#like I can’t remember ever loving so many boys in my produce days

[jemmo]

not me watching boys planet and getting obsessed with it, knowing im regressing to a years old hyperfixation and loving every bit of it

[veritas-scribblings]

more - @jegulus-microfic - words: 1,260

[technically a follow-up from yesterday's 'safe', but can be read independently]

Regulus has taken to hiding in his bedroom, the smallest bedroom in the Potter house down the hall from James and Sirius. From the yard, where James will sit with Sirius on days when it is not cold and raining, James will often see Regulus sitting on his padded bench in the bay window of his bedroom reading some book or other. Writing some thing or other in his many notebooks. Sometimes just staring. Observing.

Plotting?

James worries about all of this, which is nothing new because he’s just prone to worry. He worries about Regulus isolating himself. He worries that Regulus is being deprived of sun, because Regulus inherited the Black Family affliction of pale skin and probably requires a significant dosing of Vitamin D.

And he worries that Regulus is ignoring him. Shutting him out. Though he will not say why.

Rationally, James knows that Regulus is concerned about Sirius’s reaction, given how over-bearing Sirius has been since they left Grimmauld Place. He’s not really ignoring James; he’s just being cautious.

But the memory of Regulus is seared into his brain. Regulus sneaking around the castle with him, kissing him in little nooks and hidden corridors. Regulus spending hours talking to James about nothing and everything, laughing, poking fun, insulting James, comparing notes on quidditch, telling James stories, telling James his hopes and dreams. 

He remembers Regulus’s warmth, his scent, the feel of his skin, the touch of his hands running over James’s body, the press of his lips on James’s neck doing wonderfully wicked things. The memory of Regulus’s body pressed against his, against places no one else has ever touched, making James feel in ways no one else has ever made him feel. Making James produce sounds he’s never produced for another person.

‘Oi!’ 

James jolts in alarm when Sirius elbows him hard in the side. Warmth flushes his cheeks, and James quickly looks away hoping that his embarrassment isn’t visible. He’s thought of Regulus many times over the days they’ve been home from Hogwarts. Sometimes late at night when he’s in bed and the thoughts turn into fantasies and he wonders, imagines, what it would it would feel like if…

No. Good Merlin, he can’t go there. Not right now. Not right now, when Sirius is right beside him and he can feel the heat rushing through his body to parts that are rapidly taking an interest. James cringes and turns away, trying to conjure disgusting images as quickly as he can, because this is all just going to get so damned awkward.

Snivellus naked. Snivellus naked. Snivellus naked.  

‘Prongs!’ When Sirius goes to whack him again (James remembers being whacked by Regulus, how wonderful that had been), James quickly shifts out of the way. 

‘Huh?’ Laying on the grass, propped up on his elbows, James looks back up at Regulus curled up in his bay window staring down at them. ‘What do you think he’s doing?’

Sirius shrugs. ‘Dunno. Writing love letters? Writing sad boy poems? Plotting to take over the wizarding world? Actually…!’ Sirius sits up, grinning like he’s suddenly found the secret to world peace. ‘Hey, you can ask him!’ At James’s confusion, he gesticulates wildly. ‘Who it is!’ he clarifies. 

‘Who what is?’

Sirius hunkers down and leans over so close to James, who is still laid back on his elbows, that it leaves weird, awkward, fluttering feelings in James’s stomach. Like drunken moths trying to find a light that just isn’t there.

‘The filthy, no good, two-bit rat who is sniffing around my brother. You can ask him, he’ll tell you. I hear he’s a real…what’s the word Marlene used…playboy. I think it means he’s a whore. Like, the local town broomstick. Everyone’s had a ride.’

Excuse me? James tries not to gawp, but he’s in no way ‘the local broomstick’. Sirius has slept with more people than James has, because James has slept with a great big whopping zero of people. That’s just not who James is. He wants it to be special. He wants it to be someone he loves. Call him a romantic or whatever; James knows that it’s not ‘cool’ of him, only he doesn’t care.

Maybe, just maybe, that special someone he loves will one day be Regulus.

‘I wouldn’t say he’s a broomstick,’ James mutters, ‘the person “sniffing around your brother”.’ 

Sirius cocks an eyebrow in a way that reminds James so much of Regulus. ‘You know who the dirty rat is?’

‘No, no. Just. It’s Regulus. Like Regulus is going to let a…filthy, no good, two-bit rat…around him. He has standards, doesn’t he? He’s too clever and proper and dignified for that.’

‘Right,’ Sirius says firmly. His eyes narrow suspiciously, and he leans back, stares up at Regulus in his window. ‘Well, they’d better not. Regulus is too innocent for any of that. He’s still a baby.’

James breaks out into a grin, unable to withhold the laughter that bursts free from his chest. ‘Regulus Black is in no way “innocent”, Pads. There is nothing innocent about your brother!’

’He is too, Prongs. What are you implying?’ Sirius shoves James hard, and James goes tumbling onto the grass heaving with laughter. ‘What are you calling my brother, you little shit.’

‘Not innocent, is what I’m calling him!’ James giggles. There had been no reservations in the way Regulus had manhandled James. James knows that Regulus has never had a relationship before. And as far as James knows, Regulus has never…’been with’…anyone before, or Sirius would have absolutely decimated the person who had dared to touch his little brother. 

But Regulus had been bold. He had been shameless. And had been certain in obtaining exactly what he wanted from James.

‘I’m just saying,’ Sirius hisses, standing firmly on the hill he is prepared to die upon. ‘I’m saying Regulus is sensitive. He has a gentle heart under all those thorns and prickles and shards of glass. He deserves someone who will handle him with care. He deserves someone good, someone who will be good to him. He can't afford to be hurt, Prongs.’

James nods vigorously in agreement. He knows this. He knows it because, he thinks, Regulus has started to show James his heart, and James feels blessed because Regulus does not trust easily.

But Regulus seems to trust James. So maybe James is enough?

‘Someone…you have to approve?’ James hedges.

‘Absolutely. My blessing is the number one requirement. I also expect applications in triplicate. Character references. Criminal history checks. 15-inch written essays on why they want to get within one kilometre of Regulus. They will be interrogated and reviewed by a jury of my peers.’ Sirius flops down onto the grass, his hair fanning beneath him. ‘So, you gonna talk to him for me?’

‘Sure,’ James says. 'I can talk to him for you.'

There’s a tiny spark of hope in his heart that maybe Sirius also thinks James is enough. That James is a good person who will take care of Regulus’s heart and handle Regulus with care. That Sirius will trust James with his little brother.

James will explain that he makes Regulus smile and Regulus makes him smile. He’ll explain that they laugh together and have fun together, that James listens to Regulus’s stories and his hopes and his dreams. That James thinks Regulus is brilliant and clever and cunning and sneaky and that this makes Regulus special. That James knows how brave Regulus is, and how bold, how kind Regulus can be.

And maybe Sirius will decide that James is enough. 

[ruershrimo]

take me back (take me with you) | f. megumi x fem! reader | chapter 1: nostalgia

ao3 link for additional author's notes | playlist | next | m.list

chapter synopsis:

'“You’re my best friends forever,” you whisper to them. It’s the truth and it’s a promise. The train halts with that chuffing sound all trains produce, and your mother holds the luggage as well as your other hand as you wave to them goodbye.'--- ' It’s very late and I still have so much I want to talk about with you, but I’m really sleepy now. My eyes are barely open and my face is about to fall on the paper, I think. Just know that I'm thinking of the two of you all the time. XX

Love, [Name]

(P.S.: I still have your hair tie. Do you know if I’ll ever be able to give it back?)'

word count: ~5k; tws: none for now

2-4-2015

Dear Fushiguro Tsumiki, 

How are you today? I’m so sorry that we haven’t talked in so long. 

Forgive me for asking so many questions in this letter— I know too little about writing them; my mother is the one who asked me to write this saying that it would help me keep in touch with my friends or write better (either of the two, I can’t quite remember). 

Between an urban area or a rural area, which would you prefer? I’ve had to go all around the place because of my mother and I’m still all the way in Tanegashima now. If you were to go from Tokyo to where I am, you’d have to either go for a drive lasting more than 20 hours or book a three hour flight. 

I’ve only stayed in the city once— that was when we were still in the same school, and we could all fit in my aunt’s apartment since my father was outstationed for the whole year. But I digress. Personally I prefer the city. It all feels so modern, and so much less empty than how it’s like here on this little island. I mean, we have the space centre, so I can always visit that, but after the third or fourth time you’d probably get a little bored of it too. 

I wish I could go to Tokyo again one day, though. I’d definitely take the time to visit you, too. I read on a pamphlet once of how pretty everything gets in Tokyo during winter time, especially during Christmas. We don’t really celebrate Christmas here but the pamphlet reminded me of that one December when we spent it at my aunt’s, we ate lots of KFC and had a little party while my aunt sang songs and drank enough alcohol to prove she had a liver of steel a million times over. 

It’s nice to reminisce on these things, and it’s nice to reminisce on when we were still there too. I know I never told you this enough, but I was so happy when you walked up to me on the playground that day and asked if you wanted to be friends. I really, really liked your hair and wanted to ask you the same. I was just too shy to do it, and thought that if I would I’d end up messing things up and mortifying myself. I miss that and you and I miss 2010 and I miss Tokyo, and walking back from school with you and Megumi (you were like my cool older sister), and I really, really miss doing each other’s hair. It was the most joyful I’d ever been in my then 8 years of life and every day was a new fragment of happiness to keep in my heart like a picture in a locket. 

Now I really want to go there again, and maybe go to the Shinjuku-Gyoen, or see the lights at night. I wish I could stay for a whole year and see how the trees can change from being highlighted cherry blossom pinks, to lush greens with summer dew on them, to golden ginkgo leaves. I’d keep them with me, too. I hope you can take me there one day and we can see everything together again. My apologies if I’m asking too much of you. 

Also, how is Megumi? I miss him too. Is he the way he was, still? Is everything okay between you and him, still? Unlike elementary school, the boys in junior high are all taller than the girls, so since we’re the same age do you think he’d be taller than me too? Is he taller than you, or are you still one of the tallest girls in junior high like how you were in elementary school? 

It’s very late and I still have so much I want to talk about with you, but I’m really sleepy now. My eyes are barely open and my face is about to fall on the paper, I think. Just know that I’m thinking of the two of you all the time. XX

Love, [Name] 

(P.S.: I still have your hair tie. Do you know if I’ll ever be able to give it back?) 

28-2-2011 

The train to the airport is arriving in a minute, and you’re sure your mother won’t let you just wait for the next one, so you’re stuck clutching your little luggage bag as you look at Tsumiki and Megumi, that inseparable pair, and their snowy-haired “benefactor” (whatever that means. You think he’s more like their father sometimes, though). 

Even if you knew it was inevitable and that this day would eventually come, especially with your leaving Tokyo being pulled even earlier than you thought it would, a part of you pretended that you’d still get to stay with them for a little while longer. In Tokyo you’d solidified your place and built your roots— you had friends, were doing alright in school and had even begun to be less anxious about everything. Now you’d be uprooted again, you thought as your fists trembled, Now you’d be back to square one. 

2011 had started as a busy year— your father had begun preparations to move somewhere else where you and your mother could follow him and the three of you would be together again. It was busy for Tsumiki, too, who had more school matters to tend to due to her being one of the best, most well-rounded students in her year (you didn’t know much of the details). 

…it had also begun with you seeing a dog when you were alone with Megumi once. It had these unique markings on its head, with alabaster fur and jaundice-hued eyes. And Megumi then had a panicked look in his eye, asked how and why you could see them as well as whether you’d seen them before, which you suppose caused him to be busier after that, too. Tsumiki and Megumi’s benefactor visited you and your mother the night after, asking to speak with your mother and your mother alone. He paused before you, almost shocked, you supposed, but you couldn’t see through his pitch black sunglasses (he was one weird guy, seriously— pitch black sunglasses? Really?). To which she frowned, as the man uttered that you could be a “window”, but that you could still be able to use “cursed energy”, or something. You’d heard of neither of those, and weren’t able to eavesdrop or discern anything else they’d said. 

Then nobody else mentioned the dog anymore. 

If you questioned any of them, you’d only be told that the dog was a stray, and that those markings must have been a particularly special birthmark. Yet you knew it was all a lie, but after multiple tries you gave up on wondering. 

When you’d first learned you’d be moving yet again, you cried and screamed for your mother to let you stay, and for what felt like hours. After relaying this to Tsumiki, she just put her hand on yours before hugging you— always wise, always kind, always smiling, you can’t say this enough about her. Megumi patted your back before she pulled him in as well, and for once he didn’t shove her hand away. You couldn’t even bother to be confused at that— you just continued to weep as Tsumiki comforted you, whispering, “I can’t promise I’ll always be able to talk to you, but I’ll try my best to keep in touch when I can. And even if we don’t, we’ll always be friends, okay? So we’ll meet again someday, don’t forget that, okay, [Name]?” 

A day after that Megumi told you to stay safe. Nearly ordered you to swear you’d stay safe and protected, always. He said that the world was dangerous since it was full of dangerous creatures and people who could kill you at any moment, but as long as you were on an island like the one you were moving to, you’d be fine. You furrowed your brow at that as he held your hand and felt him squeeze it— subconsciously, most likely. 

“Well,” Tsumiki starts, a tinge of sadness in her tone, her eyes slightly swollen. Megumi’s expression is unreadable but his fists are balling the fabric of his shirt and his leg is shaking. It makes you want to sob and cling to both of them and you know if you did they wouldn’t ever let go, “I guess this is goodbye, [Name]…” 

Before you realise it, tears start pooling in your eyes and soon they’re trickling down your face uncontrollably, just like the day when you’d first met her. “We’ll still be friends, right?” You won’t leave me, right? 

“Mhm!” Tsumiki smiles— she was always smiling, always, even when she was about to cry along with you. Her lip was trembling and for a second you swore you could detect that in the ever-stoic Megumi, too. “It’s okay, you don’t have to worry. We’ll be friends forever, so we’ll surely see each other soon enough,” Tsumiki assures you, close to sniffling, “We made a promise to always be friends, right? So you’ll see the two of us again in just a few years’ time no matter what.” 

“Okay,” you sniff, “I’ll see the two of you when we’re all grown up, and… and I’ll be taller, too! I promise I’ll visit Tokyo next time!” 

“...that’s good,” Megumi says, his leg still shaking discreetly, joining you and Tsumiki’s conversations in a way he’d rarely done. 

Tsumiki nods, “Yeah. That sounds really, really good, [Name]. Wait—! Let me give you something. You can call it a gift!” 

She takes it off, and her hair unfurls like flowers from bouquets after they’re untied, placing the red-ribbon hair tie securely in your palm. 

“Your hair tie?” you ask, “No, it’s okay—!” 

“Please, just… just keep it, okay? It’s a gift from Megumi and I to you, [Name]!”

Then you’re in her embrace again as you clutch the hair tie, while after a little hesitation Megumi joins in and you swear you can see their benefactor smiling— not just the smile he had when you first saw him, this one in particular seemed proud, fatherly, the same way your father did when you told him about how you were able to read through a whole book with beginners’ kanji in it. 

“You’re my best friends forever,” you whisper to them. It’s the truth and it’s a promise. 

The train halts with that chuffing sound all trains produce, and your mother holds the luggage as well as your other hand as you wave to them goodbye. 

15-3-2011

The phone continues to vibrate in your hands as you anxiously tap your foot on the ground. You’re sure it’s going to end up sore. Frantically, you press it almost forcefully to your ear when it stops ringing. “Tsumiki, Megumi!” 

