helps.

Penelope nods, squeezing him. “I know,” she whispers. “I know.”

With a nod, Derek pulls away and he wipes his eyes. Tries to pull himself together but he’s been too angry all day, too on edge to really clean up.

“He’ll be happy to see you,” Penelope says, her bags collected as she’s stepping out.

Derek can only hope that’s true.

He settles down in the visitor’s chair and frowns when he sees how swollen Aaron’s right hand is. He finds the grooves of the joint easily, rubbing at the boney digits mindlessly as he searches the bed for the TV remote. There’s got to be something on the TV. It’s not football season anymore but baseball is on and that’s the best sport according to Aaron. Derek wonders how he ended up with someone who hates watching sports so much but that can make things interesting. But baseball… Aaron hates everything else but won’t complain when Derek puts on baseball of all things.

Aaron makes a soft crackling sound as he wakes, turning his head from Derek, and grunting a half whimper when he can’t pull his hand away from Derek’s hold. He pries his eyes open, mouth too dry to form full words but the sound of his lips touching sounds just enough like Derek’s name for him to smile up at Aaron. His eyes close again, pinched with the pain rolling through his chest and the agitated flames licking at the joints of his right hand. The latter of which Derek is not helping as he rotates his thumb over the swollen skin, digging into hurt like he’s trying to draw blood.

Tenderly, Derek moves Aaron’s fingers to the bed, standing with a groan of his own when the small of his back lights up like timber as he stretches out. He smiles when he sees Aaron’s hazily drugged gaze go right to where his shirt rides up over his hips and blushes furiously when he’s caught. Derek hums to himself, shaking his head but smiling all the same. It’s cute, he thinks as he pours Aaron a cup of water. Very cute, he decides when he finds that the blush hasn’t crept away when he turns back to him.

“Small sips,” Derek directs softly, holding the straw to Aaron’s lips.

The first sip hurts, burns his sensitive throat as it goes down but it creates an insatiable thirst. He greedily pulls at the straw for more until Derek pulls it away from him. If Derek could have it his way, he’d never tell Aaron no but too much water will make him sick. While Aaron looks at him now as if a victim of something truly heinous, he’ll be thankful when he has nothing in his system to throw up when the anesthesia wrecks his stomach.

Derek sits back down and picks Aaron’s hand back up, eyes flicking to Aaron’s when he whimpers at just the gentle touch. Without a word, Derek resumes his rubbing to try and soothe the joints of his hand into some sort of reprise in normal hood. But Aaron’s exhausted and confused, nearly overwhelmed by the drugs and Derek and the weight of his chest, and he whimpers. Tries to pull away again because all he knows is that touching hurts and can’t fathom that it is so much worse when Derek doesn’t wring the pain out.

“Ouch,” Aaron croaks, breathlessly grunting and trying to move his fingers. It’s as pins have been set in the bones and he cries out at this new overwhelming pain. “Please,” he asks Derek, “stop it. Hurts.”

Derek shushes him softly, pouring his attention into willing Aaron’s pain into submission. “You’re okay,” Derek promises. “You’re okay.” But his words do nothing to stop the pain and Aaron just looks back at him. Sad, pained eyes darting over Derek’s face. “It’s okay, Aaron.”

Aaron turns his head, gasping slightly at the way it pulls at the stitches. “Sorry,” he whispers. Looking up at Derek and searching Derek’s face for some inclination of truth. Of what’s happening but he’s certain there’s something to be sorry for. There’s no way he hasn’t done something he shouldn’t have. Pushed something or forgotten it.

Derek wipes the single tear that falls down Aaron’s cheek away with his thumb. “You haven’t done anything wrong,” Derek soothes. “You’re okay.” That seems to work in some small way, Aaron swallowing thickly but not dragging his tired eyes away from Derek’s. Slowly he combs his fingers through Aaron’s hair, pushing back the long strands. With a smirk, seeing the blissed eased way Aaron has fallen back into the pillow at his touch alone, he feels a spark of mischief hit him. He can’t help but smile. “Emily is going to call you later,” he whispers, smiling brighter when Aaron groans. Pinching his face up. Derek rolls his eyes, “you love her.”

Aaron cracks an eye open, setting a drugged sort of haze scowl onto him. “Don’t let her hear you say that.” With a shake of his head, he knows his Aaron’s back, just a grumpy little glimpse but he’s there. Fighting his way through the drugs. “I mean it,” Aaron grumbles. The last thing he needs is Emily getting the idea that he might actually cherish her friendship.

Derek does roll his eyes this time, “if you behave you can buy my silence.”

Aaron cracks an eye open but doesn’t complain. Derek’s going to tell Dave anyhow so it doesn’t matter if Aaron does behave, even though Derek knows he won’t, Emily will hear it. He might even sprinkle something else in there as payback. That what he gets, serves him right for scaring Derek like that. Derek is really going to enjoy watching Aaron get himself out of this hole but for now…

He squeezes Aaron’s wrist, smiling when Aaron turns his head towards him humming just under his breath. “I love you,” Derek confesses softly and it’s rare that he gets a verbal reply but he’s learned to lean into the numerous ways Aaron knows how to say it. And today he doesn’t hear the words back but tomorrow he’ll find a popsicle or a jello cup waiting for him. Aaron’s grumpy scowl lightening when he steps into the room. And Derek will know that Aaron loves him too.

#mortch #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfiction #aaron hotchner #derek morgan

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cina-full-moon-xanadium · 3 years

Text

Kamen Rider.

The original show that started an ever-expanding series of stories; an icon so popular and beloved across Japan; a show that struck such a chord with audiences that it ultimately went on for 98 episodes, the longest a single full-length Tokusatsu show has ever run for.

A show about love, and fighting fascism wherever it may try to harm the human life that is so inherently important and sacred, and the tragedy of being distanced from the very humanity you cherish and fight to protect.

Can I say it fully lives up to that description? ... Not honestly, no. If someone were to come in blindly and say “hey I heard this is a pretty anti-fascist show, do you think I should watch it??”, I couldn’t genuinely recommend more than a handful of episodes and then to just say ‘go read the manga’. I think too often the fandom will elevate the original show so highly as to avoid stating the obvious and what may disappoint a lot of viewers going into it -- all these ideals are indeed there, but it’s through the lens of a 1971 kid’s TV show; one that had to dumb down those elements in order to fit the confines of the time. Furthermore, it is one that exploded in popularity; causing many extensions of the show that had the showrunners constantly coming up with new ideas to revitalise it in a way that was exciting, but not necessarily completely true to its values -- watching a large chunk of the Rider #2 or Ambassador Hell eras will lay that pretty bare. Surprise surprise, the most popular enduring superhero TV icon is not exactly a comprehensive diatribe on the dangers of fascism and the trauma it inflicts!

But that perhaps makes it all the more impressive for what it is able to do? I have gone on at length so many times about how incredible it is that Kamen Rider’s origin comes down to a man fighting a lone battle against fascism; against the organisation that stripped him of his humanity; about a monster who decided to be good fighting against what is essentially his own kind or those stuck in the same situation. And while that backstory isn’t exactly elaborated on a lot past the first 13 episodes, it’s still there! It is, in fact, repeated every single episode at the end of the opening credits! So even when the show is being a lot more generic and used as a sort of depository for whatever monster plot would seem scary or impressive this week, this tragedy still feels present and a part of what drives Kamen Rider’s fight, to me. This is what Goranger was missing for me -- a real message, a real thing the creators were passionate about and wanted to say, no matter how buried or ignored; still shining through the seams. Hongou and Ichimonji’s backstory; the secrecy yet reach of Shocker as a terrifying fascist organisation; the constant kidnapping and remodelling of normal people living in society; the fact that at one point the show had a goddamn Nazi in an eyepatch as the main villain! I can’t claim to know everything Ishinomori was thinking of when he originally wrote Kamen Rider or everything that inspired him, I would feel like a disingenuous liar to claim any motivations; but it all feels like such a real drive someone deeply effected or horrified by these things would want to reach out and warn about and talk about.

In my opinion, there are two stretches of the show that stand out to me more than any other; and if anyone was asking for a condensed idea of what Kamen Rider stands for or just a good idea of the show would be the two stretches (alongside a few other individual episodes) I would personally recommend: the first 15 episodes, and the final fifth of the show from 80-98 that introduces the threat of Gel-Shocker.

