#this film means so so much to me and i will cherish it forever and ever

[senseless-writing]

A Life Through Few Words

Pairing: Austin Butler x reader

Summary: Austin doesn’t enjoy talking about his girlfriend with the media. And if he does, it’s through very little words. Only he gets to truly know those moments that he cherishes so much. 

Warnings: Elvis 2022 spoliers?? 

A/N: I really enjoyed writing this one, so let me know what you guys think! Also, grammarly was being a real bitch today, so I’m sorry if there’s some errors

If you would like to be added to any of my taglists (I’ve got a general tag list, along with specific ones for each fandom I’ve written for thus far), plz leave a comment or ask and let me know which one! 

Masterlist

----------

Austin couldn’t remember who it was that told him to always keep his personal life separate from his media persona.

He felt horrible for forgetting their name. But it was so long ago, and he’d been so star struck that a lead of the show they were filming was actually talking to him. The moment itself sort of blurred together. In fact, it wasn’t until years later that the words they exchanged held any meaning for him. At the time, he just didn’t understand why the public would ever care so much about the personal life of an extra. 

It hadn’t occurred to him that this person was predicting Austin’s inevitable climb to stardom. Sometimes, that idea still kept him awake at night. With pride in himself, with gratitude in everyone who helped him get there, and with slight embarrassment at not being able to remember that poor guy’s name.

But now he was in a better position to appreciate the advice. It was finally time to promote the movie he’d poured his soul into for the past two years. Elvis was a dream come true, not only because it gave him the chance to express himself in ways he never could before, but because embodying such an icon was a blessing in itself. 

It was thrilling and terrifying all at the same time. Nerve-racking, yet rewarding. Euphoric, while haunting. 

It was a paradox of feelings. 

And he’d expected that. He’s expected the feelings and questions and an overwhelming amount of scrutiny from the world around him. If anything, he was ready for it. Excited, even. 

But what he hadn’t expected was the sudden obsession with his love life. 

“A little birdie tells me, Austin, that you have a certain special someone in your life.”

“A birdie told you,” he laughed, though his cheeks flushed red. “Is that so?” 

Austin looked away for a moment to properly ground himself. He hadn’t prepared for this, hadn’t even discussed it with his girlfriend. They met a few months before Covid lock down, right around the time he booked Elvis. It was exciting and new, but then the world shut down, and things got serious real fast. 

Despite it all, it was a blessing for them. With the whole world confined to their lonely corners, there were no paparazzi pushing themselves between the couple. They were completely alone; well, as alone as they could be, with Austin practically surrendering himself to the world of Elvis Presely. But Y/n took that in stride, and the two were given the privacy they needed to learn how to love each other. 

It was perfect, and Austin knew perfect things don’t last forever. Still, he’d hoped it would for a little while longer. 

“Yes,” his interviewer drawled, the desperation for a juicy confession practically oozing from her expression. “A very reliable birdie, in fact. They say you and this mystery woman have fallen quite hard for one another. Is there anything you want to share about her? How does she feel about all of the chaos that’s come with this new film of yours?” 

Austin felt the flush begin to crawl itself up his neck, and he reached his arm back to rub at it with discomfort. He was sure to keep a bashful smile on his face when he responded. “No, I, uh, I don’t think there’s anything I want to share about that,” he said. His words were light, his eyes looking at the camera with a sort of Elvis charm that he’d nearly perfected. But his voice was firm enough to prevent any follow up questions. “But thank you for providing the space.” 

----------

Y/n whirled around to look him in the eye. “You actually said that?” she exclaimed. 

Austin threw his head back against his pillow and groaned in embarrassment. “Yes! But what was I supposed to say! Why would they even ask me that!” 

Y/n, from her place in front of the bathroom mirror, laughed at his mortified expression. “Because your fans wanna know, baby. You know how people get about celebrities.” 

“Celebrity,” he marveled at the word. “I’m an actor.” 

“Same thing,” Y/n shrugged, sauntering over to her boyfriend in bed. 

He laid there like a god, sprawled out on his back with hands interlocked beneath his head. Wearing only a pair of plaid sweatpants that were certainly worse for wear, Y/n wanted nothing more than to curl up next to him, run her hands up and down his torso and marvel at the warmth he radiated. 

So that’s exactly what she did. Because he loved her and she loved him, and such an agreement permitted her to express her infatuation with him whenever she wished to do so. Sometimes, she still pinched herself when the thought became too surreal. 

She laid herself completely on top of him, until they were chest to chest and nose to nose. And she was right; he was warm. So warm, in fact, that when he wrapped her up in a bear hug with chuckles rumbling deep within his chest, Y/n resisted the urge to tuck her face against his neck and submit to the blanket of comfort he provided. But she stood her ground, only because she preferred the view of this position better. 

This way, she was the direct recipient of his beaming smile. 

“Hi,” he whispered to her. 

She laughed, and Austin moved one hand from her waist to cup the back of her head, scratching softly in a motion that could only be described as tender. With gentle pressure, he urged her head forward until she was just within reach, before leaning up the rest of the way to press a kiss to her smiling lips. 

Humming in satisfaction, he pulled away, and almost immediately regretted it. After a long day, full of questions he wasn’t prepared to answer, this was Austin’s most perfect reward. 

Between quiet kisses and broken smiles, Y/n whispered against his cheek where she'd pressed her lips a moment earlier. “You could have told them about me…if you wanted.” 

“Is that what you want?” he sighed when her lips traveled to the sweet spot on his neck, right under his jaw. 

She didn’t answer, opting to continue her assault on his neck and the front of his chest. Austin felt his whole body flush, but was much more welcoming to the feeling this time around. He was obsessed with the way Y/n made him feel, with the way loving her made him feel. His hands were needy against her skin, and his touch varied in degrees, from tenderly cupping her head to squeezing her ass with such a ferocity that it would’ve embarrassed him if he wasn’t enthralled in her wandering lips.

But he’d asked a question. And while nobody who knew Austin would say his stubbornness outweighed his passion, they would most definitely tell you that he always put the needs of those around him before his own wants. 

“Y/n,” he rasped as he tapped her back to grab her attention. 

“Hm?” she hummed, resting her chin against his chest to look up at him with a blooming smile and sparkling eyes. 

Austin almost forgot what he was going to say. 

“What do you want me to do, baby?” he asked her after a moment's pause. She gave him a cheeky smile, and he pinched her cheek and laughed. “About the questions, I mean!” 

“Honestly, I’m not sure. I don’t want you to feel like you’re lying to anybody, and I don’t want to feel like I’m being…hidden away, I guess.” 

Austin ran his hand through her hair absentmindedly as he listened. He was always so good at valuing what she had to say. 

“But I also just want to stay in our bubble of privacy, you know? At least for a little while longer. I like pretending that I have you all to myself.” 

In a flash, Austin was grabbing her under the arms and dragging her up his chest. Y/n huffed as she slid up his body until they were face to face again. “You do have me all to yourself, silly girl.” 

She tsked at him with a teasing expression. “Nuh uh, you’ve got fans now. You know, the roaring crowd and screaming girls and what not. You’ve got to spread your time between us.” 

Y/n squealed as her world was suddenly flipped around. Now, Austin was on top in the same position they’d once been, except this time, her whole body felt the pressure of his weight pressed against her. She groaned, but wrapped her arms around him all the same. 

“They’ll all have to get in line behind you, Y/n,” he hushed. This time, he was the one pressing kisses to her neck. Y/n was suddenly appreciative of the reversed roles. “My best girl. My only girl.” 

“I know,” she reassured him. “I was just kidding.” 

“So what’s the plan, sweetheart?”

“Well,” she started, running her hands through his hair. “You can admit to having a girlfriend. There’s no point denying it, and if you did, I don’t think either of us would be happy.” 

He nodded to her with a soft look on her face. Y/n couldn't believe how lucky she was.

“But maybe just don’t give too much away, you know? Answer questions, but vaguely.” 

“Ah, I see,” he mused. “You want me to be sneaky about it.” 

“Exactly,” she affirmed. 

“I’ll have to become real creative in my question-dodging skills.” 

“You’re an actor, baby. You’ll figure it out.” 

----------

“Did you feel the pressure at any point? You know, with playing such an important icon to so many people?”

Sometimes, Austin felt like a puppet. Everyday, people dressed him up in whatever way they chose, and threw him out in front of a million different cameras. He then spent the next six hours listening to questions he’d already answered, and somebody behind the scenes pulled his strings in just the right way to make him answer them again. 

That’s not to say he wasn’t grateful for the opportunity to talk about the things which made his heart soar. It was insane to him that people out there cared at all about what he had to say. But he just wished certain questions were different. 

“Yeah,” he agreed for the hundredth time that day. “There’s definitely that feeling of not wanting to disappoint anyone, you know? Not just his fans, but also his friends and family who knew him better than anyone else. This project is just as much for them as it is for the public, maybe even more so. It really had me, uh, waking up in the middle of the night in a cold sweat, you know, unable to sleep ‘cuz my heart was just pounding so much.” 

They both chuckled for half a second. “That sounds horrible,” the interviewer sympathized with him. 

Austin ran his finger across his lips in a soothing gesture. The shy kid in him always got bashful whenever he made someone laugh. “It was worth it for sure. But at the time, it really felt like I was being haunted.”

“Did your girlfriend help you through that at all?” 

Austin was proud of himself for not choking on his spit. How random was that question? 

“Sure,” he stuttered for half a second. “Yeah, I had a lot of support around me for moments like that. I wouldn’t have gotten through this film if I didn't have my friends and family.” 

----------

Y/n held her boyfriend close to her chest, tucking his head under her chin to press gentle kisses on his sweat-matted hair. She was also rubbing circles on his heaving chest to calm his raging heart. It felt like stamping bulls against her palm. 

“You have to relax,” she whispered against the shell of his ear. 

Austin shivered both from her touch and the nerves. “I just want this to be perfect. Too many people need this to be perfect.” 

“You can’t think about that, baby,” her nails dragging slowly up and down his arms. He shivered again, and let himself breathe deep and melt into her arms. “That expectation isn’t fair to you or anyone else on set.” 

He was laying between her legs, the sheets thrown from both their bodies as anxiety overtook his senses. Most nights weren’t this bad, but tonight was. So bad that sleep barely came, and when it did, ideas of booing crowds and disappointed loved ones filled Austin's brain and made his heart stop. 

“Alright,” Y/n suddenly sighed beneath him. Her breath was warm against his cheek as she did. “Listen to me. Are you listening, Aus?”

He squeezed her calf and nodded to let her know that yes, he was listening. He always had a hard time not listening whenever his girlfriend was concerned. 

“You can’t go into this wanting to become Elvis Presley, baby. It’s impossible, we both know that.”

The weight of that impossible feat was what pressed on Austin’s chest day in and day out. And despite the perfectly tailored costumes he wore, the suits and shoes were always a bit too big. Like he couldn’t fit the persona, and nothing he did would ever change that. 

“But your goal should be to understand him. The good, the bad, and everything in between. The parts people know, and the parts they don’t know they’re missing. It’s only then that you can portray the true Elvis to the rest of the world.” 

Austin’s eyes fluttered closed as he listened to her words. They were soft and airy and anchored him to reality in a way nothing else could. 

“And Austin,” she laughed in disbelief. “You’ve done that. You’ve done that, and then some. Have you seen our condo? It’s an Elvis memorial in here!” 

He huffed a laugh of his own at that. Neither of them had realized how much energy he would put into becoming this person until it was actually time for him to do it. For him, the realization of what he had to do was a relief. For her, his dedication was something to marvel at. 

“Tomorrow, you’re going to do your scenes and pour your soul into them, like you always do. And all the preparation you’ve done will take care of the rest.” 

Austin tilted his head back to look at her, albeit from an awkward angle. An overwhelming amount of gratitude came over him at that moment. 

“I love you,” he smiled up at her. 

Y/n met his confession with a willing kiss. 

----------

“And those looks, man. They must have just been insane to see yourself in!”

A genuine laugh slipped from Austin’s lips. “For sure, for sure. And they’re so beautifully made! It really helps with the whole process, though. You know, once I was in them, it stopped feeling so much like I was playing pretend and more like I really was this person.” 

“Did you ever just look in the mirror and think ‘Who the hell is that guy?’”

Now, Austin isn’t an impulsive man. He’s always held the impression that words are powerful things, and should be treated as such. So when the time came for him to answer this question, he really contemplated what to say. He picked something out, rolled it around in his head for a moment, and decided to peel back the curtains he’d pulled on his personal life thus far. 

Only because he wanted to, and for no reason other than that. 

“Sort of,” he nodded with a coy smile. “Though, to be honest, I loved getting to wear all the costumes. Especially the jumpsuits, you know, because those were just so incredibly detailed. It was a real pleasure. But my girlfriend definitely had a lot of opinions about it.” 

An echo of laughs filled the room, coming from even those behind the camera. 

“Oh?” the interviewer inquired. “She didn’t like Austin Butler Elvis?” 

Austin wouldn’t notice, but everyone who watched the interview could easily tell how bright his eyes shined when talking about Y/n. “You know what, I think she did. She loved the outfits and all the get-up, but she just didn’t like it on me too much.” 

“Well, I would say she’s the only girl in the world to hold that sentiment.” 

A boyish grin broke out on his face, and he tucked his chin to his chest to hide the blush. “Thanks man, I appreciate that. No, I don’t know, I think she just didn’t like how different I looked. I spent a lot of time in that chair, and by the end of it, Elvis was there. Austin was sort of just in the background.” 

----------

When Y/n heard the trailer door open, she was expecting to see her handsome boyfriend walk through it. 

Not…whoever the hell that was. 

Within seconds, she was laughing so hard that tears slipped from the corners of her eyes. She could barely look up at him, now, with her doubled-over position on their couch. 

“Is it really that bad?” Austin jested, adjusting his belt with feigned insecurity. 

His red satin shirt flared at the sleeves in true 70’s fashion and was unbuttoned half way down the chest. Though Y/n appreciated the view, it didn’t end there. Instead, the shirt tucked into the craziest striped pants she’d ever seen, held up by an iconic jewel-encrusted belt with chains hanging all around his waist. And to top it all off, square sunglasses that could only belong to the truest of stars were firmly poised on his smiling face. 

They were filming parts of the Vegas rehearsal today. Y/n knew that. She wasn’t quite sure what she expected him to be wearing, but it certainly wasn’t this. 

“It’s…” she struggled to get her laughing under control. “Definitely something.” 