“[Name]!” 

“Are you alright? I saw the footage of the earthquake on the news, are you safe? Were you and Megumi evacuated, are you all safe? Please tell me whether you’re safe—!” 

“Megumi, it’s [Name]!— Don’t worry, we’re safe now.” 

Relieved, you sigh, “That’s good, that’s good,” you say, “It must’ve been really scary…” 

“Mhm— everything started shaking as if we were on some boat in the middle of the sea and the waves started getting wilder, and it was like the ground was rumbling.” 

You shiver. “That sounds so scary…— I’m glad you’re safe, though. I don’t know why stuff like that has to happen so quickly sometimes, and so suddenly, too. And it takes so many people along with it. I thought I could’ve lost the two of you.” 

“Well, we made a promise,” she tells you, “So don’t worry. —Oh! Megumi wants to talk to you. Here, Megumi.” 

“Are you alright?” he inquires, “Have you seen anything scary in the countryside?” 

“Huh? Oh, no, I haven’t seen anything. Why?” 

“Nothing. Just wanted to know.” Now that sounds like a bold-faced lie. 

“Uh-huh, okay.” 

-20-5-2011-

“Hello? Is this Tsumiki? I need to ask if she’s alright—” 

“Oh, little [Name]?” a man says over the phone— the benefactor, you remember, “So sorry, she’s pretty busy right now… call next time, okay?”

-21-5-2011-

“Hello? This is the Fushiguro house contact, right?” 

“Sorry, Tsumiki’s busy at the moment. Me too, actually.” 

“Megumi!” you smile, bringing the phone closer to your cheek in excitement, “How is everything?” 

“Good, to say the least,” he replies, “We’re just a bit busy. Sorry, but I’ve to hang up soon.” 

“Oh, oh-okay! Bye bye, Megumi!” 

“Bye.” 

-13-7-2011-

“Hi, [Name] speaking. I called twice last month and a few days ago. Are you still busy?” 

“A little— well, Tsumiki is,” the voice on the other side says. You know it’s not Tsumiki, not yet at least. “She’s really sorry, [Name].” 

“No, no, it’s okay! I don’t want to bother any of you either, so thank you for telling me!” 

“Well, if you want I can try to get Tsumiki right now,” the voice offers. 

“Really? Thank you so much!”

The pause that ensues after is followed by the fifteen happiest minutes of your life since February this year. 

“[Name]? Is that you?” 

“Yeah! Hi, Tsumiki!” 

She gasps slightly in the way that children do when in awe or when someone finds out they’ll be eating their favourites for lunch. “Hello!” 

“How are you?” you ask.

“I’m good! Really busy, though, so I’m really sorry if I can’t call you as often… but everything’s been alright. You?” 

“Mm,” you hum, nodding your head even if she can’t see it, “I’m good, too!” 

-18-8-2011- 

You don’t know when you started heading to the phone and keying in the number, doing everything but ringing it. You’re busy, too— you’ve less time now to ring them up, and the last time you did, Tsumiki still apologised but sounded a little distant, just that one bit too busy to be able to tend to you. One step farther away from you. And Megumi was seldom ever the one by the phone. Still, you could understand why. You supposed they always had something going on that you never understood or never asked about. That would explain the incident with the unusually marked dog. No, they weren’t sketchy, but there was definitely something they must have known about the world that you didn’t. 

Now you don’t know if you can even muster the courage to talk to you or write to you. The distance between you has widened exponentially and you hesitate just a bit more every time you hold the phone and press its buttons. 

Then the phone rings, and after you hesitate once more, you put it down. 

9-2-2016

If there’s one thing you remember from about half of your life ago, it’s that your first crush was probably Fushiguro Megumi. 

You’re honestly surprised it wasn’t actually his sister. That over Tsumiki and her abundant compassion and beautiful soul, you’d feel your heart leaping and overflowing with warmth because of him instead. Constantly angry, never for once not irascible, always serious and aloof. You’re sure that if you’d met him now instead of back then you’d find him some asshole who you just wouldn’t be able to understand— why’d he always have to seem so angry? 

Yet it was a struggle, trying to understand him. It really was. Maybe you didn’t really have to understand anyone, much less Megumi. He never ceased being so serious and easily angered but you could tell from his eyes that he must have not intended to hurt anyone; half of the time you understood him: like when you could see that glint in your eyes that replaced what would have been a ghost of a smile on his lips, the other half of the time you didn’t: like whenever he shoved Tsumiki’s hand off his shoulder, and Tsumiki just continued to smile. Now, that really confused you. You’d thought about that for days before coming to the conclusion that you’d probably never find an answer. 

Conversely, Tsumiki was kind and patient. If you’d met her now you’d have fallen in love with her immediately and she probably wouldn’t even notice in that terribly goodhearted, unknowingly innocent way of hers. 

In retrospect it should have been more obvious: he scowled at you and if it were anyone else who did so to you back then you would have merely cried and closed in on yourself, yet you never did when it came to him. You just continued to stick to him like those kind of glue residuals left behind after you take a sticker off a table or a price tag from the back cover of a book. You were probably annoying like that. And to some degree you suppose he’d given you his own form of special treatment by letting you do so anyway. 

If you’d known what you were feeling back then you probably wouldn’t have admitted anything, anyway. Probably you would’ve kept it all within you, quiet and unnoticed, trying to drown yourself into life’s backdrop like an insect engulfed in resin. 

But you’re older now, more mature and slightly more outspoken; you’re going to try to be confident and meet someone, this one person alone who you can only meet now without his sister there just because you used to have a crush on him and— 

You don’t think you’d be able to admit anything either. Yet to yourself he’s the first. He always will be, and you’re not sure whether that sounds pathetic, miserable or disgustingly, hopelessly delusional, considering you don’t even want to pursue anything yourself. 

It’s going to be Valentine's Day soon and you’re quite sure that most of your school friends are making Valentine’s chocolates for their boyfriends or their crushes. In all truthfulness, you might as well not feel blue about it— you’re 14, that’s still pretty young, you don’t have to rush things like relationships or confessions through and you’ve been told to focus on your studies instead— but the thought that you’re going to be alone is still kind of depressing. 

10-4-2015

Dear [Name], 

Don’t apologise— it’s partially my fault. I ended up being really busy that year due to something we had to deal with. 

But anyway, it’s been so long! I miss you every day as well! 

Megumi and I’ve been great, and I hope you’ve been too. It’s been a long four years since we last talked (it’s already 2015, how time flies!), but you still sound the same. It’s like you’ve got better handwriting now, though! 

Aside from the fact that I’ve been swarmed with stuff to do (I joined the student council, yay!), junior high has been okay, to say the least— and hey, I’m still pretty tall, you know? Plus, a lot of the teachers say I’m surprisingly tall for my age, heheh. Things are going the same as always. I’ve got accustomed to the loads of homework we have now too. But it’s like Megumi’s been having a problem lately— he’s getting into fights, beating people up, things like that. I wouldn’t call him a delinquent, though: moreso someone who beats the delinquents up instead. I know what he wants to do and why he does it, but I don’t want him to fight other people and get himself or others hurt. 

I’ve tried to tell him this before, to be honest. I’ve tried it many times but each time I must sound more annoying to him than the last— I don’t want to force him to do anything, though, and I understand that part of why he does this is because of his own ideals. I just want him to not raise his hand against others. So I have to resort to this. 

Sorry for spilling it all on paper like this… I just wanted someone to talk about this to, and I thought you would listen to me, I suppose. Sometimes it’s hard— sometimes I really do feel like his parent instead of his sister and it makes me feel so lonely, really. 

Oh dear, what do I do to make him hear me, seriously… 

Anyway, I totally get what you mean— I’ve stayed in Tokyo all my life, but I’m sure that if I was uprooted and had to live somewhere else I’d have lots of trouble. Tokyo to me is my home, and my whole life is here. Moving somewhere else would probably shatter it completely, I think. 

And please visit when you can! Maybe if your mother allows it, we can come to us instead, one day! And it’s not like we can’t visit you either. Our door’s always open. Once this school year ends, perhaps we could stay with you for a night or two! (If you would have us, of course). 

Besides that, I don’t really have much to say. I did have a good day today, though. I went out with some of my friends from school after our classes ended and we ate some donuts. They were so tasty!!! Honestly, whenever you have the time, I really recommend going there with some of your friends after school!! 

Regardless, I think this is all I have to say in this letter. I promise I’ll try my utmost best to always set aside time to write to you!!! Get some good rest whenever you can, okay? Miss you always! 

Sincerely, 

Tsumiki 

(P.S.: Do you have an email or a phone number of your own yet? If so, please shoot me an email or give me a call! I can reply more there since I have those now and can use those instead of always relying on our house contact.  You can keep the hair tie, too, by the way! It can be like a memoir (*^▽^*). And it’s for you, after all!) 

13-3-2015 

You remember seeing a little dog one time back in your hometown when you were around six or seven years old. 

It was a tiny little thing, with the fluffiest black fur you’d ever stroked, and though every second it was barking louder than your mother could ever handle, it was adorable and seldom threatened to bite anyone. And it liked you— it never barked at you and let you shower it with pets despite how much it had frightened you initially. 

He was irritable but calm, someone who frowned and scolded but never raised his hand against anyone— not even that “benefactor” of his who you’d never heard him talk about without mentioning how much he’d like to punch him someday. You genuinely don’t think he’s ever done so, either. He doesn’t seem like the type: from what you remember, if he were to think he’d hurt someone he knew or evidently cared about— as much as he’d like to deny this, however— he would blame everything on himself, you think. He’d feel the guilt rake through his body and lacerate his skin, piercing through his ribs. Yet he’d keep living, and he wouldn’t tell anyone about it; he’d be so quietly miserable. 

That’s what he was like: quietly miserable. There’s a certain sorrow in the way he does things; you could tell this from the start despite how young and inept at articulating yourself you were at that age. But you’d always known and sensed that there was a sadness running through him, coursing through his veins, one that you could feel like heat from the warm blood beneath one’s skin. 

Today you wonder if he’s the same, if he still seems like the saddest person you’ve ever met, if he still seems like he would have been the saddest and most doleful had he not always tried to act as if otherwise, living defiantly against it. If he hadn’t always been able to keep living while suffering quietly like a child with nothing but muffled sobs in the desolate corner of an empty classroom. 

But at eight you thought maybe you could liken Megumi to a puppy. Or something like that. He certainly reminded you of that all-bark-no-bite puppy from the past. You wondered how it was now, whether it was still being fed and taken care of. 

Tsumiki was vastly different, though— the kindest girl you ever knew, with neat, soft hair and the type of handwriting all the girls in her class wanted to have. She was always smiling, always kind— you thought she was immensely wise for a girl around your age; you always wanted to be as amazing of a person as she was: always hardworking, always clever, always kind and forgiving, no matter what. 

…you don’t even know why you’re thinking about some kids you met once who you’ll probably never see again. Just two kids who you never kept in touch with. Or at least never tried to. You had their contact— you tried talking to Tsumiki a few times, but for some reason she could only ever reply once or twice (she apologised profusely for not being available any time she picked up as well), and as time passed the way the distance between the two of you grew, by the summer of 2011 you’d begun holding a telephone close to your ear without keying any number in it, as if clinging onto it would provide you with any sort of closure. 

You miss them, though: smiley Tsumiki and frowny Megumi. 

Leaning back into the mattress, you trace your fingers over the hair tie on your wrist, fingers rubbing against each thread of fabric in its red ribbon. 

Could you even talk to them or face them anymore after ceasing contact with them for years, though? Heck, you don’t even know whether they’re alive or not. Would they be angry at you? Disappointed? Feeling as if they’d been wronged or left behind? 

Still, you miss them. You really do. 

Your mother’s calls bring you downstairs, and you eat until your stomach is full before washing your plate. The only other step in your routine now is to head up and retreat to your room again. 

“Come down, [Name], could you?” your mother says, interrupting your trip back up, “I just want to talk to you for a second.” 

Now, that… that was a bit strange. Your mother rarely ever asked you to talk to her. You spent enough time with each other as is, doing almost everything else besides being in school or at work in the same house, even if it never meant asking about each others’ day. It just was never part of the conversations you had with each other. You’d ask where she wanted you to throw things or how you could cook something, but she’d never go out of her own way to learn about your own day since you were about nine or ten, and it wasn’t like you ever did either. Perhaps she was trying to make the effort to? 

“What is it?” 

“You like writing, honey?” 

“I mean, I guess so?” you reply hesitantly, “As long as it’s not for school or my grades don’t rely that heavily on a task, writing can be pretty fun.” 

“Good, good,” she remarks, nodding her head, “Actually, I recently found something you may be interested in online. You still have your friend and her brother’s house contact, right?” she questioned. Instantly you know which friend she’s referring to and say yes— how could you not, after all? “Ever heard of pen pals, darling?” 

Which brings you to where you are now: your mother leaning by the door frame of your room as you’re hunched over the table writing the letter. Surprisingly, she really seemed to care about this, even preparing the prettiest paper you’d ever seen, with pastel pink patterns printed on the paper’s edges, and though you struggled with what to say it first the words have begun spilling out of you despite how late it’s started to get. 

You wonder whether she’ll reply. She probably will, though, but a fragile part of yourself surmises that she may not, and although you’d like to talk to her again you fear that because of the time that’s passed things may just not be the same anymore. You wonder if the years have made the three of you infinitely different than your eight and nine year old selves. 

But that was growth, right? So you had to grow and learn how to talk to her, learn how to face her without thinking that she’d be angered or frustrated, or anything like that. And even if she did, even if it would hurt you, you’d be able to live. The world would keep spinning and all that would be lost were two friends who you lived without for about four years, ceteris paribus. Who could claim that the seventy or so years after those four would be any different? 

That’s why you took the pen and paper and started to write, telling yourself you’d face it and finish the letter no matter what. Even if it was short. Even if it wouldn’t be enough to express four years’ worth of unspoken words, from funny things that had happened in school, or what you thought of whatever was on the news, or how your parents had gotten you a new phone. 

As your eyelids gradually grow heavier, you watch how you fill two whole pages in the handwriting you have— you wish it could have been at least a tad bit more similar to Tsumiki’s, who never needed any boxes or lines to write completely straight and uniform for each character as if copying excerpts from finely printed books to the letter. 

Soon, you’re reaching the end of the letter, determined to keep the handwriting legible even if you feel like plopping your head on the table and falling asleep— to some degree you still need it to look presentable, after all. 

“(P.S.: I still have your hair tie. Do you know if I’ll ever be able to give it back?)” 

taglist:

@bakananya, @sindulgent666, @shartnart1, @lolmais, @mechalily, @pweewee, @notsaelty, @nattisbored

(please send an ask/state in the notes if you’d like to join! if I can't tag your username properly, I've written it in italics. so sorry for any trouble!)

[thisaintascenereviews]

Happy Birthday, Infinity On High.

Everyone’s got those albums that mean the world to them, whether it’s an album that they have specific memories attached to, an album that changed their lives in some kind of way, an album they just love, or an album that got them into music itself or a certain style, and I’m no exception. There are many albums that mean a lot to me, for one reason or another, and I’ve been wanting to work on a top albums list, because I haven’t done that in over a decade, but there are a select few that I put into the upper echelons of my favorite albums. These are the albums that are the best of the best for me, and I don’t have a whole lot of those. I’ve always thought there is a difference between my favorite albums and what the best albums of all time are, because I may love an album and it may be one of the best albums ever made, but it isn’t one of my personal favorites. I need to make a list of my top 25 favorite albums of all time, because that would be a fun and ambitious project, but that’s for another day. Nonetheless, It wouldn’t be a secret to say that my all time favorite album is Fall Out Boy’s third album, and major label debut, 2007’s Infinity On High.

