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writing-in-april · 4 years ago

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Bowling Ball Baby

Franklin x Female Pregnant Reader

(Franklin is MGG’s character from beginner’s luck)

Gif courtesy of the ever wonderful @imagining-in-the-margins

A/N: I have recently become obsessed with Franklin because of @httpnxtt and @sunlight-moonrise so I decided to write some fluff with a dash of angst for him. I also have smut upcoming for this character as well. Thanks to my beta readers @sunlight-moonrise and @definitelynotkatesblog y’all are amazing!

Warnings: Fluff with a dash of angst, marital dispute at the beginning (is later resolved, and a few swear words.

Masterlist Word count: 1.9k (this was supposed to be a blurb lol)

Fighting with Franklin always left me at rock bottom. We both had feisty personalities but still didn’t fight often, usually just scathing quips when we were irritated. On the rare occasions when we did explode into a fight it was full of screaming, crying, and hurtful comments. Our tempers had been close to boiling over for a while now, my pregnancy hormones were making me extremely irritable and Franklin’s feisty demeanor didn’t exactly mesh well with that.

My 8 month pregnant belly felt like I was lugging around a bowling ball constantly, my back felt like it was being broken everyday. I constantly felt like I was standing on pins and needles, plus the baby felt the need to show me just how strong she or he was by kicking me in the ribs.

The fight had started after Franklin came home from work, I was sitting on our couch with my feet propped up and covered in an ice pack to relieve some of the stinging pain. Unfortunately for my poor swollen feet the ice pack did little to dull the throbbing.

“Hey, Frankie?” I called, hoping I could convince him to swap out the thawing ice pack for a frozen bag of peas.

“Not now, I’m busy.” He answered shortly, his back facing away from me, not fully acknowledging my presence. He was usually extra irritable after work; he felt trapped in his job, like it was holding him back from his dream of bowling professionally..

I huffed loudly, not that he could hear it from the other room, doing god knows what. He returned in a rush with his bowling ball bag in his hand, headed for the door, his Big Z Tires shirt hastily thrown on. My mouth fell open when I realized he was leaving for the alley.

“You’re leaving?” I squeaked, watching him while he hastily shoved a bagel in his mouth.

“I’ve got to go to practice” he muffled around a mouthful, sounding annoyed. I always supported Franklin and his dreams of being the best bowler in Little Falls, but this time I wasn’t going to let him escape his responsibilities of our relationship so easily.

“Could you skip today?” Treading lightly by asking softly. “We haven’t spent any time with each other in like a month and even then it was at the alley.”

His face switched from being annoyed to enraged despite my asking nicely, he was still going to get pissed off- figures.

“How could you be so inconsiderate- you know how important this is to me and the whole town!” he yelled. I was spooked but quickly composed myself before replying.

“I’m not being inconsiderate, you're never here.” I stated in a deadly tone, I didn’t want to make this worse by joining in on his raised voice. “I understand it’s the most important thing in Little Falls, but shouldn’t our baby be more important to you?!”

All I got in response was a dismissive scoff. I could feel myself getting angrier, we’d both said we wanted a baby and for the past month he acted like he couldn’t care less.

“You might as well go move into the bowling alley.” I mumbled under my breath, fiery spite fueling my words.

“Even with the pins, it’d still be quieter than your nagging.” he shot back.

“Excuse me?!” Now it was my turn to shout; he just had to continue to stoke the fire increasing in my belly. I waddled my way to stand right in front of him, ignoring the pain of my swollen feet. I didn't want him to wiggle his way out, if he wanted an argument he was going to get one, he was the one who started it after all.

“All you’ve done is whined and complained these past few weeks.” He was acting like a hypocrite, whining and complaining to me about something we both agreed to do together. I had never felt more alone.

“How would you know? You’re never here to spend time with me!” The timbre of my voice cracked as my heart started to shatter.

“Just stop, ok? I get it you’re pregnant but come on Y/N it can’t take that much hard work!” That comment was the straw that broke the camel's back, my anger turned to melancholy as hot tears spilled over onto my cheeks as I waddled away as fast as I could back to our bedroom.

I could hear his desperate voice trying to get me to come back, offering any pleading or begging he could think of, but I wasn’t having it. As I got to our room I slammed the door shut, making sure to lock it tight so he couldn’t follow me. If he wanted to act like a dick, he'll sleep on the couch for the night. Knocks started to hit the door with his voice barely permeating through the wood imploring me to let him in.

