#ive been listening to rabbit hole for like a few days now | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

missmaywemeetagain · 1 year

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I need to tell someone this, get it off my chest, and I don’t think my irl friends will understand. So I’m trusting you.

I have never felt more in love in my life. I haven’t fangirled this hard in 6 years, probably never this hard in my life. I’m so in love with this man. I just watched the Elvis movie and of course I thought I was going to have a *little* Austin Butler phase, but to my surprise I barely even touched Austin, to my surprise I’ve fallen down the Elvis Presley rabbit hole, harder than ive ever fallen before. I didn’t know anything about him before that movie and here I am listening to all his music and slowly going thru his movies and TV appearances. I barely say “i love you” out loud but I’ve been saying it over and over when I listen to his singing and when I watch him on the screen.

I feel insane. I’ve been contemplating breaking up with my boyfriend because I feel so in love with this man who, even if he was still alive, i would never be with. I’ve been contemplating convincing myself heaven is real just to know I’ll meet him one day. Very intense. This “confession” is all light hearted, but I am honestly wondering if I’m the only one... I’m going crazy right?!

(I feel very embarrassed to be telling anyone this, so if you think I’m crazy pls be nice😭 but I felt like I had to tell someone)

Oh, Nonnie honey, Nonnie BABY, I think that SO MANY of us here can relate to what you are saying!

First, thank you for sharing this with me! I so very much connect with what you are saying here on a number of levels.

Listen, my life has been a series of hyperfixations and fandoms and there is a very good reason I call myself a “lifelong fangirl.” I’ve made shows/music/musicals/ people my entire personality for certain moments in time for as long as I can remember. Now I’m writing A LITERAL NOVEL imagining a romance with a man who’s been dead for nearly half a century. And I LOVE it. It can be intense and irl people sometimes (often) think I’m nuts but it’s part of my DNA to be this way and I am cool with that!

All this to say that with Elvis Presley, things are a little bit different. This is my second go-around with him and it is definitely more intense in a lot of ways than other fandoms I’ve been in, especially this time around, I think because of the Elvis community on social media has exploded since the movie and there is more info so readily available about him now than ever before. Maybe it’s because the world and life have been a complete clusterfuck for the last few years and it’s just nice to settle into something that makes us feel GOOD and connects us to people. Elvis is perhaps one of the first and strongest parasocial relationships in the world, and research has shown that parasocial relationships in general are on the rise because of what’s been going on in the world. So there’s THAT, too!

But let’s be real—Elvis is unlike anyone or anything before or after him. I am not entirely kidding when I say I’m convinced he has some preternatural/supernatural/ethereal/not-of-this-world quality to him that is simply unexplainable. Like how does a man who has been DEAD 45 YEARS STILL MANAGE TO GAIN/KEEP DIEHARD FANS all this time later? How does he have nearly as many people visit his home as they do the White House? How is he still one of the most prolific recording artists of all time? His fans have been equated to a religion. That is POWERFUL SHIT. It’s as if he was a star than burned so intensely, so brightly, that made such an impact, that the world couldn’t sustain him for a lifetime.

Yet he was a very real and complex human person that did some extraordinary things and had extraordinary gifts and talents. He was good and bad and everything in between and honestly I find him endlessly fascinating and beautiful and tragic. And good god, he was so incredibly gorgeous in such an otherworldly way. Ugh. He literally changed society with his beauty and music. That’s crazy in itself!

I am not a super spiritual person, and fairly skeptical, and yet I too find myself wondering and exploring and experiencing things I never would’ve CONSIDERED before because of him. It’s strange and eerie and blows my mind on the regular, tbh. Somehow, he came around in my life again at EXACTLY the right time and my world is very different/better than it was 6 months ago partially due to his presence.

I, too, have moments of feeling completely insane at how invested I am emotionally in this man I will never meet and how utterly, impossibly strange it feels to hold such love for a person who has been gone longer than I’ve been alive. I am lucky that my partner puts up with me and it and is understanding enough to be like, “this is weird but okay.”

He’s addictive in every possible way. I don’t know how else to describe it. I guess I’ve channeled all these intense and crazy feelings into Pink Scarf and somehow that makes me feel better because I’m creating something from this madness. It inspires me and makes me reach for my own dreams. And I’ve met this incredible community on top of it all.

So, Nonnie, you are very much NOT alone. I can’t say that it’s not crazy because it is a bit but in the best way possible and we’re right there with you!!💗💗💗

But also, take breaks. Don’t break up with your boyfriend (unless it’s truly not working for you in other ways). See and talk to people irl who have nothing to do with E. Read books or watch media unrelated to him. These are things I actively have to do make myself do to stay sane. It’s okay cuz E will always be around when you come back, and so will we!!

I hope this helps. Lovin’ you, Nonnie! 💗💗

#xoxoxoxoxoxoxox #give Nonnie some love y’all!#well this got deep real quick #and so long I’m sorry!#elvis #elvis presley #if you’re looking for trouble #you came to the right place #elvis 2022 #elvis movie #elvis presley x reader #austin butler elvis #elvis x reader #answered #ask

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anosci · 1 year

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(1-15 albums etc that I've listened to this year, copied from twitter) (now with art.) (media version) Jan [1] Feb [2] [3] Mar [4] [5] [6] Apr [7] [8] May [9] [10] [11] Jun [12] [13] [14] Jul [15] Aug [16] [17] [18] [19] Sep [20] [21] [22] Oct [23] [24] Nov [25] [26] Dec [27] [28]

names and thoughts below cut

1/ Ken Ishii - Flatspin (2000) this dude has a really lovely synth style that feels just right every time.

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2/ (every Dream Wave Project release from 2001) golly, I don't like trance, especially from around the turn of the century! anyway I wonder if this y2k trance netlabel will have anything good. (<- clueless) somehow there were a few bangers tho. Link-D innerflux? top notch.

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3/ DJ Technorch & 九十九音夢 – Strong Anthropic Principle (2016) holy shit tracks 1 and 3 immediately jumped into my fav of all time list EZ. the m1dy remix is ace too but wow tough competition.

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4/ maj7jam - cover ring III (2023) wall to wall slappers. (I'm on here too!) its a variety thing so i cant rly summarize it but... big favs: "Dear Siren" "dissociate for frogs" "blank disquette" how did a remix of my tune turn into the funkiest thing here? hot damn

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5/ かたぎり – かたぎりは電気狐の夢を見るか？ (2021) feels like its been a while since ive chewed on some breakcore. this one's delicious. I love that rapidly changing textural stuff. "Code Name: Romeo" and "Stray Cat Syndrome". is there a name for that technique? good stuff

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6/ Nav Katze - Never Mind The Distortion (1996) ive been thinking about checking out the original albums that afx's "26 mixes for cash" were pulled from. idk if i'll continue the trend, but this one was well worth the listen. lovely late-era bleep sound all around

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7/ Paradigm Shift - Paradigm Shift (1995) from a rabbit hole of recommendations: "it's good i promise". and yep. it's GOOD. slightly chilled chemical breaks. considering the date and long-lasting freshness I'm kinda surprised this isn't more highly acclaimed.

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8/ Faith Massive - Drum & Bass for the Masses (1998) more from the rabbit hole. I have a soft spot for mid-to-late 90s liquid dnb, and this hits that spot for me. the synths in "Downtreader" especially.

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9/ Todd Edwards - Full On, Vol. 1 (2001) endless high quality chops. it's one of those styles that still sounds futuristic in a way.

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10/ Orbital - The Altogether (2001) i wonder why i skipped this when i was digging through orbital's stuff. (listens) oh. because it doesn't click with me. [some of] the remixes on the associated singles are a bit better tho.

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11/ DJ Krush - Reload (The Remix Collection) (2001) kinda a mixed bag, which is to be expected for a collection (of remixes) "Maiden Voyage" hits just right tho

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12/ Capitol K - Notes From Life On The Wire With A Wrecking Ball (2008) i love Capitol K's soundscapes but I'm very particular about vocals. these vocals DO NOT vibe with me :( there are a few instrumental tracks, luckily for me

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13/ Wevie Stonder - Drawing On Other People's Heads (2001) feels like a turntablism thing but... drum machine? akai? idk. a little different. i do kinda think the vocal samples are excessive, but not enough to throw out the entire album yknow?

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14/ Hol Bauman - Human (2008) surprisingly haunting.

--- February ---

15/ VA - We Are Friends, Vol. 11 (2023) this year, im planning to [try 2] keep up with new releases from artists/labels i like. this is the first one that really hit me tho. which is cool bc mau5trap is... usually so-so imo. highlights: "Another Day", "I Like Math", "11:11"

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#media thread

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iknowyunholeeknow · 1 year

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ooh how did you get into skz (or kpop in general)? i love hearing people's kpop origin stories haha. for me, it started when a friend back in college showed me nct's the 7th sense mv and i was like woahhh this is so cool, and then i fell down the nct rabbit hole haha starting with nct127. that was almost 3 years ago and now i am too far gone 😂

i usually don't really watch fancams either, and if i do it's for my biases lol but there is something about lee know and his dancing that makes me want to watch his fancams - i don't know anything about dance but it's just so pleasing to the eye LOL (and he always has such great outfits...)

hmmm p1harmony had a cb very recently and i liked the mini album!! i don't know all their names yet but i'm working on it hahaha; they also had another mini album earlier this year with the doom du doom title track that i loooved. some less recent releases from earlier this year that i liked were stayc's run2u mini album (idk anything about them i just like some of their music haha) and a few of xdinary heroes' songs such as strawberry cake and lunatic so i'm looking forward to more of their stuff in the future ^^ tbh i've been listening to a lot of skz until recently because once i really get into something that's all i want to listen to until one day i am no longer as addicted to it hahahaha

In high school one of my really close friends got me into bts (it did take a while because there was this really creepy guy who rode my bus who kept telling me to get into them in like increasingly creepy and annoying ways and he'd like blast their music straight from YouTube for everyone to hear and needless to say he was kind of the worst and I should think about him less) and from bts I got into tons of groups through YouTube recs particularly right after their cbs and stuff. I'm not as into bts anymore but I still love wings with all my heart.

We have a lot of the same taste in music apparently, I listen to run2u way too much to be healthy and p1harmony never disappoints imo. I just listened to those xdinary heroes songs and admittedly I'd written them off after their debut but I really like those! I'll have to add them to my playlist lol. I'm the same way with music, I go all in with it. Since you like run2u you might want to check out ive if you haven't before I'm obsessed with their music in almost the same way as I am run2u.

Do you have any pets? I have two cats they are my little guys, favorite boys even (I really just want an excuse to post photos of my cats) the grey one is Scooby and the black and white is named Tom (tomtom really but my grandpa was named Tom so it's kinda funny to shorten imo)

#🐾 anon

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toruvi · 2 years

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I didn’t have the best of days today :( my period started really bad cramps also a horrible achy back, I had a English EOC today so i sat in a library full of pain taking a 70 question test.

Then when I got home my dad was building my new furniture but since it didn’t come with all the parts he got frustrated and whatever I would do he would yell at me :( then I made dino chicken nuggets for dinner but when they were done they fell out of my hand :| And thats when I just had enough and cried in my grandmas room i still ate them tho cuz yk dino chicken nuggets, and i didn’t want to waste food

How was your day? I hope you had a good day ❤️❤️❤️❤️💖💖💖💖💖🥰🥰🥰

Honestly your blog makes me happy😩😩😩

Bestie I too am on the cramp train and it is definitely not a fun ride rn :( im applauding you for getting through that test despite the conditions <3

I'm so sorry about your day, sometimes it just feels like one of those days where nothing goes right yk? hopefully since tomorrow is a new day it can be better for you bb<3

today was my first day off in about a week! i got a few chores done and shipped out some orders. and now im sucked into a rabbit hole of listening to youtuber drama.

bby i really do hope you're ending your night on a good note in anyway you're able to. <3 here's a little wip ive been working on until my pen battery died jdhgjskhg (levi’s blushin for u ok!!)

#asks

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barnesandco · 3 years

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Little Hands (IV)

Series Masterlist

Communication is key.

This is an entry for @star-spangled-bingo 2021. Word count: 2248. Square filled: “Sung to Sleep”

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Warnings: More Hydra Evilness, More Sad Child, Parental Anxieties. Brief mentions of war, sickness, death, grief.

A/N: I know 2.2k words isn’t objectively a lot but boy did this feel like it. I hope every word is worth it and that you enjoy! Lmk what you think!!! Also I won’t even lie, the idea of Steve’s kids is 100% from one of my favorite comfort fics, family means no one gets left behind or forgotten, by the genius, the wonderful cosmicocean. IT’S SO SOFT. Pls read it.

You’re stunned when Bucky tells you what’s going on. The idea that his daughter (?) was made in a lab like some kind of experiment, and that the man who led said experiment now wants her back like she is his property, his weapon, is too horrid to consider for very long. Weaponizing an innocent child. Hydra.

Bucky gave you the broad strokes of the investigation – currently running on little more than educated guesses based on the meagre intel they have – and has let you know that he has had to recuse himself from the case, due to his… personal connection. That leaves him somewhere he finds awkward, to say the least.

It's evident in the way the corners of his lips turn down, how he is constantly rubbing the pads of his fingers against the coarse scratch of denim, while he watches Ana watch Zoya, Steve’s 17-year-old daughter, working on a tablet. Zoya tucks a strand of hair behind her hijab, then continues to draw up a storyboard, narrating the events to the younger girl. Steve had apparently forgotten the lunch his kids had made him at home, so Zoya had brought it in, and decided to stay the day.

Ana’s quiet, attentive for the most part, listening with her full capabilities, but her eyes flit away from the screen every now and then to look at you and Bucky, as if to reassure herself that you’re still there.

Besides that, there aren’t all that many distractions present for an already precocious child. Most of the team has dispersed for the investigation, with the exception of Peter, who is sat at a table in the corner making intentionally fruitless efforts at teaching Morgan chess, while she giggles and tries to stack the pieces like Jenga blocks instead.

However, Bucky’s restlessness is infectious, and you think he needs to get it under check before it grows any further. That’s why you stand, saying, “Could we go for a little walk, Bucky?”

He nods, man of few words that he is, and leads the way. You’re sure he knows that you formulated it like a request for his benefit, but he doesn’t mention it. It’s just as well – that he knows you like that, and knows when to accept the proverbial hand being offered.

Bucky takes you to a corner of the roof that you’d mistake for a community garden if you didn’t know any better. The Avengers seem to have green thumbs, or at least, a significant portion of them do. They’re good with plants, and possessive about them, too. Autumn ferns grow outside the circle they seem to have been planted in – with a sign shouting Wanda! – to invade the territory of a vegetable garden labelled Bruce (accompanied by a Hulkish, green thumbs up presumably not drawn by the man himself).

Meticulously maintained daylilies and columbines, in vivid reds and vibrant purples, litter the edges of the path that has been carved through this little paradise, and the birdhouses between them stake the claim of the owner more effectively than a neon sign screaming Sam Wilson. Bucky’s told you about his abilities, how they veer into the decidedly supernatural but Sam insists are only the residue of a childhood with homing pigeons.

Nothing here looks like Bucky’s, though. He seems to be taking it in, perhaps thinking about his own little paradise back in the city, and how he’s chosen to keep it distant from that of his teammates. That worries you. He worries you.

And this, the situation with Anastasia, becoming a father, it’s terrifying. Hell, if it scares you this much, how is he feeling? You ask him as much.