I’ve made that clear many times over the the last decade, at least since I’ve been writing about music, but this is a record that can’t be understated. I’ve written about it a lot, but it’s worth writing about again, because it celebrates its 17th anniversary today. I’m writing this on its anniversary, and I felt compelled to talk about this record again, but I wanted to add something new to the conversation that I haven’t said yet. I’ve already talked at length about how catchy, infectious, and accessible this album was, especially for the band. They signed with Island for this record, and got a huge leg up when it came to guest spots, such as Jay Z providing some vocals for the first track, as well as Babyface writing and producing a couple of songs, which is reflective in its pop, soul, and R&B sound that shows up throughout the album. Infinity On High is their first blatant foray into pop, whereas 2005’s From Under The Cork Tree only flirted with it, and this album set the stage for most of their career afterwards. I would say that this is their most “experimental” album, although 2018’s Mania closely follows that, but Infinity On High is still my favorite album from them, as well as the album that got me into music. Without this album, I don’t know if I’d be the person I am today, or love the same music I do.

That’s also something I’ve talked about at length, but I find myself enjoying this album for different reasons as I’ve gotten older. I used to love it because it was an album that I had never heard before, especially as a teenager. Infinity On High wasn’t bound by labels or ideas, and it moved through different sounds and genres like it was nothing, but these days, I love the album for its unashamed experimentation and willingness to branch out and try new sounds. I didn’t know much about the band going into this album as a kid, but with all the context, and knowing how their career has gone, it makes the album hold up even more. Its experimentation is something I really love about it, but I do love this album for its hooks, melodies, and Patrick Stump’s vocals (the first time he was really able to express himself as a vocalist, and not be held back by standard pop-punk songwriting).

I love this album for different reasons now, but I can’t lie and say that nostalgia isn’t a big part of that. The album holds up extremely well, but this is one of those albums that has the power to take me back to when I was 13, and this album just came out. I have memories listening to this album in a Walkman in 8th grade, as iPods had just come out, or were starting to evolve, and I also kind of remember picking this up when it came out. Music used to come out on Tuesdays, and I didn’t get to go anywhere until Saturday, so I would always go to Target on Saturday, and pick out an album or two, then I’d spend that week listening to them, and only them, so that’s where my “rotation” comes from. I like to listen to a select handful of albums every week or two, at least until I get sick of them, but I remember picking this one up because I had sort of listened to Fall Out Boy before, and I saw that it came out, so I thought, “What the heck,” and the rest is history.

Fall Out Boy became my favorite band after hearing this, and they have the distinction of being my favorite band all of these years later, but it feels right. I’ve had other favorite bands throughout the years, but my music taste has changed, yet the one constant is Fall Out Boy, and that’s the big takeaway from my yearly celebration of this record. Even as I get older, and this record gets older, I still love it, especially as my taste has changed over the years. This is a record that I still love, 17 years later, and I still find reasons to love it even now. I’m gonna play this record today in honor of its birthday, and hopefully you do, too.

[honeyhotteoks]

chai!!! i’ve been meaning to praise your work but you know… ✨life✨ and i’m a very forgetful person. however coma, i loved the husband series so much that yuyu has been moving up my bias list as of late and hwa is more of a cutie to me than usual. low-key soft hours all day everyday😭 this night together series it’s a pussy throb and a half but also awakens so many animalistic kinks of mine. truly an amazing portrayal of those. YOU👏🏾DID👏🏾THAT👏🏾 girl and i can’t wait for the next chapter. into the aurora series made me feel so many emotions um welp?! it definitely helped me seeing captain and maknae in a more sexual light cuz i can’t deliberately do so on my own. my mind won’t let me!! they’re just really cute. but yeo??? i loved the calmness and protectiveness he brought about to his relationship with mc. he touches a different side of my heart nowadays. mingi being super helpful and supportive of mc’s episodes is something i loved. i like to think he’s more confident of himself nowadays. especially after that one year hiatus he had. also it’s worth mentioning how well you portray our boys’ busy life. the way captain spends so much time in producing the music we all love makes my heart melt.

i’ll probably comeback with an ask but let me sort out my life first and hopefully you’re also available whenever i do come with a request. you’re killing it! and remember you’re always loved. take care and drink water everyone!!! mwah 😘

oh my gosh thank you so much for taking the time to come here and write all this?????????? you're so kind and i'm so glad you're loving the fics and it's making you see some of them in a diff way - to be honest writing them has made that happen for me too!

also ngl 'pussy throb and a half' is the best thing i've ever read and i'm genuinely dying laughing over here, thank you for that.

[musicarenagh]

The Creative Process of Richard Berger: Insights into 'Retrovert' Now I am really excited to introduce you Richard Berger an amazing artist based on LA. His latest album Retrovert is really a perfect piece of work – the combination of deep and inspiring lyrics, melodies on the guitar, spacey synths, and fat grooves is great, and it just makes you want to bob your head to the beat. Songs like “Another One” and “Ignore Me” are simply those songs that would make your ears happy. Richard, especially, has this funky rhythmic flair and quite expressive melodic sensibilities with synthesizer-driven emotive quality. There are sounds lifting from the classic songs of The Beatles and the psychedelic indie sounds from Tame Impala. But he makes the sound completely his own – nostalgic but modern at the same time. Even more impressive is the fact that Richard is a completely self-produced musician who also has a day job and works as a researcher at one of the largest film studios in Hollywood. Oh well, what can I say, they are the original multi-taskers; talk about wearing many hats!But his passion for music remains as passionate as before. I was able to have a brief interview with Richard on how he comes up with ideas, his sources of inspiration, and his experiences as an indie artist. I asked him everything I wanted to know, and I am excited to share the conversation with everyone. Prepare yourself for the musical odyssey of Richard Berger with these magic songs! Listen to Retrovert below https://open.spotify.com/album/1H9UnKG4IhyaMcojDPItI2?si=ACddhdOMS5i5Syr1urCDQg Follow Richard Berger on Spotify Soundcloud Bandcamp Youtube Instagram What is your stage name No stage name - Richard Berger is my real name. Is there a story behind your stage name? No stage name Where do you find inspiration? So many different places - hard to say just one thing - I generally just like to make time for myself on one of my keyboards and just play and tune into whatever comes. What was the role of music in the early years of your life? Music has been one of the most important things in my life ever since I can remember. My earliest memories are of the Beatles and Beach Boys - I could not get enough of their music. Then I discovered Steve Wonder, Steely Dan and Fleetwood Mac and so many I can’t name. Discovering new music and new artists is still to this day one of my favorite things to do. There is nothing quite of finding a new artist that blows you away. Are you from a musical or artistic family? Not really - my grandmother played piano but nobody in my immediate family plays an instrument. Who inspired you to be a part of the music industry? Funny - I don’t really feel like I am part of the music industry. I have been writing and recording music since I was a teenager, but my first official release was an EP back in 2018. And as an independent artist that self-distributes music, I don’t feel a connection to the “music industry” per se. I have met some great independent artists and I like the idea of being part of that community. How did you learn to sing/write/to play? I started playing piano as a young kid and took to it right away, but as young kids often do, I lost interest and rebelled against the more formal aspects of taking classical piano lessons. But I still loved playing around on the piano. And, when I bought my first synth in high school, everything changed for me. I just started writing my own songs. In college, I took some music theory and jazz classes which helped me understand what I was writing. When I started recording my songs, I would always find someone else to sing as I am not a natural singer. Over time, I started singing background vocals and eventually lead vocals on some songs. It is really only in the past 5 years that I have focused more on singing. I am always learning. [caption id="attachment_55634" align="alignnone" width="1080"] I started playing piano as a young kid and took to it right away, but as young

kids often do, I lost interest and rebelled against the more formal aspects of taking classical piano lessons.[/caption] What was the first concert that you ever went to and who did you see perform? The first concert I went to was Billy Joel when I was in high school. Thinking about it, you asked what inspires me….every time I see live music, I am inspired. How could you describe your music? I really have a hard time describing it because I tend to blend genres, so it really depends on the song. Also, I really prefer not to put my music in a box and let the listener decide for themselves. If pressed, I will describe it as melodic, introspective - retro vibes but with a fresh new take. Describe your creative process. It really just starts with making time to play and being open to what comes to me. I find myself playing some chord progressions that set a mood which inspires me to further express the way I am feeling. I almost always focus on developing melodies on top of the chord changes and then find the words that more or less fit the melody. But my process is really about the music first, lyrics second….but only in sequence, not in importance. What is your main inspiration? If you mean my main inspiration to make music - the answer is simple - I don’t have a choice. It is something I just have to do to be who I am. At times, it is the most pure way to express myself. What musician do you admire most and why? I could not possibly pick one. There are so many musicians I admire for various reasons. I would say Stevie Wonder’s music has played an important role for most of my life. Of the newer artists I admire, Kevin Parker has created some of my favorite music in recent years. Both of these artists write, play multiple instruments, and have incredible voices. There are so many others I could go on and on about. Did your style evolve since the beginning of your career? Yes - for sure. Even when I have gone back to revisit songs I have written years ago…the new version of it sounds very different from how it started when first conceived. I think my musical style has evolved due to a combination of personal growth and the ever-evolving access to new music and new artists that influence and inspire me. Who do you see as your main competitor? I don’t. This is not a competition. I love discovering other artists and I love making music. What are your interests outside of music? Spending time with my family and friends. I am also a huge cinephile. If it wasn't a music career, what would you be doing? That’s an easy one. Music is not my career. I run a R&D tech lab for the major motion picture studios. I suppose for now I am a just part-time artist. Maybe some day that will change. What is the biggest problem you have encountered in the journey of music? The biggest challenge for an independent artist like me is to find their audience. The good news is that it is far easier than ever before to get access to the tools you need to create really high fidelity music. That said, I read somewhere that there are over 40,000 songs uploaded to Spotify every day - and that is just one music service. So, how does an indie artist rise above all the “noise” and find their audience? Please let me know. https://open.spotify.com/artist/63h8Z4eF860KJ1M83WHiVu?si=Zgg1Zbw6Rb2JPGyHJhD5tg If you could change one thing in the music industry, what would it be? There is no silver bullet to fix the music industry. Any time you mix business with art, there are going to be challenges. I wish it was easier for indie artists to find their audience and for fans to find the new music they will love. I really do hope that people continue to appreciate and embrace new music and the connection they can make to the artist. I know I really appreciate people who listen to my music. Why did you choose this as the title of this project? “Retrovert” is the perfect name for this album. My definition is - A dreamer to say the least - someone who appreciates a past time or condition.

What are your plans for the coming months? I am putting a band together to play some shows here in Los Angeles. I am excited to play the album in front of a live audience. Do you have any artistic collaboration plans I am always open to collaboration with other artists. I have reached out to a couple people so we shall see…stay tuned. What message would you like to give to your fans? Thanks for listening. I hope you enjoy the music as much as I enjoyed creating it.

[girlreviews]

Review #390: Surfa Rosa, The Pixies

In honor of Steve Albini, who passed away this week at 61 and who produced an unbelievable amount of classic records… The Pixies’ Surfa Rosa is up. It’s just one of many he worked on.

I know I’ve whined about The Pixies in comparison to The Breeders, but I still adore them. Kim plays the bass on Pixies records, despite being a guitar player really. She learned the bass just to join The Pixies who were seeking a new player and she was the only one that applied. So there you go.

I love their shitty harmonizing. It’s so fun. I love their bizarre lyrics. They’re so fun. I love their loudness. It’s so fun. There’s plenty of Kim’s voice on this record which makes me happy.

Something Against You almost has a little ska vibe as it begins, and really takes me back to being like 14 or 15 and just going absolutely bananas at any loud raucous show that I could. I’m currently en route to a festival — having sworn I’d never attend one again after the debacle of Primavera 2022 where me and all of my friends nearly throw hands at each other because we were so tired and cranky (and old and sore) and they just didn’t have their shit together. Oversold and underprepared for so many attendees. Getting a drink of any kind was an ordeal. Anyhow, thoughts and prayers for me to keep my chill at Kilby Block Party.

When I started attending festivals, I was 14 and got day tickets to Reading Festival, which was still a fucking riot at the time. I was so lucky to have that on my doorstep for all of my teenage years and I saw so many amazing bands and unforgettable music moments, one which is particularly memorable to me, is The Pixies. Don’t ask me to remember what year it was, I don’t know, I just remember I was with that shitty boy. And I vividly remember them playing Broken Face and it just blowing my socks off. It’s remained my favorite ever since. I just really enjoy the weird lyrics, the noise, the squawking and the brevity. The Pixies are really good at that. I’ve never thought too much about the verses, but the most fun is the chorus which is just hooting and hollering of the following:

I got no lips, I got no tongue

Whatever I say is only spit

I got no lips, I got no tongue

I got a broken face

Uh-hu, uh-hu, uh-hu, uh-hu, ooo

I got a broken face

It’s energy has always just done something to me. It’s my exact shit. But why that is I can’t tell you. It’s just some primal way of being that I find relatable. Just making a huge discordant nonsensical noise.

Most of us (probably?) are familiar with Where Is My Mind? Which I would assume is their most well known song. For good reason, it’s amazing, but also it’s been covered by so many different bands and artists with completely different styles I imagine anyone who hasn’t heard the original has still probably heard it. Off the top of my head, covers include: Nada Surf, Placebo, even Miley Cyrus has done some kind of cover/mash up. That is by no means a full list. I tend to enjoy a good Where Is My Mind cover. It’s a hard song to mess up and sounds good with lots of different arrangements. Check them out.

We already know my feelings on the members of the band (see The Breeders, Last Splash). Musically, The Pixies are just such a good time. At least they were in the 90s. I confess I haven’t kept up with them because I find Frank Black to be so off-putting (there is a brief interlude where he is — apparently — “goofing around” and what that sounds like is him shouting very loudly at Kim in a way that I find unpleasant). I appreciate I just have a negative bias towards him. He reminds me of someone I truly despise. Even so, truly some of their songs are just grungy rock indie classics that if you aren’t familiar with you really should be. Interestingly, by producing Surfa Rosa for The Pixies, both Nirvana and PJ Harvey sought him out for their own records. What is interesting about that is that Albini hated the record, and took plenty of opportunities to trash both Surfa Rosa and The Pixies… Can’t help but wonder if he found Frank immensely off-putting too, because in a new pretty recent podcast, Albini is quoted praising Kim Deal, stating how much he respects her and her lo-fi analog aesthetic. I think he and I would have been buds, based on this assessment alone. He did eventually recant his hatred for Surfa Rosa, and this was a pattern for him anyway. He also thought In Utero by Nirvana sucked, only to come around to it later and appreciate its place in classic 90s records. I guess some people just don’t know how good they are.

Cactus receives a mention simply for the line “I miss your soup, and I miss your bread, a letter in your writing doesn’t mean you’re not dead”, what is that about? I have no idea but I love it. A lot.

I’ll finish with the fact that there’s a song about a guy named Tony, who is apparently a superhero (reasons unknown) and they really just chant TO!NY! A bunch of times. It’s a racket. Tony must be a pretty rad dude.

Anyway, one of many memorable and powerful records that Steve Albini put his hands on. I intend to do more of a deep dive on his work because it’s some really great shit and I imagine I have new songs to hear and entire albums to fall in love with. Surfa Rosa is just a big fat dose of high energy noise and crazy tempos on the drums. It’s not for everyone but it’s for sure for me.