Of those first 15 episodes, the first 13 are Kamen Rider at its most absolute raw and truest state. It’s also one where it feels like no-one really knew how to tell a story or make a show -- any criticism you could lobby at Showa Rider about how it lacks subtlety or doesn’t know how to show instead of tell or how the suits don’t feel well-constructed are ramped up to not just 11 but probably, like, 21 or 31 or 1001; it is a pretty hastily constructed thing of a show... but it just makes the passion scream LOUDER. It’s almost like a personal project, something that someone makes at school! This is Shocker at its most threatening and overbearing and Kamen Rider at his most desperate; the story at its most scrambled yet focused. Every line of dialogue leads nothing to the imagination; you are told exactly what is going on and what characters are thinking and feeling with little room for interpretation and janky, lumbering steps into each development. And it’s what most highlights the narrative of what Kamen Rider was made to say? When Ishinomori was finally able to make his manga adaption which goes in a wildly different direction to the show in order to truly say what he wanted, he adapts these first 13 episodes more or less verbatim and I think that says more than I ever could on the subject. As for episode 14 and 15, these are the first episodes of Hayato Ichimonji; Rider #2 and the first in a new era of a show. I’m not the biggest fan of the period this leads into, but the original 2-parter is a very fun time with a lingering sense of desperation to it that also shows for the first time the scale of Shocker’s operations around the world. All in all, the first 15 episodes of Kamen Rider slowly drew me into the show and captured my heart in a way that few Showa Toku have been able to do.

The other period of the show I recommend is Episode 80 onwards -- in other words, the dawn of Gel-Shocker. Up until this point Kamen Rider had slowly but surely devolved into being a pretty basic show; with Shocker in particular going pretty over-the-top with their MOTW plots involving whatever the writers could think of first and wild characters like Ambassador Hell at the helm (he’s seemingly well-remembered but VERY stupid and goofy. It makes him a joy to watch, mind!). I was still enjoying it and was still very much ready to consider it a show I had a lot of love for, and one where the ideals as I said still shone through the darkness; but overall something that wasn’t the best. And then, after a couple ominous allusions to the future; Shocker announces its partnership to Geldam and Gel-Shocker is born. And very much instantly Kamen Rider goes back to its roots in how threatening and dangerous the people Kamen Rider is fighting are; with a far more serious general, plots that seek to strike deep into the heart of Kamen Rider’s life and friends, the downright brutal destruction and killing of every trace of the old Shocker; and a newly refound focus of its infiltration into society and the lives it can ruin. A few episodes aside which still resembled the old show it is very much the Kamen Rider I had heard about and the type of fascist organisation I thought of when I see its reimaginings over the years; and only 10 episodes in begins a tense serialised arc of Kamen Rider having everything stripped away from him as Gel-Shocker not only focuses their efforts on his allies, but introduces the Shocker Riders as a threat beyond anything else that brings excitement beyond anything I’ve seen in this era of television for Tokusatsu. It ultimately all culminates in the final episode, where Great Leader is finally brought to his knees and ends in a sad, suicidal attempt to take out his enemies when everything else has failed; showing how for all his mystery and power, that’s what he amounts to.

There is so much more I could say. There’s so much more I could say about what this original chapter of Kamen Rider means to me on a deeper spiritual level; about the love and respect for life inherent to it; about so many amazing lines like the infamous “Human Life is more important than Peace and Justice”; heck, even about how future movies like Let’s Go Kamen Riders or Kamen Rider 1 make wonderful companion pieces to it and make me love it even more -- but not because of what they add, but because of how they expand on what was there all along. But this piece has already gone on for so long, and I’ve got plenty of nights left in my life to talk about it. Ultimately, it’s a show that’s left with me with so much and has become more important to me than I could imagine.

Thank you, Kamen Rider.

#Riders will always be by your side

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redsplash1 · 3 years

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Alright y’all, I was bored and wanted to ignore my hw, so I made a tier list on everyone’s lore and a quick writeup for each placement. Just an fyi this is my opinion and will most likely change as we get more story content, but right now this is where I stand (no arguing please, or at least nothing that’ll result in name calling and such)

But yeah this is something I’ll probably look back on and be like “hmm maybe I was too harsh with my rankings” but rn it’s like 2:30 in the morning so yeah

TW: mention of abuse in Octane’s section

All of it will be under the cut

S Tier

Bloodhound: Maybe I’m biased because I’m a BH main, but imo their lore is the most interesting and nuanced out of everyone’s. From their parents, to their uncle, to Boone, and now their planet, Bloodhound’s backstory, current lore, and character is fantastic and honestly peak writing from Respawn atm.

Wraith: I understand that not everyone loves the “I lost my memory and am now trying to find out who I am” trope, and maybe this is also biased because I’m a complete Wraith simp, but her lore to me is also very unique and well done. The entire Voidwalker cinematic alone is what’s basically putting her in S tier, but I also love how she is the prime definition of “Looks like they can kill you, but is actually a cinnamon roll” instead of your typical edgy girl that coldly pushes everyone away.

A Tier

Horizon: Interstellar but make it Scottish. She has really nice interactions with Mirage and Wattson, and there’s plenty of potential with where her character can go now that Ash is in the picture.

Gibraltar: While his lore isn’t as flashy like the ones in S tier, I still think it’s really good. For one, it’s consistent, and the stuff with Nik and Michael is very bittersweet. I really like how despite the tragedies in his life, like BH, that only made him more determined to do the right thing. 10/10 he’s got your back bruddahs

Mirage: Respawn’s poster boy, so it’s only natural that he gets a shitload of lore. Fortunately, it’s not shit and actually fleshes him out as a character greatly. I also really like the canon sibling relationship he has with Rampart. Now that his dad may or may not force himself into the picture soon, it’s gonna be more character development for Mirage either way.

Borderline

I’ll explain this tier real quick. Basically they’re between A and B; they have the potential to be great, but they’re being held back by a certain something.

Bangalore: Pathfinder’s Quest did a really good job fleshing her out, but the love triangle and inconsistent behavior towards Wraith isn’t doing her any favors. It’s a shame, because characters like Anita are really unique and not seen often. I can only hope Respawn realizes that no, love triangles are not the peak writing they think it is.

Loba: Same deal here, that love triangle and her rebounding off Valk is really not doing anything good towards her character. They’re adults, are they not capable of communicating? Like Bangalore, she’s also really unique in the sense that she’s a bisexual woman of color in a video game who is a complete girlboss and inspiration. Respawn stop fucking up your characters please!

B Tier

Revenant: He’s really badass, and his lore is fun, it’s just that the writing is making him look like a complete joke. He gets clowned on every time he’s about to do something cool and it’s honestly kinda sad. If the writing could give him a few kills to his name to actually establish that he’s a threat, I’ll put him up higher.

Octane: If this was fanon Octane, he’d be an automatic S tier. Respawn needs to flesh out his backstory some more, like most of the fanfics do. That one comic where he confronts his dad was 10/10, we just need more of that and actually tackling the effects his father’s abuse had on him. Also the potential history he has with Seer is a good opportunity to explore more of his character, so that’s a good start.

Rampart: Just recently she’s getting lore, and all of it is very good so far. The relationships she has with a lot of the legends are very strong, and the foreshadowing towards Big Sister returning is also a huge plus.

Fuse: The Maggie stuff was honestly really fucking lame (I blame the ingame comics for this), for me what’s really carrying his character rn are the Fusehound interactions. Idrc if it ends up platonic or romantic, all Ik is that there is a lot of potential in fleshing out Fuse as a character either way.

C Tier

Pathfinder: Okay I’m not gonna lie, I have conflicted feelings on Path. He got an entire book to himself dedicated to his own lore, along with a cinematic that gave a visual on what actually happened to his creators, and yet I don’t care for his lore??? Thinking about it, it’s probably because he didn’t really get any character development, he ultimately stayed the same (except that one moment where Revenant screwed with him, but he bounced back literally one chapter later). Also, it honestly looks like his story is over anyway, he just has to find his kid. At least his personality is 10/10 though

Lifeline: Y’all are probably thinking, why is Lifeline here and not Octane + vice versa, isn’t their lore basically the same? It’s because imo Octane has more potential character development atm, and Lifeline doesn’t really have any character interactions that don’t have to do with her childhood friend, so that to me is what’s separating her from Octane. Lol again if this were fanon Lifeline she’d probably be in A tier, borderline S tier.

D Tier

Valkyrie: Literally the first thing that happens to her in the lore is that she gets thrown into a love triangle. I understand that it’s in her character to be flirty and stuff, but a love triangle? Really? Ms. Kairi Imahara deserves sm better than that. Honestly the only reason she’s not in F tier is because I like her personality, along with the Northstar cinematic.