“Hm,” he huffed, moving closer to stand directly in front of her. 

His steps caused the chains around him to jingle as he moved, which hit Y/n with another round of aggressive giggles. 

“I can’t-” she wheezed, and Austin immediately began shaking his hips to mimic that of an Elvis dance move, giving her a true and honest show. The only sound that filled his trailer for nearly a minute was his jingling belt and Y/n’s infectious laughter. He only stopped when her face bloomed red enough that he feared she would pass out from lack of oxygen. 

“Come ‘ere, lil mama,” he beckoned, leaning down to cup her flushed face and press a firm kiss on her lips. 

Y/n always marveled at how quick Austin was to slip back into the persona he knew so well. Sure, when they were at home, he often switched between his own voice and the Elvis accent, just to make sure it always felt authentic when he used it. But when he was there, on set, it was different. 

Austin didn’t exist anymore. Not really, at least. With the clothes and makeup and hair came the swagger. The confidence, the movement, the mannerisms. It was such a smooth transition for him to make, but for Y/n, it was sometimes hard to differentiate. 

“Okay,” she patted his bare chest. “Go be Elvis, ‘cuz I want Austin back by the end of the night.” 

“Not a fan of dating Elvis Presley, hm?”

She kissed both of his cheeks before urging him towards the door. “Don’t get me wrong, Elvis is hot. But I like my baby more.” 

When she pulled on one of his chains on the way out, the laugh that boomed from his chest was 100% Austin Butler. 

----------

“Was learning how to sing like Elvis more difficult than learning how to talk like him, or did all of that stem from learning the accent? ‘Cuz I have to say, you sound incredible in the film.” 

“Thank you,” he spoke genuinely. Any praise for his work in this movie was more appreciated than he could possibly convey. “That’s incredibly kind of you. The singing was something I had to focus a bit more energy on, because it was something I’d never done before. I don’t really sing in public, let alone with a voice like Elvis’s.” 

“It’s so insane to me that you’ve never sung for a crowd before,” she continued to applaud him. “I never would’ve guessed you weren’t a singer. Did you have a lot of help to get you ready for filming?” 

He was nodding before she even finished her question. “Most definitely. I had a base to start with, of course, and Baz heard that in the recordings I sent him. But then I had plenty of voice coaches, both for speaking and singing, who really helped me develop the sound in a much healthier manner. For my vocal chords, that is.” 

Austin paused and thought over his next words carefully before speaking them. 

“And then during covid,” he continued. “I couldn't really get in touch with any of those people. But it was so important to me that I didn’t lose the momentum I had going, you know? So in those six months…it was actually my girlfriend who sort of pulled through. The two of us would spend hours just listening to clips of him perform and finding the best ways for me to replicate that sound. It really boiled down to the intricate details, and I couldn’t have been so meticulous without her help.” 

“That sounds like some awesome teamwork.” 

“Yeah,” he sighed. He loved turning the light to Y/n, even if she wasn’t there to receive it. “She’s really amazing.” 

----------

Y/n would never admit it, but “Love Me Tender,” was one of her most favorite songs for Austin to sing. It meant so much to her, and memories of standing on her father’s toes and twirling around their kitchen always flooded her mind whenever she heard it. It reminded her of joy, of bliss, and of love. 

All things that Austin made her feel. 

So sitting on the couch, across from her beautiful boyfriend as he serenaded her for the hundredth time that night was just about a dream come true. It was sort of an added bonus that she got to help him in the process of perfecting it. 

She held her hand out, motioning for him to stop. Austin was mid-note, but stopped at once to hear what she had to say. Her focus was slightly askew, eyes diverted to better hear the sound of the King’s voice flowing through one ear bud. 

“Try that line again, baby, but with a little more vibrato on the last note.” 

He nodded, took a breath, and tried again. He could see it in her eyes as he sang, see how she measured his own voice against the one playing on her phone. When he was done, she tilted her head back and forth for a moment, almost as if weighing the two sounds on a scale. 

“So close, one more time. This time, let your voice drawl. It’s like a breathless sound, you know? Like he’s so blown away by love and what not.” 

Austin laughed at her then, but she waved away his distraction. “Go go go, do it or you’re gonna lose it!”

When he thought of a breathless love, he thought of her. It was easier to sing that way. At the end of the note, he was shocked when Y/n jumped from her criss-crossed position on the couch to dance around their living room floor. 

“Yes!” she jumped, sliding around in nothing but his over sized t-shirt and fuzzy socks. It was the most radiating sight he’d ever seen. “That’s it, that’s it! You gotta do it just like that every time, baby.” 

“I don’t even know if we’ll be singing this song yet,” he tried to explain to her over excited expression. 

“Doesn’t matter! It’s the style, not the song that matters. That sounded perfect!”

The look on Austin’s face suddenly shifted. His smile softened, his eyes glazed over. Y/n wasn’t sure what happened, but the air in the room turned static. Like a magnet placed between them, her heart was pulled to his. 

“What?” she asked breathlessly. 

“You’re just…” his words died on the tip of his tongue. 

“What?” she pushed again. 

“Cute.” 

A laugh bubbled from her lips before she could help it. “Cute? That’s what’s got you looking like that?” 

He reached out and made grabby hands towards her, like a child reaching for his favorite toy. She listened to both his gesture and her will. Within seconds, she settled herself on his lap, and the cool touch of his rings where he cupped her neck was enough to drive her wild.

“I mean, I could use other words,” he hummed. “Like beautiful. Or radiant. Heavenly in every way, from looks to ways to words.” 

The urge to press kisses anywhere his lips could reach was almost too much to ignore. But he preferred looking in her eyes when professing his love. 

“But,” he snaked his hands up her neck to her cheeks, where he squeezed until her lips were smushed together. “Cute is the best way to put it.” 

Y/n threw herself against his chest with arms firmly around his neck, if only to hide from his praising words. He laughed and rubbed his arms up and down her back. 

“Thank you for always being there to help me,” he mumbled against her head. 

As if she would do anything else. “I always will be.” 

----------

“Not to point out the elephant in the room, Austin, but it looks like you’ve brought a special someone with you tonight!”

Austin knew what he meant with that question. Of course he did. But he was too high on excitement to care. When in Cannes with the people he loves, ready to see the movie (and share the movie) that he was incredibly proud of, nothing would knock him down from cloud nine. 

“I’ve got a lot of special people with me tonight,” he agreed with a bit of mischief in his eyes. “My dads around here somewhere. First time out of the country for him, in fact, so that’s really exciting.” 

The interviewer didn’t bother asking the question again. They both knew what he wanted. 

Austin would budge. But only a little. “And of course, my beautiful girlfriend is here.” 

“A first time outing for the most secretive couple in Hollywood! At least now we understand why you’ve been keeping her all to yourself for so long! Isn’t she stunning, ladies and gentlemen?”

It was funny how quickly pride and jealousy could swarm in someone's chest. An extremely odd paradox, the feeling was. 

“You wanna help us put a name to the face, Mr. Presley?” the man joked, though Austin knew he was seriously asking. 

But luckily for him, he’d recently learned a thing or two about drawing a line when it was needed. 

“No, uh,” he shut the idea down with an easy going smile. “I think I want to keep her to myself for a little while longer.” 

The two men laughed, which allowed the conversation to move back towards what they were all really there for. 

Austin and Y/n had talked about this before the big event. Her being there didn’t change what they’d already agreed upon. She wasn’t in the limelight by nature of her job, and Austin would do anything to keep her that way for as long as possible. Despite this, the media wouldn’t stop her from being there for the person she loved. 

He still couldn’t believe that was him. 

Of course, they knew everyone would know her full name before the night was over whether he told them or not. But they couldn’t help that, and wouldn’t waste any time worrying about it. 

He flew through the interviews with a newfound ease. This was the moment he’d been waiting for his whole life. With the hard work done, and praise for the film from all the people who mattered, all he could feel was joy. Joy and gratitude for his love who was waiting just around the corner. 

Y/n was always behind him. Following him to every camera, every photo op. There was never anything but a smile on her face whenever he turned back to check on her. With thumbs up, encouraging him forward, he thought he’d never have the strength to do another press junction without her now that he knew what it was like to have her there. 

It was the final line of carpet before they walked inside that Austin finally got to invite her forward. He held his hand out, motioning for her to fill the empty space on his arm, and she gave him a look suddenly full of fear. His face immediately softened to an expression only she could read. It told her it’s okay, you don’t have to, and she knew he meant it. But after a moment's hesitation, she was hiking her dress up to skip forward and meet him halfway. 

“Hey pretty girl,” he cooed, pulling her close by the hip. Those watching screamed at the interaction, and Y/n turned her head to duck from the flashing cameras.

“I think I’m going blind,” she giggled when he bent down to hear her better. He placed a kiss on the shell of her ear.

“A few more minutes and we’ll be inside. Then, the real magic begins.” 

“I seriously can’t wait! It’s gonna be so good, I just know it.” 

So they stood there and let random strangers take their picture. It was peculiar to Y/n, and she felt the constant bubbling of laughter in her chest throughout the whole ordeal. She was also acutely aware of how stupid she must look standing next to this man. Here he was, smoldering the camera with the poise of an expert. Meanwhile, she was smiling so hard the whole time, teeth and all, with squinted eyes and rosy cheeks. 

When Austin turned to look at her, and noticed her unfiltered joy, he couldn’t help but lean forward and kiss those cheeks with admiration. 

God, she was beautiful.

And he didn’t mind sharing that beauty with the world. They could take her picture, wonder about her name, and pull at the threads of words he spoke about her on occasion. He’d let them do it. 

Because at the end of the day, nobody but him got to see the life they lived behind closed doors. That was the beauty of it, and he’d never been more appreciative of the advice someone gave him all those years ago.

General Tag List: @gluepoo 

#austin butler #austin butler fic #austin butler x reader #elvis movie #elvis 2022 #elvis presley #elvis biopic #austin butler imagine #austin butler fanfiction #austin butler fanfic #austin butler fluff

[thenextdawn-temporarilyclosed]

Comeback

Word count: 1.5K

Summary: after a break up with Jenna, this is what you’re going through

Warnings: angst angst, bad writing

Pairing: Jenna Ortega X Fem!Rrader

———

“If there ever comes a day when we can’t be together, keep me in your heart, I’ll stay there forever.”

This is what you and Jenna said to each other multiple times during your short lived relationship. It was one if not THE best relationship you ever had, she was the best person you had ever met. You were perfect for one another, however you had two very different necessities. She was a worldwide known actress, and you were just one of the people she met before becoming famous. It was nice, at first. When your relationship was made public you had lots of fans, lots of people cherished what you had with Jenna, and soon enough you found yourself being invited to movie premieres with her and you were also under the attentions of paparazzis and interviewers and journalists. You didn’t mind that, you had to say. You loved absolutely everything about Jenna’s world and you were there to support her each step of the way.

you were there to support her the moments she broke down, telling her that everything was going to be okay. You were there the moment when the pressure would become too much, and she would feel at ease in her arms. You were there for her, no matter what she needed you were there.

But when you needed her, where was she?

“I can’t today, I have an interview”

“Babe I have filming this month, you know I don’t have time”

“I’m going out with the rest of the cast, I’ll see you at home”

As much as you wanted to be involved in her life, she never let you in completely. She never brought you on sets, she never introduced you to her friends, and sooner than expected you started feeling just like a distraction.

“Why are you still with her? This hurts you, and you know that. You don’t deserve to get hurt from this relationship.” Your mom asked you.

Because some times, We hold on to those who cannot love us for so many reasons. Sometimes, we hold on because we convince ourselves that the circumstance will change - that if we love harder, if we give more, if we stay, if we endure, the situation will evolve. The value of our love will be recognized, it will be chosen. Sometimes, we hold on because we feel like we have to. We feel like we have to be the ones to fix, the ones to mend, the ones to prove that human beings don't give up on a person they see something beautiful within.Sometimes, we hold on because we feel guilty, because we think that walking away and choosing ourselves is us discarding someone we care about, is us abandoning a human being. And sometimes, we hold on because we think that we will never find the kind of person who proves to us that love is not something that is meant to hurt. Sometimes, we hold on because we lose our belief in the fact that love has the potential to be soft, that there is more to life than what we are settling for.

And you want to hold on. You want to hold on because you really hope that she’ll find your way back to you. Because after all you’re perfect for each other. You knew that from the beginning.

From the beginning you knew, well, you hoped that you’d spend the rest of your lives together. But now?

Now you’re strangers again. And remembering how close the two of you used to be, it hurts you. Even after months, you still remember the smell of her perfume. The sound of her laugh, that you’ll probably never hear again. And you’ll always remember small details about her. The time the two of you spent together wasn’t much, and you wish you had more time with her, but you’re glad that your paths crossed, even if just for a while. And even though in the end she decided to leave, maybe she did what was best for you. For now you will love her silently, because you’re strangers again.

You don’t talk anymore, that’ true, but that doesn’t mean that you forget about her, and you know you can’t be anything anymore so you try, you try to move on from her but some times, part of you is still wishing for her to come back to you.

And she did,

She came back.

It was late at night when you heard your bell ring. You saw from your window that it was Jenna, and you had to be honest, you wanted to ignore her and go back to sleep. But you’re too nice. If she called you crying, you would answer. If her mother called you saying “(Y/N) we have an emergency, we need you” you’d rush at her place. If Jenna ever needs comfort, you’ll be there, every time. Maybe you’re too good, to sweet. But it’s who you are, and nothing can change that.

You went and opened the door for her. As soon as you did you looked in her eyes, you saw she was crying and you invited her in. You wanted to hug her and comfort her, but you knew better.

“What do you want, Jenna?” You asked her and crossed your arms, watching as she sat down on the sofa in the living room. She took a deep breath and spoke, trying not to sob. “I miss you. I’m so sorry if I hurt you, please, please forgive me” she said, and you chuckled, making her look at you. “Forgive you? Jenna you didn’t just hurt me, you broke me. You kept pushing me away, you kept excluding me from your life. For you I only existed when you needed support, and when you were asked to bring someone to the movie premieres. I didn’t exist as your girlfriend, I didn’t exist as the woman you come home to. I didn’t exist at all, because whenever I needed you, you ignored me.”

