#if i can aquire more thoughts i’ll post | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

that-ari-blogger · 3 months

Text

Unconventional (Happy Day In Hell)

When I set out to write this series, I was initially prepared to analyse Hazbin Hotel episode by episode, in the same way as my coverage of The Owl House and She-Ra, but I don’t think that does the musical justice at all.

The story is compressed to a boiling point, and each episode has so much happening in it that the posts would invariably be split in two anyway under the weight of stuff to talk about.

So instead, I will be discussing the songs themselves, and how they push the story forward. This series is dense, and I will try to cover all of the plotlines I can, but I am limiting the analysis to those songs, for the most part, there are a few individual scenes that need dwelling upon.

So, with that in mind, let’s look at Happy Day in Hell and how it positions the story as a satire of and the antithesis for everything Disney.

Let me explain.

CONTENT WARNING: This is the start of a series on Hazbin Hotel. There will be discussion of almost everything that happens in that musical, so I highly recommend you check out the content warnings that apply to the show. For now, put simply, there will be foul language, as well as discussion of sex, violence, and abuse. Please heed the warnings.

SPOILERS AHEAD: (Hazbin Hotel, Moana, Wicked, Beauty and the Beast)

Happy Day In Hell is the “I want” song of the series. Think of How Far I’ll Go, from Moana, but let’s take apart the differences there.

Moana wants to explore the world and make her home better by going out and seeking new horizons. Her story is a solo one, about personal betterment and connection to her past through her self. Charlie wants to make her home better by staying here and better people’s lives in a more tangible way.

As such, How Far I’ll Go positions Moana as a misfit in a perfect place.

“I know everybody on this island seems so happy on this island Everything is by design I know everybody on this island has a role on this island So maybe I can roll with mine”

Moana’s otherness comes from her internal struggle. She wants to indulge in her curiosity. Everyone thinks she is one of them, but she can’t square the role with her own desires.

Meanwhile, Charlie is convinced that everyone shares her mindset. She loves her home and thinks that she can make it better to live in with everyone else’s help. The problem is, she’s not positioned as right in this song. Everyone thinks she is crazy, and she is literally singing about hell.

“There's a warm, fuzzy feelin' that wafts through the air Every street so revealing, it's hard not to stare It's a realm so appealing, it beats anywhere If you don't mind the smell It's a happy day in hell”

So, Charlie’s home is an acquired taste, but she is attached to it, and she sings about how it makes her feel. Contrast what she is saying with her experience.

Charlie walks through what could well be an active warzone. The smell she mentions is that of a corpse. But Charlie is oblivious, right?

Well, not entirely. Charlie is aware of everything going on and reacts with horror to horrifying things and with discomfort to less horrifying things.

Which brings me to my thesis for the musical.

Hazbin Hotel is about redemption, sure, but its also about disentangling naivety from hope. The Charlie who sings this song is singing about a place that doesn’t exist. Hell isn’t what she thinks it is. Her hope is naïve, at this point.

Except, that isn't entirely correct, it's kinda true, but there's more going on here. Hold this thought.

"I can hear all their stories, the lost and displaced and I know that they're more of an aquired taste If I open the door and I give them a place at my Hazbin Hotel"

Charlie does see Hell for what it is, but she focuses in on the idea that everyone has a reason for doing what they're doing, and that anyone can be better. She's an optimist.

The point of the series is Charlie coming to terms with what Hell actually is and redeeming sinners doesn’t mean making them more like Heaven, instead it means making Hell better for what it is. She becomes wiser over the course of the story, but that hope never fades.

The song actually presents a reason for this blind spot, heaven’s genocide.

The song implies that the reason Charlie’s motivation is “make Hell more like Heaven” is the fear of retribution. The song sets up the stakes really well for what happens should Charlie fail. The series may be a comedy, but it treats topics like genocide with the seriousness that they need.

Which leads me to my point about this song. The song is entirely setup. The series’ main flaw is its limited runtime, which messes with the pacing something savage and is categorically not the writers’ fault. I blame the Amazon execs who quantified art into a monetary scale, and whichever bastard decided on the eight-episode season that is also wreaking havoc with Doctor Who at the moment. But the effect is there.

Every medium has its benefits. But I challenge you to pull this shot off in live action.

So, Happy Day In Hell does a lot to negate this by setting up the themes and plot points that the series will specialise in. Notably, the clash of Charlie’s dream of bettering people’s lives against the threat of invasion, as well as the pseudo-biblical imagery.

This is reflected in the music itself. Most obviously, the song changes tempo several times to foreshadow the rollercoaster pacing, but in a more subtle way, the melody holds up the idea of hope.

I want to prefix this by saying that musical notation is not really my specialty. Part of why this blog exists is as a way for me to teach myself these, so bear with me on this. If you know better than me, please correct me in the replies.

As Charlie opens the song, her part emphasises key words to ground itself at the start of each bar. Those being “do”, “know”, the first syllable of “Heaven”, and “plans”. The notes on these remain stable on a repeated C as she reassures herself with what she knows, before her high reaching dreams are represented by the A on “Heaven”, and she roots herself back down with the B for “plans” and she prepares to keep dreaming. It’s a stable loop that allows for optimism as it rises and will repeat itself until something changes.

Speaking of which, the second phrase is the same exact progression, with the exception that it resolves to G instead as Charlie starts to gain momentum. This is also represented by the note length, with the final note being much slower and pensive than the rest of the phrase, until Charlie is finally in the moment and off on her journey.

And we have our first tempo change, rising in pace to match Charlie’s ambition and accompany the crowd singing along, and this is the most Disney part of the song.

The chorus, in reference to those who aren’t the main characters, exists in songs like this to tell the audience what the general consensus is. For example, in Wicked, the chorus reacts with joy to the death of the Wicked Witch, and so the audience can generally assume that the rest of Oz is pretty happy as well.

Disney loves having chorus members sing along to set the scene for their stories, be it Beauty and the Beast’s villagers singing about Belle in a song named after her, or Where You Are from Moana.

The difference here, is the denizens of Hell are talking about how awful their lives are, and how they are accustomed to violence and death. It’s a subversion.

You may notice that the scene setting song and the "I want" song are usually distinct numbers, but Hazbin Hotel doesn’t have time for that. Like I said, this musical is dense.

Before I finish up, I want to mention one word that changes Charlie’s entire character for me. “Fuck”. More specifically:

“Today is gonna be a fuckin’ happy day in hell”.

I am not usually one for cursing in writing. I usually deem it as wasted space that could have been better achieved through cinematography or acting or just any other word. This is honestly rather hypocritical of me, considering my own vernacular.

But, I don’t see that problem here. Here, the word accentuates Charlie’s perseverance and the intensity of her dream. The song’s name stops going from a hope and becomes a threat. Charlie doesn’t think that Hell will get better, she is going to make it better.

This one-word changes Charlie from naïve to relentless, and it reframes what hope is about. Because fundamentally, Charlie is hopeful. She has no reason to believe her dream will work, that’s why she needs hope, and that’s what she needs to inspire in others.

Philosophy is often attributed to great works, but the quote that best exemplifies Charlie comes from the least likely of places, X (the website formerly known as Twitter), and a user called Crowsfault:

"People speak of hope as if it is this delicate, ephemeral thing made of whispers and spider’s webs. It’s not. Hope has dirt on her face, blood on her knuckles, the grit of the cobblestones in her hair, and just spat out a tooth as she rises for another go."

Final Thoughts

To those for whom this is my first post, helo. I'm Ari, I do analysis about things I like and things I don't from a storytelling standpoint. These are my opinions, and I am not to be taken as an authority on anything.

I love Hazbin Hotel so much, despite its many flaws. This series isn’t for everyone, but it is something I enjoyed, and something I want to talk about.

And there is something to that. Every piece of media has an audience, and Hazbin Hotel feels like it was written directly for tumblr. It critiques the internet as a whole, and its propensity to see things as black and white. Lets be clear, the first redeemed sinner was Sir Pentious, a character who began his story as a villain. But the show is also catered to an audience that will take it apart, and to me at least, Tumblr is the place where people do that.

Even the design and art style are Tumblr coded.

This is why I find LavenderTowne’s redesigns so interesting. They are an exploration of what might happen if the show was written for a slightly different audience with different expectations and standards, and I will be talking about the second of those videos in a post coming soon.

Next week, however, I will be covering Hell Is Forever and the introduction of Heaven. So stick around if that interests you.

#rants #literary analysis #literature analysis #what's so special about...?#character analysis #hazbin charlie #hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel analysis #hazbin #moana #meta #meta analysis

21 notes · View notes

queenpiranhadon · 6 months

Text

✧˖ʚ𝚆𝙴𝙻𝙲𝙾𝙼𝙴 𝚃𝙾 𝚃𝙷𝙴ɞ˖✧ 𝙺𝙸𝙽𝙶𝙳𝙾𝙼 𝙾𝙵 𝚃𝙷𝙴 ｡ﾟ•┈꒰ა 𝙲𝙻𝙾𝚄𝙳𝚂! ໒꒱┈• ｡ﾟ

Greetings traveler! Welcome to the Kingdom of Riyanii!

Her Majesty Queen Kae is quite busy at the moment, so I, her assistant with be the only showing you around!

Though she is busy- the people of Riyanii are well aware of her prized star collection… only those within her inner circle are allowed to chose one as a gift!

Would you like me to take you to her astroarium? It’s where she keeps her collection. You would? Alright let’s take a look!

ೃ༄ 𝚀𝚄𝙴𝙴𝙽 𝙺𝙰𝙴’𝚂 ೃ༄ *ੈ✩𝙰𝚂𝚃𝚁𝙾𝙰𝚁𝙸𝚄𝙼*ੈ✩

𝐍𝐚𝐧𝐛𝐮𝐡𝐧:★

➜ Sometimes the right people are just out of reach…all you need is a little push in the right direction. Nanbuhn stars can give you that little push.

Prompt: Give me a fandom, and I’ll tag one of my moots who’s in that fandom as well!

𝐕𝐢𝐢𝐝𝐨𝐨: ✩

➜ No matter where you are the in world- Viidoo stars see all. Maybe there’s another place out there for you that isn’t home…

Prompt: I’ll tell you which fandom you belong in! (As a character) Check my fandoms list at the bottom

𝐏𝐞𝐲𝐢𝐫𝐚:⟡

➜ Names hold immense power. Periya stars will provide on befitting for the power you hold inside.

Prompt: I’ll give you a nickname!

𝐊𝐚𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐞:✶

➜ Stories are magical things- accounts of people and the lives they lived. Maybe you can find one of your own. Hurry though, there are only six Kathae stars left in stock!

Prompt: Request a fic and I’ll write it! Only a few though. And no smut!

𝐀𝐚𝐧𝐦𝐚: ✫

➜These stars are special due to the soul of the star more recognizable to others. There are Anphuaanma (romantic connections) and Nanbhuaanma (platonic connections). Whose soul do you connect to?

Prompt: I’ll give you a romantic or platonic character from a fandom of choice! Just specify in your ask :) Check my fandoms list at the bottom

𝐌𝐚𝐤𝐚𝐥𝐞: ✷

➜ Everyone has a place in the world- but only the all-seeing Makale stars know where do you fit in the grand scheme of things.

Prompt: I’ll give you a book role! Protagonist, Antagonist, Comedic relief etc :)

𝐊𝐞𝐡𝐥𝐯𝐢𝐞: ✦

➜ Kehlvie stars may not have magical properties- but they are held close to the queen’s heart. Aquire one and maybe you can earn her favor and ask her a question…

Prompt: Ask me a question and I’ll answer it to the best of my ability! (Within reason of course)

𝐄𝐩𝐚𝐭𝐮: 𖥔

➜ Music is a story through sound, a story of life and emotions. Epatu stars can read the music in your heart

Prompt: I’ll give you a song based on vibes :)

𝐕𝐢𝐥𝐚𝐧𝐤: ⊹

➜ Animals, like humans hold spirits in their core. Vilank stars, derivatives of the (N/A) stars, may be able to sense the connection between you and a creature.

Prompt: I’ll give you a spirit animal!

𝐍𝐢𝐢𝐫𝐚𝐦𝐞: ✻

➜ Colors give the world its boldness in contrast to the stark black and white. Colors invoke thought and personality. The ancient Niirame stars may be able to see your color in a new light.

Prompt: I’ll give you a color based on vibes and tell you why!

Did you enjoy your look around?

As spring approaches- the cloud kingdom must move along with the season. Her Majesty has some business down in the mainland as of late, but by the end of March, the Kingdom of the clouds must depart for other regions. Choose your stars before it’s too late!

Anyways… you must be tired after a long day of journeying. Get some rest traveler!

Oh- before I forget- Her Majesty left a message for any travelers she’s aquainted with!

Hey guys! Thank you all so much for 100 followers- this is actually insane i love you all so much. Send me asks with the prompt you want- 1-2 minimum please and thank you :). Moots only for this please- I need to know you well enough to do this 😭. And no anon! (For the same reason) Here’s my list of fandoms Original Intro Post for anyone new! Dividers by @cafekitsune

10 notes · View notes

thedamselzelda · 3 months

Text

Affections of the Deathly Devotee

Featuring: Dazai Osamu

Summary: Bad ideas don't always have bad consequences, and when questions need answers, you simply have to go to the source. Perhaps your nerves will calm once you get the closure you needed.

word count: 5.6k, nsfw, fem!reader, pm!reader, alluding self harm, choking, unprotected sex, dom(ish) Dazai, reader is kinda a brat, slightly proof read

previous part ~ next part | DBH masterlist | BSD Masterverse

You were going on fourteen when you met the curious boy Mori had brought in. You had laughed abnormally loud watching the blood drip from his arm. How could someone want to die so much be utterly incapable of killing themself properly? You were overly intimate with death before the typical age of properly understanding the concept, and it seemed this boy was just as familiar as you.

Then, jealousy had quickly taken root within your thoughts of the boy, as you had always been Mori’s favorite; however, as soon as the boy, who had been introduced to you as Dazai Osamu, had been brought along to witness the execution of the previous Port Mafia boss, you were sure you weren’t overly fond of him. It was his constant attempts, his constant need to flaunt his intellect, but most of all, it was because Mori switched his gaze to him instead of you.

How could Mori do that to you? Mori had aquired you at a young age from your father, a man engrained within the Mafia. Your father, in a time of grief and desperation to pay a debt, handed you off to Mori. That was neither here nor there to you now. You had hardly any memory of the man as a father, only acknowledging him as a subordinate to yourself; all you knew was Mori had taught you, trained you, for the job of being the Port Mafia’s most feared assassin. A Kiss of Death was an ability to be feared, yet Dazai… he didn’t.

While there had been questionable moments with him, he was with you throughout many major moments. Dazai had cared for you, eventually settling that jealousy within you, because he seemed to understand your hatred for life and the mafia seemingly even more than you knew yourself.

That’s why you mentioned him to Oda.

“Do you… like this boy?” Oda raised his eyebrow in question.

You gawked back, looking up from your book, “What?! I can’t mention someone without it meaning something?”

You looked back down to your book, glancing back over the pathology that littered the pages.

You groan as Oda gave a hearty laugh. “I’ve known you for how long? You never mention anyone unless you have a vendetta against them.”

You slam the book shut, “I do not like him.”

Oda shifts uncomfortably against the post of your bedframe, “If you say so.”

He moved to sit on the bed across from you, pawing through the books that were sprawled out on your bed.

“Have you had a chance to look at those books I lent you?”

You simply hum a no in response, scribbling down your thoughts upon the page.

“Okay, well, I’ll leave you to it then. Just, try and give those books a read when you can. I think they’ll be a better read than you expect.”

He moved to leave your room, grasping onto the handle before looking back at you. “Also, you might not wanna hear this from me, but there’s something about this Dazai you’ve mentioned. You’re acting… happier.”

Your gaze shoots up to him. You grasp onto the nearest pillow, chucking it at Oda. “I do not like him! He's simply tolerable!”

You huff out a laugh as you quickly walk. Why did Oda always have to be right? You find yourself wishing he were here right now. Maybe things would be different if he were here.

You anxiously wandered about the dimly lit streets of Yokohama. While no one could touch you without bearing some form of consequence, it was the fact that you were about to be on Dazai’s doorstep. His doorstep, which happened to belong to the Armed Detective Agency, which was the furthest you had gone from Port Mafia territory since arriving back in Japan. His directions were perfect though, pointing out the areas to avoid and what landmarks you should be looking out for.

Soon, you found yourself staring at the weathered door. You smoothed out the black jacket upon your person, reaching to scratch at the fresh bandages you applied before leaving. Suddenly, you began to find your hands sweating, wringing them in anxiety as thoughts swarmed your mind. This was a bad idea.

This was such a good idea, Dazai thought to himself as he leaned his arm against the door frame, smiling as he looked through the peephole at you anxiously wringing your hands. Not a doubt crossed his mind that you would come, even if your messages had been full of resistance. He had been watching since the moment you arrived, wondering how long it would take for you to muster the courage to knock. He knew you were nervous about being outside Mafia territory, and despite your complaints about being invited to his dormitory, it was the safest place he could think of. After all, you were a wanted criminal.

You had taken precautions to disguise yourself, donning ripped jeans, a casual white button-down, and a trench coat from Dazai’s old collection, which sat unevenly on your arms and shoulders. He breathed out contentedly, noticing you still wore the maroon scarf he had sent you. It reflected the hazy shine of the nearly full moon above. This told him he could still reach you; the humanity he knew you were capable of hadn’t been completely tarnished by your role in the Port Mafia.

Raising your fist, you hovered it over the weather-stained wood. He knew you wouldn’t knock—you had already tried once. Instead, you paced back and forth on the balcony, talking to yourself. He watched as you told yourself you shouldn’t be there, repeating that it was a bad idea.

“This won’t go right either way. Still, I need to know. But he’s my enemy now. I’m off Mafia territory, and this could go so badly wrong if the wrong person sees or hears me… I should go. No, I can do this.”

You stopped in front of the door again, itching at the fresh bandages on your right forearm. Dazai wondered if you had gotten hurt recently or if you had been cutting. Probably the latter, he thought. He ran his hand through his brown locks, wondering when you would finally decide to knock. It would probably be on your fourth attempt. He quietly laughed to himself as you raised your fist once more, only to let it fall and slap your palm to your face. A curse escaped your lips as you waved your hands wildly in front of you.

“I’m fucking Izanami. I am a feared assassin. It’s just to go in and talk. Discuss what we need and then leave. He’s done with me, with the Port Mafia. He’s different, he’s happier.”

He frowned as he watched the words form from the lips he constantly found himself craving. What did it even mean, to be happy? Sure, he felt a weight lift from his shoulders when he left the Port Mafia, but another thousand had simply taken its place. He knew he was happiest around people who felt like home. The other detectives were becoming a reason to be happy, but he always thought back to when he was happy with you, Oda, and Ango—even Chūya, though he wouldn’t openly admit it. The relationships he had held with the four of you weren’t always perfect, but they were enough. He was happiest when he was with you.

He watched you take a deep breath, pushing your hands out with the exhale. You were ready. He took a step back, suddenly nervous. What should he do when you knocked? Roll up his sleeves? No, coat off. He had been back for a while and yet never removed it. Vest too? Sure. He haphazardly rushed to place both pieces of clothing down on his futon, then stealthily returned to the door.

Just in time. You began knocking. Four times. A beat passed, and he rolled up his sleeves. His palms began to sweat. Why now? He had been fine before. Fuck it. He grasped the doorknob and opened the door to see you standing with your back to him.

“Buonasera, cara mia.” Dazai casually leaned against the door frame, giving you a sultry smirk as you turned to him. He held the door open with his left hand.

A lump of air caught in his throat as you gave him an unamused look. “Dazai.”

Shit. He was going to have to try way harder to reach you than he originally thought.

“The hatrack catch you on the way out?” He asked, even though he had watched your location through a tracker and watched you pace at his door.