“Bucky, are you okay?”

He laughs, softly, disbelievingly, no malice in his scoff, only fear. Only the sound of a voice saturated with consternation and total, complete anxiety. “Would you be?” He asks back.

“That’s why I’m asking.”

Bucky evades the questions, turning first one way on the path, and then the other, approaching the edge clear of shrubbery and blooms alike, resting his palms on the top of the wall.

“I can’t be a father.”

The solemnity in his tone allows no room for negotiations, but then, neither do the facts. “You are,” you reply, somewhat hesitantly, because the technicalities of how Ana came to be are still a little blurry to you. She’s far from a normal child, and not quite a clone, either. She is of Bucky, though. His, in any way that counts.

“That little girl was created in a Hydra lab as a super soldier to serve the cause,” he says, shaking his head vigorously as the cause repulses him even more than it does you. “And who knows what else she was put through before SHIELD fell and Orlov got her out, and it’s my fault.”

“You didn’t—”

“I didn’t ask for it to happen but it wouldn’t have happened if I hadn’t happened. They used me to make a super soldier from scratch, and now I’m supposed to raise her? It’s not that simple. I’m not Steve. I can’t…”

Being honest, you feel you’re pretty far out of your depth here. But you’ve promised him your help, and you’ll do your best.

“You don’t have to. There are other options.” You’re sure you’re overstepping. Perhaps this gentle companionship has not yet reached the point where you can give advice on parenting. But if you don’t, who will? Steve, whose answers don’t enter the gray territory Bucky’s mind is residing in right now, who parents like he was born for it?

Steve chose fatherhood. Bucky has been nailed to it like it’s a new cross to bear, heavier than all the previous ones put together.

His gaze roams the grounds that stretch as far as you can see. You’re both far away from home right now, far outside your comfort zones.

“I’m sorry for dragging you into my mess, sweetheart. It’s not right. You have things to do, and I shouldn’t have—”

“Bucky, I’ve been staring at the same four sentences of dialogue for the past month. I literally could not have been happier to get out of the house. Even if I do wish it was under better circumstances,” you say fervently. You’re here because he needs you. Because Ana needs you. It’s nice to be needed.

“That’s one way to put it,” he smiles, and you’re glad to see it.

“Not to mention, it’s not your fault. It’s not anyone’s fault except whoever your team is looking for,” you insist. “And Ana’s a sweet girl. A little quiet, but Baba says I was, too.”

This, Bucky thinks about. You wonder if he was a quiet child, too. “What’s he like?”

“Hmm?” The reverie snaps like a rubber band.

“Your father?” Bucky asks, shyly, his eyes meeting yours, letting you know exactly why he’s asking.

You look up at the clouds, think back to Boston, to time shared between the library and the park. A childhood with books, lunch breaks under a desk in an office at MIT, stealing his glasses and running away with them, rubbing at his stubbly beard like he was a housecat. Inside jokes with your father and rolled eyes with your mother. Laughter and tears, laughter with tears.

After a long while, trying and failing to summarize your father, you say, “A jokester. The most sarcastic person I know. But still kind of neurotic, to be honest. The kind of parent that makes you show up at the airport a full four hours before your flight.” It’s grossly insufficient. For a writer, you’re not very good with words. You suppose it’s not the words that are the problem; it’s the lifetime they have to encompass. “What about yours?”

Bucky sighs. “Soldier. He’s one thing I don’t feel bad for not remembering because it wasn’t Hydra that wiped those memories. He just died when I was really small. Survived the Great War only to be killed by TB a few years later at home.”

“I’m sorry.” You avert your eyes. Grief feels private, even decades later, even in the smallest doses.

He shakes his head, smiles fondly, up at the sky, too, like you did. Only, he’s smiling at it, like he’s thinking of someone beyond the clouds. “Don’t be. Was a long time ago.”

“That doesn’t mean it isn’t allowed to hurt anymore.”

“You sound like my therapist.”

“I sound like my therapist.”

At this, the two of you look at each other and burst into laughter. It feels forbidden, as though the severity of the situation condemns joy. That isn’t fair, you think. The situation is that of a child, and nobody needs laughter more than kids do. Food for the soul.

When the echo of your exhilarations falls, Bucky grows serious once more. “They have them for kids, now, too, right?” He asks, referring to therapists. “Do you think Anastasia should see one? She’s not exactly… normal, you know?”

“Maybe.” It’s a difficult question, but a good indicator of how Bucky is growing to feel about Ana. “You’d make a good dad, if you wanted to be one, Bucky,” you say, and mean it. It’s plain as day that he cares about her.

“I can’t even remember my own.”

“Parental instincts are intuitive, not genetic,” you tell him.

“You been reading handbooks?” He teases.

“You’d be surprised by how much you learn from the rabbit holes you fall down while researching books,” you deadpan.

“Can any of that research get the nightmares out of my head? I think it might scare a kid.”

The self-deprecation hurts, but your response is honest, heartfelt. “She likes you already.”

“She won’t if she thinks I’ve run away,” he answers, straightening up. He might be trying to evade the conversation, but you’ll let him, for now. He’s gotten some fresh air, had some time to clear his thoughts, or sort them, at least. And so you return, to the little girl who has a tighter grip on both of you than you even realize.

------

Ana grows unsettled as night darkens the sky. It could be the ruckus she isn’t quite used to. It could be the toy fire truck Tony has been altering with his utensils to increase its noise output, much to Morgan’s amusement. It could be the actual parrot perched on Sam’s shoulder.

Whatever the cause, she hasn’t succumbed to it enough to make a seat out of the fridge again. She’s sitting in her seat, between Bucky and yourself, eating the hummus Bruce and Wanda have made. Nat discusses sniper scopes with Clint, Peter tries to get away with eating the side of vegetables on Jordan’s plate without Steve noticing, and Bucky eats silently, eyes almost constantly on Anastasia, who takes it all in while her knee bounces up and down with an ever-increasing speed, much like her father’s.

You excuse yourselves soon after dessert, after Morgan has fallen asleep against Jordan’s arm on the couch, and Steve and Tony’s friendly debate is starting to develop the edge it tends to when they’ve been bantering for too long.

Bucky sets up on the sectional in his room, and leaves the ridiculously large double bed to you and Anastasia. It’s been a strange, strange day, and one can only hope that tomorrow brings some ease, a balm for the prickly, fiery ache that has settled over the man you care so much about.

------

When you wake, it’s because of singing. For half a moment, you think you’re in a dream, but as your eyes adjust to the blanket of dark, you see the shadow on the sofa nearby. Only, it’s bigger than just Bucky. Anastasia is sitting on his lap, her head cushioned against his chest. Scrambling for your glasses, and turning on the lamp on the bedside table, you notice that there are trails of drying tears on her little cheeks, and she’s still shaking with the aftershocks of whatever scare she must’ve had during the night.

Not for the first time, you curse your deep sleep that meant you didn’t wake with Ana, but watch in wonder as Bucky sings.

Hush, little baby, don't say a word Papa's going to buy you a mockingbird

And if that mockingbird won't sing Papa's going to buy you a diamond ring

Ana’s eyes begin to close, but she fights the sleep. Bucky doesn’t let her. He lies down, easing her down beside himself, singing all the while.

And if that diamond ring turns brass Papa's going to buy you a looking glass

And if that looking glass gets broke Papa's going to buy you a billy goat

His voice fills the room, low though it may be, and he curls himself around Ana.

And if that billy goat won't pull Papa's going to buy you a cart and bull

And if that cart and bull turn over Papa's going to buy you a dog named Rover

She succumbs to the lull of his tone, his song, his promises, sighs a little sigh, lets the last, little hiccup leave her body.

And if that dog named Rover won't bark Papa's going to buy you a horse and cart

And if that horse and cart fall down You'll still be the sweetest little baby in town

Bucky lifts his hand from where it was stroking the hair at her temple, and lays his arm over his daughter. They’re safe, for now. Together.

#SSB2021 #bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky barnes x female reader #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes fluff #bucky barnes angst #dad!bucky barnes #mcu #marvel #marvel fanfic

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edwad · 3 years

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man i have been a marxist for a few years now but recently in the past month or so after finding out about value-form theory, reading you and some other people's stuff and listening to heinrich lectures its like... god has everything ive known just been kinda wrong. like a lot of the way ive read marx has been refuted in a way that seems more correct i guess and on one hand its cool that im learning more but also it feels kinda depressing that so much of the theory i have been exposed to is 1/2

kinda just wrong. like where do i go from here? how do we ever even abolish the value form, is it just waiting for a crisis or what? sorry if this ask seems overstepping LMAO its just a kinda shocking realisation listening to ur podcast & going down that rabbit hole has sent me to i guess? i probably just need to read more about this all 2/2

this is also how it felt for me at first tbh, not just in disappointment about the amount of time i spent on stuff i no longer agree with, but also money on books etc that no longer really interested me lol. the good thing is that at the end of the day i think this is probably the best way to get into these kinds of critical/heterodox approaches because it gives you an idea of what they're pushing away from and you can sorta verify that stuff for yourself based on your own knowledge of the traditional interpretations. it'd likely be different and maybe less convincing if you started with something like heinrich's capital intro (which i've always said serves as more of an intervention into the literature rather than working as a proper introduction, at least for english audiences) and simply received its claims about worldview marxism etc without really knowing anything about what that means or why it's important. so i get your frustration (happened to me too) but i think this is probably the best way for this sorta thing to happen tbh.

as for the political project, i think it still obviously needs to be a communist one, just with stricter parameters and a stronger sense of what we won't allow through the door, a negative bar which has to be cleared. unfortunately i'm not sure there are concrete political implications which develop out of so-called "value-form theory" (which is a very, very broad camp) in terms of what we ought to do now or next, but i don't see this as a weakness. it's a better critique/understanding of the system we're in and the limits we're up against, not a ready-made revolutionary program. i know heinrich got some pushback for ultimately concluding as much in his red may talk on the political implications of form analysis (he said very little to answer this question in a way that satisfied viewers because they seemed to expect a positive proposal rather than negative critique, which i'm not convinced the analysis can or should be used for).

this is one reason why we're seeing a huge growth in "VFT" supporters among various tendencies. some of the earliest and most important writings on these topics were from leninists (rubin is a case-in-point, heterodox maoist/maoish thinkers like bettelheim, trots and post-trotskyists like chris arthur), anarchists/autonomists (holloway, bonefeld, open marxism as a whole really), etc etc etc. we've certainly passed the point in the anglo world where for a few years it seemed that to be interested in an analysis of the value-form meant that you were an endnotes reader. the political question is still an open-ended one, and people are certainly developing more sophisticated communisms out of the pairing of existing political projects with newer readings of marx, so there's not an easy answer to the "what should we do" question. that's still very much for us to figure out and work at, same as it always was. but at least we can be more careful in our tactics and prescriptions! and that's a good thing.

anyway yeah keep reading/listening/watching/etc! and feel free to reach out for book recs or if you have any other questions about this stuff.

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poliel · 3 years

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Surprise Egg 13/13

Unfortunately, no matter how tired one was, waking up was an inevitable eventuality. If one didn’t die in their sleep anyway. So perhaps Buddy should be thankful to be waking up even it was to a strange beeping sound and… that distinct hospital smell.

With a groan they opened their eyes to see that… yep, they were in lying on a hospital bed in a hospital room. It certainly wasn’t their first time waking up in such a location but it was their first time waking up in one while attached to what seemed to be a full suite of life support and monitoring machines. Because that’s what the beeping sound was: a heart rate monitor. There was also an IV and other things they weren’t quite sure the purpose of. Ugh, they’d only just woken up here and they were already tired of it and wanted to go home.

They shifted their paws up to try to push themself up but… nope. Even just moving themself to attempt it hurt too much to be worth it and thus they didn’t even really try. If they had to they could force it but while their pain tolerance was high and level of stubbornness even higher, they didn’t have any desire to when there was nothing worthwhile that could be gained from it. And having discovered how far they could push their body before it quit on them they would rather not do so again, especially so soon.

Thankfully as was often the case in such scenarios, it wasn’t longer before a nurse found their way to their bedside. Buddy didn’t give them a chance to say anything before speaking themself. “What happened? How did I get here? And where are my friends?” The last thing they remembered was asking Eggabell if they could take a nap and her encouraging it. Clearly quite a bit had happened between now and then. “Oh and uh… how long was I out for?” That was always something one should when waking in such a location.

The nurse hesitated for a moment, looking down at their clipboard and then back up at Buddy. “You arrived here three days ago. According to your friends you were unconscious for at least two days prior, probably a bit longer. You got here on an airship your friends landed on our roof. They’re all now in their own rooms being observed and where applicable taken care for their own health issues.”

Feeling even more addled than they had back on the island, it took Buddy a few seconds to parse though the meaning of all that. If any of the Snaktoothers hadn’t made it off the island surely that would’ve been mentioned, right? Hard to say for sure but for now they were going to operate under that assumption and hopefully confirm it later.

First, their story. Given the whole snakification thing there was no way word of this event hadn’t gotten out already. How much had everyone already revealed about the bugsnax? Hopefully not much because it was their story to tell! … “May I borrow a phone please. I need to call my boss.”

That earned a heavy disapproving frown from the nurse. “You should be resting.”

“I know and I will but… it’s important.”

“No.”

“Well… can I talk to my friends then?” Surely they would help them contact Clumby and get this whole thing started. Filbo certainly would at least, right? Because he should know what this meant to them. “I also need my pack.” They couldn’t start properly writing their story without it.

“Later. First, since you’re finally awake, there’s some things we need to handle.”

Ugh, hospitals were the worst. But if they cooperated it’d be easier for everyone and should win them some points with the nurses that would hopefully help them later.

Buddy must’ve fallen asleep again at some point because they were waking up again despite not particularly wanting to. They had important stuff to do though so they blinked open their eyes.

“Buddy, you’re awake!” Seated by their bedside, Filbo took their paw gently between both of his. “How do you feel?”

“Eh, I’ve felt worse. But uh… better now that you’re here.” They winked at him, squeezing his paw a little as they tried to pretend like the monitor wasn’t betraying their heart rate going up slightly because Filbo was holding their paw and smiling at them. But it was really good to see him. Mostly anyway. He was still snakified and Buddy now knew what that meant and… it was their fault. They’d fed him parasites for months.

Before they could go any further down that rabbit hole of unpleasant thoughts though Filbo squeezed their paw slightly. “I’m so glad you’re finally awake. I was… worried.” His expression sorrowed for a bit before he was smiling at them again. “I brought your pack with your camera and stuff in it. I figured you might want it.” He really was the best, huh?

“Awesome. Thanks. And uh… you think you could get me a phone. I need to call my boss and tell her I’m working on the story.”

“Uh… I don’t think I’d be allowed to. And while you were unconscious, we had all decided that we were going to keep the bugsnax secret ‘cause they’re dangerous and stuff. But uh… we kind of failed at that already. To be fair I did land us on the roof of a big hospital in the middle of an important city. So a lot of people saw us all snakified and you still had Sprout in your pouch so… that was a thing we had to deal with. We didn’t tell anyone anything specific though. All the newspapers and stuff are just circulating rumors and stuff. So… the full story coming out is gonna be from you since you have more right to tell it than anyone else if it’s doomed to come out at all. You have to promise to take it easy and slow though or I won’t let you work on it at all.” He gave them the sternestlook Buddy had ever seen on his face before. It was certainly well deserved though so…

“Yeah, okay. I promise to be good.” And they kind of owed it to him to listen to him after all the times they hadn’t before leading this moment. Speaking of everything leading to this moment though… “Everyone made it off Snaktooth, right?” They still needed confirmation on that.