ETA: it’s not in The Rolling Stone Top 500 list, which I think is a big miss, but while I’m on the subject of Steve Albini and his work, everyone, and I mean everyone, should listen to Magnolia Electric Co by Songs: Ohia. As fast as you possibly can. The production and recording is some of the best to ever be done, and the result is an entire album where you can simply hear and feel a young Jason Molina’s deep pain. He did not live much longer. You understand why when you hear this record.

[lindsaywesker]

Good morning! I hope you slept well and feel rested? Currently sitting at my desk, in my study, attired only in my blue towelling robe, enjoying my first cuppa of the day. Welcome to Throwback Thursday!

On this page, ‘Throwback Thursday’ is about memories. So, what do you remember? If I was to say the word SCHOOL, what immediately comes to mind?

For me, the first thing that comes to mind is my very first day at Highgate Wood Secondary Modern Comprehensive, at the bottom of Wolseley Road, Crouch End. I had gone through some kind of massive growth spurt, so I was literally more than a foot taller than most of the other kids. (They all caught up to me pretty soon after!) I was not a trousers, shirt and jacket kind of kid, more a T-shirt and jeans hippie type, so my school uniform looked baggy and untidy. All and all, I looked like an unkempt freak and I’m shocked that I was able to make any friends but, thankfully, there were lots of great kids in there and I had a good time. We moved from the annexe to the main building on Montenotte Road the year after and there I discovered teenage girls! (OMG!) As a 12-year-old boy, I was in Heaven (a.k.a. the beginning of the end.)

On this Throwback Thursday, what kind of memories does the word SCHOOL conjure up for you?

Although I was very happy with my phone call to BT yesterday, their ‘call waiting’ music was absolutely horrific! What was it? A selection of tracks from the top of the pop charts. As you know, commercial pop, commercial dance, commercial R&B and commercial rap all sound the same. Four TOTALLY different genres but hit-orientated record companies and hit-orientated radio stations force songwriters, artists and producers to follow whatever is popular. The end-result is as bland as lift music. Same drum sounds, same keyboard sounds, same song structure, some vocal sound. The days of iconic British songs such as ‘I’m Not In Love’ and ‘Bohemian Rhapsody’ are long gone. Because of this over-cautious A&R policy within record companies and at radio, we are left with both songs and acts that have no personality. In fact, most TikTok users don’t even know the name of the act they’re listening to (and don’t care), so this A&R policy of conformity makes launching a new act even harder. How are you going to launch a new act that has no character? Traditionally, British music has always been full of mavericks and colourful characters. Many probably view Lewis Capaldi and Adele as big, eccentric personalities but their music is very formulaic and MOR. (Makes you yearn for the days of Oasis vs. Blur!) Listen to ‘I Know What I Like’ by Genesis, ‘Stay With Me Till Dawn’ by Judie Tzuke or ‘Can’t Be Sure’ by The Sundays to hear what British pop music should sound like!

Have you ever noticed they are always digging up the road and always repairing pavements? Always! For some reason, they ALWAYS needs repairing! I suspect there are dodgy dealings between the council and local contractors. And don’t get me started on Scrubbs Lane, a very busy road connecting Shepherds Bush and Harlesden! I’ve seen remote country lanes that have a more even surface! The quality of the workmanship on these roads and pavements is little short of sh*t! You can see (and feel) how poor the work is when it rains and some paving stone comes loose and a big splash of water drowns your foot!

Have a throbbing and thrusting Thursday (with hopefully a few thrills through your thoroughfare?) I love you all.

[anitosoul]

My Favorite Albums of 2020, 50-41

50. Drake, Dark Lane Demo Tapes

Favorite Tracks: Deep Pockets | Chicago Freestyle | Pain 1993

I’ve done a full 360 on Drake: I loved his output through Views, felt lukewarm about More Life, and was fully disappointed in Scorpion. It was simply too easy for Drake to put out bloated records and know he would come out of it with at least two major hits. Early last year I found myself revisiting Nothing Was the Same (imo the best Drake album, sorry Take Care) and wondering if Drake would ever return to the level of quality of his older albums. Dark Lane Demo Tapes, despite being a collection of loosies and snippets, provides Drake’s most cohesive-sounding project since If You’re Reading This It’s Too Late. It’s wild to think that a 49-minute album could sound concise, but for Drake standards, it does: each song adds to the late night vibe that Drake popularized in the first place, taking me back to what I enjoyed so much about his earlier work. And so, with a random collection of demos, Drake has somehow reeled me back as a fan.

49. Fennec, Free Us of This Feeling

Favorite Tracks: Boy-U | Dreemin | Together

This album came out really early in the year, so I must have found it when I was going through a heavy dance/techno/house phase: I’m glad I did, though, because this album is wildly underrated. Utilizing sampling as instrumentation a la The Avalanches, Free Us Of This Feeling is a sonic collage, taking bits from TV shows, video games, movies, nature, and other music (there’s even a sample from The Bachelorette tucked away in the album). The project is still very much a dance album, with my favorite song, “Boy-U,” featuring a bouncy looped sample that I couldn’t get out of my head for days. This is the first album of many where I’ll mention something about hoping to eventually vibe to this album in a Brooklyn club once COVID is over, but yeah, I can’t wait to vibe to this album in a Brooklyn club once COVID is over.

48. Mac Miller, Circles

Favorite Tracks: Blue World | That’s On Me | Circles

Posthumous albums are always tough, but Circles is an emotional last work from the late rapper Mac Miller. His death was the first that really hit me both in terms of its unexpectedness and because I got into hip-hop around Mac Miller’s era. Circles is a beautiful album stripped down even further from 2019’s Swimming: it provides an empathetic look into the mind of someone trying their best while dealing with depression and anxiety. It’s powerfully touching and at times difficult to listen to due to the circumstances of his death, but given the growing number of people struggling with mental health in the same way Mac did, Circles’ impact is immeasurable.

47. Joji, Nectar

Favorite Tracks: Run | Gimme Love | Reanimator

For some reason I feel like I have to defend my enjoyment of Joji, but I unironically love his music. “SLOW DANCING IN THE DARK” was one of my favorite songs of 2018 and he captures a vibey sadboy angst that I’ve definitely related to in the past. There’s probably some analysis to be had of Asian kids who came up on YouTube post-punk AMVs and whose only contemporary Asian celebrities came in the form of YouTube comedians (anyone remember nigahiga?) growing up to become Joji stans, but I won’t get into it. With Nectar, Joji has evolved musically, working with major producers like Clams Casino and Diplo and guests like Yves Tumor. He sounds genuine on this album, which features more complex lyricism and an expanded vocal range. While some of the songs are forgettable, it’s still a strong release that gets me excited for the sadboy anthems he has in store.

46. Dogleg, Melee

Favorite Tracks: Fox | Wrist | Headfirst

There’s probably not a timeline where I wouldn’t love this album given all of the references to Super Smash Bros. and classic Nintendo games. This album’s hardcore sound works extremely well, delivering a dose of high-octane rock fuel in a mostly played out genre: the tracks sound like a fresh mix of bands like At The Drive In, Deafheaven, and The Strokes. I can imagine any of the songs on the album serving as the next big anime’s opening credits theme, a place where I’m sure Dogleg would feel right at home.

45. Westside Gunn, Pray for Paris

Favorite Tracks: 327 | Allah Sent Me | George Bondo

Griselda, the rap group that defines themselves on grimy east coast bars that are (weirdly) a radical departure from the currently popular hip-hop today, has captured me since 2018 when I first heard Benny the Butcher’s project The Plugs I Met. With Pray for Paris, Westside Gunn released one of the sharpest iterations of the Griselda sound, infusing braggadocious opulence with his devilish raps (the cover art is also badass). One of my favorite moments on the album is how surprisingly well the Tyler, the Creator feature works on “327,” an admittedly softer side of hip-hop (at least in Tyler’s current form) that I would have never expected to sound so good in Griselda territory.

44. Don Toliver, Heaven or Hell

Favorite Tracks: After Party | No Idea | Cardigan

I remember first hearing ASTROWORLD’s “CAN’T SAY,” thinking it was Young Thug doing another weird voice thing. Since discovering it was an up-and-coming Houston rapper Don Toliver, I’ve really enjoyed his music and unique trap-singing voice. His early mixtapes became a mainstay of my late-night drunken train rides back to my apartment. It may not be revolutionary, but Heaven and Hell is a worthy debut from Don Toliver, leaning further into the sing-rapping that’s captured the hip-hop zeitgeist and providing woozy hip-hop that’s a fitting companion for both the pre-game bottle and afterparty blunt.

43. Run the Jewels, RTJ4

Favorite Tracks: walking in the snow | out of sight | JU$T

RTJ4’s politically and racially-charged catharsis was well-needed in 2020, the year when the Trump era reached new peaks of absurdity and fatal racism boiled over into global protests during an international pandemic. Killer Mike and El-P sound as sharp as ever, incisively pointing out the injustices of society with their signature whimsical irony (probably resulting from their Adult Swim origin story). The features are all great, including returning guest Rage Against the Machine-frontman Zack De La Rocha and Josh Homme of Queens of the Stone Age (which reminded me of how much I used to listen to them back in 2013). Protest music hasn’t sounded this good since Rage’s The Battle for Los Angeles.

42. Róisín Murphy, Róisín Machine

Favorite Tracks: Narcissus | Murphy’s Law | Kingdom of Ends

This is a must-listen for anyone who has ever in their life enjoyed dancing, even a little. The dancepop legend Róisín Murphy has released an hour-long mix of club euphoria that will instantly transport you to better times; I’m inclined to believe that Murphy actually is some sort of disco machine after releasing this album. It’s usually difficult for me to get really taken by music like this unless I’m sweating to it in a warehouse surrounded by other bodies, but Murphy’s ear for addictive grooves is too hard to ignore. It probably helps that my favorite track “Narcissus” sounds right at home on the acid jazz soundtrack of Persona 5 Royal, a video game I spent hundreds of hours playing over quarantine. This is yet another album that I’m impatiently waiting to experience on a dancefloor, an aspirational lighthouse for a post-COVID world.

41. Loma, Don’t Shy Away

Favorite Tracks: Thorn | Octotillo | Half Silences

I had never heard of Loma before, but found their album Don’t Shy Away through an r/indieheads post. I gave it a cursory listen and was immersed by its atmospheric gloom. The abstract darkness of the album was evocative of the rose in Beauty & the Beast or Maleficent speaking to the magic mirror, whimsical and murky at the same time. The band’s inverted take on indie rock, dark electronic, and even some elements of trip-hop were enough to garner the attention of ambient electronic legend Brian Eno, who’s featured on the final track “Homing.” The whole album is bathed in moonlight, a natural progression for fans of Radiohead’s darker, more downtempo songs. It even served as a big inspiration for a mixtape I curated inspired by the deep introspection that the nighttime brings, which I’ve included below:

[c-is-for-circinate]

For a long, large part of my life, being queer in a media landscape--finding queerness in a media landscape--has meant theft.

I'm a Fandom Old, somehow, these days, older than most and younger than some, in that way that's grown associated with grumpy crotchetyness and shotguns on porches and back in my day, we had to wade through our Yahoo Groups mailing lists uphill both ways, boring and irrelevant anecdotes from Back In Those Days when homophobia clearly worked differently than it does now, probably because we weren't trying hard enough. I've seen a lot of stories through the years. I've read a lot of fanfic. (More days than not, for the past twenty years. I've read a lot of fanfic.)

When people my age start groaning and sighing at conversations about representation and queerbaiting, when we roll our eyes and drag all the old war stories out again in the face of AO3 is terrible and Not Good Enough, so often what we say is: you Young Folks Today have no idea how hard, how scary, how limiting it was to be queer anywhere Back In Those Days. Including online, maybe especially online, including in a media landscape that hated us so much more than any one you've ever known. And that is true. Always and everywhere, again and again, it's true, we remember, it's true.

We don't talk so much about the joy of it.

Online fan spaces were my very first queer communities, ever. I was thirteen, I was fourteen, I was fifteen--I was a lonely, over-precocious "gifted kid" two years too young for my grade level in an all-girls' Catholic school in the suburbs--I lived in a world where gay people were a rumor and an insult and a news story about murder. I was straight, of course, obviously, because real people were straight and anyway I was weird enough already--I couldn't be two things strange, couldn't be gay too, but--well, I could read the stories. I could feel things about that. I would have those stories to help me, a few years later, when I knew I couldn't call myself straight any more.

And those stories were theft. There was never any doubt about that. We wrote disclaimers at the top of every fic, with the specter of Anne Rice's lawyers around every corner. We hid in back-corners of the internet, places you could only find through a link from a link from a link on somebody else's recs page, being grateful for the tiny single-fandom archives when you found them, grateful for the webrings where they existed. It was theft, all of it, the stories about characters we did not own, the videotaped episodes on your best friend's VHS player, one single episode pulled off of Limewire over the course of three days.

It was theft, we knew, to even try and find ourselves in these stories to begin with. How many fics did I read in those days about two men who'd always been straight, except for each other, in this one case, when love was stronger than sexual orientation? We stole our characters away from the heterosexual lives they were destined to have. We stole them away from writers and producers and TV networks who work overtime to shower them in Babes of the Week, to pretend that queerness was never even an option. This wasn't given to us. This wasn't meant for us. This wasn't ours to have, ever, ever in the first place. But we took it anyway.

And oh, my friends, it was glorious.

We took it. We stole. And again and again, for years and years and years, we turned that theft into an art. We looked for every opening, every crack in every sidewalk where a little sprout of queerness might grow, and we claimed it for our own and we grew whole gardens. We grew so sly and so skilled with it, learning to spot the hints of oh, this could be slashy in every new show and movie to come our way. Do you see how they left these character dynamics here, unattended on the table? How ripe they are for the pocketing. Here, I'll help you carry them. We'll make off with these so-called straight boys, and we only have to look back if somebody sets out another scene we want for our own.

We were thieves, all of us, and that was fine and that was fair, because to exist as queer in the world was theft to begin with. Stolen time, stolen moments--grand larceny of the institution of marriage, breaking and entering to rob my mother's hopes for grandchildren. Every shoplifted glance at the wrong person in the locker room (and it didn't matter if we never peeked, never dared, they called us out on it anyway). Every character in every fic whose queerness became a crime against this ex-wife, that new love interest. Every time we dared steal ourselves away from the good straight partners we didn't want to date.

And: we built ourselves a den, we thieves, wallpapered in stolen images and filled to the brim with all the words we'd written ourselves. We built ourselves a home, and we filled it with joy. Every vid and art and fic, every ship, every squee. Over and over, every straight boy protagonist who abandoned all womankind for just this one exception with his straight boy protagonist partner found gay orgasms and true love at the end.

Over and over, we said: this isn't ours, this isn't meant to be ours, you did not give this to us--but we are taking it anyway. We will burglarize you for building blocks and build ourselves a palace. These stories and this place in the world is not for us, but we exist, and you can't stop us. It's ours now, full of color and noise, a thousand peoples' ideas mosaic'ed together in celebration. We made this, and it will never be just yours again. You won't ever truly get it back, no matter how many lawyers you send, not completely. We keep what we steal.

.

Things shifted over time, of course. That's good. That's to be celebrated. Nobody should have to steal to survive. It should not be a crime, should not feel like a crime, to find yourself and your space in the world.