“Chūya went west for an assignment. He won’t be back for a while.” You crossed your arms in irritation. Dazai’s mouth dried. What should he say now?

“Damn, well, I guess I’ll have to find out if he got any taller next time you come.” He wished he could punch himself. Why did he say that? Why use Chūya as the starting topic?

“He hasn’t. I guess that curse you put on him really worked.” You puffed out a short laugh. Your arms relax, and your hands fell to your waist. “Well, are you gonna let me in, or should I just go let another detective know that a Port Mafia exec is outside waiting to be arrested?”

Dazai chuckled, waving his hand dismissively. “They wouldn’t arrest you.” He paused and smiled. “Wait, you got executive?”

You scoffed, bowing under his arm as you walked through the door. “It’s not your spot, but yes. Mori made a special consideration.”

Your hand softly brushed his arm as you went under. He sharply exhaled away so you wouldn’t hear; you hadn’t punched him yet, so it was a good sign. He could feel his heart beating into his throat as he shut the door.

“So, this is what the agency gives its detectives? Not bad, compared to your shipping container.”

He’d prefer your penthouse, honestly, any room with you in it, like right now. He hardly felt comfortable anywhere without you, looking for you when he knew you wouldn't be there. However, he refrained from speaking those thoughts aloud. “Yeah, it’s really not bad. The agency isn’t bad either.”

You hummed softly, and mutter, “So… you’re happy.”

Dazai watches as you stop in the door frame of the adjoining room, the one where his futon lay. You didn’t turn to him, and he simply watched for a moment as you looked about the room. He knew what you were doing. Thoughts were racing, calculating in your head how much he had moved on, ultimately attempting to summarize the events that had occurred from the moment of his defection until now.

Under previous circumstances, he would walk up behind you, snaking his hands around your waist, placing kisses upon the smooth skin of your neck to pull you from your plaguing thoughts. Now, he stood awkwardly away from you, unsure of the correct course of action.

He cleared his throat. “So, uh, what parts did I need to clear up?”

He saw the confused look on your face when you turned. “Well, the reports only had so much detail in them. So, really everything on your part.”

He scrunched his face, equally confused. He reached up to rub his neck. “Well, I explained it in my letters. So, I’m not sure how you could be confused.”

“Letters? The last thing I got from you was this scarf and Oda’s books. That’s it.” You scoffed.

Dazai began making an attempt to reply, but you cut him off. He saw frustration begin to form on your face. “For months I waited, like an idiot. Wondering if I was going to hear from you at all. But I got nothing. Hell, the last time we spoke, you mentioned your worry for Oda, and that was it. Then Mori comes to the villa and hand-delivers this—"

You grasped the very lifeline of Dazai’s feelings for you, and he grimaced as you tore it from your shoulders. You held it out to him, your chest rising and falling heavily. "And tells me the worst news I have ever received in my life! That you defected and the one person in this life who wasn’t afraid of me—that Oda was dead! And I blame you! Nothing else for three years!"

Dazai’s head tilted as he looked at you with a softness in his eyes. He could see what had happened now. Of course, Mori had manipulated the story; he ensured a rift would form between the two of you. Dazai was pretty sure Mori’s vision of his two proteges didn’t include them becoming thick as thieves and falling for one another.

“S-Say something, dammit! I can’t stand it when you always stand there, smiling like a smartass!” You shook the scarf once more, a shimmer from the low light reflecting off the tears forming in your eyes.

Dazai stepped forward, grabbing the scarf from you. He pulled it to his face, feeling the softness of the fabric upon his lips. It no longer smelled of burnt gunpowder and the faint cologne he used to wear; it smelled of you now. He remembered wearing it for weeks underneath his coat before handing the box off to Mori to send to you. He felt your eyes darting about his, which only looked down at the pool of dark red in his hands.

“After you left,” he began, lifting the scarf over your head to lay it back down on your shoulders, “Odasaku and I were miserable. You constantly found your way into our conversations at Bar Lupin. He always wanted to know how you were doing; he was constantly worried about you.”

He began straightening it out and began rubbing the material between his fingers in a soothing manner. He felt you watching him, repeating his words in your head, searching for a lie.

“During our fight with Mimic, the…” He searched for the right words, “The kids, they got taken and were killed. Odasaku… he… he couldn’t bear it.”

He watched you flex your right hand, assuming the bandages were irritating your skin again. His hand slipped from the scarf down to grab your wrist. He pulled it level to him, and you resisted for a moment when you noticed him reaching to undo it. He paused, rubbing his thumb within your palm, and you relaxed again.

He continued speaking as he unwrapped your arm, “Odasaku went and fought the leader of Mimic, a man who had the same ability as him. While it was an even match, neither one could live in the end. Oda knew what he was doing, yet… It was all a calculated loss on Mori’s part.”

He saw your lips part, as if you were about to ask a question, but they closed once again.

“Did Mori ever explain how the Port Mafia now possesses a Skilled Business Permit?”

He looked up from the task into your eyes. They darted between his, tears threatening to breach and fall upon your cheeks. He returned his gaze to your arm, reaching the final bit of cotton.

“Odasaku’s life paid for it. Mori, he… he orchestrated everything, just so he could get the permit.”

The bandage around your arm fell to the floor.

“No…” You whispered. He forlornly examined your arm; fresh cuts littered your skin. The scar he shared with you looked freshly bruised, as if you attempted to rewrite over history itself. He looked away from the fresh wounds on your arm, meeting your eyes once more. “Tell me it’s not true.”

His left hand rose to your face, placing his palm against your cheek. Your face was warm against his skin as you leaned in. The tear finally fell from your eye, but Dazai quickly swiped it with his thumb. He stroked your cheekbone with his thumb after, hoping it would bring you some peace with the news he was telling you.

Dazai softly said your name, “I wrote to you, every day. However, you didn’t miss much than that. I promise I wanted to find some way to get in contact with you, I even thought about roping in Ango… but turns out he was with the government the whole time and that was a whole mess in itself.”

“I did get that bit from the reports.” You breathe out.

He noticed that you had slightly leaned forward more, even taking a step closer. He tilted his face down closer to yours.

“When Odasaku was…” Dazai couldn’t bring himself to say it, so he reworded what he wanted to tell you. He gave a harsh swallow of air, then continued, “Odasaku asked me to ‘become a good person’. So, I sought out Chief Taneda. That’s how I joined the ADA.”

“And are you? A good person?” He felt your hand reach his shirt, resting upon his chest. He wonders to himself if you can feel how fast his heart is racing. “Does living this life finally have meaning?”

He frowned at your words. Are you happy? Without me? Those would’ve been easier questions to answer. He snaked his hand which held yours around your waist, pulling you flush to him. He sought to anchor himself to you. Your right hand now free found its way up to his cheek, which he leaned into just as you had.

“I can't say I'm any better of a person, but…” Dazai began, carefully choosing his words. He hopes to himself he won’t lose you before he’s finished speaking. “My life has undoubtedly improved in a few ways since leaving the Port Mafia. The agency has given me a sense of purpose, a chance to atone for my past. And yet...”

He paused, locking eyes with you as he tenderly brushed a stray strand of hair from your face. “Even amidst this newfound clarity, something still feels amiss. It's as though a part of me is incomplete, yearning for the warmth and vibrancy you brought to my world.”

Dazai exhaled shakily, his fingers ghosting along your jawline. "I've found solace in my newfound allies, but their companionship pales in comparison to the relationship we once shared. Life may be better in many respects, but it lacks the brilliance and passion that only you could ignite within me."

He leaned his forehead against yours, his voice dropping to a hushed whisper. "I'm better, perhaps, but not truly whole – not without you. This oxidizing life truly has no meaning without you in it, I’m sure of that now."

He felt your fingers combed into his hair, falling to the back of his neck, tracing along the edge of the bandages. “I… I can’t be a part of this new life of yours, Osamu.”

Osamu felt a pit form within his stomach. His eyes search yours, hearing the reluctance within your tone.

“I’m not asking you to leave the Port Mafia. I know your goals; I know your desires. I only ask you walk the edge of the knife with me.”

Before you can reply, he softly brushes his lips against yours, inhaling sharply as you grasp the nape of his neck to kiss him. It was all he wanted, since you had left; he had longed for the gentleness of your lips upon his, and here he had it once again. His thumb pressed underneath your chin, angling your face to push his lips to yours needily, as if he couldn't live any longer without sharing the same air you breathe. The taste of your lips, so familiar yet thrillingly new after years apart, ignited a smoldering flame within him. Your fingers combed into his soft brown locks as you parted your lips, allowing his tongue to delicately explore the contours of your mouth, reigniting the searing passion you once shared.

Both of your arms now found purchase around his neck, his hand fell to your waist, pulling you closer, though no room was already left between you. His body pressed against yours, walking you backwards until your back hit the angle of the door frame. His lips left yours as he trailed kisses from your cheek to your jaw, down to your neck.

“Osamu… we shouldn’t…”

Osamu huffed as he laid another kiss upon your neck, bringing his lips to your ear. “Bella… if you want to stop, tell me and I will. Just know,” he knelt down slightly, grabbing onto your plush thighs, hoisting them up to rest around his waist. “I don’t want to let you go.”

Your legs instinctively lock around his slim waist, the hard lines of his body pressing against your softer curves in a delicious friction. You gasped at the thrilling contact, feeling the unmistakable evidence of his desire straining against you. He gave a lowly groan as you pulled his head so you could see his eyes, “Then don’t let me.”

A smirk played at your swollen pink lips, and one appeared upon his in return. Osamu pulled you from the wall, and he balanced you as you swiftly removed his jacket from your body.

“And here I thought all of my things would be burned. But I have to say, that jacket looked way better on you anyway.” The black cloth pooled at the floor and was left behind as he brought you into the adjoining room. He gently knelt down, cradling you against his chest before guiding you onto the plush futon with exquisite care, as if you were the most precious gem. His eyes drank in the vision of you sprawled beneath him - hair tousled, chest heaving, legs invitingly parted - a tempting paradise he'd been deprived of for far too long; this was a sight he had been dreaming of for the past one thousand, five hundred and eighty days—give or take a few.

You laughed out as he leans back down to kiss your neck, finding the spot he remembered made you squirm from him locking his lips around it. He began sucking and softly biting the spot fervently, with every intention of leaving a mark.

“Ahh… I couldn’t let all of your things go. Mori and I argued about it over the phone for half an hour. Ugnn…” You puffed out between gasps as his hands begin to glide to unbutton the shirt preventing him from going lower. His eyes trailed down to the soft swell of your breasts straining against the thin fabric, the gentle rise and fall of your chest causing the buttons to strain enticingly. A devilish smirk played across his lips as he drank in the sight, realizing you must have anticipated this encounter would lead to more than just talking. What a delightful little vixen you were.

His fingers deftly worked the buttons, each one slowly loosening to reveal more of your flushed skin. The fabric whispered open, exposing the lacy light blue bralette cupping your breasts, the delicate fabric a tantalizing contrast against your flushed skin. The sheer lace sculpted to the alluring curves, leaving little to the imagination as it strained against your aroused peaks, begging for his attention. Dazai's breath caught in his throat at the tantalizing glimpse of lace and the promise of the curves hidden beneath. He leaned down, pressing an open-mouthed kiss to the swell of your breast, feeling your racing pulse fluttering against his lips.

You gasped sharply at the heated contact, back arching instinctively. Dazai hummed in satisfaction, the rumbling vibrating through you and eliciting a shiver. His fingers continued trailing downward, the calloused pads igniting sparks along your sensitive skin.

"So eager," he purred in appreciation, voice dripping like velvet. "You gorgeous little minx, did you wear this pretty little thing just for me?" His thumb traced along the scalloped lace edging, letting it snap back lightly against your skin. "Just couldn't wait to tempt me, could you? And this shirt? It’s from my collection too?” He asks as he continues to unbutton and kiss down your bare chest.

He noticed your breath hitch, causing his eyes to look to you through his lashes.

“It’s actually Chūya’s.”

Dazai stilled, eyes narrowing as his gaze snapped up to meet yours. For a brief moment, your expression was unreadable until he registered the mischievous glint in your eyes. A low rumble of laughter vibrated from his chest as he shook his head.

"You wicked thing," he tsked, though his eyes danced with amusement. "As if I would allow another man's clothes to grace this exquisite body."

With one forceful tug, he ripped the shirt open completely, buttons scattering and clattering across the floor. You gasped at the sudden aggression, cheeks flushing darker as his hungry gaze raked over your exposed torso. Leaning down, he pressed his lips between your exposed breasts, his warm breath fanning over your sensitive skin.

He switched to the melodic lilt of Italian, the words rolling off his tongue in a sultry caress that had you squirming beneath him, aching for their meaning to be inscribed upon your very skin. "I would think you'd know better than that, cara mia," he murmured, voice husky and laced with desire. "Because another man's things should never be anywhere near what's mine."

A shudder rippled through you at the dark possessiveness in his tone. Before you could respond, his mouth was crashing over yours in a searing, demanding kiss that left you dizzy and aching for his touch. He pressed his clothed cock into you, feeling your breath shutter as he groaned into your parted lips.

Your hands deftly reached for his shirt, hastily attempting to remove his shirt from his person. Simultaneously, his hands glided down to the button of your jeans, tugging them from your waist. Just as he had hoped, you had worn the matching panties, which had him salivating. He sat back up onto his heels, peeling the shirt from his body as he watched you unclasp the back of your bralette, allowing the round fullness of your beasts to become exposed, perking up from the sudden change in heat.

“La mia bella ragazza, you spoil me.” He smiles coyly, grasping down to undo his belt. He wouldn’t remove his pants yet, however. Not before he could taste the sweet ambrosa you had to offer. His fingers moved, dancing along the small incisions on your abdomen and down to the lace holding together the thin clothing covering your cunt.

“Mon cher, don’t tease.” You speak up, causing his attention to become diverted. He soaked in this image, one he had only seen within his dreams as of recent; your arms were draped above your head, your breasts exposed and ripe for the taking, your stomach twitching slightly at the lightest touch of his slightly rough fingers, and your panties holding the evidence of your desire to have him. This is everything he wanted, surely this was what life was meant to be like, living for these moments no matter how small they may seem to another. Having you, beg and whine for his touch, for his love… this is what his life was missing in this moment. Now, he could confidently say he has everything.

“I’m sorry, bella. You just look like a work of art. I simply had to take in the view.” He lowered his head down to your awaiting perked breast, his mouth grasping onto the soft skin, his tongue circled and suckling. He paired this with his fingers slipping underneath the delicate fabric to slip two digits within your cunt. The wonton of gasps and moans falling from your lips was the sweetest music to his ears. Your fingers laced into his hair, fingernails scraping along his scalp sending chills down his spine.

“F…fuck, ‘samu…” You moaned between breaths, your fingers grazing the bandages on his neck and forearms. He hummed in satisfaction as he felt your legs widen underneath him, allowing for his fingers to reach deeper into your plush wet walls. He skillfully added his thumb onto your clit, massaging at the bundle of nerves.

“Ah!” You grasped onto Osamu’s hair harder, pushing his face into your chest more. While he couldn’t breathe for a moment, he felt the need to grip onto you harder. It was the only thing he could do to ground himself from climaxing over the thought of sufficating to death while fucking you with his fingers. He grinned upon rising up instead when you finally relaxed, your legs shaking from cumming from the stimulation.

“God,” he sighed, pulling his fingers out of your dripping cunt. “I need to just…”

He didn’t finish his sentence, but he wanted to fuck you senseless now, after you deprived him of air. He brought his fingers to his mouth, licking them clean. The nectar of the Gods surely couldn’t compare. He groaned as he saw you remove your panties; he really wanted to rip those off of you himself.

“You are not,” you huffed, “ruining these too.”

He laughed at the fact you read his mind. His hands deftly removed his remaining clothes, his cock revealing itself hard and dripping, seemingly more excited to be ready to enter your warm embrace more than he was.

“Fuck,” he hissed, rubbing his tip along the wet fold of your entrance. “Feels like more than four years I’ve been dying to fuck you.”

A small whine escaped your lips as you lifted your hips to meet the rubbing of his cock along your clit. “’Samu, please.”

“Tell me this first,” he paused, his tip stopping at your entrance.

“Seriously?” You prop yourself up on your elbows. “What now?”

He smirks at you, tilting his head. He hooked his arm underneath you leg, pushing himself into you more.

“How many people did you sleep with in Italy? After you assumed we were done.”

He watched as you tossed your head back, possibly from the question and the slow thrust he was now doing. It was more so for him, as if he had just completely sheathed himself, he wouldn’t have been able to hold himself together. It was just one of the many effects you had over him.

“Really, Osamu?” You bit your lip as he continued. “Fuck, maybe a handful. I—ah!”

He had quickly pushed the rest of his cock into you, making his hips now flush with yours. He wasn’t typically a jealous man, as he had seen you many times flirting with a target, showing off skin, luring them back to a hotel room just to kill them off. However, it was hearing that you actually fucked other men, outside the confounds of Port Mafia business, well, his thoughts were only on making you forget every one of them now.

He rested your leg upon his waist, beginning to rock himself into you, illicting more moans from your pretty lips.

“How many did you imagine were me?” He searched your eyes as they began to glass over. He loved your fucked out face; your eyes puff from trying not to cry, the tears now rolling down your face as he plunged himself into you roughly.

“How many?” he growled, taking a hold of your neck, but not sqeezing enough to cut off your air. Your eyes shimmered with excitement, your lips curling into a smile.

“All of them.” You exaggrated each syllable as you reached up to grab his hair, harshly tugging on his locks to bring him down for a kiss. He inhaled sharply, loudly exhaling a moan.

At this point, he couldn’t care less who heard him or you as he began to thrust into you harder, faster. His teeth bit at your bottom lip, his tongue slipping past once he released your lip to fight against yours. His mouth hovered over, exchanging merely air as he pressed your legs higher to your chest. He could only make out your name within his moans, as if it was a prayer that had finally been answered.

He could feel your walls squeezing around him now, pushing him closer to release.

“How… many…?” You huffed out between each thrust.

Osamu paused his movements, shifting your knees upon his shoulders. “What was that, Bella?”

A smile curled on his face as he saw you squirm from the change of pace.

“I assume, you went back to your womanizing ways,” you reach and grab Osamu’s neck, squeezing harshly as you bring his face down to yours. “So, how many did you fuck and moan my name out to.”

Osamu laughed as he continued to rock roughly into you. He wasn’t going to answer your question just yet. You huffed with each thrust, hand not letting go of his neck. The lack of oxygen for him simply pushed him further and further towards finishing. The nail in the coffin was hearing you loudly moan and your legs falling slack as you came once more.

Your hand loosened from his neck, falling down to his arm. He let your legs slip to his waist as he rushed toward his high. Osamu curled his arm underneath your neck, bringing himself closer to you as he came within you.

His breath fanned over you face as he moaned out your name softly. His face fell in placing a kiss upon the now reddened spot upon your neck. “Those women pale in comparison to you, cara mia. Only your name should slip from my lips, as long as I live.”

He hears you giggle as you bring to lazily graze your nails in mindless shapes upon his back.

“You just say that because they didn't satisfy you.”

He knew what you meant by the comment, but dismissed it as he nuzzled his face into the crook of your neck. He didn’t want to talk about that memory—one he had pushed from his mind since you were angry at him for weeks after.

“Also, Osamu, mon cher, that wasn’t Chūya’s shirt.”

He lifted his face up, giving you a sheepish smile. You only looked back at him with a smile and a pink flush across you face.

“It looked better off of you anyway.”

previous part ~ next part | DBH masterlist | BSD Masterverse

Author Notes: Happy Birthday to Dazai!!! I'm not completely satisfied with how I wrote this part, but I still hope it's enjoyable to read. I'm more so excited to write the next part and the teaser, which should also be up by tonight.

Song Inspos (in no particular order):

The Exit-- Conan Gray

Pretty Please-- Dutch Melrose, benny mayne

i love you-- billie eilish

As always, if I missed tagging anything please let me know!