Tears fell down my cheeks while I rubbed my belly, all I wanted was for us to be a happy family, but I needed Franklin to be fully committed. Sinking down onto our bed I contemplated where this left us. I almost packed a bag to stay with a friend for the night but I was too tired to go through with it, the fighting had taken all the energy out of me. The mattress cuddled my body but it wasn’t as good as Franklin, which only made the drops fall harder. My sadness deepened when the knocks stopped, the room now a void, offering no comfort to me. Dread sat in my belly as I drifted off into a restless sleep.

~~~

Physically and emotionally I was strung out, I was in no mood to talk or argue so I had been tiptoeing around Franklin all day, his behavior had made me seriously start to question if he was truly invested in our relationship. Once dinner rolled around I padded my way into the kitchen, the baby had been craving some sweets and I was highly considering just binging on candy.

I glanced over to the stove to find a ridiculous sight standing before me. Franklin had his bowling shirt on- he honestly rarely took it off and had about 5 of them. Covering most of the front of his yellow button up was a baby sling I had bought a few weeks ago in preparation, in it sat my old purple bowling ball I used when I was in Highschool. He must’ve dug it out of our closet as I hadn’t used it since our last competition senior year. A wave of nostalgia washed over me as I reminisced about the old team where we’d first met. I gazed at the 8 pound perfectly round ball, weighing down and stretching the fabric directly in the middle, it looked exactly like what you’d think a bowling ball in a baby sling would look- ridiculous.

“I remember you saying you’ve been craving something sweet so I decided to make pancakes for dinner, I even added chocolate chips.” He spoke, breaking me out of my memory. I hadn’t even noticed he was making pancakes, my focus on the bowling ball strapped to his stomach.

“We’re not going to talk about the bowling ball?”

“Well I was being a dick-” I swiftly cut him off. My rage was being stoked slightly by his whimsical attitude, I couldn’t tell if he was trying to cheer me up or was really that thick and couldn’t understand my frustrations.

“Yeah, that’s the understatement of the century.” I’m sure the steely edge to my tone was not lost on Franklin, and I still wasn’t giving him the satisfaction of eye contact.

“Like I was saying- I was being a dick and I was thinking to myself, ‘Frankie she’s carrying the weight of the relationship right now. You want to get inside a woman’s head? You become a woman.’ So I thought I’d join you in solidarity- as an apology.”

Silence filled my part of the conversation as I pondered his words. It certainly was an odd way for someone to make up a fight, usually people bought flowers, chocolate, or go on a fancy date. Franklin, however, always had a way of apologizing in the most obnoxious and ridiculous ways that were incredibly sweet, but also made me want to bang my head against the wall. He had stopped flipping the pancakes, anxiously awaiting my reply to his apology. The slight char they were getting wafted a burnt smell through the air.

“This is the first thing you thought of for an apology?” I giggled out breaking the tense silence, his shoulders relaxed as he let out an audible puff of breath. I may have found this funny but I wasn’t going to let him off the hook just yet.

“Well- you know me, I’m not very good at apologies.” He said in a regretful tone, turning back to the pancakes finally removing the almost carbonized pancake from the skillet. A cringe made its way onto his face after catching sight of the rubbery burnt cake and swiftly chucked it in the trash. “I really am sorry Y/N.”

“You’re saying that now because your back hurts- Am I right?” I narrowed my eyes suspiciously, still not fully accepting this apology.

“No, that’s not the main reason I’m apologizing, but yes, oh my god my back fucking hurts.” His right hand started to massage his sore back as his other poured in the last scrapes of pancakes, sprinkling it with an exorbitant amount of chocolate chips. My mouth was watering at the sight and delicious aroma.

“How long have you been wearing it?” I asked, trying to distract myself from the heavenly scent.

“Like 10 minutes, I totally understand why you waddle now” Flipping over the last pancake, he started to set the table, his waddles were even more awkward compared to mine because of his long limbs.

“Well now that you understand, you’d better be massaging my feet everyday to make up for it.” I sharply stated though I couldn’t help but slip in a few giggles in between. I had been carrying this baby close to 9 months and Franklin could barely handle 10 minutes without keeling over.

“Yes, of course. I promise.” He set the plates of pancakes down on our round table, then pulled out one of the chairs and helped me sit down. I noticed that he had even set up the silverware in its supposed proper place along with the napkins folded into little triangles, he did go all out to make it up to me.“You know, you're the actual god in this family.” He remarked as he slung off the baby sling, relieving the tension from his back. I wished I could do the same.

“I love you, you big weirdo.” I snorted in response. While his godliness was usually referring to his bowling skills, it was nice to have my literal creation and carrying of life inside of me acknowledged too.

“I love you too” He wrapped his arms around me from behind, pressing soft kisses to my neck and rubbing my belly, silently assuring me that everything would be alright.

#franklin #matthew gray gubler #matthew gray gubler x reader #franklin x reader #mgg #mgg fluff #mgg x reader #beginner’s luck #franklin imagine #franklin fanfic #franklin fanfiction #matthew gray gubler fanfiction #matthew gray gubler fic

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trishmishtree · 3 years ago

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An outfit made entirely by me

(pardon the hideous lighting. I'm tired and sleep deprived and it's making my hand tremor when holding my phone, so it took me forever to get a decent picture)

It occurred to me today that since I started making my own clothes earlier this year, I've made enough stuff by now that I've somehow accumulated an entirely handmade outfit that kind of works in combination as some kind of ren faire outfit.

The purple skirt was one of the first things I sewed back in March. It's a full circle skirt that I somehow did the math wrong on so it came out a little too big, so I pleated the extra and now I have adorable pleats in the back of it. This skirt I actually do wear regularly (like once a week in the office) and it's swishy and fun and I get loads of compliments on the fabric.

The pink corset was made last month. This was a thing I did for fun to see if I could make a corset by hand, which you may have caught the making of on my blog since I decided to document my descent into this madness. The result is this cute thing that is whimsical, not exactly historically accurate to any era, and definitely not something I plan to wear out in public. (And yes I am calling it a corset and not stays, even though it laces in both front and back, because it's hourglass shaped and doesn't have tabs at the bottom, and the construction methods are same as the ones I've seen used for corsets, minus the absence of a busk. No, I am not tight lacing, and no, I am not asphyxiating. It is literally just sitting on my body.) It does give me amazing back support though. I tried wearing it to work under my scrubs but I didn't like the feeling of extra bulk in my chest (since I was wearing a camisole, covered by the corset, covered by an undershirt to smooth out lines, then covered by my scrubs and jacket). In the future, I plan to make a single-layer underbust corset that closes with a zipper, which I can then wear to work in the hopes that it'll help with my back pain in the fifth straight hour of rounding in the hospital. I hope the new design will feel less bulky in the... everywhere, and eliminate the need for an extra undershirt layer under my scrubs.

The white peasant shirt is actually a dress that I made, also on a whim, about 2-3 weeks ago. The aim was to see if I could shirr fabric by hand (since no sewing machine and all that) since it's something I hadn't tried yet. Now that I've had the dress finished for a week, I think I'm going to add a lining layer to the bust and skirt, since the fabric is slightly sheerer than I would have liked, even with the gathers. As it is currently, it does make a nice shirt and petticoat for the purple skirt. (And when paired with a brightly colored sash around the waist and a large hat, it looks remarkably like the 1780s chemise à la reine that originally inspired its design.) My one gripe about this dress is that it doesn't have elastic in it, so the sleeves keep wanting to slip off my shoulders which is not the effect I was going for. This dress is also something that I do not plan to wear regularly e.g. to work, because the neckline is a little too low and it's just frilly and over the top enough that I wouldn't want to wear it in front of other humans.

More stuff (mostly dresses) is currently in the early planning stages, but they're more in the historical costuming/cosplay realm. More on that later.

#tricia sews (kind of)#fashion #sewing #hand sewing #cottagecore

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whump-town · 4 years ago

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Breathe In Breathe Out

Delayed Drowningc • Chemical Pneumonia • Oxygen Mask

He’s slept roughly four hours in the last two days. It occurs to him that today is Saturday and he’s got the weekend to catch up on that sleep. The thought washes over him like a calming wave and then a tight knot of shame forms in the back of his mind, a nasty voice sneering that he shouldn’t be so happy. His son is going to be gone the whole weekend. Jack’s going to enjoy being away from him.

The apartment is going to be empty.

Trudging through the living room, leaving the lights off, he manages to catch his shin on the stupid coffee table, knocking the remote onto the floor. “Fuck,” he curses, bending over to grab at his throbbing shin. His other hand rubs over the carpet, failing to find the remote where he’d managed to lose it onto the floor. With a roll of his eyes, he abandons the mission.

Finding that damn thing can wait to tell he’s had some sleep.

Standing, his knees give audible protest and he grunts at the pain spiking up his back. He’s old. Shaking his head, he rubs at his lower back, heading back to his room. He just needs to get some sleep.

Nose diving into the duvet, he doesn’t so much as kick his shoes off. Getting to sleep is easy, he’s out the second he curls into his side. He’ll have to remember to thank Jessica for turning on the heat. The dropping September temperature hadn’t been on his mind when he’d stumbled out the door four days previously.

But he comes home to a toasty apartment, a nice contrast to the fall chill in the air just outside his bedroom’s window.

Groggily, stomach aching with a strange vengeance, he wakes some hour or so later. Time is a concept his fuzzy mind can’t grasp. With hands that feel twice their size and a body that feels too heavy to be his own, he pushes himself upright. Fumbling, he tears off his clothes. Simply letting his suit jacket and pants land in a heap on the floor. The buttons make his head throb but it’s muscle memory to work them apart. By the time the final one snaps out of place, he lands back on the bed. Too tired to hold himself upright but at least his clothes aren’t trapping him in anymore.

It feels like he’s just closed his eyes when he wakes with a startle, his entire body trembling.

He rolls over onto his back, sweating lightly. He’s still bone-tired and when he turns his head to see the alarm clock on the nightstand he finds he can’t really see the numbers. Somewhere, on the floor, maybe, his phone vibrates where it’d fallen. His chest is tight, painfully so— his father had died of a heart attack not much older than he is now.

Is this how he’ll go?

Not with a bang?

He’d always expected to find himself looking down the barrel of a gun, as he had some many times before, and been unable to walk away. To crumble where he stood. Leaving his son and ex-sister-in-law to bury him in a closed casket. Forcing his team to carry him through the graveyard one last time.

But…

He’d always hoped someone would be there. So his last thought would be of his family and not… not this painful coil of fear.

Against his will, a tear falls down his face. He feels miserable. The back of his throat feels tight with nausea but he’s not sure he can stand. He wants so desperately for someone to come. He doesn’t care if it’s Dave with his frustrating muttered Italian or even JJ, who he knows would wrap the blanket at the end of his bed around his shoulders.

He misses them. Shivering and crying softly in his confusion, he wants so desperately for comfort. Eyes sliding shut against his will, the darkness and his anxiety overtaking him, he knows something is so desperately wrong but… he doesn’t know what.

Monday comes around without a hitch for the others.

In fact, for once, Emily Prentiss is ahead of schedule. She’s set to arrive at the office before JJ, not to toot her own horn or anything. When the elevator comes to a stop on the floor, she frowns. She’s used to the soft wafting smell of coffee greeting her and the lights up and down the hall being turned on.

But it’s seven in the morning and she supposes maybe Hotch isn’t here yet. He always makes coffee in the morning. By the time she normally gets there, he’s got all three coffee pots going and the bullpen slowly coming to life under his nurturing hand. The man’s got the green thumb equivalent of whatever paperwork and federal agents are to plants.

This morning, it seems he’s slacking in his watering of the plants.

JJ comes in ten minutes later, a bagel in one hand and a newspaper in the other. She’s scowling at the later, too busy to observe the too-quiet office and lack of Hotch going on. She does manage to stop her brisk walk the second time Emily calls out for her. “Yeah?” she shakes her head, she hasn’t had any coffee yet. “Emily,” she says shocked. “You’re here early.”

Emily nods her head, “I am.” Pointing up to Hotch’s dark office she deduces, “but Hotch isn’t.”

JJ glances up at the office and tries to stifle the immediate worry that consumes her. “Uh,” she shakes it away. “Jack gives Hotch some trouble on Monday mornings,” she rationalizes. Hotch had said something once about it but she’s just hoping, clinging to that idea. “Besides,” she adds, recalling this detail. “Sometimes they stop for a muffin or donuts. That’s probably just taking some time this morning.”

Right, both women think as they go their separate ways, that has to be it.

For esteemed members of the A team of the BAU, Reid and Morgan don’t notice Hotch’s absence until around lunchtime. Morgan realizes Hotch hasn’t been down to the bullpen for his second and third cup of coffee. Which he customary drinks leaning against one of their desks and arguing with Reid about whatever niche subject he’s devoted his time to this week. Morgan didn’t think that was something his day needed until…

“I forgot Hotch isn’t here to make any more coffee,” Reid complains. He’s standing in front of Emily’s desk, his mug in his hands. She gives him only a second of her time, looking him up and down and shaking her head. He’ll grumble all day about how she and Morgan treat him like a baby and then he’ll stand here and pout because Hotch didn’t make coffee.

Hotch has no personal obligation to make the coffee. They’re all adults who can make coffee.

Reid shuffles his weight between his left and right foot. “Do you think something’s wrong?”

Yeah, she feels like snapping, the thought has occurred to her. First of all, Dave can preach all day about how it’s good Hotch has taken the day off, but in the years she’s known Aaron Hotchner he’s done that once. Once. And even then he’d left them an objective— a damn warning!

“He’s fine, kid,” Morgan speaks up but he doesn’t look up from his file. A dead give away. He’d joked when he’d first noticed Hotch’s lights off but the light of his tone never met his eyes. It doesn’t help that he hasn’t said much of anything to any of them. Just sat and did his paperwork.

Derek Morgan never does paperwork.

Reid nods, glancing at Emily, but she’s lowered her head to her own paperwork. Okay, he thinks understands. With a nod, he goes back to the break room and makes his own coffee. Hotch will be back tomorrow, he convinces himself. It’ll all be fine… tomorrow. Hotch will make them coffee. Hotch will be here...

Tuesday comes with a southern downpour. The temperature drops dramatically and that chill follows it’s way into the building.

“He’s not here,” Reid greets Emily.

She’s running her fingers through her wet hair, glad that no one’s around to hear her cursing up a storm worse than the one blowing outside--- and by anyone, she means Hotch and his disappointed but not surprised frown. “What do you mean,” she grumbles, resigning herself to the fact that she wasted an hour in front of the mirror this morning getting her hair straight.

Reid watches her with a mix of awe and curiosity but answers none-the-less. “Hotch,” he says, motioning behind them to the dark office.

Emily’s fingers are caught in her hair, her arms twisting her damp hair back into a bun. “What,” she asks, having heard him but too surprised to say anything else. With the ease that comes from muscle memory, she snaps the hair tie around her messy excuse of a bun and discards her belongings on the floor. Headed for Hotch’s office.

Reid already knows what she’s going to find.

He’d come bearing the book he’d been telling Hotch about last week. The plan was to surprise Hotch with the hand translated version. Reid had read both the version in its original Russian and the translated English version. After finding it less than adequate, he’d translated it himself. Today, he was going to give it to Hotch.

Only Reid had thrown his boss’s office door open and taken the cold chill of the empty room like a punch to the gut. Anxiety bubbling its ugly head up at the familiar, usually comforting, scent of Hotch’s cologne but his general absence being… terrifying.

Seeing Emily react to the same anomaly, he’s glad this isn’t just some demonstration of his tendency to establish unhealthy attachments (it still kind of is but that’s not the point). The twist to her lips makes his heart rise to his throat and he shakily points to Hotch’s desk and the absence of any proof that Hotch might simply be elsewhere in the building.

“What are we doing, my loves?”

Garcia’s on her own mission.

It’s Tuesday, bright and early, and Hotch promised to revise and look into her eco-friendly idea about the jet and the paperwork. She’d given him an entire week to review it--- he could do it in a day but she knows he’s busy and stressed and she hates the idea of adding unnecessarily to that.

She’s been looking forward to today since last week. It seems as if she never really gets to hang out with her boss anymore and the thought has made her so sad. Contrary to what he might convince himself, her love for that grumpy man knows no bounds. Just because he’s not as darkly striking as Emily or whimsical like Dave doesn’t mean he doesn’t bring his own things to the table. She’s really excited to hear him grumble about Strauss in that humorous, sarcasm so dry it cracks way only he manages.

Seeing his empty office upsets her beyond words. He’s the dependable person she knows. He wouldn’t just… “He promised,” she says, not even attempting to hide the fear. “Hotch doesn’t break promises.”

Yeah, that’s what they were afraid of.

Hotch could never see the similarities within himself reflecting into his son. Even now, as they stare so blankly back at him, he doesn’t recognize it. That eerie calm— Haley had always said he was like still water. A danger you never know is there until it’s too late. He could never wrap his mind around figuring out if that was a compliment or not.

“I’ll come back after school,” Jack promises, the shaky undertone of his soft voice making Hotch’s chest tight. He’s afraid. Reasonably so. The poor kid goes away for a weekend with his cousins. He sets up a campfire with his grandparents. Listens to Aunt Jessica tell him about how his parents fell in love--- leaving out the bits about Aaron’s father and the way the entire town hated the idea of sweet little Haley Brookes getting with that troublemaker Aaron Hotchner.

He has so much fun and comes home to this...

Thinking about his father so young and his mother… for a moment he felt no different than the other kids.

But he’s always been too much like his father for that.

Jack thinks the world will fall apart if he’s not there to catch it. Just as it had this weekend.

Jessica prays she can teach Jack the lesson Haley could never convince Aaron of, he doesn’t have to save the world. “Come on, baby.” Jessica pats Jack’s shoulder, it’s breaking her heart to have to tear father and son apart. “We’ll be here around three, Aaron,” she promises.

Her words are lost to him. He’s watching them behind heavily lidded eyes. A nurse had said something about him not sleeping but Jessica had discouraged the idea of sedation. Aaron’s not sleeping for a reason and whatever that reason is, whatever he’s afraid of seeing, is worse than what’s going to happen if he keeps himself awake. They’d rejected her idea of intravenously giving him the medication he’d been prescribed to take as needed for his anxiety— so they have this unhappy medium.

Where Aaron doesn’t sleep but he’s not losing it either.

She presses a kiss to his sweaty forehead, “get some sleep, Aaron.” Pushing back some of his unruly hair from his face she can better see the sleepy eyes looking back at her. “I love you.”

Jack squirms uncomfortably. They’re pushing it for school. Another habit picked up of his fathers: the obsessive need to be places earlier than the required time. Jessica can forgive him easily for this but the teachers and the school have already expressed their understanding if Jack is late a few days.

Not that Jack can extend himself that same courtesy— yet, another habit of his father’s.

She squeezes Aaron’s hand one final time in goodbye and takes Jack’s, leading him from the room. There’s no benefit in sending him to school right now. He’s not paying attention in class, anxious to get back here and make sure Aaron hasn’t died without someone here to constantly remind him what he’s fighting for.

They share a similar fear that in that room by himself Aaron will allow the world to consume him and he’ll just stop fighting. He’ll just die and leave them both. And Jessica had hated him once upon a time but he’s really the only family she has too. She loves Jack to pieces but she has no desire to raise her sister and brother’s son.