“You kept pushing me away, but I alwavs chose to stay. So, shame on me. Shame on me for letting you walk all over me. Shame on me for letting you get into the depths of my soul that no one has ever touched. Shame on me for putting up with your mind games.“

You saw Jenna’s eyes fill with a new bash of tears, and she tried to speak but you were quicker

“Shame on you for always misleading me. Shame on you for always making me feel we had a chance. Shame on you for keeping me in your fantasy of what we could be; when you had every opportunity to set me free, you chose to let me dream.”

“(Y/N) please, please just let me try to win your heart again, let me try ti fix it-“ she sobbed out, but you have had enough. “No, Jenna. I’m done with your games, I’m done with only being used as a distraction, I’m done with only being there only when it’s convenient for you. Just leave and forget about me. I’m just a stupid normal girl after all I’m not famous like you, I’m not an actress or someone you want to be seen with so I’m sure it will be easy for you to forget about me.”

You said and didn’t look at her, you put your hands in your hair. Now you changed your mind, You just wanted to keep her in your memories, keep her locked there and never see her again.

“But what if I never forget you?” She said all of the sudden, you turned to look at her. “What if, all my life, when I meet someone new I can never fall for them because they aren’t you?” Jenna asked. You wanted to tell her that you will never forget her, that you’ll never find someone like her and that you wanted to be a couple with her again. But your pride was stronger than that.

“Find a replacement. You already did that, all the times that you were acting smitten and all lovey dovey with Percy.” There. She asked for it, didn’t she?

You watched Jenna react like a mouse who just got caught in a trap, like this was her deepest secret.

“What are you talking about?” She said, trying to play dumb.

“Jenna, enough. I’m tired if being a replacement and for someone I want to be someone that isn’t so easily replaced.”

#Spotify #jenna #ortega #jenna ortega #jenna ortega x r #jenna ortega x y/n #jenna ortega x you #jenna ortega x reader #jenna ortega x fem!reader

[michelle-is-writing]

Missing You, Ben Hardy

Since Ben left for filming a couple months ago, I’ve been okay. Of course, I’ve been missing him ever since he left. The text messages and phone calls have made up for the lack of conversations we used to have, and the constant pictures he sends me help me still feel connected to him. But lately, I’ve been missing him the hardest, and I couldn’t tell you why either.

During the day, I’m fine. I go about my daily rituals as usual, but at night, when I get ready to go to bed, it’s like I’m hit with a mix of sadness and longing for Ben to be back by my side. Some nights, I can’t fall asleep until it’s past three or four in the morning. I can’t explain why - it’s just something that happens now.

For some reason, tonight is the worst it’s ever been for me. I’ve tried everything I can to fall asleep. I’ve taken melatonin, turned off every bright light, made sure that there were no noises coming from anything, turned my phone off, everything. I even tried to meditate for a while, but I eventually gave up when I realized it wasn’t working for me either. I've also had “relaxing” music playing since I first started getting ready to go to bed, but that obviously didn’t work either.

Every time I close my eyes, images of Ben flash in my mind. I remember specific times like when we go out together and just enjoy each other's time. I’m also reminded of the times when we go out with friends and how Ben always holds me to him in front of everyone with his arm tight around my waist and my back pressed against his chest. It makes me feel like he’s so thankful to have me there with him when he does this. More importantly, I remember the times when he said things exactly like that to me. Hearing the love of your life say, “I’m so happy to have you in my life,” is something that you’ll cherish and remember for a very, very long time - if not forever.

The only problem with that is with moments like these when you can’t be with them. In that case, you’re left to simply think about that special person rather than see or hear them. You can’t hold them or love on them. You can’t even laugh with them and see their face crinkle up because of that laughter. So, you’re left to miss them immensely, and it sucks.

It really sucks.

Looking over at my alarm clock, the bright red lights tell me it’s almost 4:30, and I’m left to groan in response. Last night, I didn’t pass out until 3, and I had to wake up for work today with only 4 hours of sleep in my system. I don’t want to have another night like that. Granted, I may not have to work tomorrow, but still. I don’t want to fall asleep at the same time people are getting up to start the day if I can help it.

Frankie beside me stirs in her sleep before getting up and heading out into the living room. At that, I kind of laugh. She must’ve gotten tired of me constantly tossing and turning. I’m tired of it too, but it’s not like I can do anything about it.

With a sigh, I turn on my side toward the wall and try to close my eyes once more. At first, I’m joyful that finally, nothing pops up. No images of Ben or anyone else. Just the darkness of what I’m hoping is looming sleep.

For a few moments, this lasts until I start thinking about how nice Ben’s touch felt against my skin. The way his slightly rough hands had such a gentle grasp when he touched me is something that can wake me up instantly, but I’m trying to not let the memory of it do that. However, reminiscing on his touch seems to be too much for me as I actually feel his touch on me now despite him being six hours away. The mind can certainly be one powerful thing.

“Are you awake?”

As soon as I hear Ben’s voice, my eyes shoot open and I quickly turn over to see him standing by the side of the bed, a smile on his face. Granted, the only light in the room is the dim red hue coming from my alarm clock, so I’m assuming the lines on his cheek mean he’s smiling.

“Oh my God!” I exclaim, nearly jumping out of bed to throw myself at Ben. Thankfully, he’s quick to catch me in his arms, but that doesn’t stop us from tumbling down onto the floor with a soft thud, resulting in laughter coming from Ben. Conversely, I immediately pull back to look at Ben despite the room still being pitch dark.

“Are you okay?” I ask him, my hands searching his face and head for any injury, again, in complete darkness. His answer comes to me in even more laughter, his hands quickly finding mine to press soft and gentle kisses to the skin.

“Darling, I’m fine, but I do have to say that was one of the best welcome home greetings I have ever gotten,” Ben assures me before leaning forward to press another kiss to my lips, but his lips meet the side of my nose instead. We both know that one of us should really turn the light on so we can see each other, but going by the fact that I’m on top of Ben, it’ll have to be when I decide to let go of him.

Smiling, I nuzzle my face into his neck. “I’m just happy you’re home,” I tell him, sitting back on his lap so I can turn on the bedside lamp. Ben’s hands instantly make their way to my hips when I do this, his fingers lightly massaging the skin of my exposed waist as soon as they make contact. Once the room has some light flooding through it, I look down at Ben and smile upon seeing his face after so long of having to settle for just pictures or FaceTime. He smiles back at me, a happy sigh falling from his lips afterward.

“You have no idea how much I missed you, darling,” Ben murmurs, a blissful gaze falling over his face. Sliding his arms up from my hips, he rests them against my back all while simply holding me to him as we lie on the hardwood floor of our bedroom. “Could hardly sleep without you, it was horrible.”

At his words, the corner of my lip upturns knowing he missed me too, but at the same time, he probably suffered the same sleep deprivation as me. “I had a hard time sleeping while you were gone too,” I tell him, feeling my body begin to relax on top of him. “I haven’t gotten much sleep either, especially tonight,” with a smile, I press a kiss to Ben’s jaw as I lean my head up a bit. “It's a good thing since you got home early, babe.”

Ben smiles with me in response to my words before swiftly sitting up with me still clinging to his body, my legs now on either side of him as his face rests mere centimeters from mine. The action surprises me for a short second until I let out a small giggle, my brain reminding me of my boyfriend’s superhero muscles that allow him to do those things with me, things that make me absolutely crazy.

“Let’s get back into bed, yeah?” He suggests, standing up with one hand pushing him off the ground and the other keeping my body against his. Once again, I cling tightly to him, my rigid stature only relaxing when my back makes contact with our bed. However, Ben doesn’t move, and instead, he remains on top of me. After a few moments, I speak up.

“Are you comfortable?” My question makes Ben quietly laugh as he knows putting his entire weight on me is not always comfortable, but I won’t complain either.

"I always want to be on top of you, love," He tells me with another sly chuckle before shuffling down in the bed. Now lying mostly on my torso and in between my legs, Ben peers up at me from where he lays his head on my stomach. “How about now? Are you comfortable?”

“Very,” I tell him, moving a hand to comb through his blonde locks. Once my hand touches his head, Ben nuzzles his face against my hand like earlier. In only a matter of seconds, Ben's eyes fall shut as he a soft sigh leaves his nose.

“I missed you… so much,” he admits, “I’d really like it if you came with me next time, even if it’s just for a week,” Ben’s eyes open after his last statement, looking intently at me as I process his suggestion. It would be great to spend that time with him, but I never asked before as I didn't want to distract him while he works.

"As much as I loved your greeting from earlier," Ben speaks up once more, breaking me away from my thoughts and over I’d love it even more if you greeted me like that after filming.”

#ben hardy #ben hardy imagine #ben hardy imagines #ben hardy x reader #ben hardy fanfic #ben hardy x fem reader #ben jones #roger taylor x fem!reader #roger taylor imagines #roger taylor imagine #roger taylor fanfiction #roger taylor #roger taylor x reader

[literatemisfit]

Hi! I don’t have a subscription so I can’t read this full article you posted.

https://www.tumblr.com/literatemisfit/720928934490980352/david-tennant-on-his-wife-georgias-cancer-scare

Could you possibly give a summary or copy/paste what it says (if you’re comfortable with it)? Especially that last part you mentioned as being especially sweet?

Somehow when I went to open it I also got stuck behind a paywall so they must have added one. But I was able to use incognito mode and get access to it anyway. I've copy pasted the entire thing for you so you can see what I mean by sweet ;)

See below:

Georgia Tennant is recalling the moment, at the start of the pandemic, when she realised she was going to be locked down with her husband. ‘David was supposed to be filming in South Africa,’ explains the 38-year-old actor and producer. ‘But then there was a series of phone calls, South Africa shut down, and he turned to me and said: “I’m not going back”.’

Georgia and I share a look that speaks volumes: about the slo-mo dawning experienced by wives all over the world when it became clear they would be trapped with the man they’d promised to love and cherish – but not, crucially, have lunch with every day for weeks on end. About what became more like the premise of a twisted reality TV show when those weeks turned into months

‘I remember having this sudden realisation…’ Glancing at her Scottish stage and screen star husband, Georgia pauses, blue eyes wide, and at this point I’m already smiling because I think I know what’s coming. ‘That, oh my gosh, David’s just going to be here, the whole time.’ I nod compassionately. ‘Which obviously I’d never had before.’ Another nod. We’ve all been there. 

‘And just thinking: that’s really exciting!’

Oh… It’s a needle-across-vinyl moment and I stop mid-nod and stare. Georgia and I are not on the same page. In fact, she seems to be reading an entirely different book: this wife can’t think of anything nicer than being holed up with her husband of 12 years.

‘We just really like each other,’ she says once all three of us have stopped laughing. ‘Even now, we like hanging out with each other more than we like hanging out with anyone else.’ Some might say that’s a pretty good basis for a marriage. ‘Exactly. And when all the kids are around it’s like a commune here, which I love.’

With a semi-apologetic shrug the 52-year-old Doctor Who and Broadchurch star confirms, ‘It’s true.’ There’s no way around it: he too just really likes his wife. ‘In fact, the more time we spend together the more we get on,’ he says. And although I’m not sure I can deal with any more bombshell revelations so early on in an interview, this is probably just as well. Because the Tennants didn’t just end up marooned on the couch together for the duration of the pandemic – with their five children, Ty, 21, Olive, 12, Wilfred, 10, Doris, seven, and Birdie, three – but filming a lockdown TV comedy series, Staged, which became the surprise summer comedy hit of 2020.

The whimsical meta sitcom follows David’s fractious friendship with Welsh actor Michael Sheen as they plan various ill-fated ventures from either side of the world on Zoom. Only this isn’t reality TV, but a hammed-up version. Its two actors forever making a drama out of a crisis, as their partners watch, bemused, occasionally stepping in when things get out of hand.

Georgia and Swedish actress Anna Lundberg’s attitude is probably best described by the bumper sticker quote: ‘Behind every successful man is a woman rolling her eyes’, and audiences liked them so much that their roles get progressively bigger with each series.

Amazingly, Staged outlived the pandemic premise it was built on and I’m here today, in a sleek home office at the back of the couple’s west London home, to talk about the third and final series, which is currently airing on BBC One. Having spent the past 24 hours binge-watching six episodes of the show, I’m slightly thrown by how dialled-down the real David and Georgia are compared with their on-screen personas. He’s far less wild-haired and neurotic in real life – perhaps in part because after a trip to the dental hygienist this morning, he’s not yet been allowed his coffee – and she’s just as beautiful, with the same poise she maintains throughout Staged, but more amused than exasperated, today, by her man.

‘This wasn’t our first project together,’ David reminds me when I ask whether working on the show together over three years didn’t tip this perfect partnership over the edge. ‘After all, Georgia and I did meet on set.’

It’s true that it was while he was playing the Tenth Doctor in 2008 that he met his future wife, who was cast as his genetically engineered daughter in the BBC show. Does Georgia still get endless joy from that? ‘Oh, I’ve had 15 years of joy from that,’ she flings back. ‘Of course, I was already 900 years old at the time,’ David deadpans.

After the Doctor Who years, the pair went on to co-star in the 2017 film, You, Me and Him, which Georgia also produced. Still, when it came to filming Staged, he got ‘incredibly nervous’, he admits. ‘I think we were quite anxious about what that would… do, weren’t we?’

His wife murmurs her agreement, although like her Staged character she seems serene and in control and it’s easy to imagine her talking David down from various ledges in daily life. 

For all their harmony, they seem quite different. Certainly, they come from different backgrounds. As the daughter of actors Peter Davison and Sandra Dickinson, Georgia was born into the profession, making her debut at 15 in ITV’s Peak Practice, before going on to appear in shows such as Where the Heart Is, Like Father Like Son and The Last Detective.

Bathgate-born David, meanwhile, is the son of a Presbyterian church minister, who attended the Royal Scottish Academy of Music and Drama and established himself with the Royal Shakespeare Company and National Theatre early on. After winning the game-changing role of Doctor Who at 34, he has continued to demonstrate his versatility as an actor, flitting from hard-hitting TV dramas like Des in 2020 (playing serial killer Dennis Nilsen) and Litvinenko in 2022 (as the former Russian spy) to playing a demon in Amazon’s ongoing fantasy series Good Omens. Then there’s his stage work: the recent West End play Good, in which he played a professor drawn into Nazism, and a forthcoming stint as Macbeth at London’s Donmar Warehouse in December.

Despite his success, the actor has suffered from acute anxiety ever since he was a boy, fretting about everything from ‘not being good enough’ and ‘being found out’ (as he told one interviewer in 2019) to the loss of anonymity he knew he’d experience back in 2005, when he was cast as a TV hero he’d idolised from the age of three. ‘Because with a show like Doctor Who,’ he tells me, ‘it’s on a different scale.’ 