Give it a like and a repost if you feel so inclined! <3 DamzelZelda

#bsd x reader #bsd x you #dazai osamu x reader #dazai x reader #dazai x y/n #bsd #bsd dazai #bungo stray dogs #bungou stray dogs #dazai smut

138 notes · View notes

imaloserbbyxoxo · 3 years

Text

Dabi as a dad. That's it. That's the post.

please keep in mind i suck at writing so im sorry if this his terrible i'm just trying to make myself feel better

♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥

It was late at night. Dabi wasn't sure what time it was, but he could only assume it was around two in the morning. He was unbelievably exhausted and worn out. So much work had to be done lately for the league and Shikaraki was running him ragged from all the orders and tasks he was assigned.

So much work had to be done, that he hadn't been able to sleep for the past day and a half. His body was starting to shut down, but he knew he had to keep on until the jobs were completed.

People in the league were the only ones that knew this secret Dabi had. He had a whole other life ever since three years ago. He had become a father. He never knew it would happen, he never even planned it. Honestly? He never really wanted to be a father, but ever since she was born, he was in love. A beautiful baby girl. Who would have ever thought? A son, maybe. But a girl? Whoa. That's a whole knew level.

Dabi and Y/N had been together for 2 years before the birth of their daughter. He really did love Y/N, but for some reason unknown to him, having a little girl made the love go even deeper. He never imagined he could love anyone, much less Y/N. His whole world was steadily changing around him, and he was doing all he could to cope with it.

The one thing hard about everything going on, was he had to be away from home. Away from his girls. Y/N knew he was in the league and everything that was going on in his life. She knew when they got together. She didn't mind it, really. Just as long as Dabi was safe. But she knew he would be. He was a really tough and tedious guy. He was constantly careful, no matter how big or how small the task.

But Dabi couldn't' help but stress about the girls at home by themselves. He had become so protective over them the past few years, and hated that they had to be alone most of the time. Nothing made him more relaxed than hearing their voices and laughs. It melted him, in a good way.

----

After walking down this street Dabi found himself on, he cut down an alley. Once he walked down it a few feet, he leaned his back against the cold, stone wall of a building, and slid down it until he collapsed on the ground. Automatically, his eyes started to feel heavy. He needed to rest so bad. Maybe just a few minutes wouldn't hurt. Leaning his head back against the wall, he slowly started to drift away into sleep.

Time had passed and he hadn't moved. It only felt like a few minutes, but apparently it was about an hour of him napping. He was awoken by a tune on his phone. Normally, he would have ignored it, but this particular tune was set to only Y/N's contact, so he quickly pulled it out of his pocket.

Before answering, he glanced at the time. Four in the morning. What was she doing up? Dabi's heart started to race. He couldn't help but think that something was wrong. He hastily answered.

"Hey, is everything okay?"

"...daddy?"

"Yes, baby? Are you okay?"

"Yeah. I had a bad dream."

Dabi hadn't noticed, but his muscles were tense. Once he heard the words 'bad dream', he softened. Everything was okay. He knew it was, because even though it's unfortunate, nightmares were almost a daily occurrence with his daughter. From the trauma of his childhood, Dabi had aquired nightmares and night terrors of his own. Unfortunetly, his daughter picked up that trait. On a positive note, he knew how to deal with them more than Y/N did, so whenever this happened, he was the one to go to. Thank goodness the kid hadn't had any actual night terrors. Yet. Just bad dreams.

Rubbing his eyes to get the sleep out of them, he tiredly smiled and spoke. "You had a bad dream, huh?"

"Yeah. It was about you this time."

Dabi's smile faded. Most of the girl's nightmares where just simple things that kids fear, but the ones about him and Y/N were becoming more and more frequent. It was becoming concerning, but he just had to shrug it off. For her. He was still knew to this whole father thing, but one thing he did know was that you shouldn't' show worry in front of a kid, or they will start to worry. So he did just that. He blew off the worry in his mind for now and just had to focus on the kid.

"About me, huh?"

"Yeah! You had died in it."

"Is that why you're calling? Where you scared?"

"A little."

Y/N shouted from the background. "Don't let her lie! She woke up crying."

Dabi scoffed and smiled. "My poor kiddo..." he thought.

"You? Scared? I thought you weren't scared of anything, just like your daddy."

"I wasn't scawed! I am just like you daddy! Big and strong!"

His heart melted in a mix of good and bad feelings. He hoped she would grow up strong willed like him, but...not how he truly was deep down. All the trauma, all the pent up anger, all the troubles he has caused.

"Be strong like me, but kind like your mother."

"Okay daddy. I will!"

"Okay, baby. Can you hand the phone to mommy, please? I love you. Go back to bed and don't be scared. I'll be home soon, okay?"

"Okay daddy! I wub you!"

Dabi smiled. "Love you too, kiddo. Good night."

"Night daddy."

Shuffling noises were heard on the other end of the line. A different voice came on.

"I'm sorry to bother you while your working, babe. She wanted to talk to you and wouldn't take no as an answer."

"It's alright, doll. I wasn't busy right now anyways."

"Are you doing okay? Staying safe?"

"Yes, of course. You know that."

After a few more minutes of talking, Y/N said her goodbyes. She had to put the girl to sleep now and try to get some rest herself. Dabi said his goodbyes in return, saying I love you, and hung up his phone. He stood up from his resting position, and gathered up the strength to continue his work.

"Alright, back at it I suppose."

He lazily walked out of the alley

and back around the corner. He was met by a familiar face.

His boss, Shigaraki. His silver hair was long, down to the base of his neck, and he was wearing his trademark coat. They all had been working so much lately, that they didn't have the time to take care of themselves. Shigaraki specifically. His scratch marks were getting worse from his scratching due to stress. His hair was getting to long, because he didn't have the time to take care of it. Dabi knew better than to say anything though. Shigaraki had been on edge lately, and probably wouldn't hesitate to take care of Dabi's attitude in his own way.

"What are you doing here, dusty?"

Shigaraki scratched his neck a little, looking up at Dabi. "I followed you to make sure you were doing your tasks. You were the last stop before going back to the base. I've already checked on everyone else."

"Save the best for last, huh?"

"Whatever, patchwork. I couldn't help but over hear your conversation."

Dabi looked at him with tired eyes. "Oh yeah?"

"Do you miss them?"

"Well, duh. Of course I do." He changed his tune to a sarcastic one. "But you have to have these missions done, right?" It might have been the exhaustion talking, but damnit Dabi just wanted to go home. He missed his bed. The way the house smelled like candles because Y/N had an obsession with them. The way his little girl would run to him when he would walk in the door. He missed cuddling both of them in bed, as his daughter would drift to sleep watching tv. He missed it so much, he couldn't put it into words. He wanted to go home more than anything right now. But work had to be done.

As Dabi was in thought, his face contorted into distraught and exhaustion, and Shigaraki noticed. Maybe it was something in the weather this early morning, but he actually got a kind bone in his body.

"Go home, Dabi."

Dabi looked at him in shock. "But I'm not done-"

"I'm not gonna tell you again. Go home. I can tell your getting exhausted, and I don't need you passing out on me. I need you at your full potential. So go home and rest. Take as much time as you need." Shigaraki started to walk away. "I know you'll be back when your done resting so I'm not worried."

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

Again, I am so sorry if this is bad. Also, I'm sorry for that ending. it's kinda shit, but I'm kinda afraid of writing more because I might ruin it. Anyways.... OTL;

@dabiboy @deviousspleen @toyas-wife

<3 IF YOU WANNA BE TAGGED JUST LET ME KNOW <3

#dabi #dabi x y/n #dabi x reader #dabi as a dad #my hero academia #mha #boku no hero academia #touya todoroki #touya is dabi #dabi is touya #toya todoroki

331 notes · View notes

dizzydancingdreamer · 4 years

Text

Sweater | The Mikaelson Boys

Hey Lovelies! Hope you're all doing well in this time of uncertainty, I know it can be tough. Never fear though, as always the Mikaelson boys are here to the rescue. I almost wrote another smut, like I had to put my laptop down and walk away, but alas I kept the tale on track. Kind of. None of my stories ever stay on track. Oh well, here you go loves, happy April 1st! Also, stay tuned for a master list that I will be posting sometime in the coming days!

Description: The Mikaelson household is a household that shares everything, something that Y/n finds out when she unassumingly picks up a sweater and puts in on without a care.

Pairing: The Mikaelson boys x Fem!Reader, definitely leaned this in Elijah's favour though

Warnings: None? Sharing? Is that a warning? They share Y/n there, I said it, you've been "warned"

Word count: 3798

Tags: FLUFF, very light smut, like not even just a heavy make-out scene,

(Photos do not belong to me but the mood bard does :) )

Life at the Mikaelson compound is, by no means, an ordinary one. It’s a lot of loud conversations, a lot of even louder fights, and a delirious amount of laughter. The kind of laughter that immobilizes people. It’s a life of never being alone, even when you want to be. Someone’s always around; chewing loudly when you want to read, sitting on your bed while you pick your clothes in the morning, hell even hanging outside the bathroom while you shower. It’s a life of love, the kind that fully consumes you.

Above all, though, life at the Mikaelson compound is a life of sharing. Food, books, beds, you name it. This house coined the phrase “what’s mine is yours”, literally. After two centuries of life with the Mikaelson siblings nothing surprises you anymore. Clothes are the main culprit. You don’t bat an eye these days when Rebekah strolls out of your room in a newly purchased dress or pair of pumps. You simply couldn’t care less. That’s just how things are.

That’s why it doesn’t cross your mind when you pick up a hoodie that someone had lazily draped over the back of a dining room chair. You were freezing and it was there. It’s probably Kol’s. Holding it up, it’s massive. You shake your head. Definitely not Kol’s. There’s a chance it’s Bekah’s but it doesn’t strike you as something she would wear. It's a cream white color with a Cambridge logo. Someone must be feeling sentimental. You settle on it being Klaus, the temperamental artist, pulling the hoodie over your head without a second thought.

You continue on your way to the den, padding barefoot in a pair of lounge shorts and your newly aquired hoodie. It has a familiar scent, one that riles your senses in the most delicious way, but you still can’t place it. Pine and nutmeg. You would think that a surplus of two hundred years with the same people would make you better at this but it hasn’t.

It’s unusually quiet. Considering you didn’t wake up cuddled next to Bekah, you’re already a little off centred. You haven’t woken up alone in years. By now you should have encountered at least two of the brothers and maybe a sister. Kol is usually up early. It’s kind of suspicious. You hear the slightest hum of noise as you get closer to your destination. Nothing crazy, but it’s there.

Entering the den, your questions are answered. Almost everyone is piled in, draped across the couches, sprawled on the floor, curled in armchairs. That’s more like it. Only one person is missing. Elijah. He’s been gone for a few days now. Your heart hammers at the thought of him. His smile flashes through your mind. Your veins sing. Every nerve in your body feels like it’s calling out to him. You seriously need to get that in check.

“Something on your mind, love?” Kol’s voice breaks you from your thoughts.

Of course he heard your heartbeat pick up, he’s a millennium of trained vampire hearing, “I’m fine, don’t worry.”

You walk over to the couch he’s stretched over, tucking yourself under the book he’s holding and into his chest. Cuddles are a big part of the Mikaelson household, just as much as sharing. He smells heavenly too, but different from the sweater. Sweeter, not as earthy. It’s just as lovely. Your mind falls from Eli as Kol places a kiss to your forehead. His arms are cool and you try and keep your pulse in check this time. This whole family has had you enamoured from the moment you first met them.

He nuzzles his chin against your hair, “that’s what we do, hun.”

“I know,” you murmur, your heart slowing back to normal as you pull a comforter from the back of the couch onto your legs. You’re still chilly, he’s not helping much with that.

“Hey, no fair,” Rebekah whines from the floor, “I want cuddles.”

You giggle from Kol’s hold, “guess you should have waited for me this morning then, huh?”

She pouts from her own pile of blankets, giving you puppy eyes. Bekah has perfected that look for centuries. Her blonde hair is piled in a messy bun on the top of her head, a few strands trickling down around her face. She’s wearing one of your t-shirts, the blue one you got at the New York Zoo a few years back. She makes it look like a ballgown.

“Don’t pout, sister, it's not becoming,” Klaus calls from the armchair he’s sat in, his bare chest on display for your viewing pleasure, “besides, I do believe that it’s my turn.”

Klaus is no exception to the Mikaelson charm. He's mischievous and playful. Yes, he can be ruthless and, yes, he did have a reputation for boxing his family members when you first met him, but now he’s different. He cares recklessly, a page he must have taken from Rebekah’s playbook.

Not to mention he’s undeniably gorgeous and he makes your chest flutter every time his blue eyes sear into yours. You are in way too deep.

Kol grumbles, tightening his arms around you before whispering, “can’t I ever have you for five minutes before the wolves descend?”

Naturally, everyone hears his complaints.

“Vampires, Kol, vampires,” Klaus chimes in, a devilish smirk on his lips, “now hand over the girl, brother.”

“Y/n, babes, cuddles please,” Bekah intensifies her pouting and you giggle again.

They’re in an all out war for your attention, but what else is new. Your eyes dart between Bekah and her pile of blankets and Klaus’ outstretched arms. You hate to say it, but the choice is a pretty obvious one.

You rest your head against Kol’s chest, breathing his intoxicating scent one last time, “I promise I’m all yours next time.”

He gives you a tight squeeze in return, “whatever you say, love.”

You wobble slightly as you stand up, readjusting your sweater and pulling it down where it had ridden up. The chilly air nips at your exposed legs as you stumble over to Rebekah, whose arms are now open and waiting. There's a blanket around her shoulders ready to engulf you. You’re more than ready to jump into her little nest.

Klaus’ words stop you though, “that’s a nice sweater, doll, where'd you get it?”

Wait, what?

“It was in the dining room, I figured it was yours,” you more than figured; you had been certain.

His laugh sends tingles flying up your spine, “unfortunately no, love, but I’ll never turn down the opportunity to get you in my clothes.”

“Or out of them,” Kol chirps from the couch, his nose turned into his book without a care in the world about who heard him.

Your cheeks flush at his suggestive words. Not because you aren't used to them, though. Comments like these were quite usual in the Mikaelson household. It wasn’t a normal day if at least one of them didn’t make you want to squeeze your thighs together and jump one, or maybe all, of them. No, you blush because it's been two hundred years of not one of them having actually followed through on anything and it pushes you closer to doing it for them everyday. Especially lately.

His words made your legs tremble but you continued with the topic at hand, “Kol, is it yours?”

He pulls his head from his book, his eyes dark with something you can’t say you haven’t seen before, “I wish.”

The sigh that leaves your lips is not of your own volition. His brown eyes burn into yours, daring you to turn away. You do. Sorry Kol, now is not the time for a staring competition. You cross your legs desperately and put your hands on your hips, looking to Rebekah for relief.

“Sorry, sweetheart, but that’s not my sweater.”

You run a frustrated hand through your hair. You don’t know why this is bugging you so much. Your whole body feels like it's being pulled in every direction by every Mikaelson. Except Elijah, who’s not here. His name in your mind alone, though, is enough to add him to the rest. He doesn’t need to be here for you to feel his pull. Everyone of your senses is on fire right now. The earthy scent hits your nose again and you close your eyes, trying to soak up every last drop. It's driving you mad and you can swear it’s getting stronger, but it’s probably just your sanity wearing thin.

You can hear the flimsy distress in your voice, “then who, pray tell, does it belong to?”

“Me, love,” your head goes fuzzy at the sound of his voice.

You spin around on clumsy legs, practically falling into Elijah, “Eli!”

He catches you easily, pulling you against his hard chest. You don’t hesitate to throw your arms around him, standing on your toes to get closer to him. Even through his suit jacket you can feel how strong he is. You hadn’t heard him come in, too distracted by the other three Mikaelsons in the room. He smells exactly like the sweater, which makes sense now.

He laughs into your hair, squeezing his arms tighter around you, “I missed you too, baby.”

His words make you breathless. They’re so unlike Elijah. Well, not the ‘I miss you’ part. It would be unusual if he didn’t say that. But baby? That’s very much not a word he frequents often.

“Elijah,” his name is a whisper coming from your lips.

Your heart pounds furiously in your chest. Being so close to him makes you delirious. You struggle to keep from pressing your legs together. You know he can read it all over you, they all can, his lazy smirk giving it away. Your face flushes again for what feels like the millionth time today. His eyes darken, the same way Kol’s had, and drag all the way down and back up your body.

He takes your face in one of his hands keeping the other arm hooked around your back, drawing his words out slowly, “you look ravishing in my clothes, baby.”

“Eli, what-”

You’re cut off by a pair of warm lips colliding with your own. His arms wrap once more around you fully, pulling you closer to his hungry mouth. You kiss him back like you haven't been kissed in years, and you haven’t, lacing your fingers through his hair and feverishly pulling his lips harder against yours. It takes everything in you not to moan against his mouth in the middle of the den.

“Awe, no fair Elijah,” you pull back, shocked and breathless, at the sound of Kol’s whiny voice, “I wanted to be the first one.”

He glances over your shoulder, past your wide eyes, at his brother, “too bad, little brother. I gave you two hundred years. You had plenty of time.”

“Well, I’ll be damned if I’m not the second.”

In the blink of an eye you’re in Kol’s arms, being dipped theatrically as he places his own lips where Elijah’s had just been. He tastes different, like berries and honey, whereas Elijah’s lips were peppermint. You kiss him back just as strongly, twisting your fists in his tee and pulling him as close to you as possible. All your senses are consumed by Kol, just as they were Elijah.

When he pulls away, your head is swimming, “I’ve been waiting for that for an eternity, hun.”

His eyes are shining, a huge grin on his pink lips. You haven’t been kissed this much in as long as you can remember. You feel lightheaded, like you’re walking on a cloud. When you peer up at Elijah, he doesn’t look upset. He probably should. You feel guilty for reeling at the new kind of attention.

You feel a hand on your shoulder and you're pulled into a new pair of arms that scoops you into a firm chest.

“My turn, love.”

Klaus’ lips taste like chocolate. Kissing him is, again, different than both his brothers. Playful. He pulls your bottom lip between his teeth, tugging gently. You sigh into his mouth, your hands on his face. He spins you around, laughing against your lips. Your heart soars once more. All you can see is Klaus.

When he sets you down, you break away from the three of them, at a loss for both words and air. Your whole body is on fire. Somehow, you can taste all three of them on your lips at once. You can hear your heartbeat furious in your ears. Your eyes dart between them, like a deer in the headlights. Your hand finds your lips. Swollen. But what did you expect? Your legs start shaking again but less out of pleasure and more out of shame. The room feels like it’s shrinking. You wish it would just swallow you already.

You whip your head around to meet Rebekah’s eyes, who looks as shocked as you feel. She sends you a small smile, though, nodding her head. She doesn't seem disappointed, but, then again, you could go on a killing spree and she would still look at you with kind eyes. You grasp at your chest, trying to slow your pulse even slightly. You can’t breathe. Your eyes dart to the door and then back to her eyes. She nods again. Then you bolt.

The Mikaelson boys are fast, they're a thousand years old after all, but you’re determined, and that makes you faster. You just barely close your bedroom door before there's a knock.

“Y/n, it’s Elijah,” his accent flows like honey through the door right to your ears, sending traitorous warmth to your core, “please open the door baby.”

“Why, are you all going to kiss me again?” Your voice is shakey.

You can hear him try to stifle a laugh, “I can if you want me too.”

You huff, frustrated, “I am serious, Eli.”

“It’s just me, love. Let me in?”

That makes you feel the slightest bit better. At least you only have to face one right now. You debate just leaving him out there but he’d probably bust the door down. Elijah is a gentleman but when he wants to talk nothing can get in his way. You run a hand through your hair, trying to make yourself look more presentable, less wanton. You pull the sleeves of the sweater over your hands, trying to hide the shaking.

