#LIKE HOZIER WROTE A SONG WITH MY NAME AND NOW I GET TO HEAR MY NAME IN INTERVIEWS??? | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

thesunsethour · 6 days

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welcome back to part 3 of eve procrastinating her final exams by ranking her favourite songs by her favourite artists. today it is The Beatles' turn

(as always i must stress this is my opinion only. but i am also very nosey, so please tell me *your* opinions too)

(i'm ignoring songs in different languages, naked versions, and also any cover songs, so focusing exclusively on anything penned by lennon-mccartney or harrison or starr)

(this took me a week and a half. for context my killers' list took two days and hozier took four hours)

without further ado:

189. Wild Honey Pie (spoiler alert: i'm not a white album fanatic)

188. Dig It (vibey but odd little song)

187. Maggie Mae (didn't know for years this was a liverpool folk song)

186. Only A Northern Song (not weird enough to justify itself)

185. Revolution 9 (it achieves john's goal. still hate it though)

184. All Together Now (worse precursor to the frog chorus)

183. It’s All Too Much (i would like to apologise to yellow submarine)

182. Flying (criminal that this is so far down actually. i only have myself to blame)

181. I’ll Get You (bit samey)

180. Savoy Truffle (i wrote down 'harrison's own muzak')

179. Everybody’s Got Something to Hide Except for Me and My Monkey (wtf john)

178. Thank You Girl (harmonica has been utilised better)

177. Every Little Thing (pretty okay)

176. You Like Me Too Much (george still in songwriting training)

175. I Want To Tell You (the beginning of george's 'i don't know' refrain in his songs. keep an ear out)

174. The Inner Light (SO very george)

173. Her Majesty (i'm irish so this had to be this low)

172. You Can’t Do That (great john vocals here tbh)

171. Honey Pie (you can so clearly hear the music hall inspiration. very paul)

170. When I Get Home (bit samey but catchy enough)

169. There’s a Place (better harmonica)

168. I Need You (lovely harmonies)

167. Not a Second Time (i always forget this song exists sorry to john lennon)

166. It’s Only Love (i always think this ones on rubber soul)

165. I’ll Cry Instead (conversely this is very beatles for sale coded i think!)

164. Little Child (i am a sucker for the harmonica it has to be said)

163. You Know My Name (Look Up The Number) (really campy ad-libs. a fan)

162. I’m a Loser (john's voice is so deep in this one??)

161. I Don’t Want to Spoil the Party (little foot tapper of a song)

160. Piggies (george had been reading orwell! good for him)

159. Don’t Pass Me By (ringo! hello!)

158. I’ll Be Back (solid enough)

157. Doctor Robert (one of the earliest examples of 'we will sing a song about a little random man')

156. If I Needed Someone (solid george effort)

155. Why Don’t We Do It In The Road (apparently about two monkeys fucking. okay paul)

154. Baby’s in Black (clever little lyrics)

153. It Won’t Be Long (adore the coming home line)

152. All I’ve Got to Do (sweet enough little thing)

151. Hold Me Tight (classic paul asking for love. a staple of the genre)

150. What Goes On (hiiiii Ringo!)

149. Yer Blues (my notes say 'proto-morrissey-esque, but worse)

148. Good Night (reminds me of a musical song. also originally thought this was a paul song)

147. She’s a Woman (really dynamic paul vocals)

146. What You’re Doing (solid paul job)

145. No Reply (i cannot think of this song without hearing the bloopers of YOUR FACE)

144. Happiness Is A Warm Gun (i may get killed for having this so low. reminder that this is only my opinion)

143. Don’t Bother Me (i *think* this is the first album song that george ever wrote!)

142. P.S. I Love You (he loves his epistolary songs does Paul)

141. I’m Just Happy to Dance With You (another solid foot tapper)

140. Any Time At All (love the piano in this)

139. I’m So Tired (same)

138. Birthday (i hate the beginning of this song with a visceral passion. rest is grand)

137. The Night Before (very '50s)

136. Sgt Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band (Reprise) (the only bad thing about this song is that it means the album is over)

135. Another Girl (bitchy little paul song)

134. Tell Me What You See (song gets better as it goes on i think)

133. The Continuing Story of Bungalow Bill (hello yoko)

132. Long, Long, Long (reminds me of my sweet lord)

131. Ask Me Why (real jazzy like)

130. Rocky Raccoon (i'm not mad on this song but the middle is so catchy it reels me in)

129. Old Brown Shoe (ringo reference check!)

128. Revolution 1 (not as good as revolution the single)

127. Cry Baby Cry (love paul's little jaunty section)

126. Yes It Is (sexy)

125. Dig A Pony ("everything has got to be just like you want it toohoohoohoohoohooo"

124. The Word (reminds me of grease)

123. Hey Bulldog (some bits of music here remind me of 'Across the Universe')

122. I’m Looking Through You (GREAT guitar)

121. Sexy Sadie (can't remember which journalist said that AM's 4 out of 5 has this vibe and YEAH)

120. I Me Mine (i will always adore the "flowing more freely than wine" lyric. thank you george"

119. Things We Said Today (paul's so good in this one)

118. Tell Me Why (catchy bop)

117. Run For Your Life ("that's the end" SO good)

116. Good Day Sunshine (nicely jaunty)

115. Rain (love the instrumentation in this one)

114. I Will (quintessential mccartney this)

113. Love You To (making this list and hearing george's improvement as a songwriter was amazing actually)

112. Octopus’s Garden (bless ringo)

111. I Feel Fine (SO catchy)

110. With A Little Help From My Friends (ringo's very best)

109. Martha My Dear (i'm scared of dogs but i'll let this one go)

108. Drive My Car (the beeps beeps always annoyed me as a kid)

107. For You Blue (it is what it says - sweet and lovely)

106. Sgt Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band (love the laughter in it)

105. Good Morning Good Morning (the guitar here is simply too cool for this song. elevates it greatly)

104. You’re Going To Lose That Girl (beach boys vibes?)

103. She Said She Said (john and george buddies and pals)

102. Wait (john and paul's voices go SO well together do you ever get emotional)

101. Think For Yourself (ANOTHER great foot tapper)

100. I’m Down (well *somebody* thinks they're elvis)

99. Misery (just. great structurally)

98. I Should Have Known Better ("this could only happen to me" oh, john)

97. Can’t Buy Me Love (one of the more Lennonesque mccartney songs)

96. One After 909 (how did paul not know what this was about for over a decade)

95. I’ve Just Seen a Face (absolutely gorgeous guitar)

94. This Boy (thaaaasss boyyyy)

93. You Won’t See Me (fab little chorus)

92. Maxwell’s Silver Hammer (BANG BANG MAXWELL'S SILVER HAMMER CAME DOWN UPON HER HEAD 🔨 🔨🔨)

91. Dear Prudence ("the clouds will be a daisy chain" is a line i've always adored)

90. Yellow Submarine (i remember being 6 and our teacher playing this for us on her guitar)

89. Mean Mr Mustard (love when john does a bit of narrative songwriting)

88. Revolution (superior revolution version)

87. Now and Then (cried on the tram on the way to college listening to this when it came out. as you were)

86. Polythene Pam (love when their accent peaks through)

85. Baby, You’re A Rich Man (a true lennon-mccartney collab with john not finishing something and paul adding his two cents, or rather, ten or twenty cents)

84. Hello, Goodbye (i love the end of this song so so much)

83. Mother Nature’s Son (soft and sweet, poignant but not sappy, one of the most underrated beatles songs of all time)

82. Free As A Bird (cried listening to this too)

81. Glass Onion (intertextual metanarrative: the song)

80. Taxman (baby's first political song <3)

79. I Wanna Be Your Man (hiiiiii again ringo)

78. From Me To You (harmonica time again baby!)

77. Being For The Benefit of Mr Kite! (i think of this as a spooky halloween waltz)

76. Within You Without You (quintessential george)

75. I’m Only Sleeping (underrated on revolver methinks)

74. Your Mother Should Know (these songs WERE a hit before my mother was born)

73. All My Loving (pure vintage mccartney)

72. Do You want to Know a Secret (baby george and his fab vocals)

71. Here Comes The Sun (okay nobody kill me. stop looking at me like that. its been winter for seventeen months george i can't fucking see the sun)

70. Julia (so beautiful)

69. Love Me Do (how were they pop song professionals already?)

68. I Saw Her Standing There (paul loves a good scream in the middle of a song)

67. A Hard Day’s Night (most iconic beginning of any song ever)

66. Magical Mystery Tour (he loves a bus does paul)

65. And Your Bird Can Sing (john's vocals are GREAT here)

64. Sun King (the superior sun song on abbey road)

63. Please Please Me (just. iconic)

62. Eight Days a Week (for how good it is i can't believe paul didn't play it live till like 2013 or smth)

61. Real Love (i never knew this was a beatles song when i was a kid!)

60. The End ("the love you take is equal to the love you make"... yeah...)

59. Back in the USSR ("my-my-my-my-" very billy joel actually)

58. Ticket to Ride (mouth-watering guitar)

57. For No One (the wario of 'And Your Bird Can Sing' no i won't explain further)

56. All You Need Is Love (the she loves you yeah yeah yeahs at the end...)

55. Blue Jay Way (so wonderfully eerie to me)

54. She Loves You (love the long and powerful held note on the last "glad")

53. I Want To Hold Your Hand (they were children my god)

52. Across the Universe (some of my favourite vocals)

51. Carry That Weight (paul going through it, writing bangers)

50. Ob-La-Di, Ob-La-Da (desmond and molly jones are close friends of mine at this stage)

49. Lucy In The Sky With Diamonds (overrated a bit imo but still simply iconic)

48. Penny Lane (sorry paul, john won the MMT round w strawberry fields but its okay this song still is a bop)

47. Tomorrow Never Knows (fucking well done on this one lads. love it)

46. Getting Better ("a little better all the time" v "it can't get no worse" is just. peak lennon mccartney)

45. Got To Get You Into My Life (INSTANT banger)

44. Michelle (i am a sucker for french as long as its not spoken by french people <3)

43. Lovely Rita (i always loved this one because paul says "book" like how my nanny says it)

42. Helter Skelter (loud, fast, and brilliant)

41. Get Back (billy preston the man that you were)

40. She Came In Through The Bathroom Window (best of the abbey road medley)

39. I’ve Got a Feeling (i LOVE paul's deep voice)

38. When I’m Sixty Four (i love paul's granny music. sue me)

37. Come Together (john was so good at writing these nonsense songs)

36. The Fool on The Hill (adore the "ohHhHhHhHhHhh")

35. Fixing a Hole ("when i'm wrong, i'm right" is so very paul)

34. Girl (BRILLIANT middle)

33. Help! (vulnerable without overdoing it. just fantastic)

32. Day Tripper (unashamedly sexy)

31. And I Love Her (i love basically everything about this song. ranking got so hard from here)

30. You’ve Got to Hide Your Love Away (john was ON IT for Help!)

29. Nowhere Man (my brother thinks this will be the name of john's biopic)

28. Lady Madonna (my favourite genre of paul songs are songs where he voyeuristically imagines someone's life. they always slap)

27. Paperback Writer (i also write at shitty newspapers and want to be a paperback writer. this song feels too targeted)

26. In My Life (so pretty. SO pretty)

25. The Ballad of John and Yoko (imagine the vibes in the recording studio. john. yoko. paul. and yet they made this banger)

24. Norwegian Wood (This Bird Has Flown) (my first ever favourite beatles song. has since been demoted but i still adore it)

23. I am the Walrus (john at his weirdest best)

22. She’s Leaving Home (i love when they write narratively)

21. If I Fell (angelic harmonies)

20. Don’t Let Me Down (fifth beatle billy preston supremacy)

19. Because ("love is all, love is you"

18. I Want You (She’s So Heavy) (vocals, instruments, lyrics, vibes, all incredible)

17. Two Of Us (and if i said this was the best album opener?)

16. Here, There, and Everywhere (paul says this is his favourite beatles song and you know what? he's so right for that)

15. Oh! Darling (wario of the long and winding road. no i will not elaborate either)

14. You Never Give Me Your Money ("OUT OF COLLEGE MONEY SPENT SEE NO FUTURE PAY NOT RENT" that is... me right this actual moment)

13. Something (george said is anyone else gonna write one of the best love songs of all time? no okay i guess i will. and he did.)

12. Golden Slumbers (cried to this as well. must stress i am not one to cry)

11. Eleanor Rigby (the pinnacle of the MVS - McCartney Voyeuristic Storytelling)

10. A Day in The Life (orchestra used to scare me when i was younger)

9. While My Guitar Gently Weeps (george's best beatles song hands down)

8. I’ll Follow the Sun (THE MOST UNDERRATED BEATLES SONG and i will die on this hill

7. Yesterday (my father's favourite beatles song)

6. The Long and Winding Road (my go to song to sing in the shower for some reason?)

5. We Can Work It Out (pure lennon-mccartney baby!)

4. Let It Be (the first and only song i ever learnt on ukulele and i was so proud of it)

3. Strawberry Fields Forever (do i even have to say anything?)

2. Blackbird (everything about this song is so beautifully perfect. paul mccartney is the best songwriter of all time okay. i've spent days upon days at this list and it's now making me emotional)

1. Hey Jude (there's a reason it tops so many best songs of all time lists. a perfect 10. no notes. iconic. the first beatles song i played on repeat. would die slash kill to experience this live)

#the beatles #i can’t believe now that i have this out of the way i actually have to like. study for my exams. gross #as if anyone force me into doing this #i just wanted a project for my reawakened obsession and also i love lists #please!! tell me what your favourites are!! but be nice 🔪#dunno who to rank next

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juniorgman187 · 3 years

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The Bones (Reid Series) Part 1

Summary: Almost a year after Maeve’s death, Spencer reaches out to the recipients of Maeve’s donated organs to reconnect with his lost love. However, when the receiver of her heart, Reader, doesn’t write back, Spencer goes on a poorly-motivated mission to find her.

Playlist: “The Bones” by Maren Morris & Hozier (BONUS: song includes major foreshadowing)

A/N: There is an OC in this story because to me, writing “(y/n)” over and over again cheapens the story and doesn’t flow well. It was a personal decision, and to anyone it sincerely bothers, I’m sure there’s a way you can insert your own name instead. This fic is also inspired by “Things We Know By Heart” by Jessi Kirby. Category: Series, Soft Angst, Eventual Smut + NSFW content* Pairing: Spencer Reid POV x Fem!OC Content Warning: allusions to death, mourning, loss, recovery, arrhythmia (this is an intro chapter, so it’ll get more interesting from here I promise) Word Count: 2.2k

This will be a multi-part series.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

It all started that first autumn after Maeve’s death - just five weeks past a year since I parted with her. I was absentmindedly reading when, rather out of the blue, Mary Donovan called to inform me about a Mrs. Rachel Larsen.

Although we didn’t learn her actual name until later, she was first known to us as the recipient of Maeve’s liver. Not a single one of the three of us - Maeve’s parents and me - had expected a recipient to be in contact with us. That inability to predict such an event was caused by my neglect to remember Maeve was an organ donor. It wasn’t particularly relevant in the grand scheme of things, and for that forgetfulness, I was truly ashamed, but after reading Rachel Larsen’s letter together with the Donovans, it all came back to me.

Every single thing.

You see, despite the anonymity of the person writing to us, it was as if I could actually feel Maeve’s soul coming alive again, as strange as that sounds.

She was still here with me ... in some form.

Later that night, when I would return to an empty apartment, I would wonder why I hadn’t thought of reaching out to the recipients before. Even though I’d already started writing a thank you letter back to Rachel, the thirst for more of Maeve became increasingly insatiable.

While I did have fond memories of her to live by, I couldn’t thrive off of them in the way that I did with that letter. Our only moments together worth reliving were those spent over the phone, a time when I didn’t even know what she looked like. But that letter from Rachel Larsen ... it was somehow more wholesome and pure than any memory of the living Maeve that I could cultivate.

You could say I was doing this to ease my mourning, meaning it should’ve made me feel better, but that didn’t stop the guilt from eating away at me piece by piece as I wrote letters to the rest of the recipients.

The Donovans had no idea I was doing this, but I reasoned to myself that they would appreciate the surprise. Though they were still undeniably riddled with grief, smiles embellished their sullen faces when they read about Rachel’s quality of life now with a new liver. So maybe, just maybe, hearing from the rest of the receivers would be good for us all. At least, that’s what I told myself.

In one of those rare moments when inspiration strikes and it courses through your veins at the speed of lightning, I found myself being more productive than I had been in nearly a year. By midnight, I’d successfully composed five letters, each dedicated to the receiver of one of Maeve’s major organs - none of which, though, included my identity.

Given the fragile process of contacting the transplant coordinators, getting consent forms, and premeeting counseling, it would be months, if not years, before I would be able to really speak with these faceless people. Nothing against Donor Family Services - I’m sure they do the best they can - but for me, their best wasn’t good enough. So instead, I enlisted the help of someone I knew could never let me down.

“Are you sure you want me to do this?” Penelope peered up at me from her seat, her pinky finger hesitantly hovering over the ‘enter’ button.

“Yes.”

With just one click, she discovered the addresses of each one of those faceless people. This singular operation, albeit somewhat unethical, was the final piece to my puzzle. All there was left to do now was send the letters to them, with the tenuous hope they might send one back.

Luckily for me, not a single recipient questioned how I managed to find them or why this process wasn’t being handled by Donor Family Services, but I suppose if they did wonder those things, they didn’t feel comfortable asking me. Especially not after they learned who I was in relation to their donor. I didn’t intend to guilt-trip anyone with what I wrote in my letters nor did I want to take advantage of anyone’s empathy, but how could you possibly make a foe out of your organ donor’s grieving boyfriend? Exactly - you can’t. So you don’t. Instead, you send an inviting letter back, telling me you’d love to meet. Which is what four of them did.