Seer: Tbh, there isn’t a lot we know about Seer. However, what we know about him so far isn’t detrimental and for me the reason he isn’t in F tier. The interactions he has so far have the potential to be explored.

E Tier

Wattson: Man. I wish she wasn’t here, but the fact that almost all her lore involves babysitting two grown men really killed her character for me. Fanon Wattson is a million times more enjoyable to me, Respawn needs to seriously consider giving her independent lore and/or branch out to other characters that aren’t Crypto and Caustic.

Crypto: Same thing, the fact that he’s strictly tied to Wattson and Caustic rn is annoying and stupid. It also doesn’t help that literally nothing about his personal lore has been addressed recently (Mila, clearing his name).

F Tier

Caustic: If he were actually established as a proper villain, he’d be way higher. But no, Respawn wants to play rock paper scissors with this guy; one second he literally wants to gas a city, the next he’s playing nice because “Wattson blackmailed him?” Lol I don’t fucking think so. I’m not saying a redemption arc for Caustic is impossible, it’s just that Respawn did a really shitty job in actually convincing people that he deserves it. And yes, even the whole deal with his mom isn’t doing it for me. Nah fuck this guy sorry y’all, he’d be way better as a villain imo

TLDR: Fanon does it better

#apex legends #apex critical #abuse mention #tw abuse

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cherry-interlude · 3 years

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Lana Del Rey Album Songs Ranking (Remade)

It’s been a few years since I ranked all of Lana’s (album) songs so I wanted to do it again. This is all my OPINION, which I’m sure some people might disagree with, but you don’t have to agree with it. This is also a very long post.

Don’t Let Me Be Misunderstood

This cover song is just a little too drab and uninteresting to me, and I never listen to it. After the brilliant, sprawling, sexy, heart-breaking tracks on Honeymoon, this feels like a tacked-on track just to plump up the album. It feels simply like a cover.

For Free

Though this is a well-made song, with three brilliant women owning the track, it again just feels like a cover. It fits in well with Chemtrails, but by the time I get to this song I’ve had my fill.

Breaking Up Slowly

It just feels repetitive and simple, something only to have on in the background while my attention is diverted. It’s a good song and a nice attempt at bringing Lana’s country music in, but it does little to keep me interested.

God Knows I Tried

This song is filler. Jammed between the jazzy softness of Terrence Loves You and the pop favourite High By The Beach, this track just feels like it was sort of shoved in. It doesn’t even feel completely right on Honeymoon, instead a throwaway song that bridges Ultraviolence and Honeymoon whilst not fitting in with either album.

Though perfect for the credits of a Hollywood movie, 24 has plenty of flair but nothing of substance. The lyrics aren’t as imaginative as most of Lana’s music and I’m not surprised this song found itself near the end of the album.

Lucky Ones

Personally, this song irritates me. It's sickly in its lyrics, sugary in the romance and classic Lana tropes of dangerous men and Lana starstruck by them no matter if they’re ‘careless cons and crazy liars’. The little flair of the verses and the overtly sweet chorus really irks me, especially following the brilliance that is Lana’s first ‘Del Rey’ album.

Coachella

It is a rushed track, sounding completely unfinished and hurried with an unconvincing track beat. Polished, it would be brilliant – but it sounds like Lana thought of the song (which sounds promising in the video where she sits in the forest and sings) and had to force it to ‘fit in’ with the trap-pop tracks on Lust For Life. The lyrics are thoughtful, if not cliché, but it could have been done better.

This Is What Makes Us Girls

It just doesn’t appeal to me. Maybe because I can’t connect to the lyrics in any way, I just don’t feel anything when I hear this song and choose to skip it. That being said, the demos are pretty fun.

God Bless America

As much as it’s a song honouring women during a period of time when feminism was being shaken, it doesn’t quite feel like Lana’s heart is in it. The patriotism is uneasy considering she was removing herself from the American flag and its associations, and the anthemic feel never lifts. It’s a sweet song, but never goes deeper than surface level.

Religion

Though fairly sexy and haunting – her unshaken faith to her man, her drawling voice – this delicate track is too simple and sombre for me to get completely into it. I always want to skip and get to my favourites.

In My Feelings

It’s great Lana has a bad-girl, bad-bitch, fuck-you pop track but this, like Coachella, feels unfinished. It has the vibe of work in progress, and the vocals are still messy (surely intentionally, though it doesn’t always come across that way) as well as trying slightly too hard. It doesn’t compare to Fucked My Way Up To The Top.

Beautiful People Beautiful Problems

The verses don’t match up to the choruses and I feel nothing – not empowered or emotional – when listening to this song, but it is a beautiful duet between Lana and Stevie. Their voices really are divine together and though I don’t listen to this song much, the demos are even better.

Change

Mostly because it freaks me out, this is a song I don’t often listen to. With a basic structure yet long, meandering lyrics, Lana broods over the state of America at the time, which can make for depressive listening. Though it’s a pretty enough song, it’s seriousness is too much to bear sometimes.

Blue Velvet

Sometimes too slow, Blue Velvet doesn’t inspire multiple listens in me, but it is a gorgeous cover and absolutely a showcase of Lana’s vocals.

Diet Mountain Dew

A cheeky little track that won many over, it still is hard for me to fully get into it. However, it ages like fine wine and is a wonderful step into the Lizzy Grant unreleased tracks (especially with the many, sometimes even better demos).

Burning Desire

It’s a messy song, with Lana’s vocals shaky and the instrumental not quite up to scratch, but this song is certainly a guilty pleasure and great for getting into the sexy mood. The car metaphors are a bit much, especially considering it’s for a car advert, but if you get past that it’s a song to add to your freaky playlist.

Money Power Glory

As powerful and dark as this song is, with incredible instrumentals and Lana at her most dynamic, I barely remember the lyrics of the verses, instead waiting for the rich choruses.

Swan Song

A gentle track that has a lot of untapped power behind it, this is a quiet stormer of a song that has a lot of heart and grace. It may be a filler track, but it is definitely better than some.

Bartender

Even more gentle is the confessional, piano-led Bartender, which is a sweet little love song stripped back much like Lana’s simple romance where she sneaks out to see her lover. The main (and probably ridiculous) thing that keeps me from falling in love with this song more – though I’m already pretty amazed by it – is the very quiet sound of feedback that comes and goes, a fuzzy noise that is very subtle but distracting enough for me.

The Next Best American Record

This song would be higher if it was Architecture – the gorgeous, well-thought stunner that wowed us all when it was leaked. The lyrics are less fractured relationship and more wishy washy, wiping away the gritty sadness that made Architecture so beloved (at least to me). Now it’s been made ‘happier’, it’s hard to tell what the song is – is Lana happy with her lover or is she sad like in the unreleased version? Is this a break up song or a celebration of the romance? What does it mean now that it is both of them that are obsessed with writing? It’s something for me to certainly explore more, but it is paled in comparison to the original.

When The World Was At War

This track grew on me, with the hidden lyrics, fun vocals and hopeful message. Lana knows how to make a song that lifts your mood and this is certainly one of them.

Guns and Roses

I used to despise this song – finding it boring and dull. However, after giving it a listen years later, it is in fact a beautiful song with a gritty feel that is perfect for Ultraviolence. It fits in perfectly with the album and the extended tracks, and though it isn’t the strongest lyrically, the vocals and dreamy feel is thrilling.

Lolita

I choose to listen to this song without the underage character – or romantic connotations of her – in mind, instead seeing this song as a grown woman trying to charm an older man. However, as I have grown older – and read (and loved) the book several times more – I feel more inclined to distance myself from this song. It’s a fun, perky pop track but it definitely feels dated.

Dance Till We Die

Lana sings of her connection to other famous female singers and her daughter’s chosen name, making this a very personal pop song that also reminds of When The World Was At War for its hopeful and ultimately positive edge. It is a little slow but incredible touching, and the bridge is so kickass you can’t help but dance along.

Not All Who Wander Are Lost

This is a very sweet little song that again showcases the more positive side of Lana’s music, rather than the heartbroken and distressed women she tends to play. Though it is a filler song it’s a very pretty one and so catchy.

Wild At Heart

Wild At Heart is similar to Not All Who Wander Are Lost in that it’s a departure from a tragic femme fatale, instead a love song that also mimics Swan Song in that she considers leaving fame for her lover. What makes it even better is how Lana samples How To Disappear, a much sadder track, and twists it into something happy with this ultimately more upbeat album.