She has no desire to bury Aaron. Not today, not tomorrow--- she’s done burying family.

All she can hope is that Aaron understands that.

He watches them leave. Jack glances back only once, today he doesn’t silently sob as they make their exit. Hotch’s heart thanks the small boy for that, he can’t handle his son’s tears. It hurts so much more to know that he’s the reason his little boy is so sad. That fear of losing Hotch hasn’t gone away in the years since his mother’s death. It won’t ever really go away.

Tuesday passes as slowly as Monday.

He doesn’t eat the breakfast they bring him. Just as he hadn’t eaten the dinner or the lunch they brought him yesterday. While most of the symptoms have died down, like the headache and vertigo, but the trouble breathing and nausea have not abated. Giving him a nasty aversion to the food that already looks unappealing.

He can’t remember much of what happened. After falling asleep to the sound of his phone frantically buzzing he hadn’t woken back up for hours. He has a distant memory of a man in grey—a firefighter— pulling him upright. His legs and body limp and the whole world shifting as he’s lifted and carried out of his bedroom.

He’d been one of the more severe cases. Exhausted from working for so long, he hadn’t so much as left the building for hours. Meaning while the rest of the building occupants went on about their days-- leaving for church or groceries or dinner plans-- he’d been left to succumb to the symptoms of carbon monoxide alone.

A boiler in the basement had some malfunction, one of the nurses had told him. Hotch didn’t really care how it happened or why, he just knew he was glad Jack was nowhere near any of this. Even if Jack being home meant things not escalating to this point. Hotch can take the tight feeling in his chest and the difficulty breathing over anything if it means keeping Jack safe… Jack’s all he has.

At least, Jack is all he thinks he has.

The nurse’s face spreads into the softest, happiest smile David Rossi thinks he’s seen in days. The woman, hardly twenty-five, beams and clasps her hands together in her excitement. “You’re here for Aaron?” She motions for them to follow her. “He’s a sweetheart,” she tells them. He really is. Aside from giving her a hard time about his pain level and eating, he’s been her best patient. Never once rude or anything but the picture of calm.

Well, he’s almost always the picture of calm…

“He’s had a bad day,” she explains simply, stopping in the doorway. She’d come in for what she was quickly learning to be her daily ritual of fighting with the man to eat something and found him sobbing. From there, the nerves he couldn’t control, lack of sleep, and anxiety going unchecked had bubbled into an anxiety attack. The end result—

Dave clears his throat, “is he okay?”

The nurse nods her head, “I stayed with him for a while. He’s just a little groggy. The doctor ordered some sedatives.” He hadn’t lasted long under their heavy influence and she’d checked in on him as many times as she could but he still wasn’t up yet.

Maybe with his friends here though…

“Thank you,” JJ says, reaching out and squeezing the other woman’s hand. There’s a sad smile on her lips as she says, “we can’t thank you enough for taking care of him.” JJ has to look away before the tears pooling in her eyes spill over. “He’s a very stubborn man but--but we love him dearly.”

The nurse nods her head, sympathetic tears threatening to fall. “He talked about you guys,” so much so she’s fairly certain she knows each of them far more than she should. JJ is the soft blonde, stronger than she knows and still gentle. There’s Dave whose hardened scowl had thrown her off but now she sees the curious brow Aaron had told her about. The stick and bones genius Doctor Reid hadn’t been a hard one to figure out, just like the bright and dazzlingly beautiful Penelope Garcia. Leaving only Emily Prentiss, dark and serious.

His family.

“But really,” she says, excusing herself with one last glance at her friend in the room. “He’ll be very pleased you’re here. He never said it but he missed you.”

Yeah, JJ smiles, that sounds about right.

They enter the room with a soft knock, as to not disturb him if he is sleeping.

“Good morning, sunshine.”

It takes hours. By the time that Aaron wakes up, Dave has already called and got the rest of them today and tomorrow off. Derek’s made two trips out for food-- lunch and then the snack that Reid was getting antsy about. Reid’s consumed three Poptarts and if not for Hotch’s eyes cracking open he’d be making for a fourth. However, Reid knows Hotch’s mood will flip like a switch and the last thing he needs is Hotch’s frustration being taken out on him.

“Ach,” Dave swats at Hotch’s hand. His fingers failing to form a strong enough grasp around the flimsy plastic fo the mask to pull it away from his face. However, the idea is in his head and Dave doesn’t want him to just find that strength. “Something tells me that’s not there for decorations,” Dave says, pulling Hotch’s hand down to his chest.

Hotch grumbles something, pale lips cashing in words that his lungs can’t check-out. Whatever is lost to his rasps or drowning by the mask is made up for by the eye-roll of angst he sends Dave. Which also loses it’s flavor when he starts hacking up a lung.

“Easy--”

Dave’s soft soothes go unheard and Morgan steps in, pulling Hotch up by his shoulders. There’s a split second where Hotch gags, the sudden movement causing intense nausea, but nothing comes up and he’s left coughing painfully into Morgan’s side. Needing the other man to keep him upright.

“You good,” Morgan asks. He’d picked up a soothing rub of Hotch’s back, moving his large palm in circles until the coughing died down. Until now, as Hotch just leans limply into his side.

Hotch nods, “thanks.”

Morgan doesn’t go far, he stays close enough to help Hotch lay back down. His dark brows furrowed as his eyes move over Hotch’s strained face. He’s in obvious discomfort and it bothers Morgan to see him like this. “How are you feeling,” Morgan pushes, fidgeting with the blankets bunched up around Hotch’s waist. “You cold?”

Hotch turns his head into the pillows, nodding.

Morgan pulls the blankets up and fixes the mask half pushed off Hotch’s face. He smiles when Hotch just scowls but submits to the movement. Morgan bites back whatever comment he might make about Hotch being particularly grumpy today. It’s hard to believe that you could miss something as simple as someone’s grumpy mumbling but at the thought of losing Hotch…

“You good,” Morgan asks, one of his hands on Hotch’s shoulder. “You need anything?”

Hotch’s glazed over eyes move over Morgan as if he’s uncertain if he’s really there. Hotch is still fairly under the influence of the sedative working its way through his system. So, his lazy, uncoordinated movement to dislodge the oxygen mask over his face is futile. “Itches,” he slurs, under his breath.

It’s easier than it should be for Dave to pin Hotch’s hands to his chest once again, just pushing his wrist down. Hotch grunts a little, giving only a little resistance to hold. “Aaron,” Dave chides. “The carbon monoxide in your blood is still elevated so you have to leave the mask alone.”

The doctor had told them that when Aaron was emitted he’d stopped breathing on his own. The percentage of carbon monoxide in his blood a 48%— one of the highest out of the patients brought in from the incident at the apartment complex. High enough to kill him, as it should have. As it still could.

They’d been assured, upon arrival, that he’s doing exceptionally well considering. But it will take time for his blood to return to normal as it will take time for him to recover. Which he will, recovery that is. He has to.

He always does.

#criminal minds #aaron hotchner #david rossi #emily prentiss #jennifer jareua #jennifer jareau #penelope garcia #spencer reid #derek morgan #jack hotchner #whumptowninwhumptober #hotch whump

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peachy-inserts · 4 years ago

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alright, here we go; long post coming up y’all

(sorry for any errors, or for too much repetition. i am incredibly tired today)

tdlr; bakugou is angry and deserves love and patience

the name thing is what bothers me the very most about fanon bakugou. he frequently calls people by insults, but even lately in canon has shown to use them less and less, and with people he personally knows, or someone who’s being a dick

and for someone who has so much trouble opening up and developing close relationships in the first place, why the hell would he ever choose to call an s/o by these names? it’s an abusive behavior to do that; i know it’s fictional but could you imagine if your boyfriend called you a ‘fucking dumbass’? ‘endearingly’ or not, i just don’t see how some people could characterize bakugou like that and find it appealing

about showing respect by using names, notice how he hardly calls midoriya anything other than ‘damn deku’, but has rarely slung dumbass or idiot into the mix. he also would never adress his teachers or idols by those things, even though we all know he’s got enough balls and anger to

granted, he doesn’t spare this courtesy with his friends, but speaking realistically i think i say bitch and whore more times a day when talking to my friends than i do their names. i think platonically, with the right context, bond, and tone you can certainly use names like this to show affection. but never to hurt them with

bakugou is definitely incredibly insecure, which of course we saw in the deku vs kacchan 2 fight when all might broke them up. he’s just a messed up kid with a warped perception of reality (which we’ll go more into on in the next part) a lot that goes into making bakugou the personality he is on fanon is this in the works, and yet it’s completely ignored and excused as an extremely confident dude who shows affection through violence and insults/threats. like, what? you can’t play that off as ‘haha he means well’ like no, no. any perosn with an inkling of sense knows you don’t act like that to people you care about

going off of him being insecure, you’d have to have to be forceful with him to get him to open up, as well as showing him a little bit of tlc because it’s not like literally anyone has ever offered that to him. deku has definitely tried to be close with him, but i don’t think he’s going as deep as he should and to no fault of his; his history with bakugou and bakugous feelings of inferiority prevent that from happening on his end. i don’t think bakugou would be able to be vulnerable to somebody unless they opened up to him first, and had written a reliable history with him. he’s someone who could stand to learn by example

still yet though, a lot of what i see with him on the other side of fanon (him not, y’know, basically being abusive) is that he’s a mellowed out fellow, doesn’t let things bother him, is super sweet. even without everything making him him the way that he is, that’s still his personality. even if he were to overcome all of his issues, that doesn’t mean his entire personality would change. he’s certainly aware of how he presents himself, and how people shy away from him, but as of currently where the anime left off (i’m not caught up on the manga) is okay with that. he focuses on his goals to distract himself from those matters weighing down on him but i think in the future as he had more time to bond with others he’d definitely try to make an effort to change, and from that point is where i tend to write him from. he can still be brash, confident, and teasing all while showing kindness to others, it’s just gonna take time

mitsuki is, if you ask me, the root of his problems. for real. mitsuki literally criticizes him for the way he handles being kidnapped, makes him feel guilty for it, treats him as if he should have been able to solve everything in his own, shouldn’t have been there in the first place if he was really strong enough, and reinforces this idea in him that a hero should be able to work completely alone. she gives him the idea that needing help or asking for help is weak and he should be ashamed for ‘inconveniecing’ everyone, despite him literally being her 15 year old son kidnapped by the most notorious and dangerous group of villains in the country

that’s not tough love, that is emotional abuse. mitsuki and bakugou’s relationship is more than them both simply being rough around the edges, she sets out to degrade him and knock him down every time he shows an ounce of confidence. it is extremely toxic, and caused him to develop this inferiority complex that we see (only to be amplified by the one person he could confidently assert himself over becoming the all powerful successor to his idol)

if she would have showed him a little bit of weakness, a little bit of the motherly love expected of her, i don’t think he’d be nearly as insecure as he is now. his flashy quirk would still play into his personality, what with adults fawning over him and saying he should be a hero (seen in the beginning of the series) but i think more than anything it would be a not so intense fear of failure. if he had his own mother backing him up, it wouldn’t be nearly as bad

mitsuki has lead him to believe that unless he’s the best and achieves his goal without any help whatsoever, that he should be disappointed, pitied, and seen as a loser

finally touching the lighter side of things, bakugou would be absolutely hilarious the first time he ever committed himself to a relationship. he’s genuinely never been interested in it, and the few crushes he’s had were completely ignored to fulfill his goals. so far we’ve established that he’s insecure, feels inferior, and has trouble expressing his emotions unless the right person caters to him patiently. there is absolutely NO way that he could go into a relationship confidently, he’d be completely flustered and nervous as hell. i think bakugou is definitely the type to play into cliche romance standards all while pretending he’s too cool to care, and it’s whimsical to say the least

all he cares about is being a hero, so unless someone willing to work with him slowly and show him kindness latches into him and cracks him open, i don’t see him starting a relationship in high school. he wouldn’t be concerned with those matters until he’s finally settled down into a routine work life, and even then wouldn’t be able to develop a good romantic relationship with someone he wasn’t already friends with

as for pda, his flashy show off style and embarrassed ‘never dated anyone and is terrified’ ordeal would clash and leave him wanting to be able to indulge in pda, but far too flustered to go through with it. he’ll hold hand with you, yeah, maybe leave a hand on your waist when you’re idle, but a kiss is taking it outside of his comfort zone. once he’s adapted and overcome these, he’s all over it though. so long as it doesn’t get gross, you know?

i think he would mimic his parents in one sense, that being banter. he’d argue with his s/o, but not in the aggressive manner you’d expect; more so, arguments are a way to exercise his mind and keep him entertained? so i think he’d need an s/o who can keep up with him and playfully bounce back and forth with him over useless things. he’d never take it to the point of anyone being hurt or actually angry, although there would be a couple times he’d lose his temper over something and start an ACTUAL argument that has the potential to escalate. after doing this once or twice though i think he’d work extensively on keeping his cool and having a peaceful albeit tense discussion

otherwise though, i don’t think he wants to be anything like them, and consciously works toward providing a relationship for his s/o much much different from theirs, once that’s open and nurturing

so sorry for the repeated thoughts and spelling mistakes, but those are my thoughts! feel free to add on anymore or elaborate on what’s here so far, and thank you for sending these in babe 😍

#katsuki bakgou #bakugou x reader #bakugou hcs #bakugo insert #bnha #mod josie

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bellatrixobsessed1 · 4 years ago

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From Chin To Yon Rah (Part 18)

Azula had blown it. She had gone there to track them down and came away with nothing but heartbreak and repressed memories. She curls up on the bed and wonders how long it will take before they tire of her. Before they finally stop coddling her and demand that she gets on with her life. When they will tell her to get a job and stop taking up space in their infirmary.

And yet she can’t get herself out of bed. Fresh out of fury for revenge, she has no reason to do so. Nobody to get up for and, by Agni, she doesn’t want to get close to anyone. Not ever again. Not when they will be taken from her or grow to resent her upon finding out who she is. Hajime and Atsu were rare gems, she can’t imagine that she will come by anyone else who would be willing to accept her. She isn’t sure that she wants them to.

She knows for certain that they have no more compassion or patience for her a few days later when they inform her that they need bed space for several new patients. When they offer her only shrugs and pitying looks when she asks where she can go.

Life becomes so terribly unbearable after that. It was hard to cope with before.

Now, people don’t even look at her. They go out of their way to pretend not to see the pathetic, shivering, dirty woman asking for a place to stay or something to eat. They put an effort into taking no notice of the ratty woman infested in body with lice and in spirit with survivors guilt.

With any luck, she won’t be a survivor for long. There is only so much a survivor can survive before the instinct burns out.

There is just enough of a flicker of that instinct for her to seek out a job, a way to make some coin. But the people of Chin know her too well already; they know that she is crazed and dirty. They have no interest in working with someone who’d earned a reputation for hallucinating a healthy pregnancy.

She still feels the kicks. She still hears the cries. She now knows...accepts that they aren’t real. But she still covers her ears.

They avoid her with all of the effort they put into avoiding those afflicted with disease. That is the company Azula keeps now. On occasion she talks to the lepers and those with smallpox. She keeps her distance mostly conversing from the opposite end of the alley, though she doesn’t particularly care if she falls ill herself.

They are nice enough but she doesn’t get attached; their time is short.

Go-Hara is her favorite among them. Her face is swollen and bumpy, her hands puffy and disfigured. She has less time than the rest of them. Allegedly, she has been afflicted with leprosy since early teenhood.

Not a soul has spoken to Go-Hara, so she claimed, not until her. “You’re not afraid?” She had asked.

“Not at all.”

“I am a monster.” The woman had brought those puffy hands to her lumpy face.

“No more than me.” Azula had declared, though her rot and ugliness comes entirely from within.

Go-Hara had laughed, hoarse and unpleasant, more like a death rattle than a chuckle. Right after Atsu’s screams and Hajime’s last breath, it is the worst sound she has ever heard. “Pretty girl, you are. Pretty face…”

“So what?”

She laughed again.

“I’m not afraid of monsters because I’m one of them.” She had thought of Hajime of how he’d always reassured her whenever the doubts had crept in. She hurt all over again, thrice over.

“You don’t fear the disease?”

“I wish it would take me.” She had said. Azula knew that Go-Hara was worth speaking to when the woman laughed at this too. She still isn’t sure of exactly what was so funny about her death wish.

Today, she sits at the other end of the alley and tosses Go-Hara one of the mangos she had snatched from one of the traveling merchants. “Come closer.” Azula demands.

“I will not.” Go-Hara says again. Azula is still leprosy free and to no credit of her own. Go-Hara avoids close proximity with her as though she is the leper and not the other way around. The woman bites into the mago. “Very good. Thank you.”

Azula nods. Sometimes it is a silent day, they will just sit at opposite ends of the alley and enjoy having the company. When Azula finds herself staring up at the sky she knows that today is a silent day.

That is fine with her, she doesn’t have much to say anyways. But apparently, Go-Hara has different intentions. “Can I tell you about my family before they abandoned me?”

“Go ahead.” She is a seasoned listener after enduring so many after work dinners with old man Ojihara. It dawns upon her that she misses his irrelevant boyhood tales. “Please, go ahead.”

And Go-Hara does. It is very different from Ojihara’s tales. The old man was all logic and lessons--each of his tales ended with some sort of cautionary lesson; don’t go hippo-cow tipping because it isn’t as funny and lighthearted as many young folk think it is, stealing possum-chicken isn’t a funny prank either.

Go-Hara’s stories are all whimsical and nonsensical. Oftentimes they have no point and Azula wonders if they really happened at all. She supposes that, that is why she enjoys them so well.

Sometimes it is nice to hear about something so absurd that it has to be true despite such surreal overtones. She can very easily see a pre-teen Go-Hara making her way into a badger-mole den and causing a stampede of singing gophers.

“Your turn!” She declares when her story is through.

“My turn?”

“Humor me. Tell an old woman a story. It doesn’t even have to be true.”

And because her time is so short anyways, Azula tells her a story. She tells her a story about a fire princess who could have been something remarkable. Go-Hara mentions it to no one else. Azula hadn’t expected her to.

That day she learns that some of the best people are the shunned people.

.oOo.

Sokka isn’t sure what to make of it. He has been analyzing and overthinking their conversation for hours now. He is almost certain that she had implied, several times, that she is in love with him, or at the very least, that she is getting there.

And he thinks that, that is a fragile place to be with her.

He finds her in the garden again. He is fairly certain that she is just out there to be out there, he can’t imagine that the seeds would have sprouted that fast even with the palace’s rich soil.

“Hey.” He greets.

Azula turns her head. “You’re up early.”

He shrugs. “I get the prettiest views in the morning.”

“You’re welcome.” Azula replies.

“I was talking about the--”

“Princess of the Fire Nation?” She interrupts. “I know.”

He laughs, he is glad to find her in better spirits. Her gaze is fixed upon the gold-blue of the sunrise as it throws shadows over the garden. “We should add strawberries to the garden.”

“Strawberries?” She quirks a brow. “Next to the turnips? Sokka, that make no sense.”

“It’s your garden, you can arrange it how you want to.”