Filbo nodded. “Yeah. Everyone’s okay.”

“Good.” Knowing that made them feel better for sure. “Now uh… about writing my story?”

Filbo gave them another firm look. “Later, after you’ve rested a few more days, please.”

“Fair enough.”

Being bedridden was the worst. Especially since they weren’t allowed to start writing their story yet. The only thing that kept them sane was Filbo staying at their bedside pretty much as much as the nurses would let him.

They were allowed additional visitors too occasionally. Even Gramble was eventually allowed to leave his own room and come see them.

“I brought Sprout too,” was the first thing he said after they’d exchanged greetings with him and Wiggle.

“He’s still attached to it for somereason.” Wiggle didn’t even try to hide her disapproval over it as Gramble pulled Sprout’s buggy ball out of his pouch.

“One little bugsnax ain’t gonna hurt no one. And he rarely leaves the buggy ball so it’s fine. And he still follows the pointer so… he’s different, I think. Since I could never train any of the others no matter how hard I tried. Anyway, here he is.” He held him up for Buddy to see. “He’s only here because you were carrying him in your pouch for so long all of us forgot about him so I figured you might want to see him.”

Buddy lifted a paw in a gesture for Gramble to hand the buggy ball over. He did so without complaint or hesitation. They placed it on their middle, holding it in place with a paw on top, as they peered inside. Sprout was just hanging out inside, looking around and doing a whole bunch of not looking the least bit like how one would think a parasite should look. He was far too cute, especially when he went nuts for the laser pointer. … People kept potentially dangerous pets all the time, right? One just needed to know how to handle them safely and properly and it was fine. So… they looked back up at Gramble “Can I keep him? … Or uh, I know you’re still…”

“Sure. Just as long as you let me see him lots too, okay?”

“Of course.” Permission granted, Buddy carefully pushed the buggy ball into their pouch. Immediately they felt strangely a little better, less antsy.

Wiggle scoffed lightheartedly. “Seems like the paternal instinct that would’ve normally gone towards the egg went to Sprout instead. I guess if it makes you happy though, I can’t tell you that’s wrong.”

“He’s a whole lot easier to take care of than an egg though.”

“Not really,” Gramble said. “With an egg all you got to do is keep it warm.”

“Until it hatches and then you have a grumpling you have to take care of and keep alive somehow. So, no thanks. I can barely even keep myself alive.”

“Well,” Wiggle said, giving them a meaningful look, “I don’t think anyone can argue with that.”

They were finallyallowed to start working on their article once a week had gone by and they were doing better. The temptation to push to finish it as fast as possible was there but… they were too tired to really go for it. Not that Filbo would’ve even let them. They lacked the strength to defy him or even try to argue.

Despite everything though they were still good at their job and thus they got it done fairly quickly. After going over it one last time for mistakes or any important details they’d forgotten, they were able to send it Clumby’s way.

Being done with it was a massiveweight off their shoulders. “It’s done! I’m done! I never have to think about Snaktooth again.” They were finally done with that cursed island and never again would they need to think about it. … They would though for sure, it and the unknowing harm they’d caused their friends and Filbo would undoubtedly haunt them. But for now, they were happy to be done with the telling of the tale.

“Congrats!” Filbo said from their bedside.

“Thanks.” They wanted to thank him for everything, helping them and being so awesome but… they were too tired to come up with the words. So their simple ‘thanks’ would have to do for now.

#my writing #bugsnax #filbuddy #filbo fiddlepie #the journalist

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ask-the-clergy-bc · 4 years

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Could you do headcanons for how the Papas and Copia would react to the angel of death (that has yet to fall) visiting them, claiming it's curious about them and the clergy, maybe going as far to fall for their temptations if you want to add that

(Some of these got deeper than anticipated, but they were fun to write!)

Papas/Copia being visited by the curious Angel of Death

Papa Nihil:

~Actually, this would not be the FIRST time he has had an Angel come to him. Nihil is just surprised such a titled Angel had the balls to come talk to him directly. It would be the equivalent of him waltzing up to an arch angel and asking them how their day was!

~Despite how many think he is a daft old man, he isn’t stupid enough to just give away all clergy secrets. But he would answer as many questions as he could to sate their curiosity. Only enough info he might give to someone like a reporter, but not enough to be anything useful. Very vague.

~Nihil has actually dealt with Angels directly before. Sometimes in war there have been a few compromises here and there- and sometimes you have to play nice for mutual benefit. What these deals were? Only he, Imperator, and Emeritus I know.

~If he senses vulnerability with the Angel he uses his demonic persuasion against them. It’s a very handy manipulation technique his bloodline typically use. Masks it as simple conversation on WHY they might want to come all this way to talk to a harmless old man.

~A dangerous game, but Nihil is curious- could they tempt the Angel of Death onto their side? What a strong ally to have! He bides his time but can’t help but be smug when the angel returns again and again for tea...

Papa I:

~ABSOLUTELY NOT. Listen, you couldn’t get Papa to square up faster than to present him with an actual angel IN HIS CLERGY? Especially a HIGH RANKING ANGEL? Doesn’t matter if they are curious he is about to throw them out of his territory by sheer force, if need be.

~Papa does NOT trust them a single bit. The fact that they have they AUDACITY to come to him on his home turf can almost send him into a blind rage.

~Not a lot of people know this, but Papa has an utter HATRED for Heavenly beings and everything they stand for. Papa sees it only as a deception or them trying to gain access to their Ministry and Demonic secrets.

~ He MIGHT deal with them should they fall, but they would be pushing their luck in dealing with him directly. Papa can sense sinful intentions, but does not humor simple curiosity from Angels- EVER. To him they are mindless drones bent on his bloodline and flock’s destruction.

~Too much in a nearly blind rage to ever consider tempting them, let alone tolerate their very being. He’s normally very calm and collected, but this is Papa’s greatest weakness. His wrath and resentment are too great, and it often leaves him feeling foolish for not taking the chance. But to him, the gamble isn’t worth the destruction of their hard work... again.

Papa II:

~Many are surprised that Papa is way more calm than his older brother- and often think they would have completely opposite reactions! But Papa has learned well, and he is more sinister and clever than the average bear.

~There is a reason he sings about the ‘Ancient Serpent Deceiver’ - because Papa has learned well under Him and his teachings. His very being and Papacy is around turning the blind to their cause and making them open their eyes. Angels are no different than humans... just a tad more powerful and stubborn.

~His normal charming gentleman self but with his Papa side showing- the one that guides the flock into Lucifer’s warm embrace. (Fun fact, he might seem very grumpy and angry but he’s VERY good at his job.) How easily the Angel of Death comes to him is almost comical. Possibly because Papa does not take a lofty or too serious approach to his methods. He’s very practical and down to Earth, and to the Angel it’s a strange pace from just shouting about the glories of their lords.

~It is a deep and dangerous path of thought they go through together. Papa manages to make everything seem so... logical. So natural that the Angel should be curious and question their own intentions in coming down here. That their blind faith and devotion isn’t typical.

~Papa knows he has won the game when the Angel asks to come back for more discussions. That’s the first sign of doubt in their voice about their whole existence. And doubt is the first step to freedom.

Papa III:

~This absolute mad man has had many conversations with Angels and priests before. You’d be shocked at the fact that he has PARTIED with lower ranking angels and has had DINNER with many devoted Clergy from the other side.

~He finds the irony that an Angel of Death, a high ranking being, coming to see him absolutely delicious and wants to milk the whole encounter for what it’s worth. Whether that value be a new friend, powerful ally, or just a night of entertainment. Either way, he’s curious enough to bite!

~Some might view him like his dad, thinking Papa is stupid and vapid enough to just openly talk about the Ministry Agenda and machinations- but he’s very very smart. Papa likes to just talk of the shallow stuff and a few ideals to gauge the Angel’s reactions.

~When the Angel lets its guard down and shows INTEREST a new game has suddenly emerged, and Papa is eager to play. Can he convert this deadly and powerful being into letting it’s wings go and join them?

~Honeyed words can go far, but not as far as making someone understand painful truths. Papa manages to convince the Angel that they are just a pawn- a tool. The Angel, whether they fall or not, leaves their encounter with a lot of doubt in their faith. Papa is anxiously awaiting to see them again for the stunning conclusion of this new drama!

Cardinal Copia/Papa IV:

~This is Copia’s first time in EVER directly dealing with an angelic being. Granted, as a previous Cardinal, he always heard rumors of how the Papas would sometimes make contact with them. But as a newly instated AntiPope he now knows that he could be directly involved with Angels! Almost doesn’t know how to feel.

~Imagine his surprise when the first Angel he ever encounters first hand IS THE ANGEL OF DEATH! Copia is so shocked on the inside, but manages to keep his composure. He approaches the Angel like he would any wayward soul looking for guidence.

~That doesn’t mean he isn’t cautious. It wouldn’t do to just make himself or his Ministry vulnerable by running his mouth or letting his guard down. He insists the Angel and him walk outside, preferably in neutral territory.

~Copia and the Angel have a very nice, long talk. Copia is the same charming, personable, if not awkward man he is with his followers. Unfortunately, for the angel, that leaves his companion’s defenses down. The angel ends up being more susceptible to their curiosity and it turns into a rabbit hole of why souls willingly embrace Lucifer.

~Lucifer was an Angel first, Copia points out in the end. And that gives the Angel MUCH to think about.

#the band ghost #ghost bc #Ghost headcanon #papa nihil #papa emeritus i #Papa Emeritus II #papa emeritus iii #papa emeritus iv #cardinal copia

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angelicspaceprince · 4 years

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Dewey x Crafter Reader Headcanons

Ive fallen down a rabbit hole of crafting and I can't get up. Help me. I write hcs to help save my soul

I'll also edit when I have computer access so then there is a read more button or whatever they're called, I can't find it on mobile

Wrote directly onto the tumblr app so if there are any mistakes that's why. No betas, we die by our spelling and grammar mistakes here

You were a crafter before you met Dewey, having taken up most crafts by the time you were 17

Sewing, needlepoint, embroidery, cross stitch, knitting, crocheting

You'd experimented with them all and even though each one had its merits, you definitely had your favourites

Then life happened. You had to start working, unable to attend college, and soon you had no time to craft. If you were awake, you were working

Mostly low paying jobs to cover rent, bills etc, taking on as many shifts as possible

It was actually during one of your shifts you met Dewey

You started working at a local music shop, mostly serving and organising CDs when a very excited Dewey rocked up, wanting to find the newest release for one of his favourite bands

You got to talking and realised that you had similar music tastes and, even though you really wanted to get to know him more, you had to remain professional. You were still on the clock

Luckily for you, however, you were invited to go see a group of local bands performing to celebrate your friend's birthday

You recognized Dewey the moment he stepped on stage and was in awe at his musical skill

You figured it'd be weird to go up to him and start talking because a) if he didn't recognize you then having a stranger come up to you and say that you remembered him from work would be odd and b) if he DID recognize you from work that'd be even odder

You didn't want to give off stalker vibes, so you stayed at the bar, content just to leave it

Dewey, however, saw you in the crowd and had a different plan in mind

Still riding the adrenaline high from being on stage, he walked straight up to you

"I don't know if you remember me, bu-"

"I remember you."

"Oh."

You both blushed heavily as you shift in your seat. "Drink?" You offered. "I....I liked talking to you earlier, I'd like to talk some more."

Dewey positively beamed at that, sitting down next to you as you effectively start ignoring your friend's birthday party celebrations in favour of talking to the man in front of you

The rest, as they say, was history

You ended up dating pretty quickly after you first met, moving in with each other after only dating for 6 months

It was an accident, you had your power cut off (again) and it was the middle of winter. Dewey offered you a warm place to stay temporarily and after 4 weeks of looking for a new apartment, he just said "you're already living here, just move in with me."

It made things easier, now there were two people contributing to bills

Rent was never paid in full, but something was always sent in

Patty wasn't impressed by that but Ned wasn't as fussed, just happy to have something coming in

It helped that he really liked you and felt that you were a good fit for Dewey

Even though things still remained tough, you were happy just to have a roof over your head and someone who loved you

When Dewey started working for Horace Green, things became easier

Bills were paid with his paycheck, yours became groceries and fuel money

Even then, for the first time in a long time, you had spare cash

Most went into savings but being able to afford your own Netflix account? Felt amazing

Despite having a bit of extra money, some habits were hard to break.

You rarely bought clothing from anywhere but thrift stores and Walmart, Dewey prefering Walmart but essentially doing the same thing

Unfortunately, that meant the clothing you had bought wasn't always the best of quaility, especially when Dewey was the one wearing it

Just the nature of his jumpy, clutzy, accident prone and slightly messy self meant you were constantly buying him new shirts and mending his sweater vests

To be honest, it was getting old

You'd also been missing crafting for a while so. Two birds, one stone

The next time you were in Walmart alone, you grabbed yarn and knitting needles and on the few days a week you were home alone, slowly you started to knit him some new sweater vests, using an old one that was beyond repair as the template to make sure each one fit

The first one was just a plain, fadded red to get yourself back into practice before slowly beginning to add simple designs similar to the few he owned now

Then a couple of weird themed ones, a couple of his favourite bands, one with music notes in the design, one that was birthday themed, one with mini guitars, whatever amused you and you thought would amuse him, you knitted onto the sweater

Each vest took three weeks to make. By the time his birthday came around, you had made him ten new vests, having kept it a secret the entire time

You were super nervous when he opened up his present, but the giant smile on his face was worth it, excited with the concert tickets you managed to get for the two of you (in the pit, of course) and with each new sweater, he got more and more excited

"These are amazing babe! Where did you get them?" He asked as he got up to try his favourite (the one with a replica of his Gibson knitted around the bottom) on

You go quiet. "I....uh.....I made them."