Radio

Like Diet Mountain Dew, Radio is another perky tune that is more than just a catchy filler. It’s a little bit sassy and has an edge to it (with the expletives and how her life is sweet not like sugar but cinnamon) that keeps it from being too frothy. Speaking of Lana’s newfound fame, it’s a nice break from the love ballads and tragedies peppered throughout Born To Die.

Without You

Shockingly dramatic, Without You is the ultimate symbol of Lana’s older music – a woman who could only feel happy unless her man was in her life. She has definitely moved on for the most part from wailing her demise at losing her lover but Without You is still glamorous, catchy and perfect to singalong to.

The Other Woman

This is one of Lana’s best covers – Nina Simone’s song about being the other woman and how it is in fact lonely and heart-breaking. Lana makes the song her own, her vocals stunning and lo-fi with instrumentals that are perfect for Ultraviolence.

How To Disappear

I feel that the live version of How To Disappear, where she sung it on stage before it was released with its real instrumental, is the superior version. It’s stripped back and tender enough to feel the emotion thoroughly, but the album version doesn’t disappoint. It’s one of many great tracks from (what I think is) her best album, and has a great story within it.

Fucked My Way Up To The Top

Lana’s satirical, sexy and stirring Fucked My Way Up To The Top was just tongue-in-cheek enough to keep from being too much of a cliché. Perhaps based on her real experiences but definitely a fuck-you to anyone who critiques her for owning her sexuality, it’s a little bit controversial but an incredible song.

Tomorrow Never Came

This song, which is a gorgeous duet with Sean Ono Lennon and a nice nod to 20th century music, subverts expectations that it is a sad song by in fact including a happy ending. I love how it can make you cry with both sadness and happiness, and tells a sweet story that paints pictures of parks and country houses.

Yosemite

The long-awaited Yosemite didn’t disappoint, and though it took a while to grow on me it became a classic and somehow familiar track. It’s impossible to not sing or dance to it and wouldn’t be out of place in Lust For Life.

Hope Is A Dangerous Thing

It’s quite slow – the Change/24/Old Money of Norman Fucking Rockwell – but it is clearly a personal and well-thought song that references Lana’s great inspiration Sylvia Plath. Lana’s deft at getting her thoughts out in song and I think though it’s not a song I often listen to, it is beautiful.

Honeymoon

The sweeping violins, dramatic vocals and the dangerous undercurrent makes Honeymoon crackle with electricity. It’s an amazing introduction to an album that once again has dangerous men, bad girls who get hurt but are strong again and amazing instrumentals. Though it’s not the best song from the album, it sets the tone perfectly.

Million Dollar Man

Like Without You, it’s another song of complete devastation, which Lana has grown from in her music. Million Dollar Man shows some great vocals and lyrics, and gets the emotion out perfectly whilst honouring the music that inspired her.

Old Money

The verses are pretty enough but they don’t catch my attention the way the choruses do. The slow, steady song took a long time for me to really appreciate but it’s impossible not to feel some kind of emotion when Lana lets her lover know she will be with them whenever they need her.

Sad Girl

Like The Other Woman, Sad Girl shows how being the other woman has it’s downfalls but appreciates the sexy, exciting side of it – how alluring her man is and how much of a bad bitch she may be. Once again, it’s a pure Ultraviolence song that shows Lana’s vocals and music in the best way whilst showcasing the classic caricature of the femme fatale.

Dark Paradise

Strangely upbeat for such a sad song, Dark Paradise is great to dance to but also something that makes you want to cry. Lana’s vocalisations and dramatic lyrics don’t quite compare to some of her other songs but Dark Paradise is iconic.

Summertime Sadness

The slow-burn, emotional gut punch that is Summertime Sadness is always a classic and one of Lana’s best. Though it is far from my personal favourite it is absolutely an outstanding song and the perfect example of Lana’s most well-made and well-delivered songs.

Gods and Monsters

The strained Gods and Monsters is a great tale about the evil side of fame, which Lana never quite delves too deeply into but gives a metaphorical and mildly personal nod to. Gods and Monsters is one of those songs that has you singing along and feeling strong.

Carmen

Carmen is a beautiful, sad story that feels rich and luxurious despite its harrowing lyrics of an alcoholic star. The French bridge adds to the decadence and it feels like a dirty alcohol bottle wrapped in silk, from the tentative verses to the unnerving chorus.

Born To Die

One of Lana’s original pop chart tracks, this is a song that never grows old. It’s one of the blueprints of the Lana Del Rey era and deftly shows her vocals whilst setting the tone for the pessimistic, romantic star in the early 2010s.

Salvatore

Opening with laughing – or crying – Salvatore has an eerie feel to it, though it is completely erotic in feel (enough to ignore some of the simpler lyrics). It is a song that feels dreamy, much like the rest of Honeymoon, but passionate and reminding of some of her older music (from the vocals in the bridge that have a Lolita/Fucked My Way Up To The Top feel to them to the continued trope of bad boys and glamour).

Flipside

Dirty, gritty and quite contained, Flipside is a song that I wished had more attention. It’s not her most imaginative song but there’s something about it, from the gloomy guitars to the hushed vocals, that have me wanting to sing it over and over. It also is one of her great fuck-off songs, as sympathetic as it is resilient.

Doin’ Time

Lana really turns this song into her own with the summery instrumentals and the pop edge she is so good at. It’s surprisingly one of her best covers and a fresh-feeling track that isn’t bogged down by emotion or maudlin music.

Lust For Life

Breathless and oh-so-romantic, Lust For Life is one of those songs that was perfect for the charts, and a key piece in Lana’s turn into becoming more positive. However, as fun and lovely as this song is, the demos are a whole other ball game. A little more ethereal, they fit Lana much more perfectly and it’s sad she dismissed the witchy feel for a song that is brilliant but generic.

Love

One of Lana’s warmest and most refreshing songs, she looks at love with fondness and dedicates this track to her ‘kids’. She knows her fans well and to make a song that references them (much like Happiness Is A Butterfly’s nod to her ‘babies’) makes this song all the more pleasant.

The Greatest

Lana’s vocals are put to good use in this intimately-written song. She speaks her mind in her reminiscence of the past and the worries for the future, all with a storming chorus that is certainly one of her best.

Love Song

Tender and almost tentative, Love Song is one of those tracks that is romantic through-and-through. It’s stripped back enough to feel like it really is a private song for only her lover’s ears, just as confessional as Cinnamon Girl and Bartender.

White Mustang

Short but sweet, this song has all the makings of a Lana Del Rey song, harking back to the Born To Die days with her imagery and fallen love affair, but it is spiky enough to be part of her later music where she starts giving less shits. The whistling and race cars are a nice touch, displaying her play on words snugly.

Dark But Just A Game

Sort of jazzy, Dark But Just A Game is ever-shifting and never quite settles on a particular sound. It’s cohesive, however, and clearly states what Lana is thinking in a way that works with the rest of Chemtrails. It’s pretty sexy as well, which doesn’t hurt the enjoyability factor.

High By The Beach

The wooziness, the carelessness and the growth from a woman begging to be put in a movie to a woman who is able to do as she pleases. Lana stumbles and swears through the song but knows exactly what she wants – and it isn’t disappointing men or stalking paparazzi.

Let Me Love You Like A Woman

Some may think it much slower and more boring than a lot of her tracks, but I think it’s a tidy, sweet track. Lana plainly states her love, urges her man to run away with her and lets her emotions (and voice) do the talking.

Summer Bummer

Lana is as restless as a hot summer in this song and it works. Her brisk-paced yet soft-voiced lyrics and gorgeous imagery gets my pulse racing, and ASAP Rocky’s verse works well for it. Though it would have been interesting to get a full, solo Summer Bummer, Rocky adds an edge to this song and compliments his ‘lover’ well.

Groupie Love

Much more flowery and wide-eyed, Groupie Love is like a contradiction. Lana’s passionate dalliance with Rocky’s god-like star opposes the relationship in Summer Bummer (uncertain) but both are just as secret. Groupie Love has the edge of being ultra-dreamy and demonstrating pure love – and lust – without the messiness.

American

It’s a filler track that has potential for much more. It’s an adorable song, almost cautious in its lead-up to the satisfying chorus, and is filled with Lana tropes galore. Following Lana’s stressed Ride and coming before the darkly sensual Cola, American is a breath of fresh air.

National Anthem

What an anthem it is. It’s simply provocative and one of her most classic tracks. Mixing love, money and fame together with a bit of sex thrown in, National Anthem is precisely what Lana’s America seems to be.