There were always content creators who could slip a little wink in when they laid out their wares, oh what's this over here, silly me leaving this unattended where anybody could grab it, of course there might be more over by the side door if you come around the alleyway (but if anybody asks, you didn't get this from ME). We all watched Xena marry Gabrielle, in body language and between the lines. We sat around and traded theories and rumors about whether the people writing Due South knew what they were doing when they sent their buddy cops off into the frozen north alone together at the end of the show, if they'd done it on purpose, if they knew. But over the years, slowly, thankfully, the winks became less sly.

A teenage boy put his hand on another teenage boy's hand and said, you move me, and they kissed on network TV, in a prime-time show, on FOX, and the world didn't burn down. Here and there, where they wanted to, where they could without getting caught by their bosses and managers, content creators stopped subtly nudging people around the back door and started saying, "Here. This is on offer here too, on purpose. You get to have this, too."

And of course, of course that came with a whole host of problems too. Slide around to the back door but you didn't get this from me turned into it's an item on our special menu, totally legit, you've just got to ask because the boss throws a fit if we put it out front. Shopkeepers and content creators started advertising on the sly, come buy your fix here!, hiding the fine print that says you still have to take what you've purchased home and rebuild it with your semi-legal IKEA hacks. Maybe they'll consider listing that Destiel or Sterek as a full-service menu item next year. Is that Crowley/Aziraphale the real thing or is it lite?

And those problems are real and the conversations are worth having, and it's absolutely fair to be frustrated that you can't find the ship you want on sale in anything like your color and size in a vast media landscape packed full of discount hetships and fast-fashion m/f. It's fair to be angry. It's fair to be frustrated. Queerbait is a word that exists for a reason.

There's a part of me that hurts, though, every time the topic comes up. It's a confusing, bad-mannered part of me, but it's still very real. And it's not because I'm fawning for crumbs, trying to be the Good, Non-Threatening Gay. It's not that I'm scared and traumatized by the thought of what might happen if we dare raise our voices and ask for attention. (Well. Not mostly. I'll always remember being quiet and scared and fifteen, but it's been a long two decades since then. I know how to ask for a hell of a lot more now.)

It's because I remember that cozy, plush-wallpapered den of joyful thieves. I remember you keep what you steal.

Every single time--every time--when a story I love sets a couple of characters out on a low, unguarded table, perfectly placed to be pilfered on the sly and taken home and smushed together like a couple of dolls, my very first thought is always, always joy. Always, that instinct says, yay! Says, this is ours now. As soon as I go home and crawl into that pillow-fort den, my instincts say, I will surely find people already at work combing through spoils and finding new ways to combine them, new ways to make them our own. I know there's fic for that. I've already seen fic for that, and I wasn't really interested last time, but the new store display's got my brain churning, and I can't wait to see what the crew back at the hideout does with this.

Every time, that's where my brain goes. And oh, when I realize the display's put out on purpose, that somebody snuck in a legitimate special menu item, when the proprietor gives me the nod and wink and says, you don't have to come around the side, I know it's not much but here--there is so much joy and relief and hope in me from that! Oh, what we can make with these beautiful building blocks. Oh what a story we can craft from the pieces. Oh, the things we can cobble together. Look at that, this one's a little skimpy on parts but we can supplement it, this one's got a whole outline we can fill in however we want. This one technically comes semi-preassembled, and that's boring as shit and a pain to take back apart, but that's fine, we'll manage. We're artists and thieves. I bet someone's pulling out the AU saw to cut it to pieces already.

And then I get back to our den, which has moved addresses a dozen times over the years and mostly hangs out on Tumblr now (and the roof leaks and the landlord's sketchy as fuck but at least they don't charge rent, and we've made worse places our own). And I show up, ready for joy--ready for a dozen other people who saw that low-hanging fruit on that unguarded table, who got the nod and wink about the special menu item, who're ready to get so excited about this newest haul. Did you see what we picked up? The theft was so easy, practically begging to be stolen. The last owner was an idiot with no idea what to do with it. The last owner knew exactly what it could become, bless their heart, under a craftsman with more time on their hands, so they looked away on purpose at just the right time to let me take it home. I show up every time ready for our space, the place that fed me on joy and self-confidence when I was fifteen and starving. The place that taught me, yes, we are thieves, because it is RIGHT to take what we need, and the beautiful things we create are their own justification. We are thieves, and that's wonderful, because nothing is handed to us and that means we get to build our own palaces. We get to keep everything we steal.

I go home, and even knowing the world is different, my instincts and heart are waiting for that. And I walk in the door, and I look at my dash, and I glance over at twitter, and--

And people are angry, again. Angry at the slim pickings from the hidden special menu. So, so tired and angry, at once again having to steal.

And they're right to be! Sometimes (often, maybe) I think they're angry at the wrong people--more angry with the shopkeeper who offers the bite-sized sampler platter of side characters or sneaks their queer content in on the special menu than the ones who don't include it at all. But it's not wrong to be mad that Disney's once again advertising their First Gay Character only to find out it's a tiny sprinkle of a one-line extra on an otherwise straight sundae. It's not wrong to be furious at the world because you've spent your whole life needing to be a thief to survive. It's far from wrong. I'm angry about it too.

But this was my den of thieves, my chop shop, my makerspace. Growing up in fandom, I learned to pick the locks on stories and crack the safes of subtext at the very same time I learned to create. They were the same thing, the same art. We are thieves, my heart says, we are thieves, and that's what makes us better than the people we steal from. We deconstruct every time we create. We build better things out of the pieces.

And people are angry that the pre-fab materials are too hard to find, the pickings too slim, the items on sale too limited? Yes, of course they are, of course they should be--but my heart. Oh, my heart. Every single time, just a little bit, it breaks.

Of course the stories are terrible (they have always been terrible). Of course they are, but we are thieves. We steal the best parts and cobble them back together and what we make is better than it was before. The craftsman's eye that cases a story for weak points, for blank spaces, for anywhere we can fit a crowbar and pry apart this casing--that's skill and art and joy. Of course we shouldn't have to, of course we shouldn't have to, but I still love it. I still want it, crave it. I still thrill every time I see it, a story with hairline cracks that we can work open with clever hands to let the queer in.

That used to be cause for celebration, around here. I ask him to go back to the ruins of Aeor with me, two men together alone on an expedition in the frozen north, it feels like a gift. And I understand why some people take it as an insult. I understand not good enough. I understand how something can feel like a few drops of water to someone dying of thirst, like a slap in the face. If it was so easy to sneak it hidden onto the special menu, to place it on the unguarded side table for someone else to run off to, why not let it sit out front and center in the first place? I know it's frustrating. It should be. We should fight. We should always fight. I know why.

But my heart, oh, my heart. My heart only knows what it's been taught. My heart sees, this thing right here, the proprietor left it there for you with a nod and a wink because they Get It. It's not put together yet, but it's better that way anyway. It's so full of pieces to pull apart and reassemble. I bet they've got a whole mosaic wall going up at home already. We can bring it home and make it OURS, more than it was ever theirs, forget half of what it came from and grow a new garden in what remains.

And I go home to find anger, and my heart breaks instead.

[mingiswow]

Boyfriend!Hongjoong

⚠️ english is not my first language, so sorry if there's any mistake

ok my boy my man hongjoong

he gets whipped easily i’m telling yall

doesn’t want to admit it but believes in love at first sight

you started to work at a record studio as an intern

you loved seeing the producers work their magic and wish to be as good as them one day

one day hongjoong went with Mingi to meet with Eden, Maddox and some of the other producers to work on their new album

“yn what do you think of this beat” 

you honestly got shocked to hear Eden ask for your opinion but gave your thoughts about it anyway

hongjoong got instantly interested in you 

not only because you caught his eyes while sitting in the corner taking notes of everything you thought it was useful looking so angelic and concentrated ever since he stepped in the studio

but because you seemed to understand a lot about producing

to him, it was as hard to ask you out as it was easy for him to catch feelings

when he finally took the courage he was madly in love with you after seeing you almost every day at the studio

“you need to ask them out already”

“even they can see you like ‘em”

so he did - with his stomach almost coming out of his body from anxiety - and he was glad he did

you guys got along easily 

being similar in so many aspects

and soon enough were finally dating

I feel like he is such a sweet and fun boyfriend

if you are younger than him he’ll feel almost the instinctual need to protect you even with you saying that you don’t need that

but if you are older (even if it is for a few months) he’ll just let you baby him endlessly

he loves being himself with you and the idea of having someone to take care of him and protect him and take all the weight of being a leader off his shoulders is so inviting

talking about that

idkw but I feel like he is more into older people 

but as long you both are legal adults and consent to this, he doesn’t pay much attention

but again I feel he likes mature people

he’s so used to being around the boys and their silliness all the time that he needs some maturity in his life to balance out

bonus point if you can be cute and mature at the same time

he has a weak spot for cuteness

so every time you act cute around him he just wants to smother you in kisses 

he was definitely the first one to say ‘I love you'

pretty casual but he really meant it 

like everything he says to you

he is a pretty serious person when it comes to relationships and commitment

he knows that his life is pretty busy and not normal so when he finds someone that is willing to handle all this madness with him he just wants to tie the knots already

“calm down, Joong, we’ve been dating for 6 months only”

has a bunch of different pet names for you

but loves calling you baby, baby cheek (or baby chicken sometimes), and darling

clingy clingy clingy

he’s def not into pda

but when you guys are alone he’s all over you

hugging, cuddling, kissing, caressing your skin

his kisses

boy oh boy 

his kisses are soft, caring, velvety, loving

you can taste all the love he feels in his kisses

he doesn’t rush at all

he likes to take his time tasting you

holds you by your back pocket with his right hand as the left one holds your face

sometimes holds your face between both of his hands gently to make sure you won’t run away

he is a gentle lover

everything about him is gentle

the way he talks to you, the way he kisses you, hugs you, hold you close after you woke up from a bad dream

a sucker for the sensation of waking up by your side in the morning, the heat of your body feeling like home

NSFW from here on ⇉ minors dni ⇇

now if we’re talking body 🎶

he loves your body wholly

the first taste and he can’t get enough

remember the gentle lover? he still is one in bed

well… most of the time 😏

we need to talk about how this man is probably the most gentlemanly out of the gentlemen

he is so sweet and adoring

worshiping you in the holiest and sinful ways at the same time

if you are inexperienced, he’ll be so caring and gentle and making sure you are uncomfortable with anything

ok I have a pretty vivid scene in my mind so bear with me

you never gave head to anyone right? so you ask him to teach and guide

and our sweet little boy Hongjoong got so honored - and also turned on - with the idea of it

so he guides you sweetly, his voice lower and softer

almost like he had velvet for a tongue

feeling overwhelmed by the experience and the idea of corrupting you

yes, our leader has a corruption kink I don’t make the rules

always praising you in between the commands

“oh yes right there baby”

“you’re so good for me baby, letting me teach you how to suck me”

“you have such a sweet sweet mouth keep going like that”

will definitely try to teach you how to deepthroat after a few more sessions

so yeah I had to get that out of my chest

moving on

he usually likes making love to you

holding you in his arms while pounding into you at a very slow pace

likes slow and deep

loves the feeling of your walls around his member

squeezing and torturing him even further but always letting him know how close you are

a big fan of positions where he can see your face

missionary, cowgirl, face-off, you name it

also really into mirror sex

he just really loves seeing your fucked out expression

it feeds his ego knowing it was him

not really into dirty talking but loves praising you and saying love promises in your ear

“you’re so gorgeous like that my darling”

“so good to me, taking me so well”

“just a little longer baby, I want you to come with me”

“i’m gonna have you full of my babies so we can start a family”

has a breeding kink 

again, I don’t make the rules

loves lazy sex in the morning

just the two of you hugging each other close while he fucks you

but like our lord and savior, Hannah Montana once said: everybody has those days

and those are the days that Hongjoong lets his inner beast out and fucks you like there’s no tomorrow

fast, raw, rough

he just wants to fuck you full of him and make you scream his name

lowkey probably will ask you to call him sir 

will have your legs sore by the next day

which he’ll apologize by slowly eating you out and murmuring apologies and praises between your legs

and I almost forgot about that

but he’s a big fan of eating you out

going down between your legs like he’s a starving man

you are his favorite taste in the world

going down on you is his way of apologizing, to show love and admiration, to get his head out of work after a stressful day, to greet you after weeks away from each other after tour

overall: I’m a huge fan of soft lover hongjoong and I think he’ll be a great boyfriend and now I’m sad I’m alone

bye

Masterlist

requests are open

[blainesglassesfelloffagain]

Kind eyes

Joseph Quinn x reader fluff

Request: Can I request a fluffy Joseph Quinn x fem. reader oneshot where reader wakes up and hears giggling and finds Joseph with their two little girls playing dolls with them and reader melts at the sight of them and gushes over how much of a daddy’s girl they are and as she’s watching her family, reader remembers how it all started when she took her niece to meet Joseph at a Comic Con and it was love at first sight?

I hope this is long enough and fluffy enough:)

———————————————————

The blankets around my body were the first thing I felt when I woke up, next was the warmth from the window across the room. I was alone in bed, I knew that for a fact considering there weren’t arms wrapped protectively around my waist. Giggles seemed to make my ears perk, my littles were giggling in their room and I wanted to see what it was about.

Sitting up, I pulled my robe from off the floor and wrapped it around my body and secured it before tiptoeing down the hall. Joseph was sitting on the floor showered and dressed, telling a story I supposed to our children. His eyes were wide and glowing in pure admiration for the little smiles and childish amusement he was able to produce from them. I couldn’t help but laugh adoringly at the sight. His eyes flickered to me before going back to the girls, floods of déjà vu spread through my mind as I remember the day we met.

It was like every other day, except this day I was anxiously playing with the small gold rings that covered all my fingers. My niece, who was bouncing in place beside me, kept babbling on about the actor we were in line to get pictures with. Some guy from a show on Netflix, strange something or another. I’d never seen it but supposedly this guy played a long haired metal head who had issues with a bully who tried to kill him? Something like that. It’s hard to understand her when she’s speaking miles a minute, I do admit it’s nice to see her so excited about something again. Joseph, who I assumed was the guy we were in line for, wasn’t a main cast member in the show. He was someone who was in the wrong place at the wrong time and saw something that no one should ever witness. I wonder why her parents allowed her to watch this show in the first place but I have no control over it.

By the time we reached the front of the line my feet hurt and surprisingly my niece hadn’t lost her bounciness, just as excited as she was the day I surprised her with tickets and that morning when she woke up. Joseph was kind, it was in his eyes too- the kindness I mean. He took his time to ask for her name, to hear about her excitement and even ask of my name. Then to add to it he complimented me and asked me to be in the photo. It all caught me off guard but then I remembered, my niece told me he caught newly founded fame from his role. He never had this kind of attention before even though he had been in more movies, and even though he had taken so many pictures with others before us. He never once seemed to be bored of it. Tired? Yes, but never bored.

After the picture I asked if he was staying in town and once he had confirmed, the people at the con told us to move along. Harshly may I add.

6 years later, here I am, In London. Married to Joseph. 2 girls and a boy on the way, although he doesn’t know that yet. I can never forget the day I met him, the way his eyes lit up every single time he sees a fan. The way he looked at my niece when she told him how much he inspired her to be herself, and how he looked at me when he finally met my eyes. He still looks at me like that, no matter where we are he will glance over and stare at me with that look until my cheeks are as pink as his lips.