“Yes.” Azula agrees. “And I would like to keep the fruits with the fruits and the vegetables with the vegetables.”

“Or you can spice it up and lay it out in a fruit, vegetable pattern.”

Azula shakes her head. “I know that there aren’t any crops in the tribes but I think that it is common sense, that the fruits and vegetables are kept separately.”

“Can you say that with confidence?”

Azula nods. “I’ve traveled to various parts of the Earth Kingdom and have passed many farms. Not one of them arranged their crops in a fruit, vegetable pattern. It is because they know that that’s a ridiculous idea.” She adds for good measure.

“Alright fine, we’ll put the strawberries all the way on the other side of the palace. Happy?”

Azula shakes her head, “that is too much unnecessary walking. Optimally the strawberries would be placed…”

He had forgotten how carefully she likes to lay out every detail. How concise even some of the most trivial things must be. But then he might not have truly know that to begin with, he has only heard Zuko mention it on occasion.

“And that’s why it’s important to keep the strawberries near the watermelons.”

He flushes, realizing that he hadn’t been listening at all. Though he isn’t entirely confident that strawberries and watermelons have the same growing season. “Azula, can you answer something honestly?”

She nods.

“Do you even know what you’re talking about?”

She thinks for a moment. “Not entirely. Seukhyun usually helped me with my gardens. I can’t quite remember everything he was trying to tell me about it.” She pauses. “I suppose I can ask the palace gardner…”

“Or we can figure it out together through trial and error. Don’t you think that, that would be funner.”

.oOo.

She supposes that it could be. She’d had a nice time the last few times that he’d taken her somewhere new. Spontaneity isn’t exactly her first choice but it has its merits. “That’s a strange way of asking if you have permission to plant your strawberries next to my turnips.”

He bursts out laughing again. The sort of barking laugh that includes holding his hands to his belly until the fit passes. He wipes a tear from the corner of his eye. She didn’t think it was that funny. “So is that a yes?”

Azula sighs, “fine. But only because I can shift the blame to you if my turnips don’t turn out well.”

It is quite therapeutic to do garden work. She thinks that if they had let her give it a try at the institution that she might have received it better. But then, she wasn’t exactly ready for something like that then. At that point, gardening was still entirely a peasant’s work. She supposes that it kind of still is. And she knows it by the curious looks she is given throughout the day, particularly when she re-enters the palace with muddy pants and dirt smudged hands and cheeks.

“New hobby?” Zuko asks.

Azula nods.

“I remember when you were burning things in the palace garden for being ugly.”

“My garden is going to be too pretty to set on fire.” She declares. “I have come inside for lunch and tea.”

“It’s almost ready.” Zuko smiles.

“Where are Mai and TyLee?”

“They went for a stroll around the capital. Where’d Sokka go off to?”

“He’s on his way inside.”

“You’ve gotten...close.” He notes.

“Yes.” She replies. “What of it?”

.oOo.

He shrugs as he sets out a few teacups, “I guess that it’s just nice to see that you’re making friends. It’s just…” he trails off. It’s strange. Surreal. Unexpected among other things. It isn’t the bad sort of strange and unexpected, not that he can see. In fact it is very much a relief to know that he won’t have to listen to constant bickering and mediate between she and everyone else.

Generally, she seems like she is doing significantly better.

“Did you finish reading it?”

It takes him a moment to connect the dots. “Almost.” He replies. Truth be told he has been hesitating to finish reading the journal. He knows already what is going to happen, he just isn’t ready for it. Doesn’t want to know the details and the how’s. Atsu is...was a sweet boy and he doesn’t want to flip the page only to find that he has died.

Agni, if he can’t even read it… He looks at his sister. At the scars on her neck and the very subtle bags under her eyes. He can’t even begin to fathom it.

She takes her teacup and cradles it in her hands the way she always had since they were kids. Sokka walks into the room and suddenly her eyes don’t seem so weary and tired. “I’m glad that you’re doing better.” He says finally.

Azula nods, “thank you.”

Sokka comes to stand in front of her, “you got dirt all over your face!” He declares boldly. “Let me just…”

She takes one look at his hands and grumbles, “Sokka, don’t you dare.”

Despite her protests, Sokka rubs the dirt from her cheek. By rubs, Zuko meant smears. He doesn’t just smear the dirt, Zuko thinks that he has added more to. His suspicions are confirmed at the crinkling of Azula’s nose.

“Zuzu, come here.”

Zuko steps closer. Honestly, he doesn’t know what he was expecting. She takes his sleeve, his lavish Fire Lord regalia and rubs her cheek clean. “Better, thank you.” She remarks.

#Avatar The Last Airbender #Azula #Sokka #Sokkla #Fanfiction

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elesianne · 4 years ago

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A Silmarillion fanfic, chapter two of three – Carnistir/Tuilindien

Chapter length: ~3,600 words; Story rating: Teenage audiences

Summary: Caranthir and his wife expect and welcome an addition to their family. Tuilindien’s joy is greater than her exhaustion, but Caranthir’s happiness is shadowed by Míriel’s fate.

A/N: In this longer chapter, an elven pregnancy continues to require a great deal of cuddling and fluff.

Warnings: Pregnancy continues, and there is exactly one sentence that is descriptive about childbirth in this chapter.

AO3 LINK

Chapter II // In happy expectation

'I think our child is a girl', Tuilindien tells Carnistir one night, after a day of pondering about it quietly.

It has been another one of those days when she has done little but wander around the house and garden, doing only some tiny chores and taking her time with them, and sitting or lying down in warm, comfortable places like a contented cat. Indeed, Snowdrop and Cinder had joined her for some of her moments of rest, and she petted their soft fur while she conversed with her child's spirit, learning more about her.

Carnistir's puts down his utensils by his plate, and his face lights up. But as always when she tells him something about their child, he asks, 'Are you certain? How can you tell?'

'I am not certainly not certain', Tuilindien replies with a little laugh. Almost always, she has to tell him that she is not certain. 'This is new to me, Carnistir. But there is something about her that… I do not how to describe it. Some part of her spirit that resembles a part of mine, and it makes me think that she is a girl. I cannot explain it any better than that.'

'You are calling them 'her' now.' Carnistir smiles wider than she's ever seen.

He appears to be as elated about having a daughter as Curufinwë is about having a son.

'I might be wrong', she warns him. 'We have no way of knowing for certain whether I am until she is born. Though you may begin to feel more things about her soon, too.'

'I hope I will.' Somehow, he manages to frown while still also smiling. It is a peculiar sight, and it makes her heart ache in that sweet way only he can cause. 'I feel so little from her yet. Oh, Tuilë. A little girl.' He gets up and starts pacing around the dining room, only to come back to her after a few laps of the room to press a swift kiss to her forehead. Then he gets back to pacing.

Tuilindien starts eating her vegetables again. She is very hungry, and there is only joy to be felt from Carnistir. Apparently he cannot physically contain it all, and must move around. Tuilindien does not share the impulse but after years of marriage, she expected nothing else from him.

She eats and he paces, and when she is finishing her dessert he comes back to the table and sits down in the chair next to her.

His hair is messy from running his hands through it. Tuilindien runs careful fingers through the black locks, untangling knots, caressing his joyful fëa with hers.

She can tell that he is talking to their child, and so Tuilindien waits quietly until he speaks.

His hand on her belly, he asks, 'Do you think she will like making physical things or drawing plans for them like me, or studying intangible things like you?'

'I cannot tell yet.' She leans back in her chair. 'She will be her own person, her spirit all her own, so she might not take after either of us unless she chooses to and we choose to teach her.'

'I'll teach her anything she wants, or find teachers. If she wants to be a stone-smith, I won't let anyone say anything to her about how it is not woman's work. And in any case there are more and more women in Tirion working stone now than there were when my mother was young and considered odd for choosing it.'

Despite his fierce words, his calloused fingers are gentle as always. Tuilindien runs her own on top his for a moment.

'Perhaps she will be an artist', she says. 'Or a singer, or poet.'

Carnistir says, 'Perhaps she will be a needlewoman.'

She smiles at him. 'Perhaps. Nimble-fingered and capable of putting together something beautiful out of tiny stiches.'

She is glad that as her pregnancy has continues and their child become more and more real and present to them, Míriel's shadow has seemed to weigh less on Carnistir's spirit. Perhaps one day she will not be such at all.

Not today, though, not yet. For as Tuilindien finishes her dessert, her worrying husband says, 'Let's go to bed, Tuilë.'

'It is not late', she protests, but she doesn't really mind. She is already letting him help her up – unnecessarily – and she follows him when he leads her straight to their bedroom.

Tuilindien helps Netyarë paint both their nurseries. That is, she helps Netyarë's maid Wirien with covering the floors and mixing paints and plaster and other small errands. Wirien is skilled in them all, experienced in helping her mistress, and could probably do all of them alone just as well. Tuilindien suspects that Netyarë invited her just to make her feel included.

She doesn't voice her suspicions because she is happy to be included, although once Netyarë gets started painting, she needs little help. She appears to sink into her own world.

Tuilindien brings chairs to the nursery and she and Wirien sit down to keep Netyarë unneeded company and offer suggestions on the rare occasions when she asks for them. Tuilindien reads practise analyses by her young students and makes corrections in them, and Wirien does her household's mending.

It is all very companionable.

The walls in the room of her own baby Netyarë covers in depictions of small, fluffy rabbits gambolling in a woodland scene. When Curufinwë and Carnistir are shown the finished frescoes, they tease Netyarë about her subject matter, about how she has never painted anything nearly as whimsical before.

Netyarë turns up her little nose and says mock-haughtily that she has never painted frescoes in a child's bedroom before and, really, few artists have – her and Curufinwë's son is a lucky boy to have art in his room that is as carefully painted, and with more love, than the walls of any lord's room that Netyarë has been commissioned to decorate.

Curufinwë kisses her cheek in a rare public show of affection and says that, yes, their son is very lucky to have such a talented artist as his mother.

Carnistir studies the baby rabbits with a thoughtful frown and says resolutely, 'I think you painted their ears a little too long, and they are behaving too nicely with each other.'

While Netyarë rolls her eyes, Tuilindien whispers in Carnistir's ear, 'Neither of those things is really important for the purpose of the painting.'

'The purpose?'

'To delight a child.'

Carnistir starts to redden. 'Right', he says. 'This is one of those things I didn't think about enough before I spoke.'

Tuilindien pats his arm.

'I grew up in the city and am far from an expert on forestland fauna', Netyarë says. Fortunately she looks more amused than irritated. 'If you want a perfectly anatomically accurate depiction of an animal, ask Tyelko to draw you one.'

Curufinwë chuckles, makes a face at Carnistir and throws his arm around Netyarë's shoulders, and they all go to dinner.

The next day, Netyarë begins painting a fresco in the nursery of Tuilindien and Carnistir's daughter. At Tuilindien's request, Netyarë paints no bunnies or other small animals.

Instead, she paints a beautiful fresco of the two Trees on one of the windowless walls, more shimmering and bright than Tuilindien dared to hope for, and Taniquetil on the other: Tuilindien's home until she made her home here with Carnistir.

'I want her to get to know her other home, too, when she is still young and we won't be able to travel with her to Valinor or Taniquetil often', Tuilindien explains to Carnistir as they stand, hand in hand, looking at the half-finished fresco of the Holy Mountain one evening when Netyarë has laid down her brushes and plaster and gone home. A cold autumn wind blows in through the windows, and a fresh underlayer of plaster waits on the wall, drying, to be painted over the next few days.

Carnistir gives her a soft peck on the cheek and strokes gently over her crown of braids. Tuilindien can tell that he doesn't know what to say.

That is alright. Her mother is coming to visit soon.

'She feels a lot like you', Tuilindien says suddenly one day when they are again lying in bed already though it is barely night-time yet. She had been tired, and Carnistir managed to coax her into bed and then slipped in after her.

It is early still but he wanted to just lay there with his hand on her stomach, waiting for the baby to kick. He only began to feel her doing so a few days ago, and it is still new and wonderful. Perhaps it will not stop being wonderful, feeling their child's hröa as well as fëa. Tuilindien has been feeling it longer, and still stops and smiles dreamily whenever she does. She says that her heart caught fire when she first felt the baby moving inside of her.

'Does she really feel like me?' Carnistir asks, a little hesitant. It has not occurred to him that their child reminds might resemble him greatly; his first, intuitive, hoped-for image of her has always been a golden-haired girl with Tuilindien's eyes and gentle smile.

It might not be a good thing for Tuilindien's strength if their child is more like him. He is too much like his father in some ways, though too little in others.

'Yes, she does.' Tuilindien sighs, and Carnistir feels it bodily, nestled as he is against her back with his arm thrown over her waist, cradling the bump of her stomach. It did not sound like an unhappy sigh.

'I feel like she's going to be tall and strong', Tuilindien continues dreamily. 'Strong in the ways that you are.'

Carnistir starts. 'Is that… can you feel that in her fëa? Or is it a wish? Or foresight?'

Tuilindien mulls the question over. 'The first of those, I think', she says at length. 'Though if it is, how is it different from foresight? But I never had foresight before.'

'Many don't until they have children', Carnistir reminds her. He doesn't wish for foresight for Tuilindien, or for himself. It is a double-edged blade that can bring grief before its time as well as joy of things to come.

Tuilindien sighs again. Carnistir thinks that she is much more tired today than she has admitted to him. He can see it in her spirit. Their daughter, on the other hand, is in an unusually lively mood. He tries to tell her, gentle as he can, to calm down and let her mother rest, but it does not seem to be having much effect.

He never knows whether he is doing things right when he communicates with their daughter's spirit. Or perhaps she is indeed like him, restless too often.

He also doesn't want to risk making himself or Tuilindien sad by talking more about foresight so he returns to what she said about their child feeling like. He says, 'You are on the tall side too.'

'Not like you', Tuilindien argues softly. 'Not tall and strong, with your wide shoulders and big hands. And I don't have your physicality, your hands that touch a thing that was made by another's hands and know at once how it was done, or your eyes that follow someone's movements and then you can replicate them perfectly .' She runs a hand down his arm. 'You have a kind of connection to the physical world that I don't', she muses.

He clears his throat, both pleased and embarrassed and a little uneasy at this reminder of their differences. 'And is that what you sense from our daughter?'

She lays her hand on top of his on her stomach like she likes to do. 'Yes.'

'She will be a craftswoman, then.'

With a smile in her voice, Tuilindien says, 'She will. Perhaps a stone-smith. She will be strong enough for it.'

He smiles into the back of her neck. Her curls tickle his nose. 'I hope she has your hair.' It is not the first time he has said that.

'I hope she has your dark eyes.' Tuilindien is mumbling by now.

Carnistir kisses her nape and tells her, 'Rest, vanimelda, you need to rest so you can stay strong as our daughter grows strong, too.'

He is relieved when she doesn't protest this time.

She sighs once more, soft and sweet. 'I am glad you are here, Carnistir.'

'Of course I am', he says, confused.

'You are taking such good care of me', she continues, though he wishes she would just rest, and communicates that wish to her over their mental connection. 'You spend most of your time taking care of me and the baby now. And you carry me to bed when I let you now that I'm getting heavy and clumsy – even though I'm heavy indeed now; getting me all my favourite foods, even cooking yourself when you think the cook doesn't do a good enough job.'

She chuckles at that, and Carnistir blushes but regrets nothing. She adds, 'And you keep telling me, day after day, never tiring of it, how much you love me.'

'I don't do it every day.'

'Perhaps not in words. In actions, certainly many times a day. My stalwart strength.' She turns to face him, slow and clumsy, and kisses him.

In kissing she is far from clumsy, and it makes him hold her differently, breathe her in differently, tighten his hand on her waist, show his love to her with his body.

After Tuilindien told Carnistir's family that she is with child, Fëanáro seemed to accept her – really accept her – as a member of his family for the first time.

Carnistir is angry about that. It shouldn't have taken Tuilindien carrying a child that is Fëanáro's grandson, and he lets his father know his opinion about that in very clear and very loud words.

But as the weeks march on and Tuilindien advises him to just be grateful, like she is, that Fëanáro no longer aims barbed words and looks at her during every conversation, Carnistir settles into grudging… not quite forgiveness, but acceptance at least. He attempts to be civil with his father.

And his father does give him good advice, surprisingly much of which is how to best take care of Tuilindien during the year that she bears their child.

That advice, more openly caring and tender than anything his father has said to him since he was a child, makes Carnistir look at his father with new respect. It also makes him understand, after years of wondering, why his wise mother agreed to have children with Fëanáro six times.

He doesn't know whether to expect joy or disappointment from Fëanáro when he tells him of Tuilindien discovering that their child is most likely a daughter.

There is only joy. The more cynical side of Carnistir thinks it is because Curufinwë is having a son so a granddaughter is a novelty that a second grandson would not have been. More charitably, he thinks it might be because Fëanáro genuinely has hoped for a daughter to join their family.

'A grandson and a granddaughter to be born in the same year', he says with a rare blissful smile. 'You and Curufinwë are making me and Nerdanel very happy and proud parents and grandparents indeed.'

'Tuilindien and Netyarë are doing the harder part of the work', Carnistir points out, and instead of being irritated by the rebuttal, Fëanáro laughs and agrees.

As Tuilindien's year of pregnancy draws near its end, Carnistir dislikes being away from her more and more.

Tuilindien no longer objects to his fussing – and at this point, even Carnistir himself admits that it is fussing.

And for her part, Tuilindien at last readily admits when she is exhausted, either in body and spirit or both. Carnistir does all he can to ease the long last weeks and days of her pregnancy: he takes care of as many physical things as he can, and spends hours in silent communication with their daughter's fëa. It is by now very lively, as is her hröa, granting Tuilindien little rest.

It does feel like she resembles him quite a lot, Carnistir has to admit.

He is still worried about Tuilindien. In many of the moments when she rests he listens to her breathe, sometimes with a hand on her heart to feel it beat.

It brings him consolation that she is never in ill spirits, only tired, and his mother's supportive yet no-nonsense attitude to his worrying helps too. Nerdanel comes over on most days until Tuilindien's mother arrives to stay with them for the last week and some weeks after the baby is born.

'Your father was the same with me, every time', Nerdanel confides in Carnistir on a day when he feels he should do even more for Tuilindien but doesn't know what. 'For the first few babies his excuse was that we couldn't know whether his children would be as dangerous to bear as he was. Then for the last few it was that we had already had so many, more than most, that he worried my strength could not last through it all.'

'But it did.' Carnistir manages to find a smile for his mother.

She smiles, too. 'Yes, I recovered well every time. Women are stronger than men think we are, most of the time.'

And his father tells him, 'You are doing well and so is Tuilindien.'

Carnistir raises his brows. 'Rare praise from you.'

Fëanáro busies himself with gathering up the papers Carnistir came to get from him so he can do a little bit of design work from home.

Fëanáro says, 'I may disagree with your wife's choices in how she occupies her time and what customs of our people she has refused to adopt, but I find no fault in how she conducts herself in matters of family.'

Carnistir chooses to say nothing of how Fëanáro disapproves of Tuilindien being a Vanya, still, but raises his brows at his last remark. 'What does that even mean?'

Stiffly, Fëanáro lists, 'How devoted she is to you, how she treats Pityo and Telvo just as if they were her own little brothers – teaching and guiding and always welcoming them in your house, though we all know they still tend to leave a mess behind wherever they go – and how… how she is with your daughter.'

The last compliment could be much more detailed, but Carnistir will take it. But he cannot help saying, 'It is remarkable how difficult it is for your silver tongue to say nice things about her.'