Only one person didn’t reply, and while an 80% success rate was great, I simply couldn’t let this one go. Trust me, I would have ... had it been any other organ.

For quite some time, I was the one with Maeve’s heart.

I just needed to see where it was now.

᠃ ⚘᠂ ⚘ ˚ ⚘ ᠂ ⚘ ᠃

The heart has several definitions and corresponding connotations.

Scientifically speaking, the heart is a hollow muscular organ that pumps the blood through the circulatory system by rhythmic contraction and dilation. However, figuratively, the heart can be seen as the central or innermost part of something. The heart of a city, for example. But in literature, the heart is symbolic of love. It is often regarded as the source of all knowledge, which is where the comparison between the head and the heart comes from. The head operates logically, whereas the heart functions emotionally, but despite the rationality the head holds, the heart is what people advise you to listen to because it holds the ultimate truth.

The heart, because it is equipped with your truest feelings, supersedes any logic and reason the head might hold.

But you see, I only ever knew Maeve’s mind. I could understand the inner workings of it - I’d probably be able to navigate through her consciousness if I entered it given the fact that our intellect matched one another’s - and I shared nearly identical thought processes with her, but that was all that I ever knew.

And if that was how much knowledge she held in her head alone, then, undoubtedly, her heart held so much more.

Science defines the heart as an organ. Figurative language uses the heart to establish a focal point. Literature likens the heart to love. But I compare her heart to the ocean. Like the sea, Maeve’s heart was 80% undiscovered, and exploration was simply calling my name.

For that reason, and that reason alone, I couldn’t abandon my pursuit of it.

That’s not to say I wasn’t ashamed of this mission, though. If anything, shame for the man I had become in the face of Maeve’s death was the only feeling I was truly capable of anymore. Any other emotions were fleeting or insincere.

Unfortunately, that slimy, disgusting feeling was only amplified times ten when I found myself driving two hours and forty-five minutes to get to Virginia Beach.

No sane man would drive this far on a weekday for even their most prized possession, and yet here I was, exactly 180 miles away from home, seeking out someone who hadn’t had the courtesy to even write me back, let alone agree to meet with me. Who knows if she’d even give me the time of day.

She being Valerie.

“Valerie Elise Bishop was born on August 5th, 1988 in Henderson, Nevada, to parents Andrew and Sara, but when Valerie turned seventeen, she was diagnosed with arrhythmia,” Garcia explained to me over the phone on the car ride here. “It’s when-”

“When the electrical impulses that coordinate your heartbeats don't work properly, causing your heart to beat too fast, too slow or irregularly,” I accidentally cut in. Realizing I interrupted Garcia, I brought her back into the conversation by asking, “I know there are more than 3 million cases per year in the U.S, but isn’t it usually common for ages 60 or older?”

“You are most certainly correct, Boy Wonder. It is more common in ages 60 and older, however, her maternal grandmother passed away from arrhythmia, so the family history increased the likelihood.”

At the sound of this news, I had to pull the car over and physically stop just so I could grasp the weight of what I was really doing.

“In Henderson, Nevada ... maternal grandmother passed away ... family history increased the likelihood …” Garcia’s voice rang in my head.

It was then that I came face to face with the gravity of reality.

Valerie wasn’t just a faceless name or a recipient of Maeve’s heart, she was a person. And her humanity only became more apparent to me the more Penelope spoke.

For god’s sake, she and I grew up in the same state. She and I saw the same sunsets from the same little corner of the earth. She drove down the same highways and byways - we might’ve even crossed paths at one point or another! Not to mention that she lost her grandmother to the same disease that she was suffering from, and if there was one thing consistent about arrhythmia, it was very likely she’d been living with it for decades, if not her entire lifetime. It’s a long term disease that takes years to improve but only seconds to kill. All it would take is just one irregular beat, and she’d be dead. How can you possibly live with that constant fear looming over your head?

She is a person. I had to remind myself. Not just a means to explore more of Maeve.

“Hey, Garcia,” I turned the car back on. “I don’t think I can do this anymore.”

“What do you mean?” I could just feel panic begin to rise in Garcia.

“No, I’m not talking about life, I’m talking about this.” Though she couldn’t see, I grandly gestured to the location, the car, and the passenger seat that was cluttered with files on Valerie. “I don’t feel right invading her privacy like this. It’s just selfish.”

I wasn’t the only one mourning something here.

“Are you sure?” Penelope clarified. Which was ironic considering she was the one who was unsure of doing any of this, to begin with. What was I thinking? I shouldn’t have dragged Garcia into this. Something as immoral as this was totally against her character, but she did it anyway because her loyalty to her friends conquers all.

Like I said, my shame multiplied times ten. If not for Valerie, then certainly for Penelope.

“Yeah, I’m sure. I’m heading home.”

“Okay,” She softly returned. “Be safe.”

“Oh, and Garcia?” I asked before ending the call. “Thanks.”

“Of course. Anything for you, Dr. Reid.”

By the time I ended the call, the sun was already setting - that’s how long I’d been on the road for. The nearly-three-hour drive I would have to make for the second time today meant I wouldn’t be home in time to beat the pitch-black sky, so considering I was already in for a long night, I made a little detour for the one thing I couldn’t go home without.

A piping hot cup of coffee.

I felt something as rewarding as caffeine was well deserved for the self-restraint I demonstrated minutes ago. And maybe it was my exhaustion, both mental and physical, that brought me to the near conclusion that I would truly let this go, but I was honestly feeling like I could accept this. An 80% acceptance rate. Not bad, right?

Though I was basically half-asleep while waiting for my coffee, I could not miss the barista when she said, “Valerie! Your order’s ready!”

What are the chances?

A jolt of energy surged through my body and brought me back to life, causing me to whip my head around at the slightest semblance of movement. On instinct, my gaze gravitated to the woman walking towards the front counter. My pull to her was so strong that even if I hadn’t studied file upon file on her that included pictures of what she looked like, I still would’ve recognized her in a heartbeat.

I just knew. That’s her.

I had no plan whatsoever for how I should approach this, and yet I still rose from my seat, motivated by nothing more than the single belief that I needed to.

Was this the universe telling me that I was meant to run into her after all? That I needed to meet the woman with an oceanic heart?

But when I finally got to where she was, she glided effortlessly past me, not paying any mind to my presence. Why would she though? To her, I was no one. To her, I was the faceless person.

“Excuse me!” I bolted to the front counter after realizing I might’ve just missed my opportunity. The barista, stunned and concerned, furrowed her brows while she waited for my question. “Is that girl a regular here?”

“Valerie?” She pointed in her direction, to which I nodded rapidly. “Oh, yeah. She comes in here all the time. She works just across the street.”

When I came to this coffee shop, it was simply by chance. It wasn’t even the closest cafe, but it was the one I chose to go to for some inexplicable reason.

I’d like to think it was fate. I was meant to be here after all. Because right behind me stood the storefront of a building I had only briefly read about in Valerie’s file.

The Bones, Art Gallery & Studio

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

PART 2 HERE!

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#spencer reid #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid fanfiction #the bones #the bones pt 1 #juniorgman187

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muertawrites · 4 years

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Hey! I absolutely loved your Zuko x reader one host you wrote, and I was wondering if you could do one where Zuko and the reader barely talk, but she’s part of Azula’s friend group. At the beach some stuff happens, and Zuko finds out she’s not as crazy as he thought she was. Kind of angst. I totally understand if you can’t, or don’t feel like it! I hope you’re safe and healthy, and everything is going well. Thank you!

From Eden (Zuko x Reader)

Word Count: 1,776 (FUHREEDOM MOTHERFUCKERS 🎆🦅🦅🦅 🎆 )

Author’s Note: Ok this request is P E R F E C T. I don’t think I need to tell anyone I love the psychology of this show, but I love the psychology of this show - especially with Zuko and his relationship with himself and others. And this episode??? Ohhhhhh I have some THINGS. TO. SAY. about this episode. I have been in this boy’s place and I feel 👏🏻 for 👏🏻 him 👏🏻 he 👏🏻 deserves 👏🏻 better 👏🏻👏🏻👏🏻. I went in a sliiiiiiightly different direction, but I didn’t drastically change it (it turned out cute I think). Also, I named this “From Eden” because as I was writing it reminded me of the Hozier song. I’m such a sucker for a Broken Babe™, especially when the babe in question has a lot of personal growth and learns to love because of it. Thank you so much for this, anon, you’re absolutely gorgeous and I hope you’re keeping safe and healthy as well ❤

~ Muerta

(Also, if you’d like to request something, I have a list of prompts tagged! Feel free to ask for anything from fics to headcanons to imagines - I’m also open to new character suggestions!)

“Hey.”

Zuko sat on the porch of his family’s old vacation home, his mind miles away. Your greeting made him snap his head towards you, glowering down at where you stood at the base of the front steps. You crossed your arms, responding to his gaze with a defiant glare.

“What do you want?” he growled.

“To have normal friends,” you spat in reply. “Seems I’m stuck with you instead.”

A few hours ago, Zuko almost made a crater in the beach from the campfire you, his sister Azula, and your friends Mai and Ty Lee had started a screaming match around. Insults were flung, tears were shed, and skeletons were evicted from closets, all resulting in your realization that maybe political survival wasn’t worth the dysfunction of constantly being surrounded by a sociopath and her cronies. Pretending to have a super fun sleepover with them back at the guest house was proving to be too much for your fragile sense of self-containment, and you weren’t quite friendly enough with your newfound death wish to tell Azula how you really felt about her, so you went where you knew it would be quiet. You didn’t expect to find Zuko and his anger issues there a second time, but he honestly didn’t scare you - you’d take his obvious rage over Azula’s subtle calculations any day.

“I don’t know why you’re complaining,” Zuko jeered. “You’re just as emotionally fucked as the rest of them.”

“Ty Lee’s got herself pretty much under control, despite her gullibility,” you answered cooly. “Also, if you really wanna talk about emotionally fucked, I’m not the one who almost roasted my ex-girlfriend alive earlier.”

Zuko furrowed his brow at you, leaning forward as if to challenge you. You stayed exactly as you were, regarding him with a hard, unimpressed expression that revealed just how little he intimidated you. You couldn’t bend and weren’t a trained fighter - you knew he knew this, and that he wouldn’t actually attack you, despite how convincing he tried to make his empty threat appear. After a long, intense moment of wrinkled foreheads and competitive frowning, he backed off with a sigh, leaning back against the pillar behind him.

“So, what, you want to come and make peace? Talk it out or something?”

You shook your head, climbing the steps and lowering yourself onto the second highest; just below him, with a few feet between you as a courtesy.

“The last thing I want to do is talk about that dumpster fire on the beach,” you told him. “I just needed some time alone. But, since I found you, I guess it’s a good time to ask if you’re okay.”

Zuko looked you up and down, a confused and partially concerned look on his face. You half expected him to raise the back of his hand to your forehead to check for fever.

“What do you care if I’m okay or not?” he asked bitterly. “We’re not friends.”

“Zuko, I’ve known you since I was a toddler,” you said. “I’d say we’re friends. It’s not like anyone else really is.”

“Mai is my girlfriend,” Zuko snapped at you. “She’s the best friend I have!”

“Mai dumped you for being a possessive asshole,” you deadpanned, “then she let her best friend convince you to commit arson. Friends don’t let their friends’ sisters manipulate them into felonies.”

Zuko huffed, slumping back defeatedly.

“You can’t act like Azula’s never made you do anything you didn’t want to,” he grumbled.

“I don’t,” you replied shortly. “I’ve just stopped caring about making her like me, since she really doesn’t like anyone. She doesn't get under my skin like she used to when we were kids.”

You noticed Zuko’s lips curl upwards into the ghost of a smile. You mirrored him, leaning your arms atop your upright knees.

“What?” you asked.

Zuko chuckled faintly, shaking his head.

“Nothing,” he responded. “You just… Do you remember when you were eight, and Azula teased Ty Lee about being too slow climbing the trees in our courtyard?”

Your eyes widened in realization, your mouth parting into a wide smile as you let out a gasp of hysterical laughter.

“Oh, that was awful!” you cried, though the memory only brought more fits of giggles to your gut. “I was such a little brat!”

Zuko was laughing with you too now, arms wrapped over his stomach as he tried to speak between breaths.

“It was the funniest thing I’ve ever seen!” he exclaimed. “Watching her fall out of the tree like that, the shock on her face, and then I caught you with the knife and saw where you cut the branch... She deserved it. You should give her a taste of her own medicine like that more often.”

You blushed, looking away from him as your laughter died down.

“Now she could kill me if she wanted,” you said. “I try not to say or do anything around her if I can help it.”

“... Is that why you’ve been so quiet since then?”

You nodded.

“She beat me up when she found out what I did,” you explained.

You stood, pulling down the waist of your sarong to reveal the burn scar on your right hip. Zuko’s eyes burst with shock at first, wondering exactly why you’d be disrobing in front of him, his expression softening when he saw the mark Azula left.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured. “Most brothers feel like they should protect their little sisters. I always felt like I should’ve protected all of you from her.”

“You did,” you assured him. You sat back down beside him, closer this time, so that your hips almost touched. “I remember you jumped in front of her once when she threatened us. And that time…”

Your voice faded, the memory almost bringing tears to your eyes. You couldn’t figure out why.

“You hid from her,” Zuko finished your thought.

You nodded.

“You let me hide in your room,” you recalled. “Remember? Azula punched me. I ran to the first quiet place I could find and accidentally went to your room.”

Zuko hummed.

“You were crying,” he added, “and your eye was all red and swollen.”

“You held me.”

Zuko’s eyes fixed on you. He didn’t say anything, though he remembered; you burst through his half open door, sniffling, tears and spittle running down your cheeks and chin. It was the first time Azula had actually, physically hurt you, and you were terrified and confused. He asked if you were okay, and you shook your head. Being so young, the only thing he could think to do was hug you, since that’s what his mother did to make him feel better, and you clung to him, sobbing into his shirt and using his much bigger body for protection. After that day, he let you use his bedroom as a hiding place whenever Azula got to be too much - until she found out about it and started teasing you about wedding dresses and baby names.

“We were friends,” you breathed. “I wish we still were.”

There was a long silence in which the two of you stared out at the horizon, down the steep hill leading to the vacation house and into the ocean. The moon hung in a small sliver, barely flickering across the calm waters that rocked below; you could hear the gentle rush of waves as they crawled over the sand and shrunk back into themselves, creating a calming din that echoed up to where you sat.

“... I still remember your favorite game to play with me,” Zuko said into the warm air between you. “Those times you hid in my room. You used to pretend to be a Kyoshi warrior. My mom gave you one of her old fans and we’d jump on and off my bed, trying to catch each other.”

You grinned.

“I would wrap myself around your legs to keep you from walking,” you recalled.

Zuko laughed.

“I loved that,” he admitted. “It used to make me laugh so hard when we were kids.”

He looked over to you, and you turned to face him as well. The anger in his eyes was gone completely, in its place a warm, steady sadness that made you ache.

“I miss you,” he whispered.

You reached cautiously for his hand, relieved when he slid his fingers between yours and gripped your palm tightly.

“I miss you, too,” you replied. “I’m sorry I let Azula drive me away from you.”

Zuko wrapped his arms around you, pulling you into a tender embrace. Your hands latched together on either side of his back, gripping into his shirt a little bit as you buried your face in his shoulder. He felt and smelled the same as he did when you were little; hard like the walls of a sturdy house and sweet like the last embers in a fireplace.

You didn’t know how long you held each other, but when you broke apart, you sat together for ages, existing in silence on the steps of his childhood house and beside one another. You felt small again, but in the best way - you felt like the girl who was brave enough to cut through the branches of a maple tree so your tormenter would fall out of them.

“I want to run away,” you blurted. “I could be someone totally different if I weren’t stuck here.”

“If you do, I’ll go with you,” Zuko said. “We can be different people together.”

You grinned, leaning your shoulder against his.

“We could move to Kyoshi Island,” you suggested. “I’m too old to start warrior training now, but we could start a business. Open an inn or something.”

Zuko chuckled at the thought.

“I’ll call myself Lee,” he mused, “and you can go by Izumi.”

“Maybe we could be married. And we could adopt orphan children and cats.”

“Just cats. You can’t emotionally destroy a cat like you can with a kid.”

You glanced over at him, noticing the hard gleam in his eye. You wrapped your arms around his bicep, holding him close to you.

“You’re not your father, Zuko,” you whispered. “You don’t want to be.”

Zuko nodded. He reached for one of your hands, curling his own around it.

“... I feel like I am going to leave,” he said, “at some point. When I do… will you stay? So that I have at least one friendly face to come home to someday?”

You nodded, giving his hand a gentle squeeze.

“I will,” you promised. “And when you do, I’ll give you Azula’s severed head as a homecoming present.”

Zuko laughed at that.

{ epilogue }

#requests #muerta's works #zuko #prince zuko #zuko fluff #prince zuko fluff #zuko angst #zuko x reader #zuko x you #prince zuko x reader #prince zuko x you #zuko fanfic #prince zuko fanfic #zuko x reader fluff #zuko x reader angst #atla fanfic #avatar fanfiction

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likeshipsonthesea · 4 years

Note

oh my GOD if you wrote something for "i’d suffer hell if you’d tell me what you’d do to me tonight" and nurseydex I'm pretty sure I'd combust pls do it

hello hi it’s been a while. so truth be told i wrote this, or started this, a long time ago, when you first sent in this prompt, and i didn’t like it, but then i read it again and ended up finishing it and..once again didn’t like it. and then i read it last night and thought it was pretty cool and now i’m posting it. fun story, i know.

warning for religious imagery/issues and internalized/referenced externalized homophobia.

nurseydex for the prompt i’d suffer hell if you’d tell me what you’d do to me tonight from Hozier’s Dinner & Diatribes. enjoy!