Opening the door, you come face to face with a half worried Elijah. There’s a small smile on his lips but also a tinge of hesitance in his eyes. You step aside, letting him in before shutting it once more. He grabs your hand leading you towards your bed where he sits on the edge, drawing you to stand between his legs. His hands move to settle on your hips, settling under the hoodie and tracing small circles with his fingers.

“What are you thinking about?”

Your laugh is humourless. What are you thinking about? He can’t be serious. Each of the Mikaelson boys just kissed you, one after the other, all in front of each other, and he wants to know what you're thinking about. The weather Elijah, you’re thinking about the weather. God, you feel so dirty, which you know wasn't their intention but you can’t help it. You feel something for each of them. Something you definitely shouldn't feel. Something you had pushed down for a very long time. It’s hot and throbbing and you don’t think you could bear it if you had to choose between them.

You can’t look him in the eyes, “what do you think I'm thinking about?”

You don’t realize that you’re crying until you open your mouth, your words choppy and broken. As soon as you do, though, it’s like the floodgates have opened. You start sobbing heart wrenching cries, hands over your face, blocking out the now very concerned man. At the thought of losing any of them your lungs constrict. For someone who’s pretty indestructible, you feel like you’re suffocating. You barely register the curse that flies from his mouth before he has you tucked into his arms, his hands sliding over your hair and rubbing your back. Really, doing anything he can to get you to calm down even a little bit.

“Baby, shhh,” he’s frantic, trying to calm you down, “it’s okay love. You’re ok. We’re ok.”

“Eli,” you hiccup into his chest, “what happened out there?”

He holds you tighter against him, “you happened, Y/n. From the moment you walked through our door that’s been it.”

You pull back slightly, finally looking into his eyes, “what are you talking about?”

“We want you. All of us. Kol, Klaus, myself. Hell, even Rebekah is enamoured by you,” he picks you up before sitting back down, still holding you, “Am I too forward in assuming you feel the same?”

Your cheeks flame, the familiar heat returning to your thighs, which are straddling Elijah’s lap, a position you weren’t aware of until now. You wish you were still clueless, though. You positively ache for him, let alone the rest of his brothers.

“I shouldn’t Elijah, it’s not normal,” your hands rest on his shoulders, bringing you to his eye level for once.

He laughs quietly, leaning in close to your face, his breath hot on your lips, “baby, we aren’t normal.”

“How are you okay with this? You should think I’m easy. A tramp,” you cast your eyes downward, landing on his red tie.

He grabs your chin with his hand, forcing you to look at him again, “I would never, could never, see you that way. Love, you’ve been with us for two centuries and haven’t touched us once. You are anything but easy. I have loved you for two hundred years. So have they. If sharing you means I finally get to have you then I am ok with that.”

Your lips are on him the instant the last syllable leaves his lips, your hands curled around his tie pulling his mouth to yours for the second time today. It’s not like you to make any sort of move but if ever there was a time it’s now. He groans into your mouth sending electricity dancing down your spine. You squeeze your thighs hard around him, reveling in the feeling of his hips bucking up to meet your own. His hands slide up underneath his sweater, grasping at your skin desperately. He pulls it up and over your head, tossing it on the floor without a care before attaching his lips to your neck.

“That's what made me cave, baby, seeing you in my clothes,” he mumbles into your skin, hands under your tank top, roaming up your sides.

“Mmph, Elijah,” you can’t stop the moans from flowing freely from your mouth, you don’t want to. You’ve waited for this moment for what feels like an eternity.

Your hands tug on his tie, practically ripping it off his neck before starting on his shirt, pulling it open without a care for the buttons popping off around you. He leans back on his elbows, looking up at you with dark eyes. His hair is a mess, falling into his face in a very un-Elijah fashion. His shirt is wide open, putting his toned stomach on display for you. His breathing is heavy, his chest rising and falling harshly with the air. He looks positively disheveled. Undone just for you. Sexy.

You slam your lips to his once more, pulling the shirt off his body before dropping it on the steadily growing pile of clothes. You wrap your arms around his bare shoulders, trying to get as close to him as you possibly can. Your fingers claw at the bulging muscles of his back, pulling a moan from him. The sound is music to your ears. You wish you could listen to it on a loop all day, every day.

His hands pull at your tank top, bringing it over your head and leaving you in nothing but a pink bralette and your shorts. His eyes devour every inch of bare skin, soaking up every curve and dip of your body on his. He looks exquisite. He looks hungry, his eyes pitch black and wanting. Elijah looks like a god.

His mouth attacks your collarbone, sucking harshly at the skin at the base of your throat. Your hands land in his hair, tugging at the soft strands. You never knew he had this side to him. This dominant, hungry side. It makes the ache between your thighs grow. Two hundred years of pent up energy threatens to spill over now and you don’t want to stop it.

So, of course, now is when someone decides to knock on the door, “Surrender the girl, Elijah, you already got the first kiss. Time to share, brother.”

Make that ‘someones’; Kol chuckles at his brother’s antics from behind the door. Klaus’ voice is playful but you can hear the serious note at the end. It makes your already lust-clouded mind even foggier. You know you have to go out there.

You pull Elijah in for one last kiss, sighing into his parted lips, “that’s my cue I think.”

He presses a kiss to your lips reluctantly, “I suppose it is.”

You stand, separating from him for the first time since he walked into your room. You dig his hoodie from the pile of clothes, reveling in the way his eyes, which had only recently gone back to their usual brown, turn black again when you pull it over your head. That will never get old. You toss him a knowing wink before reaching for the door. When your hand hits the knob he spins you back into his arms in a dizzying kiss. Your head twirls from all the times his lips have been on yours today.

With a slight growl, he pushes you out the door, “hurry back.”

You stumble into the hallway, giddy and full of life, right into Klaus’ waiting arms. He doesn’t waste any time throwing you over his shoulder, giving you the perfect view of his gloriously sculpted backside. You can't help the giggles that fall freely from your lips.

“Finally,” he starts jogging down the hall, towards his room, “now, about that sweater, Love.”

You look over his shoulder at Kol who shakes his head but smiles nonetheless. You barely make out the ‘me next’ he mouths at you before Klaus kicks the door closed and tosses you on his bed. The last thing you think before his mouth descends on yours is that you should have picked up that sweater one hundred years ago.

#the originals #the vampire diaries #tvd #klaus mikaelson #kol mikaelson #elijah mikaelson #The originals #to #rebekah mikaelson #elijah mikaelson x reader #kol mikaelson x reader #klaus mikaelson x reader #imagine #reader insert

560 notes · View notes

abloomntime · 3 years

Text

A Bloom In Time Ch23 Poppy’s Day Out

"Last stop Express Town. Thank you for choosing PenCo Metro for all your space travels. We at PenCo value your time as customers and hope to see your lovely faces again soon. And hope you enjoyed your space traveling experiences with us." The few penguins that were on the metro along with Poppy, Cookie, and the girls excited the space train as it sat still in the giant tower like structure funnel that would take it back upwards to the moon. Passing a few other penguins and maybe an owl or two heading back towards it. "Attention boarding passengers. The Evening Express back to the moon will leaving within fifthteen minutes. Please be sure to have your luggage in hand when you board."

"Does he always have to say the same thing every time we use it?," Mu asked earning a slight frown from Cookie.

"That's his JOB. It's what he's supposed to do. Don't complain about him doing his job correctly."

Whelp. Here they were. Down on the planet finally and had real dirt under her feet.....Or sand. Really, REALLY hot sand. Blue eyes gazed around her at the scorching desert surroundings and the decently sized town of owls walking around. It looked as if she just walked into a western movie and stopped. There must've been at least a hundred and twenty different buildings if she was estimating it good enough from their spot on the hill. It was a decent sized town all right. Not too big. Not too small. But absolutely hot with the afternoon sun beating down on them and such. One gigantic building stood in the dead center of the town and it had a decent sized parking lot too. She was certainly more at ease and comforted at least. Express Town certainly looked more her time than the flashy neon lights of Moon City that's for sure. Smiling she followed along Cookie as the girls ran ahead of them a few feet giggling and playfully shoving at one another kicking up sand.

"This place looks pretty rustic," Poppy commented smiling. From the hill she could also see a set of train tracks leading into and away from the town and beside that was a train station. Everything just looked as it was in a western like town in her day. Not that she's ever been to one, but she did have relitives who did.

Cookie nodded in front of her watching the girls with a smile. "That there big building is the Dead Bird Studios. Most of the owls who live here work there or in the small shops around town. You see Conductor may be a little.....loud but he loves supportin' local shops here. He gets all his costumes from the famous clothing store nearby, and his coffee from Jukebox Cafe'. They have a delicious bird seed chocolate cappuccino...If you don't mind birdseed that is. My own little resturaunt is right across the street from the studios. I always wanted one, and thanks to the directors' generosity I finally did."

".....I think I actually saw one of this Mr. Grooves's picture shows now that I think about it." Her memory went to two night before while cleaning the attic and kitchen. She still couldn't sleep after a while and stayed up a bit watching something she couldn't remember fully on the television the girls left on.

"Oh really? Well Mr. Grooves certainly has a more flashier taste than Conductor but his are just as nice if you ask me," Cookie replied unbiased before looking over her shoulder at her. "The first place we'll stop by is Hawk's Eye Pawn shop."

".....Pawn shop?"

"It's kinda like a trading post. You trade things there for pons or bye somethin' they have on the store shelves."

Oh. So a trading post. She knew what those were alright, had one on the edge of the town she lived in. Where she got most of her furniture and goods actually. Following Cookie, they all went into the town of owls. And she got a good look at everyday life in a town of owls and birds. As soon they stepped foot in there she could see that everything was made a little taller thank goodness, she didn't feel like crawling through any more doorways and tunnels feeling awkward and big and clumsy. Funnily enough most of the houses they passed seemed to be nothing more than homes, if the stores didn't have open signs or display cases in their windows, she would've thought all of these were just more homes for these owls. And speaking of the owls, most were just walking around minding their own business, walking in or out of buildings, and Poppy even saw a few elderly owls in the comfy seats of rocking chairs on shady porches watching the world go by. The girls giggled and ran past them in a game of tag with Bow reaching her hand out trying to catch Hattie or Mu. And some of the old birds smiled at the energetic children. Poppy would admit they were definately a cute bunch as well. Still following the cat, Poppy lifted her arm up to wipe at her long bangs and forehead. It sure was hot, not surprising since it was a desert, but she hoped they'd get to this 'pawn shop' soon. And hoped it was cooler inside. The girls never got too far from them as they ran around kicking up dust and sand in their game as Poppy switched between watching them and looking around fanning herself. Where did they all get that energy? It was too hot to play in her opinion, and the weight of the gold in her apron was starting to hurt her neck and shoulders a bit. That was soon all solved when Cookie turned in front of an all brown wooden building and started up the steps leading into it. Of course Poppy and the girls following behind and running in. A small bell above the door rang out as the door was opened and Poppy sighed at the wave of cool air hitting them as they waltzed in. But was surprised at the stuff she saw. Calm guitar music played from a small radio in the corner as an owl held his head in his wing looking boredly at them from the desk, to his right was a register. All around the place was cluttered items jammed everywhere. From beds, to pots and pans lining the walls, to random objects she'd never seen before.

With a sigh the owl spoke. "Welcome to Hawk's Eye Pawn Shop, where we have a hawk's eye view for priceless and useful objects. Feel free to ask if you need any help.....or not, " he said in a flat tone. Giving Poppy the feeling of slight annoyance in her as she raised a brow. Luckily Cookie stepped in before anyone else could as the girls ran around looking at things like normal children their age did. Walking right up to the desk as the owl followed along lazily with his eyes as he stared at Cookie before rolling his eyes. "Hello, Ma'am. How may I assist you this fine evening?"

"Glad you asked." Cookie pointed over at Poppy. "My friend here has a lot of gold she'd like to trade in today."

"..Gold?" Immediately the owl's interest peeked as he chuckled and finally smiled at them, "Oh w-well this IS a surprise! Please come, come! You've come to the right place, Miss." He gestured for Poppy to come over and reluctantly she did as the owl rubbed his hands-....uh..Wings together and smiled widely at her. "Just allow me to measure it a-and we can get you your pons, Ma'am."

"Uh...Ok." She reached down to the larger pocket of the two and pulled out the heavy gold cheese wheel, it must've been fifteen pounds at least. She set it with a small thump on the table and the owl hooted in surprise at the large item she placed down. Blinking and gawking in surprise at the large thing. ....Which was followed by the trophy, and the potion bottle out of her large pocket. And then the Mafia statue, pencil, candle, gear, and cheese slice. The owl gawking at all the things laid out before him in pure gold glory. "There ya go. That's the lot of it."

The owl sputtered blinking at them all....Before reaching up to pull out a small magnifying device out of his breast pocket and picked up the golden candle. "T-T-This is!...INCREDIBLE!! I've never seen such fine craftsmanship in my life! AND IN PURE GOLD!! It's unmistakable! Pure. Solid. Twenty four carrot GOLD!!" He could almost FEEL the heat radiating off the candle, it almost looked like it could've been real at one point. He looked back at Poppy unbelieving. "W-Where did you ever aquire such beautiful items?!"

"Oh...I- Uh..." She had to think fast. She wasn't about to tell some stranger some magic alien potion turned these things into gold by some king roach. They'd think she was crazy. So why not tell the truth but a different truth. "My g-great granddaddy on my mama's side was a blacksmith. He worked with metal's all the time." Which was true. Her Great Granddaddy Silver Copper-field on her mother's side was a blacksmith.

"But we found them in the attic," Bow innocently chimed in tilting her head confused.

Mild panick flashed on Poppy's face. "Uh...W-Well people find all sorts of old things in their attics all t-the time!"

Which was another truth. But the owl seemed too enchanted by the items he rolled over his his hold to care about her nervous tone at all. "Well he must've been a fine crafter in his day. I've NEVER seen such beauty." He snapped up to her suddenly slamming his hands on the counter and leaning over making her jump in surprise and lean back. "I MUST have them! Won't you part with them! It'll make me the talk of the town for once besides those ratty directors!! I'll be the only bird in the world to have them!!"

Now Poppy could sense pretty well when some one was gonna fight being raised around a bunch of rowdy country folk that often fought over land and territory. And BOY! The way the two little girls and Cookie bristled at the comment the owl made sure did look like they were about to argue, but that was NOT what she came here to do. She wanted to get out and have a relaxing day seeing this new place, so thinking quickly she got between them and the owl smiling more than a greedy pirate. "Deal. But on the condition ya give me what I'm owed for it all, and the promise ya won't say a word about where ya got it from." She didn't need someone asking around in case.

He quickly agreed grabbed the gold one by one. "Oh I promise. I very, very promise. Hmhmhmhmhm!! Not one word out of me. After all I don't want anyone else to have one but me."

Poppy sighed and watched as with great difficulty the owl man just gathered up all the gold in his arms teetering and wobbling about as he went towards the left side of the counter. They all watched as he wobbled his way towards a large scale against the wall that reminded Poppy of the large scale the local banker used to have to measure her pons in whenever she went to put her savings in the bank, only much bigger. A few large clanging noises rang out as he dumped the gold into it and watched as the red arrow of the scale tipped until it measured-

"F-F-Fifty two pounds!," the owl gawked at the scales before giving a thoughtful look. "Let's see. Minus tax on gold fifty two equals up too about....." His eyes widened and he suddenly let out a hoot gripping the feathers on his head. "F-F-Five thousand pons!!"

"Oh....Do you not have that m-many pons?"

"Uh..." The owl nervously looked between her and the statues. "N-No. J-Just a little over half of it. B-B-BUT I-I C-CAN OFFER A TRADE!!" He quickly pointed around the cluttered place, as if nervous to lose the precious gold he so desperately wanted. "I-I can pay half and trade for the other! W-Whatcha say?"

Poppy stopped for a minute. Looking around the cluttered place with a raised brow, and gazing over everything slowly. That wasn't a bad idea actually. Since she could use some knew things once she gets settled on her own again and didn't need anymore help. And getting stuff for free? Now they were talking! Maybe this was the universe paying her back for all her troubles and hard work finally! Smiling she happily agreed to the deal much to the Owl's delight and he quickly scrambled about to grab all the pons he needed for the trade from a giant vault in the back and they began searching. Well, the girls found lots of little knickknacks like small toys and for Bow a large sunhat with a pretty blue bow on it and how could Poppy say no to that? Well, the red head wasn't going for any random fancy stuff like antique clocks or any other fancy thing right now. But considering $2600) was a lot of pons to trade for, she could spare them to choose a bunch of things for themselves. But looking among some used exercize bikes she found a few things she was really looking forward to see again. What else but some good old fashioned farming tools? A rake, gardon hoe, pitchfork, shovel combo! She hit the giant jackpot!! Smiling as she dragged the old things out of the dusty corner and examined them. They looked to be in good condition. Rusty and dusty, but a mighty fine condition if ya asked her.

"Uh. Ma'am, are you sure you want those?," the owl said leaning back over the counter staring, "T-Those are antique farming tools that were just dumped in the corner. No one would want them.

"I sure do!," She said smiling back at his confused face, "They're just what I needed.

"Well...Y-Yes, t-t-they're in great condition for three hundred year old tools. That's why they're here, they could run in the thousands. Are you sure you want to waste your time with them?"

"Yep!" She Heaved all of them over one of her shoulders with a smile. "I got a plan for these babies. You just keep counting the pons."

"Ok. If that's what you want. It'll be nice to get them out at least," he mumbled to himself ducking back behind the counter.

Continuing looking around a little bit, Poppy managed to find a gold club bag along with her search and stuck her new tools into it, slinging it over herself and able to carry about her new beauties easier. Turns out those tools and the old antique stove Cookie kept looking at. Poppy saw the way she kept longingly staring at it every few minutes of looking around and gladly said she'd take that for her friend here. Cookie insisted she didn't have to but Poppy's mind was already made up anyways, as stated she didn't need that much pons leftover to trade back here again anyways. And she deserved it for all the kindness she had shown Poppy a complete and utter stranger. Well it turns out the knick knacks Hattie stuffed in her hat, (just random things like a few teddy bears, jewelry, a grappling hook, and anything else a girl like her would enjoy) combined with the old stove and it's set, along with those old tools were just enough to cover the other half but she did have to fork over another 100 pons to cover the extra 100 pons the tax came out to be. The bag she was handed wasn't really big, about maybe a small decent sized pumpkin and weighed about as much as a large house cat did. And that went into her large apron pocket for safe keeping while slipping the gold back of farming tools over her. She still had $2,500 to spend. And that was quite a lot of pons especially. Luckily the things weren't as expensive as made out to be. But that did leave another question, what were they supposed to do now? Luckily Cookie had a fantastic idea after seeing the way the uh....tacky dress Poppy was wearing and had the idea for them to stop by the local clothing store much to the children's protest about how boring it was going to be. So they once again found themselves leaving the greedy owl to fond over his new prized possesions and left back out into the hot sun. Resuming their routine of Poppy following behind Cookie as she lead them down the street to wards the far side of the town as the kids ran around again chasing one another. The only difference was Bow was using one hand to keep that giant sun hat on her head now as she went around running after the first two. Poppy still couldn't figure out how Hattie kept all those things in her hat. Alien magic?

"You'll adore this lil shoppe," Cookie happily told her giving a bright grin, "They're real experts at fancy sewing. You see they make most of the costumes for the studio and the directors' movies."

"It sounds like this whole town thrives on that place huh?," Poppy stated giving a look around the old buildings and many owls walking by.

"Oh, this town has been here for quite a long time with the studios," Cookie corrected, "It's only until recently that business really thrived for lacol birds. In the less hotter winter seasons, people come from all over to get a glimpse at the two kooky canaries running those studios. Means Conductor gets some extra business running his train too, he likes to say more budget for his movies come from it."