He looked over at you like you just admitted you had found a cure for cancer

You'd neglected to tell him of your crafting past, it never came up so you never said

Now, however, he was keen to see you craft

He never even dared to try it out for himself, but enjoyed watching you knit or crochet without looking at your work, watching TV or chatting to Dewey as you just continued to work

Every year, he got at least two sweaters from you, and you made sure to knit a sensible one and a silly one

What amazed you was the fact that Dewey seemed to have fewer accidents

He took extra special care of all of the stuff you make him, never spilling so much as a drop of coffee on them and tried his best not to get them snagged on the one sharp part of the doorway into his office

One day he came home, nearly in tears

You were folding up laundry but you dropped everything and came rushing over, thinking the absolute worst but instead he simply pushed something into your hands and said "I'm so sorry"

Turns out, he took off his vest when he came in to play a song with the kindergartners, something he now does daily as part of his role as music teacher

He didn't notice one of the kids grabbing it and wandering off with it

It was covered in paint, one of the Gibsons were cut out and the yarn was beginning to unravel, despite clear attempts to keep it from doing so

It was ruined

You hush Dewey as you pull him close and reassure him it's ok, you can make him another one

It took a while to settle him, he treasured everything you made him and he allowed one to get ruined

But once you assured him it was fine and you knew it was an accident, you ended up spooning in the couch as you mentally start planning the new sweater

A month passed when he found a wrapped up parcel on his desk

He was running late, didn't have time to grab a coffee and accidentally grabbed his vest with a massive hole in the back rather than one of your handcrafted ones

Still, he made it to the classroom before any students arrived, so he quickly opened it up and a huge smile plastered its way onto his face

A new sweater vest that was near identicle to his ruined one, a bit cleaner and better designed than the old one

You'd also made him a pair of socks, something you'd been experimenting with, with the AC/DC logos on the side

He found the note at the bottom 'Hope you have a good day. I love you. Y/N. P.S. These are not allowed near the kindergartners ❤'

He quickly changed into the sweater, feeling so much better than he did 5 minutes ago

The socks became his lucky socks and he'd wear them to his gigs, stating that it was like you were up there with him

He shushed you when you pointed out that it meant he was technically stepping on you, telling you "you know what I mean" before giving you a kiss

He'd give you requests for scarves, beanies, the lot. Socks were for bed or performances only, apparently, but everything else was worn whenever

You even made beanies and scarves for members of the band who wanted them, each having the School of Rock logo on it plus the kid's name

Dewey loves wearing and telling everyone about the stuff you make because he thinks it's absolutely incredible you're able to create something like this

And he treasures everything you make him

Most importantly, he's there to listen when you rant that the yarn isn't working like it should, or just about crafting problems in general, and be an ear as you problem solve an issue and is there to celebrate the victories when it finally works

Gets really good at yarn shopping too, picks up the brands you prefer and learns to read the packaging labels

Just

He loves the fact you can create something just like he can

#school of rock musical headcanons #school of rock headcanons #school of rock the musical #school of rock musical #school of rock #dewey finn headcanons #dewey finn/reader #dewey finn #dewey finn x reader #ama writes #amas stuff

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alleiradayne · 5 years

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THERE’S SOMETHING STRANGE A READER/SAM WINCHESTER SERIES

When Y/N Y/L/N escapes to the upper Midwest for a weekend of inspiration to begin her tenth paranormal thriller novel, she never imagined the source of that inspiration to be her own life. Between the old mansion, two peculiar men posing as antiquers, and the mysterious death of the heiress of Hill Manor one-hundred and fifty years ago, Y/N learns the truth about far more than the paranormal.

Part IV - The Betrayal

Summary: The hunt begins! Warnings/Tags: Hunting, fluff, angst, near death experience, a poltergeist, I think it’s scary... Square filled: Author AU Characters/Pairings: Reader/Sam Winchester, Dean Winchester Word Count: 4,895 A/N: For @spnfluffbingo2019, this entire series fills the Author AU square. Super giant huge thank you to @atc74 who beta’d this giant thing for me. I also had to delete and reblog this post because I made some changes that were posted to AO3 and not here.

The door creaked on its worn hinges as Dean crossed the threshold into her room. Over his shoulder he brandished an iron fireplace poker like a baseball bat. “Alright, what have you touched in here so far?”

From behind Sam, Y/N shoved her way into her room and strode past Dean. His feeble protest sounded more like a bruised ego than an actual complaint, and so she ignored it. “Everything,” she declared as she gestured to encompass her room. “I've touched everything in this room. If you can see it, I've touched it. It's kind of hard not to.”

Sam swallowed hard as he prepared to speak. “I warned you. Last night. Why didn't you listen?”

“Yeah, like that basketball player and her reporter friend,” Dean said. “They were smart and got the hell out when I told them to.”

Wait. Sam had been right? “You… weren't trying to fold the basketball player?”

Dean turned to Sam with a flat look. “Fold? Did you tell her to say that?”

“Would you have preferred I use ‘fuck’ instead? Bang? Nail? Drill? Take your pick,” Y/N snipped. “I've got more.”

Dean stared at her for a moment before turning back to Sam. “I hate you and I'm jealous of you, but I'm damn proud of you, Sammy. That's the kinda girl you should marry.”

“Shut up,” Sam hissed. “We need to find this… thing immediately. It might not even be here. Whatever it is,” he added as he looked the room once over.

Y/N looked as well but didn't have a single clue for what it was for which she searched. “Sam, who was that woman in that book? And why do you think her spirit is still attached to this place?”

Sam withdrew the book from under his arm and opened the it to read aloud. “Y/N Hillstead…” he paused as he looked at Dean who in turn looked at her, “of Hill Manor, writing her twentieth novel at her scrivener’s desk in her room.”

Y/N nodded as she frowned. “Okay, I'm just gonna ignore the fact that we have the same first name and we're both authors. Why do you think her spirit is here?”

Sam flipped a few pages ahead as Dean prodded at various pieces of furniture with the iron poker. “Y/N died within days of publishing the novel she was writing in her portrait. Her cause of death was unknown, her body unmarred and in top physical health for the time.”

“So, she had an aneurysm and a 19th century doctor couldn’t figure that out,” Y/N said as she picked at the enameled corner the writing desk. At the edge of her vision she saw Dean squint as his hackles bared his teeth. “There has to be more to this story if you’re both convinced her spirit is here.”

Sam snapped the book shut and his flat stare bore into hers. “What this book omits, either intentionally or otherwise, is the fact that Ms. Hillstead's body was found in the mansion's cemetery lying on her back right where her future grave would be.”

Okay. That was definitely suspicious. “I still feel like there's more missing,” she stated.

“Would you just tell her the whole story?” Dean growled as he slumped into a chair, only to leap out of it after a beat.

Sam rolled his eyes as he scoffed and shook his head at Dean. When Sam turned back to her, he explained. “Ms. Hillstead's body had been found posed. At least that's what other sources say. Given the items found on her person, we suspect she had lain that way on her own.”

He neared the writing desk as his words slowed. A glance between the book and the desk served him one final check before he said, “she had all the ritual components for creating a phylactery.”

Y/N slumped onto her bed. Christ. Real magic. Subconsciously, her fingers tapped her chin as she spoke. “You’re trying to find the phylactery. Before anyone else does.”

Dean grunted his agreement. “Ms. Hillstead was a witch in every sense of the word. A powerful one, too.”

A witch? A real, honest-to-God witch? Y/N wondered what other fairytales might be true. A shake of her head cleared her thoughts, and instead she asked, “How do you know she was a witch?”

“We uh… have contacts,” Sam stuttered.

“You know a witch?!”

Dean waved her off. “She’s been a pain in our ass for the better part of a decade now. Don’t make it sound cool.”

“I would love to meet her,” Y/N started, “I bet she has amazing stories.”

“Can we focus?” Sam asked as he continued to stare at the writing table. “Whatever this phylactery is, we need to find it immediately.”

Y/N stood as Dean inched his way to the door. “Wait a minute,” she demanded. Dean froze at the door, his hand an inch shy of the handle. “Is Y/N Hillstead actually dead?”

Sam and Dean traded a look. “We’re not sure,” Sam started. “Either way, we find her phylactery and get it to the right people, they can handle it. Ideally, they could eliminate that part of her soul and find out where the rest of her is.”

“Rest… of her?” Y/N asked.

Dean bristled at that. “We dug up her grave last night hoping to burn her corpse,” he said.

“With salt, right? To force her spirit to move on.” Y/N added.

He visibility relaxed at that, a small smile quirking his lips. He regarded Sam as he agreed. “Yeah. But her coffin was empty. So, she either isn’t dead, or, if she is, something else was done with her body. We think she’s not dead. She’s a lich and split her soul in two, and put one half in a phylactery. She could be a baelnorn, but that’s highly un—”

Sam backhanded his shoulder and Dean stopped short with a clipped tongue as Y/N paced the width of her room, deep in thought. A thousand questions running through her mind, rabbit hole after rabbit hole spawning more and more questions. But given their convictions, it all boiled down to one issue. “How do you destroy a phylactery?”

Dean rolled his eyes as his chin dropped to his chest. Sam, all too proud, withdrew a decorative vial from his jean pocket. Golden amber liquid glimmered in the yellow lamplight as he spun it between his fingers. She neared him as her eyes narrowed to examine the tiny bottle of crystal-clear glass. Stoppered by a cork in golden metal neck, the liquid swirled in undulating circles far too much for Sam’s steady hand. Inches away, a sudden flash of a violent shade of green startled Y/N so, she jumped back a step. “What the fuck is that?”

“Venom,” Sam said as he returned it to his pocket. “From a basilisk.”

Basilisks, too? As Y/N’s mind raced, it dawned on her. “Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me,” she scoffed.

“We’re not,” Dean groaned. “It’s so damn ridiculous. But it works.”

She pinched the bridge of her nose. “Alright, fine. But we still have no clue where this phylactery is, or what it is. It might not even be in this house.”

Sam glanced at her writing desk once more. “We have reason to believe it is.”

“Sam and I were up most of the night doing research after we found her coffin empty,” Dean started as he caught Sam’s look. He hefted the iron poker in his fist as he neared the desk. “The things on Y/N Hillstead’s body included several possible phylacteries. At least, there was a list of items found on her body not necessary for the ritual. We’re assuming she planned to use one of them.”

A slow step in complete synchronization neared the brothers to the desk. “One of those items was a small journal,” Sam started.

“A diamond bracelet her husband had given her,” Dean added as they continued to close in on the writing desk.

“A scroll of parchment with the end of her last novel written on it,” Sam added, eyes still glued to the writing desk.

With each of their steps, Y/N backed further into her room until the dresser met the small of her back. Dean reached the desk first and hooked into the drawer with the poker. Its contents revealed, Dean regarded Sam out of the corner of his eye, then reached in with his bare hands.

“Wait!”

Too late, Y/N's exclamation echoed through her room unheard. Dean withdrew her leather notebook, its modern binding far too obvious among the other items in the drawn.

He discarded it on the bed before returning to the drawer. “The last item was a pen.”

“Like the one in her portrait?”

Sam withdrew a thin purple cloth from his back pocket and unfurled it with a snap of his wrist. A thick swallow stuck in her throat, and the room spun as adrenaline coursed through her veins. With rapt attention, Y/N stared as he reached into the desk, shuffled old paper aside, then froze.

Dean backed away a startled step before recovering with the iron poker bared. “Be careful.”

Y/N resisted the urge to laugh, Sam's flat glare and Dean's healthy fear of the unknown humorous in their own ways. “It's just a pen.”

“We don't know that yet,” Dean argued.

“He has a point,” Sam agreed as he searched the room, then found her empty notebook on her bed. “May I?” When Y/N nodded, he snatched it up and flipped it open to the first page and his brow furrowed. “I thought you said you started writing last night?”

“I… didn’t,” she stuttered. “There was just… too much going on. The mansion, the people. They were all…”

“Distracting?”

Sam’s bright stare locked with hers, and for a moment, the world around them ceased to exist. Dean faded to the blurry edges of her subconscious, as did the pen that Sam held. Empathy poured from him in waves, crashing over her and pulling her under. Damn his perception. Damn his emotional intelligence, too. And damn his enthralling gaze.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake, will you two get a room?”

Reality returned in a rush when Dean ripped the pen and cloth from Sam’s hand and scribbled on the page of her open notebook. Y/N gasped despite not knowing what should or even could happen. And Sam nearly screamed as he bobbled the notebook into Dean's arms, where he fumbled it to the floor.

Still as stone, they froze as though that might protect them. Several seconds ticked by on the large mantle clock before Y/N opened her eyes that she had shut in a fit of terror only to find the notebook laying on the floor, unmarked by the pen.

“Piece of junk,” Dean spat as he shoved the cap on it. He tossed it back into the drawer as he handed Sam his cloth, then leaned down for the notebook and handed it back to Y/N. “Thanks. We’ll keep looking.”

“I could help,” she offered as she set her notebook on the desk.

Sam handed her the thin square of purple fabric as he said, “Use that. It’s… it has a Hoodoo barrier on it. Kinda like a… “

Dean flourished his from his pocket and grinned. “A magic condom.”

She almost felt bad for Sam. Almost. As she took the fabric from him, she looked to Dean and said, “Magic condom, hm? Does it make you look bigger when you wear it, Dean?”

The ridiculous grin on Dean's face disappeared without a trace. He looked to the door, then turned and strode out to the hallway, Sam’s cackling laughter following him as he, too, turned for the door.

“Sam.”

He stopped in the doorway, a smile so bright on his face despite the looming danger. “Y/N?”

“What should I do?”

Damn the quake in her voice. She only needed a straight answer from Sam. Not consoling or, worse, pity.

“I'll catch up to you,” he said into the hallway.

“Sure,” she heard Dean say. His heavy boots thumped down the hallway as he said, “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do, Y/N!”

She laughed despite Sam’s embarrassed blush. When Sam closed her door and turned back to her, she said, “He means well.”

“Yeah, he’s meant well for the better part of twenty-five years,” he said.

She sat on her bed and Sam followed, sitting so close the heat of his presence consumed her in every way possible. “Is that how long you two have been at… whatever this is?” she asked as she gestured to her room.

“Hunting.”

Of course. “Hunting,” she repeated.

“And yes. Dean's been hunting longer. My dad taught us,” he paused as his eyes glazed over, staring off into the middle distance as though reliving too many memories at once.

“Sam?” Her hand found his without thought. “Earth to Sam?”

He blinked at last, and his fingers tightened around hers when he looked to her. “Sorry. It's… a long story. One I don't think I have time to tell. Maybe I could write a book about it all someday. Although, I don't think there's enough ink in the entire world to print that monstrosity.”

The fine hairs on the back of her neck stood on end as gooseflesh broke out along her arms. “What did you just say?”

Sam regarded his feet a moment before responding. “I should write a book about hunting. For hunters. You know, nothing I could really publish given that—”

“No, after that,” she urged as she stood.

Sam followed, his hand still held in hers. “That there isn't enough ink in the whole world to print that book.”

“Ink,” she muttered as she turned back to the writing desk. The drawer sat open a half inch and bright moonlight from the window glinted off something inside it.

“Yeah, ink,” Sam repeated. “What about it?”

“I… I'm not sure,” she sighed. Something about the pen and the mention of ink had snagged a recent memory. But far too often the last several weeks, her more intriguing thoughts fled at the first sign of scrutiny. “I thought I had an idea but, it's gone. Feels a lot like my writing these days.”

The warmth of his hands enveloped her shoulders as Sam squared her to face him. “You'll get out of this funk,” he said, “you've got a lot going on right now, especially with this bombshell of a truth dropping into your lap.”

“I know,” she groaned, “I'm just… impatient. And still so distracted.”

The second those words left her mouth she wished she could take them back. Sam parted from her with a sudden nervous shake as he said, “I'm sorry, I should go. Let you get back to work.”

Had dinner never happened? What of their walk? And the library earlier that afternoon? “I still want to help. Do you have to go?”

He checked the door over his shoulder. “I should. We really need to find this phylactery.”

The sinking sensation in her chest chilled her to her toes. “I… I understand. I'll keep looking here,” she said.

At the door, Sam paused and held up another purple cloth. “Don’t forget to use the one I gave you. And Y/N?”

“Yeah, Sam?”

“After we finish this, we’ll talk, okay?” he said with a small smile. “I promise. You deserve my complete attention and I want to give that to you when people's lives aren't at stake.”

A promise. Better than nothing. “Thanks, Sam.”

He disappeared through the door, its sharp clasp clicking against the wood as it shut behind him. For a long moment, Y/N stood in the center of her room, unsure of what to do for the first time in so many years. Though shocked, she found a sense of comfort in learning the truth, that her novels were not far from fact. Not in the least. If anything, her work demanded a review by the Winchesters. She wondered what her editor would think if she republished any of her books with corrections based on Sam and Dean’s feedback.