On the first night back from spring break, Dex sits across the living floor from Nursey and thinks about Easter mass.

It’s blasphemous, really. A rough rug, older than him, scratches at the exposed skin of his ankles, his wrists. The team around him laughs and mellows in waves. Bitty’s most recent pie sits cooling in the kitchen, chilled breezes from the open window carrying the scent of it into the living room. Dex ignores it all to watch Nursey bring the mouth of a bottle to his own mouth, rest the glass on the soft dip in his bottom lip. He tilts back his head, jaw lengthening, dropping. He swallows, and his throat bobs. A tendon in his neck guides Dex’s gaze up, up to his stubble, to his mouth, to the regal slant of his nose. His eyes.

Nursey is looking. Half lidded. Green, burning. Forest fire.

Dex thinks about Easter mass. Scratchy shirt cuffs rubbing red against bony wrists. The too-thin pages of the Bible like receipt paper on his fingertips, half imagining that the print came off with his touch. Songs about sacrifice, and love, and being beholden to a man who is at once so very human, and so very, very not. Ethereality in kindness. The sweet smell of wine, tasteless wafer. A body, given.

Nursey looks away—back to Chowder, back to conversation.

Dex wonders what he would give to be looked at like that for a moment longer. Condensation builds between his fingertips and his beer, and he takes a sip that tastes sweeter than it should. He reckons Nursey is some kind of holy. The descendant of a God long forgotten in name, but never spirit. The kind of God who loved rich smells and smart words, who knew the value of respect, and laughter. The kind of God who looked at love as something to be given, not sacrificed.

Worship no other God before me. Dex’s beer turns bitter on his tongue.

Blasphemous.

Dex watches Nursey hands and imagines the punishment he’d endure. Each hit bloody, bruising. Would Nursey’s hands be smooth? Nails short, light scratches, pinkened skin. Dex would cry out, likely, as hard as he would try not to, under the onslaught. The sounds Nursey would make would be soothing, caressing and lovely and breathy and loud. Dex would shut his eyes and imagine in the darkness that he couldn’t see their frothing rage. Nursey, spread across bedsheets, hair haloed on pale pillowcase, eyelashes dusting the tops of his cheeks, smiling.

During a lull in the silence, when everyone is busy, Dex stands up from the living room floor. He goes into the kitchen and grabs himself a bottle of water, prodding at the pie to see if it’s cool enough. Back to the doorway, he hears footsteps.

“Not in the mood to chat tonight, Poindoodle?”

Dex closes his eyes. Nursey’s voice lilts, laughter concealed in vowels outstretched and pointed consonants upturned. When he’s sleepy, or drunk, his words link together like holding hands, drifting thumbs tucked delicately against sweaty palms. Nursey talks with his hands. Sometimes Dex feels the words more than he hears them.

“Tired, I guess,” Dex says, because all of this is too much to say outside of a confessional. He does not turn around.

Nursey hums. “How was break?”

Dex sways into his hands, feeling the pressure between the calluses on the inside of his knuckles and the vaguely floured countertop. “Good,” Dex says. It almost isn’t a lie.

The nearly normal has become the best outcome he can hope for. Half beats between conversations about school, hockey, fall into place as if the music called for them all along. It is a tune now ingrained in him, even if the words never make sense, or make him sad. He remembers bits of songs they taught in Sunday school and hopes that one day this will be dulled as well. Home is this, and so it must be good, because by any other metric he might not go home again and the Bible has something to say about that, too.

A hand on his shoulder. Warm, heavy. Nursey does not say anything. Dex counts the words he doesn’t say until he loses track trying to keep his tongue tamed. I love you. I miss you. I wish I was enough. I wish I could live in a world where what I am is enough. I wish you would touch me. What do I do to make you touch me?

Nursey’s hand falls. “It’s nice to see you,” he says, and he waits a minute, a passage of time, full of breathing and not breathing, and Dex follows along intently. Nursey leaves the room. Dex counts the bones in his hands and bathes in the bloody faded pink of his knuckles.

That night, after the drinks are gone and the lights are out and they’re all in their beds, like they should be, Dex shifts under his sheets and drags his own incompetent hands against his skin. Wrinkled elbows and knobbed shoulders, shuddering ribcage bones and fleshy sides. He prays, like he hasn’t in years, to someone he doesn’t know but is somehow surer about than whatever it is that stares at him as he sits in hard pews, scratchy and burning. Let me have this, he thinks, eyes shut, lips pressed together. Let me give myself to this.

Somehow, his feet bring him to the hall side of a closed door. He cannot hear mumbling. Nursey talks in his sleep.

I would suffer anything to know, Dex thinks, eyes tracing the lines carved into the wood. Let me know.

He knocks.

The door opens.

Nursey stands, rumpled and perfect, one hand curled around the doorknob, holding himself up. His green eyes are deep, mossy, Maine-like and worried. “Dex,” he says, no fanfare. “What’s wrong?”

“Let me in?” Dex licks his lips. They’re sweet.

Nursey moves his body to make room for Dex and it takes all the restraint his church has taught him not to fill it up completely. Door closed, Dex inside, a foot and a half between their bodies. Dex’s fingers twist in his sweatpants.

Nursey stares, expectation heavy. The weight of it, in this creaking room, in this darkness, is heady, not suffocating. Dex takes a deep breath.

“I—” Dex knows what swallowed words taste like. Metallic and copper, razor blades on his tongue, kept safe by his teeth, lips, until his mouth fills with blood. He wants to say it, he wants Nursey to know, and yet he stares long enough for his eyes to adjust to the faded Maine green reflecting back at him.

“Is everything alright?” Nursey finally asks, quiet, whispered.

The question shudders his bones. Instead of answering, Dex says, “I missed you.”

The shock of surprise is like a thunderstorm over the water, flashing quick and then muffled. “Oh?”

Dex’s fingers knot up the material of his sweatpants. It leaves his ankles cold. “I did.”

Harsh exhale, then slow. “Dex,” he says, he says Dex’s name again, not Poindoodle or Dexington or anything else. “What are you—” Swallowed words, razor blades.

“I always miss you,” Dex says, because the rest of the words are rusted over with sweetened wine and this seems to be the truest thing he has inside him.

“Dex,” Nursey says, and Dex would like to cry, sort of, because that name on those lips with that kind of homesick color staring at him wide and open feels more like coming home than two weeks of being in Maine and that aches in so many different, good and bad, kind of ways and he doesn’t think Nursey knows, he doesn’t think he could explain, all the things he’d go through to hear Nursey call him Dex, look at him like this.

“Please,” Dex says, and he knows it doesn’t make any sense, any of it, but nothing does, really, and he thinks Nursey gets it anyway because in the next moment his mouth is parted over Dex’s and he tastes nothing like razorblades, nothing like wine, just sleep stale toothpaste and a sigh.

Dex releases his sweatpants to curl his hands over Nursey, his hips, his back, the roundness of his elbow. Nursey does not pull back, he does not flinch away. He slips his thumb under the waistband of Dex’s sweatpants and just leaves it there, warm, like a promise.

#nurseydex #dexnursey #check please #dex #william poindexter #nursey #derek nurse #my writing #sort of fic #ficlet #not even going to complain that tumblr is STILL deleting formatting in asks #hozier prompts #one left my dudes!!!#and i have no idea what to do for it #lol #enjoy whatever this is #60s au comes out probably sometime this week

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reciprocityfic · 4 years

Text

a slight return home, chapter nine

Title: A Slight Return Home Fandom: The Walking Dead Pairing: Rick x Michonne Rating: M Summary: Rick’s death shakes Michonne’s world to its core. With her daughter and her remaining family, she tries to navigate her changed life, and all the struggles and surprises that come with it.

Author’s Note: It's been ages since I've updated this. I'm so sorry. The motivation just wasn't there for the longest time, but good news - it seems to be back! Plus, I just finished my classes for the semester, and I'm not working right now because of the pandemic, so I should have lots of time to write!

I listened to "Mystery of Love" by Sufjan Stevens while I wrote this, and it's obviously where the title comes from. I also listened to "Wasteland, Baby!" from Hozier's album of the same name.

Read the Author's Note at the end after you're done with this chapter. There's some important stuff in there!

Here's chapter nine of A Slight Return Home!

read chapter one on tumblr, archive of our own or ff.net read chapter two on tumblr, archive of our own or ff.net read chapter three on tumblr, archive of our own or ff.net read chapter four on tumblr, archive of our own or ff.net read chapter five on tumblr, archive of our own or ff.net read chapter six on tumblr, archive of our own or ff.net read chapter seven on tumblr, archive of our own or ff.net read chapter eight on tumblr, archive of our own or ff.net read chapter nine on archive of our own or ff.net

the mystery of love

It all changes one day, suddenly.

Spring is at its most robust in Virginia, and the day outside is nothing short of beautiful. The afternoon sun shines brilliantly upon them, the trees are in full bloom, and she can hear birds singing as they fly about.

She's in a good mood, for the first time in what seems like forever. Things have been quiet for a few months now - no new threats, no dangerous communities to fight. And she has the day "off", as they tend to call it; she's not on watch, isn't going on any runs, doesn't have any duties around Alexandria to tend to.

So she's home, and it's so warm outside that she pulled shorts and a t-shirt out of her dresser this morning. The kids just finished up lunch, and quickly scurried outside to continue playing. She can hear their voices along with the chirping of the birds, and it puts her in an even better mood. She smiles as she wipes down the counter where she made sandwiches. Her bare foot taps against the cool hardwood floor of the kitchen as she sings an old Billie Holiday song her mother used to play for her under her breath.

"Michonne?"

She jumps at the sound of her name, drops the rag she's wiping with on the floor and turns towards the noise frantically, one hand gripping the edge of the counter with all her might while the other goes to her back to grab the katana that isn't there.

But when she does turn, she finds it's Rick.

"Shit, Rick!" she breathes, bending over and placing her hands on her knees as her muscles relax. She takes a moment before she stands up again, trying to steel herself for whatever kind of conversation will come next. She tries to disguise her hesitation by reaching down and picking up the rag from the floor, and as she straightens herself, she tosses the wet thing on the counter.

Then, she looks at him.

Things with Rick have still been...difficult. More than difficult. She feels like they're swimming together in a river full of molasses, and not even in the same direction, at times. Any progress is slow and heavy on their limbs. They're sad and sticky and stuck, and making little progress. Maybe not making any progress. And there's always that underlying fear in the pit of her stomach that they'll never make any progress at all.

But she tries not to think that way, keeps telling herself that this will get better if she only gives it time. That she'll find a way to bring him back. Even if it takes twenty years, she'll find a way to bring him back.

He's here in front of her, at least. That's more than she can say on most days. And she's keenly aware that this is the first time she's heard him say her name in over two weeks.

"I'm sorry," he mutters, taking a step back and turning his head to look over his shoulder.

"It's fine," she says quickly, remembering all at once how careful she has to be. He's a skittish, abused animal, constantly hovering along the edges of her world, and if she makes one or two wrong moves, he might run from her.

"It's fine," she tells him again, but she realizes that he's still looking away from her.

"Rick," she calls, but he doesn't move.

"Rick."

She says it more forcefully this time, and he turns back around.

"I didn't mean to scare you."

"It's fine," she assures him again, and he nods slowly, like he's hearing her words for the first time.

Silence falls over them. She waits for him to talk, but he doesn't. Instead, he stares at her, eyes slightly squinted. He used to look at her like that all the time. Before they were together, she never quite knew what it meant, and it made her stomach churn in a way she didn't understand. Afterwards, she knew exactly what it meant, and it still made her stomach churn, but in the best possible way. Because when he looked at her like that, it meant he was thinking of him and her and a bed - or a wall, a couch, a table. Anywhere private. Where they wouldn't be seen, and hopefully not heard.

It's different this time, slightly softer and less penetrating. It's like he's trying to decide something. She wants to stay quiet, to give him the time he needs, but after a minute she starts to fidget, and she can't help but say something.

"What's up?"

He bites his bottom lip, and glances away momentarily before his eyes return to her. His hands fall to his hips, and she almost smiles, because he always used to stand like that. It's a remnant of the past, of a better time. And it's nice to know that at least something about him hasn't changed.

"Can we talk?"

Her eyes widen in surprise. She hadn't been expecting that to be his answer, and resists the urge to jump for joy because maybe this is the start of it, maybe they'll finally get somewhere, instead of just fumbling around in the dark. Maybe they'll turn to face each other in that brown river.

"Yeah," she answers, trying to temper the excitement in her voice. She could still scare him away. "Yeah, of course."

He nods once, and then turns around and walks away. Confusion floods her before she realizes he's headed for the dining room. She looks out the window briefly, to take one more look at her kiddos, and then follows after him.

She finds him standing by the table, and he motions for her to take a seat before he does. Always the gentleman. She half-smiles at him, and then sits at the head of the table.

He walks to the complete opposite side of the table, and takes his seat.

Or maybe he just wanted to make sure he didn't have to sit too close to you, chimes a voice inside her head, but she pushes that thought away. Even if that is true, this is going to be a good thing. They're going to make progress.

She watches him get settled and then waits for him to say something. But again, he hesitates. She waits awhile, and then goes to speak. Prompting worked in the kitchen, after all.

"So what do you want - "

"Is there someone else?"

She doesn't react right away, blinking hard twice. She decides she must've heard him wrong.

"What?" she questions, and the word comes out whispered and half-strangled, but he hears it still, and asks her again.

"Is there someone else? Was there? Is there? I don't know. Does it matter?"

She gapes at him, mouth hanging open. He shifts nervously in his seat.

"It's just, you've been distant since we came home from the infirmary. I know I was gone for...a long time. I mean, I'd understand. Seven years is seven years. It's a long time."

She can't process what's happening, even though her thoughts are racing a mile a minute. It's as if all the gears in her brain stopped working and started up again in strange patterns.

"It's okay. If there is. It's okay. We'd have to think of something with the kids, but other than that, it would probably be pretty easy. I'm sure there are empty houses. Or if not, I could always move in with Daryl, or - "

"I still have all of your clothes?"

She doesn't mean for it to come out sounding like a question, but it does. And she knows it's kind of stupid, but she can't think of something else to say.

"You do," he concedes. "You do. But...I don't know. Things have been...not good. And I know it's my fault, but like I said, you've been distant, too. And I just want you to be happy."

"I'm trying to give you space. To give you time," she murmurs, dazed. "You need time."

"I know. But I just want you to be happy. That's all I've ever wanted. All I'll ever want. For you to be happy."

He shrugs.

"Seven years is a long time. And I just want you to be happy."

"Seven years is a long time," she breathes, repeating his words mechanically.

"And I just want to know. I need to know," he amends. "Is there someone else?"

"Is there someone else?" she echos again.

He stops talking, staring at her cautiously. He might be a scared animal, but she's a bomb waiting to explode, ready to go off with the slightest touch. But she's still floundering at the moment, flopping around like a fish on a hook, gasping for breath that won't come.

She looks down at her hands. They're trembling, she realizes. Her heart is beating in double time.

"Michonne," he sighs. The sorrow in his voice is palpable.

And it decides her.

Fuck it. Fuck the waiting, the hesitation, all the caginess. Fuck that constant feeling of teetering on the very edge of a cliff, desperately wondering if someone is going to grab your hand and pull you away, or shove you in the back and push you off.

She knows that there's no going back, she knows that she might scare him off, but she can't do this anymore. She can't. She's tired, so tired, more tired than she's ever been. And she can't do it anymore. She won't.

Fuck it all. She explodes.

She stands abruptly, her chair falling back and crashing to the floor. She pays it no mind. He jumps, but he doesn't get up. He doesn't run.

"Seven years is a long time. Do you think I don't know that? Do you think I didn't feel every day of those seven years?"

She's shouting. She knows she is. But she can't stop herself. She's expelling everything that's been pent up inside her, and she can't stop.

But he's not running.

"I woke up every single one of those days and missed you. Most days I didn't want to. Most days it felt like it would be easier to die than to get out of that bed, but I did it anyway. For Judith, and then for RJ. And for you. For seven years, I did everything for you. Because I knew you would want me to. That you would want me to live."

She's crying. She can feel tears running down her cheeks. And she's right in front of him now.

But he isn't running.

"And so I got up. I lived. And I kept your clothes, and your toothbrush, and every single, little fucking thing because I couldn't do it without you. Without reminding myself that it was what you wanted."

She pulls his chair out from the table, turns it so it faces her. He's still light enough that she can manage it without much effort.

And he doesn't run.

"I talked to you, I went to visit you. I raised our babies. And I loved you. More than anything else, I loved you."

She stops suddenly, her chest heaving. There's tears in his eyes now, too. And she's tired. Tired from yelling, but tired mostly from carrying the weight of everything these past few months have brought. From thinking that at any moment, her world would collapse in on her.

She's so tired. She collapses onto his lap, her head falling into his chest, over his heart.

And he doesn't run. He doesn't even tense.

"And now," she murmurs, "now you want to know if there was someone else? There wasn't anyone else. There isn't, there wasn't, there never will be."

"Michonne."

She feels his voice rumble in his chest. Her name isn't a whisper this time. He doesn't murmur it, or mutter it. He says it, with his whole voice.