As anyone who suffers from anxiety knows, the primary, all-consuming worry is that everything ‘probably will go wrong’ at any given moment. In 2018 something did go very wrong when Georgia was diagnosed with cervical cancer – something she shared in her blog, despite usually being a private person. ‘I thought it was easier than having to phone everyone and tell them,’ she explains today.

‘It was a very weird experience,’ muses David. ‘Because we found out the bad news after it had been dealt with, so we had the relief at the same time as the horror.’ 

Following an abnormal smear test result, Georgia had a biopsy and a cervical excision to remove the tissue causing concern. It was only after that procedure that test results showed the cells had been cancerous. David pauses, looking at his wife. ‘At least we were spared the prospect of living with, “You’ve got this, and can it be caught?” But I still have these flashbacks of “What if you hadn’t…?”’ He shakes his head. ‘I don’t think I acknowledged at the time how serious it could have been.’

The couple were too busy ‘just dealing with each stage’, David goes on. ‘The slightly funky test and then going in and having the biopsy.’ 

‘But I did make you answer the phone, when we were waiting to hear [the results],’ Georgia cuts in. ‘I obviously knew there was going to be something, so David got the news first: that it was bad but that they’d got rid of it. And then he made me get on the phone so that I could hear it from the doctor myself, because he knew that was something I needed to do.’

Afterwards, ‘both of us were just numb,’ David murmurs. ‘It was such a Sliding Doors moment. Even a few months later it could have been too late.’ 

‘Which is why now,’ Georgia concludes wryly, ‘I’ll tell everyone with a cervix: go and get yourself checked.’

With the couple’s eldest son Ty now a successful actor – having starred in the TV series War of the Worlds and HBO’s House of the Dragon – and Olive, then 10, making her big-screen debut in Kenneth Branagh’s Oscar-winning film Belfast, two years ago, I’m curious to know how they both feel about their brood following in their footsteps? ‘I just want them to be happy and to be able to survive in the world,’ Georgia says. ‘So if acting is what they want to do…’

It helps that the industry feels fairer now in almost every way, they believe, and we segue into a discussion about inclusivity and ‘real representation’ in acting – meaning, for example, that only LGBTQ actors should play LGBTQ roles. Until we’re all caught up, David maintains, ‘you have to protect those spaces for actors who come from those communities’.

It also helps that the industry is a safer place for women now than it was 10 years ago, says Georgia. ‘Because it 

definitely is,’ she adds. ‘Things happened to me when I was younger that I now realise were not great, but at the time I thought it was all part of it – that I had to laugh them off. I’m talking about situations that made me feel uncomfortable,’ she explains. ‘Now I would be able to say so, but at the time the dialogue just wasn’t there. And I don’t think any of our kids would have to feel like that now. Even if they did, they would have the words and the people behind them to say: “that’s not OK”.’

David is currently filming the Disney+ series Rivals, based on Jilly Cooper’s famous bonkbuster, he tells me. ‘And there’s an “intimacy co-ordinator” on that because there’s quite a lot of shagging, so everyone’s being very appropriate and careful.’ 

But doesn’t it feel strange having your sex scenes ‘co-ordinated’? ‘Oh, it’s ludicrous.’ He grins. ‘Because it means you’re making the most intimate, private moments very compartmentalised and that there’s someone there asking the embarrassing questions nobody did historically – but that’s because you’re not doing these things with your actual partner. So that’s another thing that has got better over the years.’ He tilts his head to one side, narrows his eyes: ‘That said, there are still lots of reasons not to become an actor.’

This seems as good a place to end as any, and as the Tennants take me back through the garden to a side gate, Georgia tells her husband she’s ‘going for a manicure – and you have to come with me’. When I leave they’re still bickering gently, with David asking: ‘Why do I have to come?’ I don’t catch his wife’s reply, but I suspect it’s just because she really likes him.

#david tennant #georgia tennant #interview

[corneliushickey]

dear @shinelikethunder tagged me to post eight tv shows to get to know me ~

under a cut because a) i did this with director’s commentary and b) i got too into this and it’s embarrassing

this exercise also made me wish that the tag was about eight movies because i really struggled to think of eight tv shows... i have definitely WATCHED more than eight tv shows in my lifetime, but it’s hard to name eight that have had a significant enough impact on me that i would show them to someone as a get to know me exercise, whereas i can think of like a dozen movies off hand that like, showing them to someone else feels like cutting my chest open and letting them root around in between my organs

okay, on to the tag! it’s organized by year the tv show came out because i am incapable of ranking things by how much i like them/they mean to me

good omens (2019); amazon

do you know how embarrassing this is to admit? 

i fully didn’t like the majority of this show because newt and anathema mean nothing to me and i hate being made to look at children

but crowley and aziraphale did something to me, man. on a molecular level. i got got. extremely got. i’m moving this week and tonight had the pleasure of taking everything down off my walls and a solid 30% of my wall space (which is a full coverage collage of stuff) is aziraphale and crowley prints... they inprinted on me in a way that i simply cannot justify nor explain. i have watched the intro to episode 3 more times than i can even attempt to count. it’s heinous. i’m serious.

the terror, season 1 (2018); amc

says tumblr user cornelius hickey...

the terror is a show i feel very comfortable telling people about because while i love it dearly and it means a lot to me, it’s a great example of craft and technical accomplishment, but it doesn’t hit any raw emotional wounds the way a lot of my most cherished media does. it’s just so technically well executed, an absolute masterclass of horror. it says and does so much in such a tight run. it is emotionally devastating and brilliantly written. it is hopeless and painful and dense.

i have a 3ft x 5ft print of an oil painting of cornelius hickey custom framed in my room. its haunting eyes will likely be moving to my office in the new place. he is a character that like very singularly stands out to me as one of the most incredible combinations of writing and performance i have ever seen on film.

i want this url buried with me when i die like digitally encoded onto my corpse

mindhunter (2017); netflix

this is another example where the show is just really really technically well crafted. beautifully written, acted, and filmed. i loooove a period piece and this one really captures a very specific time and place. plus it scratches my thomas harris itch because hannibalverse made me fond of quanitco stories at a young age

bill/holden is a whole ‘nother level

i want to study holden like a bug, and in fact i have!! the fic i’m most proud of is an intense play by play pov of his psychosexual hangups and while i only got halfway through writing it before the hyperfixation left me forever... i am still very proud of its concept and execution

true detective, season 1 (2014); hbo

another absolutely incredible example of television as a craft

this one though does get a little personal so while i recommend it to people often i am needlessly touchy about how people receive it because it hurts my feelings if they’re stupid about it

rust cohle you will always be famous!!

seven of its eight episodes really really really satisfy my need for hopeless, nihilistic media that wallows in its own despair and then episode eight always comes and bites through both my kneecaps with the blinding light of hope, the beatific face of god, the soul barring power of faith

hannibal (2013 - 2016); nbc

what is there to say, really?

if i loved it less i could talk about it more

the borgias (2011 - 2013); showtime

i literally almost didn’t submit my college applications because i was in a horrific depression hole watching and rewatching this show alone in my room in the dark for weeks on end. 

another show i watched at a very delicate time in my life but i have rewatched it since then and it 20000000% holds up, once again, as an exercise in the craft of television

a lot of the themes in this show really helped shape my own interests in media going forward

micheletto corella is really really really precious to me and the one thing i will never forgive this show for is how they handled his and cesare’s divorce because it is thematically inconsistent that cesare’s reaction to finding out micheletto was keeping a long line of secret curly haired brunette boyfriends half his age was anything other than scathing jealousy and extremely loud protest. like it’s just unrealistic that his reaction would have been anything but “why have you been fucking me by proxy when i have been desperate to fuck you for years” and the fight would’ve been really ugly and cesare would have lost because he’s not very good at fighting and then, well :) then 

house m.d (2004 - 2012); fox

absolutely humiliating

i was nine when this show premiered and watched it at a very delicate time in my development

the fucking unreal levels of 2000s homophobia did a psychological number on me as a very very gay child living in a violently homophobic environment

literally one of the worst shows ever put to television, and also, of course, one of the best

hugh laurie can still hit me up whenever

the twilight zone (1959 - 1964)

obviously didn’t watch this one while it aired lmao but back when it was on netflix in its entirety i watched it a few times start to finish

one of the all-time greats of american tv and a lovely comforting thing to have on in the background

rod serling is also welcome to hit my line

this show is still very much a cornerstone of how a lot of sci-fi and horror that came after it are done, and for good reason! being as those are two of my favorite genres, this is of course a staple of my tv loves

i tag @vincentpriceofficial @thegleamoftheknife @daemons @coweyed @awildwickedslip @voxceleste @intomyth @coffeeandorange

#roach.txt

[f1writingbyme]

Hello Ilse, good morning! I’ve just read your fic and GOD THAT WAS AMAZING! The right amount of drama, love, fun, dedication… one of the best pieces I’ve ever read. I’m so glad I got to partially know you through Mona, she is such an inspiration and an amazing woman, seems like you are too. May I ask, what inspired you to write this plot? You had me at the arson because I’m a crime girly and I love true crime series and documentaries (I need to go back to law school asap). Max may never recover his golden medals, personal belongings, but now he has the most valuable thing in the world: true love to cherish and remember forever. Anyway, I’ll be showing up in your inbox to get to know you better, please bear with me, I’m really obsessed. As for the caffeine? Well, I went to sleep 7pm and I’ve just woken up. It’s 5am. Never again, I promise. Have a nice day, your fic is really really good 🫶🏻

Hello Evie!

Thank you so much! So happy to hear you enjoyed it, that really means the world to me. And to say it's one of the best you've read is such a huge compliment! You make me tear up 🥺💕

Just like you, I'm a massive true crime girl. I've probably watched every documentary there is, listened to every podcast and watched every film and/or show that's even remotely about (true) crime. So, I've always wanted to write something in that category. It started with the stalking idea and then everything else just came together. The arson was the last part, because I needed a reason for them to be in the same place for a longer period of time. So yeah... The writing process has been all over the place with MANY separate documents and parts and what not, but it all came together in the end!

And I agree with you: Max has lost everything, but he gained the most important 🥰

Please show up in my inbox, I'd love that and I'd love to get to know you as well! Thank God for Mona (@lestappenforever); we're lucky to have met her!

You also have a good day!

#asks #killingevie

[annwayne]

15 Questions, 15 Mutuals

Thanks for the tag @freesia-writes I didn't completely forget about this no not at all

Were you named after anyone?

My middle name is the same middle name my biomom wanted to give me, and it's also my aunts middle name.

When was the last time you cried?

Lol yesterday? Crying for me isn't about sadness, it's just about Too Much Emotion. So I can be pissed and cry because I'm too mad. Yeah, it's totally fun 🙄

Do you have kids?

No and I never will. I'd be happy to be a supportive adult figure to kids if anyone in my family or friend circle ever has any, but those chances are low.

Do you use sarcasm?

Often. But it's rarely understood even when I use the appropriate tone indicators. So much so, that my parents made up a special name for my kind of sarcasm when I was a kid. But they didn't believe me when I first told them I was autistic 🙃

What’s the first thing you notice about people?

Depends on the setting. In person I'll notice clothing and hair style first. Online I notice how fluent in tumblrese one may or may not be.

What’s your eye color?

Blue.

Scary movies or happy endings?

I don't understand the use of 'or' here, because several scary movies have happy endings. So both. I like scary movies, though this is a recent development. The Haunting of Bly Manor and Midnight Mass are two of my favorite spooky things-though they are not movies. I love the energy of Slashers but not the gore. Alien horror is probably my favorite subgenre of horror. I'm thrilled for the attempted Alien reboot even though they were meh movies, they still scratched that itch. David is a gift to the universe however, and must be feared cherished forever.

Any special talents?

I find this question difficult. A toddler may have talent in the arts and that would be an apt description for someone so young to show increased level of development in a particular area. But for myself, an adult who's put hundreds of thousands of hours into my so called "talents?" At that point they've turned into skills. So for special skills, which I'll take to mean unusual or uncommon skills, I have an adept eye for color. There's this game called "I love hue too" which makes puzzles out of colors-I am very good at it. The best word I can come up to describe this skill is Therapy Skills, so I'll just call it that-but I've learned a lot of therapy skills over the past three years of therapy that improve my day to day life. I include this because from my social circle irl, it seems what I know is not commonly known or understood. And it takes more than just knowing to do them. That's vague, but it's hard to explain. Lastly, I'll mention my ability to navigate so long as I can see the sky (no skyscrapers.) Which is funny, because my sense of direction is shit when I'm in place. Once I get moving, however, I can find my way back to a previously visited location. Don't ask how-just know it worked enough to relay on in a mountain side town in Italy without google maps to assist us. (Maps are my enemy.)

Where were you born?

A dumb place that I'm happy to be away from.

What are your hobbies?

Obviously writing and drawing. I also enjoy games: card, board, or video. I love tv and movies, film in general since I spend a lot of time listening to long youtube video essays when I'm working around the house. Cooking and baking are hobbies, but they take a lot of energy out of me. I like to sing and generally like music, but I've not had much time to listen to anything recently. I also know how to crotchet and less than the basics of sewing, but I'd love to learn more. I just don't learn well from videos.

Have any pets?

Orange tabby named Cheddar. He recently got three teeth out because of something that happens to old cats and their teeth. Now when he yawns he's missing one fang. (The other two teeth were back molars)

What sports do/have you played?

A lot. I think over-exercising and constant dieting as a kid fucked my body up honestly. Swim, Cross Country, Track and Field (Discus and Shotput), Basket Ball and Volley Ball. Oh, and Soccer can't forget soccer.

How tall are you?

5'9" or 152.4 cm

Favorite subject at school?

Thinking forward, since I'm maybe a year of classes away from graduation, I'm curious about the technical writing class that's offered and I'm excited to get into research and writing. I've always felt a little lost when it came to doing "proper" research-what does that even mean? Looking back, since I only have major requirements left, Mixed Media Experimentation left a big impact on me as an artist (isn't that a riot? Went from an Illustration to Writing Degree.) I had a "China" class that fulfilled some general requirements that has always stayed with me. It's odd, because it was kinda everything that could be taught about China was bundled up bite size for the class. Culture, history, and current events all in one. I'd love to attend more classes like that for other countries. And I wish I'd had a better history education in general. I don't know when things happen, and dates are just vague numbers to me. But I love listening to Kaz Rowe's videos.