Shit. Too many distractions. She had intended to give Sam her phone number in case she found anything. If she moved fast enough, she might yet catch him in the hallway. From the writing desk, she retrieved her notebook. The cover flipped aside with a flick of her wrist, but when she went for her pen in the binding, it wasn’t there. The drawer of the desk came up empty but for the old fountain pen Dean and Sam had found and discarded.

The black glazed finish—wood or stone, she was unsure—glimmered in the lamplight. Thin, faint veins of gold and green shined as she twirled it between her fingers.

“Ink.”

If Y/N Hillstead had written twenty novels with that pen, maybe Y/N could tap into that well of inspiration.

All she needed was some ink.

Her room proved fruitless as she turned it over, using the Hoodoo cloth in most cases to touch anything remotely suspicious. Not a single inkwell surfaced in any of the drawers, dressers, or cabinets that lined her over-furnished quarters. The distinct lack of an inkwell in that room, the room in which Y/N Hillstead had supposedly written her novels, struck her odd. But that faint memory, newly formed earlier that afternoon, bubbled to the surface once more and she surrendered to it completely.

Corded muscle pressed against her entire body, enveloped in his suffocating embrace. How soft his lips on hers, softer than sin as they so gently teased them apart with his tongue and the faint taste of icy spearmint gum filled her mouth again. Gun oil and leather overwhelmed her nose as she breathed in to ease the relentless onslaught of arousal pooling between her thighs. Her bedroom spun as the memory unfolded and she relived it, his hands slipping to the small of her back, smoothing over the curve of her ass, and grasping, nearly lifting her from her feet.

Had Dean not interrupted them, she knew without a doubt Sam would have taken her on that very table in the library. And she would have so willingly wrapped her legs around his hips and let him fuck her cross-eyed.

But in that last moment before the memory faded at Dean’s barking interjection, an image flashed in her mind’s eye and Y/N saw it.

Behind Sam, an inkwell sat on a shelf all by itself. And beside it on the same base stood an identical pen to the one she held, standing tall in its holder.

Her eyes snapped open as she slapped her hand on the writing desk to catch her listing body. When the room stopped spinning and her breathing steadied, Y/N set her notebook and the pen on her bed as her plans took shape. She needed a change of clothes. As Sam had mentioned earlier that afternoon, running in heels begged for a broken ankle.

While she knew Sam would be well on his way by the time she changed into her jeans, t-shirt, jacket, and Chucks, she still wanted to give the pen a shot. Her superstitions about inspiration, muses, and motivation demanded she at least try it. So, she gathered up her things, stuffed them into her messenger bag, and headed for the library.

On her way, she expected to run into other guests, if only one. But no one interrupted her quick stride, not a single soul in sight from the hallway, down the stairs, and into the halls of study in the North wing of the house. Given the hour, she expected to see folks returning from dinner but when she had passed the dining room at the bottom of the stairs, darkness oozed from the doorway.

She darted in and headed for the kitchen door on a whim. If she had learned anything from all her years of research, she needed some sort of defense. In the kitchen, the overhead lights flickered to life when she flipped the switch. Y/N scanned the countertops, then, finding them bare, started in on the cupboards. The pantry proved fruitful; a large canister of salt sat on a bottom shelf and she tossed it into her bag.

On her way out, her eye caught a gleaming object hanging on the wall near the door. A small chef’s hand-torch sat in a mount and she snatched it up to toss it into her bag as she strode from the kitchen. Through the dining room, she returned to the dark hallway and headed for the library.

Around a nearby corner, she happened upon the library entrance quicker than she had expected. Yellow lamplight flooded the room and spilled into the hallway where Y/N had skidded to a stop. Empty but for the myriad rows of shelves, the library beckoned to her, inviting her to curl up in a secluded corner with a good book and a hot cup of tea on that chilly fall night.

One foot crossed the threshold, then the other as a creeping sense of dread crawled up her spine. She paused six feet inside the library doors for a breath and scanned the room as best she could. Too many obstacles obscured the furthest corners of the room, including the table at which she had found Sam earlier that afternoon. And yet, she hesitated. What might be around those dimly lit corners, the edges of shadows through which she could hardly see?

“Oh, get it together, Y/N,” she chastised as she pressed on, willing herself to traverse the bookcases once more.

Around the last row of shelves, she found the table and approached it only to stall in the last foot. She had stood there mere hours ago, lips locked with Sam’s as he all but overpowered her with his hulking frame and palpable desire. She wanted nothing more than to relive that moment again and again until her imagination finished the job and she would, at the very least, have the perfect inspiration for a scene in her novel.

But before she moved any further, her curiosity about the pen burned a hole in thoughts. She inspected the shelving surrounding her spot until at last she found the entire case of writing supplies. Near the top the inkwell sat on its base, the twin pen beside it and surrounded by copious amounts of old parchment and quills.

“Perfect.”

As she approached the shelf, Y/N noted the base upon which the inkwell sat had a second, empty holder beside the twin pen. Made of the same material—she still couldn’t tell if it was wood or stone—she determined the set must belong together.

Eager to reunite them, Y/N grabbed the base at both ends and slid it towards her. A sharp shift jolted the base as it popped free of its decades long resting place surrounded by a thick layer of dust.

Delicate hands carried the inkwell and base to the table where she set them down near a chair and sat. The moment of truth loomed, settled in her stomach like a lead weight as she dragged her notebook from her bag. On its heels, she withdrew the pen and removed the cap, its sharp clip loud as a crack of thunder in the silent library.

Her nerves had gotten the best of her, shaking hands struggling to fill the pen. Damn fragile piece of junk. The sad part, she knew, was that it probably wasn't worth it. The pen had most likely ceased to function properly decades ago.

The nib hovered over her notebook as she imagined how to begin her novel. As a solid drop of thick black ink gathered, Y/N had a second thought to take out her Hoodoo cloth and wrap it around the pen.

Just in case.

Metal met paper and dragged a thick, broad stroke as Y/N wrote in her neatest script.

The Betrayal at The House on The Hill

The last thing Natalie wanted, let alone needed, after the untimely death of her parents was to inherit a piece of property. Least of all the cursed house on the top of the hill at the edge of town. But there she stood in the massive ballroom, surrounded by too many faces with too few names.

Each sentence flowed from Y/N without thought, without any effort at all. She continued, each idea forming and solidifying in a matter of seconds. The words found their way to the page with such perfection, Y/N tore the pen away intentionally to allow herself a moment to breathe.

As she inhaled, the chill she had felt upon entering the library returned. The fine hairs on the back of her neck stood on end, and gooseflesh pebbled the skin of her arms as a numbing sense of dread chilled her toes and fingers. Her heart thumped faster and faster, hammering against her chest, until the rush of blood past her ears drowned out all her thoughts.

Lamps in the hallways flickered once, twice, then snuffed out. Darkness threatened the library as lamps along the walls followed, their brief flickers inevitably stilled. Y/N rose to her feet and reached into her bag, her fingers wrapping around a large container of salt as the last lights sputtered and died.

An unearthly cold gripped her like a vice and threatened to squeeze the life from her lungs. Ephemeral swirls of dust and dirt churned in a gathering mass not a foot before her, taking shape in the form of a hand around her throat. Y/N dropped the pen with a gasp, her scream silent as the grave, and though she clawed at the hands on her neck, she could not grasp them.

The dim light of the moon faded beneath heavy lids, her consciousness fleeing under the unholy strength of the malevolence rapidly forming before her. Before she succumbed to that darkness, the ghastly visage of a young woman—unmistakably Y/N Hillstead—stared back at her, sunken eyes wide and boring holes into her very soul.

Y/N gasped one last breath in desperation as she flung the can of salt at the spirit. Just like in her books, it scattered in a spray of dirt and dust, and Y/N collapsed to her knees as she gasped, choking for breath.

Her reprieve lasted a second before the spirit returned, but Y/N leaped faster and grabbed the pen as she rolled for the canister of salt. A handful flung in its face bought her the one second she needed to lunge for her bag and make the last move she had.

The chef’s torch ignited in one hand and she held the pen a scant inch shy of the flame. The spirit froze, expressionless but for her wide eyes glued to the pen.

“If you move one more inch, so help me God, I'll burn it,” Y/N growled. “You need leave. This is not the place for you.”

The spirit of Y/N Hillstead opened her mouth to speak but only a thin rasp emanated from her. Rage filled her eyes as her lips thinned to nothing, pressed closed as her jaw clenched.

And then everything happened all at once. A banshee wail of a scream rent the air as the spirit threw her head back and her jaw unhinged. Y/N clamped her hands over her ears as she collapsed to her knees and the pen fell to the floor, the most excruciating pain wracking her entire body. Regret plagued her final thoughts as consciousness faded once more, darkness creeping in at the edges of her vision.

But out of that deep, dark nothing, a familiar face brightened, illuminated by a flare of eerie green light. She searched the room for the source of the light and found it on the floor, shining blindingly bright out of the body of the pen. The impulse to grasp it, to encapsulate that power, assaulted Y/N with such relentless force, no amount of her willpower could have resisted. She lunged and clamped a hand over the pen, trapping it on the floor. As though she had covered its mouth, the spirit silenced in a wisp of dust, disappearing into thin air.

Warm, golden lamplight flickered to life and flooded the library in the absence of the spirit. That familiar face returned as Sam Winchester rushed to her side. His massive arms enveloped her with such ease, Y/N blushed despite the pain. She slumped into his embrace and allowed him to scoop her up into his arms, her hands shaking as they gripped at his coat.

He carried her from the library as she finally succumbed to the darkness, heavy lids drifting closed. But before she slipped into that unconsciousness, that infinitesimal space between asleep and awake, Y/N heard a gruff voice ask, “What the fuck just happened in there?”

Sam shifted her in his arms as he strode on, Dean catching up behind him. “I don’t know, man.”

“That wasn’t a lich, Sam! Or a spirit!” Dean hissed. “That was a full-on fucking poltergeist! Why is Y/N Hillstead a poltergeist?!”

A real, honest-to-god poltergeist. That final thought followed her down into the deep, dark nothing as she succumbed to unconsciousness at last.

Son of a bitch.

If you want to be tagged for this series specifically, send me an ask or a DM! If you want in on any of my tags (Sam/Jared, Dean/Jensen), you can ask for that, too!

THERE’S SOMETHING STRANGE MASTER LIST

ALLEIRADAYNE’S SPN FLUFF BINGO MASTERLIST

ALLEIRADAYNE’S SPN MASTER LIST

The Whole Thang:

@atc74 @hannahindie @bevans87 @meganwinchester1999 @plaided-ani-on-hiatus @oneshoeshort @jonogueira @andkatiethings @elfinmox @wonderfulworldofwinchester @princessofthefandomrealm @just-another-busyfangirl @jmekitchens @81mysteriouslyme @dolphincliffs @seenashwrite @canadianspnhunter @meowmeow-motherfucker @depressed-moose-78 @staycejo1 @hobby27 @pretty-fortune @mypopculturediva @fanfictionjunkie1112 @sandlee44 @4llmywr1tings @claitynroberts @maddiepants @scarletluvscas @donnaintx @blackeyedangel9805 @rainflowermoon @winchesterprincessbride @lazinessisalliknow @the-is13 @waywardafgrandma @keymology @sister-winchesters99

Sam’s Sasstresses:

@morganas-pendragons @karouwinchester

There’s Something Strange:

@peridottea91 @amanda-teaches

#spnfluffbingo #spnfluffbingo2019 #alleiradayne writes #spn fanfic #reader/sam winchester

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strawberryybird · 4 years

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Me sees the character songs post, immediately wants to know what character songs you have for the characters and why.

ok so. welcome to the rabbit hole that is my music taste and what is my no.1 most frequently done activity.. plastering emotions i have for fictional characters all over my music taste. I restricted myself to ¾ songs for each character & then to Edie, Hubert, Dorothea, Lysithea & Byleth because otherwise we’d be here all day (and those are the Primary Daydream Candidates rn)

under a rm because as im sure we’ve all seen.. i just don’t fucking stop.. also i got weirdly deep about some of these topics. i don’t know how to tag it. tread careful?

Here are some songs.. welcome to my (notoriously bad) music taste. alsoi go in Very heavy handed about it all. i make only a few apologies:

Edelgard:Everybody wants to rule the word - tears for fears. (ucan go with Lorde’s cover but i prefer the original bc im like that.) i meanit’s pretty heavy handed but it’s such an Edelgard song it !!!! fuels my ficwriting. if it’s not so very Edelgard’s relationship with twsitd then idk whatto tell you. plus it’s an iconic song

Medicine - daughter. (daughter is My Favourite Band. Ever. I cannot articulate how much ilove their (and ex:re’s) music!!) anway. this is a hegegard song & i don’ttake constructive criticism. I’ll reiterate this better in other descriptions,but please don’t take my inclusion of a song about such a topic as adevaluation of it in any way, that’s not my intention. The reason I go so feralfor Hegegard is because im no stranger to watching someone you care about hurt themselvesin a way you can’t stop, and that’s what the AM ending evokes in me. Hence: asong I love that one can read the same story in. And then the lyrics ‘You couldstill be / What you want to / What you said you were / When I met you” just !! parallelsEdge of Dawn’s lyrics about regret & overall I’m very feral about this.

(Don’t Fear) The Reaper - blue oystercult. this is PRIME Edelgard telling freshly-awokenbyleth she’s been waging war for 5 years. also !!!! “Seasonsdon’t fear the reaper / Nor do the wind, the sun or the rain, we can be likethey are” >>> “The Edge of Dawn (Seasons ofWarfare) (フレスベルグの少女～風花雪月～,lit. Girl of Hresvelg ~Wind, Flower, Snow, Moon~)” .. the link is tenuous but coincidence?? is it, fuck.

Seneca - Novo Amor. this is another one of those songs that could mean something different to everyone. very easy to project onto, is novo amor. I like the story of being prepared to run and break ties at any given moment, but ending up - emotionally or physically - in the same place one always was. apart from the glaring tie of how Edelgard returned to garreg mach, this song is a lot of me trying to repatriate Edelgard’s lack of emotional arc in the game by saying . well. this song.

You can call me Al - paul simon. am i projecting edeleth thoughts onto my favourite song? it’s morelikely than you think!!! but also i like the chorus and all the exasperating ‘call me el’jokes i can make.. i may be half writing a fic based on this song.

Dorothea:Agnes - glass animals. so i have significant emotions about edelthea at the best of times !! and this song !!! really bloody hits it home !! yes I knowit’s got a really heavy and real subject matter and I’m not trying to devalueit or minimise it.. but the story - about watching someone close to you hurtthemselves/get hurt, and doing so in ways you can’t stop them from - is adamn real one. And a Lot of why I love Dorothea’s character in the gamebecause she’s the one who can’t stop her friends from getting hurt – through exposureto warfare .. or stopping Edelgard becomingthe monster at the end of the story. Even though she’s one of the healers onthe beagle’s team. And I feel that.

Ex’s and Oh’s – Elle King. So you know that one spn fanvid featuringthis song about all of dean winchester’s relationships? That, but for my flirting Queen Dorothea Arnault. (and I have the dumbest most fun little headcanon thatonce Dorothea and Sylvain derailed a lgbt+ society meeting whilst Edie wastrying to go over the budget by blasting this song and dancing on the table.The idea makes me laugh)

Hold My Girl – George Ezra. The whole thing about wanting just that onemoment to cherish the people you love for one moment more before you have goout face the world? If that’s not the timeskip’d Dorothea Arnault Aesthetic, Idon’t know what is.