Is This Happiness?

It’s muted, mournful and resentful, questioning a relationship that Lana wants to keep but at the same time doesn’t. This is one of Lana’s best sad songs, tearful as it is still adoring beneath the exasperation.

Art Deco

Art Deco is purely dreamy, a song to bathe in. The lyrics are a little bit simple but Lana’s vocals and the flowing, aquatic music is the perfect hook.

Terrence Loves You

Lana’s jazzy song is delicate, letting only her voice and the saxophone dominate. With references to David Bowie, Lana pines for someone who hurt her badly, but she soothes herself with music the way plenty of her fans do when listening to her records.

White Dress

The vocals were a surprise at first – high, strained whispers – but they definitely grew on me. Painting a picture of young Lana loving life and dreaming of bigger things, it’s nostalgic in lyrics but also reminds of some of Lana’s old work – her unreleased tracks where she would serve coke and fries.

Chemtrails

It gets better as it goes on, growing and twisting from a song to sunbathe to into a restless, darkening track. It has the best vibe for an idealised world with something a bit off, and the imagery of pools, jewels and schools grounds Lana into a (very, very rich) normality rather than the glamorous star she always liked to portray.

13 Beaches

Opening with a quote from Carnival of Souls, Lana takes High By The Beach to the next level. She goes from sticking her middle finger up to the paparazzi to simply wishing she would be allowed to live her life without them hounding her. It’s a matured approach that uses sound interestingly, with beeps and whines adding a strange texture to the song.

Cola

The controversial line was intended as humour, but strangely it works. Even if Cola is satire like Fucked My Way Up To The Top, Lana owns the ‘other woman’, the patriotic singer, the sexy and unashamed woman who says what she thinks without caring of the consequences. It’s an iconic song, even if you have to turn the volume down to not offend.

Black Beauty

The unreleased version is ten times more emotive, with its stripped back and lonesome feel, but the album version is just as good. The ultimately loving but unhappy lyrics are full of stunning imagery, and this is a song that would have been perfect with a music video.

Body Electric

Blasphemous as much as it honours icons, Lana sinfully owns Body Electric. The bridge is a bit out of place but Lana’s eyebrow-raising approach to religion and sexuality is genius.

Off To The Races

The best demonstration of Lana’s vocals, Lana plays the glam girl without a care just as well as the Lolita-type, needy lover in this ode to money and her man. The soaring bridge is stunning, and the swirling violins add an air of Hollywood to it.

Bel Air

Completely overlooked (in my opinion), Bel Air is an apologetic song of redemption, a shining and honest track that is as touching as much as it is hazy and tranquil. With soft piano and the sound of children opening and closing the song respectively, it’s set apart from Paradise with a pureness that Lana pulls off well.

Ultraviolence

Controversial at the time and still controversial now, Ultraviolence is about being weak, about giving in to love no matter how toxic. I don’t entirely support the lyrics but it’s a stunning song, lo-fi enough to feel uneasy and haunting. When you shut off from the lyrics, you get a simply beautiful track.

Pretty When You Cry

Lana’s imperfect, close-to-tears vocals are wonderful in this song, and she really lets her emotion shine through. The pained guitar and Lana’s increasingly distressed singing are enough to get you feeling exactly as she does.

Florida Kilos

Fun. Fresh. Freeing. Lana’s ode to drugs is simply something to dance to and sing, and she somehow manages to get the sunny feeling across even with the Ulraviolence-esque grunginess. It’s one of my favourite songs of Lana’s because it’s just so happy, which is a nice departure from some of her heavier tracks.

Cherry

Many people’s favourite – Cherry. It was my favourite of Lana’s for a long time, dripping with sex appeal and sadness but with a cute dance to compliment it. It had all the right stuff wrapped up in a tidy, compact box and the imagery is lush. I still love this song but since then we’ve had the ‘Cherries’ of her next few albums, Cinnamon Girl and Tulsa Jesus Freak. Like these, Cherry was a song that seemed set apart from the rest of the album and was a novel take on her typical music.

California

Simply for It's meaningful, raw lyrics – promising to be there as soon as he wants her, much like in Old Money – California is a sun-soaked dream with a very honest approach. Lana isn’t completely devastated, or begging for her lover to return. She is sad but realistic, and only wants the best for him. It’s beautiful and sad with a crazily addictive chorus.

West Coast

The shift from fast-paced, grungey, whispered verses to sprawling, drawling choruses – complete with weirdly sexy beeps towards the end of the song – shook us all, and it’s one of Lana’s most interesting songs. Lana honours the West Coast but also her man, in love with the music scene as much as she is with him.

Shades of Cool

The snide verses. The gradually growing music. The guitars. The explosive chorus. The nuclear bridge. The absolutely perfect timing and pacing. Shades of Cool is flawless, another Sad Girl but with much more power, emotion and music.

The Blackest Day

The Blackest Day needs more attention. Cold in places, almost lost, but then wounded in the chorus, The Blackest Day rolls with the emotions and is the kind of song that makes you want to fall apart and sob. Which is good, in a way, as it shows how brilliantly Lana conveys emotion.

Freak

Cult-like and haunting, this is the sexy predecessor of California. Lana swoons and tempts in this track, from her harmonising to her pouting “take it to the back if you really wanna talk” - not to mention the rest of the song in its entirely, all elements married together to create the perfect seductive track.

Music To Watch Boys To

Like Art Deco, Music To Watch Boys To is fairly aquatic and dreamy. Like Freak, it has that cult vibe (the chanting of the bridge). However, this song is perfectly its own, from the mix-up of vocal styles to the shifting tone (sad to smug to obsessively in love).

Norman Fucking Rockwell

What an opener. Norman Fucking Rockwell lets the actual singing and lyrics do the talking, the instrumentals pushed back enough to let Lana’s gut-punching first line (“God damn, man child, you fucked me so good that I almost said I love you”) and her blue yet annoyed insults to her Norman Rockwell do the talking.

Mariner’s Apartment Complex

It’s a song for yourself and for the people you love. Lana is strong enough to take care of herself, to be her own guidance – and to take on her lover’s problems too. It’s an empowering song, so distant from a lot of her discography, and I adore the nautical references and the hopeful message.

Brooklyn Baby

Satire again, but it still works. Lana plays a (fairly cringey) and somewhat self-absorbed, over-confident singer who is too cool for her own boyfriend, but she does it well. From saying how she wished people didn’t judge her, to the freedom the seventies gives her, to the warm guitars and upbeat tone, to the backup vocals of Seth Kaufman, Brooklyn Baby is a song to remember for all the right reasons.

Ride

Ride is one of Lana’s best, if not the best. With her devotion to America and her open thoughts about needing other people to make her feel good and happy, Lana knocks it out of the park with the superb step up from Born To Die.

Video Games

Video Games is just beautiful, plain and simple. Lana’s low voice, telling a flowing story of the simplicities of true love, are removed from her ‘famous singer’ image she constantly tried to portray and instead open up to the heart of what she has always sung about: love and its many forms, good or bad.

Get Free

The new take on Ride was a pleasant surprise. From changing the lyrics to show she wants to move on and be happy to (silently) name-dropping her influences, Lana’s manifesto was a personal song that we could all resonate with. The outro of the beach was the perfect closer to Lust For Life, and Get Free summarised the album which took her from sad girl to someone who could let herself move on.

Heroin

Heroin is no doubt one of her best. It’s tense and dark, referencing Manson and (allegedly) a friend she lost years ago. Lana lets herself dive into her worst thoughts headfirst, not so much dreamy as it is nightmarish, but still comes out the other side dreaming of marzipan and ready to move on.

Tulsa Jesus Freak

The third of the ‘Cherries’, Tulsa Jesus Freak goes straight to a happy place. Where Cherry was angry and Cinnamon Girl was cautious, this track dives into being comfortable with her man. It was just as passionate as the other two songs but about religion, sex and self-satisfaction.

Blue Jeans

Plucking guitars, crying violins and Lana weaving a tale about a gangsta who left her, without explanation, and the hurt that follows. Similarly tied to Dark Paradise, Blue Jeans is the next level of that, her tough-girl spoken verses dismissed as the choruses open up and she pours her heart out.

Cruel World

Lana is on top-form on this song, furious, maddened, sad, taunting – she hits every emotion with style. Lana grows more and more unstable as the song goes on, invoking images of a woman scorned and no longer taking that shit, but she still has a fragility about her as she comes undone that is tied directly to her Ultraviolence era.