Dream job?

Book agent. I know, not an artist or a writer. I don't want to write my own books-I have no interest in making original fiction. At most, I might write a few non-fiction personal essays or poems that I might try to get published in a lit mag. But what I really want to do is get books I want to read published. I want to help authors who are passionate about their stories get good deals with publishing houses, especially anything queer, monster fuckery (and real monsters not blue greek gods or normal ass men who can use magic and live to be 1000), and smutty.

It seems everyone I know within the tbb circle has been tagged for this, so I'll throw a few to my other circles and ya'll can ignore if you want: @commander-krios @klynnvakarian @bagheerita @inconsistent-at-best @wonderingaround1980 @tarysande @chaniis-atlantis @all-mighty-yaoiyuri @anonmadsci

#ask game #if youre a moot and I didn't tag its because you're too cool and I'm scared to tag you #kmksjdf #annwayne extended lore #thats my new tag for shit about me

[fanficandtheories]

This is so not capri related AT ALL but I need to weep and I can’t think of a better way than moping on Tumblr. I read ‘Call Me By Your Name’ after a lot of deliberation. I never tried to read it because I didn’t want anything to dull the film for me. I never wanted to say shit like “the book is better than the movie”. CMBYN was the first film I truly deeply loved and cherished. I don’t know what that says about me, but I like it on an unhealthy level. It’s too precious for me and the idea that anything would make it smaller in my mind was so devastating.

Anyway, I did read it and you did not ask, but I will tell you (!!) the movie and the book fucking complement each other. There are a lot of plot points that are different and they work wonderfully in both ways. The movie’s script is obviously written with the intent to Please on a screen, but the book, holy shit the fucking book. No one, I mean.. absolutely no one has the right to do that to me. It’s so brutally offensive how Andre Aciman made me weep… weep through the end of it... The fucking audacity to write the way he did… nuh-uh.

The writing is too beautiful, Elio is even more relatable and loveable. You see a lot of things you don’t in the film, the more evasive ideas, they’re detailed in Elio’s narration. It’s too GOOD to be a real book. And not to mention, when my imagination failed to capture the beauty of a scene, guess what, my memory of the movie provided it!! Fucking hell. So it’s easy to break down and cry over the overwhelming flood of emotions in my throat.

Emotional wreck, forever moping woman. That’s what I am reduced to now.

Between this and getting turned on by ‘girl in redI’, I’m starting to question my sexuality, well, nvm. Anyway, here’s a bunch of quotes that I found tooo heart-wrenching, sweet, honest and something.

He was more me than I had ever been myself, because when he became me and I became him in bed so many years ago, he was and would forever remain, long after every forked road in life had done its work, my brother, my friend, my father, my son, my husband, my lover, myself.

“Did I have a spot?” he asked with a half grin.

“You’ll always have a spot.”

I wanted to tell him that the pool, the garden, the house, the tennis court, the orle of paradise, the whole place, would always be his ghost spot. And you’re suddenly there, lighting up your first cigarette of the day—twenty years ago today. For as long as the house stands, this will be your ghost spot—and mine too, I wanted to say.

All I knew was that I had nothing left to hide from him. I had never felt freer or safer in my life.

I responded, getting all worked up myself over someone I had almost entirely stopped thinking about. Time makes us sentimental. Perhaps, in the end, it is because of time that we suffer.

“You are the only person I’d like to say goodbye to when I die, because only then will this thing I call my life make any sense. And if I should hear that you died, my life as I know it, the me who is speaking with you now, will cease to exist. Sometimes I have this awful picture of waking up in our house in B. and, looking out to the sea, hearing the news from the waves themselves, He died last night. We missed out on so much. It was a coma. Tomorrow I go back to my coma, and you to yours. Pardon, I didn’t mean to offend—I am sure yours is no coma.”

We rip out so much of ourselves to be cured of things faster than we should that we go bankrupt by the age of thirty and have less to offer each time we start with someone new.

I’d stare at the water that evening and for a split second forget that he wasn’t here any longer, that there was no point in turning back and looking up to the balcony, where his image hadn’t quite vanished.

I can, from the distance of years now, still think I’m hearing the voices of two young men singing these words in Neapolitan toward daybreak, neither realizing, as they held each other and kissed again and again on the dark lanes of old Rome, that this was the last night they would ever make love again.

Whom else would I ever be able to call by my name?

#this post is pure moping #Tumblr therapy #I never needed my heart anyway #Call me by your name #the fucking audacity #somebody help me T_T #andre aciman #call me by your name #the book

[iamburdened]

Eu postei 4.131 vezes em 2022

Foram 310 posts a mais do que em 2021!

156 posts criados (4%)

3.975 posts reblogados (96%)

Blogs que você mais reblogou:

@siempre-bucky

@babbushka

@bestintheparsec

@callsign-milano

@leatherboundriot

Eu marquei 495 posts meus em 2022

#stranger things - 41 posts

#iamburdened talks - 41 posts

#star wars - 29 posts

#eddie munson - 27 posts

#stranger things spoilers - 20 posts

#strangerthingsedit - 19 posts

#top gun maverick - 18 posts

#the mandalorian - 18 posts

#kenobi - 17 posts

#stranger things 4 spoilers - 14 posts

Maior tag: 120 caracteres

#in contrast to lonnie putting him down and saying that joyce is 'fragile' ... actually something that can be so personal

Meus principais posts em 2022:

#5

Once you know about the headcanon of Rooster and Hangman being exes you can’t unsee it. Watched Top Gun Maverick twice after it and I can 100% confirm that is EXACTLY what is going on there. There is absolutely no other explanation to that

329 notas - publicadas em 3 de setembro de 2022

#4

Netflix Brazil just made Jamie Campbell Bower make a video apologizing to Joseph Quinn and the fans for killing Eddie and Chrissy. This is my new favorite thing. Link

336 notas - publicadas em 8 de julho de 2022

#3

I just watched Scream (2022) and I can’t even begin to express how much this film means to me, how my heart was so full of love and nostalgia when I left the theater.

Scream (1996) was a love letter to horror movies. Scream (2022) is a love letter to horror fans.

I appreciate it, I will forever cherish it. Wes would be proud. We are proud. Thank you 💙

641 notas - publicadas em 13 de janeiro de 2022

#2

Joseph Quinn read the script, saw what they were going to do with Eddie Munson and said “fuck you, I can do better” and fucking did. Good for us him.

788 notas - publicadas em 2 de julho de 2022

Meu post nº 1 de 2022

of all the changes Kenobi is bringing to canon, the one that keeps bugging me (because it hurts) is that Leia did not name her son after a great Jedi who helped save the galaxy

she named him after a man who, from the first second she met him, had been protecting her with his life, risking everything to bring her back to her family. someone who taught her about this mysterious force and showed her unbelievable wonders.

but canon Ben Solo hated his name ever since he was a child because in his eyes it came with the expectation of being this great hero when he wanted to be his own person, and in reality, Ben is a name that brings comfort and safeness to Leia.

830 notas - publicadas em 10 de junho de 2022

Veja a sua Retrospectiva 2022 →

#its in brazilian portuguese but you get it #tumblr2022 #retrospectiva #Minha Retrospectiva 2022 #Sua Retrospectiva 2022 do Tumblr #year in review #my 2022 tumblr year in review #your tumblr year in review

[filmbrokiller]

Recently Rewatched: Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind (2004) Dir. Michael Godrey

When I first watched this film, I bawled in my darkened bedroom for reasons I couldn't understand. I knew the point of the movie but it would take me years to mature and experience enough for it to seep into my bones. Once I had my first boyfriend, who I naively believed I loved despite only knowing him for 2 months and it ended, as most high school relationships do, just as fast as it started it finally clicked. My immediate response was to hate him for breaking my heart so carelessly but as I was able to reflect I could see that the gentle moments eventually eclipsed the aching pain in my gut leaving the football games and movie nights as fond memories and not fuel for my burning resentment.

Pain is unavoidable in anything we live. Life is brutal and its unfair and unrelenting but it is also gentle and kind, incandescent and lovely in so many important ways. That is a fact yet most of us spend so much of our lives searching for an existence only consisting of joy, we fear pain and don't understand why it aches so much to live and why it must be that way. Anxiety always stops us from having desired experiences we feel are too risky or too scary and the wish to be perfectly happy and devoid of suffering overtakes our yearning for positive experience. However, without pain we are stagnant souls, coddled and spoiled with the goodness of life with no ability to appreciate the joyful moments we so long for.

The moments that remain, after the tender bruises fade, are the ones that we push to the backs of our brains. The sacredness of intimacy and the connection we have to another person are the things that shape our souls into a human being with more tenacity than before.

This film means so much to me, it's endlessly beautiful both in its technical aspects and its sentiments. I love love love this forever and because of this, I will try my hardest everyday to treat pain as a gift and a lesson, dive headfirst into the possibilities, and cherish the journey!

#eternal sunshine of the spotless mind #charlie kaufman #jim carrey #kate winslet #romance movies #life lessons #beautiful

[thegizardofmars]

💘

3 ways to win your heart?

Thank you for the ask anon😊

Honestly it don't take very much😂 however, these are 3 things that'll make me melt everytime

1. You let me info dump on you about my hyperfixations. I freakin love it when I'm allowed to enthusiastically talk your ear off about something I'm currently obsessed with and if you ask me follow up questions about current hyperfixation? DUUUUUDE you've done it, you've won my heart and I will cherish you forever. You don't have to understand or even be interested about what I'm talking about all you gotta do is let me go off lol

2. Be patient with me. Due to mental health reasons I have a bad habit of withdrawing and isolating from everyone. It's a habit I'm trying to kick and I do give a big effort to communicate during these episodes to let people know that it's not personal, I'm just having a moment😑 also having a conversation with me can be annoying cause I love to talk but my speech can be a little disorganized and rambly and often I'll kinda forget what the hell I've been talking about mid sentence lol. So yeah patience is a must💕

3. If you have a sense of humor, preferably if we have similar taste in comedy? *chef's kiss* exquisite. Humor means a lot to me❤️. Monty Python, Mel Brooks films, Buster Keaton, Memes, Lucille Ball, Rik and Ade, Leslie Nielson, John Mulaney, Drew Gooden, Danny Gonzalez, Kurtis Connor, Hugh Laurie and Stephen Fry, if you're a fan of 1 or more of these? You've won my heart bro :3

#im sorry this turned out so lengthy😂 #asks #ask game

[feysandfeels]

I just watched your feyre monologue and I love it!!! Your accent is so good it’s unbelievable, how did you learn this? Have you lived in the US for a while or did you grow up bilingually? Cause really it’s amazing. Also is there any play or tv show online where you acted? I wanna see more, I’m a fan now lol! You should act out more from ACOTAR. Aren’t there fan accounts with a ton of followers who act out scenes of the series? I bet you’d do well

My dearest anon,

I am going to be fully honest with you this made my day and my week and essentially my life in such a way. Truly thank you for checking it out and for leaving me this nice message that I will cherish forever. Words will fail me to convey how much this means to me, so I will say that I took a screenshot of it and I will get it printed so I can carry it in my wallet forever.

I was kind of scared on Sunday talking with my dad about this whole acting thing and what's coming up in the next few months and to receive this message was like a sign from heaven so thank you, bless you and I owe you a cookie or cake or whatever makes you happy. The second I'm on something you can watch I will let you know for fucking sure.

Well I was thinking about filming another ACOTAR one.. I have a few reworked scenes to make them fit the monologue format. So if I upload another one I shall let you know or if you have any ideas of scenes you think would be cool to see send them my way for sure.

Regarding the english thing, little known fact... I was actually born in the uk and essentially it is my mother tongue as I only learnt Spanish when I moved to Colombia a couple years later. Then I went to a british-colombian school and yeah I have always spoken English, despite the dumb mistakes I make (trust me I make them in Spanish too jajajaj). I just currently have an American accent because of the media I consume, but when I was in the UK a couple years ago I had slightly britisher accent which still slips out every now and then.

Again, thank you thank you thank you. Mil y mil y mil gracias. I will cherish this forever.

I'm sending you all my love.

#FeysandfeelsAsks #Luisa Rambles

[samuel-de-champagne-problems]

All Too Well

Summary: Reader finds herself reminiscing on a long gone relationship that she remembers all too well. The image of the woman in the moodboard doesn’t accurately depict “reader” as she is a self insert character. I wanted to include images from the All Too Well Short film that you can find on YouTube (highly recommend if you haven’t seen it yet!)

Warnings: Toxic relationship, implied age gap, an incredibly unhealthy amount of TS references

Word Count: 4700

Paring: Spencer Reid x Female Reader (Angst without a happy ending)

Author's Note: A fic that I thought I would never actually finish. There's an absurd amount of Taylor Swift references. I really hope you enjoy this! And special thanks to my wonderful friend @reidsbookclub for reading and giving me kind words!! This fic has taken me pretty much months to write. I really appreciate all reblogs, comments, and tags!! I hope you enjoy this, it does break my own rule about sad endings, but I think we can all make an excuse for All Too Well.

MASTERLIST | LATEST FIC | TELL ME WHAT YOU THOUGHT

ALL TOO WELL

Loving him was like making an oath. I made it my sacred oath to cherish what we had before he tore it all up. It was something rare. We’re just skin and bone, bruised and blue by the love affair that left me on the stairs crumpled up like a discarded scrap of paper. The kind of paper with a messy, half thought out note. Something careless and unimportant. Something long forgotten and stuck in time. Frozen behind glass, a forever winter longing for her summer sun.

I would have been his summer sun. I wish I could have been his only one. But his love was a faithless hoax I believed in. I contorted myself till my bones threatened to snap. I loved him with my entire soul, the same soul that he left covered in dust and fractured in thousands of shiny pieces reflected light onto his soulless eyes. He left me bruised and betrayed, but still begging for his bogus benevolence.

Maybe if I retraced my steps I’d be able to figure out when everything fell apart. If I had to guess, it was our first encounter in the lecture hall. His love burned me to the core, but at least we were electrified. And even now, I can still feel it surging through my veins.

Or maybe not. Maybe I gave myself the sign the moment my lifeless frame cowered away at his empty touch. Maybe I should have reconsidered falling for the face of a traitor disguised as the closest thing to a miracle.