His eyes met mine as I come back from my thoughts, as I’m about to go shower he whispers to the girls. As if he knows I’m about to leave, he smirks and the girls get up. They run to me screaming words I can’t make out as they crash into me and knock me to the ground gently, Joseph joins in and they all tickle me until my chest hurts. I keep screaming no and that fuels them more to keep tickling me. “Attack daddy now!” Is all I can get out and that causes fear to rise onto his eyes, the girls turn to him with giant smiles as they jump onto him and start tickling him. It gives me enough time to run to my bathroom and lock the door for my shower time. As I’m washing my hair all I can do is smile as I think about how lucky I am, I married the best man and father I will ever know and had the smartest and kindest kids ever.

Sorry if there are any misspellings, I kinda wrote this in notes before here because I didn’t know how to start it. Requests are pinned to my page and feel free to request anything! I also do longer fics (more than 1 page) if asked.

Request by @borhapgirlforlife19

[father-time-and-baby-new-year]

happy 200! i’m so glad to see your blog grow, it’s one of my favorites and i adore all your writing. i’ve never cried so much and i love the kind of unsettling feeling you write in your fics, it’s perfect in the category of yandere and dark content. in particular, i loved your drabble about shigaraki mourning over a dead reader and i’ve reread that one too many times to count haha! as for asks for headcannons and drabbles, it would be amazing to see that with bully!eren especially since he was such an awful person to the reader. i’d love to see him suffer honestly, but if you don’t want to write it, that’s completely fine! once again, i’m so proud of you for hitting 200! that’s such a huge milestone and hopefully, there will be many more in the future! :)

SYNOPSIS: bully!Eren has to navigate the world without you.

Pairing: Bully!Eren x Fem!Reader

A/N: I can't even explain in words how much I CHEESED at this message like my grin was ear to ear. can't explain how many times I read this. It singlehandedly made my day anon, and to repay you for my happiness....here is some angst. this is a slightly different route than the shiggy one but I hope it still suits you <3

TW: mentions of death, past dubcon/noncon, mentions of trauma, bullying, alcohol addiction, drunk driving, abusive behavior, revenge porn, nonconsensual photography/videography, mentions of infidelity, angst, so much of angst, violent behavior

WC: 2.5k

It's not like Eren had been doing a lot of soul-searching. He's not delusional enough to label his half-assed epiphany of "maybe I'm a shitty person" as soul searching.

It's just the conversation with his very sick mother burned holes through the back of his mind. Carla had asked about you and why you don't come by the house anymore. How she missed baking with you in the kitchen, and how you sweetly smiled whenever you would see soft creamy peaks form in the meringue.

Eren felt like he was swallowing needles as he assured his mother with false truths, that nothing was going on and distance between childhood friends is natural, and if it means so much--ok ok he'll bring you over.

He stays until he sees her chest slowly rising and falling into a gentle asleep. He touches the tip of his ears, unsurprised by how hot it was.

Eren, when you tell a lie, the tips of your ears turn red.

You're not at school the next day. Or the day after that. Or the day after that.

Guilt is not an emotion he feels often but the events of the past weekend replay in his mind. It was just a dumb party that Floch threw, and he was surprised to find you cornered by a trio of thee dunderheads. Like a distorted fairytale, he swept you away from the bad guys like a knight in shining armor, to only shove you in an empty room and demand compensation for playing hero.

Fuck, with that big mouth, you would think that you'd know how to suck cock.

Use your tongue stupid slut. If you use teeth, I'll shove this dick in your ass without any prep.

No, I don't care, you're taking all of it.

There's a video on his camera roll. How could he not record it? You're sobbing, mascara running down your cheeks, looking so beautiful and ruined with jizz smeared at the corner of your mouth. He was brutally fucking your mouth, making you take all of his length.

Breathe through your nose dumb whore. Or else you're gonna run out of air.

You were pleading with whatever garbled sounds you were constricted into producing.

Breathe through your fucking nose. This is for your sake. Otherwise, I don't mind face fucking your lifeless body. You'd be more useful that way anyways.

Eren is conflicted with muting the video because he can't stand to hear himself like that. But he didn't want to miss out on your pitiful whines.

He remembers the distraught expression on your face when he was finally done with you. He tucked himself inside, and sneered, "I've got a girl coming here. Get lost." You looked so fucking distraught. Why? All he did was make you suck his dick. He didn't even fuck you.

He should have. Eren thinks grimly when he stares at your empty desk on the first day you didn't show up to school. He's gotten off to the video more than enough times than he can count over the weekend, and he was aching to see your pretty face twisted into a terrorized expression when he flipped up your skirt to grope your ass.

Kindly, Eren decides he'd allow you to have a rest day. But the second day, Eren pays a visit to your house finding it dark and locked, like no one was home and hadn't been there for a while.

On the third day, you're declared missing.

Your incompetent workaholic mother who finally came home and decided to give a damn reported you missing to the authorities who had scratched their heads because as far as they knew, the pivotal 72 hours were up.

Paradis was surrounded by forests. No one wanted to say it, but they were all thinking it. If you got lost in there, chances are you wouldn't make it out.

Eren wasn't always this admired and fawned over. He had his fair share of behavioral issues that frightened people (not you though, not then at least, not when you were children, and you still came back every day to play).

But when he channeled that anger into sports, there was somewhat of a star in the making, especially for some small-town boy. He was becoming extremely popular, and that's nice and all, but at the end of the day, he has a mother whose health was taking a sharp decline. He was constantly under stress, stress that he took out on you.

Where did his favorite stress-ball go?

It's all fucking surreal. Having detectives in the school. Not that there were many students to question (because christ, did you even have any friends after Eren turned everyone against you?).

Eren was questioned. He can't help but mirthfully chuckle. Maybe this was your grand plan, maybe you were able to finally sort out a mountain of evidence against him. If you were going to fuck him over, didn't you want to see it happen with your own two eyes?

The dark-haired boy wishes that was true. If you had gotten your revenge, would you be here? No, revenge isn't the right word. If you got any justice for what he made you suffer, would you come back?

Hi, I'm Detective Hange. I would like to ask you some questions today. You're Eren Yeager, right?

Yes, that's me.

How do you know ___?

We were childhood friends. We're uh, we're not as close anymore.

When was the last time you saw her?

Friday night at Floch's party-

-Floch Forster right? There were a number of kids there from your school.

Yeah. It was a big party. She uh, doesn't usually come to parties but she was there that night.

You were the last person to be seen with her. Other kids have said that they saw you and her entering a room together, and then only her leaving the said room.

[Sigh] Yeah we sorta...hooked up.

I thought you said you guys weren't close anymore.

You can be not close to someone and still hook up with them.

But you guys were close once right?

Yeah. Once.

The dark-haired boy asks if he was under any suspicion. The detective waves their hand in a dismissive gesture, “If her diary tells us anything, it’s only that she really liked you.”

Were detectives even allowed to divulge that sort of information? Eren doesn’t know but the stray detail that they offered off-handedly made him feel like he was swallowing needles.

At that point, Eren honestly still doesn't believe you're gone. You had a habit of running away, even when you were little kids, but you always came back.

Still, he participates in the search parties with a renewed vigor, even going alone in the forest with a flashlight on most nights.

And he's just so fucking tired. The darkest crevice of his mind almost wishes you were dead because this ignorance was just agony. Almost. Because he still clings to the feeling that one day, he’ll stroll into class and find you in your seat in the back of the class, looking out the window like some cliche shojo manga protagonist.

There are folders and folders on his phone. Albums. The most recent one is dedicated to your crying face as you were choking on his dick. Earlier albums are composed of creepshots of your panties, of that obscene o-face, of your skirt flipped up and your ass cheeks, pictures of your cleavage, videos of you thrashing as he dunked your head into toilets like a villainous middle school bully.

Pictures of your neck covered in hickeys, your naked breasts, ass cheeks striped with red after getting spanked, your leaking cunt, just endless and endless media dedicated to pieces and pieces of your body like you were never a whole person.

The earliest ones though tell a different tale, from off-guards to your drooling face as you napped in the middle of the day.

He has a favorite picture. Your eyes are watery from the cold, snowflakes stuck between lashes, nose and cheeks flushed red, and you're smiling. Smiling right to the camera. Right at him.

"Eren, are you taking a picture?" You asked, bouncing in place, giddy that it was finally snowing.

"Not of you, shut up. Get out of the way." His voice is gruff but not harsh.

You laughed and jumped into frame anyway, and the bright streetlamp behind you made you seem like you were wearing a halo.

He wishes he had more pictures of you being...yourself. Because now your crying face displayed over countless pixels haunt him. But like a fucking degenerate, he still jerks off to all the nudes he coerced from you. Sometimes he cries when he's jerking off which is probably the most pathetic thing he's ever done. This is what you've reduced him to.

He hates the sound of his own voice.

Breathe through your fucking nose. This is for your sake. Otherwise, I don't mind face fucking your lifeless body. You'd be more useful that way anyways.

Eren goes through the motions of life without really feeling like he's in the moment. Seasons change and time flies. His mother dies, and his withdrawn father dies a year later. He proposes to Mikasa because it's something he was always supposed to do. She loves him unconditionally, so even when he doesn't put any effort into the relationship but proposes, she says yes hoping he'll change and be a good husband.

He doesn't go to his parents' funerals because they're already dead. What's the point. He doesn't visit the candlelight vigils in your honor either. After tearing his ACL again and a somewhat traumatic injury, he kisses his pro-football career goodbye. To be totally honest, he's relieved. Because he had gotten quite bored, and maybe he was looking for excuses to quit the entire time. It's not like you'd be cheering on the bleachers anyways.

Mikasa has an affair, more out of a desire to see her fiancé feel something for her as opposed to any burning lust. But when she asks him if he's ever cared at all, with tears springing out of her eyes, he's just calmly drinking his fifth of whisky.

The dark-haired man doesn't even look up, "Let's break up."

"Is this about her, huh? Fucking get over it already Eren. She's GONE. And you have some big fucking audacity moping about her death like you weren't making her cry in the bathroom stalls every fucking day you piece of shit."

"Get out."

"You know what, I bet she killed herse-"

SMASH

The dark-haired woman doesn't finish her rant because the whiskey bottle smashes on the wall next to her head, sending glass everywhere and staining the carpet amber. She's unharmed, knowing it wasn't Eren's intention to hit her but Jesus Christ, what a monster.

She packs her bags and leaves the town like she should have a long time ago. All her friends had left years before and she stayed behind because that's where Eren was. She thanks her lucky stars that they didn't marry.

It's funny because he had always imagined himself being the first to move out of their small town, but he's the one staying. He can't leave this place. feels too tethered to ever leave. Every diner and liquor store is saturated with memories of you. He remembers buying cigarettes and exhaling the smoke to your face to piss you off in empty parking lots.

Maybe he stays in case you'll come back.

Eren's days consist of alcohol-fueled hazes. He doesn't know how his liver is still functioning. He doesn't know he's still alive after crashing his car into a tree when he was drunk out of his mind. He was on his way to get some more vodka.

He barely recognizes himself in the mirror anymore, not that he looks at himself much. His hair is long, nestled around his shoulder because he couldn't be bothered to cut it, dark circles under viridian eyes, and a perpetual stubble on his jaw.

His parents had left quite a sizable inheritance so there's no need to work but he's good with his hands. Likes crafting up birdhouses and cabinets, and occasionally does odd jobs around the neighborhood, never charging the elderly.

He's under the sink, tinkering with a wrench against the pipes when he hears the old lady coo at him.

"We're so lucky to have you Eren. I'm surprised a handsome young man like yourself doesn't have a special lady. The girls must be lining up at your door!"

The dark-haired man winces, and offers no comment, knowing that that the older lady was susceptible to long tangents.

"You know, we're getting a new neighbor." Eren grunts as a response. "They're young, I've heard. Isn't that exciting? Oh my, Eren! I think they're gonna be living in the house right next to yours..."

He tunes out the rest of the conversation because doesn't really care. He just hopes his new neighbors are quiet.

It's Sunday noon when obnoxious noises of moving trucks and people wake him up from his deep slumber. Eren's annoyed to wake up despite the fact he's probably been sleeping over 15 hours. He oscillates between getting too much sleep and getting none, his sleeping habits completely dependent on his dreams.

His nightmares are too visceral, visions of your corpse asking him if he'd enjoyed hollowing your soul with his teeth.

His dreams are achingly sweet. You in your prom gown, shining so iridescently like diamonds were sewn into the silk. He's dancing with you, holding you close, and then after you guys go to your favorite diner and gorge on burgers and milkshakes.

There's a peal of distinctly feminine laughter that stirs up Eren's senses. He's so pathetic, was the mere sound of a woman laughing getting him excited?

He sighs. He thinks of the whore he's frequently visited because of her resemblance to you. Hair color, skin color, face shape--with enough alcohol, he could really convince the person beneath him, was you. Maybe it's time to give her a call, but she's gotten so fucking needy and he hated how her voice didn't match yours.

The green-eyed man peers from the lace curtains, irritated by the brats playing on his lawn. A full family next door? Great, just what he needs.

The friendly knock on his door breaks him out of his daze. He contemplates whether he should answer but on the second more muted knock, he lets his feet guide him.

He turns the knob.

And Eren Yeager completely shatters.

Because it's you isn't it? You're the person standing in front of him? He can hear what you're saying but he doesn't really register it, soaking in the cadence of a voice he had long forgotten because all he had were pleading whimpers and frenzied moans stored on his cell.

He's shaking. Is he dreaming? He's dreaming, right? He knows it's you. You're older, far more beautiful than he's ever seen you. You have a different hairstyle, wearing clothes he would have mocked you for, and there's this joyfulness within you that makes you glow.

There's a mess of emotions electrifying in the pits of his stomach from euphoria, anger, and dread. He could feel his skin growing clammy like he was about to vomit at any second.

"Hey, are you all right?"

Doe eyes full of concern peer up at him. He voices out the syllables of your name like a desperate prayer.

You tilt your head to the side, "How do you know my name?"

[jillianallen14]

Spirk fanfic rec

Some amazing Spirk fanfic to bless your dash because I’m falling in love with this shit all over again (this is like the 10th time this has happened lol):

Entering Orbit:  Jim escapes to Iowa to avoid the media frenzy following the Narada incident, but a late-night miscommunication results in Spock turning up on his front porch; rated m; 30,957 words

Papers in the Roadside:  Non-Starfleet AU. Jim owns a small bar in Chicago, keeps on picking up strays and taking care of everyone no matter how hard it makes his own life. Spock is a journalist writing feature articles for the Chicago Tribune; he depicts the world with uncanny skill, but hides more than one personal drama and is possibly under surveillance from the Vulcan royal family. They meet by accident just before their lives start to spin out of control; rated e; 49,637 words

Take Refuge in What You Know:  AU - Kirk has moved into a apartment/house and wants to get to know his neighbors. He meets his neighbor Spock, a loner who suffers from extreme agoraphobia. Kirk thinks he's beautiful enigma; rated e; 120,334 words

Listen, this is not only my favorite Star Trek fic of all time, it’s also one of my favorite fanfics in general. It’s right up there with Text Talk and The Shoebox Project from the HP fandom, which if you’ve read, you know are incredible and frankly life-changing. And this fanfic changed my life. The description the author gives doesn’t do the beauty of this fic justice. I suffer from agoraphobia and Spock’s depiction as an agoraphobic man was probably the most well-researched, sympathetic, empathetic, caring, realistic portrayal of what it’s like to be agoraphobic that I’ve ever witnessed in fiction. It made me cry like a child because I had never felt so seen and understood. This writer is incredible, and this fic is incredible. I can’t recommend it enough. It’s an AU, which I’m usually pretty wary about, but it barely even feels like an AU. It just feels like Jim and Spock. The author’s understanding of both of their characters’ is perfect, like just a spot-on portrayal of who they are. This fic genuinely helped me accept who I am and helped me understand that I am capable of & deserving of love. If you don’t read any other Star Trek fics (and you def should read more Star Trek fics because they’re amazing), then let this one be the one you read. I dare you not to read it three times in a row like I did.