His step is light, however, as he returns home to his beloved and their child that he cannot wait to meet.

Tuilindien cries when she is very happy. That is something that Carnistir knows well: she cried the night they became engaged, when they married, and when she realised she was pregnant.

Yet when their daughter is born, she only cries a few tears of exhausted pain during her labour, and none when the baby is in her arms. She has only smiles then, and silly tired grins, and Carnistir cries and cries until the tuft of jet-black hair on the baby's head becomes blurry in his eyes.

He blinks and wipes away the tears because he doesn't want to lose a moment of this. The baby is snuffling sleepily against Tuilindien's breast as Tuilindien gazes down at her with all the love in the world in her eyes while a tiny, perfect finger is curled around Carnistir's, and the room is filled with the quietness of the three people of his family resting on the bed instead of two.

Tuilindien breaks the silence. 'You should hold her now', she says. 'I'm so tired I fear I will drop her on the bed.'

'You wouldn't', he says, but takes her when she carefully passes the baby to him. He is glad, and so is Tuilindien, that they got to practice with little Tyelperinquar for a few weeks.

Tuilindien's eyes are half-lidded but bright as she lies down and looks at him and at their daughter in his arms. 'I have never been so tired', she says. 'Or so happy.'

He sends her as much love and comfort and strength as he can. He feels drained of energy himself. 'I could not wait for her to be here', he says as he stares at their child, learning every single little thing about her and pressing them all deep in his heart. 'And now it almost strange that she is.'

Tuilindien mumbles her agreement. She is slipping into well-deserved sleep.

Carnistir's daughter is such a light weight in his arms, but there was nothing fragile about the ear-piercing crying she began as soon as she entered the world. Carnistir feels almost like his fingers stroking her cheek recognise her physical form just as his spirit recognised hers when he first held her: as akin to him and to Tuilindien, but her own being.

'Welcome to the world, beloved child', he whispers to her once more.

His daughter blinks at him sleepily, halfway to Lórien's realm. Carnistir hopes that a newborn's dreams there are as soft and comforting as the blanket he has draped her in.

He leans back against the back of his chair and listens to his child and wife breathe, deep and even.

A/N: I headcanon that elf parents-to-be don't work much during their year of expecting a child. They spend a lot of time communicating with their child and supporting their growth, as an elven pregnancy is more spiritually draining to both parents. So their family and community support them, if needed, during this important and relatively rare time in the couple's long life.

I would love to hear what you thought of the chapter <3

In the next chapter: more fluff, and talk about names.

#I don't know what is up with the banner #it shows like 50% of the time #silmarillion fanfiction #tolkien fanfiction #caranthir #caranthir's wife #tuilindien #of míriel's line #my fics #elesianne's fics #cw: pregnancy #cw: childbirth

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imaginedisish · 6 years ago

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I Think We’re Alone Now (Five Hargreeves x Reader) (The Umbrella Academy)

A/N: BOY AM I MAD. SO this got deleted...presumably because @staff is trash and someone was like “EW SHE’S WRITING FOR A FIFTEEN YEAR OLD!” News flash AIDAN GALLAGHER IS A YEAR BELOW ME IN HIGH SCHOOL. I AM A JUNIOR. HE IS A SOPHOMORE. I JUST TURNED 17. HE IS TURNING 16 IN A FEW MONTHS....IM NOT SOME CREEPY CHILD PEDOPHILE. AND YA KNOW WHAT, THERE IS NOTHING SEXUAL ABOUT THIS IMAGINE! It is PURE FLUFF, and Five and the reader are BOTH 17 IN THIS AU!! I AM NOT SEXUALIZING HIM IN ANY WAY HOLY CRAP. Wow...I’m clearly mad...um...sorry?? I’m just honestly exhausted from my dance competition today. I WON FIRST OVERALL THOUGH...SO YAY! I might write a small headcanon for tonight...but I’m so tired...I might have to take a short break from writing until Sunday, since I’m competing at this competition all weekend. I’ll keep everyone updated. So, for now, here’s a repost of I Think We’re Alone Now...enjoy

Summary: You and Five are seventeen, and have just started dating, but you feel the need to hide your relationship from the rest of the Hargreeves. One night, you decide to sneak into Five’s room, and chaos somewhat ensues…

Warnings: MEGA FLUFFFFFFF AHHhhhh! Language, awkward reference to sex from Luther bc Luther is Luther…smh Luther.

Word Count: 2,883

Stars twinkle brightly above you, dancing whimsically in the dark night sky. The crisp autumn breeze passes through you, sending a chill down your spine. You shiver as you stare up at the brick building in front of you. Your heart begins to beat rapidly as you contemplate what is was you were about to do. You were going to sneak into Five’s room.

Five had told you, “It’s the second window from the left, south side of the Academy, third floor. Come around 9:30, okay?” No matter how nervous you were about the matter, you simply couldn’t say no.

You knew you’d have to be discrete, since the rest of the Hargreeves were unaware of your relationship with Five. They knew you were close friends with him; you were friends with the entire family, especially since they were helping you develop your power, levitation. However, because you had grown so close with the family, you and Five agreed that his siblings couldn’t find out about your relationship.

In truth, there was no ‘known’ force stopping you and Five from being together. You were both 17, you were both supers, and you were both extremely similar. You liked the same music: David Bowie, Arctic Monkeys, Arcade Fire, and The Strokes. You were both unbelievably witty, as you constantly bounced remarks and comebacks off of one another. Most importantly, you liked each other. In fact, you thought there was a chance you could love the boy.

But still, you had agreed with Five that no one could know. Maybe it was the fear of judgement that created the secret, or possibly the fear of disapproval. You knew that Five’s siblings had developed a liking to you, as you had essentially become a part of the family, but you weren’t sure if they would like you as Five’s girlfriend.

So, over the past month, as opposed to going on dates like normal couples do, you and Five had snuck around the city together, going on dates to Griddy’s, and having picnics in the park. Sometimes you two secretly hid away in his room, chatting and listening to music. You hated hiding things from Alison, Diego, Luther and Klaus, but as of right now it seemed as though it had to be done.

A cold breeze snaps you back to reality. The wind begins to pick up again, grabbing at your green, turtle neck sweater. You pull at your sweater, softly pressing it down against your body as your hair begins to take flight next. You groan in annoyance, wanting to be inside with Five instead of out in the cold.

You take a deep breath. I can do this, You think to yourself, yanking up the right sleeve of your sweatshirt, and then nervously scratching your forearm. While you were growing better at controlling your abilities, you weren’t always able to hold them for an extraneous period of time. Levitating yourself was also something that challenged you. More often than not, you would usually fall once you were around four feet in the air.

Obviously, that was nowhere near enough for a journey up the side of the Academy. The Academy was massive, and it’s size still amazed you, regardless of the fact that you had been here millions of times before.

You search the ground for a pebble, so you could let know Five you had arrived in a more romantic way, as opposed to sending him a text message. You quickly find a perfectly smooth, grey, round pebble next to your feet. You pick up the pebble and aim towards Five’s window. With a light throw and a tap, the pebble reaches Five’s window. The action was a bit “Romeo and Juliet,” (minus the double suicide at the end, of course), but it was fitting in the moment.

Seconds later, a pair of dark blue eyes meet your own. Five smirks at first, but his smile quickly widens, almost as if the longer he stared at you, the happier he became. Your heart flutters in your chest, and you smile back. He begins to crack open the window, his bangs falling in front of his eyes in the process.

“Come on up,” Five says loud enough for you to understand him, but low enough for no one else to hear him. You nod your head, swallowing harshly, nerves rushing through your body.

You close your eyes, imagining yourself floating in the air. Slowly, your feet lift up from the concrete. The wind swirls around you, helping you grow higher. You open your eyes, noticing that you were just one floor away from where Five’s room resided. You push the air down with the palms of your hands, and you levitate up to the next level.

I did it, I actually did it, You think to yourself, pride swelling in your gut as you finally reach Five’s window. After so much tiring training, and so much effort, you were finally able to fly.

There was Five, his smile growing wider now that you were face to face. His piercing blue eyes twinkle in the moonlight, just as the stars had been. No, in fact…his eyes were more brilliant than the stars. Stars held so much importance, serving as guides for the lost, wish granters for those who longed for something more…but that was what Five was for you. You didn’t need the metaphorical presence of a constellation. You already had that, wrapped up in the package of a 17 year old boy that you were growing to love.

He extends a hand out to you, inviting you inside. “Grab my hand, I’ve got you. You won’t fall, I promise.” He says. You fly closer to him in response, lifting your arm towards Five as he takes your hand in his.

However, just as you had been doing so well, a sensation of weakness overcomes you. You feel yourself beginning to lose control as you attempt to change your position, as to fly into the room horizontally.

“Shit,” You mutter, your eyes searching Five’s in fear. “I don’t think I can control this any longer,” Your voice is shaky, and your entire body begins to tremble. You had never flown for this long, and it was becoming too much to handle.

“Yes you can, (Y/N),” Five says, squeezing your hand tighter in his own. He tugs on your hand slightly, helping you get a bit farther inside the room. At this point, your shoulders are through the window, but that was it. Thoughts race around your mind as your powers weaken even further.

Suddenly, the pressure you normally feel between yourself and the air around you begins to fade away.

“Five!” You scream, as you feel yourself starting to fall. You grab onto the windowsill, attempting to hold yourself up. Five grabs onto your arms, pulling you quickly, yet carefully into his room. With one final pull from Five, you fall onto the floor of the room.

Five drops down to where you fell, reaching out his arms to help you stand up. “Are you okay?” He asks, concern prominently filling his voice as you stand to the ground with his help.

You take a second to catch your breath. “I’m fine, just a bit shaken up is all,” You say, smiling lightly. “And I’m much better now…” You pause, a bit nervous to finish your sentence. “You know, since I’m with you.”

Five smiles widely. “That was cheesy, but I like it, and only like it because I like you.” Your heart does a back flip in your chest at the sound of his words. Now that things have calmed down a bit, you recognize how close you are to Five. It feels as though you’re an inch away from Five’s face, since neither of you had moved from where he had helped you stand up.

“You can’t call me cliche or cheesy if you’re saying things like that,” You state sarcastically, crossing your arms in protest. Five steps a bit closer, uncrossing your arms as he takes your hands in his. He was never like this with anyone else. He was usually so cold, so distant, so sarcastic with his siblings. But with you, Five was kind, sweet, and overall an entirely different person. You two could sit on the edge of his bed, listening to music for hours, his fingers carefully combing through your hair. The only time either of you got up was to change the record that was spinning on the turntable in the left corner of Five’s room.

Five takes another step closer to you. He studies your face for a bit, his eyes often landing on your lips. This makes you a bit nervous, since you two hadn’t kissed yet. It wasn’t that you didn’t want to. God, did you want to. It was more or less that you were scared. You had never kissed anyone before, and quite honestly, this was your first ‘real’ relationship. You didn’t want the kiss to be bad, and you especially didn’t want to disappoint Five.

With one more step, Five becomes so close to your face that his breath tickles your nose a bit. He looks deeply into your eyes. “Can I just kiss you already?” Five asks, smirking a bit.

Your heart practically thumps out of your chest as you nod your head. Shit, this is it, You think to yourself.

Suddenly, Five’s lips come crashing down on your own. His lips are warm, and surprisingly sweet, moving slowly against yours. You hum a bit, beginning to feel more comfortable. Five smiles against your lips before pressing another soft kiss onto them.

Then, to your dismay, Five pulls away from you, leaving a slightly cold sensation where he had once been. You wanted more, but you knew you would just have to wait for the next time you had the opportunity to kiss Five.

Five grins a bit, his hands still holding yours. “You’re absolutely incredible, (Y/N).” Heat quickly rushes to your cheeks, and you can feel yourself becoming red. Five laughs at your new color, his dark, chocolate bangs bouncing against his forehead in the process.

“Don’t laugh!” You jokingly reprimand.

“Too bad, I already did. You’re just…” Five pauses a bit, anxiously scratching the back of his neck. “…well you’re cute when you get all frazzled like that,” Five mumbles, hoping you can’t hear him as he lets go of your hands and walking over to one of his many bookshelves. He pulls out a record from the shelf. He picked out one of your favorite records, ‘Bookends’ by Simon and Garfunkel.

“Is that new? I didn’t think you had Bookends,” You question.

Five can’t help but smirk. “I may have gotten it because of you,” He says softly, walking over to brown turntable in the corner. He takes the record out of it’s sleeve, and carefully places it on the turntable. He turns the machine on, and the record begins to spin. He slowly allows the needle to come down on the record, and “Bookends Theme,” begins to play.

There were no lyrics to the song, yet there was something so romantic about the incredibly short melody. Maybe it was the perfect plucking of the guitar strings, or maybe it was simply the chord progression itself. Regardless, the song made your heart flutter in your chest, more than it already was. Five walks over to his bed, and takes a seat on the edge. He pats the spot next to him, inviting you to sit with him. You smile, and walk over to the bed.

As you sit down, Five instantly raps an arm around your waist. Your head rests against Five’s shoulder, and you close your eyes. You never wanted this moment to end. Everything seemed so absolutely perfect.

Five began to lean back towards the bed, and you followed him, your back eventually crashing down onto the bed. You push yourself up farther so your feet are no longer hanging off the bed, and Five does the same. Five wraps his arms around you, pulling you into his chest. Your eyes now struggle to stay open, as you hear the sound of sleep calling your name. You allow yourself to give in, closing your eyes tightly.

You’re still awake as ‘Old Friends’ begins to play. The song is soft and calm. You listen closely to Five’s heart beat, which in contrast with the song is incredibly loud and fast. You open your eyes, looking up at Five.

“Are you okay? Your heart is practically beating out of your chest,” You say, concern heavy in your voice, picking up your head slightly to get a better look at Five’s face. Five’s piercing blue eyes find yours.

He swallows harshly. “I’m fine, it’s just,” He pauses for a second, contemplating his words as he looks up at the ceiling above. “Having you here with me, like this, I’m nervous…I guess…” Five trails off. “Having you here is exciting, it’s special.”

You smile resting your head back down on his chest. You close your eyes again, feeling at peace. “Hey Five?” You whisper.

“Yeah, (Y/N)?” Five responds.

“I like you, a lot,” You say, a smile spreading across your face.

“I-,”

Then, abruptly, Five is cut off by a loud knock at the door. You and Five practically jump up from where you had been laying down.

“Five! Turn your music off. It’s too late for this shit!” You hear Diego call out from the other side of the door. You and Five say nothing as Five rushes over to the record player to turn the music off. “Also, did you take my comb again?”

“No I didn’t take your fucking comb, Diego!” Five shouts back, rolling his eyes.

“I don’t believe you,” Diego says angrily. “I’m coming in to find it!”

“Shit!” Five mutters, his eyes widening with fear.

“What are we going to do?” You ask as the knob of the door twists, and the door creeks open. There’s nowhere to hide. You’re absolutely screwed.

Diego steps through the door, his eyes instantly landing on you. “Five, what’s (Y/N) doing in your room at 10 o’clock at night?” His eyes deeply cut through Five’s soul. Five takes a deep breath, preparing himself to explain the truth to Diego.

“Well, um, you see-,”

Klaus pops his head through the door. “Where did the Simon and Garfunkel go? I was having a good-,” Klaus stops talking as his eyes land on you. “Uh oh looks like we’ve go two troublesome teens on our hands, now don’t we?” Klaus cackles like a hyena.

Five scoffs. “Don’t you have some ouija board to be talking to right about now?” Five says, annoyed, taking a step towards Klaus.

Klaus crosses his arms against his chest. “You know what, just for that,” Klaus cups his hands, bringing them next to his mouth as if he was going to call a group of children to dinner. “Luther! Allison! Clean up on aisle ‘teenage love’! Immediate assistance required! Thank you!” He brings his hands back down, slapping them against the side of his thighs.

Five responds by showing Klaus his middle finger.

Seconds later, Luther and Allison are standing at the door. Luther’s jaw drops to the ground, and Alison begins to laugh lightly.

“Come on, you guys didn’t see this coming?” Allison asks, laughing still.

“Quite honestly, I suppose it was bound to happen eventually,” Klaus agrees. Luther and Diego nod along to Klaus’s point.

“I mean, do we let them have their privacy?” Diego asks, leaning over to Luther. Luther shrugs his shoulders.

“I guess so, but clothing stays on! Got it?” Luther commands. Five’s cheeks grow red with embarrassment.

“No shit Sherlock,” Five says, rolling his eyes.

“Alright, let’s leave them alone, boys,” Allison says, pushing her brothers out of the room.

“But I wanted to babysit!” Klaus exclaims, and you can’t help but let out a laugh. Allison is the last person out. She shuts the door behind her.

“I’m so sorry about that,” Five says, sitting back down on the edge of the bed.

“It’s fine, don’t worry about it,” You say, a smile spreading across your face. Five lays back down, and you follow suit, reverting back to how you and Five had been laying down before. You rest your head on Five’s chest, his heart still beating just as quickly as it had been before.

“So before, you didn’t get to finish what you were saying,” You say to Five. Suddenly, his heart begins to beat faster.

He takes a deep breath. “Well,” He pauses, “I like you too, (Y/N).” Five responds. You can’t see his face, but you know he’s smiling. “I like you a lot. In fact, I think I might like you more than anything else on this planet.” His heart is thumping wildly against his chest now. He presses a kiss to the top of your head, his fingers combing gently through your hair.

“I like being here,” You whisper softly.

“I like having you here,” Five responds. You can’t help but smile. You close your eyes yet again, falling asleep in Five’s arms.

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celestialmystical · 4 years ago

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Crystals, a Kalimba, & Lancome Perfume

This morning, September 9th, 2020, I woke up without my consent. It was one of those abrupt, rude awakenings you get quite frequently if you live at my parent's house.

My first thought when I woke up like this was, "Out of all the things I'm not going to miss about America, (which is a lot), having to hear my dog bark at the top of his lungs so early in the morning is at the tippity tip top of my list."

The last couple of days I haven't been able to sleep well because today, at midnight, or I guess tomorrow, I am going to go on a plane to South Korea, where I'll be living for a whole year--at the least.

I've been in a mixture of excitement and nervousness for the last couple of days which I just call antsy. When I'm antsy, even if I fall asleep, the slumber is restless and unsatisfying.

Even the day before I was feeling antsy and tired, but because I had an 'open house' where my friends could come in and chill with me while I packed, it cancelled out my tiredness completely.

It started off with hanging out with my friend, we'll call him Sad Boy, at my local Starbucks. We hadn't talked in a while, probably not since the start of quarantine, six months ago. We had a lot to catch up to each other, and because we both basically have the same astrological chart, we were able to really connect and be there for each other.

It made me think: Am I really ready to leave America and go to South Korea?

Later, we went back to my house and other people came over. We'll call them: Slow Walker, Hot Manga Chick, and Avatar.

We all mostly just sat in my room and talked and caught up with each other. I had one of my suitcases packed before I met up with Sad Boy and didn't really do anything productive while we were all together. But it was extremely fun and comforting to know how much my friends love and care about me.

They were the ones to convince me to write this blog.

Again I thought, Am I ready to go?

Anyway, before dinner time, which was like 6:30, they left.

Then, 10 minutes later, after a long day of work in a hospital and an hour drive, showed up my friend, Birthing Hips.

After I was done eating, we went up into my room, talked, caught up, and I thought she was going to leave, because I thought she was very tired from her long day of work. BUT she stayed. And I am so grateful and thankful that she did.

Without the amazing, practical Birthing Hips and another guest I will mention later, my packing would have been disastrous.