Falling in love with Spencer wasn’t like tripping over a forgotten pair of shoes and catching myself with both of my hands firmly on a chair. Loving Spencer Reid was a full on car crash. It’s a collision that knocks the wind out of me, leaving me with nothing to do, but lick my wounds and hope I’ll make it out alive. The impact should be the part that hurt the most. But it's what comes after that’s the worst. Again and again I’m in that car crash, wondering if I made it out. Constantly trapped in an endless cycle, letting him ruin me over and over again. All for what? Stolen glances in lecture halls? Regretful kisses in elevators? Wearing his cardigan, kissing in his car again? The chance that man that was never mine, might want me to be his?

I remember his voice.

His voice echoed in the lecture hall Professor Reid called his classroom. I was always early to class and he was always running late, meaning every Tuesday and Thursday we crossed paths. Him leaving and me going, even now with the knowledge and wisdom of hindsight on my side it all makes so much sense. But maybe I’ll just allow myself the peace of being a beautiful fool.

He’s much younger than the rest of the tenured staff, making him the object of many students’ affections. I can’t say I blame them, or myself for that matter, even. He’s handsome in a dorky way. And he’s dorky in a handsome way. But there’s so much more to him beneath the surface. I can see in the way his hands grip the strap on his satchel or the way his fingers fiddle as he explains questions to students. But I can see it most in the way he looks at me.

His back was turned towards the white board as he frantically wiped away the messily written words. I’ve heard rumors about him. Young undergrads gushed about how cute he was, teaching assistants swapped stories about his time in a prestigious FBI unit, other professors rolled their eyes at his youthfulness, but even they couldn’t resist the very strange charms of Spencer Reid.

He must have heard me coming in, because Spencer turns around towards the noise. He gives me a tightlipped smile and a friendly nod before turning back towards the white board. I can hear him muttering under his breath. His voice, somehow, is soft yet commanding. There’s something about it that makes me want to hang on to every word he says.

“Do you need some help,” I asked him, regretting it the moment I said it from the way he looked at me. Relief washed over his face as he nodded a silent yes.

“I’m awful at technology,” he admitted, “Are you in my class? I’m usually pretty good with faces and names. And even if I wasn’t, I should remember a face like your’s,” he told me, his thinly veiled attempt at flirting in that moment made me feel special. But now it leaves a bad taste in my mouth. I was nothing but a shiny new toy for him to play with and discard when he realized that my reflection needed something to bounce off.

“I, that’s very kind of you to say,” I told him. I hoped that the tremor in my hands didn’t give away just how much his words affected me, “But no. I’m a grad student. I have Professor Patel in about ten minutes, I just like to get here early. Ahh, there, Professor, you just need to make sure you keep saving your work. I know it’s a pain,”

“Spencer,”

“Excuse me?” I asked, sneaking a glance upwards at him. He’s so tall, but not imposing like some tall men are. Spencer Reid is tall and very handsome, but the kind of tall and handsome that doesn’t need to boast about it. I’ve concluded that he knows he’s tall and handsome and therefore doesn’t feel the need to tell women just how tall and handsome he is. Or, conversely, he doesn’t care that he’s tall and handsome. Considering that he often had this far away look in his eyes, like his brain was running on overtime all the time.

“Considering that I’m not your professor and that you’ve taught me something, I think you should call me by my name. If you want that is,” he explained as he leaned down to check the progress on the revived document I saved. As he leaned, Spencer rested his arms on the edge of the desk. His rolled up sleeves and quiet timbre of his voice made me want to dive deeper into the gold rush of adrenaline and emotion he made me feel, even in the short time I’ve known him.

Somehow, I could see what’s hidden behind the surface. What’s behind those kind eyes, the kind of eyes with an indescribable color. Sometimes brown, sometimes green. Maybe one day I’ll forget innocuous details like the color of his eyes. When it’s long gone and there’s nothing I can do, maybe for my own sake I’ll convince myself that his green-brown, kind eyes are forget-me-not blue.

Because even though I burned, I hope he’ll never forget me standing there in a nice dress with red lips that match his perpetually rosy cheeks. He’s younger than he seems. Spencer doesn’t look old, but wise.

Other students knew Spencer as Professor. Staff knew him as colleague. But I knew him as Spencer. I convinced myself, in spite of all the signs he must have given me that the Spencer I knew, that the Spencer I would have loved with my dying breath, was the real Spencer. And now, with Spencer-shaped scars surrounding my soul, I’m not sure about much of anything anymore.

“See you Thursday-”

“Y/N,” I said, intercepting what I knew he was going to ask. I’ll remember it forever, the sound of my name on his lips. Even though I’ve only heard it once at that moment, it was my favorite sound. I’ll replay it in my mind, like a film with an ending that tears me up every time I watch it.

It’s also the first time I saw him walk away from me. But certainly not the last.

I remember the way he smelled.

If Spencer sounded like everything good in this world, Spencer Reid smelt like fall.

The autumn leaves fell down like pieces into place. The leaves, some fiery reds and some soft yellows mixed into an unseemly brown. The leaves crunched under our shoes as we walked side by side, hand in hand. I tried to act cool when Spencer held my hand, even though it felt like my heart wanted to burst outside of my chest.

“Come on,” he teases, a strange look of youthfulness on his face, “It’s not that hard, Y/N,” Spencer says, my name on his lips makes my heart erratic. Everything about him makes me erratic. His spicy cologne, the way he held my hand as we walked up the path, the way his jacket fits around my shoulders. Everything about Spencer makes me completely and utterly dazed.

Spencer drags the bike along the path with one hand as he keeps the other interlocked with mine. He looks over at me smiling. He’s beautiful with the sunlight basking behind him. I can get lost in him. Lost in the way his eyes never leave my face, lost in the way his voice says my name like a secret language, lost in all of him that’s only for me. But in reality I never lost him, because I never had him. Somewhere along the line we got lost in translation.

“I’m scared,” I whisper as we walk further and further along the path, “I know it’s silly. I’m nearly 23 and never learned how to ride a bike,” I chuckle, the self-deprecation masked as humor natural to me. Spencer doesn’t laugh. He stops walking to look at me.

“Hey, don’t do that,” he says, nearly making me stumble with his firm tone, “It’s okay to be scared, Y/N. This is new and you can get hurt. But I’m here, to catch your fall. Besides, I brought Bandaids,” he says, eyes twinkling with laughter. I could never quite pinpoint how old Spencer is. Sometimes he’ll laugh and seem like a little kid with glasses, but other times he’ll smile at me and face will flood with lines and crinkles.

“I trust you,” I whisper, trusting myself to trust him with every ounce of my being. I’ll do anything to keep him smiling at me like that. It makes me, in a strange way, feel complete in a way I’ve never been completed. Maybe it’s soulmates or twin flames or just a figment of my worst intentions, but whatever I’ll spend forever wondering if I should have run as I as I could have.

“Alright,” Spencer says, breaking the silence that falls upon us. With Spencer I don’t feel like I have to fill the silence gaps with senseless conversation. When I’m with him it feels like I’m home somehow. I can see a sliver of the little kid with glasses he used to be. Back when he’d crawl into a twin sized bed after weekends spent traveling the world in cardboard box ships and afternoons clutching home lunchboxes in sweaty palms.

He adjusts my scarf around my neck and I can feel his rough fingertips brushing against my skin. I know now that his expired touches will linger longer than I’d want. And I hope that the scarf he can’t get rid of reminds him of me. Remnants of a love affair tainted with his woodsy cologne; the intoxication of needing to be loved so blindly.

It was this woodsy, sage and cinnamon cologne that Spencer wore as he steadied me on the bike with his hands on my waist that’s stayed with me even since I watched him leave.

“I won’t let you fall,” Spencer said to me. He whispered into my ear, making the hairs on my skin stand up at his closeness. I shivered, still not used to having someone as magnetic as him so close to me.

“Promise?” I ventured. Looking back I think that perhaps what Spencer said wasn’t about that bike ride at all. Maybe he was talking to himself. Maybe he was, as his hands melted into my skin and his words warmed my brittle heart, willing himself not to fall in love with me. But I fell, not on what I thought was shared, sacred, special holy ground. No, I fell for him. And broke my bones and lost myself in the process.

“Promise,” Spencer whispered, in what, at the moment everything I wanted to hear, but furthest from the truth, “I’m going to let g and all you have to do is pedal and, well, not crash,” he added, the layer of dorky humor bubbling to his mind-numbingly attractive exterior.

“Okay,” I shouted, nervous as he let me go. My waist felt empty without his hands resting against my body. I could hardly hear him as I pedaled down the winding path.

The blaze of colorful autumn leaves rushed past me. In a way, I felt like I was soaring through the sky, flying above the trees. If I strained my ear, I could hear Spencer shouting in the close distance. I broke hard and planted my feet firmly on the ground. Spencer, beaming with what I desperately hoped was pride, jogged towards me.

“I did it!” I exclaimed, allowing myself to be proud of my grossly overdue accomplishment. Spencer’s warm smiling filled my cold soul.

“That’s my girl,” Spencer said. He kissed me on my forehead, holding my face in between his two hands. In hindsight, maybe I shouldn’t have allowed myself to get swept away by Spencer. I’ll do anything he says if he says it with his hands. I’ll betray myself a million little ways for the scraps of affection he’ll toss my way.

In that moment, with him holding me close, kissing my face, and calling me his, I knew that it was far gone. I knew that Spencer Reid had ruined me. And, even now, I think I liked it. Because, at least for a little while, I was his.

I remember the way he touched me.

“Are you even real?” I whispered into the blue soaked bedroom. It was neat and tidy. Spencer had books scattered around the room, some are under faux plants, some are collecting dust tucked away in the corner.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Spencer asked. He pushed stray pieces of hair behind my ear. His lyrical smile plucked my heartstrings.

“It’s just,” I started, doubting myself, doubting what we had, even then, “it’s just, sometimes I feel like I made you up,”

He didn’t say anything after that. He just kissed my forehead as he slipped out of his crumpled bed. Spencer turned around to face me. He extended his hands, giving me an excuse to touch him again. And I’ll take it every time.

“Dance with me?” Spencer asked. The question barely slipped from his tongue before I clamored from the bed. His flannel shirt, engulfing me in his scent, slipped from my shoulders.

I nodded yes, marveling at how beautiful he looked in the deep blue hue that drowned the bedroom. The warm yellow light from the bathroom forms a halo behind his angelic face. Maybe I should have known that my eclipsed sun had a deceptively crooked halo. But I was blinded by his heavenly touch that I missed the hellish aftermath it put me through.

We swayed together, my face pressed up against his chest. We danced with the bathroom light illuminating the flaws we tried to hide from each other. He kissed me like I’ve never been kissed before. I believed his empty promises because I craved his even emptier touches. They felt real in the moment. His calloused fingertips brush over skin that begs for his attention.

I don’t think I was ever a religious person. Maybe it was the idea of pledging belief in the intangible that never sparked something in me. I may not believe in much, but I did believe in Spencer. Even though he burned me, bruised me, betrayed me, his faithless love is the only hoax I believe in.

It was moments like that, frozen in time, that I hoped hard enough that what we had could last forever. He held my cold body close to his, drawing shapeless shapes over my bare skin. Bashful and shy, when he blushed at my delight over his childhood photos I saw the tiniest sliver of the little boy with glasses that slept in a twin sized bed. I wonder, looking back, if his bed is cold without me now. If he regrets telling all about his past like the thought his future was me.

I remember he left. When I felt so cold and lifeless and empty with his hands all over me. For a man that couldn’t say he loved me, he certainly touched me, kissed me, worshiped me like he did. I suppose, now, it was just a false love, worshiped at a false altar with a false prophet chanting my name.

I miss his hands, warm and big, that burned into his flannel shirt he let me wear. Just like Spencer’s baited breath is the only soundtrack I want to dance to, his borrowed touches are the only touches I care to feel.

I remember how it tasted when he left me.

The buttercream icing was too sweet. It was so thick that I felt like I had to swallow three times before I felt like I could breathe again. I was on borrowed time. It was only moments before my winning smile would give way to the painful frown that I hid so gracefully.

I remember it all too well. Standing there in my party dress with red lipstick missing the only person I cared to see. I guess, looking back, I felt unmoored as I watched my friends dance under the mirrorball without the pain of being unloved.

The sweetness gave way into bitterness as the night matured. It became harder and harder to play the part of the ever-shiny jewel. I remember that I started with passion at the mirrorball high above my head. I wondered if I started long enough I’d be able to see my own reflection materialize before me. I wondered too, against my best intentions, that if I hoped enough he’d show up too.

It was hard to be at a party when all I felt like was an open wound. And what you don’t know is how much harder it is to heal that wound when the only one that could fix it couldn’t be bothered to show up.

Glitter littered the floor, along with empty bottles and expired laughter. Alone, I sat on the hardwood floor wondering if my borrowed time with Spencer had finally turned sour. It would be a lie to say that I couldn’t have seen this coming. But it would be a lie that I’d like to ignore. Instead, I’ll pick up the rose colored glasses to watch our ill-fated illicit affair in irresistible rose blush.

Lost in the memory, I almost missed the frantic knocking at the door. Standing there, looking like hell, Spencer leaned against the doorframe. If I liked myself more, I would have kicked him out. But I didn’t, I thought I loved him more than life itself. I suppose now I loved him enough to justify hurting myself. And maybe, if Spencer loved me in return he would have known to not string me alone for entertainment.

“What are you doing here?” I asked, unable to speak to him in a potent tone. All I wanted was to jump into his arms, even if it would kill me.

“It’s your birthday,”

“It was,” I replied. I spat the words through my teeth, hating the way that Spencer’s intelligent eyes and warm hands made me want to forgive his indiscretions with a nonchalant wave and a pained-masked smile. I’ve found myself bending with Spencer. I bent when I met his friends, lost in their world of children and spouses and opinions on fancy bottles of wine. I bent when I pretended not to love him in front of colleagues at university banquets. I bent when I swallowed my sorrows when he didn’t show up that night.

If I bent anymore, my bones would break in half. And, somehow, standing there in my party dress with my lips painted in red lipstick, I knew that Spencer wouldn’t be around to mend them.

“I’m sorry, Y/N,” Spencer said, maybe saying out of obligation more than truth, “I got caught up in something and I just…”

“Save it,” I told him as I turned on my heel to clean up the bottles that lay forgotten on the floor, “I get it. You’re too important and special and wonderful to be bothered with my frivolous friends and their frivolous parties,”

“You know that’s not true,” Spencer retorted, letting the half deflated balloon fly up to the ceiling, “You’re overacting, Y/N,”

“I’m overacting?” I shouted, feeling the last eight months of swallowing my words threaten to come back with a vengeance in my throat. I can still recall the way the weight of him festered inside of me. Like a wine stain that I can wash away, no matter how hard I scrub.