"Wow. Really?" So this place was some kind of famous spot because of this Mr. Grooves and Conductor, whoever they might be. From what she's heard of them so far, they seemed really nice supporting local business and bringing in so many customers. And she had no reason to not trust Cookie so far. A smile graced her face when he spotted the girls run a little ways ahead of them and caught an earful of their giggles. That was until one fell over. It was just a small rock hidden in the sand that she didn't see, but that didn't stop Bow from tripping over it and faceplanting the sand, knocking up some sand in her crash. Poppy and Cookie both gave a small gasp of surprise and Poppy instantly ran over to her, metal tools clanking together on her back. Hattie and Mu had stopped hearing the thump in the sand from behind them at Bow's faceplant and watched as the curly haired girl pushed herself up. Bow laid there unmoving for a few seconds but by the time Poppy got over there to kneel next to her, she had pushed herself up crying a bit with her eyes shut and spitting out more sand from her mouth. Sun hat falling off her head as she did. Two hands grabbed her and turned her around to face the worried face of the red head as she looked her over. "What happened? Are you alright, Sweetheart?"

"My eyes burn!," Bow cried reaching her balled fists up to wipe at her face but was stopped by Poppy pulling them away.

She sighed. "Well don't rub them, you probably just got some dirt in your eyes needin' ta be flushed out." Looking around she spotted an outside water pump fountain like the one her old home hand and without another thought picked up the tiny girl and stood back up. Bow still crying at the stinging and wrapping herself around Poppy's shoulder as she walked. "Oh hush now. All you need is to rinse it out with a lil water and you'll be right as rain!" She carried Bow over to the small pump across the street and pried her off to set the small gal down in front of the Nozzle. "Now I'm going to pump some water out, and I want you to start rinsing out those eyes and mouth of yers. Ok?" Bow sniffed still crying small tears down her face and Poppy grabbed a hold of the pump handle. Pushing n pulling it up and down to summon the water underneath. A garbling sound came from the pipe's inside and with a pop sound, cold water burst out from the pipe and sprayed the small child in the face. Bow jumped in surprise at the sudden cold water on her but sputtered and swiped at her face and the stream of water hitting her. After a few more seconds of it, Poppy stopped and allowed the strong stream to trickle slowly before stopping completely. She watched as Bow turned her cheek the other way and spat out a mouthful of water, coughing and wiping at her face. Now all soaking wet. She rubbed at her eyes for a moment before blinking her eyes open and looking up with red eyes. There we go. Now that she could see, her eyes would be irritated for a lil bit, but it wouldn't be worse than just someone suffering from a bit of hay fever. "There we go. All better."

....Bow sniffed and blinked. Wiping one eye with her hand and looking down at herself, her other hand grabbing her white jacket. "Now I'm all soaked and cold."

"Uh...Yeah." Poppy rubbed her head. "Kinda figured the sun would dry ya out, but I guess I can buy ya a new dress while we're at this here clothin' store.''

"...*sniff* Really?"

"Absolutely." Walking back over, Poppy bent down and repicked Bow up into her arms letting the little girl grab onto her. "We'll get ya a nice pretty dress that'll make you look like a darlin' lil princess!...Well more of a princess than you are already."

Bow smiled again sniffing and Poppy smiled at her...But paused when she heard someone else awing at them from behind and when she turned around there was a pair of old birds on a shady porch right behind them. The old birds were smiling at them from their rocking chairs like what they were seeing was the most precious thing in the world. "It's so nice to see such a responsible and caring young mother these days," one of them spoke smiling widely, "Your daughter looks like a darling little one."

......Poppy blinked. "Mother? Who me?" She pointed at herself with her free hand before shaking her head. "O-Oh! No, no! I'm not her mother! I'm just watching her for someone I know!"

"Oh, that's too bad. You would make a lovely mother for the dear."

Poppy chuckled nervously but Bow seemed to be looking at her with a strange look. "My...Mother?"

Giving a small thanks Poppy quickly excused herself from the watching eyes of the old birds and back over to Cookie who was waiting for them with the other two children. Wiping dust from the pretty sunhat and looking up at the soaked child in her arms. "Well. I can see we'll be needing to take care of that while we're in there too."

Poppy gave another nervous chuckle but grabbed the sun hat, handing it back to Bow who gladly plopped it back onto her head. Well, guess they weren't going to wait on getting this lil gal some dry clothing. Following Cookie the rest of the way there, they all came across possibly the girliest lookin' store Poppy had ever seen. It was all painted pink and white and had flowers in window pots. Well seeing those cute lil things made her smile at least, she always loved flowers. Above a sign was nailed above the door reading Mrs. Talon's Fabric Shoppe. Guess they were going in when Cookie walked right on up without a second thought so naturally Poppy and the children followed suit. A bell above the door rang like before and thank PECK it was another building big enough she didn't have to crawl through to get there. Upon entering it was the same pink and white themed as the outside. Along the walls was shelves upon shelves of fabric, balls of yarn and threads of all colors, sewing machines for sail along with smaller kits, and anything else one would need for making clothes. Such as buttons, sequins, patches, and books of patterns or techniques. Poppy noticed there was also a giant pink curtain in the back and next to that was a rack of already made dresses with a sign that said 'discount bin half off'. In the very front of the store was a white counter, and a lady owl wearing a floral dress with glasses that made her eyes look too big for her face, but unlike the first owl this cashier welcomed them all with a smile and friendly voice.

"Good Evening, Customers! Welcome to Mrs. Talons! Here we tailor to creatures large and small," she replied in a high pitched tone, "How may I-...I-I..." Her impossibly large eyes went wide seeing the crew of five girls waltz in as Poppy closed the door shut with her foot. "I-....I DON'T BELEIVE IT!!" She suddenly squealed startling the red head woman into almost dropping Bow and blinking at the pig like squeal before the owl lady leaned over the counter looking at Cookie. "I DON'T PECKING BELIEVE IT!! THE COOKING CAT IS IN MY BOSS'S STORE!! M-Ma'am I'm your b-biggest fans! My owlets love your deep fried worm and rice recipe!" Cookie didn't even seem fazed as she chuckled and waved. Making the more owl all the more nervous at having the cat celebity in her store. "H-How may I help you, Ms. Cat?"

"Please. Call me Cookie." Cookie pointed at Poppy still holding Bow in her arms. "We got a youngin' who's in need of some dry clothes and a fashion emergency if I say so myself."

The owl looked up at the two humans adjusting her glasses and frowning at Bow's soaked clothes and the absolutely ghastly amount of tacky lace and fake rubies studded to the collar of Poppy's dark blue dress. Not a good mix, it looked like she was a desperate rich lady trying to play the part of princess. "Oh...I certainly see why. Well, unfortunately with my boss away currently working on a large order for Mr. Grooves, I can't offer anything except for the designs left out from last year's tourism season." She gestured a wing over towards the bargain bin and Cookie slightly frowned at the limited suppy.

"Are you sure you can't make one?"

The owl shook her head. "Sorry, Ma'am. For you I would in a heartbeat, but I'm just the cashier. I ring people out and offer assistance if the customer has questions. The only tailors are my boss and her assistant and they're already away on a giant order call. But if you're interested we do provide everything you need to sew yourself."

"That won't be needed," Poppy cut in slowly lowering Bow to the ground and standing back up and walking to the bargain rack, "I ain't the kind of picky prissy gal a lot of folks I knew was." Walking up right to the rack she skimmed through the options of dresses available and to be honest most were plain day to day dresses without any patterns, but that suited her just fine. She wasn't real picky when it came to clothing as long as it fit ok and it didn't look like the ghastly thing she was wearing so she just grabbed a few random dresses off the bargain pile that was the same size she was wearing. A plain all pink and green one. One that was all white with purple flowers all over it. Another green one with a picture of a kitty cat in the middle of it. And just a purple one with some kind of black vine pattern. Looking back up, she noticed Cookie writing on a piece of paper as the owl excitedly watched, and she gave another small squeal when Cookie handed whatever it was over to her. How strange. Two of the girls were boredly bouncing some yarn balls...Where was- She got her answer when Bow pushed past her and reached up to rummage of her own accord, after a moment pulling out the only thing they seemed to have in a child's size. A bright orange dress with a single daisy on it's front. Her cringe made Poppy chuckle a bit and reach down to pat her head. "Hey. May not be the most pretty, but it's just til we get back an' then you can wear anything ya want. Alright?"

She didn't look happy but relented. "Fine."

"That's my girl!" She gave bow a smile as the little girl blinked and gave Poppy a confused look as she walked to the counter dresses in her arms.

"Your girl?"

Well, the clothes were bought. Which equaled up to about fourty six pons for all of the dresses including Bow's which she changed into behind the curtain. She was dry now but she didn't look like it stomping out and staring at her clothes in disgust. Well with two more bags in hand, one for her new dresses and one for Bow's, they excited the store and the girls were glad to not be coped up in there anymore except for Bow who followed the first two with crossed arms as the adults followed out.

"Come back anytime! Thank you for your purchase!," the cashier called out behind them and Cookie waved back.

"Ya seem to be well known, Huh?," Poppy asked the cat and Cookie shrugged.

"Lots of folks enjoy my work. Who am I to complain?"

"Touche." Poppy sucked in a deep breath and looked out into the world around them with a smile. "Man it's good to see ground that ain't littered with ghosts! But I wish it wasn't so hot!"

"Well this is a desert." Cookie smiled at Hattie chasing Mu around the two using Bow in the middle as a barrier from each other. "But they don't seem to have a problem with playin' anyhwere."

Poppy shrugged. "Doesn't surprise me with what I've seen. But I am surprised they aren't thirsty."

Cookie turned to her. "Why? Are you?"

"Well. A lil bit. When's the next ride back to the moon again?"

"Uh...Well I believe it's just a lil bit past noon, ya'll have to wait for the night train at ten o' clock."

Poppy snapped her head to her with a surprised face. "Wha- THAT LATE?"

"Well it IS the night train for a reason Sugar. But tell ya what, I'll treat ya'll to some real good food at the Jukebox cafe while ya wait." She started stepping towards somewhere else and Poppy slowly followed after.

"Oh no. You don't have to. It's alright."

"And let you eat nothing but a cheese wheel and apples?," Cookie shook her head, "Oh no, no. That wouldn't do at all."

"Ain't there a market or tradin' post with food in these here parts?," Poppy asked back making Cookie chuckle nervously.

"Well....Yes. B-But since everyone in town are actually birds, they don't really sell food catering to humans or many other species except for coffee and what's served in the cafe's since those places get to see more of a diversity especially when tourism comes a callin'. Otherwise it's bird seed, worms, insects, some fruit, and anything else birds eat. Most of what else they get is ordered from the city a couple miles away or mafia town. "

"Oh great. Guess it's cheese and apples for supper tonight then." Her stomach growled and she placed a hand to it shyly making Cookie chuckle.

"Don't worry. I'll send ya'll home with some left overs from mah kitchen set at the-...." Poppy suddenly stopped mid step body completely frozen as if she was paused in the middle of a movie and Poppy almost stepped on her tail stopping just in time. Cookie suddenly grabbed her fuzzy cheeks with a frown. "Oh no!"

"What's wrong?"

"I left my handbag at my set in the studios! My bird passport and wallet's in there, it let's me get free supplies from the cafe with the reward points."

"So...That means?"

"We're going to have to make a pit stop at the studios before anyone eats."

#ABloomInTime #a bloom in time #flowercrown #A hat in time the florist x snatcher #A hat in time snatcher x florist #a hat in time snatcher x the florist #A hat in time florist x snatcher #The Florist #A hat in time the florist #a hat in time snatcher #a hat in time florist #Snatcher x the florist #the florist x snatcher #florist #florist x snatcher #snatcher x florist #Snatcher

4 notes · View notes

autumn-foxfire · 4 years

Text

As people who follow this blog already know, because I have no life I managed to binge read BNHA vigilantes in one sitting. In the same post I said I was going to give a review about it and well, here it is. DISCLAIMER: This is all my opinion and thus subjective!

BNHA Vigilantes is... decent.

Maybe a boring way to describe it and probably not what people were expecting but it's honestly how I feel about the series.

It had good parts and bad parts, parts that kept me entertained and parts that bored me to tears and so the most I could describe the series as is that it was decent.

The main character, Koichi is probably an aquired taste in the sense that he's actually quiet boring as a protagonist. It's the relationships that he develops in the story that really gave his character to shine but by himself he wasn't all the interesting to read about. His design was also boring (which is probably the point but doesn't do himself any favours) and his personality can be very frustrating with how wishy washy he is (again an aquired taste and just not my type in character really). Truthfully, he's not really a stand-out protagonist (which again was probably the point because of the nature of Vigilantes) and he didn't really entertain me.

The female lead, Pop Step aka Kazuha Haneyama, was probably your typical female protagonist. Her persona as Pop Step was cheerful and lively while her true self was much more shy and nervous. The more the story progressed we saw Pop Step slowly come out her shell and gain more confidence in herself. She had more personality then Koichi had most of the time however she tended to fall into the typical tsundere around her crush kind of character which is nothing new or that entertaining.

Truthfully, the chapters the focused on Koichi and Pop Step were some of the most boring chapters for me. It's not necessarily because they're bad but rather because the slice of life aspect of the manga wasn't something I was really expecting from BNHA and that genre of fiction isn't really my favourite. I just really didn't care about Pop Step's growing career of becoming an idol or Koichi being a normal person when it didn't relate into the plot in some way and even then I only really put up with it and didn't really enjoy it.

Another thing I really, really hated about Vigilantes was the forced love triangle for Koichi. It was so bland and was obviously used to make Pop Step vulnerable because her feelings for Koichi might not be returned. They even did the stereotypical "Pop Step accidently runs into the arms of the enemy because she couldn't get the courage to tell Koichi how she feels and Koichi just happened to keep bringing up her rival in some way whenever she tried". It was very... cliche in a boring way (and sorry I keep saying the word boring T-T).

Truthfully, it felt like the manga wanted to do two different things (battle action and slice of life) and then tried to merge them at time but it didn't really work often.

I feel like I've been very negative about Vigilantes so far but I just wanted to get what I didn't like about it out of the way first.

There were some shining moments in Vigilantes too! Although my bias is probably becomes obvious when I say that my favourite parts were usually when the heroes from the main series had screentime. The cameos we got from some of the pro heroes really fleshed them out (baring one but I'll get to that later).

I especially loved the parts with Aizawa and Midnight and how they dealt with villains at the time. Aizawa allowed a villain who he realised was just a victim to watch the end of a concert he wanted to see before he let the police escort him away. Both Midnight and Aizawa would come to Koichi's add when Pop Step rang them to deal with the villains they tackled and protected their identities from the police. It was an interesting thing to see in the sense that 'vigilantes' are illegals but every hero who came to know Koichi's identity protected it in some way.

I actually want to tackle more about hero society brought up in vigilantes and compare it to bnha but I'll save that for another post.

Anyway, as I was saying, my favourite chapters were the ones that focused on the heroes in some way because we got to see more of hero society and I enjoyed the characterisation of the BNHA characters except for one.

Endeavor.

When we saw Endeavor at first, he was his typical bastard self that we saw before the start of his redemption. The selfish man that only cared about himself who was focused on his own career. However in the latest chapters Endeavor's character took a very drastic turn that I just felt was way to out of character, even for pre-redemption Endeavor. He tried to burn Pop Step alive without even considering bringing her in alive. He jumped to the most extreme conclusion and I don't really know why.

Endeavor in canon isn't like this, not even when he faced the Nomu. Before he decided to kill them, he wanted to capture them and bring them in alive for questioning. However when Tsukauchi in vigilantes tried to tell Endeavor that Pop Step was most likely a victim who they want to bring in alive for questioning, he dismissed him and said he'd go straight for the kill. It just doesn't make sense to me that Endeavor, who has the highest closed cases rate, would dismiss that Pop Step might have answers to the case that every hero had been informed about (the villain factory) and decided to kill what could be an important witness. It's bizarre reasoning and not something I expected.

I feel like the writer wanted to create drama and a time limit for Koichi to rescue Pop Step and so used Endeavor and his brashness in order to do so. Honestly the writing for Endeavor was so inconsistent it immediately took me out of the story. There were better ways the writer could have utalised pre-redemption Endeavor and I think they failed miserably.

Overall, Vigilantes is an okay read. It's nothing ground breaking but it does give some good insight into hero society that I plan to adress in another post. If you managed to read this mess a review to the end, I hope you enjoyed and I'm sorry my thoughts are all over the place.

#bnha #bnha vigilantes #ah this got long #and it's not even all I wanted to say T-T #I feel like many people are going to disagree with me but that's fine

16 notes · View notes

bytemycupcakes · 4 years

Text

Changeling!Pabit AU

I said I was makin a post and I don’t care that nobody seems interested in him cause I love this little puppet boy and wont stop making aus for him.

Under a cut cause l o n g e

-Pabit only ever remembers Boris as his caretaker

-Not unusual for a changeling, really but it’s true

-Boris always says he just found Pabit on a walk. People usually take that as a joke, but he’s being serious.

-Ya see, Pabit wandered a bit too far from the fae as an infant, and Boris almost tripped over him on a walk in the woods.

-Boris picked up this strange little faerie baby, they made eye contact, and Pabits body shifted to resemble Boris.

-Well fuck I guess Boris has a kid now. The thought of calling the local orphanage doesn’t even cross his mind, it’s really just, “Ah fuck I found a kid.. Guess I’m a dad then”

-Really the fact that Pabit seemed to latch onto and form to look like Boris didn’t help with that train of thought.

-It didn’t take long at all for it to click in Boris’ head that Pabit wasn’t human. Obviously the whole shapeshifting thing, but this child was practically FERAL.

-In a non-babyproofed home, Pabit wreaked havoc. Being a master at hiding, scuttering Boris’ walls, and getting into everything, especially things that a baby shouldn’t be touching.

-It took ages for Boris to get the house at least somewhat Pabit-proofed.

-Pabit still manages to get into shit constantly, it’s like a talent.

-Just like Child!Au, Pabit is not Pabit’s actual name, it’s a name he gained later on because of how much he mimics Boris. (Whats his actual name? No idea)

-Pabit’s gender was literally assigned. He doesn’t have typical human anatomy, being completely androgynous, and thus Boris just... -stamps Pabit with “boy” sticker-

-By the time of the habitat, Pabit id’s as masc non-binary

-Boris considers the day he found Pabit as his birthday, not actually knowing how old he was when found, he counts up from that date, thus where Pabit being 15 comes from.

-Pabit is so tall both because he is fae, and because his body mimics Boris for its aging. So he’s just.. so fucking tall.

-Pabit has a shadow form, but didn’t seem to gain one until he first saw Boris do it when he was a toddler.

-For awhile he’d just randomly shift to it, until his subconscious realized it was primarity an anger-based “transformation”

-While Boris’ shadow form is just intense anger, Pabit’s becomes almost like a rage. As his body grows to adapt most of his non-human ability (strength and some subtle basic magic) into said form.

-Depending on the source of anger, Pabit can be incredibly destructive or eerily calm but a ticking bomb.

-Even Boris gets a bit scared when Pabit shifts to the form... One too many times he’s had his house demolished from this child- Or even being injured by the rage (Nothing serious, but more damage than an 8 y/o should be able to give a grown man)

-From a very young age Pabit always showed signs of adhd/autism. Though he doesn’t technically have these conditions because he’s fae, he’s found comfort in knowing he’s not just really weird, and if people ask about it, he and Boris will just say he has ADHD and/or is autistic*

*[Lil step back: This whole au exists because I heavily project my adhd onto Pabit. And my girlfriend, who is autistic, loves the changeling trope (We even call her one fairly often). So please don’t get hateful about this]

-Boris was always pretty open about Pabit not being human, never tried to hide it from him. He grew up as the outcast and couldn’t figure out why, he’s not gonna let his son feel that same lost and broken feeling.