She lifts her head.

"Baby," he says, tucking a loc of her hair behind her ear.

She grabs his face with both of her hands, sitting up straight. She hovers over him slightly, close enough now that she can see the light freckles on the bridge of his nose, the flecks of cerulean in his light blue eyes that shine with tears.

And he doesn't run.

"I missed you every day," she tells him. "I loved you every day. I loved - "

He leans up and kisses her.

She doesn't respond at first, because she doesn't expect it. She stills in shock as her brain sputters to make sense of what's happening and her lips don't move back against his. And by the time it registers - that he's not running, that he's kissing her - he pulls away. And the loss of him, of their contact, is so profound that she almost begins to cry harder.

Don't stop, she's about to say, but the words die in her throat as she looks at him.

He's staring up at her again, but his eyes are different. They're not squinted, and the tears in them have dried. And he isn't trying to decide anything. Instead, he looks decided.

He's looking at her like he loves her. Like he's hungry, and the only thing he wants is her.

It's how he used to look at her, almost always. Even when they weren't in the bedroom - when they went on runs, when they were out in the community doing various jobs - there would always be a hint of it, deep in his irises.

She remembers the first time he looked at her like that. That night on the couch, their hearts pounding as they kissed furiously, both of their shirts half untucked, the button of her jeans undone, hands anywhere they could find the other's bare skin. His lips left hers only to kiss across her jaw, down her neck, and settle on her collarbone, where his lips moved and his tongue danced against her skin.

His teeth nipped at her lightly, and she groaned at the pleasurable pain.

He pulled away and hovered over her. She could feel him, cooped up in his jeans, pressing incessantly against her inner thigh. She almost pouted at the sudden stop, and was about to tell him to get back down here, but then she looked into his eyes.

The first time he had pulled away, a few minutes earlier, he had smiled down at her, softly and happily. She held his face, ran her fingers over his cheekbones, and smiled back.

This time, he didn't smile. He stared at her, chest heaving, wild curls framing his face like a halo of dark light, mouth hanging open.

He looked like he wanted to devour her. And he had, that night and so many others after it, thoroughly and absolutely.

It's how he's looking at her now.

She feels a buzzing throughout her body, and a bolt of desire makes her shiver as it settles between her thighs. She wants him. She wants him.

She's never wanted him more.

She doesn't know which one of them leans in again first, but she supposes it doesn't matter, because when their lips crash together, everything flies out of her mind except for him. Him, and his lips and his body and his heart. She places one of her hands on his chest, so she can feel it beat wildly underneath her palm.

(he's alive he's alive he's alive he's alive and he's not running. he's with her. he's finally with her.)

He's already hard beneath her, and she feels herself clench around nothing, longing for him. Longing to feel him inside her, to welcome him home. She reaches for his pants while he stands with her and lays her back on the empty table. She undoes his belt and then yanks it from the loops on his pants, dropping it to the ground. The metal buckle thumps as it hits the hardwood floor, and she jumps at the noise before laughing softly at the sudden sound. He joins her, and it makes her laugh harder.

She's happy. She's so happy, and he is, too. She almost can't believe it, but she does believe it because she feels it. She feels the warmth blooming in her core and spreading into every single one of her atoms, she senses the joy rolling off of Rick in waves.

She believes it because it's real. It's radiating out of their every pore, and it's so real.

She continues laughing, covering her mouth with her hand. But he tugs on that hand, and she lets him pull it down, placing it on his shoulder instead. Then, he takes his index finger and gently runs it along her bottom lip, in the shape of her smile.

"I've missed you," he whispers.

She smiles, as tears gather in the corner of her eyes. She doesn't know if they're happy or sad, but it doesn't matter. Because either way, she knows he'll be there to catch them when they fall.

She leans up again to kiss him, wraps her legs around his waist as he trails his fingers up and down her bare thighs. Each touch of his hands on her skin leaves fire in their wake, a pleasant burn that spreads across her skin and sets her aflame, burning away her old self and making way for rebirth. Like the spring outside, she's blooming, the buds and blossoms inside her watered and nurtured by the light in his eyes, by the feel of his body against hers. Flowers grow between her ribs.

His hands creep under her t-shirt, travel up her sides and hover over her chest before moving down again. He grabs the hem of her shirt and she sits up, helping to pull it over her head. It falls to the floor along beside his belt.

He stares at her, licking his lips. She leans back on her hands. Her bra is already out of place, her breasts practically spilling out of the garment. And he keeps staring. She feels herself getting wetter. She forgot how wonderful it felt to be ogled by the man that you love. She raises her eyebrows, challenging him.

What are you waiting for?

His eyes meet hers for a split second. And then he dives in, headfirst.

He buries his face in her cleavage, inhales her. And it gives her his answer.

I'm not waiting for anything. Not anymore.

He kisses and nips and the soft flesh of her breasts, and one of his hands reaches up her back, his fingers starting to fiddle with the clasp of her bra. She closes her eyes, lets out a soft moan, before opening her eyes again.

"Wait," she says.

He shakes his head, lets out some muffled hum of protest, and she laughs.

"Rick, wait," she repeats, grabbing his head and lifting it from her chest. His bottom lip juts out in adorable pout, and her smile is so wide that her cheeks hurt.

"We shouldn't do this here," she tells him softly.

"Why?" he asks, and she can hear the slight nervous lilt in his tone. Like he's afraid she's going to reject him suddenly.

She runs her hand over his hair in an attempt to soothe him. He's been keeping it short, like he did before he was taken. The fuzz feels good under her fingers.

She doesn't want to do it here. She wants to bring him back into their room, back into their bed. Take the place she poured so many tears and so much sorrow into and drain it. Fill it up with love again.

She wants to take those final steps to bring him back to her, wholly. And there are practical reasons, too.

"Because the front door is unlocked. And because the kitchen window is open. Someone could hear us."

"You plannin' on being loud?" he asks, a wicked and aroused glint appearing in his eyes.

He's half-teasing her, she knows. But the other half of him is excited at the prospect. His eyes dart around her face, one corner of his mouth ticking up.

"You planning on making me be loud?" she counters.

He bites down on his bottom lip, and then stands, taking her hand. She laces their fingers together as he bends down to pick up their shirt and belt.

"C'mon," he drawls, the southern twang more pronounced as it always is when his voice is rough with pleasure.

He leads her up the stairs and down the hall, but stops when he comes to their room. She can sense his hesitation, but she waits for him.

Finally, he reaches out, hand shaking. He turns the knob, and the door falls open. She can see the sun shining in through the sheer white curtains, filling the room with light.

He doesn't move to go in, so she steps around him, tugs on his hand and beckoning him forward.

"Come on," she urges. And it takes him a moment, but he follows her.

She lets him walk past her, and then closes the door behind them. She watches him as he stands at the foot of the bed, back towards her, gazing around the room like he's never been there before.

"You were always here."

He turns to her, tilting his head to the side.

"What do you mean?" he questions.

"You were always here," she tells him again. "It wasn't just the clothes. I always felt you in here. Like you had left part of yourself behind the last time you went away. And when I wanted to feel close to you, and it wasn't practical to go to the bridge, I would take the kids to Aaron's, and come up here and crawl into bed. I'd lay my head on your pillow. Sometimes I would cry, other times I would talk, but a lot of times I would just, lay there. And I would feel like you were there with me."

She walks towards him, and wraps her arms around him tightly, resting her head on his chest, above his thumping heart.

(he's alive he's alive he's alive he's alive)

"This is yours, Rick. This room, this bed. It's all yours. It always has been, and it always will be."

They're silent for a minute, but then she feels him nod above her.

"Okay," he whispers, before pulling back so he can look into her eyes.

"Okay," he repeats.

"Okay," she says back, nodding her head.

He leans down to kiss her.

They pick back up where they left off in the dining room, wrapping themselves around each other. He sits her down on the bed, takes off her bra, finally. He palms her breasts as he kneels down, places a long kiss on each nipple, and then moves his mouth down her stomach, stopping when he gets to the waistband of her cotton shorts. He tugs them down slowly, and then peels off her soaked underwear.

She's naked before him, for the first time in seven years. But there's no nervousness, no awkwardness, no hesitation. All she feels is anticipation. Eagerness for what she knows will come next.

He stares at her from his place on the floor, mouth hanging open, breaths labored. She wants every inch of him.

She reaches for him, begins to unbutton his shirt. He assists her. As he's shrugging it off his shoulders, she goes to start on his jeans, but she stops when she sees it.

He's gained a lot of weight since he came home, but she can still see his ribs. She can still count each one of them.

She stares. She can't help it. She stares, and it takes her back to when she found him, cowering in the corner of that cold, dark room, scared and abused and halfway to death.

The people who did that to him, they're dead now. They're dead, and they will never hurt him again. But it's not good enough. She wants to go back, to line them up and kill them all over again, one by one, watch them suffer, see their fear, their -

"Michonne," she hears, in some small part of her brain. His hands cradle her cheeks, and he tilts her face up. He's gazing down at her with the slightest frown on his face.

"Stay with me," he whispers.

Her eyes flit back to his ribs for a moment, but she takes a deep breath and looks back at him.

They're dead, she reminds herself. It doesn't matter anymore. What matters is that he's here, holding her. Loving her. He's alive.

They didn't win. He's alive. She leans into his hand, and feels the beat of his pulse against her skin.

(he's alive he's alive he's alive he's alive)

He's here, and he loves her.

Stay with me.

"Always," she promises.

He brings her face to his, presses his lips against hers softly. For a moment, they're quiet, pressed against each other and swaying back and forth slightly.

She begins to pull on him, forcing onto the bed with her. He laughs as she scoots back towards the headboard, and he pushes down his jeans and boxers, throwing them on the floor before turning over and crawling on top of her.

Once he's settled in, she reaches down and holds him. They both groan as she strokes him, him shifting above her as his hips buck. He drips into her hand as she continues to stroke, and she reaches down with her other hand to cup his balls.

"Fuck," he murmurs, his voice strained. She can tell she's torturing him, but she can't stop. She loves it - loves making him feel like this, loves the weight of him in her hand. He feels so good, and he's not even inside of her yet.

She speeds up her strokes, and he moans again, louder this time than the last. He reaches and grabs her hands, brings them up and holds them in his, lacing their fingers together.

"I want you," he says breathlessly. "I need you."

She lays back, her hair spreading out on the pillows, all around her head.

"Then take me," she tells him, reaching out again and guiding him to her entrance.

He does.

He enters her in one movement, and neither of them can help the loud groans they let out. They don't move right away as they treasure the feeling of being connected once again, finally.

But then, she grows impatient. She swivels her hips, communicating to him without words, and he begins to thrust.

It's almost like their first time, in a way. Things aren't perfectly smooth, and there are bumps and stutters along the way. Their bodies together aren't the well-oiled machine that they used to be. Neither of them are exactly how they used to be. They have to get used to this again. To find out who the other is, now.

She couldn't be more eager to learn.

They find a steady rhythm after a few minutes, and his thrusts get faster as she moves her hips in time with his. He pauses for a moment, readjusts them so he can reach her more freely, and then trails his hand down and begins to move his fingers against her.

She feels it, that tightening in the pit of her stomach, the beginning of the tide that will take her over. He begins to move his fingers more intently, syncs them with the movement of their hips, and the feeling grows. She's standing on the edge of a cliff overlooking the ocean, and she's about to jump.

She lets go of everything. Everything that's been plaguing her for so long - for seven years - and lets it fade away. All of the worry, the pain, the exhaustion, the sorrow and loneliness. All of her doubts and insecurities and responsibilities and fear. She lets them go, until there's nothing left except her and this bed and him. Him, moving above and inside her, panting in her ear, setting her nerves ablaze.

She clings to him as he continues to thrust, crying out as he kindles the fire inside of her.

And she falls.

Her muscles spasm around him as she hits the water below the cliff. The waves overtake her, and her head goes under. She's drowning, but it's okay. He's here, and she never wants to breathe again.

She relaxes all at once with a contented moan, sated and happy. He continues to move above her, pressing his face into the crook of her neck, his moans still echoing throughout the room even though they're muffled by her skin. Her hands roam up and down his back, wander down to his ass and squeeze.

"Come on, baby," she murmurs in his ear.

She feels his muscles stiffen suddenly, and then the warm rush as he comes inside of her. She closes her eyes, relishing it. Relishing him.

He collapses on top of her, his face still buried in her neck. They both heave as they try to catch their breath. Their chests are pressed together, and she can feel his heart pounding.

(he's alive he's alive he's alive he's alive)

And she's home. Finally, she's home.

***

It's warm again today.

She'd opened all the windows and doors when she'd come downstairs, so the fresh air could drift in and freshen up the house. She can feel the pleasant breeze blowing against her skin now, as she folds towels in the living room.

It's quiet at home. The kids are out with Daryl and Dog. She isn't sure where Rick is right now, but she knows he's nearby.

She hears small footsteps dash up the front porch steps.

"Momma!"

She smiles. It's RJ.

She sets the laundry basket she had on her lap aside, and gets up to greet him at the door. Her bare feet pad against the hardwood floor and echo softly throughout the entryway.

"Mom-"

Her eyebrows furrow as she wonders what made him stop his second call for her. She approaches the screen door and is about to open it, when she spots her son, standing on the porch and staring cautiously at something in the corner. She frowns, but then she realizes.

Rick must be sitting on the porch.

She almost runs out to them reflexively, to insert herself into the situation and try and ease the awkwardness between them. Things with RJ and Rick still aren't quite where she'd hoped they'd be. Rick is trying, and she knows RJ is too.

They'll get there. They just need time.

She steps back a bit, decides to let them work it out on their own. She angles herself in the doorway so she won't be seen by either of them.

"Hey, RJ," Rick says carefully. She knows he's trying not to scare off their son.

It takes him a minute, but RJ finally responds.

"Hi br...Daddy."

She smiles softly. RJ forgets to call him Daddy a lot, having referred to him as the brave man for so long. But he's getting better.

"What are you up to? I thought you and your sister were with Uncle Daryl."

"We are, but I gotta pee."

She puts a hand over her mouth to stifle her laughter.

"Hmm. Well, you better get in there."

"Yeah," RJ answers. He looks for a moment longer, then turns towards the house. He takes a step towards the door, but stops again.

"Daddy?"

"Yeah, son?"

"Judy said...Judy said you used to sing to her when she was a little baby."

"I did," Rick answers.

"A song about dreams," RJ continues.

"Yeah. It's called Dream a Little Dream of Me."

"Yeah. That one."

A silence falls over them. She's about to go outside, when RJ speaks again.

"Will you sing it for me?"

"Yeah," Rick says, and she can hear a sort of strong emotion in his voice. "I'd love to. Come over here."

RJ walks over without hesitating, and her heart leaps. She hears the rocking chair Rick must be sitting in shift.

"Now, I'm not that good of a singer…"

"Momma and Judy say your voice is good."

"They're just being nice. You'll have to tell me what you think, okay?"

"Okay."

There's silence for a moment. Then, Rick starts.

Stars shining bright above you Night breezes seem to whisper, "I love you" Birds singing in the sycamore tree Dream a little dream of me

Rick starts to move on to the next verse, but RJ interrupts.

"You have a good voice!"

"Aw, thanks, buddy."

"Keep going, please," RJ insists. Rick laughs.

"Whatever you say."

Stars fading, but I linger on, dear Still craving your kiss I'm longing to linger 'til dawn, dear Just saying this

She can't see them from the angle she's at, but she still doesn't want to make herself seen. She quietly rushes to the living room, so she can look out the window.

Rick is sitting in the rocking chair, and RJ is sitting on his lap, facing his father. She can't see Rick's face, but she can see RJ. The boy's eyes are wide and bright as he watches Rick, a grin on his face.

She feels tears gather in her eyes, as she watches the two boys she loves most in the entire world.

Sweet dreams 'til sunbeams find you Sweet dreams that leave all worries behind you But in your dreams, whatever they be Dream a little dream of me

She smiles.

But in your dreams, whatever they be Dream a little dream

"RJ! What's taking you so long?"

Judith runs up the path to their house, Dog and Daryl trailing behind her. RJ wiggles off of Rick's lap as his sister jogs up the stairs.

"Daddy sang to me. The dreams song! Just like you said."

"I thought you had to pee," Judith questions.

"Oh yeah!" RJ exclaims, like he'd just remembered his reason for coming home in the first place. "Momma!"

He runs towards the door, and she wipes at her eyes and walks to the door, arriving just as RJ flings it open.

"Momma, I have to pee!"

"Then go to the bathroom, silly!" she tells her son, placing her hand on his back and gently pushing him in the direction of the bathroom as he scurries past her. She waits until she hears the door slam shut, and then she ventures outside.

Judith is at the rocking chair talking to Rick, in voices too low for her to hear them. Instead, she waves at Daryl, who's still in the yard, throwing a tennis ball around for Dog.

"Hi, Mom," she hears suddenly, and looks down to see Judith walking past her and into the house.

"Hey, Judy."

Daryl walks up the steps to the porch. He throws the tennis ball once more, and then turns towards Rick and Michonne.

"What's up?" he asks.

"Nothing," she answers. " Just hanging around. Did some laundry."

"That's not what I mean. You're all smiley."

"Smiley?" she questions.

"Yeah. Judith was telling me how y'all had this nice breakfast this morning, and the two of you were all happy. And I can tell now. You look...lighter or some shit."

"What are you talking about?" she asks, trying to play dumb. But there's a slight thrill that runs through her, at the fact that the past twenty-four hours have changed her so much that other people can tell.

Daryl doesn't answer her. Instead, he looks between her and Rick. Rick, who's sitting outside, whistling some made-up song.