Happiness Is A Butterfly

This song goes through many stages. She is unsure, not knowing how her lover feels. She is optimistic, elated as she tries to capture the butterfly. She is dismissive, no longer caring if she might get hurt – she loves too much. She is pissed off, sick of being treated badly. She gives in, simply wanting to dance and just be happy. The flow of this song is constant, a little messy, but it has the beautiful message pinned to it: to keep trying to be happy and do what you love.

Fuck It I Love You

I love the music video version more than the album version, the latter being more stripped back. Fuck It I Love You just gives in to emotion, acknowledging Lana is hurt, her lover is hurt, but that doesn’t mean she doesn’t love him. She simply lets that feeling take over.

Cinnamon Girl

Cinnamon Girl touched me like no other Lana song has. Where Cherry was a mixture of emotions, good and bad, angry and loving, devastated and thrilled, Cinnamon Girl was about cautious optimism. Lana urges her lover to give in, and she knows – smiling as she sings it – she wins.

Venice Bitch

Venice Bitch just has that soothing, unhindered feel to it – and not just from the nine minutes of pure music and vibe. Lana dedicates this song to the kind of love that is just wholesome and homely, all whilst touching on her insanity, her ever-lasting love for America and the modern world (her live streams). It feels nostalgic yet contemporary, and adding the “fucks” and “bitch[es]” helps keep this song from being to sugary sweet but instead what it is – an honest love song rooted in the idealised and the realistic.

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segasister · 3 years

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Simple Romance Writing Tips:

(Adapted from my twitter, but better organized)

You have two protagonists, not one. Both need focus and development. Both are agents of desire, not objects of it.

When it comes to perspective, both protagonists’ points of view are important. Remember: both are agents of desire, not just objects of desire. You can go with dual First Person POV or Omniscient Third Person POV. You decide what’s easier for you.

One character shouldn’t change for the other. Both should grow with each other. For example, while a rebellious character learns to become more sweet, their uptight partner needs to learn to become more relaxed. The best partners help you grow as a person.

Don’t end the story when your protagonists get together. It’s not only overdone, but it ends before the bigger story can begin.

You can build tension in a relationship without involving abuse (physical/emotional/etc.) or forcing a break-up (either temporary or permanent) between the couple.

That in mind, couples do have their struggles, from the mundane to the more more dramatic.

You don’t need high stakes to create a compelling story. You just need some conflict present.

Don’t forget to add in sweet moments as well (PDAs need not be overly mushy). Remind the audience why they’re together in the first place.

Grand gestures are, well, grand. However, the little things (like helping each other with tasks) can be just as romantic.

You know love languages? Use some combination of all five of them in your story. Every person expresses love differently, and you should reflect that. What are the five love languages? Words of Affirmation (“I love you.”), Acts of Service (Helping your partner put groceries away), Gifts (A stuffed bear won at a fair), Physical Intimacy (Cuddling on the couch), Quality Time (Playing video games together while a long distance apart).

Opposites attract, yeah. However, there’s no shame in having characters be alike in many ways as well. Hell, have your couple be different in some ways but alike in others. Just about every relationship, from romantic to platonic to familial, is like this.

There is concern with having your characters, “being defined by their relationships,” ie. having their only trait be, “X’s partner.” However, that shouldn’t happen if you write your character similarly to how they were when they were single. However, don’t forget that growth.

Don't have one character in your relationship revolve around the other (what, "only letting them be defined by their relationship actually means.") In real life, that could be a sign of one partner isolating the other from friends, family, et cetera, an abusive tactic. (More on that below.)

The above also applies to same-sex/polyamorous relationships. Just because it’s not straight, doesn’t mean you treat them different.

Just because you’re writing a story about abuse/bigotry/incest/etc. doesn’t necessarily mean you’re endorsing said things. It’s only endorsing if it’s not shown as a bad thing.

Want to avoid accidentally writing a toxic relationship? You can start by not writing the following power dynamics: Large age gap (adhere to Age / 2 + 7), Huge difference in life experience, Master/Boss + subservient, Celebrity + fan, Literal powers + little/none. Almost all of those can work if the one with less influence/experience/power has the opportunity to match that and eventually take care of themselves should things go south. If they’re not, they’re in an abusive relationship. Physical/Sexual violence need not apply.

One partner shouldn’t be a caretaker for the other. Sure, both must care for one another, but one partner shouldn’t do all of the caring. On the one hand, the one not doing the work is lazy. On the other hand, the carer could be doing this to make the other dependent on them.

If you do intend to write a toxic relationship, make sure it ends either with both partners maturing, either by seeking counseling or ending the relationship. This is especially true if you’re writing an abusive one. However, as in reality, it is a process. Take your time.

People heal from such relationships in different ways. Some choose to seek a new partner, some don’t. Some choose to devote their passion elsewhere (like career or family). What’s important is that they come out better than they were in the relationship. Some… don’t heal, and end up continuing the cycle, by being a victim again or by becoming an abuser. This could work if you intend on writing a tragedy. An abuse victim becoming an abuser themselves or ending in another abusive relationship isn’t a happy ending.

On that note, you can write sad endings. However, tragedy doesn’t necessarily have to end with death. Characters should leave the story changed, no matter what, but a tragedy has to end with them going through a negative change; any, not just them dying or losing a loved one.

Opposing that, writing comedy is hard. There’s a fine line between humor feeling natural and forced. Try to stay on the former side of that line if possible. I find it’s best to write humor by not trying to. You do you, but remember that humor is in the ear of the beholder.

On the subject of love triangles: Make sure both rivals have their own good qualities so it’s not one-sided/between two awful people.

Make sure it ends in a way that satisfies all parties. How you do so is up to you. (Don’t pair your leftover with the protagonist’s baby.)

Romance can be affixed to other genres as well. Slice of Life, fantasy, sci-fi, historical, etc.

The difference between Fantasy and Sci-Fi? Magic vs. Science. Both require the creativity to pull the genre off, but both can take place in a variety of settings. You can write a Pirate Fantasy or a Sci-Fi Western. Maybe you wanna to combine both Sci-Fi and Fantasy. Try it!

Do your research! If you’re basing your story on a time period in a specific place, do your research on what it was like then. Scientific accuracy also helps when it comes to research (for Sci-Fi). Even fantasy requires research, if you wish to include real world elements.

On that note, lore and continuity are not interchangeable. Continuity is making sure plot points remain consistent. Lore is making sure world building stays consistent.

Age is just a number. However, don’t pair teens with adults, or barely-adults with grown adults. The rule of Age / 2 + 7? That also applies here to ensure audiences don’t feel too queasy.

That being said, you are allowed to start the story with your protagonists as kids.

On writing minorities: don’t rely on stereotypes, and don’t write minority characters just to have them. They deserve proper development as well.

Don’t be afraid to have people of two different races together; just be careful that neither protagonist comes off as racist.

On that note, research the people and cultures you wish to write about. Be careful so as to not come across as using said people/culture as a token.

Don’t just focus on the physical/sexual aspect. Sure, physical attraction plays a part, but the personality of both protagonists are more important. How well they get along.

On the topic of sex: it’s entirely optional. There’s plenty of ways to show intimacy without having your characters engage in sex. Just have them enjoy each other’s company. You’re still open to if your audience is more mature; just don’t forget sex isn’t the only option.

Speaking from experience: you can have love without sex. But you cannot have sex without love. (That’s rape!) It’s a, “not every rhombus is a square but every square is a rhombus,” scenario. However, if you just wanna indulge yourself with your work, go for it.

There's a fine line between objectification and expressing sexual agency. It's okay for characters to show pride in that. It's okay for characters to take pride in their modesty.

Promiscuity isn't inherently a bad thing. Abstinence isn't inherently a good thing.

Play around with relationship dynamics (childhood sweethearts, enemies to lovers, etc.)

You want to write a particular romance dynamic? Go right ahead: just make sure it makes sense with the characters you're writing first. Also, some are harder to pull off than others.

When writing Enemies to Lovers, keep in mind it's not an instantaneous progress. Give the enemies time to stop being enemies before you can move on to the, "Lovers" stage. Otherwise, you'll be asking yourself the same question you ask when you see sitcom couples who clearly hate each other and are only still in it for sex/their kids: "Why are you together?"

Another popular dynamic: childhood sweethearts. Just be careful not to write them like siblings (have one see the other “like a sibling” so to speak) and you should be good.