Going through my dresser was fine and easy. It was just delicates, pajamas, and shorts. Birthing Hips helped me slim down my pickings for those things.

Birthing Hips helped me roll my clothes and put them in these plastic bags that you squeeze the air out of so it compresses and makes less space. Birthing Hips used her magical birthing hip strength to squeeze the air out of the bags for me which was no easy feat let me tell you.

Once it came to my closet, that was a more difficult issue.

I told Birthing Hips, I'm just going to take everything that I want to bring off of my hangers and put them in pile.

She was like k.

So, I pulled one thing off. Then another. And another. And another. And another. And another.

Each article of clothing made Birthing Hips' eyes go wider and wider.

Once I was done with my closet, which only had five pieces of clothes left in it, I turned to Birthing Hips, who was starring at me like I was crazy, and said, "That's summer. Now onto winter."

Birthing Hips looked beyond stressed for me. I was oblivious.

I took everything out of the cabinet below my closet and plopped them all onto the same pile.

I said, "Done!"

The pile was higher than my fan, who wears the only bucket hat I own better than I do and is named Rebecca.

Birthing Hips looked at the pile and was like, "Yeah, you're going to have to cut that down."

But I'll be gone for a whole year! I need all of these! I thought then.

But I trusted Birthing Hips because she is so logical and practical, and I am very much whimsical and impulsive, which I know isn't a great thing to be when you're packing. Plus, she has been to South Korea before.

So I tried cutting it.

After a couple of minutes, Birthing Hips spoke again: "I feel like you're just putting the same pile to the other side of the room."

Which I was. But I honestly couldn't imagine myself not having all of those clothes. How am I supposed to know what I'll wanna wear there? I'm going to be there for a whole year, shouldn't I bring everything?

But no. I couldn't. I could only bring 2 suitcases, 1 carry-on, and the suitcases couldn't be anymore than fifty pounds. I wanted one suitcase for clothes and shoes, the other for everything else.

So I really had to think which outfits I had to have now versus what I could have later, when my parents could ship it to me.

Finally, I was able to cut the pile half it's size. And then I cut it again half it's size.

Birthing Hips approved and it was go time.

That's when the amazing Glitter Queen came over with McDonalds and box for me to put stuff that I want shipped to me later in. Yay. She also helped us roll and squeeze the bags of clothes. And helped me decide on only four pairs of shoes.

That was difficult for me. FOUR???

Anyway, after the clothing suitcase, Birthing Hips looked at my other packed suitcase and saw it was still kind of opened.

She was like, "I have a strong feeling we should look in there."

Glitter Queen agreed after hearing about the struggle of me packing my clothes.

They opened it and were immediately mortified.

All of my toiletries were haphazardly placed without protection in the top zipper bag of the suitcase and everything inside was a mess that looked like I was just trying to cram as much stuff in there are possible--which is exactly what I did.

Birthing Hips laughed and took out something, "A crystal? You're bringing a crystal?"

"I'm bringing three of them." I told her.

"This is going to break if we don't wrap it with something."

"Why are you bringing a Kalimba?" Glitter Queen inquired and took out the little instrument that I painted. "Do you even touch this thing?"

"I do!" I yelled.

I took the Kalimba from her and tried to play the Avatar theme song. I failed miserably but still said, "I love this thing. I have to bring it."

Then Glitter Queen took out my huge Lancome Perfume. "Girl, this is going to break and shatter everywhere."

It went on like this. Everything they took out, they had something to joke about how it would break. So we had to take some things out, like one of my crystals because it was an easily breakable one even if we did wrap it, and we had to take out a jewelry box made out of glass. We had to put a lot of things in little baggies to make sure if anything spilled it wouldn't go everywhere.

It made sense to me when they were explaining how each item could have lead to horrible damage and I wasnt angry at all but thankful. It was just so funny to me how I didn't think about any of that at all when I was packing and what might of happened if we never opened that suitcase.

I also took out the Kalimba but I would not compromise the Lancome Perfume.

Priorities, you know?

So we put that in one of my purses and put a towel over everything else.

As I was putting the Kalimba back on the shelf I said, "This is so cute though, even though I don't really use it. I wish I could bring it."

"So you finally admit you don't touch it?" Glitter Queen said.

We all laughed.

Again I thought, Am I ready to leave all of my friends who are so amazing and helpful in so many unique, beautiful ways?

Later we hung out outside with another one of my friends, we'll call him Pumpkin Ghost, which was fun because we spilled, sipped, drank, and choked from laughter on all the tea we had for each other.

I thought, I am so lucky to have such amazing friends. Even though I want to explore the world on my own, am I ready to leave everything and everyone I love and know, and instead, follow my heart and face the unknown?

The next day came, which is today. Nothing really special happened. I ran last minutes errands. Taped shampoo down and put it in a plastic baggie like Birthing Hips told me to do. My mom gave me a pedicure, which hasn't happened since I was a child, but we bickered and talked the same. My dad and I went to get food, we kind of talked and he mostly played on his phone, like usual.

Night time came, my parents drove me to LAX. We listened to my r&b playlist on the way there. I watched everything out of the car window with the mindset that this is the last time I'm going to see all of these things that I've seen several of hundreds of times since I was three years old.

Am I really ready for this?

I felt somber and forlorn and confused.

We parked in the parking lot at the airport. Already I was feeling what I've been craving, to be the minority in terms of race. It felt scary and uncomfortable, but also thrilling and exhilarating.

My parents walked me into the airport, helped me out with checking in my bags, and getting my ticket.

Then it was time for me to go through security. SO I had to say goodbye.

I hugged my mom and then I hugged my dad, and he held me so tight and for so long, tighter and longer than any other hug I've ever received from him. And he started crying. I cry now as I write this but then I was just so overwhelmed with everything and the line was moving.

Then I really thought, I could leave now. I could stop this now. Am I really ready? Do I really want to do this? This is a big step. A huge step. Moving across the world into a country that doesn't primarily speak English. What am I doing?

But my feet moved on their own. I got on the escalator, waved goodbye to my parents, and went through security.

As I waited in the airport and kept myself busy, I still kept asking myself, Am I ready? Am I ready? Am I ready?

Then I got on the airplane. Got myself situated. Buckled my seatbelt. Waited more.

Am I ready? Am I ready? Am I ready?

The airplane slowly started backing up and make it's way onto the ramp.

Am I ready? Am I ready? Am I ready?

It drove to the edge of drive way and started speeding against it.

I gripped onto the arms of my chair, watching out of the window was the background blurred by faster and faster.

The plane lifted, and my gut dropped, but my heart soared and lighted my entire being and came out of my throat:

"I'm ready."

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drmedicsgamesurgery · 5 years ago

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Danganronpa Togami Volume 3 Part 3 (Summary)

Short chapter so short summary today! Thanks for reading!

Thanks to @enoshima-pyon @shockersalvage @jinjojess @hopeymchope for helping out!

CHAPTER 12- Regarding the Metaphorical Replacement for Proximity

“All in all, it’s really whimsical,” said the heir to the Ketouin Conglomerate, Hiroyuki Ketouin, “It’s amazing really, a great record. The world record holder of holding your breath, 22 minutes and 30 seconds, is Goran Colak. [1] I can’t compare to this kind of guy. First of all, I’d need to be in the car under the water..."

I didn’t listen to Hiroyuki’s jokes. I leaned on the back seat of the car and stared out the window, putting the flowing scenery into my vision: the unchanging landscape, only the forest on the horizon. But the railroad tracks have disappeared. Although I really want to know where I am, I’m too tired to use Borges.

"Miss, you look listless."

"Because Byakuya-sama is gone..."

"Cheers for Goran Korak!" Hiroyuki took a Pilsner beer out of the dashboard's storage box. "So has the young master contacted you?"

"No."

"He should have managed to escape."

"If that’s the case, why didn’t he contact me?"

"Maybe he was worried about leaking his location to an outsider like me."

"You are not serious, are you?"

"You don't have to think about what my real identity is."

"The Imposter said something similar. It’s ridiculous, only the right one is the most important."

Since I arrived in the Czech Republic, I have encountered many copies and imposters, over and over. Those people shouted that they were the real deal, but the glittering coats they wore were stripped by others, or they were uncovered, one by one exposing their identity as counterfeit, or they just simply died. Or disappeared. Or killed. I am me, I am a Togami, I have a clear and accurate understanding of this, but on the contrary, everything else seems suspicious. What if this place is actually not the Czech Republic, but a virtual space. I am actually sleeping in bed with VR glasses. Even if it was such a disappointing ending, I would probably not be surprised. Having said that, I don't want to write any lies in the biography of Byakuya-sama... "Journey Under The Midnight Sun", so even if this reality I see is all false, I can't erase this adventure. I want to write down the original reality, and neither hope nor despair can interfere. This description is like warehousing management. Some people may feel uninterested. However, this is the essence of biography. If you add fuel to your story, it is no different from fiction. It is already in a state of completion, and there is no need to add, delete or modify anything.

Hiroyuki takes a sip of beer before saying that Shinobu looks as if she is out of the mud, but just because she is the SHSL Secretary doesn’t mean she is perfect.

"I don't think anyone else can accurately distinguish between true and false like me, though."

"What was your first favorite book?"

"What do you mean?"

"Don't worry so much, just answer. What was your first favorite book?"

“Small Pig.”

Shinobu thinks about the Author, Arnold Lobel, and how the version she had was a translated version of the original english story into japanese. It was something of a bedtime story for her.

Hiroyuki and Shinobu then start to discuss how translations in novels can end up being quite different to what the original work was intending, and that texts should always be read in the language they were produced in for the full effect. [2]

“Of course, there will be some subtle differences in meaning, but the degree of meaning would be very slight, right?”

"Well take for example a voice actor gets changed, someone will quarrel and say: 'It’s totally wrong! This is a fake!' If that happens, then you must read the original book when reading, don’t run from it, don’t be afraid either, you must be brave when facing the original text."

Shinobu wonders about how meaning behind text can be viewed differently by different observers, and how that would affect the outcome of how a work is observed. In this case, a translation of a text could change the meaning of a work to something completely different, and possibly much less profound in nature, without the intricacies of the original text. [2]

Borges then brings up a few quotes (#23232300), from people who are regretting getting into the translation business.

Hiroyuki brings up the story of a man who didn’t want to translate a prolific buddhist work into japanese, because the meaning wouldn’t be the same. Because you don’t know what the original story is, you would have no idea what changes would have been made by the translator to suit the language. Or alternately what parts of the story have been altered or fabricated.

He talks about how people who write in Sanskrit or Czech would never know the true story of “The Tale Of Genji” [3] because in truth, the versions translated into those languages was merely an abridged version of the story. A summary, if you will. This “light novel” version is inferior to the original product by its very nature in not being the original work itself.

Comparing modern language translation with light novel adaptation, I can’t help but admire this arrogant opinion. Indeed, this isn’t just as simple as moving a tray of food from plate to plate, but because of the different personalities and intentions of the writers and translators... or making bold explanations or making large-scale changes... There will be considerable changes in the content, which is quite different from what I have pursued in my biography. The biography I want to write is a true transcript. I only transfer the real things to the transcripts on paper. Even the consciousness of myself, the author, should be excluded. This is a perfect copy, which is what I wish to pursue. Due to the existence of the author, modern language translation and light novel adaptation will change the content. The shamelessness of this behavior is comparable to the dumping of organic garbage at a crime scene. In this sense, perhaps no book can serve as a model for “Journey Under The Midnight Sun”. It seems that what I want to do may really fall into the category of quantum mechanics. That's just what I think, at least-

"By the way… Where are we going?"

"There is a nearby town, the name is written on the navigation system. Hey, but how should this be read? Czech is really difficult to understand... Karlovy...Vary?"

"Ah, I know this place. It is a famous hot spring resort."

"A Spa," Hiroyuki turned his head despite being driving "You said hot spring, right!? The next volume of this book must be the pink bookmark route!! I can't help but get excited!"

"Oh no, it’s a drinking cure spring."

"Oh?"

“It’s not a hot spring, but a drinking cure spring to make your body healthier. The Czech Republic has this custom.”

"...I haven't been so disappointed for a long time.”

Hiroyuki exclaims that he hasn’t been so disappointed since learning secrets about various other topics, and hopes that Europeans will one day be able to understand the beauty of japanese style hot springs. Shinobu thinks about how every countries hot springs are different because their values are different. People who say things like "Only the Japanese can understand this kind of beauty" when visiting buddhist temples are self-righteous. She thinks about how big the world is and how even with common and uncommon sense, the world will never change. She is unlucky to have met so many fakes, imposters and counterfeits in the Czech Republic, and even though Hiroyuki is alive, Byakuya is still missing.

"It really is a whimsical world."

Hiroyuki commented this way, but it seems to me that "unreal world" is more accurate. Impossible things, unimaginable things, incredible things are appearing before me, but no matter how much I complain, the problems at hand will not be resolved by myself. Escape from this ridiculous world, or be swallowed up by this ridiculous world. To all of this insanity, I can only say one thing.

"I’m hungry."

Shinobu and Hiroyuki drop off by a KFC. Even though it’s not Christmas time just yet, they still decided to eat there anyway. [4] They stuffed themselves, and Shinobu continued to eat in the car, and Hiroyuki cracks a joke that falls flat on its head and is so not funny I'm not translating it.

The Mercedes is now driving to largest resort in the Czech Republic. The Karlovy Vary Spa began in the 14th century, when Carl IV discovered the source of the hot springs here; however, the style of the spa area seems to be internationally shared, and it is reminiscent of the streetscape of the Noboribetsu Onsen and Ikaho Onsen. [5] [6]

"It seems that it’s still open," Hiroyuki looked out through the window. "That said, I can't take you sightseeing."

"How can they still be open in this situation?"

"Well KFC is still open."

“By the way, the spa in the Czech Republic is one person at a time according to the instructions. So please don’t have any strange expectations.”

“Oh yeah, why are you so familiar with this place anyway?"

"I... I did some investigation beforehand because I wanted to come to the hot springs with Byakuya-sama!"

"........."

"I have been looking forward to this trip."

Moving on from the subject, Hiroyuki thinks that Byakuya might have used the Kudan, though Shinobu points that no matter what happens Byakuya wouldn’t do it. Even when faced with absolute despair. Granted, she doesn’t know why he would seal it away either. To that, Hiroyuki believes that perhaps the re-assurance of it being sealed was better than than using the Kudan.

When they arrive at the hotel next to the drinking spring, Shinobu does a quick search with Borges. Apparently it’s a very luxurious hotel which accommodated many important historical figures such as Goethe and Beethoven. [7][8] But something seemed off. Even though the Czech government declared a state of emergency, many people who looked like tourists were in the hotel lobby. Hiroyuki comes back to Shinobu and says that he has booked a room on the top floor of the hotel.

She covers her face to avoid any assassin’s on the lookout, and they then head to the room. As soon as they open the door, Shinobu lays on the bed and falls asleep saying that she hasn’t slept properly since they came to Prague.

"It's good to get a good night's rest, helps you wake up more clear minded," Hiroyuki's voice entered my mind. "The most important thing about an article is not its writing, but the study beforehand."

She wakes up all sweaty and with messy hair, so she decides to take a bath. While she is doing that, she thinks about where could Byakuya be and she remembers what he said.

“Wait for me.”

She still doesn’t understand what he meant, but she decides to have faith in Byakuya and just wait as he said. She didn’t want to put back on her old sweaty clothes, but she didn’t want to wear the bathrobe either. When she comes out of the bathroom, she finds Hiroyuki eating a Czech meal.

"Oh, Hello, Miss Beautiful."

Hiroyuki still made me feel more uncomfortable.

He asks her to sit down and eat, and even though she is not hungry (thanks to eating KFC) she still agrees. They start with some small talk, about different cultural cuisines, such as Roman, Slovakian and Czech, but they decide to get on with it.

It seems that if I want to continue the topic, I’d have to sit down with him. With a sigh, I sat down opposite of Mr. Hiroyuki Ketouin. There are many foods on the table that look like Czech food, although I don't know if it is. Roasted chicken with fat, and sour pickles next to it, mushroom soup, stir-fried pork with horseradish and spicy sauce, wrapped in a thin layer of fried squid, with aroma of charcoal. Lamb chops, oiled cheese, oyster steak, sour cream yak meat, mineral water, and his beer is still Pilsner beer. These meaty dishes are those of this country on lockdown. Surprisingly, looking at them, my stomach is hungry again. This made me realize that I am still alive.

Hiroyuki poured beer into a huge wide-mouth cup and called out: "Cheers!" raising the cup. I poured the mineral water into a classic glass and took a bite of cheese. In the suite where the sunlight shone through the large window at the rear, I enjoyed the food. If the person sitting across from me was Byakuya-sama, this would be a wonderful scene.

Translations notes:

[1] Goran Colak is a Croation freediver who currently holds the world record for holding breath underwater. His record is now at 23:01.

[2] Bruh, I am trying ok.

[3] The Tale Of Genji is a classic work of Japanese literature written by the noblewoman and lady-in-waiting Murasaki Shikibu in the early years of the 11th century. The original manuscript no longer exists. It was made in "concertina" or orihon style: several sheets of paper pasted together and folded alternately in one direction then the other, around the peak of the Heian period. The work is a unique depiction of the lifestyles of high courtiers during the Heian period, written in archaic language and a poetic and confusing style that makes it unreadable to the average Japanese without dedicated study. It was not until the early 20th century that Genji was translated into modern Japanese, by the poet Akiko Yosano. The first English translation was attempted in 1882, but was of poor quality and incomplete.

[4] From December 1974, KFC Japan began to promote fried chicken as a Christmas meal, with its long running "Kentucky for Christmas" or "Kentucky Christmas" advertising campaign. Eating KFC food as a Christmas meal has since become a widely practised custom in Japan. As of 2019, in Japan, Christmas sales of KFC made around Christmas Eve account for nearly five per cent of annual revenue.

[5] Noboribetsu Onsen is Hokkaido's most famous hot spring resort, offering as many as eleven different kinds of thermal waters, that are considered among Japan's best and most effective. The resort town consists of numerous (mostly large sized) ryokan and hotels with hot spring baths. Several of them open their baths during daytime to non-staying guests for typically 700 to 2000 yen. In addition, there is one public bath house located in the center of town.

[6] Ikaho Onsen is a hot spring town located on the eastern slopes of Mount Haruna. Known for its reddish brown, iron-laden thermal waters, Ikaho Onsen joins Kusatsu, Minakami and Shima Onsen as the four most famous hot spring resorts of Gunma Prefecture. The atmospheric old town area of Ikaho centers around the 300 meter long stone stairs which lead up through the middle of town and are lined by ryokan, old fashioned game arcades and shops. A few kilometers outside of Ikaho stands Mizusawa Kannon, a popular temple, well known for the udon noodles sold at restaurants along its approach. Mount Haruna with its beautiful caldera lake can also be easily combined with a visit to Ikaho.

[7] Johann Wolfgang von Goethe was a German writer and statesman. His works include: four novels; epic and lyric poetry; prose and verse dramas; memoirs; an autobiography; literary and aesthetic criticism; and treatises on botany, anatomy, and colour. In addition, numerous literary and scientific fragments, more than 10,000 letters, and nearly 3,000 drawings by him have survived.