Daryl grins. And she feels like it's the first time her and Rick slept together all over again, when their whole family barged in on them when they were half-dressed.

"Nevermind," Daryl mutters, and moves towards the house. Before he opens the door, he turns towards Rick.

"Hey, me and Aaron are going out tomorrow, s'long as it don't rain. You coming?"

"Uh...sure. Yeah."

It's not the first time Daryl's asked him to go on a run since he's been back, but it's the first time Rick's agreed. He always had excuses - something about being too weak, or fearing he'd be a liability instead of an asset.

She smiles at his answer. Daryl grins again, too, and then starts into the house. He calls out, just loud enough for them to hear it.

"Yeah, y'all are smiley for sure."

She looks at Rick, and he looks back at her. They burst into laughter.

She walks over to him, leans against the porch railing as she stands in front of the rocking chair.

"Why do I feel like a kid who just got caught having sex at summer camp?"

He laughs again, and then pats his lap, signaling for her to sit down.

"I'm not as little as RJ," she warns.

"I'll manage."

She smiles, and then sits down, leaning back into him. He wraps his arms around her, resting his hands on her stomach. She places her hands over his, and closes her eyes.

"So, you were spying on us?"

"I was," she admits freely. "I love seeing the two of you together. I couldn't help it. Plus, I'll never pass up a chance to hear you sing."

He presses a kiss to her bare shoulder, next to the strap of her tank top.

"What did our little bird want?" she wonders.

"Apparently, she doesn't want to pass up a chance to hear me sing, either. She asked if I would sing that song for her tonight before bed."

It's been years since she's sang Judith to sleep. She smiles gently.

"She's missed you, too. More than you know."

"Yeah," he whispers. "I kind of...got that. When she was talking to me."

She nods. They're quiet for a few moments, listening to the sound of the soft breeze blowing around them.

"Michonne?"

She shifts, turning so she can see his face. He stares at her, bringing his hand up to trail along her cheekbone.

"I love you," he breathes.

It's the first time she's heard him say that in seven years.

"I love you, too," she tells him, and places a kiss on his forehead before wrapping her arms around his neck and resting her cheek on top of his head.

She knows things won't be perfect from here on out. Sex isn't a magic spell that will fix everything, as much as she wishes it was. There will be obstacles in their continued journey back together. He'll still have bad days. She will, too. There will still be nightmares, still be pain. And they'll never be the same as they were.

Instead, they'll be something new. Something that's suffered, but come out on the other side. And they'll be stronger for it. She knows they will.

They love each other. And their love is strong enough to weather any storm, to survive any fire. It's gotten them this far in the new world, and it will continue to sustain them. That's all that matters.

They love each other.

She closes her eyes, tightens her arms around him.

"I'm so glad you came home to me," she whispers.

"Always," he answers gently.

She hears the kids running around inside through the open window. Daryl shouts after them, something she can't make out, but Rick laughs. The sun shines on her skin. She hears the sound of the town thriving and bustling around them. The sound of her home. Their home.

And she smiles.

***

A/N: This is the first time I've ever written smut, so I hope it turned out okay and wasn't too clunky.

Alas, my dears, this is the last real chapter of this story. I have a short epilogue planned, but other than that, this is where I will leave this version of Rick and Michonne - at the start of a new beginning, finally on the same page and together with their family like they're always meant to be.

ALSO - the absolutely lovely @mdgart has agreed to create some of her wonderful art in honor of this chapter! It’ll most likely be posted somewhere on tumblr - I’ll be sure to reblog it here - but also keep your eyes open and on our twitters (mine is @hawthornegrimes and hers is @ms_doomandgloom) for that some time in the near future. I'm so excited for you all to see her beautiful work!

Thanks for reading! I hope this chapter was worth the wait. (Props to anyone who can come up with the other fictional couple I referenced in this chapter.)

xoxo, rebekah

#richonne #the walking dead #richonnejustdesserts #richonne writing network #richonne fic #richonne fanfiction #twd fanfiction #asrh

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prismatic-bell · 4 years

Note

Can you rank you favorite Hozier songs? I've been getting into Hozier more lately and saw a few of your posts about him :)

OH BOY.

Um.

RANK them? No. Nina Cried Power comes first because my name is Nina (and also there’s a verse in the live version, which sadly he has never released, that makes me think of my own activism days and then I cry), Take Me To Church was basically Andrew looking at the queers and going “here I have a gift for you please accept it” (yes, that really is basically what happened) and all of us going “THIS IS EXCELLENT AND YOU’RE ADOPTED NOW” and him going “ . . . . kay, sure, love you too”

And then everything else comes after and is excellent. Although we can certainly go down “best songs for various moods.”

You’re at a stoplight with your music cranked and you wanna headbang (not that I’ve done that or anything): Dinner and Diatribes, Jackboot Jump, Arsonist’s Lullabye

You’re driving down a rural road at dusk: Shrike

You want to dance in the kitchen: Someone New, Almost, Sunlight, Jackie and Wilson, To Noise Making, Nobody

You want to get really mad and be part of a social action: Jackboot Jump, But The Wages, Nina Cried Power, Take Me To Church

You want to make a queer playlist: Jackie and Wilson (aka “the useless lesbian song”), Take Me To Church, Moment’s Silence, Like Real People Do, Better Love, Someone New, Work Song, and also he deliberately wrote his second album to be almost completely gender-neutral

You want to listen to something that gets wildly misinterpreted on the regular: Cherry Wine (it’s not a fucking love song)

You want to very lovingly ask this motherfucker what he’s smoking*: Arsonist’s Lullabye, In The Woods Somewhere, Run

You want to write Good Omens fanfic: From Eden

You want a song for your OTP, across a ridiculous number of fandoms: Like Real People Do

You want to get laid: Better Love, Take Me To Church, Moment’s Silence, Talk, Angel of Small Death and the Codeine Scene

You want to hear a metaphor really get away from someone: Would That I

You want to listen to something where your money gets donated to charity: Cherry Wine (various charities providing services to domestic violence victims), The Parting Glass (ISPCC Childline, a UK service for abused children)

You want to listen to some damn fine music: all of them

*Ironically, he’s said he very rarely writes autobiographical songs, but all three of these are based on personal feelings and experience and as far as we know are the only three songs he’s written that way. Sometimes I really wonder what goes on in this man’s head.

#nina blogs hozier #darklightfights

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prodigal-imagines · 4 years

Text

White Wedding - Malcolm Whitly/Bright - Part 2

flightlessbirdie suggested a part two so here we go! She also suggested using the song, Jackie and Wilson by Hozier during the actual wedding. This part is told from y/n’s view.

Warnings: None, fluff, kissing the bride, cuteness

Who would have thought this would happen, you think to yourself, the grand double doors in front of you practically looming over you. That I would ever get married, much less to someone as great as Malcolm. You and Malcolm had a bit of time to warm up to each other, him being a profiler consultant for the police department at the time you joined the team had him put seniority over you. You and JT had clicked almost immediately, and that intimidated Malcolm, who spent months struggling to get JT to warm up to him, and you came along, this gorgeous goddess, and had JT laughing and bringing your favorite coffees to work every day.

He never told you, but he got jealous. He was weary of the newcomer being of any use to the team, but admired your friendliness and how easy victims and suspects warmed up to you to talk to you in interrogations. You were astounded at his ability to form a profile and find the person that you were looking for with such ease, almost like he was a serial killer himself.

You knew about his past, his father, and everything. You watched the documentary his sister had done on their father, watched with suspicion as the patient that screamed off camera about wanting to be filmed stab the man that held the camera, and watched with realization as Martin Whitly, stereotypical narcissist, swoops in and saved the day, saving the cameraman. You didn’t buy any of it. It was clear the man planned to get the cameraman injured to save his life, look like a hero on a documentary spent villianizing him.

When you finally met Malcolm, the Prodigal Son (Dani had mentioned he referred to himself that way before), you couldn’t see it. You saw the signs of course, of a broken man with horrors embedded deep in his mind, the horrible PTSD he still struggles with so many years later, but you didn’t see his father. You never saw his father in him, the man he fought so hard to rid himself of. You saw this unique man that was smarter than anyone combined, one you wanted to get to know.

So the first time Edrisa came in the room and flirted with Malcolm, blatantly flirted with, you were surprised by the glare radiating from your eyes, toward the sweet girl, and was seething when Malcolm blushed, looking away from her, towards you. A glare he didn’t miss, which made his eyebrows furrow, and caused him to make a mental note and investigate further.

Which he did, he would read on flirting, because this kid couldn’t remember the last time he needed to flirt, and would come into work, having memorized your coffee order off of JT, present you with the warm beverage, and kneel down to your eye level, and whisper, “You look gorgeous today” before winking, straightening himself back up, and disappearing, leaving you flushed, flustered, and smiling.

So you, one not known for stepping down from a challenge, decided to up the ante. You picked him up in the morning to go to work every day, the same time every morning, without fail. He insisted you didn't have to, knowing the route was out of the way for you, but you did it anyway. He'd leave his home, see you sitting on the hood of your car, smiling softly, holding out a caffeinated drink enough to keep any normal person awake for six years, but perfect for him.

You would pull him into a hug, linger a couple seconds too long, and he would be hyper aware of your breath on his ear, before you would pull away and climb into the car. He fell in love with you quickly after that.

You, however, took longer. He was obviously in love with you for months before you even realized his flirting wasn't jokes anymore. It took a night out with Dani for you to realize. She had to practically create a PowerPoint presentation for you to see it, and even then you didn't believe it. You were nowhere near as intellectual as Edrisa, who was constantly with him at the precinct, or as pretty as Dani, who he bonded with over time. You just couldn't see it, you couldn't see him as possibly available, so you avoided feelings as much as possible.

So it came as a surprise when you had to save Malcolm from having a gun against his temple, because of course only Malcolm, and your chest hurt from the fear of losing him. The fear of seeing defeat in his eyes. His never left your own, saying all the words he couldn't. "Y/n..." His voice whispered out, almost a good bye, and you pulled the trigger, barely avoiding Malcolm's own temple, embedding into the man behind him.

Malcolm didn't even jump when the suspect collapsed, the gun going with it. He didn't even look away or blink. So you dropped your own gun, and kissed him. Kissed him like his life depended on it, in a way, it sort of did.

The sound of the doors creaking open pulled you from your reverie, and there is Malcolm, standing there at the end of the aisle, looking as gorgeous and perfect as always. JT holds your arm as you walk down the aisle, your best friend as your father is no longer here to do so. He would never admit it but you can see his eyes glowing with tears.

You two make it to Malcolm, and JT sends you off with a, "you hurt her, your dead, Bright" to which Malcolm cracks a smile to, before nodding. "I'd rather jump off a bridge myself, JT." He responds.

The ceremony is quiet, only the voice of the wedding officiator, Ainsley Whitly, who went through the process to be able to do this, only for Malcolm and your wedding. "We will now hear their vows" she says, turning to her brother. "Malcolm?"

He takes a deep breath, and locks eyes with you, just like when he had a gun to his head, except this time he looks excited. "I spent months trying to think of what to say and write down," he begins, "but this isn't something you can prepare to say. Y/n, I love you. You have changed my world, and have treated me like my own person, not like I was my father's son. So.... Thank you." The crowd behind you two chuckle, and you smile warmly.

"y/n?" Ainsley asks.

"unlike this man," I shoot a look to the man in front of me, "I prepared my vows, because I suck at speaking. Malcolm Whitly, I can't believe it took us this long to get here. I've never felt this way about anyone before, but I'm glad I found you, and you found me. We saved each other, in more ways than anything and I can't thank you enough. I love you so much." He leans down to kiss you but Ainsley swats him on the arm, causing the crowd to laugh. "Not yet!"

So tired trying to see from behind the red in my eyes

No better version of me I could pretend to be tonight

So deep in the swirl with the most familiar swine

For reasons wretched and divine

Malcolm and you were an awe to be seen on the dance floor, your first dance together, and Malcolm had picked a song he feels went beautifully for your relationship, the woman that saved him.

She blows out of nowhere, roman candle of the wild

Laughing away through my feeble disguise

No other version of me I would rather to be tonight

Lord she found me just in time

He holds you close, singing the lyrics softly in your ear, drowning out the noise around you. He sounds like an angel, with so much confidence you'd think he wrote the lyrics himself.

'Cause with my mid-youth crisis all said and done

I need to be youthfully felt, 'cause God I never felt young

She's gonna save me call me baby run her hands through my hair

She'll know me crazy, soothe me daily, but yet she wouldn't care

We'll steal her Lexus, be detectives, ride round pickin' up clues

We'll name our children Jackie and Wilson, 'raise em on rhythm and blues

Lord it'd be great to find a place we could escape sometime

Me and my isis growing black irises in the sunshine

Every version of me dead and buried in the yard outside

Sit back and watch the world go by

Happy to lie back, watch it burn and rust

We tried to work, good God it wasn't for us

They don't hear anyone else anymore in the reception, can't see anyone else. All that is left is you and Malcolm, the Whitly's, the two that never let anything get in their way. It's now you two against the world.

She's gonna save me, call me baby, run her hands through my hair

She'll know me crazy soothe me daily but yet she wouldn't care

We'll steal her Lexus, be detectives, ride round pickin' up clues

We'll name our children Jackie and Wilson, raise 'em on rhythm and Blues

Cut clean from the dream that night, let my mind reset

Looking up from the cigarette, she's already left

I start thinking of the art for what's left of me and our little vignette

For whatever pour soul is coming next

She's gonna save me, call me baby, run her hands through my hair

She'll know me crazy soothe me daily but yet she wouldn't care

We'll steal her Lexus, be detectives, ride around pickin' up clues

We'll name our children Jackie and Wilson, raise 'em on rhythm and Blues

The song comes to a close and Malcolm ends the dance with you dipped, looking up at the man you chose to spend your life with. Your smiling at him and he's smiling at you. "We aren't naming our children Jackie and Wilson" You say as he pulls you up, kissing you.

He laughs and the sound is beautiful. "Of course not" he agrees, leaving his arms around you. "Mrs. Whitly"

- Send me more requests! -

#prodigal son imagine #prodigal son #malcolm whitly imagine #malcolm whitly smut #malcolm whitly x reader #malcolm whitly

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jazz-miester · 5 years

Text

Old God's

Pairing: Cryptic Ravage x Reader (Like. Maybe if you squint. A lot.)

Warnings: None

Song: Sedated - Hozier

An: I got this idea from @rawmeknockout and I just couldn't help myself. I hope that this is ok!It's the first time I wrote for Ravage. Maybe a part two?

They were nothing more than fairytales. Things told to misbehaving children. A warning for them not to go to far. Not to stay out to late at night.

Oh but you were always that child. The one who toed the line just to see how far you could go. You were always the one to come home last. To yell and shout to scare every one else.

The guardian never did come. Never came to put you into your place. And why should it? It never came back to the land it once claimed. And still the people send out sacrifices. Scared women and men never to be seen again.

All to appease some cave drawing a mad man had made long ago.

So when they came you didn't wait for them to drag you from your bed. Already dressed you all but sauntered out your door. A wild grin on your face as they placed roses of the deepest red and purest white within your hair. The oils stuck thickly to the crooks of your neck.

They all called you mad. Most would have been weeping at this point. Wailing that they did not want to go. That they had family. Children.

They were sick. You knew that.

Each and everyone of them.

Sending people off to their deaths within the woods to appease a beast that not one of them has seen.

You left for the open dessert before they had even finished their prayers.

You left behind the only home you have ever known. A safe haven wrapped within a forest. With nothing more than sand and caverns as the walls surrounding the town.

They had given you a single canteen of water and that was quickly spent.

Maybe you shouldn't have been so eager to leave your home.

Shouldn't have been so determined to prove them all false that you had come without a plan.

Sweat poured down your back. Soaking your thin shirt and making it stick to wet skin. The hot desert air burned your lungs with every breath. Sand poured down the sides of dunes as you walked on.

You focused on the horizon. Trying to ignore the burning sun directly overhead.

The further along you got the more rocky it became. Before long you were surrounded by high rock walls. They narrowed your view to nothing more than the sky above. In which the stars were quickly making themselves at home.

The moon so close you felt as if though you could reach out and pluck it from the sky.

Your legs shook with every step you took. The ground swaying even as you stopped walking. You swallowed thickly willing the dryness in your throat away.

You tilted you head skywards. Breathed in deeply once. Twice. Three times before collapsing to the ground.

For the first since you left you began to cry. Why? Well. You weren't entirely sure. It wasn't just for home. No. It's not that it wasn't missed. Of course it was. All of your possessions were there. Childhood toys. Photos of your parents. They had passed away years ago.

It's that you wouldn't be missed. You had no friends. No one to lean on. No one who made your chest light up when you spoke to them.

You left alone and you were going to die alone.

Chest heaving you rolled onto your side. Not caring if your now wilted flowers got crushed as you curled up.

Sleep did not come easy.

When you came to you were shivering violently. It was the dead of night. The time when all of nature's abandoned come to roam the earth.

The sound of stone scraping against stone had you bolting upright. Head swimming as you stood on unsteady feet.

You swayed from side to side as you turned in circles trying to figure out where the sound was coming from.

You couldn't see a thing. It was as if someone had blindfolded you and thrusted you into a dark room. You could vaguely make out your hand inches from your face.

"Hello?" Your voices echoed softly against stone walls.

The scratching stopped.

Your heart began drumming inside your chest. Your ears rang within the silence. The sound of your rushing blood the only thing you could hear.

That's when the snarling began.

You did the only thing you could do.

The one thing your couldn't see to do.

You ran.