(Call Me Out – sea girls. On a much lighter note, this song is fueling the later half of mydrafts of road trip au. And it’s literally because of that one verse. im gayshut up.)

Hubert:Red Right Hand – nick cave and the bad seeds. Is it on the nose? Is itheavy handed? Oh u fuckin bet but that won’t stop me!!! A) it’s a good song. ItIs. B) I like narrative songs. C) Any ‘red right hand’ symbolism in Anycharacter has me love them immediately and also plonk this song in the middleof any playlist about them. sure, the artic monkeys version might be a bit more on hubert’s brand.. but my mileage varies about it lmao

I had fortress by bear’s den earmarked for Hubie, as I think it’s easilyread about boundaries and a one sided intense relationship & that’s! Hubiebaybee! But I can’t possibly cover unhealthy relationships without shoving thealbum Hospice by The Antlers into every which way of it. It’s by no meansdirectly translatable to Edelgard and hubert’s relationship and it’s arguable ifI should even mention it in the same sentence as a bloody fictional character… that beingsaid, I’ve been having emotions about:Shiva – the antlers. This song specifically reads to me to be a really goodarticulation of my own thoughts about Hubert’s perspective of Edie getting experimentedon. heavy but damn. I like that. I just see a lot of what their teen years togethermust have been like in Shiva.

Time – Pink Floyd. Ok so.. it’s like Hubert in parallel bc I think thissong is a lot about searching for a purpose/reason or a quote unquote bloodyred path in life. And I may have been listening to it when I watched Hubert/DorotheaA support & now it’s just permanently associated with it bc it complementedit so well. And I like it. So . it stays. It’s very much a beagles song to meas well.

Lysithea:The Beautiful Dream – George Ezra. Ok so I read this Edelysithea ficwith this on repeat bc the title reminded me of it, and then I stuck it onrepeat because it worked too well and now.. im crying.. and i like the inflection of Lysithea’s bitterness over the titular lyric. (but also, it remains one of my steadfast edeleth songs.. sorry lys)

Secrets (Cellar Door) – Radical Face. Another Edelgard&/Lysitheasong!! I really like their relationship ok. And given the song itself can beread straight or an allegory for whatever you particularly want, but the storyis just too on the nose for me not to mention it here.(also general advocation of listening to the whole of radical face’s musicbecause I’ve loved it for years now & the work is beautiful.) (also it’swonderful for fe awakening projection. Or ur own.)

Oh Children – nick cave and the bad seeds. there’s a million different interpretations of this song, but to try nail a few onto Lysithea.. there’s the harry potter use of making/finding a light in the depths of tragedy & i love that for Lys. there’s the whole ‘the kids aren’t alright’ theme and it’s various depths. and i like narrative lyrics to plaster my large fictional-character-caused-emotions onto, so make of this one what you will.

Marianne (and Lysithea too if you like)Bad Blood – Radical Face. Ok so. This is one of my favourite songs in bloodyexistence, and it’s so loaded with meaning & it has a metric tonne of it. Icould wax lyrical about how much I love Radical Face’s work. I don’t want myinclusion of this song (specifically this one) to in any way devalue it. Butmusic is ofc incredibly subjective, and so is my reading of a lot of threehouses – in case it’s not bloody obvious by now. There’s a Lot of stories onecould take from Marianne’s character (and none of them are More Valid^tm thanany other), and I do see a very personal story in her – as I do in this song. Hgghhghive just spent 10 minutes trying to find an impersonal way to talk about twovery personal and relative stories, which naturally doesn’t work. That, and theway I read her story is Real Fucking Dicey for tumblr.com. so if this song is about accepting rejection because of parts of yourself so deep they’re in your blood, i think.. y’all can see.. where my neurodivergent gay self is going with this..

Byleth:Something to Believe In – Tom Walker. Yeah. You’re bloody welcome. If this isn’ta completely on the nose Byleth song, I’ll eat Dorothea’s hat.

Don’t Let the Man – Fatboy Slim. ~ And the sign said green-hairedpartially possessed emotionally void mercenaries need not apply for aprofessorship at the country’s most prestigious academic centre… ~

Emigrate - Novo Amor. this just fucking Got Me in the ‘actively choosing crimson flower’ feelings. im an emotional wreak but its aight. the lyrics just matched up too well for me to let it go !!!

Alps - Novo Amor. this hit me in the ‘i miss the gremlin child sothis’ feelings one day and now it’s permanently stuck that way.

Make Them Gold – chvrches. (this is very much associated with awakening’sfuture past kids and also the Carmilla series in my mind But!!) I love a story about‘if we’re all falling, we’re going down together’ and the magical power of teamwork, and how it brings out the best in people.. & that’s what this song& Byleth kinda bloody stand for ya know??

woooh.. oh my god . i need another cup of tea.

#ask #birb says what //#fe meta #that tag's just for kicks and so i can find this again #oh my god i just don't shut up sometimes #but oh my god that was fun #easiest way to get me into a mouse trap or something is to tell me to make a character playlist i s2g #anyway. thank you for the ask!!!#apologies for the brick wall of text!!!#hope someone out there found at least one part of this they liked that'd be rad #but like. i do this shit for ME lmao #kalinary

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i4z-0892-il · 6 years

Text

Memories

Author: Jena @i4z-0892-il

Pairing: Dean x Reader

Summary: The Reader suffering from amnesia has been trying to figure out how to function in a world she doesn’t quite fit into, and remember a past she just can’t recall. Until someone almost familiar steps into her life.

Word Count: 4,773

Warnings: Emotional distress, physical aggression

A/N: This one is probably only going to be 2 or 3 parts, kind of depends how much I wind up cramming into each chapter.

Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3

You tapped wine red fingernails against the countertop absentmindedly staring into space. It was a slow day, the second the sun went down the bar would be packed, and you’d have plenty to do to pass the time, but as it was there wasn’t a soul around. That was just the lunch shift though, on occasion there’d be a random who’d stumble in, order a beer maybe a burger, but usually it was just you and Benny, the owner and cook, until the evening shift began.

“Hey, Y/n, you wanna quit daydreamin’ and slice up some lemons for me?” Benny called with a thick cajun drawl through a small square window from the kitchen at the end of the bar. You didn’t move from your spot, or break your focus which was on nothing in particular when you answered him.

“They’re already done and in the fridge Benny. Top shelf.” You dropped your chin into the palm of your hand as you leaned over the bartop, your mind on another planet entirely. You found yourself gazing off into la-la-land more often than not, visions of another life playing through your head so vividly you could almost smell them and taste them. So vivid it could have been real, but the subject of your daydreams and nightmares was so far fetched there was no explaining them other than an overactive imagination. You’d had them since you could remember- though the joke there was that you couldn’t remember very far back as it were.

What you did remember was waking up in a sterile white room, tubes and IV’s everywhere and a Doctor and Nurse standing over you with their eyes wide like they’d seen a miracle happen. They weren’t wrong.

“Miss, do you know where you are?” The Doctor asked, her eyes kind and sympathetic.

“A hospital?” When you answered your own voice seemed foreign and hoarse with disuse.

“Do you know what year it is?”

“No.”

“Do you know how you got here?”

“...No....”

“Do you remember your name?”

“No…” Your voice was little more than a whisper, and their questions drew nothing but empty space in your memory where answers should have been. The nothingness that their questions drew from you began to fill up with panic, the panic of not knowing. You couldn’t remember your own name, you had to have one. You knew things, words, colors, shapes, sounds. You could tell faces apart, and gauge where you were, but around that there was a gray fog where you should have been able to pluck details out of.

The Doctor and her Nurse exchanged pitiful glances, and you weren’t sure if you wanted to hear what they had to say, what they knew but you didn’t. Then she told you that you’d been in an accident, and were lucky to have survived. Broken leg, broken arm, dislocated jaw, punctured lung, and you’d been nearly ripped to shreds to the point that the surgeons basically had to Frankenstein you back together. The real kicker was when she told you that you’d been in a coma for the last two months, and had been kept on life support for the first three weeks of your residency. It felt like the wind had been knocked out of you, and you couldn’t process any of it through the sensory overload.

“An accident? Coma? I- I don’t understand.” You stated sharply. Saying the words out loud made less sense than they did hearing them. You could understand why you couldn’t remember, or how you couldn’t remember. They hadn’t expected you to come off life-support, let alone wake up, hopes for the Jane Doe on floor 4 room 437 were grim. The fact that you were missing memory wasn’t as surprising to them as it was to you. “Who am I?”

“We were hoping you might be able to tell us. The gentlemen who brought you in said your name was Y/n, no last name, they couldn’t tell us anything else.”

“Gentlemen? You mean like friends? Family?”

“They said they saw your car flip over, and that you told them your name before you passed out, then they brought you here. They came back to check on you a few times, but that’s been a while ago now. You came in without any identification. ”

“Did… was anyone looking for me? Did I have family come see me?”

“I’m sorry… The Police searched missing persons but couldn’t find anything.”

The next couple of weeks following that were filled with more Doctors, Physical Therapy, counselors and other Specialists to help you remember who you were, and how to fit into life not knowing who you are. The whole process moved too far too fast, you were bounced out of care as quickly as possible, and once you’d regained strength enough to walk and function like a more-or-less normal human being they kicked you to the curb and left you to fend for yourself.

The hardest part wasn’t learning how to walk again, or the cognitive tests- it was the foreign face you saw when you looked in the mirror. The first time you looked you scoffed, you weren’t what you had expected. Not that you’d necessarily expected someone else, but the girl in your reflection seemed as strange and distant to you as everyone else. It felt like being trapped in the skin of someone else. It was a face that you’d never get used to, no matter how hard you tried, uncomfortable in your own skin on such a primal level. You couldn’t complain so much, you were beautiful in your own right, and folks took notice of that fact. But their eyes were invasive, and you’d have preferred to blend into the background.

That’s when you found yourself working at the bar, nothing but a first name that you couldn’t even guarantee was yours, no last name, no memories, and no professional skills that you were aware of. Benny didn’t ask too many questions, and while he was salty with everyone else he had a soft spot for you, he liked you, he liked your unfiltered mouth and how aloof you were. Most people were kinder to you after they found out you couldn’t remember 98% of your life, well mostly they pitied you, treated you like some broken, fragile thing. Or like you were like you were stupid. But you weren’t dumb, at least you didn’t think so. What if you’d been a lawyer before the accident? Or a Doctor, or Teacher? What if you’d written a best-seller? Or maybe you were a promising Botanist. Or a Nuclear Physicist perhaps. The further you fell down the rabbit hole the harder it was to bring yourself out of it.

The fact was that whoever you were before the accident didn’t matter anymore, regardless of how curious you were. Answers to your questions were going to remain elusive til the day you died probably. No family was looking for you that you knew of, you hadn’t had any visitors besides the two guys who were kind enough to bring you into the hospital, but not invested enough to stick around for long. The fact that you seemed to belong to no one was easily the most heartbreaking aspect of the whole ordeal. You had no one, no one to hold you hand while you were hooked up to machines that were breathing for you. No one to whisper stories to you in hopes to bring you out of your coma. No one who cared, no one who was looking for you, no one who wanted you. Maybe it meant that you were just a horrible person before the accident, maybe you were lonesome, maybe you didn’t have anyone anyway. The maybe’s drove you crazy, because it was just like staring into nothing and looking for answers.

Being at the bar and having something to do to take your mind off of it helped, you found yourself glaring at your own reflection less, less pissed at yourself for just not being able to remember. Eventually you began to feel less dumb for not being able to recall things either. While your frustration at yourself began to ebb you found yourself off in your own little world more and more and more, finding it nearly impossible to drag yourself from. The visions you had there were just more fantastic and captivating, and vivid, so vivid you could smell the iron in blood, and feel the cold spots that would make your whole body shudder. It was your personal escape as well as nightmare. The things you saw in your head should have terrified you, literal monsters: ghosts, witches and werewolves. It should have scared you, most normal people would have been horrified being plagued by them night after night, day after day. But not you. It wasn’t that you were unbothered entirely, because the tingle up your spine, and the way your heart would race you knew it was fear, but you didn’t feel afraid. You took them on and came out victorious time and time again, more often than not you weren’t facing them alone either.

You could never see their faces always clouded, or just out of the corner of your eye. You knew there were two of them, you could feel them around you. When they were present in your fantasies all doubt, all fear, all apprehension slipped away. Every so often you could feel one of them wrap arms around you, protecting and tender, and you’d catch the scent of leather, coffee and sandalwood. Sometimes though on nights you were lucky, when the witching hour muffled the sounds of the world around you deathly silent you could hear him speak your name. That was your favorite part, his voice was low and rough, but there was a sweetness to it when he spoke to you. On nights when his voice wasn’t there to lull you to sleep your world seemed emptier, sadder.

People came and went, ordering drinks and food, small talk, flirting, and you just went through the motions your head stuck in the clouds, not really there. You heard the way they talked about you though, when they thought you weren’t listening. How you’d just magically appeared one day two months ago which meant you were fresh meat, and how fascinating you were because of your amnesia, you couldn’t have been more in the center of attention if you’d painted a target on your back. You were shiny and new, mysterious and uninterested in the world around you which meant that you were a challenge, and if you knew nothing else- it was that men loved a challenge.

The same group of guys almost every time you worked all hovering over the same three tables night after night, it was a small town, and they all worked at the factory just a few miles down the road. They were friendly enough initially, welcoming you to town, asking you questions you couldn’t give answers to. Hell at first you’d even venture to say they were nice, they tipped well, and a few of them seemed to go out of their way trying to make you feel at home. Until word got out about your little condition. You weren’t sure who spilled the beans, it was something you’d kept tight lipped about. You kept to yourself, answered only questions you had a solid response to and just glossed over the rest with a charming smile and dismissive “Oh- you know…” But once word got out that you were broken, that you were vulnerable, and had no one in life who cared about you enough to find you, things changed. Suddenly you were a piece of meat, and each one of those men wanted a bite.

The change in the air was so abrupt it was almost suffocating, you knew they had been flirty in the beginning but now they were downright barbaric in the chase. Unrelenting and unabashedly forward, you could feel their eyes burning into you everywhere you walked. Cat calls, and filthy whispers when they thought you couldn’t hear them.

“Oh I’d give her something to remember.”

“Maybe I could jog her memory.”

“I’d do things to her she’d never forget.”

It sent chills up your spine every time something came out of their mouths, and it took every fiber of your being not to smash a beer bottle over Parker Delaney’s head when he grabbed you by the arm and pulled you into his lap one night. His foul breath reeking of beer and hot wings, greasy fingers digging into your hips hard enough he might leave bruises. That was it, that was when something in you snapped and you shot you an elbow connecting with his nose, leaving it black and blue and disfigured, and he was pissed. Thankfully Benny stepped in keeping Parker’s rage at bay, but none of them ever looked at you quite the same after that. Now they looked at you not only like they wanted you, but like they also wanted to hurt you.

“We shouldn’t be here.” Sam said, his leg bouncing anxious and shaking the entire car as he shifted in the seat of the Impala. He knew how difficult this was for Dean, but it’d happened for a reason, and he’d been against the decision from day one but his brother had his mind made. There was no arguing with him after that, but this didn’t sit right with him, this wasn’t something to flip-flop over. “You know what Cas said: don’t go poking at it.”