[8] Ludwig van Beethoven was a German composer and pianist. A crucial figure in the transition between the classical and romantic eras in classical music, he is considered to be one of the greatest composers of all time. Beethoven was born in Bonn, the capital of the Electorate of Cologne, and part of the Holy Roman Empire. He displayed his musical talents at an early age and was vigorously taught by his father Johann van Beethoven, and was later taught by composer and conductor Christian Gottlob Neefe. At age 21, he moved to Vienna and studied composition with Joseph Haydn. Beethoven then gained a reputation as a virtuoso pianist, and was soon courted by Karl Alois, Prince Lichnowsky for compositions, which resulted in Opus 1 in 1795. The piece was a great critical and commercial success, and was followed by Symphony No. 1 in 1800. This composition was distinguished for its frequent use of sforzandi, as well as sudden shifts in tonal centers that were uncommon for traditional symphonic form, and the prominent, more independent use of wind instruments. In 1801, he also gained notoriety for his six String Quartets and for the ballet The Creatures of Prometheus. During this period, his hearing began to deteriorate, but he continued to conduct, premiering his third and fifth symphonies in 1804 and 1808, respectively. His condition worsened to almost complete deafness by 1811, and he then gave up performing and appearing in public.

To Be Continued.

https://drmedicsgamesurgery.tumblr.com/GameSurgeryDRTranslations

#Danganronpa #Danganronpa:Togami #Danganronpa Togami #DRT3 Summary #Danganronpa: Togami #Part 3

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fresh-outta-jams · 5 years ago

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Can You Hear Me?- Part 8

Johnny x Reader

Author: MoRo

Prompt: Oooh okayy, I’d like to request some Johnny fluff please? Like maybe a soulmate au

Summary: You were unconcerned about soulmate things because getting it was the end of your final year in collage and time was counting down until graduation. But what happens when your soulmate suddenly appears right before your finals exams and it turns out he’s been there for much longer than you knew? Having your soulmate in your head was not something you needed but the more you get to know him, the more you appreciate him being there. College!Johnny x reader

Note: Writing this fic has made me become Johnny trash like oof, (I also got carried away on this one... sorry not sorry)

Warnings: Y’all we’re still HELLA fluffy but getting a little bit spicer ;) Word Count: 2.5kish

1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9

You wake up the next morning to light streaming in from Johnny's bedroom windows. You crinkle your nose and rub your eyes, trying to adjust to the light.

Sitting up, you stretch rolling out your neck then shoulders then arms before trying to touch your toes. You let out soft groans when everything stretches nicely.

"Sounds like you slept well." A voice teases from the door.

Johnny is there, arms crossed in his black sweatshirt, leaning against his door frame with a pair of black framed glasses on.

You squint at him and smile sleepily.

"Yeah I did. I think the jet lag got me though."

You groan again lightly before flopping back down, hair and arms sprawled out on the bed.

Johnny takes a running start and jumps onto the bed next to you. His weight makes you bounce slightly, causing you to laugh.

"Yeah it really did, it's already the afternoon. You slept through breakfast." He informs you while propping his head up on his hand.

You sharply look at him, eyes wide. "Oh my God really? I missed the breakfast your mom made me! Now I feel terrible!" You freak out, covering your eyes with your hands.

"It's alright babe. Eomma told me not to wake you. Her exact words were, 'Johnny let her sleep. She's had a long trip and we'll have plenty of more breakfasts later.' So," He takes a piece of your hair and curls it around his finger, "I wouldn't worry your pretty self about that." You just look at him, not impressed and still feeling terrible.

"I still feel terrible though..." You tell him.

He laughs softly and leans close to you. "There's no need to. She cares more about you sleeping enough." Then he gives you a soft kiss on your forehead. "Good morning baby."

You smile and cup his cheek with one of your hands. "Good morning Johnny."

He smiles back at you and runs a hand through that black hair.

"By the way you're like super cute in the morning. Like you're already the cutest thing in existence but in the morning you're so soft and sleepy and ugh." He confesses, cheeks lightly dusted pink.

You cover your face with your hands again and laugh. "Oh my God you're so cheesy, stop it."

He laughs with you. "But you love it."

"That I do." You say shaking your head at him.

Then he sits up and claps lightly. "So if you're not too tired I have plans for today."

You sit up too, intrigued. "Ooooh like what?"

"Well I wanted to take you to see some of the things everyone who comes to Chicago needs to see. Like the Bean, Navy Pier, the aquarium. Things like those." Johnny gives you a smile, crinkling his eyes again.

"Those sound like so much fun!" You smile back at him.

"Really? That's awesome! I've always wanted to show them to someone. It's nice to see things differently through someone else's eyes."

He spreads his arms open wide in excitement and you lean forward, ungracefully into his arms. Your chin hits his sternum hard and he lets out a soft oof before closing his arms around you. "I planned that better in my head." He chuckles lightly.

"I'm also not very graceful by the way." You laugh, sound muffled by his chest.

You squirm up his body so your face is in front of his, then you plant a kiss on his nose. "I love you Johnny Seo."

"I love you too Y/N."

You give him one more big grin before sliding out of his arms and off the bed. "You said your mom made me breakfast?"

Johnny laughs and shakes his head. "You and your one track mind."

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After the late breakfast, you and Johnny head into downtown Chicago.

He holds your hand the whole time in the car despite you worrying about him not having two hands on the wheel. He made driving look so smooth and effortless which made you feel a bit better even if he didn't have two hands on the wheel.

Eventually he found a parking spot that was relatively near everything.

He looked like he could barely hold in his excitement to show you the first stop. He bounced on his tiptoes with his face half buried in his scarf.

"You ready babe?" He grinned big at you and took your hand.

You walk up with Johnny to this giant sculpture. It literally looked like a Bean. A giant silver bean. You could even see your reflection in it. You saw a bundled up girl next to a giant less bundled up man. Said man was still smiling big at you with his phone in his hand, taking pictures.

"So what do you think?"

"It really is a bean." You laugh, "But it's really cool looking. And it's so reflective."

"And one of the other cool things is taking pictures in it." He holds up his phone and pulls you close. You both smile into the bean as Johnny snaps picture after picture, occasionally changing it up and making silly faces or planting kisses on each others cheeks.

Once done with pictures, you walk around the whole bean a few times just taking it in. Johnny trails behind you, watching you. You brush your gloved fingertips up against the cold hard surface, watching how the different angles of the Bean bend the reflection of you. You spend some more time looking until your shivering makes Johnny take you to the next stop he has planned.

"I haven't been to an aquarium in forever!" You exclaim as you walk into the entrance. You bet you look like a kid in a candy shop. You just found aquariums to be so cool and whimsical at times.

Johnny laughs as he walks with you to the first exhibit. "You're so freakin cute."

You blush a little and hit his arm. He grabs your arm and brings your hand to his mouth, kissing your fingertips gently. Which makes you blush even more and you look away slightly.

He laughs at your reaction and interlocks your fingers before letting you take the lead.

You look just like a little kid sometimes the way you almost press your face against the glass at different exhibits. Johnny just chuckles softly and shakes his head at you all while taking pictures of you.

At one point you take off away from him and when he catches up to you, you're plopped down on the ground right in front of the glass of a huge tank that extends floor to ceiling.

You have this wide-eyed expression on your face. You're so enthralled by the fish and other sea creatures in the tank that you don't even notice when Johnny finally caught up with you.

"Oh my gosh she's so perfect." He says in his head to himself while looking at you.

"I can feel you..." You say softly still looking at the sea creatures. "I didn't know what you said, but I can feel what you're feeling."

"Oh?" That surprised him, "You can? What am I feeling?"

You look at him as if seeing him for the first time again.

"Love. Pure, undying love and adoration." The blue light from the tank tints your red blushed cheeks a light purple.

He walks closer to you and pulls you up to your feet. "Oh am I?" He nudges your neck with his nose.

You sigh lightly and lean into his touch. "Y-yeah, it's coming off of you in strong waves."

Your breath hitches a little as he gently kisses your neck making his way up to your cheek then to your forehead. Your entire body flushes and feels warm.

"Y-you're such a tease." You breath out softly as he pulls away from you with an evil smirk.

He shrugs and hugs you close. "You're fun to tease baby. You give the cutest reactions."

Rolling your eyes, you hug him close too. "You're so annoying."

He throws his head back and laughs at you. "But you love me Y/N."

You snuggle into his chest a little more and laugh.

"Unfortunately."

At the end of the aquarium, you go into the giftshop to look around. In there you see the cutest porpoise plushie you've ever seen.

"OH MY GOODNESS IT'S SO CUTE."

You practically yell out while making a bee line for it.

The porpoise plushie has a soft pastel pink body and a white underbelly. It's cute little eyes were closed like it was sleeping. You hugged it to your chest.

"And it is so soft and huggable."

You look up at Johnny who is looking at you with an amused look on his face.

"I'm getting him." You tell him.

He just puts his hands up, "Alright alright." He surrenders, remembering how you almost beat him for buying you Starbucks.

Excitedly, you hand the cashier the money and hug your plushie once more. Then Johnny gets an idea.

"Hey babe can I see your plushie for a sec?" He has a ridiculous grin on his face. But you hand it over anyway.

"So why are you smiling like that?" You quirk an eyebrow up.

"Because", he says looking proud as he boops you on the nose with the plushie's nose. "You give me porpoise." Then he cracks up and fakes wipes tears away from his eyes.

You just look at him and roll your eyes again before breaking into a smile. "I can't with you anymore."

He looks back at you with that goofy grin of his that melts your heart every time.

"Onto the next place before it gets dark!" He yells out as he drags you excitedly from the aquarium gift shop.

You leave your new plushie in the car as you get out at the next destination. Navy Pier.

"Wow... It's so pretty! I've heard so much about Navy Pier! It's like one of the most famous things in Chicago!" You gush, holding onto Johnny's hand and bouncing on your toes.

"Can we go on the Ferris Wheel!?" You point to the brightly colored Ferris Wheel that is beginning to light up as the sky gets darker.

Johnny laughs and smiles at your giddiness.

"Of course we can! You don't think I already thought of that?" He flashes two fast pass tickets.

"Oh my God you're so amazing." You throw yourself at him and wrap your arms around his neck, hands clasped at his nape.

Looking up at him, you nuzzle your nose to his. "I love you Johnny Seo."

His face breaks into another smile and he nuzzles you back. "I love you too Y/N."

With a smile, you unclasp your hands from his neck and grab his hand, dragging him towards the Ferris Wheel.

On the Ferris Wheel, you sit in the spot with the best view. As the pod you're in rises into the air, the view of Chicago lays itself out in front and beneath you.

You can see all of Navy Pier down below you. To your side, the horizon takes you all the way out to Lake Michigan. Then to your other side is all of Chicago. All the criss-crossing roads and bustling people. The city has begun to light up with the impending night time.

"Oh my God it's even better than when I arrived..." You whisper to yourself.

You turn to Johnny with shining eyes and grab his hand. "Thank you so much. It's so gorgeous..."

Johnny gives you a soft smile. "Of course. Anything for the love of my life." He says quietly as if to not break the moment you two have made.

He gently places a stray strand of hair back behind your ear and cups your cheek with one hand. He then softly brushes a thumb against your bottom lip.

You glance up at him and he's biting his lip while his eyes are looking at your lips.

You lean into his touch, heart beginning to beat faster.

"Omg it's finally happening!!" You squeal inside as your heart beats a million miles a minute.

He leans in and you follow.

Closing your eyes, you feel his lips finally meet yours. It's a soft gentle ghost of a feeling before he deepens it.

His plush lips move against yours, hungry. Johnny takes one hand off your cheek and puts it on your waist to pull you closer to him.

You let out a little squeak when he pulls you closer but then melt back into the kiss. Your lips move against his, equally hungry for more.

Getting bold, your hands snake up to his nape and you tangle your fingers in his hair. This makes him let out a small groan before he kisses you harder, exploding your world.

His teeth drag slightly on your bottom lip, tugging on it a little. Now you let out a small groan before he swallows it and grips you harder as though his life depended on it. "Ungh baby..." He groans softly.

Soon the need for air becomes too overpowering and you're forced to part.

You look up at him, flushed and a bit dizzy from what just happened.

He looks down at you with a drunken smile and equally flushed cheeks. "So was it worth the wait?"

You touch your swollen lips. "Definitely... I would wait all over again."

He laughs and hugs you close, stupid in love.

After the Ferris Wheel, you two walk to the edge of the pier to watch the sunset.

Johnny stands behind you with his arms around your waist, hands tucked in your pockets, and with his chin resting on top of your head.

You both stay still in complete silence as the water engulfs the sun in a display of glowing colors splashed across the sky.

He kisses the top of your head softly and squeezes you tight.

"Time to go home?" He asks.

You sigh happily, "Yeah."

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

Back home, you snuggle into Johnny's side with your new plushie as he goes through all the pictures and videos he took of you and him today.

"Thank you for today. It was a lot of fun." You thank him.

He leans down to give you a soft kiss. "You're very welcome baby. I had a lot of fun today too."

"Any plans for tomorrow?" You ask sleepily, watching him continue to scroll through and edit pictures.

"Hmmm..." he hums, "We can do our Christmas tomorrow."

"That sounds good to me. A nice relaxing day." You crawl onto his chest some, "Besides, I have more kissing that needs to be made up." You laugh out before planting a one on him.

He laughs into the kiss and sets his phone down to grab your face.

Feeling satisfied, you lay your head down on his chest before closing your eyes and falling asleep with a smile on your face.

You were so so in love with Johnny.

#kpopwonderlandtag #johnnyseo #nct #nctjohnny #johnnysuh #nctfic #nctsoulmate #johnnysoulmate #johnnyxreader #nctxreader #kpop #kpopfic #nct127 #nct127johnny

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erasethedarkness · 5 years ago

Text

How Do I Love Thee: Into the Limelight

Ch.2: A Loan Of Trust

Click for Ch. 1: The End

Note: How Do I Love Thee? is a series that is meant to be a slow, slow burn. While ultimately a romance, readers will not find love and affection in the first few chapters- they may not even find it in the first parts, or “arcs.” The series is meant to lay down the foundation for friendships and then build on it towards romance. The reader character exists and influences this world as much as the canon characters do- therefore, the story isn’t just about the feel good moments, butterflies, and honeymoon phase- it’s about the development of the reader and her relationships.

With that in mind, I will let you all know that HDILT? will become an Aizawa x Reader x Yamada, and hope that the wait will be well worth it to those who choose to follow the series. :)

Summary: After your uncle’s funeral, you continued to help your aunt with handling his estate, seeing to it that his will was carried out. Near the end of sorting through things, you met with his lawyer to take care of what he had left for you. It wasn’t money, and it wasn’t some simple piece of property, either. What he left for you was a surprise that you didn’t know how to handle, especially with the stipulation that you had to share it with a man you didn’t even know. But… maybe he knew what he was doing better than you could speculate.

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In the middle of the following week, you received a call from your uncle’s lawyer to address the rest of his will. While you were planning his funeral and contacting guests on your aunt’s behalf, you read over the legal document and found one hell of a surprise. Turns out, he had something planned for you that wasn’t a portion of his fortune like he’d left the rest of the family.

“Mr. Faria is ready for you now.” The firm’s secretary approached you with a smile, then escorted you to the conference room. Behind the fogged glass, you could make out two figures sitting adjacent to each other, and heard their muffled voices and laughter. The young man knocked on the door, opened it for you when the voices faded and closed it once you stepped through.

“(Y/N), welcome! Glad you could make it so early in the day.” An older man- you’d guess late 50s- greeted you with a smile, taking your hand and giving it a firm shake before guiding you to a seat. “I imagine you’re quite a night owl with the kind of lifestyle you lead. Has it been difficult to adjust to life now that you’re back from the tour?”

You raised a brow at the lawyer’s overly friendly tone and speculation, quirking it in an unamused and subtly baffled expression as you sat down.

“Not… quite,” you answered flatly, deciding not to entertain Faria’s behavior, “Constant travel, jetlag, a seven hour time difference, and planning a funeral make it easy to adjust to waking up early.” Your words came deliberately, establishing a clear boundary from the start that was not to be crossed lightly again. Seeing the surprised expression on the older man’s face, you pressed your lips together in calm, unapologetic smile.

Just as you were about to speak, the other man in the room cleared his throat and drew both sets of eyes to him. You didn’t forget that you weren’t alone, but as a woman who was often in the public eye, you were exceedingly conscientious of the way you allowed others to treat you.

A pleasant smile- much kinder than yours at the moment- was pressed on a familiar set of lips. You’d seen them before and watched the way they moved, his words and tone at the time a clear example of his oratory skill at the funeral. This time, however, he seemed entirely different. He even looked entirely different.

“Good morning, Mr. Yamada,” you greeted with a formal address as the lawyer took a seat beside you, surrounding you with men on both sides. The one- Mr. Faria- looked proper, as a lawyer should. The other, however, was dressed in black leather and studs, looking as much a rockstar as some of the ones at your uncle’s funeral. He even sported leather fingerless gloves. Most noticeably, however, was the way he pulled back his hair. The undeniably beautiful strands that draped over his shoulders when you last saw him were slicked up and back into an almost outlandish blond plume, and the sunglasses that previously adorned them sat in front of his eyes, replaced by a set of headphones.

“Mornin’, Ms. (Y/LN),” he answered with a small yawn. It seemed like a genuinely tired one to you, and your smile fell into a more neutral and natural expression. “Mr. Faria, let’s get this started? She may be good, but I am tiiiired!”

The lawyer chuckled at Yamada’s exaggerated tone and shifted gears from being overly friendly to strictly business. On the conference table, he had documents spread out in front of you. A copy of the will sat on top of other papers- deeds, titles, city ordinances, and others you couldn’t make out at just a quick glance.

“Of course. As you both know, William was the sole proprietor of Limelight. In the case of his death, he had arranged to split that proprietorship in two- which is why you are both here.”

Finally on the topic of business, your guarded and almost standoffish demeanor dropped. The two men leaned in towards you, following the paperwork and making sure not to infringe on your space, rightfully assuming that you would not stand for it if they had. Faria went into the legal responsibilities that were involved in owning a venue like Limelight, sparing no details and pausing often to make sure you were both following.

“Now that you both understand what accepting this responsibility would entail, please decide whether or not to accept William’s last wishes,” Faria concluded as he leaned back in his seat, giving you space to lean forward and look closer at the papers. Despite pulling away from you, his leer remained, seeming to impatiently demand an immediate response.

“...Mr. Faria, could I have a moment to speak with Mr. Yamada privately?” you asked, setting down the copy of your uncle’s will and looking to the lawyer. He smiled politely and obliged your request, instructing that you have his secretary call for him when you were ready.

“You alright? Seemed like ol’ Faria was grating on you a bit.”

“Hahhh..” you scoffed quietly, looking from the door to the blond whose face was suddenly a lot closer to yours, sunglasses sloped downwards on his nose while green eyes peered at you. Arching a brow, you leaned back and scooted your seat away from his with a rock of your hips. “I’m sure he means well, but it doesn’t suit a lawyer to approach a client so whimsically when it’s their first time meeting, and the business in question centers around a recent death.”