With each jarring foot fall you could hear the snarling get louder and louder. You bounced off of the stone wall. Turned to your right shoulder brushed against it and took off into a dead sprint.

Your heart hammered in your chest. Thick tears began to pool behind your lashes. Threatening to spill over and ruin what little sight you did have.

Your swore loudly as you tripped and fell. Landing on your hands harshly screaming out as you felt something snap on both your wrist and ankle.

Your breathing became labored. Chest heaving as you sucked in freezing night air.

This wasn't how you died. It can't be!

Killed by some snarling cat in the dead of night. How stupid where you?

Your tried to sight up holding your hand close to your chest.

The moon softly illuminated where you were at no longer blocked by the towering rocks. Same as where you collapsed but more open this time.

The laughing had you trying to stay up. Trying being the key word.

"Lost little human?" A voice like deep thunder asked.

You whimpered and pushed your back further into the rock wall behind you.

This wasn't real. It can't be. It doesn't exist.

"Oh I am very real. As real as you trespassing into my home." You hadn't realized you had spoken aloud.

Bright yellow eyes flickered in the darkness. Floating high off the ground. Flickering as you assumed whatever it was blinked.

"No. Your not. And I'm just dreaming back from wherever I passed out at." Your rising courage just as quickly died out at It thrusted it's face into yours.

You did what anyone would do.

You screamed.

And it nudged it's face against yours to get you to shut up.

And you did. Watching as it paced in front of you.

It's skin looked like a patchwork quilt. Thick muscles moved just beneath that. Steal wrapped in silk. No wonder it found you so quickly.

The more you looked at it. No. Him. Definitely a him. He looked like a cat. With large canine's brushing over his lower jaw. Fur thick and untamable. It's claws were as long as your fingers and twice as big. Clicking against the stone and black as night as he scraped them on the stone in front of you.He was huge. Standing just a bit taller than you on all fours.

This was the creature that so many was afraid of?

It snarled and snapped at you.

"I asked what you name was human. Don't make me ask again." You swallowed thickly.

"Y/n" He seemed to smile.

"Ravage." Well. At least he was nice enough to tell you his name before killing you. And that what you thought was going to happen when he stuck his nose up against you neck.

You could hear him breathing deeply and you shivered as his tongue swiped against your neck.

"Just as I thought. I should have never let your people see me. If I had known." He watched you for a moment. Watching as you tried to curl in on yourself.

"You're scared." Ravage said it as more of a fact than question. You gave a watery laugh.

"Well if you know where I'm from then you must know the stories." He snorted.

"And you must know that you are the first to have lived this long." He stood tall in front of you before leaning down to look at you. "You are strange. Even since your childhood." He nosed under your chin around your arms and legs. Breathing your scent in deeply.

"You never spoke of me in fear. Even going so far as to shout for me deep within your woods." He grinned. Or what you suppose was one, you thought, as you caught sight of shape teeth.

"Oh I heard. Believe that y/n. I heard your calls. And know I am here and you are there. So. What is it you must know?" He tilted his head as he looked at you.

"How can you talk?" Good question. Not the right time. Ravage began laughing. His body shaking.

"I knew I chose right when I let you live. Yes. Let. You are the first to have asked me that. Most scream. Others faint in fear. And what did I do? He wrapped his mouth softly against your throat.

"I killed them." He snarled. Shaking you brought you leg up and attempted to kick him. Screaming as you realized you had broken your ankle in the fall.

Ravage released your throat from his grasp. Watching in curious wonderment as you tried to leave.

He let you live and this was how you treated him?

At least you had a will to live. Unlike the others. Some cried. Others fought weakly. As if they knew what the end was already going to be. He once had one fall to his knees before him. Begging to be killed.

No.

This was the first time he saw fire in their eyes. Pure rage and a will to live. Your own attempt and snarling was cute. Teeth barely sharp enough to hurt.

Oh he was going to have fun.

The world had quickly gone black for you. Not remembering a thing besides the feeling of sharp teeth grazing your back and your feet leaving the ground.

#maccadam #criptidformers #ravage #mtmte ravage #transformers ravage #i dont fucking know #how do i tag this?#like #how?

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fic-for-fic-sake · 5 years

Text

Moment’s Silence, Steve Rogers x reader

A/N: Yes I’m still on a Hozier kick, sue me. Anyway, this one doesn’t have a song in it but it’s inspired by his song “Moment’s Silence (Common Tongue)” which is all about oral sex being a mutually arousing thing and awesome for everyone. So that’s what I wrote about. Also I tried to do a style of writing similar to Agent 28 stuff by @kentuckybarnes so lemme know what y’all think. Also this is NSFW.

This meeting was probably the most boring one Steve had been in all week and it hadn’t even started yet. He was going over the information Fury had given them in his folder when he heard the door open. He didn’t have to look up from his paper to know who had just walked in the room, her heels gave it away for her. Through the glass table he saw her maneuver her way so she was sitting opposite him before she sat down and crossed her stiletto clad feet at the ankle.

His gaze followed her stocking covered legs all the way to the edge of her leather mini skirt. He looked further still to see her in a tight black camisole with a wool cardigan wrapped around her shoulders. Her makeup was done to perfection with her painted red lips drawing all attention to her mouth, which was currently in a pout. Her recently manicured fingers drummed on the glass table as she looked around no doubt waiting for Natasha to come in and talk to her before the meeting started.

All bets were off when she felt Steve stare at her as she whipped her head to fix him with her gaze. He held her eyes with his own blue stare, careful not to move too much for fear that she might look away. Instead she did the opposite. She gave him a salacious wink as she produced a hair tie from around her wrist and with sure movements gathered her hair up in a high ponytail. The gesture was enough to make Steve let out a low groan to which she responded by taking one of her slender fingers and putting it to her lips in a shushing gesture, telling him to keep quiet.

She held his gaze for a moment longer before whipping her head around to greet Natasha. She stood out of her chair to hug her comrade and Steve was suddenly aware just how tight her current outfit choice was. He knew she had just come back from an undercover assignment and that’s why she was dressed like that, but it was driving him crazy. All he wanted to do was rip her clothes off and worship her body but he knew he would have to wait. But he’d already been waiting two weeks while she was away on assignment.

She sat back down in her seat as Fury walked into the room to start the meeting. The hour that followed was sheer torture for Steve. He would look and she would be batting her long eyelashes at him and then she turned her attention back to the front of the room, like it never happened. At one point she propped her head on her crossed arms and leaned forward and Steve could see the black lace trim of her bra. Could see the way the top of her breasts peaked out from the fabric of her shirt.

After the meeting she stood up, brief folder in hand, and chatted nonchalantly with Natasha. Throwing her head back and laughing at something the redhead had said. Steve tried to walk in her direction but then felt an arm being thrown over his chest.

“Hey, do you have a minute?” Sam asked as Steve tore his gaze away from the object of his desire.

He sighed heavily, “Sure what’s up?”

“Well, damn I mean I can ask later.” Sam replied lightly.

“No, sorry, now is okay, what’s going on?” Steve replied, as he watched her from the corner of his eye. She was still in the conference room, good. Maybe he could catch her after he talked to Sam.

“I was just wondering if you would have time this week to go over the Fury brief? Maybe discuss a possible course of action?” Sam said somewhere in the back of Steve’s mind. He turned his head in the direction of the high heel clacks he heard a moment before, only to see her exit the room. Damn.

“Huh? Yeah, that sounds good. I’m sorry will you excuse me?” Steve questioned as he turned away from Sam to leave the room. He went down a lone corridor and looked left and right, making sure nobody saw him before he knocked sequentially on the wall.

A door opened and he found himself being dragged inside by two arms.

“God it took you long enough.” She giggled as she wound her arms around his neck.

“Sorry doll, got held up by Sam.” Steve replied as he wrapped an arm loosely around her waist.

“Mmm Stevie I missed you so much.” She breathed as she began to plant hot kisses along his jaw before moving to his neck. She found his sweet spot and bit it, causing Steve to moan her name.

“S’not my fault. You were undercover.” He whispered back, his voice husky from lust. He felt himself being walked back against the wall and he knew what was coming and felt his cock twitch in his pants.

“I’m gonna make you feel so good baby.” She rasped as she lowered herself to her knees before him. She shrugged off her cardigan and at this angle Steve could see more of her breasts. How they rose and fell with each heavy breath she took. She brought her hands to his ankles and slowly lifted them until her palms were feeling his thighs through the thin material of his jeans.

“Enough teasing,” Steve practically begged, “I missed you too much.”

“Did you miss me, or just my mouth?” She teased as she undid his belt buckle. The only sound in the room was the clanging of metal and the work of dexterous fingers undoing buttons and zippers. In a moment Steve’s pants and boxers were in a pool around his ankles as she stroked his cock to life.

He was so in need of her that the tip of his cock was almost as red as her lips.

“Seems like someone could use a little help with that.” She commented as she licked a long stripe against his vein. He shuddered when she got to the tip, giving it a quick lick before continuting to pump him in her hand. “Didn’t you masturbate at all while I was gone?” She asked, eyes wide with wonder.

“No.” He shook his head as a response, finding words a difficult thing while she was doing sinful things to him. “I wanted it to be more intense when you came back.”

“I’m impressed Captain.” She joked as she continued stroking him. The pet name made Steve even harder, as if that were possible. ‘Well, your wish is my command.” She winked at him before drawing him deep inside her mouth.

Steve sighed in sweet relief as his head hit the wall behind him. He felt her hollow her lips as she took his length again. This time swirling her tongue around his tip, which she knew he loved. He heard her gargle a little as she took as much into her mouth as possible. He felt her one hand wrap around the remainder of his length as the other steadied herself against his thigh. Her nails dug softly into his thigh as she took him again, gagging when his tip hit the back of her throat.

The sound was enough to make him look down at her. Her mouth was parted beautifully to accommodate his girth, beautiful red lips around warm wet flesh. Her head slowly bobbing up and down as she took all of him. She looked up at him through her mascara thick lashes and he could’ve sworn he had died and gone to heaven right there. Little tears pricked the outer corners of her eyes from when she gagged around him.

“Fuck, darlin’ you look so perfect right now. Taking all of me. God you’re too good to me, you know that?” Steve moaned out with pleasure.

She took him out of her mouth with one long drag. She wrapped her manicured hand around him and pumped him faster, watching him through hooded eyes.

“I love the way you look when you come undone for me. Love that I can make you crazy like this.” She let the filthy words drip from her mouth. Her once harsh red lipstick was now only a light blush color. Her tongue made a slow pass along her lips, collecting the saliva that collected there.

“Stevie I want you to come in my mouth.” She whispered, almost too low for him to hear.

“Yeah?” He replied through his haze.

“Mhm.” She affirmed as she wrapped her lips around his cock once more. Steve’s hand came down to tangle in her hair as she used her mouth to fuck him, holding her head in place. He felt his hips spring to life with the promise of release ahead. He thrusted into her mouth a few times before he felt himself go still and spill himself into her mouth. He tried to pull out but she shook her head, keeping her lips wrapped around him until she was sure he was done.

She released him with a soft pop as she made a show of wiping her mouth on the back of her hand. She rose delicately as Steve pulled his pants back up over his now softening length. He pulled her close to him and brought their lips together in a gentle kiss. He could taste the faint remnants of his come on her mouth. They broke apart and touched foreheads, waiting for both of their breathing to return to normal.

“God I really did miss you.” He breathed.

“I know, I missed you too.” She said, looking deep into his sapphire eyes.

“When do I get to tell everyone how happy you make me?” He questioned, his breath fanning over her lips, making her smile.

“Soon, I promise.” She responded, kissing his cheek and pulling him in for a hug. “I have to go, Natasha expects me in the gym in 20.”

“Will I see you later tonight?” Steve asked, missing her already.

“The usual spot, 8 o’clock, don’t be late and that’s an order.” She teased as she opened the door and shut it softly behind her. Leaving Steve standing in the small room, breathless and alone.

Tags: @lokixme, @drakesfiance, @lokilvrr

#steve rogers x reader #steve rogers fanfic #captain america x reader #captain america fanfic #avengers fanfic #hozier #common tongue #moments silence

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funky-birb · 4 years

Text

So I was tagged by @fleurdemalheur you will now learn that song asks are my nightmare lmao <3 But ily thank you for this, it actually put me in a really good mood! I’m going to have to check Phoebe Bridgers then ;)

TBH if you don’t know what to do check these out, lots of different things, you might like some <3

Your favourite album: Ok, brace yourselves, I can’t for the life of me pick things, here’s a list :

Louise Attaque (Louise Attaque)

Selah sue (Selah Sue)

Asa (Asha)

Joyful (Ayo)

Je dis aime (M)

Divinydille (Vanessa Paradis)

Psychostar world (Kamini)

Welcome to jamrock (Damian Marley)

Can you tell I’ve been listening to the same things for like... an eternity yet?

Your favourite song at the moment: So i’ve been listening to those a lot :

Zenit (Onuka)

Ilomilo (Billie Eilish)

Revenge (Joyner Lucas)

Venom (Little simz)

Final Form (Sampa the great)

QUEEN (Janelle Monae)

Can you feel my heart (Bring me the horizon) -> I’m emo sometimes.

囂張 (盧凱彤)

Pretty face (Soley)

我的新衣/My New Swag (Vava)

If I die tonight (KOHH)

貧乏なんて気にしない (KOHH)

Gonna need a grave (Urban Country)

Run for a long time (Blue Saraceno)

Hunnu Guren (Batzorig Vaanchig) -> I like throat singing.

Fee Ra Huri (Omnia)

Needed me (Rihanna)

Gett off (Prince) -> Y’all thought I wouldn’t put my main star on there? Y’all thought wrong.

Special (Ashnikko) -> First bc i thought it was stupid but now i’m a clown.

Trop Beau (Lomepal)

Եթե Կարող Ես (Սրբուկ) -> Am I droping armenian pop everywhere? Maybe.

Na na na (Սրբուկ)

Թամզարա (Սրբուկ) -> Can you guys tell i’ve been listening to Srbuk?

Bâtard Sensible (TTC) -> Idk what to tell you guys.

Grita (Jarabe de Pablo)

Snow (Hey oh) (RHCP)

Love is a bitch (Two feet)

Would that I (Hozier)

I’m just dropping a weirdass playlist alright? I just checked my history.

An album that’s important to you: Ok maybe I lied, I can pick one :

Diamonds on the inside (Ben Harper)

Songs that are important to you: Well here goes nothing :

Amen Omen (Ben Harper)

Soft Universe (Aurora)

Down on my knees (Ayo) -> Reminds me of my mom

Jailer (Asa)

1-800-273-8255 (Logic)

素晴らしき日常 ( 高橋優 ) -> かずちゃんありがとう <3

Phoenix (K.A.A.N)

Body (Mother mother)

Arrache moi (Louise Attaque)

Bleed it out (Linkin park)

Pain (Hollywood Undead)

Do it or die (Die mannequin)

Probably a lot of other songs but my mind is blank i had to go check my phone.I can’t remember shit lmao

What makes you like a song: The stronger the emotions i feel are when listening to it, the more i’ll like it I guess? I like those that make me want to just dance and go crazy alone at 3am, funky ones, i like those that are calm, just intrumental and those that are dramatic and make me feel sad too. I don’t really know.

Your favourite instrument to hear in a song: Violins I think? Or old/traditionnal ones, like kamancha, duduk, zithers, morin khuur, bagpipes too i guess? I just really like hearing things... I like accordion too, and piano...LOOK, I DON’T KNOW

A song from my childhood: You know what? I’m just going to list artists, because my parents just left music on like all the time, I always have to ask because I don’t even remember most of the artists :

Cesaria Evora

Tracy Chapman

Prince

Ben Harper

Lhasa de Sela

Buju Banton

Capleton

Bob and Damian Marley

Lauryn Hill

Amy Winehouse

Nujabes

Tété

A song to dance to: So we’ve established that i can’t pick songs. I don’t even know most of the artists and you know what, screw it. Here’s a list :

When it’s like 3am and I decide to get drunk and dance :

Get down on saturday night (Oliver Cheatham)

And the beat goes on (The whispers)

Let’s groove (Earth, wind & fire)

Act Like you know (Fat Larry’s band)

Video killed the radio star (The buggles)

Boogie wonderland (Earth, wind & fire)

Toxic (Britney Spears)

Voulez vous (ABBA)

Edge of seventeen (Stevie Nicks)

Move your feet (Junior Senior)

I want to break free (QUEEN)

Sexy Dancer (Prince)

Zyn zyn (Zhonti)

When I just ??? (Horny power trip probably drunk too songs??) :

Gasolina (You know :))))))

Who dem (Capleton)

That bih (Qveen Herby)

Lick it (She & go_des)

Box (Siya)

Ba na na (A tribe called red)

Raingurl (Yaeji)

Murder she wrote (Chaka Demus & pliers)

Sentient (Perturbator)

Deep throat (Cupcakke)

And lots of mix i can’t name ?

A song you love lyrically: Guess what? You’re getting a list boo :

Chevalier (Kamini)

Emma Stanton (Tété)

Ton Absence (Tété)

Onde Sensuelle (M)

Nuit Blanche (Renan Luce)

Le déni (Kamini)

Ovni (Kamini)

Schizophrène (Kamini) -> Donc j’aime bien kamini, ça va?