Whatever dynamic you choose, however, don’t be afraid to experiment, bring something fresh to it.

There’s nothing wrong with having a niche, nor is there anything wrong with expanding your horizons and trying something new and taking a risk.

You don’t want to write romance? You just want your protagonists to be platonic? That’s fine.

It’s okay if you don’t have everything planned out ahead of time. It’s okay if the story strays from that initial plan. Go with it. Improvise. Adapt. Outlines help you keep on track, but your story should feel alive to the audience. Changes to the original plan are natural.

Write for YOU. Yes, it’s satisfying to hear feedback, especially positive feedback, but it’s important to write for yourself.

On criticism, be open to it, but there’s a difference between constructive criticism and just vitriol from the reader. Only the former is important.

On writer’s block: if you need to walk away for a bit, go ahead. Maybe an idea will pop in the meantime.

It’s okay to be ashamed of what you wrote in the past. That shows you’ve grown as a writer. It’s also okay to have unfinished drafts. They can be repurposed.

Most important when it comes to writing in general, not just romance: be happy in your work. You’re gonna have off days, but only you’ll know if it’ll be worth it in the end. There’s nothing wrong with wanting to move on to another creative field, or any other altogether.

Any other authors have any tips to share? Doesn’t have to be about romance; they can be about any part of the writing process! I will reblog this post with that advice and will tag you! Or you can reblog yourself.

#Writing #Writeblr #Writing Advice

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theradioghost · 4 years

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Do you have any podcast recs that are super easy for those of us with audio processing problems? For me specifically that means one voice (or maybe two if they’re very distinct) and minimal complexity in the soundscaping, though if you have recs that don’t fit those that you think might apply to other people w/ different audio processing issues you can talk about those too! :)

I can certainly try! I feel as though I should put it out there that I often have a difficult time gauging where a podcast sits re: audio processing/HOH listeners; the literal entirety of my day job is being good at telling what people are saying in audio, and my own audio processing problems mostly just result in my near-inability to keep up with actual plays, so if any of these are misjudgements on those terms I apologize in advance.

* means that I know there are also transcripts available for the podcast in question!

SAYER: scifi dark comedy/horror. In a morally questionable tech corporation’s moonbase facilities, advanced artificial intelligence SAYER directs employees about their daily routines; this then turns over time into possibly the best story about AI I’ve ever heard. Especially in the first three seasons, virtually all speaking is done by one voice. (Caveat that a few other characters come in later, and they’re actually all voiced by one guy with different filters, but the filters are pretty distinct and characters tend to identify themselves by default at the beginning of every conversation.)

*The Cryptonaturalist: comforting supernatural folksiness. The titular expert on all things strange and wonderful reads poetry, admires nature, and talks about wonderful creatures like foxes that live within library shelves, stick insects that camouflage themselves as whole trees, salamanders that swim in parking lot asphalt, and Owls.

*The Hidden Almanac: comforting supernatural weirdness. Hagiographer, avid gardener, and Mysterious Dude In Plague Doctor Getup known as Reverend Mord gives tidbits of the history of his strange and fantastical world, along with gardening advice. Sometimes his tequila-swigging accidental necromancer best friend coworker Pastor Drom shows up. Written by fantasy author Ursula Vernon and mostly voiced by her husband Kevin. Extremely relaxing to listen to; the show ended last year but they put out five-minute episodes three times a week for eight years so there’s plenty of it. The first year or so actually doesn’t appear on most podcatchers so maybe check out the website.

Everything Is Alive: poignant, heartfelt interviews with inanimate objects. While there’s a different object featured each episode, it’s mostly just them and the interviewer, plus occasional phone calls with an expert on some subject brought up during the interview. Hits so much harder than you could possibly imagine given the summary. You WILL be upset about a can of off-brand cola.

*Quid Pro Euro: bizarre comedy mockumentary. A satire of the European Union in the style of a set of instructional tapes for EU employees made in the ‘90s, predicting what the EU would look like in the 21st century. Their predictions are somewhat off. Only one voice and delightfully it is Felix Trench. I don’t know anything about the EU but I still think it’s hilarious.

*Glasgow Ghost Stories: spooky supernatural. A resident of Glasgow is unexpectedly able to see the many ghosts that reside in the city -- but the ghosts have started to notice her too, and not all of them are friendly. A beautiful and atmospheric single-voice show; plus the feed also contains the very good miniseries Tracks.

*Palimpsest: poetic and haunting. An anthology series about young women experiencing supernatural happenings, each 10-episode season tells a different story in monologue (I think there are literally two episodes with other voices in them). Poignant, gorgeous, and sometimes heartbreakingly sad in the best way. In season one Anneliese wonders about the strange neighbors at her new apartment. In season two, Ellen takes a new job as companion to a supposed fairy princess imprisoned in a strange showroom in turn of the century America. In season three, former codebreaker Josie begins to see the spirits of the dead on the streets of London during the Blitz.

*Within the Wires: alternate history scifi found footage. From a world where a calamitous global war resulted in the installation of a new Society where nations and family ties are banned, an anthology of voices telling their stories. Each season is a single voice. Season one, a set of relaxation tapes deliver unexpected instructions to a government prisoner in a strange medical facility. In sSeason two, a series of museum exhibit guides spin out the mystery of two artists and their work. In season three, a government employee dictates notes to his secretary and begins to suspect a plot. In season four, the traveling leader of a secretive cultlike commune leaves sermons for her followers, and instructions for her daughter.

*Alice Isn’t Dead: lesbian americana roadtrip weird horror. Keisha’s wife Alice was missing, presumed dead. Now Keisha is a trucker, traveling the vast American emptiness to seek her out; but she’s about to become embroiled in the same vast secret war that may have drawn away her wife, and she’s not alone on the roads. Starts with one voice, adds a new one each season for a total of three. Also is finished.

*Station Blue: psychological horror. Matthew takes a job as the lone caretaker of an Antarctic research station for several months. This goes about as well as you’d predict. Very much a slow burn, strange, brooding horror of isolation. Heavy themes of mental illness based on the creator’s experiences of bipolar disorder.

*Mabel: dark, poetic faerietale horror. Live-in caretaker Anna attempts to contact the absent granddaughter of her elderly employer, the lone resident of a strange and ancient house in Ireland. A love story, a haunted house story, a fairy tale with teeth. This one might be hit or miss; it sometimes tends to the abstract a bit, and there’s more soundscaping and some other occasional voices besides the main two protagonists. Definitely worth trying out, though, this is absolutely an underappreciated gem.

*Janus Descending: tragic scifi horror. Two researchers, Peter and Chell, travel alone to a distant planet to survey the ruins of its extinct civilization. Unfortunately, they discover exactly how that civilization died out. Excellent if you like movies like Alien, and also being extremely sad. Only two voices. Really unique story structure: it’s told via the two protagonists’ logs of the events, but you hear Chell’s logs in order, and Peter’s logs in reverse, with their perspectives alternating. The result is a tragedy where technically you know the ending from the start, but it’s told so cleverly that just what happened and how remains a tantalizing, tense, heartbreaking mystery right until the end.

*I Am In Eskew: poetic, surreal horror. Only two voices and few sound effects. David is a man trapped in the twisting, malevolent city of Eskew, where the rain always falls, streets seem to lead the same way twice, and nothing can be trusted. Riyo is an investigator, making her way through rumors and questions in search of a man long missing and a place that seems not to exist. Maybe my favorite horror media ever? Deeply disturbing and yet even the most awful things are somehow beautiful. Like if Lynch, Escher and Mieville had a terrible, wonderful baby.

*Tides: contemplative hard scifi. When biologist Dr. Eurus is wrecked alone on a distant alien world shaped by deadly tidal forces, her struggle to survive also becomes a meditative exploration of the ecosystem around her, and a recognition that here, she is the alien. Mostly it’s Dr. Eurus; sometimes you hear from her coworkers. It’s got Julia Schifini, what’s not to love?

*Midnight Radio: ghost story/romance. A 1950s radio host who broadcasts a late-night show to her small hometown begins to receive letters from a listener and respond to them on air. I wrote this! It has a total of three voice actors and virtually no soundscaping. I promise it’s good.

#podcast recs #bobbie recommends things #I hope this is useful!!#Anonymous #asks #my posts

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fanficflaneuse · 4 years

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Sleepless

A/N: Hello, magical tumblr beings. First of all, I can't to thank you enough for all your love and support on my very first imagine ever (you can check it out here). I wrote yet another fluffy, sickly-sweet, absolutely self indulgent imagine. I hope you like this one as well!