-Pabit tends to speak in broken sentences. He can speak in full, but feels more comfortable doing more of a Hulk speech pattern. Thus he often talks in third person, and leaves out words he deems unneeded to understand the sentence.

-He’ll fall into proper speech when ranting or infodumping, though. Speaking much more like Boris, with proper and large words.

-He stutters over bigger words a lot, and sometimes gets frustrated and just uses “dumbed down” language in its place (this is how he’ll describe it)

-Pabit has a major hyperfixation of puppetry and puppet making, and a smaller one on musical theatre/acting.

-There is Pabit, and then an actual puppet Habit. It was a gift for fathers day, and though it’s not as pretty as the irl puppet, it’s still pretty damn good for a 15 y/o with claws. Boris keeps it on a shelf in his office, it’s Pabits favorite out of all the puppets he’s made.

-Pabit will nab it and, using Boris’ desk as a stage, will just talk to Boris as “Boris”.

-Boris finds this absolutely adorable, and goes along with it. He’s made several business deals with this puppet. Usually for teeth.

-Which yes, Pabit eats. (No Pabit au is complete if he doesn’t eat teeth, fight me.)

-Pabit stims. A lot. His most common stims are kicking, bouncing, or wiggling his legs, chewing (Yes teeth eating is a stim for him, but he mostly goes for more rubbery textures), hand flapping, and full body wiggling/bouncing. He’ll also play with his hair, but it’s not as common.

-Pabit will occasionally repeat things, usually funny things he hears while giggling.

-Pabit’s hair is so stupidly thicc and curly that no stylist in town will deal with it.

-Boris has learned to cut hair, which comes in handy more often than you’d expect in a house of two very long-haired people.

-aka: Pabits hair grows so fucking fast, its ridiculous.

-His hair sticks together so much that it almost acts like one solid pillow-like mass. No hairtie can contain it. (If it’s tied back, it’s usually an actual string litterally tied around his hair)

-Pabits ears can emote, they don’t move much, but it’s noticeable. They wiggle when he gets really heccin happy.

-Pabit’s pupils alwas seem to be slitted, but at general shock (among other various things) his iris’ will slit aswell, leaving Pabit with a line in some massive sclara’s.

-Pabit has gotten very good at sewing thanks to his love of puppet making. This becomes very useful since he usually has to tailor his clothes slightly.

-In the habitat proper, Pabit is surprisingly popular with all the kids. Most notably Tim Tam and Trevor.

-He knew Trevor (And of Nat) before the habitat. He and Trevor are classmates while Nat is in the class behind them.

-Trevor didn’t really acknowledge Pabit’s existence until he bit a bully and seemed to break skin effortlessly??? hmmmmmmmm.

-Thus Trevor started theorizing, nothing in depth, but the kid was on his radar.

-Trevor was really surprised to find Pabit in the habitat, and even more surprised when Pabit told him Boris is his dad.

-The most these two ever talked before the habitat was a single “peer review” assignment, but in the habitat they start talking a lot more cause they’re the oldest kids, know eachother a bit, and both need to infodump like crazy.

-It takes a while for Trevor to get used to Pabits broken speech, but he eventually finds himself mimicing it occasionally. and Pabit will mimic him as well (adhd solidarity, boys)

-Pabit and Tim Tam can communicate non-verbally with no trouble at all. Thus this is used to wreak so much havoc on habititians since they’re both feral little goblins.

-It doesn’t help that Pabit has special access to “employees only” areas since he’s Boris’ son.

-Trevor and Pabit have gone on massive theory rants about random musicals while Nat’s in the room and she just watches these two in confused awe because of all the little details they’ll pull out to support these wild theories.

-Nat seriously has no idea how these two can just. keep. going. It’s been three hours at least let her have a snack!

-Pabit has allowed Trevor to ask so many weird questions about him because Pabit is also very curious about what exactly he is.

-Boris isn’t going to question why Trevor was poking at Pabit’s ribcage with a pen and just let boys be boys.

-Nat supplies Trevor with books on mythical beings she steals from Trencils room.

-Even with the three of them mostly working together, they cant figure out exactly what Pabit is.

-Until they’re all going over it in the boiler room one day. Where Wallus can hear them.

-YES ONCE AGAIN WALLUS IS NOT HUMAN! AGAIN, FIGHT ME.

-Did three children just lure out the frightened janitor cause they’re describing changelings and Wallus, a fae, knows about these kinda things? Yes. Yes they did.

-Wallus really never got a good look at Pabit before he took refuge in the wall, Pabit never got too involved in his work, or his talks with Boris. So Wallus isn’t too surprised that he missed it.

-It takes a bit of courage building from Wallus and Pabit litterally dragging him to Boris’ office before Wallus talks to Boris about how he aquired Pabit.

-Lots of details short: Wallus actually remembers when Pabit went missing which is pretty neat.

-Boris was almost worried he’d lose Pabit to his birth parents... Until Wallus says they didn’t really worry too much cause he was supposed to be put into someones life anyway. Was only mildly concerning since the fae couldn’t keep an eye on him.

-Pabit barely processes any of this information. Same with nearly all fae information Wallus tells him.

-Its not that he doesn’t like it or anything, he just doesn’t really care about the details. He got a name for what he is and why he acts like he does, and now he’s done. Mission complete.

[I wanna type more but my adhd is being MEAN so I’ll stop here for now. Feel free to send me asks about this au tho cause I love it]

EDIT:

-One last thing: Pabit loves the night. He adores the moon. He loves sitting on the roof past bedtime just to stare at the sky

#smile for me #smile for me Pabit #smile for me au #sfm au #Boris Habit #sfm boris habit #Sfm Pabit #Puppet Habit #Trevor Garbo #wallus breadbear #Tim Tam #Nat Vancy

11 notes · View notes

beingdaniellarebecca · 4 years

Text

How to Make Imposter Syndrome a Thing of the Past

Imposter syndrome: A fancy savy turm for feelings of severe inadequacy and self-doubt regarding one’s skills and achievements. You may have heard of it?

Recognizing Imposter Syndrome

My own experiences with imposter syndrome can be traced far back. One memory stands out really clearly in my mind. I am 15, clad in black sweaters and eyeliner, lying in my bed, listening to My Chemical Romance. I feel depressed and hopeless, and here is the thought causing those feelings: Woe is me, l will never be able to be the frontwoman of a famous emo band because neither of my parents were drug addicts.

I’m super serious. I legitimately thought that because my life did not look like Gerard Way’s, I would never be able to create music the way that he did.

Years have passed, my music taste has evolved and rotated, and this imposter syndrome I speak of has lessened. Actually, these past few months, it’s lessened so much, that I can look back and fully recognize the state of imposter syndrome I was once in. At the time, it felt so real, like all my fears were true and there was no other option but to believe them. Like a fish who doesn’t know what water is because he’s never known anything else.

Exposing Imposter Syndrome as a Jumble of Untrue Thoughts

In retrospect, I can now put a name to that cloud of confusion that surrounded me, the fear that I'm not good enough, that I don't know enough, the paralyzing self-doubt that I was doing everything all wrong. The absolute conviction that I do not have what it takes.

In my opinion, this is really the essence of imposter syndrome. This conviction that we are lacking something that other’s have, like they are all ‘real’ artists/musicians/entrepreneurs, and I am only an imposter. Be it a specific education, more money, a different nationality, we think we can’t be like them cause we aren’t them.

These days, when imposter syndrome comes for a visit, I politely direct it towards the nearest exit, reminding it to take a mint on it’s way out. You see, I’ve figured out how to see through imposter syndrome's cloudy veil. I've found out how to unravel all the little knots it has tied up around me.

I have a friend who draws and paints. Often when we talk, my friend and I, she brings up all her insecurities and self-doubts regarding her art Instagram account. She wants to someday have lots of followers, and make money off of her art, and share it with the world. But she sees other artists’ accounts, the kinds with 15k followers, and she compares herself to them.

"I don't have a consistent style like them."

"I'm not interesting like them."

"I don't have the confidence that they do."

(Enter imposter syndrome.)

Let me tell you something about my friend. Her art is really good. She posts consistently, just like all those other people do. When I open up her account and look at it from an outsider's point of view, it looks like a blooming art account, with all the right stuff happening in all the right places. High quality art. Consistent posting. I look at her account and see no difference between hers and that of one of those famous people she mentioned, content-wise. She’s doing everything right.

So I tell her that. I say, “Dude, from where I’m standing, your account looks just like all those other accounts. I know you, so I know about all your overthinking and indecisiveness, all of your insecurities and self-doubts. But if I was looking at your account and I didn’t know you, I would see a flawless account and assume a flawless creator. So aren’t we doing that to all those successful artists that we don’t know personally? They probably are thinking exactly what you’re thinking. That they aren’t good enough, that they aren’t consistent enough…you just can’t see it from their account. Someone below you is probably looking at your account thinking ‘I’ll never be where she is.’”

BAM.

Do you get my point? Did I make it clear enough?

If not, let me clarify that for you: Imposter syndrome is a trick of the mind, misinforming us and coming to mythical conclusions based on the little we know of other people.

Here's another example. My mom started doing Facebook lives lately, to promote her mind-body chronic pain coaching service. One time, literally in the same house as her, but in a different room, I went on Facebook and tuned in to her call for a few minutes.

From my computer, it looked like any other Facebook live. It could've been Joe Dispenza talking. (Super famous mind-body guru. Look him up.) Except it wasn’t, it was my mom, and there weren’t as many people watching. But again, content-wise? Same quality.

What I knew about my mom, that all of her viewers didn’t, was that she had a glass of wine before she went live, to calm her nerves, and that as soon as it was over, she was anxiously overthinking all the things she said, cursing herself for whatever unnoticeable mistakes she made. I don’t know Joe Dispenza personally. But I wouldn’t be surprised to hear that he goes through a similar ordeal, unknown to his viewers. Or that he did, at some point in his early beginnings as a New Age sensation.

We see what others do from the outside, and we think it was all smooth sailing for them. That they were born with a 300k fanbase and a soaring talent for whatever it is. We see their posts, their videos, their finished projects, and for the most part, we don't see their thoughts, feelings, fears, self-doubts....and we believe that we are different than them. We think they have it all together. We think that because of that, we can never succeed because we don’t have it all together. But neither do they! Or at least, they didn’t in the beginning! And that is perfectly fine and natural. It’s just part of being a creator. Everyone experiences it. (Maybe a few people don’t. I’m not sure where they come from or what they’re doing here.)

Now I’ve shown you the untruth fueling this notorious imposter syndrome. Now I’ll tell you what is true.

Feeling the Fear and Doing it anyway

What is true is that you definitely will not succeed if you don't try. The difference between those who are out there creating content, music, films, art, and those who aren't, is that the first group feels the fear and does it anyway. While the second feels the fear...and maybe gives it a little too much space.

I’m all for giving your fear a little space. See it, allow it, accept it, acknowledge it. And then do the thing anyway.

Realizing that there is nothing significant that separates me from the people out there succeeding has helped me lower the volume on my imposter syndrome. And now I have a blog, where I write articles that I don’t feel so confident about, but I keep working at. I know now that most people started exactly where I did, and if I keep at it, I have a chance of getting to where they are. Because the only difference between them and me is time and experience. Skill is aquired. (If you think talent is something you’re born with and have no control over, than read Daniel Coyle’s The Talent Code. Basically, it’s not, but that’s for a whole different article.)

I hope that I’ve helped you open your eyes a little bit more to the reality that you have everything you need to get started. Or maybe you already knew, and you just needed a little reminder. Go out and follow your dream. Go do the thing. Feel your fear, call it by its true name- a false thought- and do it anyway.

#self help #fear #imposter syndrome #self love #self improvement #growth #inspiration #psychology #thoughts

3 notes · View notes

sibillascribbles08 · 5 years

Text

Decade of Writing

So, there’s all these decade comparisons between old and new art, so I wanted to try something else

A decade of difference in writing.

And boy hecking HOWDY

I’ll post the new scene below, but here’s the old one, and here’s the new one in sta.sh if you want to do a side by side.

Honestly the story itself has changed so much rewriting the scene was hard because?? Most of the old scene isn’t even CANON anymore but hey did my best.

It’s so out of context I tried to add in some information in the scene as well but u know, if you don’t get it don’t be upset this scene probably takes place in the last third of the book

Appreciate anyone who takes the time to look through these.

Gungi leaned over his work bench as he studied the axe. With the little free time he had since the recent raids, he figured he should take it to study some of the weaponry they’d aquired. This one though, was a much different case. It was given to him by a trader, apparently it was used overseas.

The axe was huge, far bigger than any he’d scene. It’s handle wasn’t that long, implying it was a shorthand weapon, but the size was to a point that Gungi had trouble lifting it onto the table. Just who had the capability to swing this sort of thing around in a close fight?

Oh well, this was a good chance to study the weaponry from other countries. Maybe it’d be their ticket to winning this.

He ran his fingers over the metal, as well as the rose engravings on the side. Sure was fancy, and must have been well used judging by the wear.

“What’s that?”

Gungi jumped at Nathan’s voice. His hip bumped into the table, though it didn’t budge since it was bolted to the ground. Gungi groaned as he put his hand over the spot he knew a bruise was going to be.

“Sorry,” Nathan said. “Didn’t mean to surprise you.”

Gungi frowned as he looked up at the kid. He was trying to hide his smile, though the mischief in his green eyes gave it away. He glanced at the bits of hay and straw that were still stuck in his curly blond hair.

Gungi shook his head as he straightened up. “Didn’t your parents teach you how to knock.”

“I did not.” Nathan frowned. “Guess you were just too busy. What are you working on anyway?” He leaned to the side to get a view, his mouth dropping open. “Whoa, that thing is huge.”

“Yeah, twice as heavy as it looks too.” Gungi crossed his arms. “Got it from a trader. Not sure what use I can get out of it, but we’ll see.”

Nathan wandered over to the bench, squinting at the weapon.

Gungi let the kid look for a minute before giving him a nudge. “What’s up, anyway? Thought you were still tuckered out after yesterday.”

“Hearing my mom’s backstory hardly counts as an exhausting activity.” Nathan rolled his eyes and straightened up. “No I… wanted to talk to you about something.”

Gungi raised his eyebrow. “Oh?”

“About how to stop the king, and these raids.”

Oh, that kind of conversation. He shook his head and held up a hand. “Nope, don’t want ot hear it. We’re not having that kind of discussion.”

“But–”

“You’ve only been here for a few days, Nathan. You need to take some time to breath, recover.”

“I feel fine.”

Gungi narrowed his eye further. “You lost your parents three days ago. Don’t try and pull the ‘I’m fine’ bullshit on me.”

Nathan’s glare was defiant, but he kept his mouth shut.

“I’d guess that you’re desperate, so you want a solution, or revenge. I get how you feel, trust me, but these kinds of decisions are just going to put us in more danger.”

“Put who in more danger?” Nathan mumbled.

Gungi sighed and leaned against the table. “What does that mean?”

“The king’s after me.” Nathan pointed at him. “Or my mom, but she’s gone now. How easy would it be to lure him into a trap?”

Gungi gritted his teeth. “If you think I’m going to use you as bait you’ve lost your mind.”

“How long has this revolution been going on? How many more towns need to be burned down until we make some progress.”

“I’m not throwing you to the wolves, Nathan. And even if we do, what if they manage to snatch you up? Then you’ve just given him a one way ticket to waking the deity and winning this war.”

Nathan’s shoulders dropped and he looked at the floor. “Maybe, but–”

“There’s no buts about it. We’re not risking that, not right now.”

“Can you at least hear my idea?” God, could the kids eyes get any brighter? “Even if we don’t act on it right now?”

He should say no, he really should. There was no need to give into this kid’s crazy ideas or let him put himself at risk. Lucia gave up her position in this war to keep her son safe. Gungi wasn’t going to be the one to throw the son of his best friend into danger.

But those eyes were fixed on him, and he’d always been awful at saying no to that shade of green.

He sighed. “Fine, what’s the idea?”

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

Gungi groaned as his head rested on his desk. He needed to stop sitting here feeling sorry for himself. He didn’t want to admit that Nathan’s plan could work��in theory, assuming everything went right. But was that really a risk he could take?

He also wanted this war to be over. He’d been fighting it for the past twenty years, on and off. What started as a small protest exploded into this. Underground networks became a hidden city in a cliff side. Groups of citizens became spies and soldiers. And as their actions became more aggressive, so did the King’s. His silent search for the deity's chosen bloodline lead him to torching towns. His desire for control lead to more laws, more guards, more blood.

When was it going to stop?

And he could just picture Lucia’s face now, glaring at him, lecturing him. How dare he let Nathan head into something so dangerous, or even think of allowing it.

“You’re one to talk.” He mumbled to no one. “You were always the one dragging the pair of us into trouble.”

That comment had his mind dragging up all kinds of memories from his childhood. Endless pranks, mishaps, and flat out moments of rebellion. The time she let out all the livestock in the nearby farm. The time she convinced Gungi to set up all those bucket traps. That time Shami taught her the enchantment to make windows open and close on their own. The whole village thought they were being haunted.

And of course, the time she set up that elaborate prank, so those older kids would end up hanging from the ceiling by their toes. They hadn’t been able to finish everything. Shami tripped the wire by accident. One improper axe flip sent a dagger flying right into Gungi’s eye.

He flinched when he remembered that, putting his hand over his eye patch. Even these days he still got phantom pains from time to time. What a headache.

“Knock knock,” Shami called from outside as his fingers tapped against the wood. “Guess who?”

Gungi sighed, but didn’t move. “What do you want?”

His friend opened the door and came in, a frown on his face. “What’s wrong with you? Thought you’d be enjoying your free time.”

Another sigh. “Nathan’s too much like his mom. Couldn’t be like his dad, huh? Nope, had to be his mom.”

Shami chuckled and leaned against the door frame. “Well, eyes are the window to the soul and all that.”

“What does that mean?”

“Has his mom’s eyes, has her personality.”

“That’s not how that works.”

“Whatever.” Shami came further inside and sat on the desk. “Come on, sit up and tell me what crazy idea he had.”

Gungi groaned as he leaned back in his seat. “What makes you think it’s an idea he has?”

“Because I know that look.” Shami tapped him on the nose. “You only get that face when you remember all of Flora’s crazy ideas. Now, what crazy idea did he think of?”

Gungi’s eye trailed from Shami’s warm smile up to the ceiling of his workshop. “He wants to put and end to this war, and the king, by any means necessary.”

#scribbly fics #Shami and Gungi are platonic husbands now #also Gungi's the main character instead of Nathan #because itmakes more sense

5 notes · View notes

datscienceghostboi · 6 years

Text

Lead Skeleton

Part 2 to my addition post about Danny phantom

Left off on the ghost “life cycle”

STEP3: Every now and again the ghost may move away from its “haunt” or wait for hosts to enter the “haunt” to “overshadow” of potential host. Ghost have been observed to be able to make particles or reactions once thought theoretical or impossible. Such as gravitons which interact with and dictate gravitational fields “flight”. To “overshadow” a host ghost somehow manipulate intermolecular nuclear force to decrease the space between atoms. They shrink down to a size that could fit in the human body and quantum tunnel “phase” in. From there they hijack nervous system function to blockout Brain signals and essentially trick the body into thinking that the ghost mass is the brain. They also hijack stimuli coming into the brain so they can observe and interact with the envirment. Making sure the human never strays far from a source of ionizing radiation (which ghosts need to function). Terrifyingly this means that while the ghost encapsulates the brain, it is exposed to nuclear reactor core levels of radiation. Human biology simply cannot handle this. Ghosts get general shape and neuron structure from humans or earth based organisms. The human DNA is kept in the ghosts nucleus which is surrounded by a thick shell of programable matter taking in the properties of lead or some other radiation-blocking material so that no DNA structure is broken down. They may employ a similar method in hosts, but not as thick or complex because of limited space. So the dazed confusion of post possession is beacause of the brains exposure to radiation. Normally lead is toxic to humans, but because ghosts use programmable matter they take it all with them once they leave. Once inside a host the ghost contructs a duplicate to implant in the host. The duplicate is microscopic in comparison to the original. I stated before that the ducicate only has copied DNA but I’m gonna change this. The ghost has only the DNA that commands it to be a ghost. This is the only DNA that carries over. After all ghosts need something to tell them to be ghosts so there’s actually a “ghost genome” that goes through a process similar to cellular division, but the original keep all the DNA that it got from its own host. Ghost may employ a system of constructed DNA to make duplicates identical to them but when seeding a duplicate that’ll become its own ghost, it will not. This is the end of the cycle as the original leaves the host to return to its “haunt” and the duplicate begins at step 1. There are also subtypes of ghost with different genomes. One such subtype is actually more like an actual organism. It feeds off specific cocktails of brain chemicals for an energy source. Meaning it has no glow (chernokov radiation) and cannot employ abilities like ectoblasts/pyrokinesis or cytokinesis. Being limited to just phasing, invisibility and overshadowing. Spectra is one such example. Requiring emotions to continue function and not have a glow and appearing more human. She even needs Bertrand for the standard ghost defensive and offensive abilities. She would also have to physical touch or phase some of her mass into a host to feed of their brain chemicals.