Yamada leaned back into his seat, leaving your personal space as he pushed the white frames back up so the sunglasses sat properly once more. He yawned again, stretching and folding his arms behind his head as he relaxed, and swiveled his chair to face you. “So, what d’ya think?”

The way he asked for your opinion seemed so much less demanding than how Faria had. Your eyes lowered to the will that you picked up again, reading over the section detailing the fate of Limelight. Even though you knew he was waiting on your answer, it felt like you could actually think about it and, on top of that, be honest.

“Of course I want to go forward with these arrangements,” you answered after a pause, placing the will back down and turning in your seat to face him. Seeing the man decked out in leather was so different than seeing him in a black suit, and something about it simultaneously comforted and off-put you. “But… I’m also concerned this would mean the end of my time with RUSE if it means I won’t be able to go on tour again.”

“That’d be silly, (Y/N),” he giggled softly with a wider grin, stretching his arms again before placing his hands on his knees and leaning towards you. “Will’d never want to interfere with your musical career and you know that, don’tcha?”

You sighed, leaning your head back and pressing into the chair. His informal vernacular was so different from the eulogy he presented that you wondered for a moment if his quirk had to do with a second personality, but you doubted it. Despite the discrepancy in Yamada’s words and tone, the presence behind them didn’t change. They still felt like they came from the same person, his playfulness carrying the same je ne sais quoi as his eloquent speech.

“...But what would become of Limelight if I’m gone for over a year again?”

A still quietness settled between you two. Your eyes lowered to the unsigned paperwork as you turned your body back to the table and rested your elbow on it, chin in hand.

“Well, I think you’ll just have to trust me.” His suggestion came without that cheerful, melodic tone that accompanied the rest of his words today. He dragged his chair to sit beside you again, and leaned onto the table with his body facing you.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Yamada, but I’ve only just met you,” you answered the suggestion with polite detachment, “This is the first time we’ve exchanged words, and the second time we’ve really even seen each other. Trust doesn’t just happen like that.”

“Then consider it a loan of trust until we get to know each other better as business partners. If you can trust pro heroes with your life, then surely you can manage this.”

Your brows furrowed and you tilted your head, looking to him with confusion at the relevance of his assertion. “Isn’t that a bit different?”

“How so? You’d trust me with your life, but not your uncle’s venue- which he also named me a joint owner of? I’m hurt, (Y/N),” he teased at the end with a lighthearted smile and small chortle.

Your bewildered expression sharpened, but then softened and fell into a gentle, sincere and somewhat melancholy smile. “You have a point, Mr. Yamada. I’m… sorry, I didn’t realize you were a… hero, by profession.” The way you spoke was suddenly so much more lenient and almost tender despite the words being on the more formal side. Embarrassment in forgetting that he, too, was listed as an equal proprietor and not knowing- or even guessing- that he was a hero seeped onto your cheeks in a refined, but present blush.

Without missing the opportunity, Yamada brought his hand to his chest, flattening his fingers against his jacket with an exaggerated gasp.

“What? You mean to tell me that you’ve never heard of the amazing voice hero? The one and only Present Mic?! I’m- I’m flabbergasted!”

For the first time, your smile grew and you looked away with the smallest laugh. “I’m sorry! I’ve- uh, I’ve been gone for so long,” you offered as a flimsy excuse. In truth, you just didn’t keep up with pro heroes. The only celebrities you were interested in were musicians and performers.

“I’ve been a pro hero for years!” he hollered, only making you giggle more with his melodramatic exclamations and wearing away at the graveness you brought into the conference room. “Don’t- oh, don’t tell me you’ve never even heard of my Friday night radio show?” Yamada lowered his sunglasses and looked at you, green eyes almost puppy-like with his eyebrows knitted together above them. “I even broadcast from Limelight and everything…” he added with a childish whine.

It wasn’t long before he lifted your spirits, engaging you in a way that no one else dared to since your return. While most people expressed their deepest sympathies, some did try to cheer you up, only their efforts felt as distasteful as Faria’s attempt when he greeted you. But Yamada’s playful sarcasm and wit struck just the right chord with you that was enough to make you laugh and become more lax with his almost endearing banter. You couldn’t help but wonder if this was part of his hero persona, or if it was part of who he really was. Just like entertainers, it wasn’t uncommon for heroes to present themselves differently when in their costumes.

Reassured by the man who started off as almost a complete stranger to you at the beginning of the day, you requested Faria’s return and continued your meeting on Limelight’s future and ownership. With due respect and courtesy, Yamada followed your lead and placed his signatures beneath yours on each form, and within half an hour of making you genuinely laugh for the first time in over a week, concluded the meeting with a solid handshake and smile at you. Faria gave each of you a copy of the signed documents, keeping the original on file at his firm should you need to revisit them and make any changes. With business concluded, you left the office in a much better mood than you started with, and it was obvious to you that it was because of your new business partner walking beside you.

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dontshootmespence · 6 years ago

Text

Through the Pages

Chapter 24

It hadn’t surprised anyone in the BAU when Spencer told them he was planning to be baptized into the Church of England. Their favorite boy genius loved with his whole heart. If he loved someone, there was nothing he wouldn’t do, including taking on a religion that he didn’t wholeheartedly believe.

With tears in his eyes, Alfred asked for a moment alone with Spencer, leaving Eleise to talk in the kitchen with her mother. “Spencer, I can see you’re a good man, and whether you are religious or not, I can’t express how grateful I am that you’ve agreed to this.”

Spencer smiled softly, his own eyes glazing over with tears. It wasn’t the act of being baptized that was getting to him – more the overwhelming emotion that he’d finally found someone he was willing to do all that for. “I would do anything for her, Sir. I’m not a religious man, but I strive to be a good one.”

Alfred straightened out the lapels of Spencer’s suit before bringing him into a warm embrace. Never the one for touch, he leaned into the older man – a fatherly hug from a man he thought of as more of a father than his own.

Clearing his throat, Alfred waved for his wife and daughter to join them so they could all make their way over to the church where they’d eventually be married. Eleise stood in the doorway, misty-eyed and grateful as Spencer held her coat up for her to slip into.

As they stepped out onto the street, passersby glanced on, lingering maybe slightly too long. Spencer and Eleise were allowed to hold hands in public now that they were engaged but in a town where most people knew each other in some way, some judged the young woman for marrying “so late” in life – to an American man above her class no less. Though the unwanted attention bothered Alfred and Eleanor to a degree, Spencer and Eleise were in their own little world and couldn’t be bothered to care what anyone else thought.

Spencer found himself wanting to chuckle as they walked. Cliché didn’t even begin to cover it. The sun shone, blanketing everyone in warmth, the birds were chirping overhead; flowers bloomed and filled the air with a softness and stillness only they could provide. Whether it was actually a picture-perfect day or his happiness exemplified the good, he didn’t know – and quite honestly he didn’t care.

A short while after leaving the house, they arrived at the church, where only the priest and two altar boys sat in wait. In order to be baptized, he needed ‘godparents’ so to speak. Eleanor and Alfred were more than happy to be those for him. In fact, Eleanor sobbed when he’d asked.

“This must be the soon-to-be husband,” the priest said, extending his hand toward Spencer. “Pleased to finally meet you. Eleise has told me all about you.”

“Pleased to meet you,” Spencer stammered, gripping Father Weston’s hand just a fraction longer than was necessary. Getting his head dunked into the basin as an adult man was already going to be awkward enough, he didn’t want to embarrass himself further.

Ushering them up toward the altar with a friendly smile, Father Weston proceeded to ask if they were ready to begin. “Baptisms for children and adults only differ in slight ways – one of them being that I will ask certain questions of you, Spencer, that I might ask of a child’s parents. When it comes to your questions, upon your reply I will baptize you in this consecrated water in the name of the Father, the Son and the Holy Spirit. Firstly, Alfred and Eleanor, what is it that you ask of the church today?”

“Baptism, so that this man and our daughter may be wed in the church,” Eleanor replied fondly.

“And this is your will as well?”

Spencer nodded softly as the sacrament continued. “You have asked of him to be baptized. In doing this, Alfred and Eleanor, you are accepting the responsibility of fostering this man in the ways of the church and the practice of faith. Do you clearly understand your undertaking?”

“We do.”

Father Weston smiled and stepped toward Spencer. “Spencer, the Church welcomes you with open arms. In its name, I claim you for Christ by the sign of the cross. I now trace the cross on your forehead and invite Alfred and Eleanor to do the same.”

Doing as the priest asked, they then stepped back to allow him to read a passage from the Bible.

As the sun mirrored the stained glass on the floor at his feet, the priest continued with the ceremony, asking Spencer if he renounced Satan and all his false promises. Each ‘I do’ fell from his lips more and more easily knowing that with this he was one step closer to saying the ‘I do’ that would truly change his life forever.

“It is your will that you baptized into the Church?”

“Yes, Father.”

“Then step forward, please.”

Blue stained glass lit up the basin of holy water, making it appear gentle like the sea. He walked up and followed the priest’s lead, bending down toward the basin so the water could be poured over his head.

“I baptize you In The Name of The Father.”

When the water sluiced over his head, he nearly shrieked it was so cold. In 2011, they would warm up the water in many cases; this however chilled him to the bone.

“And of The Son.”

Another pour of water froze him further. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Eleise behind Father Weston, her hands held in front of her face stifling a laugh. Apparently Spencer wasn’t that great at keeping how physically uncomfortable he was from showing on his face.

“And of The Holy Ghost.”

The last pour soaked his hair down to his scalp, but then he was allowed up once again and passed a rag to dry it out a bit. “Spencer, this is the fountain of life, water that was made holy by Christ’s suffering, washing the world of its sins. You who are washed in this water, have hope of Heaven’s kingdom.”

Another short passage was read and a song sung. Despite the chill, Spencer felt fulfilled as he watched Eleise sing the hymn in question. Her voice had always been beautiful, but he’d never heard her sing before. If there were such things as angels, she was one on Earth. The group exchanged a few pleasantries before Father Weston congratulated him once again. “Now that you are a member of the Church, we can schedule your wedding.”

Both Eleise and Spencer asked that they be married as soon as possible as neither wanted to wait any longer. “I’ve waited long enough to find the man I love,” she said quietly into the emptiness of the church. Her confession echoed against the walls and ascended toward the angels she just knew had to be there watching over them.

With the day scheduled for a fortnight later, they left and returned home where Spencer was finally able to push away the chill. “How do you feel?” Alfred asked.

“Happy,” he replied honestly. Spencer could tell that Alfred wanted to know whether or not he might have felt some religious connection, but he hadn’t not really – save for believing Eleise to be an angel on Earth. But he wasn’t about to shatter the man’s illusions just to “prove” that he might be right. “I can marry the woman I love now. How could I not be happy?”

Alfred invited Spencer to stay for a while as Eleanor prepared dinner. Eleise flitted in and out of the room, conversing with her father and soon-to-be husband while also assisting her mother with the evening’s meal. “You are of course invited to dinner, Spencer,” Eleanor said a couple hours later.

“Much appreciated,” he replied. “But I have told my friends I’d go with them to dinner tonight. Maybe tomorrow?”

“We’d love that.”

Once Spencer’s hair was finally dry, he decided to head home. “I will see you tomorrow,” he said with a smile, kissing her forehead. “I love you. The day we get married will be the happiest day of my life.”

Blushing, she buried her head in his chest and whispered, “I love you.”

------

With Spencer gone for the night, Eleise floated around the house with an enormous grin on her face. During dinner, she spoke excitedly about her dress and the violet dresses the bridesmaids had chosen (with her approval of course). She and her mother talked about the array of orange blossoms that Spencer was procuring. Her father asked what passages she wanted read at the ceremony. The entire family fell into an easy and almost whimsical conversation about the goings on of the big day.

Early evening faded into night and before long Eleise grew tired, excusing herself to retire to bed for the night. With a smile on her face, she slipped on her nightclothes and tucked herself into bed, the warmth of the blankets slowly lulling her to sleep.

Soon she would be married to the love of her life. They would live together. They would share a bed. They would build a family together. Spencer would be at her side every step of the way, fostering her every dream. It was everything she’d ever dreamed.

But that meant she would be away from her mother and father…maybe permanently. They didn’t know. Shooting up in bed, Eleise clutched her chest at the thought. They might never get to see her and Spencer grow in their love. They might never meet their grandchildren. They might never see the woman she grows into. Tears sprang to life at the corners of her eyes, sliding down her cheeks and onto the blankets below. Spencer was her future, but what if she was forced to let go of her past?

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independentartistbuzz · 3 years ago

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7 From the Women with Brittaney Delsarte

Brittaney Delsarte is making a name for herself in the artistic world. She’s not only a powerful musician, but she’s a journalist, actor, and dancer too. She’s also produced, directed, and edited her own documentary for the National Urban League titled Master League: The Columbia Urban League. She’s a women born for the stage and believes her body is a vessel she uses her skills and gifts as a platform to enable Youth Empowerment and Education, Civic Engagement and Leadership Empowerment, and Civil Rights and Racial Justice Empowerment.

We got the chance to talk to Brittaney for our 7 From the Women series which you can find below:

What Have You Been Working To Promote Lately?

So my coworkers (I’m a marketing content producer) brought me to realize that basically I'm the real life Hannah Montana! When I announced that I am dropping an EP they were amazed by my multi-hynate career. From journalism to marketing, to social justice to acting, and finally now a self-producing recording artist, I have been around the block. However, It’s been an artistic rebirth to dedicate an entire piece of art to something that I love so dearly!

I am so happy to share that on my birthday month, August, I dropped my first self-produced EP “Call Me Blossom” on Friday the 13th. Call Me Blossom is inspired by my Southern charm, my 90s childhood, and my whimsical, vulnerable poetry. It's the story of a young Southern debutante/ caterpillar blossoming into a fully realized adult butterfly. The sound drifts between R&B, jazz, subterranean trap, and airy dance-pop.

Being an Independent artist is not for the faint and heart. Passion, hard work, tears, and lots of coins went into creating this art. So I ask that you please support this art by streaming the music! Add the songs to your playlist, repost and share! The link is here: https://open.spotify.com/artist/5wqrLNuUlUBgMhNTpCWKs7?si=nvgJaxkaRhmB9ycIfkK6vA&dl_branch=1

Also feel free to follow me on Instagram for music updates! https://www.instagram.com/brittandbroadway/

Please tell us about your favorite song written, recorded, or produced by another woman and why it’s meaningful to you.

Going off my first impulse, my throat chakra wants me to tell the people to put some respect on Angela Winbush’s name! Not only can she melt the skin off your bones with her divine vocals, but she is a remarkable R&B songwriter, producer, composer and multi-instrumentalist. Women represent less than 5% of music producers and engineers; and yet, Angela was singing, writing, composing and producing in the 80s, a time when female producers and composers were not highly recognized or widely accepted by their male counterparts. Her work is meaningful to me because I too am a multi-hyphenated artist, and so I studied her career in order to learn how to navigate as an artist who is completely hands on and takes ownership of my projects by writing my own songs, composing and producing my own vocals, in a male-dominated studio culture. One of my favorite songs that she’s written, composed and produced is a song off her “Sharp” album is Angel. Her range is BREATHTAKING on this song! She sang the hell out of this song! I feel every word she sings, the composition is so smooth and groovy and it is a transcendental cosmic vibration that your solar plexus needs. I highly suggest you stream this song if you don’t know what I’m talking about. Call me Ms. Winbush! I want to work with you!

What does it mean to you to be a woman making music/in the music business today and do you feel a responsibility to other women to create messages and themes in your music?

Wow! It means everything! Because women are everything in everything and everything is within us; and so with our celestial contributions to making music, and standing in our rightful place within the music business, we are able to advance the collective growth of women creators in entertainment and society at large!

What is the most personal thing you have shared in your music or in your artist brand as it relates to being female?

I have a song on my EP, Call Me Blossom, entitled “I Don’t Support.” My nerves are tap dancing in my belly because that’s one of the most vulnerable songs written and recorded. Between last year's murders of George Floyd, Breonna Taylor, Tony McDade, Ahmaud Arbery and so many others, and the problematic and homophobic statements that was made by rapper, DaBaby, this song couldn't be more timely. As a Black woman I deal with so much oppression from the outside world and then I come home only to deal with all of this subsidiary oppression within my community and it is hard. I'm tired of Black men calling Black women hoes and bitches in their songs. I'm tired of Black men killing Black folks of the LGBTQIA community. I am done defending, showing love for, supporting anyone that doesn't see value in my life when I see value in there albeit that person is black or white. I had gotten frustrated that I had to write a song about it.

Who’s your favorite female icon (dead or alive) and why?

Growing up, all I ever did was sing and dance with imaginary friends, Michael Jackson and Beyonce being among the few. Before developing knowledge of astrology, in retrospect, it only makes sense that I would share a connection with two fellow Virgos. I was the only child in my household for eight years and so Beyonce was the big sister I never had but always wanted. Instead of going outside to play, I studied many artists, but mainly, I studied Beyonce. I wore Beyonce purses, went to see her in concert, carried her album covers inside of my middle school and even my high school binders. My mother did a “Beyonce Intervention '' because she was tired of me choosing Beyonce songs for every talent show, singing competition, pageant, basically any and every performance that I did. I now understand that though I might have been a tad bit obsessed with her, It was only because I identified with her. I am DETERMINED to work with her and I look forward to the day that I can tell her thank you for lifting up women instead of falling into the trap of competition and envy, for representing all the SOUTHERN GALS; FOR BEING UNAPOLOGETICALLY BLACK; for giving us her all on the stage whether it's vulgar, vulnerable, or electrifying! For reminding me that being polite and being a business woman doesn’t match and that it’s okay to be A Boss! For taking the creation of art very seriously, and, for using her platform to “quietly” give back to her community.

If you could collaborate with any other female artists, who would you choose?

Oh this is easy! I already mentioned Beyonce and Angela Winbush so I’ll go ahead and mention these immaculate women: Stephanie Mills, Esperanza Spalding, Chante Moore, Rachelle Ferrell, Liza Minelli, Debbie Allen, Emily King, Chloe & Halle, Tinashe, Amel Larrieux, my cousins Toni and Tamar Braxton...the list goes on!

What was the most challenging thing you have had to face as a female artist?

Dealing with my counterparts misinterpreting my southern charm and kindness for weakness. Not receiving enough support as it relates to setting up my music business successfully so that I’m building revenue. The intimidation of male producers and creatives when I delegate to them what I want and how I want it because I pay them to get the job done as I see fit. They also don’t like when I assert authority over the mixing stage once recording is over, the contracts and agreements, yeah they don’t deal with that too well.

You can find Brittaney via:

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