Warrior (Aurora)

I’ll tag : @maman-ours @prayfordream @vvrathb @scavengerridley @queen-of-edolas @rookieofthedecade @milliondollarboobtoucher

#circe #tag game #I'll probably go back to that one too

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likeshipsonthesea · 4 years

Text

post script poetry

okay i’m going to preface this with a lot of rambling so buckle up my dudes

i started this i don’t know how long ago when i saw a post about how fun it would be if dex ended up being the one to wax poetic about nursey and i saw it and thought the only way that would happen would be by accident, like if he was complaining and started getting mushy

so i wrote this. like, half of this. and then tonight i found it and i liked it and finished it. so here you go. and yes, i did this instead of fulfilling the hozier prompts. sorry not sorry?

Hey Lardo,

I attached my schedule for the week of the 15th. Depending on how long you need me, I can also work this week. I know the sculpture doesn’t have to be done until the end of the month, but I also know how you get close to a deadline. Let me know if any of the free times work for you-- if not, we’ll figure something out.

Dex

P.S. I was going to text this, but since I’m typing I might as well tell you that there’s a horrifying new regular at the café. Every time he comes in he orders something so convoluted and complicated that he has to be fucking with me, and the drinks are so damn sweet he must need to see a dentist every weekend. He walks in with this stupid fucking smirk on his face too, like he derives joy from ruining a perfectly nice--okay well not nice but I’m perfectly civil to customers at least-- barista’s day.

He’s come in consistently for three weeks now. Pray for me.

P.P.S. Did I mention that he’s taken to sitting at a table with nothing but his stupid sweet drinks and a journal for hours on end? Sometimes he’ll buy a muffin and try to talk to me, like I’m not fucking working. Asshole.

*~*~*

Hey Lardo,

5 on Wednesday works for me. Should I bring anything aside from the regular tools?

Dex

P.S. It doesn’t matter if he’s attractive but since you asked, yes, but only in the way that statues are attractive. They’re carved and perfected and gorgeous, yeah, but when you look at them you’re admiring it, idolizing it-- your own inferiority is entangled in the attraction.

P.P.S. And no, I’m not telling you his name.

*~*~*

Hey Lardo,

Sorry to hear about the issues with the sculpture. The earliest I can come for emergency repairs would be tomorrow after work. Hope it holds together until then.

Sorry,

Dex

P.S. This seems to be a theme in our emails, but I’m mentioning this only because it literally just happened. The horrible regular was just here in a sweater and jeans. A sweater and jeans. It’s fucking snowing. Below freezing, high teens, stupid kind of cold, and the guy left his jacket home for what? To show the world how pretty he looks in that sweater? The asshole probably looked in the mirror and thought that people noticing how the green in the sweater enhanced the fucking tree top, sea-glass shiny green of his own eyes was more important than not getting frost bite. And he looked so fucking proud of himself too, smiling all big and wide and stupid like his lips weren’t chattering! And then he stayed in the shop forever, obviously, because he can’t go out in the cold wearing nothing and he just sat there and wrote in his stupid journal and looked over at me with his fucking budding-leaves-at-the-beginning-of-spring eyes like he knew how infuriating he was. That kind of stupidity just pisses me off.

*~*~*

Hey Lardo,

Was going through my messages and saw the last thread. How are the repairs holding up?

Dex

P.S. Shut up.

*~*~*

Lardo,

Glad the emergency repairs are holding. The piece looks great so far, I can’t wait to see the finished product at the end of term.

Dex

P.S. I’m not going to fuck an asshole just because he’s pretty.

P.P.S. Don’t bring up the LAX bro.

*~*~*

Hey Lardo,

My phone crapped out in the middle of a shift so I’ll be communicating via email for the next few days. I’ve got a bunch of leftover muffins from work. Want me to drop by the studio on the way home?

Dex

*~*~*

Lardo,

I’ll grab all the banana nut and any double chocolates that look good. See you soon.

Dex

P.S. Just because we’re on email doesn’t mean you have to ask about my horrible regular. But yes, to answer your question, he is still a regular and maybe a little less horrible, thank God.

*~*~*

Lardo,

Okay, I’ll get some blueberry ones for Shitty too.

Dex

P.S. Well, he’s less horrible because his orders-- while still stupidly complicated and overly fucking sweet-- have narrowed down to one of two options, so I know what they are now. When he lists off all of the stupid steps, I can just ignore him and stare at nothing, or how he gestures with his hands when he speaks and barely avoids knocking over the tip jar. I guess it’s nice that he talks with his hands, though, because sometimes when he’s sitting at a table and writing his hands start shaking and I much prefer the gesturing to that.

Also he seems to have decided to wear a coat for the foreseeable future, and even if it’s this deep green pea coat that probably cost more than what I make in a month, it looks good on him-- aesthetics and functionality, at least he’s compromising. It’s like cut or whatever, so you can still see the line of his waist, tight to his chest and everything. And he has a matching beanie that doesn’t seem that warm, but he tugs it down just over the tips of his ears and a few of his curls above his forehead poke out of it, all soft looking and stuff. He still needs gloves though.

But, I guess, overall he’s less horrible.

*~*~*

Lardo,

The sculpture looks great! And with the deadline still a week away you have a bunch of time to do all your last little nit-picky things.

Dex

P.S. Okay reading over that last post-script I do sound a little mushy, but in my defense I was coming off a double shift and I’d had a big deadline for CS the night before and I definitely wasn’t all there. This cannot be held against me.

*~*~*

Lardo,

Just because you put it in the P.S. doesn’t make it okay. I am not In Love with anyone, especially not the guy who writes poetry on the twenties he leaves in the tip jar.

Dex

*~*~*

Lardo,

Why does that matter?

Dex

*~*~*

FINE some of it was other people’s stuff-- I googled it and some were Emily Dickinson I think? Some of the lines didn’t return anything, so I guess they were original? Anyway it doesn’t matter-- he’s defacing money.

Dex

*~*~*

Your idea of romantic is weird.

*~*~*

Hey Lardo,

I can’t get my phone fixed until Sunday, but I wanted to double check that your show is on Saturday at 7:00PM?

Thanks,

Dex

*~*~*

Lardo,

Thanks for clarifying.

Dex

P.S. Actually yeah, I guess there was an update, or whatever.

So he came in with a book last night, late. Not a lot of people come by the cafe at night, obviously, so it was just me and him, and he was there for a while but then we were closing. I went over to tell him we were closing in a few minutes and he asked if I’d sit with him for a few minutes and, well, he’s a nice tipper, so whatever. I did.

And then-- I shit you not-- he started reading me poetry. Actually. Just started reading poetry to me out of nowhere. He’d gesture with his notebook as he did it, his eyes were all lit up like treetops at sunrise or something and his voice just filled up the whole shop, like it was bouncing off the walls and going through me and shit, like he was trying to make me listen in my soul or something. And, like, I’m shit at poetry and I didn’t really get what it was supposed to be, but you know when you hear a song and even without really hearing the lyrics it makes you feel some kind of way? That’s what it did.

Then he stopped reading and asked me what I thought and I couldn’t just say that it made me feel things so I said that the guy in the poem sounded kind of obsessed, and then the guy-- the regular-- laughed, like a full bodied laugh, his eyes crinkled and his shoulders shook and he tucked the notebook against his chest, against his heart, and laughed in public, in front of a stranger, like it wasn’t weird. And you know when something good happens? Something unexpectedly good? Your favorite song comes on the radio or you find a random twenty in your pocket or you catch the sunset on your walk home and its pretty and warm and just makes you smile and think, huh, I’m glad I get to be here for that.

That’s what his laugh felt like. I know it’s fucking sappy but it’s the only way I can come up with to describe it.

Anyway. See you Saturday.

*~*~*

Lardo,

Yeah.

I’m fucked.

Dex

*~*~*

Hey, fuck, I’m so sorry about last night. My phone is still fucked up otherwise I’d call you but your friend-- the one in your painting, Nursey-- he’s my horrible regular.

Small campus, huh?

He was a little drunk-- he kept drinking the champagne for some reason, I think it was to stop his hands shaking, I don’t know-- but I didn’t want to just send him off alone so I helped him back to his dorm and as I was taking off his shoes he kept reciting poetry or whatever and he was drunk, yeah, but he said it so nicely and he kept looking at me with his ridiculous eyes and then he touched my cheek-- like actually fucking caressed my cheek-- and I kissed him.

And I know he was drunk, I tasted the champagne when I kissed him, and I felt horrible and I ran out of his dorm and-- then I fell asleep and woke up and wrote this email.

So, I probably fucked up beyond repair and if you need me I will be kicking myself for the next fifty years. Thanks, goodbye.

Dex

P.S. I forgot to say-- the show looked great. The sculpture, the art, everything. You’re amazing, dude.

*~*~*

Thanks for his number, but I can’t just call the guy out of the blue and say, “Hey, sorry for kissing you when you were all drunk, won’t happen again, please keep tipping me?”

Also, I still don’t have a working phone.

*~*~*

That’ss the problem with falling in love with a stranger, youknow? Like, I never mett the guy really, I just made his stupid sweet coffee drinks and listened to his poetry that one time and stared too much when he talked with his hands and at his stupid eyebrows-- how do eyebrows look soft?? It makes no sense

And he’s beautiful, you know, like can’t stare too long or you’ll go blind, and I felt like he was a good person youknow, an asshole but good, the kind you want. And I could feel it he would probably argue with me over everything but I think I could likee that, like arguing, at least with him, because I know it wouldn’t be out of anger or whatever, he would be coming from a place of understanding or shared values or whatever

and i fucking KNOW that I can’t know all this frm looking at him, but he had his stupidd fucking g journal that he scrippled in all the time and his hadsn were covered in ink with notes to himself and I want to be the person who egts to listen to his poetry at 2 in the morning and watch him ramble about things he loves and tell him how fucking good his writing is because it IS lardo it’s so good, he’s so good, i never spent any of those twenties witb his writing on it i hung them in my dorm isnt’ that fucking stupid god i love him, i love him and I don’t even know him

Love scuks.

P..S yeah, if you couldnt tell, i’m a little drunk. oops

*~*~*

Dear Lardo,

It’s very rude to forward drunken, rambling emails about someone to that someone without the consent of the drunken rambler.

Dex

P.S. Thank you.

#nurseydex #dexnursey #check please #dex #william poindexter #nursey #derek nurse #my writing #sort of fic #ficlet #do i have a tag for non-prose fic?#who knows #anyway enjoy #i very much enjoyed stumbling upon this #and finishign it #i feel like i never finish things sometimes #also if you're wondering the drunk bit was just me typing #and not correcting my typoes #lol

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bravadoseries · 4 years

Note

tell us about your braudrey wasteland baby analysis

this ended up being long and angsty i am sorry . if u want i can analyze songs from his other album in a happier way to even it out lol

“nfwmb”:

“when i first saw you / the end was soon” - audrey and bruce met on the helicarrier and i think when they fought in new york they both knew they might not come out of it. audrey was inexperienced and way out of her depth, bruce was really against turning back into the hulk again.

“Give your heart and soul to charity / ‘Cause the rest of you, the best of you / Honey, belongs to me” - they both give parts of themselves away for the greater good and feel most human with each other

“Nothing fucks with my baby / Nothing can get a look in on my baby / Nothing fucks with my baby / Nothing, nothing, nothing, nothing” - when hozier wrote this song everyone thought it was about how nothing fucks with his baby because he protects her but he said actually nobody fucks with her because she’s extraordinarily powerful and scary. i think both of these apply to braudrey—nobody fucks with bruce because audrey protects him, and nobody fucks with the hulk because he’s giant and terrifying

“moment’s silence (common tongue)”

“When stunted hand earns place with man by mere monstrosity / Alarms are struck and shore is shook by sheer atrocity / A cure I know that soothes the soul, does so impossibly” - this is related to an upcoming ~chapter~ lol but basically audrey and bruce go on a retreat upstate that’s supposed to give him the opportunity to hulk out and like scare some squirrels in the woods but while they’re there, audrey and the hulk become good friends ? and so that’s why she’s able to reason with bruce when he turns

“almost (sweet music)”

i would place this one as post aou when audrey thinks bruce is dead.

“i’m almost me again, she’s almost you” - after a bit, she starts dating again but she’s still very much grieving and hung up on him

“i wouldn’t know where to start / sweet music playin’ in the dark / be still my foolish heart / don’t ruin this on me” - audrey becomes good friends with wanda and pietro after age of ultron and they haven’t been around long but they ask her to talk about it because she sits in her room playing the same song every day and crying and they’re like … ?

“I got some colour back, she thinks so, too / I laugh like me again, she laughs like you” - i think this is just audrey letting herself be close to people again. it’s not the same but it’s not so lonely

“movement”

“I still watch you when you're groovin’” so this song i think is about like someone dancing and being really seductive and sexy but this reminds me of bruce watching audrey dancing really terribly w tony at every avengers function. audrey literally cannot dance for shit and it’s endearing to bruce

“When you move / I can recall somethin' that's gone from me / When you move / Honey, I'm put in awe of somethin' so flawed and free” - i think bruce gets kind of fixated on watching audrey spar and fight; like partially because it’s hot but also because he sees her as very powerful and finds it magnetizing

“no plan”

i’m gonna go ahead and place this as ragnarok/infinity war

“for starts / what a waste to say the heart could feel apart / or feel complete, baby” - audrey and bruce reunite on sakaar and it’s a very emotional scene; it’s a waste to say the heart could feel apart because she knows she’s not less without him but there’s this understanding, this thing that’s been off that’s finally righted when they’re back together

“My heart is thrilled by the still of your hand / That's how I know now that you understand” - this applies to a very specific moment in ragnarok before they go to fight hela where audrey puts her hand over bruce’s and he looks at her and she’s unable to tell him that if they die right now she loves him but he knows anyway

“There's no plan / There's no race to be run / The harder the rain, honey, the sweeter the sun / There's no plan / There's no kingdom to come / I’ll be your man if you got love to get done / Sit in and watch the sunlight fade / Honey, enjoy, it's gettin' late / There's no plan / There's no hand on the rein / As Mack explained, there will be darkness again” - so this is all very apocalyptic and not to flex but i was at a concert and hozier talked about this line and how the whole song was written about the doomsday clock and a time when it was closer to zero than ever; it’s a song about throwing caution into the wind at the end of the world and i think that’s fitting. there’s a period where audrey realizes that they’re not gonna beat thanos, and that the snap is gonna happen, and she takes a breath and notices everything around her and just thinks about how she’s lucky to have had it at all.

“nobody”

“You know when it's twelve o'clock in Soho, baby / It's gin o'clock where I'll wake up, I don't know / And I think about you though everywhere I go / And I've done everything and I've been everywhere, you know” - this just reminds me of when audrey is away on missions and bruce is still at the base; she’s been everywhere in the world because she’s been alive for so long and she’s been around for a lot; the one thing she’s most grateful for her lifetime to have coincided with though is bruce

“i’ve had no love like your love / from nobody” - this is just them lol they understand each other on another level

“I'd be appalled if I saw you ever try to be a saint / I wouldn't fall for someone I thought couldn't misbehave” - this is audrey 2 bruce … she would be appalled if he ever tried to get rid of the hulk for good; i think that it’s such a significant part of how they see and understand each other

“If I had the choice between hearing either noise: The excitement of a thousand or the soothing of your voice / At first chance, I'd take the bed warmed by the body” - they just choose each other. they choose to be with each other. this reminds me of the “give your heart and soul to charity” line in nfwmb because it’s like if they had to be heroes without each other they wouldn’t be happy

“as it was”

there’s a conversation bruce and audrey have at the safehouse in age of ultron where bruce is saying he doesn’t feel the same since wanda fucked with his head bc of the vision he had, and he’s worried abt whether or not audrey can continue to care for him when the chaos the hulk created wasn’t for any good or if she’s changed her mind and she has to assure him that she hasn’t; there are a lot of lines from this song that remind me of that

-“whatever’s here that’s left of me / is yours just as it was”

-“Just as it was, baby / Before the otherness came / And I knew its name / The drug, the dark, / The light, the flame”

-“its holds had the fight of my baby / and the lights were s bright as my baby / but your love was unmoved”

-“the sights were as stark as my baby / and the cold cut as sharp as my baby / and the nights were as dark as my baby / half as beautiful, too” (unrelated sidenote but this line gives me chills always)

then the second verse of this reminds me of audrey and bruce in ragnarok:

“Tell me if somehow Some of it remains How long you would wait for me How long I've been away The shape that I'm in now Your shape in the doorway Make your good love known to me Or just tell me about your day”

“shrike”

so audrey has a really really hard time saying i love you after bruce leaves at the end of aou, to anyone—she says it to steve maybe once, but she can’t say it besides that one time, and it’s part of why she’s so torn up about peggy dying because she didn’t tell her she loved her enough in the months leading up to her death.

but also, when bruce comes back, audrey still can’t muster up the ability to say them out loud, and so at the end of infinity war, she’s left without telling any of the people she loves that she loves them. when she comes back in endgame, she’s able to overcome that to tell them. this song reminds me of that

“I couldn't utter my love when it counted / Ah, but I'm singing like a bird 'bout it now” - this is when she comes back

“The words hung above / But never would form / Like a cry at the final breath that is drawn / Remember me love when I'm reborn / As the shrike to your sharp / And glorious thorn” - this is both; she couldn’t say it, but she’s “reborn” during endgame and she realizes that the worst has already happened countless times; there’s nothing else to be afraid of that she hasn’t survived

“Then when I met you, my virtues uncounted / All of my goodness is going with you now” - this is just audrey when bruce leaves

“talk”

ok this entire song is just both audrey and bruce when they like each other but don’t wanna say anything about it.