Observations:  First Officer Spock comments on life aboard the Enterprise and his service under Captain James T. Kirk; rated m; 500,000+ words.

So the author of this fic actually did a thing where they made this fic into two books (similar to what The Shoebox Project authors did many years ago in the HP fandom). They don’t get any money from people buying the books; the cost is just to go towards producing the books. This fic is the equivalent of two LARGE novels. We’re talking 600 pages & up. It’s a huge fic. Now, that being said, I read it in one day. ONE DAY. It’s that good. This is another one of my all-time favorite fics, though not quite as dear to my heart as the one I listed above. It’s focused on AOS, and tbh, I forget that what happens in this book isn’t actually canon. Like it’s so well-told, it just feels like it’s now part of the timeless story of Kirk & Spock. The “professional” Star Trek writers would never be brave enough to do what this author does with Kirk and Spock, though. This fic will make you angry, will make you laugh, will make you cry. It has such a good grasp on every single character. It also shows the love between the crew of the Enterprise, which is always a treat, and it’s beautifully done in this fic. It has a sorta-enemies-to-lovers arc between Spirk and an enemies-to-close-friends arc between Spock and McCoy that is beautifully done and fleshed out. This fic is definitely a journey to go through, and I can’t recommend it enough. It’s extremely slow burn, and you will want to slap both Kirk and Spock (and McCoy) upside the head at certain points lol. 

Of Coffee Beans and Green Tea Leaves:  The progression of a relationship, through Coffee Beans and Green Tea Leaves. Basically, it’s an AU where Kirk works at a coffee shop to pay his way through school, and Spock visits often. rated t; 16,429 words

Love, love, love, this fic. It’s cute, it’s in character. They have kind of a rocky start together, so it’s got a little bit of that Elizabeth Bennet and Mr. Darcy i-hated-you-but-now-i-love-you-marry-me vibes to it. I’m a sucker for that, if you haven’t figured that out by now lol. It’s really good, and a really enjoyable read. And it’s not too long, if you’re in the mood for something on the shorter end of things.

 Please Don’t Touch the Vulcans:  The "yes" is out of Jim's mouth before he can think about it. Jim is chipper about having time off for the holidays. He asks everyone if they want to spend time together but sadly, everyone ditches Jim over the holidays because they have plans. McCoy visits his daughter, Nyota visits her family, and everyone splits. Not knowing Spock has feelings for him, Jim doesn't even bother asking if he wants to spend time together figuring he has something to do. Something cute, romantic with the boys spending time with one another and confessions; rated m; 17,690 words

Super cute and has lots of Sarek, which idk about y’all, but I’m always a fan of. Sarek and Jim kind of get to know each other a bit, and it’s cute. Sarek knows about they’re in love before Spock & Kirk know lol. If I remember correctly, there’s also some appearances from everyone’s favorite: Old!Spock! You also get a little bit of jealous and protective Young!Spock. So you’re in for a real treat with this one. 

The Ren shat’var Trilogy:  A split-second decision changes Jim's life forever, as he enters into a bond with Spock in the face of certain torture. Enemies to the Federation emerge from unlikely places, and the command team must contend with unexpected threats, as well as challenges within their own intense relationship. In this three-part series, the Enterprise races across the galaxy to confront the unknown, and Jim and Spock discover the true significance of their unprecedented connection; rated e; 184,411 words

Textual Attraction:  Valentine’s Day does not bring up pleasant memories for Cadet Kirk. But the serendipitous switch-up of his cell phone with a particular Vulcan professor’s will make his day far more interesting –and romantic. Perhaps some new memories can be made! 15,900 words

SO GOOD. Just SO good

Spaceman:  Academy AU. Five times Spock realizes he's attracted to a barista at the academy spaceport, and one time he decides to do something about it. rated t; 3728 words

Short, sweet, funny. You’ll love it.

Subtext: Texting your Vulcan first officer in the middle of the night is never a good idea. Especially when you have an obsessive crush on said Vulcan.The holidays are approaching and Jim is left entirely Spockless aboard the Enterprise when his First takes shore leave on New Vulcan. After some midnight pining, Jim sends a text he instantly regrets. That is, until Spock responds and willingly continues their textual communications to an inevitable conclusion; rated t; 13,032 words

Cute, sweet, funny. It’s a texting fic. I think you’ve probably figured out I love those. This one makes me laugh so fucking hard. Like actually laugh-out-loud-omg-did-i-just-snort kind of funny. Spock is great in this one

All Spock Wants For Christmas:  While Jim is away on a delegation mission, he panics about what to give Spock for Christmas. With help from Bones and Uhura, and in between some spam texting with Spock, Jim realizes he already has the perfect gift. And all it needs is wrapping paper and a bow; rated t; 11,966 words

And here we have another cute, sweet, funny texting fic. Sue me lol

The Morning After:  Jim convinces Spock to take shore leave with him on Risa, hoping the time together will help re-solidify their bond of friendship after some recent tension. Meanwhile, Spock convinces himself he's on Risa for one reason and one reason only, to prevent his wayward captain from getting into trouble. After a passionately illogical night of Romulan Ale and chocolate infused liquor, everything changes when Jim wakes with something other than a hangover filling his head. Something he's sure neither he nor Spock can handle. Because if Jim knows anything for sure, it's that his messed up thoughts belong nowhere near Spock's clean, ordered mind; rated m; 50,381 words

HAHA. This fic fucking cracks me up. You’ve got drunk boys pining over each other & not realizing it. You’ve got accidental marriage. You’ve got bed sharing. It’s great, it’s cute, it’s funny. 

Take This Sinking Boat (And Point It Home):  In which Spock pines, Jim isn’t stupid (except he kind of is), and Christopher Pike has had enough of this bullshit; 6698 words

Pike is great in this one, and it’s super, super funny.

Extracurricular Activities:   Spock returns to the Academy from a tour of duty to find an intriguing cadet captures his attention; rated e; 15,433 words

Veritas: Basically, Kirk and Spock are on trial because the Federation thinks they are emotionally compromised by each other, which is putting the lives of their crew in danger. They have to convince a court they’re not actually in love with each other. They think the claims are bullshit. They think it will be easy to prove that they aren’t in love or emotionally compromised, damn it. It isn’t; rated m; 186,80 words

This one is so, so good. A real gem off of Fanfic.net. I remember it was actually one of the first Spirk fanfics I ever read, and it blew me away. The progression of their relationship is really well-done and interesting. It has star-crossed lovers vibes and has some really emotionally intense moments in it, especially for Spock. 

A Habitual Affection:  Living in 1930s New York with the Vulcan you're secretly in love with is no simple thing. But Jim never liked anything simple. And then, the big snowstorm hit...; rated t; 7998 words

A beautiful TOS fic about one of the gayest episodes of Star Trek. Love this one. 

Atlas:  Between what was and what will be stands James Tiberius Kirk, in all his fractured patchwork glory. Because saving the Federation was only the beginning; rated t; 135,529 words

A beaut. Really great characterization, and the progression of Jim and Spock’s relationship is really well-done.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

What’s yours is mine 1

Warnings: nonconsent and rape, allusions to abuse, stalking, possessiveness, pregnancy, and more tags to be added.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Pairing: dark!Ransom Drysdale x pregnant!Reader

Summary: After five years, your past is far behind you but just as you think you can live your happily ever after, your ex shows up at the worst moment.

Note: I couldn’t sleep and ended up writing this and it will not be a long ongoing series but it will be a few parts. But Roo you say that all the time. Yes, well, I’m trying and I’m sorry but I’m gonna try to not be the worst.

Hope you enjoy it. Thank you. Love you guys!

Please leave some feedback, like and reblog <3

“Oh my god, is that really you?” the voice made you stand stalk straight.

You took a breath and forced a smile before you turned to the indomitable woman. You never expected to see Linda again, not after you broke up with her son almost five years ago. And there she was, as rigid and righteous as ever, her thin lips curved in a mocking grin.

“Linda,” you greeted her in a singsong and looked around the grocery store. You never went to the overpriced organic market but your local shop didn’t have dragonfruit and you had a painful craving, “how are you?”

“Darling, I’m just great,” she held an empty basket on her arm, an odd sight as you never expected her to do her own shopping, “oh, and look at you!” Before you knew it, her hand was on your stomach and you struggled not shy away, “how far are you?”

“Um,” you looked down at the large ring on her finger and resisted the urge to step away as you often did in this situation, “almost five months.”

“And married?” she grabbed your left hand and pretended to admire the small teardrop diamond, “gorgeous.”

“Mhmm,” you waited for you to release you and swayed in place, “you barely look a day older than the last time I saw you.”

“You’re well? You look well,” she primped her short hair at the compliment, “oh, a baby.” She reached out again and you sighed as she rubbed your stomach, “for luck.”

You tried not to frown and ended up laughing at the tension, “well, it was nice running into you.”

“Oh, you know, I barely come down here but we’re headed up to my father’s place, you remember, such a cozy house, and Joni is in charge of food and well, I wouldn’t trust her with a plastic spoon so of course, I have a back up plan.”

You nodded along with her awkwardly, frozen in the spot as the dragon fruit barely seemed worth the torture. Linda was hard to please and alway derisive, but for as long as you were with Ransom, she had taken a keen shine to you. That alone came with an edge but it was rarely used to cut you.

You forced another laugh, “that sounds fun, getting away from the city.”

“Ugh, just another family gathering,” she waved it off with her free hand, “I’ll have to tell Ransom I ran into you, if he even shows up.”

“Well, I don’t think--”

“He’s grown up so much,” she interrupted, “you wouldn’t believe it. He got his own imprint in my father’s company publishing true crime. He’s really making a place for himself now.”

“That’s great,” you tried not to falter at the mention of her son. You hadn’t ended on the greatest terms and your relationship had been tumultuous and regrettable.

“I hope you have a great weekend, Linda,” you said, “but I got to--”

“Oh, not at all, I’m keeping you,” she squeezed your arm, “God, he was such an idiot to let you go.”

You nodded and swallowed through your tight throat, “I’m glad he’s doing better for himself.”

“You too,” she trilled, “oh, before I let you go, darling, is it a boy?”

You blinked and your smile wavered, “how did you know?”

“I could always tell,” she said, “so precious.”

She gave your stomach one last pat and disappeared into the produce section. You blinked as you looked down at the scaled fruit in your right hand. Chocolate, you needed chocolate.

You were rattled as you waited in the express line and put your things on the belt. You hadn’t thought of Ransom in a very long time. Not much. His shadow followed you around in those moments when your heart raced and your head spun, but you had learned to work through those fits. No one else knew what happened behind closed doors, they only knew Ransom, not Hugh.

You paid and shoved your fruit and candy into a paper bag. You headed out into the misty spring air. The rain had finally stopped and left the streets slick and shining. The sun was hazy as it clung to the last of the clouds and you inhaled the wet scent of grass and gravel.

You let your key hang from the ignition as you took a moment to gather yourself. You stared at the modest ring on your finger and held your stomach and you swore you could still feel Linda’s bony hand there. 

You had a loving husband, Dez, and a son on the way. Ransom wasn’t a part of any of that and this was just a blip on radar, the aftershock of the storm that ended years before. You sniffed and turned the engine. You wouldn’t go back to that store, it was far too expensive and the clientele were certainly not of your ilk.

🍼

Dez was in the kitchen when you got home, the smell of steak and peppers rose from the frying pan. You kissed his cheek as he kept one hand on the spatula and you dropped your bag on the counter beside the stove. You went to the fridge and poured yourself a glass of water. You turned and leaned against the marble and drank deeply.

“So, hon, how was your day?” he asked as he put the spatula down and peeked in the bag, “hmm, odd pairing but I don’t hate it.”

“I had a craving,” you shrugged, “it was… okay,” you heaved, “what’s for dinner?”

“Steak fajitas,” he said, “I trimmed the fat for you and,” he turned and reached out to you, “and I got you some champagne… non-alcoholic, obviously.”

“You know it doesn’t have the same effects,” you kidded as you put your glass down and settled into his arms, “and well,” you looked down at your stomach, “we already got one drunken night growing.”

He laughed and bent to kiss you on the lips. He rocked you as the pan sizzled behind him. You closed your eyes and tensed as suddenly your head flashed with the memory of Ransom, of the way he’d kiss you, harder than Dez, and the way it always turned to more whether you wanted it or not.

“Hey,” Dez pulled back, “you okay?”

“Yeah,” you lied, “hormones.”

“Aw, hon, well I have the perfect dessert planned,” he purred.

“Oh yeah?”

“Mmhmm, strawberry massage oil,” he framed your face with his hand, “a nice long back rub…”

“Perfect,” you giggled, “why are you spoiling me?”

“Don’t I always?” he smirked.

“Hmm, rarely without reason,” you said.

“Well…” he voice trailed off and slowly he dropped his arms. He turned his back to you and grabbed the pan, stirring the contents with a shake, “I didn’t want you to miss me too bad.”

“Miss you?” you came forward and bent your arms over the counter, “where are you going?”

“Chicago, there’s some evidence down there we need to look at and they refuse to transfer it to our office so… bullshit confidentiality clause, but we need it.”

“How long?” your heart dropped.

“Well, I gotta leave in the morning but I told Gary I won’t stay longer than Monday.”

“And what did he say?”

“He laughed,” Dez shook his head, “I promise, I’ll do my best to be back as soon as I can--”

“No, I understand,” you said gloomily, “it’s just…” you cupped your chin and tapped your lips with your fingertips, “I’ll miss you.”

“I’ll miss you too,” he said as he turned the burner off, “and this little guy,” he touched your stomach and you shivered as you remembered how Linda had done the same with her cold palm, “so, you choose a name yet?”

“Still not naming him Superman, babe,” you chided, “but no, I can’t make up my mind. God, it’s like my mind is in shambles, I can’t remember why I go in a room or even focus on one thing for more than two minutes before I’m distracted by what colour I want to paint the nursery and I can’t even decide on that because then I’m thinking about what kind of wood the crib should be--”

“It’s fine, you’re fine,” he assured as he opened the bag of tortillas, “you’re still there, you’re just… sharing a brain right now.”

“Wasn’t enough to go around in the first place,” you scoffed.

“Shh,” he arranged the plates carefully, like a five star restaurant, tortillas stacked, steak and veg together, a little dish of cheese, some sour cream, lettuce, salsa, all divvied out in a spectacular salsa you would only make a mess of.

“I thought the pregnancy would give me a chance to finish my book, but--”

“Well, you got maternity leave after that,” he said.

“From what? Sitting at my keyboard and crying? I’ll just be holding a baby and crying,” you sighed, “you said you’d take some time off.”

“I did say that and I will,” he grabbed the plates and nodded you out of the kitchen. He set the plates on the table and you sat as he went to grab two glasses and as many bottles. He poured you your spineless champagne and had a beer for himself, “I don’t want to miss anything.”

“You can’t take forever off,” you muttered, “we both know that. I could go back to copywriting and maybe--”

“Babe, that job made you miserable and you will finish your book,” he handed you a napkin, “I’ve read your stuff, it’s… you said your ex was in publishing?”

“Did I?”

“I thought you did, you never really… talk about the exes, which I love but, I think you said something about it. You don’t think he would--”

“No,” you snapped, “no,” you said softer, “he wouldn’t.”