Details:

Draco Malfoy x reader (she/her pronouns).

Words: 1689

Summary: the reader has insomnia and decides to roam the castle in the middle of the night. Fluff ensues.

Disclaimers: so Draco’s characterization here was a bit of a problem. It still bothers me a bit. This is fluffy and a bit pointless. Mentions of Dolores Umbridge.

(Y/N) got tired of tossing and turning in bed. The soft snoring of her roommates only made things worse. She peaked through the curtains of her four-poster bed and saw Hermione sleeping. Her best friend had fallen in the arms of Morpheus a while ago. And there she was, unable to close her eyes as the night seemed to stretch infinitely.

(Y/N) couldn’t remember a time in her life when she hadn’t suffered from insomnia. Usually, the sleeping draught helped her, but these days the stress around her was so overpowering she hadn’t even ventured into Madam Pomfrey’s realm for a small dose.

This year things were agitated to say the least. Pained by the tragedy at the Triwizard Tournament, Harry insisted that Voldemort was back. People were harsh. They mocked him, spread rumours about how he had lost his mind, accused him of lying. Some even claimed that he had murdered Cedric Diggory. She was one of Harry’s closest friends and she had her own reasons to believe him, which meant she was also a member of Dumbledore’s Army.

If the strain of running an underground society wasn’t enough, the fact that Dolores Umbridge had taken over the school gave plenty of reasons to drive anyone mad. The sickly-sweet pink lady was one of the most hateful people (Y/N) had ever met. She seemed to have taken a bow to make students’ lives miserable. She was dead set against Harry and the three people she, rather contemptuously, referred to as his “dream team”, which, of course, included her, along with Hermione and Ron.

The icing on the cake? (Y/N) had a crush. An annoying, deeply confusing crush on the one boy she definitely shouldn’t be ogling at. She blamed Snape for this. Hadn’t he decided that (Y/N) and Hermione had to be separated in his class, she wouldn’t have to seat next to the most hands...stupid and obnoxious Slytherin in the whole school. She wouldn’t have to talk to him every day, notice the little gestures that made him seem so vulnerable, so human. How his big grey eyes could hold so much emotion. How he had expressive eyebrows. How the corners of his lips curled just slightly in an awkward attempt to the friendly to her. How he’d fumble with his family ring and pout when he was confused. How he had this one single curl that wouldn’t be tamed regardless of how he combed his blond hair. How he would always treat her with kindness, albeit with a bit of playful cockiness, even when he was horrible to her friends.

Yes, it was totally Snape’s fault. Now, she not only had to deal with the butterflies and the blushing, the typical embarrassment of such situations, but also the guilt of liking a guy who’d call her best friends horrible slurs and created elaborate campaigns to discredit and embarrass them. What was wrong with her? She felt like a traitor.

If Ron thought Cho Chang could explode from an emotional overload, (Y/N) felt she could combust then and there.

Tired of being in bed, she pushed her covers and stood up. She slid into her linen night robe and slippers and left the room, swiftly and silently as a cat. It was not the first time (Y/N) roamed through the castle late at night. Walking helped to ease her mind and she found that the castle seemed more beautiful and enthralling the darker and lonelier it was.

(Y/N) was so distracted she didn’t realize she had unconsciously walked all the way to the astronomy tower. She decided to climb up, something she had never done in all of her nightly rounds. Once she walked through the door, (Y/N)’s gaze met those stormy grey eyes that gave her both butterflies and heartache at the same time. She gulped and took a few steps back. If she could’ve guessed, she probably looked terrified at the moment; he was, after all, part of Umbridge’s inquisitors.

“(Y/N) wait,” he said softly.

“Will you report me with Umbridge?” she asked, panicky.

“What? No. I just… what are you doing here?”

“I can’t sleep,” she shrugged.

She turned around to leave when she heard him whisper a “me neither” that sounded a bit desperate. She pictured his lips curled down ever just slightly and, finding the image adorable, decided to turn around. (Y/N) found him fiddling with his ring, which made her smile. He looked so shy and a cute that she couldn’t believe it was the same guy who could make her knees buckle with one of his infamous cocky smirks. She walked towards him while crossing her arms, suddenly self-conscious of her choice of outfit.

“Why so shy?” he asked, trying to go back to his cocky, confident persona, complete with checking her out. He thought he had nailed it until she raised an eyebrow in response, which made him cringe at his choice of words.

Draco Malfoy was used to having his walls so frighteningly high it was conflicting for him to interact with someone he actually wanted to let in. With her, her smart questions, her kind smile, the way he treated him as an equal and how she seemed to be interested in what he actually had to say, he felt the façade crumbling to bits. With his walls down, though, his “suave” persona turned a bit to dust. Around her, he felt dorky. Draco Malfoy dorky? Merlin, if his father knew this.

“Why can’t you sleep?” she asked absentmindedly, completely disregarding his last question. He noticed how her gaze shifted to the sky, her face full of wonder. He looked back at the stars as well and spotted Orion immediately.

“I have a lot in my mind,” he answered, “what about you?”

“Me too,” she answered.

“That’s Taurus, right?” she asked, pointing at the wrong constellation.

Draco smiled. Whenever they finished their work with a few minutes to spare, they would seat down and talk about their interests. Astronomy and Greek mythology were amongst the many topics they covered. He shared his knowledge on the first and learned about the later.

The conversation then changed topics and they found themselves sitting on the floor, backs against the railing, sharing laughs and jokes and experiences. It was the first time they had the chance to have a full-on conversation, to ramble, laugh and be unapologetically friendly. Usually, their conversations ended after the bell rang. Tonight, they could talk for as long as they wanted to. Make each other blush as many times as they wanted to. Seat as incredibly close to each other as they wanted to. No one was waiting for the outside of the classroom, nobody would judge or mock them for being friendly with the other. Suddenly, (Y/N) was not mad that the night seemed to stretch infinitively.

“So, you believe Potter,” Draco pointed out.

There was a bit of fake annoyance in his voice. The conversation taken a more serious tone when she mentioned something about his inquisitorial squad.

“He is my best friend,” (Y/N) answered, shrugging once again.

“Pansy is my best friend and I don’t believe half of the things she says,” Draco stated, trying to light up the mood once again. He mentally patted his back when (Y/N) laughed.

“If there is one person that truly knows Harry is not lying it’s you, Draco”.

She said this without a trace of malice in her voice. She was merely stating a fact. Draco could’ve pretended he was offended, he could’ve scoffed and stormed off, how dare she imply he and his family had something to do with the Dark L Volde You Know Who? He could use that to stand up, close that door and never see her again, not have to deal with the terrible crush he had on her. But here’s the thing, he didn’t want to do any of that. He wanted to keep talking to her now and every single day. He wanted to see if she felt that same tickling in his stomach whenever he was around. And he wanted to kiss her. So so badly.

Besides, everybody knew his parents had connections to the Dark Lord. And his father…his father had been acting rather strangely when he got back home from his fourth year. He had talked nonsense all summer. It hadn’t taken him too long to connect the dots. He knew Voldemort was back. There was no doubt about it. But until he decided to reveal himself, he had to play his part. And thus, the whole Potter stinks campaign had started.

“(Y/N/N)…” he looked down, sad and ashamed.

She put her hand on his arm and their eyes met again. Draco was transfixed. (Y/N)’s heart was pounding hard on her chest. She leaned in slowly, trying to catch a glimpse of his reaction. Their noses were almost touching. She put one of her hands gently on Draco’s cheek and he leaned into her touch. The both closed their eyes as their lips finally touched. The kiss was slow at first, a bit shy even. But then they got comfortable with each other, his hands travelled to her waist, the hand that wasn’t on his cheek tangled in his blond hair. The kiss became hungrier. He bit her lip, she slithered her tongue into his mouth.

When they finally pulled away, Draco looked at (Y/N)’s flushed face and found himself absolutely smitten.

“I fancy you, Draco” she blurted out.

Draco gave her a huge, wholehearted smile. She smiled back.

“I fancy you too, (Y/N/N),” he said as he caressed her hair softly.

The kissed again and again, sweet chaste kisses and pecks that made them both erupt in giggles. Draco felt on cloud nine. (Y/N) couldn’t believe what was happening. That night, they didn’t speak of every possible way in which things could possibly go wrong. They didn’t talk about Draco’s concerns and certainties, about the war to come. They didn’t talk about (Y/N)’s guilt about her friends. They just kissed and talked and held each other all night.

And it was a beautiful night.

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