“Yeah and you’re acting like a spoiled child. It’s embarrassing,”

The sweetness is gone. The bitterness is washed away by something else entirely. I think I prayed that night. I prayed that the floor would swallow me whole. That I wouldn’t feel the way my eyes burned with tears. That I wouldn’t fight that all too familiar lump in my throat. That I wouldn’t have a tremor in my hands that I couldn’t shake. I prayed to feel nothing, because, in that moment I felt everything. Everything came back to me. The stolen touches in empty classrooms, the bike ride with the autumn leaves that crunched under our feet, the countless silent nights when I memorized the color of his eyes. I’ll remember it all, all too well.

“I embarrass you?” I asked him, wondering if the break in my voice breaks him too. I hoped it did. I hoped he realized that because I loved him so, hearing his words of ridicule broke me in return.

“Look, Y/N. You’re young. You’ve just got a lot of growing up to do-”

“I embarrass you?” I repeated, waving my hands in the air to wash away his words, “Do you even love me back?”

I never hated the silence. I thought I could hear it in silence. I thought that if I listened hard enough, I’d hear it in the way he looked at me, the way he touched me, the way he loved me.

“Y/N,” Spencer said, talking to me like I was petulant child with a wild imagination, “Come on,”

“No, Spencer. You don’t get to tell me to come on. You don’t get to minimize what we had. You don’t get to call the narrative when it suits you. You have to call it what it was,” I shouted at the top of my lungs, not caring that the entire apartment complex was privy to our fallout.

“You’re making a big scene out of nothing,” Spencer retorted, running his hands through his hair as he looked at the floor, “I think you’re drunk and tired and confused,”

“I loved you,” I whispered, stepping so close to him that I could see the way his skin crinkled around his eyes, “I loved you with every fiber of my being. I remember it, Spencer. I remember what we had, I remember how you loved me,”

“Please,” Spencer scoffed, his annoyed tone hurting more than an angry one ever could, “I’ve…we’ve”

“You kept me like a secret, Spencer. But you…you were an oath to me. You were everything I ever wanted. I was everything I ever wanted to be with you,”

“I think…I think we’re done here,” Spencer whispered, tucking my hair behind my ear one final time, “Maybe, Y/N. Things could have been different if it weren’t for time. Maybe if we were closer in age. Yeah, maybe it could have been different,”

And that. And that made me want to die.

I should hate Spencer. I should hate him for stringing me along, making me believe that he loved me back. I should hate him for ruining me. But that’s the thing. It’s so sick how much I don’t hate him. It’s sickening how much I still love him. How can I hate him when I love him? But what is loving Spencer if it makes me hate myself?

Watching him in the rearview is like watching a silent movie with characters that are achingly familiar. Tragically beautiful and doomed fall apart. I can see us, twin flames, lost in the memory watching what we had slipped into a moment of time. I’ll come to hate it. Time, not Spencer.

In hindsight, I knew I should have seen the signs. The way he’d look over his shoulder in public, or the way he'd come to me after cases, when the dark of night was a twisted veil that covered our sins. Tragic and fated to fall apart. It’s sickly Shakespearean with a mix of old Hollywood. But in the movies, he’d love me back and wouldn’t push me away when the sun peaks in through the blinds.

I’m not sure of many things anymore. I’m still trying to pick up the pieces of my fractured soul. When our souls parted, I fell apart. It was like a part of me fell apart at the seams when our souls parted. When he turned his back on my and darkened my wistful daydreams. When he turned my blissful ignorance into scorned apathy.

I can see us, even now, dancing in the star-drenched dead of night. Our quiet heartbeats and the steady hum of the refrigerator are the soundtrack to a bruising illicit affair. I can feel Spencer’s words, drunk on the idea of me, as we waltzed together in step. I can’t do that anymore, but all of it reminds me of him. It’s hard to dance when all you feel like is an open wound. It’s hard to feel anything when you feel nothing. It’s hard to move on from something that wasn't much of anything.

We all want to be the main character in someone's love story. Desperately, we’ll cling to this notion of happily ever after and look longingly into the distance for a 35mm camera to capture the magic that unfolds. I suppose that we’ll learn too late that we’re not the star, shiny bright and never dull. We’re lackluster. We’re dented. We’re nothing like was promised.

After all these days, I still dream of being the main character in his love story, but he ripped that paper out letting it lay crumpled on the floor, forgotten and tarnished. Maybe one day I’ll wake up to a fresh page. The crinkles that he abandoned me with will be smoothed out like I’m brand new. What’s passed is the past, prologue in the story of everything.

He persists, preserved in my memory. Time might fly by, but I’m paralyzed by it. I’m still trying to find my old self again, while being scared for what awaits me in my own reflection. Will I see the scars that he left? Will I feel the emotional bruises he left. Will I ever be a fresh page on the desk, writing my love story as I go?

But he keeps my old scarf from that very first week because it reminds him of innocence and it smells like me. He can’t get rid of, after all this time, because he remembers it all too well.

I knew he’d linger on my lips. Slow to leave like the last train from the station. I knew that I’d miss you as the dust settled on my frozen form. I knew that he’d be all over me, and nothing I could do would change what we had. If only, if only Spencer Reid had loved me enough to call it what it was.

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[vampkaashis-wife]

permanence

a fic for @goreist and @sakusins ’s Sakusa Kiyoomi film festival collab

wc: ~3.5k

Sakusa Kiyoomi was no stranger to death, but he wished fervently to meet it just once. 

When you live as long as he has, it comes with the territory. Death is as much a part of life as anything else - it’s a milestone that he’s seen countless people toward, though never able to reach himself. In fact, he’s seen more than enough people pass every milestone: birth, adolescence, marriage, silver and gold anniversaries, childbirth, children’s marriages, graduations, promotions, store openings – and the last one, the inevitable one: death.

“Isn’t it nice living forever?”

“I wish I could stay young like you!”

It’s not nice, he wants to tell them. It’s not nice, and it’s so disconcerting to never age. He hadn’t minded much until the day his wife looked at him for so long that he had to shift in his seat.

“Is.. There something on my face?”

She smiled, as she always does. It was one of the sad smiles, the kind that mean she’s realized something about the world or herself or him. “Your moles, sweetheart.” With an aged and weathered hand, she reaches up to push a curl away from his face. “Your moles, and not a wrinkle in sight.” Her eyes dart between his own.

He swallows thickly. Not a wrinkle in sight, nor a gray hair.

Kiyoomi gently grabs her wrist, pulling her hand down to rest on his chest. He has to be careful with motions like this now; she’s frailer than she’s ever been, though Kiyoomi remains with the strength of a twenty-four year old man. “Your wrinkles don’t make you any less beautiful to me.”

The smile, still as it ever was, melts into his words. “I know.”

And he means it. The wrinkles are indicative of a life well lived. The smile lines tell of joy. The gray and white in her hair tell of a time well-spent.

A time loving him.

A time he’s not sure he’s cherished as much as he should’ve, now that he’s watching it slip through his fingers like sand in an hourglass.

For reasons unknown, he never aged. He never aged, and never stopped telling himself, I’m still young. I have time. Because it was always “me” and never “we.”

It should have been “we.”

His wife is out of time, and there’s no way to give her some of his.

And for the first time, Sakusa Kiyoomi wished he was capable of dying too.

-

They say death is permanent.

They never say that life is too. Though buried and laid to rest, his wife lives in everything around him. Her favorite flowers are still sold at the florist down the street. The bakery she loved still smells like fresh baked bread every morning when he wakes up for a run. Their children still visit, still talk to their mom – though she is little more than a diary Kiyoomi refuses to put away.

The seasons continue to change, and the world continues to turn.

Kiyoomi continues to defy death.

His hair refuses to fall out and turn gray.

His joints and muscles refuse to lose a battle.

Life is permanent, and he wishes it wasn’t.

-

He’s not sure he remembers her face anymore. It worries him.

On rainy days like this, he likes to go to the library and stare wistfully out the window like the protagonist of a movie. He doesn’t feel much like a protagonist. Nothing very exciting happens to him anymore now that she’s gone.

She liked the rain, he remembers that. He remembers being pulled out to dance in it, scowling when his curls flattened against his forehead and rainwater driped into his socks. He remembers her laughing at him.

He doesn’t remember how the laugh sounds.

Idly, he turns the page of his book. It was her favorite. It’s his favorite now, for that same reason.

A clatter in the shelves brings his head up. There’s someone there.

He watches her pick up the books with a huffy kind of air. She doesn’t seem to know he’s there, tilting his head to watch her curiously. Something about her is familiar. Something…

He’s not sure he remembers her face anymore, but he’s fairly certain it looks like that.

Before he knows what he’s doing, he’s walking toward her. “Are you okay?” leaves his lips before he has time to wonder if it’s a good idea.

When those eyes look into his, he’s sure he’s got it right. It’s her. It’s his wife.

She says, “I’m fine, thank you,” and he’s hugging her and holding her as close as he can.

His wife, young, spry, and beautiful enough to warrant the stake in his heart every time he thinks about her.

Wriggling out of his grasp, she pushes him away.

Kiyoomi stares. Isn’t this a joyous moment? Didn’t he react as any man would?

Then she says, “Do I know you?” and the world tilts on its axis.

It’s not her; of course not. He was foolish to entertain the thought, he sees that now. Just because he’s some agglomeration of the defiance of nature’s laws doesn’t mean that there are no laws.

Death is permanent.

He would do well not to forget.

-

Death is permanent, but Sakusa Kiyoomi is starting to believe that it is not.

How else can he explain that every few decades, he encounters someone with the same face? Her face. The face he no longer forgets because he has had more than two, more than three, more than five lifetimes with her. Because he’s collected photographs and sketches and all other manner of evidence of her existence.

He doesn’t marry her every time. She doesn’t even like him sometimes, on the most fundamental of levels. But to Kiyoomi, every chance is a miracle, no matter what other factors occur.

-

By the time you meet him, Sakusa Kiyoomi is an enigma of a man.

He smiles just enough to seem inviting, but he says very little about anything at all. He looks at you with eyes like he knows you – something about you – despite having met you only a few months ago.

Somehow, those curls and quiet demeanor are more endearing to you than the people’s favorite, Hinata Shoyo. He’s a lovely guy, you can acknowledge that much. You really do appreciate Hinata for easing you into the managerial role.

He’d come with a strong recommendation from a friend of a friend of a coworker’s sister. A long chain of referral, to be sure, but they all assured that any team with Hinata Shoyo would feel right at home in no time, no matter how else the team perceived you.

And no one on MSBY Black Jackals makes you feel more perceived than Sakusa Kiyoomi and his stupid chocolate chip moles and his funky, funky wrists.

On days like today, his joints get a little stiff. They have a game later today, though, so your spiker needs to be in top shape. As the rest of the team prepares to go to the venue, you and Sakusa sit on the curb, his wrist in between both of your hands. Your thighs are basically touching, save for the fabric of each of your pants. His large hand follows through with your movements as you help him stretch and massage his wrist, trying to get it back to its usual mobility.

The team can adjust to the stiffness in his joints, of course. It’s Sakusa who is most frustrated by his compromised range of motion.

“How’s that feel, you old geezer?” You tease, continuing to massage his wrists.

He smiles softly. “Fine. These joints aren’t what they used to be.”

“You’re, what? 24?”

After a long pause, he says, “Yeah. Something like that.”

“Do you not know your own age?”

“I forget sometimes.” A hand reaches to rub the back of his neck. It’s endearing, to see such a big guy act so shy.

“Oh my god, you are old! Memory loss can be severe, Sakusa.” It’s a jab, but not a cruel one. With the way you’re smiling at him, he doesn’t even entertain the thought of you being any form of malicious. Anyway, you’ve done much worse than this before.

Not you, necessarily, but that face of yours for sure.

Slowly, he removes his hand from your grip. “Thanks. That helped a lot.”

But one thing you haven’t helped and one thing that spins through his mind at an unparalleled pace is the knowledge that he’s seldom felt joint pain like this before. It disturbs him in unusual ways. When you’ve lived as long as he has, not many things are new anymore. He’s acquired a number of degrees in various fields, has been involved in almost as many different industries, including, once, the entertainment industry. He didn’t show his face, of course, because the people would catch on to his unlimited youth if he kept himself in the public eye.

He's been in medicine too, but he has never felt the ache of joints so acutely. Is this what it means to be human? Is this humanity at its core? He’s never felt pain before, has never been able to die. Is the join pain indicative of-?

Assuming he’s somehow acquiring humanity… He’s not sure how he feels about it.

He thinks it’s possible that he’s afraid for once.

On the bus, he fights Miya for the seat next to you, spending the whole time napping contentedly on your shoulder. His arms stay crossed in front of his chest, his back bent a little funny to reach your shoulder, and his curls tickling your cheeks.

You curl yourself into him. If you’re falling in love already, that’s not something he needs to know.

-

This is torture.

Putting all of MSBY in suits is a terrible, terrible idea. Put them together with all the other professional athletes of their division, and you have the absolute worst place to be for work.

You’re dressed up tonight too, of course. It’s a charity gala type of event. You came with Hinata and Kageyama, since you’d gotten your hair done by Kageyama Miwa before arriving. You’d thought you looked stunning, but in comparison to all these suits… It’s amazing you haven’t passed out yet. The two of them have scampered… Elsewhere, busy greeting everyone else with Hinata’s whirlwind personality.

“Omi!” Normally, you would run to greet him, but the death contraptions on your feet convince you otherwise. You walk normally, a little slower than usual, and Sakusa continues to stand there in his all-black outfit. His shirt is striped, you see as you come closer. Thin stripes running vertically, as if he needs any help looking taller. His pants are snug around his waist in a way his athletic gear isn’t. For a moment, the image of him like this flashes through your mind, but in a suit all white with a carnation in the lapel.

You blink.

Are you delusional? Why are you imagining a wedding right now? But it doesn’t feel like imagination. It feels a little too real.

The pace of your walking allows him the time to observe every part of your outfit. His eyebrows scrunch, and you wonder if it looks worse than you’d anticipated. But when you get close enough, he reaches for your hand, placing a gentle kiss on the back of it. “You look lovely. This is a nice color for you.”

“Thanks, did you tell Miya that too?”