“Sorry,” he said startled by your reaction, “I didn’t--”

“It’s nothing, I just-- exes, right?”

“It was a stupid suggestion,” he said, “I’m sorry, but… I have a client, he might have some contacts.”

“You don’t have to do that--”

“I don’t have to, I want to because the world deserves to hear your voice,” he insisted, “I hate to share you but I’d be selfish to keep you to myself.”

You smiled and unfolded a tortilla. Still, your heart raced as the second mention of Ransom that day had you on edge. Dez watched you build your fajita and you looked up at him.

“Well, since you’ll be in Chicago, maybe I’ll get a few pages done.”

🍼

The call came on Monday, Dez wouldn’t be home that night. You contented yourself to stay in with your laptop and sugar cookies. Still, you barely got a sentence done before you snapped your computer closed and gave up with a frustrated grunt. You slept, not well, and got up with some trouble as your hips ached.

A good morning text from Dez made you smile but there was still no promise of an impending return. You felt pent up in the apartment and lonely as its emptiness reminded you of your absent husband. Too tense to sit down and type, you opted to go for a walk, hoping it would calm your nerves.

You walked past the shop windows and stopped to peek in at used books and handmade candles. You had no destination in mind, only a restless step. There was a little store at the corner with locally made quilts and knitted sweaters. The smell of potpourri wafted out from beneath the painted door and made your throat tickle. Even so, your curiosity drew you inside.

A small woman greeted you from behind the desk. She held two needles as she crocheted some indistinguishable craft. You smiled and said hello as you headed down the centre aisle. You looked along the racks of quilts, floral, striped, plaid, and polka dot. You stopped at a bright yellow piece with honey bees along the border. You hadn’t thought of yellow for the nursery.

You felt the soft fabric and checked the tag. You lifted the quilt from the bar, content that it was worth it and a great motivator. You stopped before you could turn back, a familiar voice chilled your blood.

“It’s cute,” Ransom said as he stepped up next to you, “kinda girly for a boy though.”

You glanced over at him and folded the blanket over your arm. You backed up but as you turned he did too. He blocked your bath as he stretched his arm across the aisle.

“My mother told me you were expecting,” he said, “and she was right, you look good.”

“What do you want?” you whispered as you clutched the quilt.

“Nothing, just saying hello,” his mouth slanted.

“Hugh, I’m not stupid,” you hissed, “it’s been five years.”

“Hugh,” he repeated dully, “you remember your manners.”

“Leave me alone and let me past,” you tried to duck under his arm but he shifted his body over and backed you up to the end of the aisle.

“And married,” he taunted.

“He’s outside,” you lied, “if I stay too long--”

“I didn’t see him when you walked up,” he intoned, “he must be easy to miss.”

“Have you been following me?” you uttered.

“Only from the cafe,” he shrugged, “short walk.”

“Please, get away from me,” you quivered.

“I’m not doing anything--”

“You know exactly what you’re doing,” you hissed, “now I will scream so move.”

“Mama Bear,” he crooned, “I love it, you’re so protective.”

“Hugh,” you warned.

“Sweetie,” he hummed.

You shoved his shoulder but he didn’t move. You hit him harder and he winced. He chuckled and stood straight. He waved his arm down the aisle and stepped aside.

“Don’t make a scene,” he said, “you always did like to be dramatic.”

“Fuck you,” you snarled, “don’t come near me again.”

“Don’t act like you don’t miss me,” he called after you as you dropped the quilt on the counter, “we were so good together.”

You left without buying, a shrill apology to the lady at the counter as you went as fast as you could out the door. The bell tinkled after you and the door clamored shut. You felt nauseous and dizzy. The last thing you wanted or needed was to ever see that man again.

[hoboal87]

The Fear

Title: The Fear

Pairing: Dean x pregnant!Reader, minor Sam x Eileen

Characters: Dean, Sam, Reader

Summary: Dean comes home to find Y/N missing.

Word Count: 2300+

Warnings: angst with a happy ending, kidnapping, violence, fluff, pregnancy, non-graphic descriptions of childbirth, 15 x 20 adjacent.

A/N: my entry for @princessmisery666's #daily mix challenge combined with a Nonnie request.

Edit: I forgot to thank the lovely @lovealways-j​ for beta-reading this for me. Thanks, Sabrina!

My song is "The Fear" by The Score

My Full Masterlist

Something’s wrong.

Dean can sense it the moment he steps into his shared room with Y/N. He looks carefully around the room, trying to find a clue as to what’s got his hunter instincts in high gear. It looks no different then when he and Sam left three days ago, and yet, every bone in his body is telling him something is off.

“Y/N?” He calls out hesitantly as he makes his way towards her old room down the hall. She’d been in the process of turning it into a nursery for the last month and had a tendency to get lost in paint samples and baby supplies. As he closes in on the room, he can feel himself becoming more on edge and instinctively reaches for his gun. “Sweetheart? You in there?”

Dean’s heart sinks further into his stomach as he reaches the newly-converted nursery. The usually meticulously organized room was in a state of disarray as if there had been some sort of struggle. Dean calls out for Y/N again, willing her to give him some kind of sign that he was overreacting to what he was seeing.

He quickly pulls out his phone dialing Y/N’s number, he and Sam should have never gone on that hunt, Y/N was due in less than a month, but she insisted that they go.

This is Y/N, sorry I can’t come to the phone, if it’s an emergency please contact Sam or Dean…

“Fuck,” Dean mutters, waiting for her message to end. “Hey sweetheart,” he does his best to keep his voice steady. “Me and Sammy just got back and I just got a feeling…” he takes a deep breath. “Call me back. Love you.”

Dean pockets his phone, before taking in the room again, trying to convince himself that it’s his new-father instincts and not his hunter instincts that have him so on edge. That’s when he sees it: under a discarded bag, a small pool of blood. Dean’s breathing grows heavier, and he scans the room again, looking for any kind of sign of what may have happened in the room.

“Sam!” Dean yells out, his breath quickening. “Sammy!”

Sam’s behind him, skidding to a stop before taking in the sight of the room before him. Even with only a cursory glance Dean knows that Sam’s thinking the same thing as him, something’s happened to Y/N.

Dean hurries down to the infirmary, Y/N had insisted that they have everything to monitor her in the final months and in the worst-case scenario anything needed to help her deliver. The simple fetal monitor is right where they’d left it three days prior, Dean insists on listening to the heartbeat of his unborn child on an almost daily basis, letting the rapid thump thump thump put him at ease.

Dean’s phone buzzes in his back pocket, and he breathes out a sigh of relief when Y/N’s picture fills the screen. He takes a minute, calming himself, she doesn’t need to know that up until this moment he was on the verge of a panic attack.

“Sweetheart,” he smiles, “y’know you had us worried for a minute.”

There’s silence on the other end of the call, save for heavy, scratchy breathing.

“Y/N?”

“I’m sorry, Dean,” Y/N whispers, choking back a sob. “I shouldn’t’ve trusted her. Now–”

“Baby, listen to me,” Dean finds Sam in the hall and mouths trace the call, Sam nods and bolts towards the library. “Are you okay? The baby?”

“That depends on you, Dean,” an unfamiliar voice replaces Y/N’s. “Now, be a good little soldier and do as I say. Only then will your precious wife and child have a chance to make it through this unharmed.” Dean can feel his blood boiling, this is why he could never not be a hunter. He and Sam have made too many enemies over the years, and now Y/N and their baby may be paying the price.

All the fear that he felt when Y/N first told him she was pregnant comes rushing back to the surface. Dean never thought he’d get married, let alone be a father, but with Rowena keeping the demons in check, and Jack limiting the angels' interaction on Earth, with the exception of Cas, life became some version of safe for the brothers.

That’s why Y/N insisted that they take the simple salt n’ burn just one state over. She knew that they were going a little stir crazy, Bobby, Jody and Donna, had started training the next generation of hunters so that boys could retire. Dean was hesitant to leave, Y/N was only a month away from her due date, but she shooed them out the door, claiming to need her own space from her overprotective husband and brother-in-law.

“Are you listening, Dean?” The voice tuts and Dean tries to clear his head of ‘if’s’ and ‘could’ve’s’ all it’s doing is driving him crazy.

“I’m listening,” Dean repeats through gritted teeth. The voice gives coordinates to a location a few hours away and before he realizes it he’s in the Impala, ready to do whatever it takes to save his wife and baby. Sam tells Dean what he’s already sure of: this is a trap and Y/N is being used as bait. He doesn’t care, he can’t lose her, lose their baby, not when she’s done nothing more than love him.

The sun is setting when they pull up to the abandoned farmhouse, original, Dean thinks. Dean wants to go bursting in, guns ablaze, but Sam stops him, reminding him that they don’t know who or what has got Y/N, and they have to be smart. He wants nothing more than to punch his brother for suggesting that they wait even a second longer to rescue Y/N, but he lets the words sink in and reluctantly agrees.

Silver bullets, holy water, dead man’s blood, witch-killing bullets and machete’s are divided between each brother, knowing that whatever has Y/N, one of these things will most likely kill it. When they enter the farmhouse Dean’s eyes lock on Y/N, who’s against a wall, two chains around her wrists.

Dean rushes towards her, the only thing on his mind is getting her and the baby out of this place and back home. Her breathing is shallow when he reaches her, and he gently inspects her body. Gingerly, he touches her face, allowing her Y/E/C eyes to meet his and she smiles lazily at him. Knew you’d come, she whispers, and Dean leans forward to place a kiss on her forehead. His free hand lands on the swell of her belly, where he can feel a slight kick against his palm.

“I love you,” Dean says softly so that only Y/N can hear him. “I’m gonna get you outta here, sweetheart, okay?” Y/N nods slightly as Dean focuses his attention on freeing her from her bonds.

There’s a grunt behind Dean, and when he turns around, Sam’s on the ground, and there’s a somewhat familiar woman standing behind him.

“Dean Winchester,” she exclaims as two large men appear and pull him to his feet. “Been too long.”

“Jenny,” he utters, remembering one of the first cases he worked with Sam. “You look good, a little dead, but, good.”

“Always the charmer, weren’t you Dean?” She takes a step towards Y/N. “I could smell you on her the second she walked past me. Women always trust other women, made her think I was a hunter; a tragic backstory here, a name drop there, and bingo, the dumb bitch is leading me into your home.”

Dean feels his anger rising as he tugs against the two men, his eyes flicker to Sam, who slowly starts reaching for the blade next to him.

“Up,” Jenny orders and when Y/N doesn’t comply she produces a blade, and presses it against her stomach. Dean’s heart stops at the threat to Y/N and their baby. “If you want to give your baby a chance to ever see the light of day, I suggest you cooperate.”

Y/N’s legs are wobbly as she stands, tears glistening in her eyes as Jenny slowly runs the blade against her. Dean’s gaze doesn’t leave her, watching as Jenny uncuffs her, and leads her slowly over to him.

Adrenaline pumps through Dean’s veins and he frees himself from his two captors; headbutting one and throwing a punch at the other as Y/N is pushed out of the way. Sam is up on his feet and in a swift move, swings the blade through Jenny’s neck, her body falling limp to the ground. For the briefest of moments, Dean relaxes, only for a vamp to be coming at him again.

Dean can barely keep track of anything, his eyes tunneling in on the large vamp in front of him. He can hear the grunts of Sam, and the familiar sound of another vamp going down. Y/N isn’t in his line of sight, and through the blood pounding in his ears, he hears Sam call his name.

It was just the distraction that the vamp needed and he barrels towards Dean, slamming him against a wooden post. He feels something pierce his side but he keeps fighting against the vamp. As the vamp is about to take his final shot, his head is gone, and Sam is quickly resheething his blade.

Y/N cries out, cradling her stomach and even from a distance he can see the pool blood between her legs. Go, Dean orders Sam who quickly obeys.

“I think she’s in labor,” Sam mutters. “I don’t think we can get her to a hospital in time.”

Dean rushes to Y/N’s side as best he can, telling her everything will be alright. Dean returns to Baby, grabbing the first aid kit, hastily patching up the wound, and retrieving a blanket from the trunk. The pain hits him all at once, but he pushes through it, his pain doesn’t matter, all that matters is that Y/N and the baby are safe.

Y/N’s screaming out in pain, begging for someone to make it stop as Sam does his best to calm her. Dean closes the distance in only a few steps, positioning himself behind her. He takes her hands in his, whispering praises in her ear as Sam orders her to push.

Within only a few minutes, Evelyn Marie Winchester is brought into the world, wailing loudly as Sam wraps her in his flannel and hands her over to Y/N. Dean offers Sam a silent thank you as he takes in the appearance of his daughter. Evie’s the perfect combination of him and Y/N.

The moment of bliss doesn’t last long, as Sam reminds them that they still need to get Y/N and Evie to a hospital. Dean moves from his place behind Y/N and winces at the pain now radiating through his body. Sam gives him a curious look, and Dean shrugs, trying to convince his brother that he’s fine.

Dean takes Evie out of Y/N’s arms, and cradles her against him as Sam helps Y/N to her feet. Dean takes a few steps before legs start to give and his vision starts to blur. The last thing Dean hears before everything going black is Y/N and Sam calling out his name.

Five Years Later

Dean watches as Evie runs around the backyard of their new home, chasing Miracle and laughing hysterically. Y/N was right, the Bunker was no place to raise a little girl, she deserves everything that he and Sam never had, and he is determined to give it all to her. Evie will never know what it’s like to go to bed hungry or cold, or wonder when she’ll see her parents again.

The opening of the front door tears Dean’s attention away from his daughter, Sam’s voice filling the otherwise silent house. He turns to see his brother carrying a ridiculous amount of gifts followed by a very pregnant Eileen with a shaggy haired toddler attached to her hip.

“Unca De!” Little Bobby tries to squirm out of Eileen’s hold and she carefully lets him down. The toddler bolts for Dean, wrapping his arms around Dean’s leg. “S’Evie’s birfday!”

“I know, buddy!” Dean laughs at his nephew, “how ‘bout you go tell her ‘happy birthday’?” Dean opens the side door and lets Bobby out.

“You are going to spoil my daughter rotten, Sam Winchester,” Y/N appears from the back of the house. Dean’s still amazed that even after years together, Y/N can take his breath away.

“Well, if I had another niece or nephew, I could spread the love.”

“I think you’ve spread enough love, Sammy,” Dean jokes as he heads into the kitchen, Sam following behind him. “I mean, you’re basically having your kids back-to-back.”

“Three years is hardly back-to-back,” Sam reaches out to grab a beer. “You’re just mad ‘cause I one-upped you.”

“Actually,” Dean peeks into the living room. “We’ll be even. Y/N’s pregnant.”

The words have hardly left Dean’s mouth before Sam’s engulfed him in a hug. Dean’s positive that Eileen and Y/N are having a similar conversation at this very same moment, but what neither Sam or Eileen know is that they have a bet on who will crack first.

“Just found out a couple of weeks ago,” Dean continues with the ruse. “She wanted to wait until after yours was born, didn’t want to take Eileen’s thunder or something.” Sam nods, seemingly understanding.

Hours later, after the last present has been opened, and the final piece of cake has been eaten, Sam and Eileen take a very sleepy Bobby home. Evie sits at the kitchen table, listening carefully and a smile growing on her face as Dean and Y/N tell her that in six months she’ll have a little brother or sister.

“Or both,” Y/N corrects with a knowing smirk.

“Both?”

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This one-shot was requested by a nonnie, my requests are currently open, you can send me an ask or DM me if you’d like to request something. 

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