“I know what Cas said Sam. Just give me ten minutes, one beer, okay?” Dean shot back, irritated by his brothers audacity to remind him of the harsh truth he was already more than aware of. Sam’s face stiffened, he knew it was a bad idea, it wouldn’t be just one beer, or just ten minutes, but the pleading look on Dean’s face, the pain in his eyes, he just couldn’t refuse. It’d been months and against his own better judgment he couldn’t keep himself away anymore. There was a job in the next town and both Sam and Bobby said that someone else should pick it up and take care of it, but he was insistent. They knew the real reason he was so hellbent on working the case, and it wasn’t because of the thing snatching people in the woods, it was her.

“Alright, fine. One beer, but we keep our distance.”

“Got it, here to observe only.” That was all he needed as he slid out of the car a little too quickly, his nerves getting to him, making him jittery. He walked up to the door of the bar his hand resting on the handle but unable to open it. Doubt crept into his mind fogging his previously solid plan. He’d been so sure, just one look, just to peek in and make sure she was alright and that would be enough for him. He’d be satisfied and never come back. But now that only a solid wooden door stood in his way he wasn’t so sure anymore. Sam stood behind him patiently awaiting a decision, not wanting to steer him one way or the other but they couldn’t stand at the door forever; he cleared his throat and Dean jumped back to reality, pulling the door open.

They slipped through the crowd of people finding a hightop in the corner, Dean’s eyes searching for one familiar face in the sea of locals.

“Maybe she’s not here tonight.” Sam offered, trying to soften the blow when Dean disheartened, couldn’t seem to find her.

“No, she’s here.”

“Well how do you know that? She’s gotta go home sometime right? Can’t work all the time.”

“I just know.”

“It’s not like it came from a reliable source. I mean Jackson Cleveland? The guy can barely spell his own name.”

“So?”

“So… He told us he saw someone who might be her here more than three months ago. Even if it was her there’s nothing saying she’d still be here now.”

“Might is good enough for me.”

“Look, Dean I know you feel guilty about what happened, and I know you care about her-”

“Then you know why I have to make sure she’s okay.” Dean cut him off flatly and finishing the conversation. Sam pursed his lips and leaned back in his seat, knowing that nothing he could say would change a damn thing. Barely a minute had passed, but damn if it didn’t feel like a fucking eternity, each second ticking by agonizingly slow. Dean ran his palm over his face trying to wipe away the anxiety, and nearly jumped out of his skin when he heard a voice come from behind him.

“Hey there guys, I’m Y/n, can I start you off with something to drink?” You asked, a chipper smile on your face, as you laid down napkins, when you turned to look over your table you were stunned by the two gods who’d just sat in your section. You might have been more excited had the one with the perfectly pouty lips not been staring at you like he’d seen a ghost. The one with long dark hair cleared his throat snapping the other out of his trance.

“Yeah, thanks, two beers, and he’ll take a double of whiskey.” Sam answered quickly.

“Okay, coming right up.” You said, walking away quickly. You’d had a few strange encounters now but that one was going to stick with you. You walked to the bar and tapped Amber, another waitress on the shoulder and asked if you had something on your face. She shrugged and shook her head as she handed you your order. All the while you could feel his eyes on you, but it wasn’t the starving hungry gaze that Parker and his buddies gave you. This was something else.

“Dude, you’re gonna freak her out, fix you damn face.” Sam demanded leaning forward and swatting Dean in the arm. He jerked away from you and turned his focus back on Sam, knowing he was right. But he couldn’t help it. He’d played this moment over in his head hundreds of times, what he’d say to you, how he’d say it. He’d rehearsed this in his head until he’d played out every possibility, but when you were standing there smiling at him it was different. And it was absolutely heartbreaking knowing that you didn’t recognize him, a part of him had hoped, but it was for the best. After what happened, he didn’t think he could forgive himself, but you didn’t have to continue to suffer, you could have something normal, something safe.

“I know, I can’t help it.”

“Well figure it out, we’re supposed to be keeping our distance, and this is way too close.”

“Alright guys,” you announced, as you set two beer bottle down and a shot glass in front of Dean. You shifted eyes between them locking on to olive green and your heart flipped in your chest making you weak in the knees. You ripped your eyes away finding it so much harder than it should have been for a random face in the crowd, albeit a very handsome one. “Can I get you anything else?”

“No, we’re good.” Dean finally answered, you nodded and turned to walk away. “Thanks Y/n.”

Everything froze in place, your whole body going completely solid, as an aching knot wrapped itself tight in your very core. You swallowed hard trying to force down panic, elation? You weren’t even sure how you felt it seemed the full spectrum of emotion had solidified right in the center of your chest. You knew that voice. You turned your head cautious and fully aware that you might have been standing at the edge of something monumental.

“Sorry, what was that?” You were begging him to say your name again, to confirm what you already knew.

“I said thanks… Y/n.” He answered carefully, the look in your eye alerting him to dangerous territory. Breath caught in your chest when he spoke your name again. It was his voice, the same voice that had felt more like home to you than anything else in the last six months. The same voice that made you feel safe when you were alone at night. It was a voice that you were daring to hope about, maybe…

‘Do-Do I know you?” You asked hopeful, your heart swelling and threatening to take over. Sam’s face screwed up as he glared across the table at his brother, wordlessly, and in shock. Dean was taken aback and everything in his mind fizzled out all at once as he laughed and shook his head trying to form words again, but his brain simply would not work short-circuiting in panic.

“What? No! No, I’ve never seen you before in my life. I‘ve never been here before. This is the first time I’ve even been to Aurora, Minnesota.” Dean stammered with a nervous laugh, wincing when Sam kicked him in the leg shooting a face that could only be described as “what the actual fuck?” He gave you an awkward smile before continuing. “Sorry, just got one of those faces I guess.”

It tore him to shreds from the inside out to watch you face when his words landed on you. A little bit light in your eyes flickered and died out right in front of him, and it was his fault. He watched your shoulders drop, and your face fall you whispered a quick “Oh, sorry, my mistake,” before you turned and walked back to the bar to get your next order. All he wanted to do was to hold you, and wrap you up in his arms again, the last six months had been hell on Earth. He told himself it was better this way, your life would be better, you’d have a chance to live normally. No monsters, no worries, no fear of what went bump in the night.

“Dean what the hell was that, you lie professionally and that’s the best you could come up with? Have you lost your mind?”

“What? What did you want me to say?”Dean defended as he threw back his whiskey.

“Man, I told you we shouldn’t have come here.”

“Well good for you Sam, you want a medal or something?”

Trudging to the back you’d intended to pick up food for table seven, but you were in your head again, stuck there replaying his voice in your head over and over. You were certain, you’d know that voice anywhere, and it crushed you that you were wrong. There was a split second of hope that maybe he did know you, maybe he could tell you something about yourself that you didn’t know. Shed some kind of light on the empty fog that clouded your mind.

“Hey, Earth to Y/n. What’s got you makin’ that face for?” Benny called, waving a hand in front of your face until you snapped back to reality.

“I’m not making a face.” You frowned.

“Well ya look awful pensive, more so than usual.”

“Nothing, I just thought I might have remembered something- but I guess I was wrong.” You shrugged trying to brush it off like it wasn’t a colossal deal. Scooping up the food for your table, you turned on heel and left before he could say anything else. Benny always knew when you were lying, you thought you were pretty good at it but apparently he had a better bullshit detector than most people.

You dropped Parker’s plate of hot wings in from of him unceremoniously, you weren’t happy that he was even allowed to come back after last time. But he swore he was just drunk, and didn’t know what he was doing, and it was the only bar in town.

“Hey Y/n, got any plans after work?” Parker said practically drooling down your shirt. Sneering you recoiled in disgust as the potent smell of beer, stale cigarettes and weed hit your nose.

“Yeah Parker, I’m going home and I’m going to bed.”

“Y’know, it’s just not right that you’re all on your own at night. S’dangerous for a woman to be by herself, y’never know who’s out there lurkin’ in the shadows. I’d be happy to keep you company.”

“Yeah I’m sure you would.” You stated abrupt, not willing to play into him tonight. A chill went down your back when his hand wrapped around your wrist as your tried to leave.

“I would, you know that. Y/n I’ve been watchin’ you for months now, I tip you real good, I even apologized real nice for our little domestic spat. What more does a man have to do to get your attention?”

“Let go of me.” You hushed your eyes frozen on a single spot on the table, you didn’t like to be touched. Least of all by Parker Delaney.

“C’mon now Y/n, just let me take you home, give me a chance, I’m sure I could make you real happy, then you ain’t gotta be afraid of what’s out there anymore.”

“The only thing I’m afraid of, Parker, is losing my job if you don’t let go of me- because I’m gonna break you fucking nose again.” You seethed your eyes darting from the table back to him, ready for blood. He smirked at you and gripped your wrist tighter, twisting it in an unnatural way and forcing you closer into his proximity.

“You watch your fuckin’ mouth when you talk to me, bitch. I own this town.” His voice was low, and threatening and there was a very real fear creeping up your spine.

“The lady said let her go.” Dean snarled, stepping behind you and towering over your frame so small compared to his. He’d watched too much of that interaction to stay in his seat, the second Parker put his hands on you he saw red. Fuck the distance he was supposed to be keeping, there was no way in hell he’d let you be manhandled by some hick who clearly didn’t understand the word “no.” Parker eyed him up and down, Dean was taller, and though he was sure pretty, he was much more menacing. He’d seen enough, and spilled enough blood that it was nice and obvious he was someone not to be crossed in a dark alley. And Parker wasn’t quite that stupid, but he wasn’t all that bright either.

“The lady and I were talking, now mind your own.”

“I will, as soon as you let her go.”

“Fine.” Parker said, a light bulb going off in his head, he shoved you into Dean’s chest who wrapped an arm around your shoulders and held you firm to him, as Parker and his crew got up and left.“Y/n, I’ll see you later.”

It felt more like a threat than anything else, but it was quickly washed away with the familiar scent of leather, coffee and sandalwood. His arms felt like home and safety. Dean turned green eyes down to you a tenderness there that was previously nothing but murder.

“Are you alright?” He asked as he stepped back. He wanted to keep you there, to protect you and feel you against him more than anything in the world. He’d give up just about anything to spend one more night with you, but he wasn’t willing to give up your happiness for it. So he pulled himself away from you, every piece of him cracking as he did.

Nodding wordlessly you tried to pull yourself together but you couldn’t tear your eyes away from him, trying to study his face willing it to reveal something to you.that hole in your chest growing and threatening to swallow you whole, because you knew there was something about him. You knew it, he was important, you heard his voice for the last several months soothing you to sleep, you felt the warmth and his scent radiating from him to you. He cringed under your gaze heartbreaking and lost. Sam patted him on the shoulder, a wordless conversation exchanged and then he left. He left you standing there in the middle of a crowded bar more lost and desolate than you had felt before. If he turned and looked back at you his resolve would crumble like a house of cards, he couldn’t see your face like that. He’d already gotten too close.

#dean winchester #dean x reader #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester fic #dean winchester fanfiction #dean winchester fanfic #supernatural fanfiction #Supernatural fanfic #supernatural fic #spn fic #spn fanfiction #spn fanfic #jena writes #memories #dean fanfiction #dean fanfic #dean fic

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jflashandclash · 5 years

Text

Traitors of Olympus IV: Fall of the Sun

Thirty-Three: Axel

Stairs: The Real Villain in This Series Part II[1]

“Move!”

Someone grabbed Axel’s arm.

Reyna dragged him and Calex away from the cliff. Axel hardly had time to snatch up the Leonis Caput helm. Thalia was a half second behind, slashing the vines off Calex and Euna’s legs with her two daggers. The huntress, with a grunt, lifted Euna in a fireman’s carry, with the daughter of Demeter slung across her shoulders.

Axel wanted to protest that he or Calex could help, but Calex could barely stand and Axel almost tripped on his bad ankle.

They stumble-ran from the edge, rushing past rock spires without checking for hidden enemies, splashing through muck pools, disregarding any form of stealth for what speed they could manage. With each time the earth quivered, Reyna egged them on, shouting at them to continue.

The cliff, the Leonis Caput growled.

Yea, shut up. I know, Axel thought back.

Axel could imagine it now: Euna successfully slicing off a piece of Kaos, them successfully pulling Calex, Euna, and Jack out of that horrible hole, and then all of them dying. The culprit? Faulty architecture.

Pain ignited along his leg each time he stepped. His breath came in short gasps and the air felt icy in his lungs.[2] Axel struggled to focus on the darkness ahead of them.

Maybe it was the lack of tactful movement, or maybe it was because the floor could fall out from under them at any moment, but the trip back to Euna and Jack’s tunnel felt like it took way less time than getting to the cliff.

“There!” Thalia shouted when the flowery cavern became discernible in the dimness.

Another tremor hit the earth hard as they reached the entrance.

Calex staggered onto the third step. “Just a sec,” he said. He hunched, gasping for air.

Thalia didn’t complain. She dumped Euna, unceremoniously, on the next step down.

“Watch it, huntress,” Jack growled from Euna’s belt, his voice muffled by the way her stomach currently crushed him.

Axel and Reyna stared out into the abyss, with its layers of black spires that reached from the ground, and ended—the cliff and the entire world—at the drop off to Kaos. A quote that Alabaster used to say surfaced in his memory. Axel glanced down at the Leonis Caput helm in his hand, thinking, Whoever fights monsters should see to it that, in the process, he does not become a monster.

They held their breath, waiting to see if the edge of the cliff would crumble away into Kaos’ nothingness.

The ground stopped trembling.

A hush suffocated the sounds of Tartarus.

They all glanced at each other uncertainly.

Axel puffed up his cheeks and popped them. In the cold dankness, the sound was soft.

“Huh,” Jack said. “That was kind of disappointing. When we get back, we should tell everyone the cliff collapsed. That’ll make a better story. I’m telling Pax that the cliff collapsed.”

Thalia scowled down at Jack with disgust.

“Kaos isn’t chasing us,” Axel said. His mind had been floundering for a plan if she did decide to chase them.

Calex choked out a strained chuckle. “I couldn’t make her fall in love for long, mate. She probably doesn’t even remember that box exists. Sorry for borrowing your emotions and all that. Should be back by now.”

Axel and Reyna glared at him.

Axel cleared his throat. “Calex, my emotions have been messed with a lot in the last day, between the love potion and what Ares and Aphrodite did to me. I know why you did what you did, but, when we get out of here, I’m hurting you. And I won’t go easy.”

Calex opened and closed his mouth.

Axel was annoyed, though understanding, that what Reyna said next seemed to scare Calex more.

“So, you’ve decided to side with them?” she asked, nodding her chin towards Axel.

Calex’s eyes widened, something that looked painful once Axel saw the broken blood vessels in Calex’s eyes, tinting the white a pink. “No! That’s a bit of a jump, innit? I’m on the side of saving the camp,” he spoke quickly, without certainty. “Euna promised she’d come topside to slog Phobetor in the face.”

Axel thought about the Leonis Caput’s scream, One of my brethren is in danger, something it had never done before. “We need to get topside,” he said.

He examined the sheen on the helm. It needed a good polishing after its literal blood bath. The thought that something had happened to Pax was too much. He wondered if the helm could always sense when the other helms were in danger and if it knew whether or not Pax was alright now.

“The trip up will be much quicker than the trip down,” Jack said cheerily. “I couldn’t exactly shake the earth apart with my voice without a few breaks. These vocal cords aren’t what they used to be, and we didn’t exactly have throat-coat-tea. But, the path is already cleared for us now.”