I'd be the voice that urged Orpheus When her body was found Hey yeah I'd be the choiceless hope in grief That drove him underground Hey yeah I'd be the dreadful need in the devotee That made him turn around Hey yeah And I'd be the immediate forgiveness In Eurydice Imagine being loved by me

I won't deny I've got in my mind now (Hey, yeah) All the things I would do So I try to talk refined For fear that you find out (Hey, yeah) How I'm imagining you

I'd be the last shred of truth In the lost myth of true love Hey yeah I'd be the sweet feeling of release Mankind now dreams of Hey yeah That's found in the last witness before the wave hits Marvelling at God Hey yeah Before he feels alone one final time And marries the sea Imagine being loved by me

“dinner & diatribes”

i think…..this doesn’t match up exactly but the new year’s eve chapter…..Yeah

“Let there be damage ensued and tabloid news / And that kind of love / That's the kinda love / I’ve been dreaming of”

“would that i”

okay buckle up this one is a lot

“True that love in withdrawal was the weeping of me / That the sound of the saw must be known by the tree / Must be felled for to fight the cold / I fretted fire but that was long ago” ok this i think is bruce’s perspective; love in withdrawal was the weeping of me = the isolation he put himself in following becoming the hulk was a very bad spot for him even though it was safest. the sound of the saw must be known by the tree = gotta risk it for the biscuit! must be felled for to fight the cold / i fretted fire but that was long ago = i used to be afraid but now i’m not; it’s worth the risk

“Oh, but you're good to me / Oh, you're good to me / Oh, but you're good to me, baby” bruce is just continually confused and surprised by the fact that audrey isn’t scared of him

“With each love I cut loose I was never the same / Watching still living roots be consumed by the flame / I was fixed on your hand of gold / Laying waste to my loving long ago”

-with each love i cut loose i was never the same = bruce has cut off everyone he’s been close to since the hulk happened and he’s not the same when he’s alone; he thinks he can make it by himself and he probably can but he doesn’t have to

-i was fixed on your hand of gold / laying waste to my loving long ago = this is actually nice bc the gold imagery specifically matches up with what audrey’s powers are, and so there’s that connection to be made

“And it's not tonight / Where I'm set alight / And I blink in sight / Your blinding light” this also just matches up really nicely w audrey’s powers lol

“sunlight”

“I had been lost to you, sunlight / And flew like a moth to you, sunlight / Oh your love is sunlight” i think this would be bruce after age of ultron ? he’s been lost to audrey, but when he sees her he gravitates back toward her immediately; he sees her love as sunlight

“the tale is the same / told before and told again / soul that's born in cold and rain / knows sunlight, sunlight, sunlight” - bruce is the soul that’s born in cold and rain and audrey is sunlight

“Each day you rise with me / Know that I would gladly be / The Icarus to your certainty” - i think he’s just devoted to her

“wasteland, baby”

okay going line by line for this one lol buckle up!

“All the fear and fire of the end of the world / Happens each time a boy falls in love with a girl” - when they’re fighting thanos audrey is actually reminded of bruce; how losing him felt like the world ending, now it’s for real

“Happens great, happens sweet / Happily, I'm unfazed here, too” - when audrey goes at the end of infinity war, she goes smiling

“Wasteland, baby / I’m in love, I'm in love with you” - they just love each other

“All the things yet to come are the things that have passed / Like the holding of hands, like the breaking of glass / Like the bonfire that burns / That all words in the fight fell to” - everything that has happened has led them to this moment; loki, ultron, hydra, etc. without that they wouldn’t have each other, but they also probably wouldn’t be dealing with this mess. it’s not good or bad, it’s just the way things went.

“Wasteland, baby / I’m in love, I'm in love with you”

“And I love too, that love soon might end / Be known in its aching / Shown in the shaking / Lately of my wasteland, baby” - they know it’s over before it’s over; they can tell what’s going to happen before it happens, and they’re just paralyzed in that moment

“Be still, my indelible friend, you are unbreaking / Though quaking, though crazy / That's just wasteland, baby” - when audrey goes bruce pleads with her to stay

“And that day that we'll watch the death of the sun / To the cloud and the cold and those jeans you have on / And you'll gaze unafraid as they sob from the city roofs” - in the years after the snap, bruce has the most vivid dream almost every night where audrey’s . like . ghost comes to him and takes him to the top of a hill and they watch the world end around them. it’s terrible and every time he wakes up he misses it.

“When the stench of the sea and the absence of green” - ok lol this just reminds me of how the hulk wouldn’t come fight at the end of infinity war

“Are the death of all things that are seen and unseen / Are an end but the start of all things that are left to do” - the world ends; half of everything is dead; but they’re still left. bruce and steve and everyone have to go on living still.

“Wasteland, baby / I'm in love, I'm in love with you / (That's it)” - this abruptness just reminds me a lot of the snap; that’s it. there’s no going back.

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rileymoreno · 4 years

Text

LORENZO ZURZOLO / CIS MALE — don’t look now, but is that riley moreno i see? the 22 year old art history student is in their junior year and he is a rochester alum. i hear they can be sociable, liberal, self absorbed and disloyal, so maybe keep that in mind. i bet he will make a name for himself living in griffin street. ( alli. ancient. cst. she/her. )

sneaks past the bars of my cell that i’ve been living in and also sneaks into the bars of this group ... it’s alli yahoy. a lot of you might remember me from some of my Greatest Hits including caleb montgomery, jack hall, and naomi page ( this would be a really terrifying discography ) but if not !! fear not. this is a brand new muse i have crafted for this comeback and he sucks just as much as any of my muses do. SO WITH THAT KIND INTRO ... more about riley under the cut !

BIOGRAPHY.

born in new jersey, right outside of new york city, to parents marcel and grenalda moreno, orion moreno was a happy child. he was their fourth and final moreno sibling.

his siblings are leopold moreno (24), lyra moreno (24), and caelum moreno (30). he was relatively close to the twins growing up due to the small gap in their ages, but caelum was always difficult to get along with.

grenalda was an astronomer and often traveled for work, leaving the children with marcel. he wasn’t an unkind father, but he was tough on his boys (there was no doubt lyra was his favorite). riley grew to be quite quiet, somewhat uncomfortable expressing himself as he learned to fear rejection from his close knit family.

in school, riley didn’t do particularly well. he had trouble focusing due to an increasing adhd problem his family failed to address, and he didn’t make friends easily. for while he was shy with everyone, it seemed, but the twins.

his mom lost her job when he was in high school. this put a strain on the family’s finances, despite his father’s office job, and forced the moreno siblings still living at home to work jobs to help out. riley didn’t have much of a life outside of school and work.

his lack of a social life, and general disinterest in having one at all, lead his peers to find him rather uninteresting. most of the kids who went to school with him would likely tell you they didn’t know he existed.

his love for music was what finally broke the shy boy out of his shell. he took time off from his job as a grocery store clerk to play in several different local bands, much to his family’s disapproval, and he slowly grew less and less reserved, more ‘himself.’

he was in trouble with the law a lot his last year of high school. he was involved with the town’s more seedy underbelly thanks to a few of his bandmates. still didn’t do well in school but took to all night benders with ease

“it’s a shame, what happened to the youngest moreno boy. he used to be such a good kid.”

he grew surprisingly close to his mother before leaving for lockwood. he knew he would miss her dearly living across the country, but he had always known he wanted to move far, far away from those who knew him before he knew himself.

free tuition was not something he or his siblings were in the place to turn down.

HEADCANNONS.

his reputation might be rubbish but he’s not mean spirited. outgoing, loud, and generally humourous, riley is easily noticed in a room and he knows it.

likes to pretend he doesn’t care at all, but really he super super cares. about everything.

his best friend is his cat, reptile. it’s a black cat, as if there was any doubt

a big romantic, he’s always claiming he’s in love or fawning over someone. he’s really bad at being monogamous, though. falls in love with strangers so so often

plays guitar in a really shitty local band

drugs sex and rock and roll

also mega eboy. would probably strive for tik tok fame if he knew how to work technology (he doesn’t)

definitely in the anime club. it’s also the only organized group he would ever join

WANTED CONNECTIONS.

roommates -- maybe an odd couple kind of relationship where they are COMICALLY different, or maybe a ‘ i don’t even know your last name stranger in my home ’, or of course ride or die best friends don’t mess with my baby hozier

bandmates -- if your muse is musical // maybe even completely terrible bc. to be frank. this band sucks. and wants to play in said rat band

buddies -- any and all types of friendships. seriously any. hs friends who knew shy lil riley, met in lockwood and have been close ever since, we always go to the same bars so we started going to them together, your friend knows my friend who knows our other friend so i guess we’re friends??, truly best of friends love each other support each other riley probably wrote a song about them

romantic -- again.. anything. he has a list of exes a million pages long. he probably hates most of them because he gets way too attached. says he doesn’t ‘just hook up’ but he does he’s a liar. riley fawning over your muse, sending them love letters over text or email or twitter dm. riley claiming he hates your muse just to deny the fact that he has, in fact, caught feelings again. i want to punch u in the face but u look really cute rn maybe i’ll kiss you instead. send all dynamics my way..

family -- cousins ! i might post his middle siblings as wanted connections but he loves them ! he loves his cousins he has so many he’s from a giant family ! weird kind of cousins, by marriage and then divorce, but we grew up together sometimes. know riley as the shy little boy who followed everyone around and probably ate dirt.

anything. else. send me all of your unfulfilled connections and i can shove riley into said slot !

like this here post and i’ll dm u aggressively

#huntingtonintro #bio.#drugs tw #at some point in there i think #ok can u believe #the lack of tw in this bio #i am Family Friendly now #monetize this blog youtube #also sorry for my mysterious absence #my life is a horror movie

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metalbatandzenko · 4 years

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All the colors!!

Link to the original post so you can reblog it yourself :)

zinc white: how are you really feeling today? no one-word answers please!

Better now than I was the first time I answered this because I got my work done, but still pretty burnt out.

cadmium yellow: when you think of the word “happy” what’s the first thing that comes to mind?

Writing.

lemon: what’s your comfort food?

Homemade fried rice is my go to.

hansa yellow: what’s your guilty pleasure song?

I mentioned previously that I don’t really have a guilty pleasure song bc I’m pretty open about all the music I listen to, but one song I will scream out is Take On Me by Aha

yellow ochre: name an artist/band whom you just discovered & can’t get enough of!

I didn’t just discover her, but Tanerélle...her music is so good and she’s so hot..I’m gay

naples yellow: where do you feel most at home?

San Jose’s Japantown on the weekend of Obon.

raw sienna: with whom do you feel most at home?

With my closest friends.

golden ochre: describe the relationship you have with your closest friend.

I don’t think I have a “closest” friend, but my relationship with my group is pretty casual. We send each other things that remind us of one another, we joke and have fun together but we’re there for one another...I’d trust them with my life.

golden deep: what’s your favorite season?

Over the Garden Wall Season Fall. I love the crispness in the air, the colors, the foods...it’s all so good.

cadmium orange: what do you like to do on your days off?

I write so much. I honestly can’t remember my last day off.

orange lake: do you have anyone you can turn to when you’re sad?

I think so. I always worry that I’m putting too much on someone but I also trust my friends to assert their boundaries when they need it.

titans: do you prefer slow mornings or relaxing evenings?

Relaxing evenings. But I’ll take quiet mornings over both of them.

shakhnazaryan red: are you currently binge-watching anything?

Nope. I might rewatch otgw though.

red ochre: are you more right-brained (creative) or left-brained (analytical)?

My dad would say left brained, my mom would say right brained. I agree with my mom.

burnt sienna: is there a painting that brings you peace when you look at it?

Vincent Van Gogh’s Starry Night. Both the more famous one and Starry Night over the Rhône:

english red: what animal do you relate to most?

Owls.

vermilion: what’s your favorite accent?

I grew up listening to and speaking Hawaiian Pidgin at home. I’ve lost the language, but hearing it soothes me.

cadmium red: do you have a “type” when it comes to a significant other?

Tall dark and handsome Capricorns regardless of gender. I’ve dated three people who fit this profile and liked seven others. I didn’t know any of them were Capricorn’s until after I liked them.

scarlet: describe your current crush/es.

I actually don’t have one. Unless you count the celeb crush I have on one of my mutuals on twitter akdbrbrb

ruby: what does your ideal first date look like?

Honestly I like lowkey, so probably a coffee shop date or doing something fun like bowling. Maybe if the first activity goes well we can hit a museum or botanical garden then get a quick bite (like in’n’out) after. God I’m so stereotypical skfbrbr

carmine: what does your ideal second date look like?

Definitely a botanical garden or museum if we haven’t already, then a slightly nicer dinner. This is not a high standard. A Chili’s counts.

madder lake red: would you ever kiss someone (or accept a kiss) on a first date?

I mean. I have in the past so. Akdbrbvtbr I’ve kissed people I haven’t even been dating nor interested in romantically! It’s 2020 lemme kiss my friends!

rose: what’s something really positive going on in your life right now?

Honestly Hidden Horns. It’s been so much fun to work on.

quinacridone rose: what’s something you’re really looking forward to?

Seeing my friends and family again. On top of everything going on right now, I live in a different state than my friends and extended family. I miss them.

violet rose: what does your dream house look like?

Not too large. Something with a bedroom for me and my significant other, a guest bedroom, a nice bathroom and a very nice kitchen. Ideally something with a nice view and large windows where I could watch the sun rise and set.

violet: is there any place in particular you’d like to settle down?

Honestly I’d love to move back to California somewhere. Either somewhere near my hometown, or in Southern California

blue lake: what would you like to do/accomplish before you settle down?

I’d like to publish a book to be honest.

cobalt blue spectral: what is the most beautiful place you have ever been to?

I was lucky enough to have the opportunity to go to Japan on a trip sponsored by the Japanese government. Words really cannot describe how beautiful Japan is.

The first picture is of Odaiba, in Tokyo. The second row is from a small fishing town in Hokkaido. Those are the only picture I had of it that didn’t have a ton of people in them.

The last picture is from the 45th floor of the Tokyo Metropolitan Building in Shinjuku Tokyo. The picture doesn’t do it justice. For how bright the lights were, the stars were out in full force. It was hard to tell where the buildings ended and the sky began.

ultramarine: when was the last time you were in a good mood? do you know/remember what sparked it?

Earlier this evening my dog played with three other dogs.

blue: what’s the most recent dream you remember?

I was choking last night. That’s all I remember.

bright blue: what does your dream family look like? any kids or pets? how many of each?

I’m married to my lovely wife, and we have two kids, a boy and a girl. We also have a dog named Meatball.

blue cobalt: do you like your name? would you give yourself a different name if you could?

My mom chose my name and my brother chose my American name based off a character in an kid’s show. I wouldn’t change them for the world.

prussian azure: what’s your favorite scent?

Fresh bread, the smell before and after it rains, redwood, cinnamon, lavender.

azure blue: what’s your favorite type of tea, if any?

I grew up on genmaicha. It’s a type of green tea that’s brewed with roasted brown rice, which mellows out the bitterness and adds an earthy flavor.

turquoise blue: if you could start a garden, what would you plant?

Snapdragons definitely. They’re my favorite flower. Probably some tulips, gardenias, carnations, violas and lavender as well. For herbs, peppermint, basil, thyme and chives. And probably an apple tree.

cerulean blue: if you were guaranteed to have a viewership, would you start a youtube vlog?

I mean it’s a form of income so I’d be down.

glauconite: describe your body without using any negative adjectives.

I’m tall and broad shouldered, with a long torso and long arms. I’m a bit busty. I’ve got violin hips, strong calves, and solid thighs. I walk on my toes. I have high cheekbones, pursed lips, and almond eyes framed with long lashes.

yellow green: picture yourself walking in a field. what do you see & hear in this scenario?

I’m on a rolling hill of wild grass and wildflowers. The grass shimmers and ripples like the surface of the sea in the breeze. Through it, I see a blanket laid out under a California Oak tree. I can hear the wind, and birds in the distance.

green light: are you in a comfortable place in life? if not, what do you think might make it better?

Kind of? I’m stable enough bc I’m living with my parents, but I’m also closeted. I’m hoping to move out soon.

green: name three countries you want to visit; do you have any actual plans in place to visit any of them?

I’d love to go back to Japan, see New Zealand and visit the Basque Country in Spain. I don’t have any plans to though, I don’t have money for that.

emerald green: do you speak any languages besides english? are there any additional languages you want to learn?

My grasp on Japanese is pathetic and I’ve lost my pidgin. I’d love to regain them.

oxide of chromium: what’s your favorite book?

Chronicles of Prythian.

olive green: are you currently reading anything? how do you like it so far?

The Shape Of Water by Lidia Yuknavitch. It’s so painful but cathartic.

mars brown: what’s a movie that always puts a smile on your face/makes you laugh?

Emperor’s New Groove!

burnt umber: what’s something you plan to do before the day is over to take care of yourself?

Sleep.

umber: have you drank enough water today?

...no

voronezhskaya black: what or who is your go-to outlet for when you need to vent?

Either a friend or my second twitter ajdbfb

sepia: name five things that always make you happy.

Seeing my friends.

People commenting on my writing.

Seeing people like things I made for them.

Watching Lilo and Stitch.

Listening to my shitty nostalgia playlist.

indigo: what’s the best/sweetest compliment you have ever received?

I mentioned this before but my professor and mentor figure described me to her colleague as “fast to laugh, even faster to smile”. I also had someone tell me I had a genuine gift for writing and that my piece moved them to tears after they read a Nonfiction piece I wrote.

payne’s gray: describe your aesthetic?

Something out of a Hozier song. Things being reclaimed by nature. Earth tones. Misty forests. Knives. Ornate clothing.

Alternately: young hot suburban dad who all the moms have a crush on.

black: post a selfie because you are so beautiful!

#thank u for asking!!

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