Ghost abilities such as ectoblasts/pyrokinesis work by ghosts shifting or altering their cytoskeleton/programmable matter to focus radiationabsorption into a specific area to heat up the material. Ghosts are composed mainly of cytosol which is basically water, but it does contain magnesium. they can collect a mass of magnesium from their cytosol to create combustion when it reacts to the increased heat. This is less like a laser and more like a flamethrower. They can also employ cytokinesis by sucking up or absorbing the radiation out of a specific area (the level of radiation is equal everywhere in the ghosts mass except for the cytoskeleton where the use it for function) to create a rapid decrease in temperature to freeze the cytosol.

Halfas. As stated are humans who were exposed to to high amounts of electricity/radiation and blank ghost duplicates at the same time. Creating a loop where the ghost accidentally integrates into the humans cells. Becoming live a flesh eating virus. Consuming and replacing dead cells with new ghost ones. However only the skin and maybe the musclar system would be totally ghost replaced initially. The organs, skeleton and circulatory system may take time to replace. Remaining human for up to a decade. In their low energy (human) form halfas have exact one to one chemical copies of their human anantomy. The programable matter becoming flesh and the cytosol hiding as water. In their high energy (ghost) form they condense all the programmable matter that made up muscle and skin into a thick outer shell with only cytosol being inbetween the skeleton, veins and organs and the outer shell. They also subconsiously employ an inner layer of programmable matter in the form of lead encaseing the human parts to protect from internal radiation. The human form is the default form as it relies on intake nutrients to gain energy for function while the ghost form need ionizing radiation which is not as easily aquired in the human world. The flash of light from transformation is the rapid movement of electrons through the mass to supplement the new form (which ever it switches to) created a short burst of increased chernokov radiation. The reason halfas don’t have this glow in human form is because it totally replicates human biology, meaning no radiation is absorbed and the movement of electrons isnt faster than the propagation of light. Halfas can employ any ghostly ability so long as their human biology is shielded. They can phase because anything within the ghosts mass with phase with it. Danny couldn’t phase tucker and Sam in “mystery meat” until he spread himself in a thin layer over them by means of physical contact. Invisibility is the warping or distortion of light around the mass. So long as the human parts are lead/radiation shielded they can use internal radiation for any regular ghost offensive/ defensive ability. The ghostly wail is the use of programable matter to vibrate the mass at a freaquency so high it causes physical destruction to anything within its immediate surrounding. This wouldn’t be directional though as sound moves out in all directions so whatever was behind Danny would face the same destruction. The reason no one can guess/plainly see phantoms human skeleton/organs is because the outer shell is way thicker than other ghosts. Halfas being totally opaque rather than regular ghosts which are transparent. The reason I drew halfas showing their Skeleton is to accentuate the point of how their internal mass looks. Phantoms irregular apprearence may also explain why the fentons and the governments fixation on Danny over typical ghost subjects. The fentons weapons, portal and ghost zone I’ll do in a part 3

#danny phantom #danny fenton #danny phantom physics #science #headcanon

16 notes · View notes

poeticsandaliens · 6 years

Text

Old Classics

Pairing: MSR

Rating: Explicit. Porn

Timeline: Season 11, in between episodes but before Plus One

Summary: Part 3 of the Attractions of Youth smut collection that was intended to only be one fic. Oops. This one is for @kateyes224, who posted about “Can’t Fight This Feeling” coming on the radio while Mulder and Scully are on some dusty, two-lane highway, and how they might combat the ensuing awkwardness. I can’t decide whether to thank you or blame you. I got carried away on emotional wings, and this turned out way longer than I expected. Prepare for the feels.

Attractions of Youth Part 1 and Part 2

Tagging @today-in-fic.

She always thought of Idaho as a flyover state. A endless expanse of hay bails and silver-bearded men wearing flannel, more cows than people and more deer than cows. The perfect ambience for a UFO abduction.

Their destination is somewhere on a horizon that vanished with the Idaho sun. It blazed like a tangerine in the rearview mirror, then cast them into darkness between the Sawtooth mountains and the fields of Asphodel.

Now, they’re half way to dawn.

Scully drives through starlight with her brights on, the silence thickening as time goes on. They’re two hours out of the mountains, rolling past rotted fences and trading places in the driver’s seat to catch some semblance of a good night’s sleep. When Mulder drives, Scully dozes off, but now that she’s at the wheel, Mulder stares out his window as if he’s expecting Sasquatch to leap in front of their car. Twenty-five years and he still has trouble sleeping on the road.

She yawns loudly and drums her fingers on the wheel. She used to be able to drive all night, hundreds of miles down foggy interstates running solely on coffee. She’s older now; by midnight, exhaustion seeps into her bones, and her eyelids begin to sag.

“Do you want me to drive?” Mulder mumbles from the passenger seat.

“No, I’ll be fine. Maybe we should put on the radio, though,” she admits. She presses a button on the speakers that she thinks might (possibly) be a power button.

“Doesn’t this car have a phone-cord or something?” asks Mulder when the speaker scratches to life, white noise intermixed with the occasional piano note.

“Probably, but I can’t find it.” Even if she could, she doubts he’d be too thrilled to listen to her collection of NPR podcasts, and Mulder’s taste in music isn’t especially appealing on late night drives.

So she flicks through the radio channels until she finds something tolerable. “Knock Three Times” reverberates inappropriately through the shadows. The pitch of fake trumpets fills the car, and Mulder chuckles quietly.

“This was one of those songs you loved until you hated,” he informs her with a smile. He runs his hand over his salt and pepper stubble and looks up at her with eyes like little planets, lit warmly from a million miles away.

Scully snorts. “I feel like they played this song at my high school homecoming.” It’s bad, but it’s the fun kind of bad. Finally distant enough to be nostalgic, reminders of high school make her sigh rather than cringe.

As the unforgettable chorus fades into silence, a radio host with a coarser voice than CGB Spender hacks gutterally into the microphone. Folks, this is channel 91.5, Old Classics. We’ll be right back after these brief advertisements.

“Old Classics,” she repeats aloud. That’s what they are—old, sure, but they’re still kicking. And maybe, she hopes, they’re en route to a comeback.

Mulder sits up and stretches as much as he can in the Taurus’s passenger seat. He is all rumples and loose limbs after six hours in the car. “Sounds about right,” he concedes with a grunt.

The Honda ad dies out, and a cheerful keyboard riff startles her back to reality. It’s the electric-disco kind of riff, and the song is on the tip of her tongue, ringing like the soundtrack of a too-emotional porno. It’s only as the lyrics ring out, and the Taurus starts to feel thick and stuffy, that she recognizes it:

I can’t fight this feeling anymoooooooore, the stereo belts like a punch in the gut. Scully stiffens, gripping the wheel for dear life, and sneaks a glance at Mulder in her peripheral. He looks as uncomfortable as she feels, squirming in his seat and staring resolutely out the window.

It’s time to bring this ship into the shoooooooore.

Shit, she’s not prepared for this. She is reminded, completely out of left field (maybe not completely if she’s being honest), of the first time they had sex. They took a sledgehammer to six years of sexual tension in a car not unlike this one. A rental car, putting its way through fields of juniper. They topped off the encounter with even better sex in their shittiest motel to date.

“Do you remember—” she stops herself, but it’s too late. The words are out of her mouth. “Do you remember that Mexican restaurant, the one in Scipio Utah where I ordered a margarita, and then we…” she can’t finish. Fucked in the backseat because they just couldn’t stand it anymore, because it was a hundred and two degrees, and they were in their thirties and still had the stamina for wild, shirt-ripping sex.

“Eduardo’s,” says Mulder, sitting up straight again.

“What?”

“Eduardo’s Authentic Mexican Drive-in. That’s where we stopped to eat. There was a petting zoo next door. What a day, am I right Scully?” he jokes awkwardly. “I guess we just couldn’t fight that feeling.”

She pretend-laughs to cut the tension. Inside, she’s all butterflies and wooden limbs. She’s not sure what it says about their relationship that Mulder remembers the name of Eduardo’s. She’s not sure what it says that she’s forgotten. She remembers that margarita, though—an alien green concoction of ice chips and cheap cocktail mix, and she definitely remembers the way Mulder’s eyes grazed her entire body as he sipped it with a plastic straw.

The radio croons again. I can’t fight this feeling anymore….

She ignores the heat between her legs and the blush creeping up her cheeks. She ignores the way Mulder’s stare bores into the side of her head, waiting for her to say something.

“We were so young back then,” she sighs. It’s a cop-out line, but that doesn’t make it untrue. They’re aging with the car radio—loud and relevant, but only in the middle of clusterfuck nowhere. They dance expertly in the cobwebby corners of life, where people still don’t have cell service. Where fairy tales thrive, and landline gossip births monsters, and the basement is an appropriate place to make love.

She watches Mulder’s lips twitch. When was the last time they had sex? It must have been six years ago, that awkward limbo after she’d left him but was still listed as his attending physician. She checked his physical health, cried in the master bathroom at the sight of him, then polished off his wine and let him fuck her on the decrepit couch he’d owned since 1994. The one stained with his cum and her beer and their son’s spit-up.

They fucked like orgasms were a currency, and somehow it was rough and underwhelming at the same time. They panted into the musty air, not daring to speak each other’s name. They came silently, and when the transaction was finished she left just the same, tearing half-dressed out of their—his—driveway. It felt like a one-night stand in undergrad, the thought of it more enticing than the execution. She found him a new physician by the end of that week.

“Scully?”

“What?” Scully snips, and her features soften when he recoils like hurt puppy. “Sorry,” she says, “I’m just stressed.” The exhausted drag of her own voice alarms her. She sighs again. That damned song is still playing, relentlessly goading them with their youth.

“In the old days car trips relaxed you.”

“In the good old days, Mulder, I didn’t tell you how much I hated night driving. In the good old days you probably wouldn’t have asked.”

“In the good old days, we would have pulled over here,” Mulder murmurs under his breath.

In the good old days, her hips wouldn’t have ached after sex; she was wetter and softer more pliable. Still, she taps her finger on the wheel. Still, she squeezes her thighs together and feels her sex tingle. Still, she wants him. Not like six years ago, just trying to pound out the pain. No, she wants him with the wrinkles he has aquired in her absence and the back-aches they’ll undoubtedly suffer in the morning. She’s not seeking in him the ghost of Mulder in 1998, but loving the flesh-and-blood Mulder of 2018. Falling in love with him, all over again.

I’ve forgotten what I started fighting for.

“Do you want to have sex?” If not now, when? The universe grants these moments sparingly. They wasted one already, thanks to a goddamn bee, and it was another year before they talked about it like honest adults.

Mulder’s eyebrows shoot up, and he eyes her skeptically. Speedwagon wails obnoxiously; he adjusts his tie and tries to discern if she’s just messing with him. “Aren’t we a little old for that?”

“Yes,” she says simply. She licks her lips, lets her voice go husky. “But Mulder…” she croons. It rolls off her tongue in a lilt she hasn’t used since they called themselves ‘platonic.’ Back when they fucked with words, and she could get him hard just by saying his name because she didn’t dare go further than that.

The ensuing silence might be suspenseful, were it not for the building chorus of can’t fight this feelin’ anymore that she’s afraid to turn off. Once the song ends, she’ll have to fill the quiet and acknowledge how badly she needs him. Not just here, now, but tomorrow in the hotel room and at home when the case is finished and over and over until they die.

“I’ll pull over,” she whispers before he can respond. She stops in a dirt pullout, basking in the utter darkness as her headlights go out. She turns off the car, and that stupid song cuts off before it can hit the final note. When it’s quiet— “I mean it, Mulder.”

“The last time we—”

“This isn’t like that time,” Scully interrupts. “I’m not talking about a one night stand. I’m saying, let’s have sex in the car and then… go from there.”

She can see the hurt in his eyes as he recalls their lackluster final tryst in the unremarkable house, and tries not to be offended. It hurt her too, fishing around the living room carpet for her underwear and then leaving him again. It was the only time she ever regretted sleeping with him, and it took her months of hindsight to realize the damage it had done to them both.

“I hope you know how much I love you, Scully.” His voice cracks.

She gazes at him with earnest owl’s eyes, skillfully fighting the urge to cry. “I’m working on it.”

Mulder reaches over to turn off the car. His hand skims hers, fingers interlacing. “Are you sure, Scully?” he asks, stroking her palm with this callused thumb. “We’re not exactly the young handsome spitfires we were the first time.”

Scully leans over until her forehead rests against his, twisted awkwardly against her seatbelt. Inhaling the smell of chocolate on his breath, she says solemnly, “that’s the point.”

When he kisses her, it’s sweet and ponderous, a weirdly new sensation. His lips stand out like a refurbished antique. They are Mulder and Scully, but they’ve replaced every skin cell since the last time they kissed like this; they have rearranged their atoms into new molds. She likes it.

She pushes the lever on the passenger seat and chuckles as it slides backward, leaving them an open space in the front. She crawls recklessly over the emergency break to kneel over him, still fighting to keep his lips on hers and his tongue on her teeth. She cups his cheek, lets her fingers drift across the old scar on his temple where she once stitched him up in her kitchen. She moves to kiss the smile lines around his cheeks, the wrinkles in his forehead, studying the his skin like it’s a well-worn paperback. Gone with the Wind or Pride and Prejudice, or some other intersection of the tender and the passionate.

That’s the real difference, she thinks as Mulder lifts her t-shirt and unclasps her bra. Before, they flickered between frantic fucking and fragile lovemaking. Sticky and transgressive, or moving together like their bed was made of fine China. Now is something in between.

Mulder’s lips expertly trace the peak of her nipple, and she arches her back against him. She lets him brush feather-light over her breasts with well-trained hands, cupping them like holy water and memorizing the face that 2018, fifty-four and fighting Scully makes when she loses herself in arousal.

She adjusts her position on Mulder’s lap and bumps his nose out of the way to kiss him again. He grunts as she kneels on either side of his legs, his erection grazing the crotch of her slacks. Just to tease, she grinds against him fully clothed, and he groans into her lips. He reaches for his belt buckle, but she stops him.

“Not yet,” she whispers. “It’s not about that, not yet.”

It is her way of demanding, make love to me Mulder, rather than fuck me, because she’s not ready to say it outright, not just yet. She didn’t just stop the car to slice their sexual tension and have a quick, desperate romp in the back. She could’ve waited hours for him, and they could have fucked on clean hotel sheets after a bottle of Merlot. But it’s not about that.

Mulder’s lips linger on her, marking her breast scarlet and moving on to her collarbone. She rests her head on his shoulder, hiding the pleasure on her face and giving him access to the soft skin of her neck. Mulder leaves hickeys as spectacular as Scully did in high school, when the concept of making out was groundbreaking.

He holds her tenderly; even his cock— restricted in slacks, grinding against her, is subdued, languid. They cannot move as frantically as they did when they were young. They won’t even move to the back seat; she’ll make love to him here. She has planned this already, if she’s being honest.

She pulls a lever on the seat. The back and headrest slowly lower, until the Taurus’s passenger seat offers them ample space. Mulder lays back on it, tie undone, shirt untucked. Pants tight. His erection strains against the zipper.

Scully fumbles to remove her slacks, curled up between Mulder’s outstretched legs as she struggles with the black, pinstriped beast. Her boots are strewn God knows where, and the pants are sticking to her thigh like latex, and wasn’t she wearing a skirt last time? She mentally applauds 1999 Dana Scully for having the foresight to wear a pencil skirt that fateful day in the desert.

Finally stripping off her pants, she tugs open Mulder’s fly with trembling fingers and draws him out, sliding her hand along the length of him and savoring the groan that escapes his lips. She strokes him slowly, doesn’t spring any surprises. It’s the softest handjob she’s ever given, but she doesn’t expect him to come before the main event.

“Scully,” he murmurs, “You need to stop soon…. if you want me…. to last.”

She releases him with a wry smirk. “Fair enough.”

Then Mulder’s mouth is on hers again, searching her lips for 1999. But Dana Scully doesn’t taste like cigarettes and strawberry chapstick anymore; she tastes like Green tea and spearmint gum. And if Mulder once tasted like black coffee with Altoids, now he tastes like coffee with too much sugar. He has softened; she has hardened. Scully doesn’t mind the change, but it takes Mulder a few seconds to adjust to the woman he’s kissing now, whose cotton-smooth skin has weathered elegantly. Whose once-cheeky profile has turned stern and dangerous.

The way Mulder looks at her when he pulls away… she feels the years. But if the sexuality of her youth has vanished, in its place has grown something brazen, mature. She finagles her way out of the soft scarlet thing between Mulder and her pussy. There’s smoke in his eyes, and her body bares itself before him like hot steel. Sure, they’re not humping raggedly in the backseat, but she’ll ride him slow and heavy and press her forehead to his when he comes in her, and what it lacks in vigor it makes up for in devotion.

She kneels over him, hovering on the tip of his cock, gripping fistfuls of his shirt to keep from quivering. For a second, he picks at his buttons and tries to rid himself of the only article of clothing not rumpled about the car, but she gently guides his hand back to her hip. It sits on the sharp knob of her pelvic bone, his other hand curled around her neck. He laces his fingers through her ruffled hair. She takes him inside her with frustrating patience. In their years apart, she forgot the feeling of him moving within her, the unique sensation of Fox Mulder. It floods back to her now, as she hits bottom with the smack of her ass against his thighs and her thighs against his hips.

“Mulderrrrr…” she keens, tucking her face into the crook of his neck and using his shoulders to push herself up. She raises her hips and rocks, before allowing him to thrust fully into her once more. He moans, and she can feel his chest rumble like the purr of a lion. The more she moves, the stickier they become, melding together and peeling apart. Two clay creatures, carved from the same mold and animated vibrantly.

As he falls into their rhythm, leisurely thrusting in and out of her, she reacquaints herself with his body. Her tongue dips between his pectorals and up to the hollow of his clavicle. She sucks the tender skin and winds her fingers into his hair. A cry escapes her as he presses against her clit, and a wave of sensation courses through her. She runs appreciative hands down his abdominals, dances down them like a piano exercise and drags two fingers down his V to feel it bow and flex with every thrust of his hips.

As she picks up the pace, she disentangles herself from his body and reaches between them to press against her clit. Her partner is all pent-up sexual frustration, and he won’t last. She can already feel Mulder’s arms tighten around her. His fists clench and dig into the muscles rippling along her spine. She lets out a high-pitched whimper when Mulder follows her lead and cups her hand in his own. He traces quick circles over her clit with his thumb, and she can see the grin on his face as her breaths turn to shallow pants. His fingers are relentless, his rhythm constant. She mewls a yearning, erotic thing, a sound her vocal chords haven’t been able to form in decades. Her knees bore lasting dents in the Taurus’s seat.