Thalia rolled her eyes at him. “Oh my gods. We are not taking that thing back to camp. And we’re not carrying Euna either. I’m waking her up.”

Axel and Calex flinched. They reached for Thalia.

“Stop!” Calex said.

“Don’t—” Axel started.

Thalia didn’t do what Axel expected. Axel figured the huntress would shake Euna awake. If Euna punched Axel before she had demigod training or enhanced god powers, he was terrified of seeing what Euna would do to Thalia upon waking now.

But, Thalia didn’t shake Euna.

She zapped her.

A bolt of electricity shot from Thalia’s fingers and arched into the slumbering daughter of Demeter.

Highly effective.

Euna sat up, eyes wide with fury. She lashed a hand out, and, mimicking her movement, a vine swatted around in a circle.

Calex had already wisely hit the deck.

Axel and Reyna ducked.

Thalia stuck a hand out and grabbed the vine. She didn’t even flinch at the, likely, immense pain that rattled down her arm.

Euna’s scowl narrowed on her.

“Oh my gods! Euna—NO!” Thalia said, “You’re not allowed to get all huffy on me after jumping off a cliff. Do you know what I had to do to get here?! I had to swim through a river of blood! I had to let a child of Eros shoot me! I had to be locked in a room with Axel when he was naked for 15 minutes!”

Euna’s expression softened to sleepy confusion, like she was about to roll back over and hit snooze on Thalia’s very valid complaints. “Isn’t that last one a good thing?” she asked. Her gaze lazily drifted over to Axel, and he could tell she was thinking about lying back down and would say anything to go back to sleep. “I mean, aren’t a lot of people into you?”

Calex burst into laughter.

Thalia went bright red.

Heat flared in Axel’s face. He opened his mouth to respond only to discover that he had never, in all his years as a trained tactician, prepared for a comment like that from Euna. Axel refused to look at Reyna’s reaction, though he heard her snort.

Jack chuckled. “You should have seen it at Camp Othrys. All the monsters wanted his Mist tail. To think of why he turned them down.” Jack tutted his tongue towards Reyna. “You should hear the story of how he reacted when someone stole his first kiss—”

“We’re leaving. Now.” Axel grabbed Euna and Calex’s arms. “Euna, Calex, up. Jack, shut up. Thalia, Reyna, start going up.”

The hike up was exhausting, mentally and physically. For some reason, Axel kept thinking going to Tartarus would be harder, with navigating the Labyrinth and the impromptu side tour of Xibalba.

At least Xibalba had diversity that kept them alert, like whether or not a passing rabbit could talk or would end up being a psychiatric, bloodthirsty, bunniac. Ascending the stairs that stretched from the surface to Tartarus was dull.

Everything smelled dank and stale. Air hardly moved down the corridor. The tunnel never curved. It continued at a consistent, steep 50 degree angle upward. The glow off their weapons and armor made the world sombrous. The walls altered from different types of clay and rock. Occasionally a pretty gem would show up. Calex chiseled three out of the walls on one of their breaks, claiming he wanted Glad You’re Not Here souvenirs for Kally, Merry, and Pax.

Otherwise, Axel felt like he was on an escalator going the wrong way.

At least, after this, their thigh muscles could be used to crack nuts from the World Tree.

After the first twenty to thirty minutes, his ankle behaved more regularly and the ache ebbed. They had taken a quick pause to patch up everyone’s cuts and bruises, though Thalia didn’t have nearly enough bandages for the number that Kaos had done to Calex’s skin.

The worst part: Jack literally couldn’t stop making noise, whether it be singing, humming, talking, or raving.[3] Although Axel had spent many nights with Pax and other recruits around a campfire, listening to Jack’s multitude of never-ending, entertaining (often longwinded) stories, this was much more extreme.[4]

“Orpheus’ curse,” Reyna muttered, the third or fourth time that Calex told Jack to shut up and Jack hummed louder.

Reyna and Axel ended up ahead of the others. Whether that was by Calex’s design or not, Axel was unsure.

Axel had a lot he wanted to say to her. In this eternal climb, where the repetition of the walls became hypnotic, and Jack finally settled into a soft, whispered drone, instead of tales—sometimes teasing and humiliating, sometimes horrid and grotesque—from Mount Othrys, Axel had nothing but his thoughts. Nothing could be done for Pax, Alabaster, or Kally until they reached topside. There was no way to plan a more effective way to climb the stairs.

His gaze kept slipping to Reyna, how her purple cloak swayed behind her, how she’d undone her braid since it was falling into such disarray, how her armor gleamed in the darkness.

With real curiosity and little thought to her reaction, he asked, “If Kronos had forced you to kill Hylla, and you had one last chance to get a real weapon to defend yourself from him, would you have made the same choice I did back there?”

Reyna pressed her lips together and said nothing.

They continued in relative silence—Jack was still humming and Thalia’s anger could he physically heard in the form of tiny crackles and sparks that flared up every so often.

Axel decided—if he, Kally, Alabaster, and Pax really made a new camp—punishment for skipping out on chores or training would be climbing a set of Jack’s-voice-crafted stairs.

“Axel,” Reyna said, “We should focus on the up incoming battle and how to defend the camp from gods.”

“Yes,” Axel agreed. Each step felt easier. Reyna had called him by his real name, not his helm’s moniker. Her comment also left the doors open for discussion.

An indiscernible amount of time and number of steps later, something strange happened that cut their tactical discussion to a halt.

While Axel frequently fought the Leonis Caput’s whispers and growls, their presence was natural in his head, like a gravely echo of his own mind.

A voice, one he had never heard before, but that felt so comfortable and welcoming, chimed and reverberated, Hello, Tomcat.

From a quick glanced around, he could tell no one else heard the women’s deep, sensuous alto. Reyna was in the middle of discussing Eris’ potential weaknesses through comparison to Bellona (a goddess Eris was often intermixed with).

The female voice purred, I’m doing a favor for one of my kittens and you’re the first feline I’ve found in a half-a-mile’s radius. My warriors can be easily spooked by the presence of ghosts and ghouls, but you’re a brave enough warrior to fight off the terrors of the night, aren’t you, Tomcat?

“Axel, are you okay?” someone asked beside him.

Axel struggled to nod in a convincing way. He thought, I don’t appreciate anyone breaking into my mind.

I can’t break into something that is already mine. Her tone wasn’t controlling, like Aphrodite’s. It was almost… gentle, endearing like the voice of a commander that cared for her troops. Axel remembered shouting to his soldiers, riling them for battle, reminding them their souls were already pledged to Kronos, so what did they have to lose?

Axel chose to let it go for now. Ghosts, ghouls, and terrors. You speak of Phobetor and Melinoe?

If those are the gods attacking the Greek demigods, then yes, she continued, I think we can come to a mutually beneficial agreement. So, my handsome Tomcat, shall we make some intra-cosmic magic?

Thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed :D

Footnotes:

[1] Part one is chapter 35, which was named first. It felt rude to chapter 35 if I made that Part Two when it was the original XD Don’t mind my feverish politeness to chapters.

[2] One of my all time favorite betacomments from Mel, since she answered her own question, “ARE THERE GHOSTS ABOUT??

….

Well, that was a ridiculous question considering where they are XD”

[3] Mel betacomment, “I know you mean the raving conversation, but I just imagine Jack performing a one-head-rave

Jack, “They’ll use my head as the beach ball.”

[4] Oh… oh, Jack knows….

#Heroes of Olympus #Percy Jackson and the Olympians #PJO #HOO #fanfiction #Traitors of Olympus #toO #Axel #Reyna #thalia #calex #Euna #Jack #starring a cliff #and a sexy disemodied voice #that isn't jack's I promise

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wildgeese2017 · 3 years

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i dont know whether i want to hav sex with her like if i cud. i think that shes into me she smiles at me and she seeks me out and she laughs at my jokes and compliments my outfits? ive known her so long and i trust her kindness. i think shes cool and sweet and interesting and like she really listens to what i say and is childish like me like she isnt embarrased to act weird and silly and get excited about little things. she seems like she wants to be around me. and i hav convinced myself that i like her. for years shes been my go to crush. its just when i imagine being touched it makes me feel weird?? i know shes had gay sex b4 i think shes hot and pretty and i love her style. i wouldnt mind touching her but the thought of someone touching me in that way scares me i worry that it would repulse me. but i want it so bad. i want her to kiss me and rough me up a bit push her fingers into my thighs u kno stuff like that , is that what attraction is? my relationship to my sexuality and body even is so warped and abstract at this point so disconnected from what reality can offer me. i think she is closer than most people to what i cud actually even attempt to experience something with tho. like she gets me im afraid of men so women make me feel safer to try stuff with i only hav experience w girls anyway not that its actually substantial or like in that romantic serious context. i just i want to be wanted so badly i know that i have been at least once. i get so confused i cant possibly be that bad but noone has ever loved me for my body. i can timagine what its like to experience the reverse. sure i am granted the privilege of not bein specifically disliked automatically for my body but it isnt worth much more as social currency beyond basic decency (which everyone deserves but doesn’t get). maybe i need to be less in my head. but im scared ill try intimacy with her and i wont like it . and that will mean a few possible things which would fuck me up and scar my self perception. firstly, it could mean that im not capable of normal intimacy that i am really genuinely fucked in the head like the rabbit hole i fell down when i was 11 genuinely messed me up like i gave into some evil shameful thing inside me when i was a child and now i can never be acceptable normal healthy or loved securely. second it cud mean i dont actually like women ive been playing as part of the lgbtq community this whole time how can i face myself or my friends being straight is shameful to me its so lame and uncool i know this sounds so like weird and fetishistic or performative but thats exactly what im afraid of i dont want to see myself like this i wasnt ready to label myself but i did i labelled myself so young and now it feels scary it feels wrong for me to say i dont like it when people are like you;re bisexual right? i feel that thing when you share too much too soon like your skin is peeled off all raw and exposed. i hate that. what if im too messed up i dont know it for sure what if intimacy proves im broken. or at the very least very unique in a way that could lead me to living my life alone without partners or lovers i want so desperately to be someones favourite someone who makes me feel good when they touch me and anxious and annoyed. i want to care about someone so much. too trust someone to see my body like my weird moles and self harm scars my veins and hair and teeth i want someone to see me all of me and still decide they want me. that i am worth the effort that they would seek me out. i dont know if that will happen.

i drive myself crazy looking in the mirror in different angles wearing all these colourful frilly lacey outfits agonizing over how i must look. i make myself soft and sweet and loud and excited and loving so others will seek me out im like a duimb tropical bird and it hurts so much because it doesn’t feel like its working.

people say be true be authentic but they dont say how much it hurts to do that and not be idk rewarded? desired? like i am expressing myself and that is pushing people away even subconsciously? sure it would feel amazing for someone to see that expression and see that fragment of my inner world and think i love that i want that i want her i love her but it isnt happening not as far as i know not in a way which satisfies my lonely soul.

i just dont want to be disgusting i try so hard to smell good and look sparkly and fun and bright and loving i think the manic pixie dream girl trope really damaged my psyche

i think i like other people too i feel different when they touch me like it feels more intense more like its getting through.

as far as i can tell my type is funny, creative, nice boobs dark or curly hair usually, i like people who are kinda sad bc i think we are alike which sounds cringe but people who are just living in a way which seems at least to me in a non-judgemental way to be unexamined i just cant really relate to i cant open up to someone who wont understand. i need people to say the right things or at least say nothing and only respond with touch.

is it weird that i carry on asking myself if i was touched as a child ? like i dont htink i was but i carry on feeling like it could have happened or i convince myself i did and then i mistrust people for no reason. but something must have happened i had such messed up thoughts maybe it was all the sex on tv i watched as a really young kid my parents would show me stuff with full nudity and relatively graphic sex my relationship to modesty is confusing i think i find people more attractive with their clothes on? i just see naked people like ok? thats a body its normal i dont get porn.

one thing i regret was being drunk and telling M that i cant watch porn i like weirder stuff and she was like bdsm? and i was like no its so weird it cant be in porn but i didnt mean it like that i meant i cant just feel stuff from nudity without context and i am into weird shit i dont know why i think maybe my mums mental health issues which she projected on me im worried i was just made wrong like im just a bad seed like i was destined to want things which dont make sense. but then i consider my whole warped desire hinges on the way it could be percieved by society the way society views people and their intented state of being. i am attracted to corruption addiction to transformation to giving into desire to showing desire physically with your body in a way that everyone can see and you can no longer control.

everything in my life boils down to my relationship with control. maybe its because i felt i didnt have any control as a child. my life was shifted against my will and i have this learned helplessness both from having my needs met without asking and from having my needs ignored or at least met in a lacklustre way. but then i think who really had control as a kid? kids dont control their life they dont make the decisions that what a guardian is for ?? but maybe its because i felt as though i did have to make the decisions like i didnt have clear boundaries and i dealt with that by punishing myself for overstepping rules i made myself. bc i had no control not really it felt like nobody had control there was noone to blame so i made things up new problems i cud blame myself for or i saw the problems my parents had said to myself i have that problem too and punished myself for it with feelings or pain or exercise or silence. i couldnt trust anyone. or at least i loved people but i couldnt open up. maybe thats why im so weird and territorial i keep things secret i hide stuff in my cupboard its like i invent things to be ashamed of i create problems for myself to distract from the problems i didnt have control pver the conception of. when i think of my childhood i think of feeling bad and ashamed of myself for taking advantage of my father like he was vulnerable and all i did was take money and time from him and he was struggling so much financially but he would still spend so much on leasiure when i think of it now i realise that spending time with me and making him happy must have made him feel good i get it more now that i do that with other people but at the time i felt so guilty all the time for the price of my clothes my food my life. and my mum would always say how terrible things were with money how tired she was how stressed she was how it was affecting her body. she would talk about how much she hated her body her fat her sagging face her pale skin her poor health i asked her once what superpower she’d choose and she said i want to be healthy all the time and i was confused then but i get it now.

i just felt like i had to pretend to be happy or like i wasnt bored or the time like i didnt feel bad about how my stomach looked how yellow my teeth were how tangled my hair was the bags under my eyes and when i look back i realise no one was looking after me noone was making sure i brushed my teeth and hair twice a day i barely did it once a day i used to hate myself so much that i couldnt do my homework but nobody ever sat with me and made sure i did it past like the age of 7 . i remember feeling so scared of asking for help i remember having nightmares or being sick and standing on the landing listenning to my mother breather through her door being petrified of asking for help like she needed the sleep and i was a bad person for waking her up like i was lying and then i actually started lying bc she wud just accept it let me fester on my own in bed all day if i said i wanted to if i said it hurt too much. i just im so scared of feeling that way again of feeling so scared so tired so useless so guilty so dissapointing so stupid so dumb so shallow so selfish so unworthy so dishonest so lazy so manipulative i look back and i think how could a child have been so awful? how could i have been as bad as i thought i was? it doesnt seem possible. the point at which i became irredeemable seems to shoft forwards each year like its chasing me and i become more and more of a villain stealing a bright future from the innocent child i used to be. i used to fantasize about going back and doing it all perfectly. when people asked me about my choice of power it always had to do with avoiding the consequences of my mistakes either immortality or time travel to be able to change what i did or to be able to move on without losing my future without losing my finite time. i want to be free of these constraints that feel so self inflicted. i spend so long in these mind prisons i construct labrynths in my head and get stuck there all alone with no way of asking for help without admitting how i got there in the first place.

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