Sakusa wrinkles his nose in that adorable way he does. He shakes his head, his curls strangely static, trapped in the hair gel like they are. “I told Wakatoshi-kun that.”

“Make sure you tell Bokkun too before he throws a fit over it.”

“We’re wearing the same colors. Me and Bokkun.”

“Yes… But who wears them better?”

Sakusa wraps his arm around your waist. It’s a natural movement with none of the awkwardness you’re used to seeing from him in the presence of other women. An easy smile rests on his face. “You tell me, darling.”

“Bokkun. I vote Bokkun.”

Sakusa glances down at you, raising his eyebrows skeptically. “You’re lucky that you’re cute.”

“Or what?”

“Or I would’ve made your career so much harder than it is.”

“I dunno, Omi. It’s pretty hard already because you all act like teenagers.”

“I take offense to that.”

“Good.” You lean into him, your back against his chest.

-

It’s hours later that the real torture begins.

You’d forgotten, somewhat, how persistent men could be. You’d been faking a boyfriend this whole time to get away from this one – a reporter, you think, trying to extract information and certain favors from you.

Unfortunately, Sakusa is nowhere in sight. He’d be able to get you out of this by intimidation alone. You’re three seconds away from forgoing formalities and using physical force when your savior appears in a shock of orange hair and general excitement. He chatters to the man until he disappears, driven off by the fact that Hinata isn’t going to leave you here alone for a very long time.

The minute he’s out of sight, your legs give out.

“Whoa!” Hinata steadies you before you fall, gently holding you up long enough to line the floor with his suit jacket before easing you sit on it. “You okay?”

“I’m not not okay.”

He pauses, trying to figure out the double negative only momentarily before giving up. “What do you need me to do? How can I help?”

“I-“ This shouldn’t be such a difficult question, but nothing in your mind is connecting right now. Everything is a mess, and you want to go home and you want to forget the feel of that man’s hands on your wrist and shoulder. It wasn’t a lot, but it was enough to throw you off for the rest of the night. More than anything, it was the man’s demeanor that bothered you. Acting like you had no capability of rational thought, like you would respond to him exactly how he wanted simply because you were a woman and he was a man.

Hinata stays with you until you can breathe steadily again, ghosting his fingers over the places you keep staring at as if he knows without you speaking. He asks several times if he should get Sakusa, but you brush him off. For some reason, you don’t want him to know.

You return to the party and excuse yourself for the night. Hinata trails home after you worriedly, exchanging a glance with an unsettled Kiyoomi.

-

It’s the most unfair thing. Your night dancing with Kiyoomi with flushed cheeks and his hand against your back are erased so quickly and so completely. The way his eyes shimmered in the light, the way the tiniest smile graced his lips.

You push it to the back of your mind for the time being, hovering around Hinata, the only other one who knows your shame. He tells you often to ease up, to tell someone, to stop being ashamed of something that wasn’t your fault. He apologizes to you like he did something wrong. He helps you escape Sakusa when he sees you twitching, but even you can see the way his eyes harden to hide the truth behind it all.

And just like that, Sakusa Kiyoomi slips through your fingers.

He says nothing as you distance yourself, nothing as you inform the team that you will not renew your contract, nothing as you consult Miya about a job at his brother’s restaurant.

He lets you go as he has several times before.

The ache in his bones gets a little deeper.

He becomes more afraid to die. He can’t explain it, but this feels like the end. The end of both of you. And if the last time he ever sees you is like this, he’ll never forgive himself.

Death is permanent; Sakusa remembers this now more than ever as he debates what to do about it.

He remembers as he finds the strangest thing and bolts to your apartment. Knocking viciously on the door, he stands in the doorway, glancing at your packed boxes and empty walls. “I have a gray hair,” he says in lieu of greeting. “I- It’s gray.” There’s no time. This is confirmation that his time is running out, and if he wants to fix this, he has to do it now.

You raise your eyebrows tiredly at him, closing yourself off with arms crossed tightly across your chest. “That’s what happens when you age, Omi.”

“Exactly!” he says excitedly. Who gets excited about aging? “I’ve never done that before!” He knows he’s not making sense, not without the full backstory. Still, this means something to him. This is an accomplishment several hundred years in the making, and he did it on accident.

“People generally only go through the stages of life once, yes. What is happening here?”

“You’re not going to believe me if I tell you. But I’m going to tell you. Can I come in?”

And you let him in, and even though he’s vibrating with words unspoken, he first gently pries away the walls you’ve built around yourself.

He vibrates with something a little different by the end of it, his tear-stained shirt hiding a heart rubbed raw. It feels like this every time you get hurt. It feels like this every time he fails to be there for you – a memory of the very first time when he didn’t value anything enough until it was gone. A memory of cold dinners and harsh words and wedding rings forgotten on the kitchen sink.

He pulls you closer to his chest and lets you cry while he stares at the wall. Tracing words on your back, he tells you he loves you in all the different ways you’ve developed across the years. I love you. The moon is beautiful tonight. Have you eaten? I’m happier when you’re here. Please stay. I trust you.

At that moment, he renews his vows, the ones he makes every time you re-enter his life. “I promise you all of eternity,” he whispers, quiet enough that you can’t make out the words. “I will be right here by your side.”

-

By the time you get married, Kiyoomi’s hair is streaked with a little more gray, his smiley wrinkles appearing with intensity. Your matching jewelry – necklaces, rings, hair clips, bracelets – adorn his outfit almost every day in some form or another. He kisses you before he leaves the house and again as soon as he returns.

You talk to him a lot about everything and nothing. He tells you about the hundreds of years he’s been alive. It still sounds like a fable to you, but he has diaries and old photos and items you might find in an antiques shop, engraved with his name but weathered with time.

He asks about your favorite shows and books, about your childhood, about who you are this time. As many times as you tease him about knowing you from past lives, he always waves you off and asks about you, leaning forward with his elbows on the table and his chin resting on his hands.

He brings home trinkets and souvenirs from every place he goes, even if it’s just the convenience store down the street. He buys two of everything so you can share. He resolves every fight quickly, as if he’s afraid you’ll both die tomorrow.

By the time your home has returned to silence in the absence of your three children and their antics with their father, Saturday mornings are reserved for coffee with your lover. He’s sifting through various boxes from the attic today, the ones full of your children’s old homework and drawings. The nerf gun sits by his legs, though you’d long since lost all the bullets for it. Your daughter’s beloved elephant blanket is draped over his knee, a kids sized volleyball resting on his lap.

You’re on the couch staring at him over the rim of your coffee.

He catches you staring, smiling softly at you with his hands still occupied by old memories. “Is there something on my face, love?”

“Your moles. And your old man wrinkles.”

He chuckles. “What? Are you thinking about how much they mar my beauty?”

You throw a pillow at him, but he bats it aside with relative ease. “They don’t make you any less beautiful, Kiyo. Don’t be stupid. The wrinkles prove that you’ve lived a long life. The wrinkles from smiling prove that you’ve been happy. That I’ve made you happy. Your gray hair… You know what they say, that people who worry get gray hairs sooner. That’s why mine is still black.”

“As if you don’t dye it,” he murmurs. That faraway look enters his eyes again, the one you’ve come to know alludes to the resurgence of old memories.

He starts to cry.

Death and life are permanent, but so is his love for you and yours for him.

It ends the way it begins. “Thank you,” he says between shuddered breaths, wiping his tears with the old blanket. “For loving me.”

“Thank you,” you tell him, putting down your cup and pulling him closer to you. “For choosing me even when I didn’t remember.”      

#haikyuu fluff #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu scenarios #sakusa kiyoomi scenario #sakusa kiyoomi fluff #sakusa kiyoomi x reader

[bangtaus]

snap! 📸

short one shot for taehyung day!

warnings: smut, blowjob, mention of masturbating, dom!reader?

the wide smile and pure shock on your boyfriends face as he opened his birthday gift from you made you jump for joy.

“a camera?! baby, you didn’t have to- i mean- these are so expensive!!”

“nothing is expensive if it’s for you. i know you really wanted this one, and when i saw it at the store, of course i had to buy it. it was the last one in stock, like it was made for you!”

taehyung smiled wide, looking at the camera one more time before walking up to you with open arms. his entire body covered you as he held you tight in a warm embrace. “thank you, darling. i will cherish this forever”. he slightly pulls back, placing a soft kiss on your lips. walking back to find a place for the film camera in his hands, he gets an idea. he turns toward you, and quickly snaps a photo. “wha- tae no! please, i look so ugly right now. delete it!” he walk toward him, trying to take the camera away, but you failed.

he was way taller than you, so he held the camera toward the ceiling where you couldn’t reach it. you tried to jump for it, but tripped, causing you to fall on top of him toward the bed. his hands were placed around your waist, catching your fall. a moment of silence fell upon you both, as you stayed there for a while, admiring each other.

you slowly started to sit on top of his lap, running your hands up and down his chest. you gripped his shirt and pulled it out of his pants, unbuckling his belt as you moved your hips back and forth on his lap. the friction was quickly beginning to be too much, as you felt taehyung get hard under you.

you bit your lip, satisfied at how good he must be feeling right now, all because of you. you unzipped his pants and pulled them down a bit, just enough for his cock to spring out under you. you almost drooled at the sight of it- the way it was pink at the top and how it was oozing with precum already. you take him in your hand as you rub your thumb on his tip, spreading the precum all over. “what are you waiting for?” you speak softly, signaling to taehyung and the camera that he’s still holding. he quickly understands what you mean, and he snaps a picture of your hand around his cock. an ongoing high pitched sound echoed in the room before a white bordered photo emerged from the camera.

satisfied, you started pumping him slowly before picking up the pace a bit. “fuck- fuck that feels good” taehyungs moans like music to your ears. you loved the way you were making him feel, the way he was moaning for you. you begin to move your hand up and down his shaft faster, eliciting the hottest groans from your boyfriend. “oh fuck. fuck yes. i’m gonna cum”

as soon as he said this, you removed your hand and replaced it with your mouth. you took him in, sinking your head all the way down. snap! another photo.

you bobbed your head up and down, sucking him at the same time. he grabbed your hair with one of his hands as you looked up at him. the eye contact making him go insane as he snapped another photo.

“oh shit, y/n. you’re taking me like such a good girl. i’m gonna cum all over your face”

those two words. good girl. this was enough to make you moan around his big cock, sending vibrations through his entire body. you pulled your mouth away from him, and used your hand to send him over the edge, pumping him fast and hard. “come on, baby. cum all over my face. be a good boy for me”.

just like that, he came. his seed squirting all over your face. you pumped him slowly, helping him down from his high. eventually, you came to a stop. you took some of his seed off your cheek with your fingers and sucked them clean, taehyung snapping another picture of this.

after the photos were developed, you were getting ready to go to bed with taehyung. he couldn’t stop staring at the photos. “fuck you’re so hot, baby. now i can use these to masturbate when you’re not around” he smirks and you playfully punch his shoulder. he giggled. this night with you was the greatest present he could ask for.

“happy birthday, baby. sweet dreams”

—

happy tete day everyone!! <3

#bts imagine #bts au #taehyung imagine #taehyung fluff #taehyung one shot #taehyung drabble #taehyung smut #bts fluff #bts smut #namjoon smut #seokjin smut #jin smut #yoongi smut #hoseok smut #jimin smut #jungkook smut #jungkook fluff #jungkook drabble #jimin drabble #jimin fluff #taehyung angst #taehyung suggestive #bangtan smut #bangtan fluff #bangtan imagine #bangtan au #bangtan one shot #yoongi fluff #kpop smut #jungkook angst

[actualbird]

Been watching a video of a former art thief and a detective rating art heist scenes in movies and one that was shown was in a film called The Thomas Crown Affair. A thief steals a priceless Monet painting and its handled ROUGHLY, broken outta it's frame and BENT. IN. HALF to fit in a suitcase. It made me wince so hard and I can only imagine how much rage Marius would have felt at seeing such a scene a h a

KJBDJKGJDS THIS REMINDED ME OF AN EXCHANGE I HAD WITH A FRIEND WHO STARTED PLAYING TOT RECENTLY

UR RIGHT THO!! marius values art so fuckin much, he would BEYOND wince, he may just stop watching the show out of spite. you cant just show him a piece of art (a MONET!!!!) being mishandled like that without any warning!!!! whats the tv show equivalent of a rage quit? he does that if he sees this scene.

my brain went in another direction now tho, forgive me, but im thinking bout how precious art is to marius. not just his own, but like, all of it.

if anybody ever gave marius ANY piece of art, he would cherish it SO MUCH

a little doodle from mc goes on his fridge, pinned by a magnet. whenever she comes over she sees it and groans like "come on, i can draw you something better, take it down!!" and hes like "nope! if it's on the fridge, it stays forever! it's special now! ;)" and he pointedly does not tell her just how much that doodle matters to him, as silly and casual as the doodle is. it's on the fridge, it's special, he cant help but smile whenever he sees it.

luke gives him a tiny action figure that luke made himself and the action figure is now on marius' office desk at PAX. marius is not sure if this action figure has a button that makes it shoot a tranq dart, any gift from luke has the POSSIBILITY to be a fucking weapon somehow. still, he keeps it at his desk, making sure to get rid of any dust that gathers. feels as if theres a little soldier here now, protecting him from anybody who wants to go for marius' throat

vyn has never given marius a tangible thing but one time during one of their tutoring sessions, when marius was dead tired from lack of sleep and frustrated with how he couldnt think, vyn had gone to the piano in the study room and played a gentle melody to calm marius down. when marius asked what song vyn played, vyn shrugs and said it was a piece he was trying to write. marius has never forgotten the melody. he hums it to himself when hes stressed.

artem cant make most art at ALL but when marius voiced that he wanted to learn how to cook, artem had sent him a bunch of his own recipes. all of them take SO MUCH SKILL and marius is like I DONT KNOW WHAT SOME OF THESE WORDS MEAN but he knows that artem is trying, in his own weird way. and maybe marius likes the challenge. he keeps the recipes and laughs at artem's side comments about the cooking steps, and marius wonders if artem knows just how much of himself he's revealed in these words

art takes a lot of forms. the definitions of art just broaden even more when you yourself are an artist, and marius welcomes that.

is it a bad thing, to want to cherish more and more things? maybe. but if theres one thing marius will always believe in, it'll be art. and art from people he cares about is some of the most valuable shit in his life.

if u give marius art, hes basically never gonna leave u ever. good luck getting rid of him now, team!!!!

#tears of themis #marius von hagen #lu jinghe #funsizedkola #asks