Mulder shudders beneath her weight with a husky moan, his shoulders falling against the backrest. To his credit, he pumps her with this hands while his cock stills and she continues to tighten around him. He drags across her swollen labia, pulses her clit for a few seconds until she seizes. He coaxes every second of sensation out of her, rocking his hips to side to side to keep the friction going. She opens her lips, tosses her head back like a wolf to the full moon and breathes. And breathes, and breathes, in rapturous little gasps. Her chest heaves, fresh freckles and crucifix bared before Mulder’s awestruck eyes. She bites her lip so hard she can taste blood.

“That’s my girl,” he murmurs into her hair, “that’s my Scully. Fuck, you’re so beautiful when you come, Scully.” He says her name like he can’t believe it’s on his tongue.

Finally, she settles. She doesn’t climb off of him, not just yet. He plays with the cross around her neck and then her loose hair and then her nipple. He entertains them both while they catch their breath. She observes him, expectant, until he’s ready to talk.

“That was really something, Scully.”

She nods slowly. “Yeah. I missed you more than I care to admit.”

His eyebrows shoot up. That’s her patented look, excuse him. “Big Spooky or Little Spooky?”

She giggles. It’s been too long since she’s done that, too. “Both of you.” Little Spooky isn’t all that little, but Mulder’s ego certainly doesn’t need her to reaffirm how well endowed he is.

“In all seriousness though, Scully, I missed you too. I missed this, but most of all I missed having you by my side.”

It’s ‘by my side’ that almost makes her cry. He wants her next to him, not hanging back in a morgue or ditched on a whim for some half-baked lead. She would march to the Underworld with Fox Mulder if the alternative was to sit by the ferry and wait for his return.

“You have me now,” she promises softly, brushing a strand of her own hair off his cheeks. “Do I have you?”

“I can’t remember a time you didn’t.” He offers her a radiant smile. Scully welcomes it.

She kisses him chastely and extracts herself from his lap, back into the driver’s seat. Mulder passes her her button-up, panties, and a scratchy blanket he snatched from the backseat. She finagles the underwear over her legs and buttons up her shirt. She wraps herself in the blanket as Mulder dresses.

“All these years,” he muses, zipping up his fly, “and we finally have a song.”

“Mulder, “Can’t Fight this Feeling” is not our song.”

“It is,” he insists. “This song inspired a romantic escapade.”

“Maybe it did, but Speedwagon is eighties rock. It’s metallic and objectively bad.” She rolls her eyes and steps on the gas. The car roars to life, the radio once again blasting static. They’ll have to pull into the next rest stop, so Scully can pee. Theoretically, she could wait until sunrise, the comforting privacy of their hotel room. She’d waited that long before. But she shouldn’t have to.

“Scully… where do we go from here?”

She asked him that once, in a post-coital haze, curled up in a dingy Utah motel. It’s possible she has something to prove when she makes love to him for the time in years on the side of the road. Like the first time, it’s a fresh start. It’s not the same as when they were young; they can’t stomach shit margaritas or bear the desert heat. We’ll figure it out, he promised back then. It’s what they always do at a crossroads, after their foundations quake and their lives shift irreversibly.

She watches him lazily, tries for nonchalant but can’t choke back the emotion. “We’re figuring it out.”

Mulder accepts this answer. Laying his head against the windowsill, he sleepily hums “Can’t Fight this Feeling” under his breath. Scully drives. She drives until the pitch darkness of Idaho swallows them and drives until it spits them back up.

#the x-files #txf fanfic #fox mulder #dana scully #msr fanfic #msr smut #genre: pwp #txf season 11 #todayinfic

225 notes · View notes

orange-antics · 6 years

Text

Eddsworld miscellaneous hcs

ok there's probably like 100 of these already or something, but I thought I'd add mine anyway, because hey, it's fun and I'll probably change or add a few later. (Also this ended up waaaaaaaay longer then i meant it to be wh o ops so uh be warned its pretty damn long-)

Tom:

Shortest! (i know it's normally either edd or tord, but after seeing saloonatics, I just couldn't resist the idea of the grumpiest one being the smallest. Cute right?)

Relatively strong arms, more fat around his stomach and torso then his legs.

Occasionally works gigs at local clubs and stuff for money.

Doesn't have much social media aside from Facebook so he can occasionally stalk his old college mates.

He actually likes sports like football and tennis. (His favourite sport is seeing how many bars he can hit up in one nigh-//shot//)

His hair smells like pineapple! (And the rest of him like booze-)

He's up for pretty much anything if he's drunk enough to have fun and not remember enough to regret it

But not bowling.

N e ve r bo wl ing

He's still got a scar on his left arm from The End. :( But Matt and Edd helped him to fix it up, so it's all good!

He's actually a pretty chill and sensible guy, and despite being snarky and sarcastic whenever he can, he genuinely cares about his relationships with people, scared that one day they'll get bored of him and cast him aside. He's really just a goofball with big city dreams of becoming a rockstar.

Spends like two hours in the shower crying and listening to MCR

His favourite show is Bad Education. It's good for when he needs cheering up.

He likes snacks and foods that are crunch, and salty, spicy, and sometimes savoury. So Crisps, Pringles, Doritos, chex mix etc.

Edd:

Second shortest/third tallest

Kinda chubby tbh but he's the BEST at hugs.

His forearm game is actually pretty strong because of all the time he spends making art to pay for their bills (because hey, someone's gotta do it amirite). You don't wanna head into an arm-wrestling contest with this guy.

Makes money by selling his art and also taste-testing all the latest cola products! (Just...not the diet ones).

Aside from a devianart, redbubble and maybe even a tumblr for art commissions, he doesn't really care about social media. Or regular media. Politics who?

His favourite sport? Seeing how many cans of cola he can get through on an especially difficult project. (Cricket always looked kind of fun though)

Smells like cola and not taking a shower in days because he HAS to get the lineart perfect and edd are you ok when was the last time you slept- (jokes aside, i can see him smelling like graphite and paints and sharpies from his art supplies).

Can pull the perfect poker face like damn son having a baby face sure comes in handy when lying to your roomate about why there's broken guitar strings hanging out of Ringo's mouth again

Has a scar on the inside of his eyelid from the time Tom 'accidently' poked him in the eye with a pencil (...may or may not be based off personal experience)

Edd is pretty friendly and open with people, he likes getting to know them and joking around. He's the Ultimate Punmaster ™, and loves nothing more to poke fun. He sees the world through the eyes of a cartoonist, and will never miss a comedic opportunity.

Be warned! He's actually fairly smart, and can read people well, knowing just how to really get under someone's skin. It's a good thing he can't be bothered with any of that though.

Gets his best ideas either in the tub or when hes just about to sleep. Because of that, he keeps a water-proof and regular notebook. Nearly had a heart-attack countless times because he accidently swapped them around.

Despite his complaints about absurd plot conveniences, he actually likes Doctor Wh- i mean "Proffesor Why", there's just something about the concept of time travel...he also likes cartoons! Like, a lot. He'll watch most anything and everything if it's animated and the writing is decent.

Likes anything sour, sweet, and chewy! So Jelly Babies, Wine gums, Sour patch kids, that kind of thing

Tord:

(Most of these are heavily based upon his life as Red Leader so sorry if you were looking for more domestic Tord. Maybe I'll do seperate hcs for that one day)

Second tallest! Quite a bit taller then Tom, a bit taller then Edd, just about average height, if a bit taller. He's closer to Matt in height then Edd.

He's actually quite well-built! You wouldn't think it because of the baggy hoodie he wears but he's got pretty good muscle, and his endurance and strength is well above the others. This mostly comes from the logic that he's been training and leading the Red Army, so it just makes sense to me that he'd resemble a soldier physically, yknow? AU-wise, or before he started the whole world domination thing, he'd be a little more scrawny, but he could still kick everyone's ass (he probably tried copying numerous anime battle stances lol-)

He's pretty well off, it turns out you can get quite rich by adopting some uh...rather unconventional means of money-making. Of course you could always say he just sold his inventions.

Does having your own private network of underground intelligence-gathering units count as social media? No? Nevermind.(He has a hentaihaven account-)

He likes dodgeball, archery, and you guessed it, arcade shooter games. Anything where he can point and hit something basically.

He smells like gunpowder, dirt, oil from machine maintenance and the cold? Like if the cold had a smell, he would have that smell, does that make sense? He also probably smells like Old Spice because idfk it just reminds me of him ok.

He doesn't exactly get out to socialise much, be prefers to stay at his desk, or curled up next to the fire with a mug of hot cider when he wants to relax. Sometimes Paul and Pat will drag him outside when they think he needs a breath of fresh air, and they'll go visit the nearest marketplace for food and other supplies. He likes strategic games like Chess or Draughts, and it's a good way to show off and get practice at the same time.

Scar-wise, he probably has quite a few from his fights. Post-the end, I'm not sure what would happen to him, since I've seen people go in a lot of different directions. I DO think he'd replace him arm with the robotic one, since that seemed too heavily implied to not happen. Regarding his face, I think the burns and stuff would probably heal over time, and depending on the technology in the future, he'd either still have some heavy scarring, or maybe he'd develop some kind of treatment so that it restores him to almost fully healed. He could always go the cyborg route and end up half-man half-machine like we see with future Matt and Tom.

(About the patch on his face, I have a theory about how he he aquired that scar/injury. See, I don't think Tord founded Red Army by himself, no. I think he was introduced to it by Paul (who we see in the same classroom as them in Poweredd) who was kept back a few years cause....uh...yknow- Anyway I have a theory that Tord eventually climbed the ranks until he became second-in-command, and he then murdered Red Leader and took his title. Their fight is where he got that injury. It's not really canon-supported much, but I find it an interesting concept!)

You've probably guessed, but I kind of disgree with Tord's portrayal sometimes. I think I prefer the darker, meaner side to him. I wouldn't say he's (completely) evil, but I'm not really one for the whole "self-hating, regretful angsty Tord who just wants some love and support" and stuff. I mean, it's cute with ships amd fluff, amd ideally he does make amends and rejoin the group, but I just like the thought that he's genuinely not a nice guy yknow? Like, he's actually done some fucked up stuff, and The End is probably just one case. (Of course this is all opinion based so feel free to disagree if u wanna wheeze-)

Has the WORST sleeping schedule. Has been known to fall asleep in the bath/shower.

He prefers movies to shows. His favourite is the Kingsman series (he can relate on many different levels).

Likes bittersweet things, (just like his personality amirite-). So cake with coffee, or tarts, liquorice, hard candy, that kind of thing.

Matt:

(My favourite-)

He tol. Tallest of them all!

Someone once described him as "borderline twink" and tbh i agree. I feel like he'd have a slightly feminine figure (which is perfectly normal!) and he both rocks it, and knows he does.

He works at a nail salon every now and again, his self-confidence and bubbliness makes him get along well with customers. (Also Matt would definitely wear nail polish ok dont even try to convince me otherwise. Actually speaking of,)

He has EVERY kind of social media possible. Instagram, twitter, facebook, tumblr, facebook, snapchat, you name it! He's especially prominent on instagram. He likes to keep an ~aesthetic~

He likes gymnastics and dance, activities like that. Anything which puts him in a creative spotlight. He'd probably take up acting classes, and then insist on only being given monologues.

He'd probably have quite a pleasant and nature-y smell? Like uhh citrus-y, pine tree, a hint of flowers, that kind of thing. Although he'd DEFINITELY slap on way too much cologne on a date or something and end up smelling like he just emptied out a bottle of febreeze.

He'd probably go out quite a lot! I can see Matt being a social butterfly, his friendliness and general likeability probably mean that he's got a few friends and stuff around. I can also see him as the kind of person who'd enjoy taking walks in the park, sitting below a tree, that kind of thing. He probably runs a self-love session (that works a little TOO well). He wants to get out there and show off his beautiful face, so it doesn't take a lot to drag him outside (provided you keep a mirror on you, that is).

He doesn't really have any physical scars. I mean, i do hc him with freckles, but they don't count so. he has a mental scar. After he hit himself with the memory eraser gun, he completely erased his memories. It took a while for him to settle onto the personality he has now. His face was the one thing that he knew for certain held a sense of familiarity and stability, so that's partly why his narcissism boomed so much. He sometimes gets random flashbacks of being a zombeh leader, being less of a nicer person, and it can be quite unnerving for him. He also has other memory issues, which is why he can forget things so easily, and comes across as an idiot most of the time.

He can be quite oblivious, but I dont think hes a total idiot. He can read people fairly well, and is emotionally intelligent. He says stupid things sometimes despite knowing they'll get a reaction, just because he wants to, and thinks that life should be as fun and full of joy as possible. He's too trusting, and wants to see the good in everyone. At the end of the day, if you disrespect him (and his face), you'll see that he can be more then just the nice guy.

LUSH!! Matt is HERE for all those lush products. I'm talking bath bombs, lip scrubs, shower jellies, all that good stuff! And ofc he has like 100+ products for his hair and skincare routine, because let's face it, it's Matt. I also like to think he owns a bunch of bath toys and rubber duckies, and like the kid at heart he is, he'll sit in a bubble bath playing with them, and re-enacting all of their adventures.

He mostly prefers youtube videos over TV, so you bet he's subscribed to all the beauty gurus, vloggers, people like that. He does think children's cartoons are nice to watch though, so every once in a while he'll force Tom and Edd to sit with him and watch the latest season of My little pony.

He likes anything sweet and fun to look at! Especially if it's trending, so he can post pictures of himself eating/drinking it. So if there's another rolled ice cream/new starbucks-ccino/unicorn themed food item floating about, he'll probably be trying it.

(Ah man this turned out way longer then i thought. It went from simple headcanons to like full blown theories whoops- maybe i should make seperate posts if its too difficult to read? Anyway let me know what you think nonetheless!)

#eddsworld #ew matt #ew tom #ew tord #ew edd #eddsworld matt #eddsworld edd #eddsworld tom #eddsworld tord #ew hcs #headcanons #eddsworld headcanon

20 notes · View notes

rakuen9 · 7 years

Text

Some thoughts on wlw in mainstream media and fandom

I’ve noticed a trend going on in certain tv shows and fandoms that is bothering me a bit. So let’s talk Clexa, Sanvers, Cophine and WayHaught.

I have to say that I really like being a part of these fandoms and communities that are so active and produce so much content like fanart, fanfiction and super detailed text posts deconstructing the relationships/characters/motivations. I love you guys and I like enjoying that content but I’ve noticed something that is a bit worrisome.

Fandoms are expanding weakly written characters (or characters that barely get any screentime) and the writers are taking all the credit. .

I’m not gonna say much about Clexa, but I remember the time of the hiatus between seasons 2 and 3 where I read so many things about Lexa and how amazing she is.. things that weren’t in the show .. where I started liking her a lot more because I got to know her because of the fandom expanding her character with theories and backstories. We took a couple of lines about Costia and created this whole story about who she was and who they were together and all we knew about her was that Lexa loved her, she got killed in a political powerplay that failed and that Lexa has avoided getting close to someone because of all of that. But in the show that Costia conversation was a minute long. And then we know the shitshow that happened in the latter half of season 3. The first half was pretty dope in developing Lexa and grounder society and political climate. And they we all know what happened. And this might be odd to say, but the fact that she died doesn’t bother me that much. How she died and how we were lied to, and baited by the shitty PR people is the unforgivable part. How the writers pat themselves on the back for creating those characters and being progressive and then just fucking it up in a way that’s so incredibly idiotic that the backlash came to a total surprise. And then having Clarke hook up with another chick because it’s close enough is so insulting and again idiotic that i can’t even. But what do I know, I stopped watching that shitshow after 3x07.

The same thing almost happened in OB with Cosima being with Shay (because they didn’t book the actress as a regular .. Hmm why does that seem familiar). Delphine is another character who we spent not a lot of time with and that was fine because they wanted to make us wonder if she’s working for the clones or for Dyad. And they did the fake-out death thing (and I’m sure that they didn’t kill her off and dropped the Shay story line because of the backlash). I think that they truly are less moronic than the people behind the loo and they payed a bit more attention to the fandom. And at the moment of me writing this, the day that 5.06 airs, they are trying to fix some of the issues. Delphine being isolated and not trusted by the main characters and her whereabout and general actions. They’re also expanding her character by having her interact with other characters like Mrs. S and PT and Aysha, etc which both furthers the plot and also gives us some information about the type of person she is. (A woman who’s willing to take a lot of shit to get what she wants). As with Lexa, I won’t have minded that much if she was actually going to die (because the universe of those shows is ruthless and dangerous and not everyone survives it and killing a fan favorite is a good way to hammer that shit down) but the framing of it is problematic. If we think about how Paul’s demise was framed (Paul who was in a very similar position to Delphines) how we was framed as a self sacrificing hero whose shitty actions were forgiven and understood completely, as opposed to Delphine who would have died in a garage alone..) But she didn’t die yet, and while I don’t think she will, I know not everyone will survive this season and I’m ready (nope... I’m not) for the heartbreak.

Sanvers is.. ergh.. I like them they’re cute. The later in life storyline rings so true to me as a closeted 25 year old that’s not even funny, but Maggie is barely in it. She is Alex’s GF and we know little else about her. She had a bad coming out story (that was traumatic so of course she might have issues with Valentines day, but Alex is a romantic so she’ll do the bullshit Valentines day thing for Alex). Which is dumb. Love is strong but even with love you still need time to process and get over things. As nice as the scene with them going to a Valentines/prom thinggie is, I’d rather have had them talk about it. A simple “ok, I really to like you a lot, and I know you are a romantic at heart and I know this is important for you, but I can’t do this now. Maybe in the future, but right now, doing the Valentines thing still hurts too much” . How great would that have been? And then we get the thing with her girlfriend that she cheated on, but we didn’t talk about it. Why did she do it? Who was that Maggie that would cheat? Why was she scared? Like I could answer this, I’m sure that I would find nice reasons, but I would have loved if the writers would have given those answers themselves. And they get really intense scenes and short cute scenes, but there’s not a lot of screentime there. And now they’re getting married because why the hell not? Gay people can do that now right? But we won’t have the actress as a regular. Because wlw want representation and a married couple is that right? Why develop Maggie when we can do other things? And the behind the scenes pictures of the premiere is giving me season 3 finale “leaked” photos vibes that it’s seriously making me consider if i want to continue watching the show. I loved Kara but she was treated like shit in season 2 by the writers and I don’t like seeing that in characters I like. So if Kara is poorly written and the wlw relationship underdeveloped and has 2 minutes of screen time why watch it?

HayHaught was similar to Sanvers with the (not so) slow burn and Nicole was a bit isolated but they’re doing a good job in season 2 developing her. And I like the show, but it’’s also campy and while I like that OB and the even the loo had more interesting premises ( I like sci fi so I’m biased). I also like the supernatural demon fighting thing but sci fi is my jam. Anyways I actually like the show, but it’s not really something that I would recommend to my straight friends. OB is obviously the best of the shows that I mentioned ( and I literally sat one of my friends down and made him watch all of season 1 a few wars ago.. it’s fine already made me watch all 3 LotR director cuts in one sitting so.. we’re even). I am really exited about Wynonna Earp though, and I do love it, but I think it’s more of an aquired taste.

Anyways this long and rambly post was supposed to reflect the fact that we are so starved for representation as a community that we praise shows and writers that might not completely deserve it and the frustrating thing about it is that they get to pat themselves on the back for being so progressive and get all this attention that isn’t completely earned. Except Emily Andras she’s pretty awesome ( this season, Nicole is getting developed, the POCs were added to the cast and the te fact that they included the Melanie’s pregnancy into the show is actually pretty progressive and awesome. I’m not a big fan of those stories and I’m still pretty conflicted about Wynonna being pregnant. Mostly because I think that she might have chosen a different way to deal with this. But I’ll give them the benefit of the doubt).

Anyways thanks for reading this rambly post and I hope it made some sense?

#clexa #wayhaught #cophine #sanvers #spoilers

41 notes · View notes