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dotster001 · 4 months

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How they Get You under the Mistletoe, Part Two

Summary: Staff and Non NRC students x gn! Reader

A/N: IT IS 11:54 ON DECEMBER 25TH, SO I FINISHED THIS ON TIME LET'S FUCKING GO!

Part One

CW:It's in my pinned post, and I've mentioned this in a couple posts, but if this is the first of my stuff you've read, I view NRC as an actual college, so reader here is 18+. If it makes you more comfy, imagine it as grad school age. Also, use of alcohol in Crewel's part.

Dire Crowley

Rage Bait

The ghosts thought they were helping. They had decorated Ramshackle, and you were having a holiday party before your friends left for winter break. But they'd also put up mistletoe. And every time you tried to take it down, they'd float up and move it farther out of reach.

“Surely there's a special someone who'll be here tonight,” one of them said with a giggle.

“We just don't want you to regret not making a move, when you're our ages,” another one said with paternal softness.

You grumbled and stormed back over to the party, which was quickly getting out of hand. The later it got, more people showed up, and now there were more strangers than friends in your living space. And as though that wasn't bad enough-

“Prefect!”

You groaned when you heard the headmage’s voice. You turned around from the broken glass you were sweeping up, and sighed.

“What can I do for you, headmage?”

“I consider myself very generous, and can overlook a simple celebration, but this is out of hand.”

“Yah think?” You shouted, gesturing at the fight that had just broken out in the corner.

“How do you plan to shut it down?”

“I'm working on it!” You snapped, walking away with a dustpan full of glass, ready to sweep up the newest disaster.

“I have an idea,” he said, half a step behind you, not missing a single beat, despite the crowd doing its darndest to separate you.

“What is it?” You said, only half listening as you set down the dustpan.

He grabbed your arm, yanking you to the side.

“Kiss me,” he said with a wicked grin.

“What the fuck!”

He smirked even deeper, pointing up. And there was the mistletoe from earlier….but you could have sworn it was over there….

You made eye contact with one of the ghosts who winked at you.

“H-how is that gonna help?” You stuttered.

“Surely, your peers would find it unsettling to see the Headmage kissing his lover.”

“Lover?” You rolled your eyes. “You're not my lover-”

“But you'd like me to be,” his eyes twinkled.

“You don't even give me enough money to reward Grim when he actually passes a test.”

“Doesn't matter. I'm a handsome man. You can't say you're resistant to my charms.”

You pulled out of his grip and snapped.

“Oh please! If I was going to go for any of the staff, I'd go for Crewel!”

“Really?” His eyes narrowed. “Perhaps you're too scared to kiss me.”

“What!”

“You're worried that if you kiss me, you'll be forced to accept your feelings.”

“Shut up!”

“I'm a very generous lover-”

You slammed your lips against his, angrily. He kissed back with just as much force, his hands twining in your hair. The anger turned quickly to passion, and you were soon overwhelmed by the feelings inside you, shoving him away from you as you pressed your hands to your open mouth in shock.

He smirked, and you realized no one was in your dorm, except Ace, who was staring in complete disgust.

Divus Crewel

Double dog dare you

Vargas and Sam were both drinking with Crewel at the staff holiday party. It was meant to be a calm relaxed evening. But you'd shown up to interrogate the Headmage about something, and now Sam and Ashton were acting like fools.

“C'mon, man up!”

“We know you want to.”

“Gentlemen, please, let's be professional,” Divus grumbled as he threw back his glass.

“They aren't in your class anymore!”

“And my friends say that they are head over heels for you.”

“C'mon man up!”

“If you say man up one more time!” Divus scowled.

“If you don't, he will,” Sam snickered, pointing at Crowley, who did, indeed, seem to be trying to huddle you over to the mistletoe that someone had decided to put up for some reason. Though, the longer Crowley was shifting you, the clearer it became that this was a malicious plot.

“I dare you to swoop them up from under his wing, and give them a kiss they'll never forget,” Vargas said childishly.

Divus looked over at you, snatched Sam's drink, chugged it down, then stormed over to the both of you, buoyed on by the cheers of his friends.

“Scuse me Headmage,” he slurred, yanking you to him and kissing you sloppily.

…

When he woke up the next morning with a killer hangover, he would have thought it was all a dream. Until he saw you sleeping in a chair by his bed, holding a bucket full of vomit.

Mozus Trein

The Parent Trap

He'd invited you to the holiday party at his estate in the country. He thought it would be a low key way to introduce you to his daughters. If you got overwhelmed, you could blend into the crowd, or hide in his guest room upstairs, and no one would even notice you'd slipped away.

His daughters were a little too excited that he was dating again.

“Papa, you gotta!”

“It would be so romantic!”

The good news was, they liked you. Unfortunately (fortunately?) they might have been a little too excited.

“I'm not going to pull them away from the party, just to kiss them under a leaf,” he said with a glare.

“Don't worry, you don't have to pull them away!” Ania said with a smile, pulling out her magic pen. Unfortunately (fortunately?) Ania was incredibly gifted with flora magic. Materializing mistletoe above the two of you would be simple.

“I absolutely forbid it,” he hissed.

“Y/N! Over here please!” Darleen called to you. You politely excused yourself from the conversation you were having, and walked over to the group, eying his children nervously. Your gut instincts were definitely right.

“You don't have to-” Ania covered Trein’s mouth with her hand, giggling excitedly.

“What's going on?” You asked, eying him in concern.

“Just stand right there!” Darleen said, both daughters taking three steps back, before Ania quickly muttered a spell. You looked up and saw the mistletoe, your eyes widening. You looked over to his daughters, but they were already running away, hiding in the crowd.

You looked at Trein, feeling your cheeks warm as he stared at you with an empty expression on his face.

“We don't have to-”

He said, gently taking your hand in his, caressing the back with his thumb.

“I would be a fool not to accept this gift,” he said, sounding bitter, but there was light in his eyes. You smiled softly, and he leaned in and pressed a gentle kiss to your lips.

Ashton Vargas

Decoration Team

He'd somehow tricked you into decorating the employee lounge with him. You always thought he was more brawn than brains, but this wasn't the first time he'd tricked you into manual labor, so maybe you were the dumb one.

“Hah! Good work!” He slapped your back affectionately, and you stumbled into the table you were decorating, causing a couple of the tchotchkes you'd just placed to tumble forward. You frowned, and sighed, but he laughed again.

“Forget the table. I need you for something,” he snatched your wrist, dragging you to a corner of the room. Then, with absolutely no warning, he picked you up, and placed you on his shoulders. You gripped his head, absolutely terrified that you'd tumble.

“Don't worry. I got you. That's why I built up these muscles!” He momentarily let go of your left thigh to flex. This did not ease your panic.

He reached into his pocket and handed you something.

“Hang that on the ceiling right above ya! Let me know when you're finished.”

You stared at the mistletoe, and sighed. The sooner you put it up, the sooner he'd put you down.

“So, uh, is this a popular decoration for a staff party?” You asked, trying to ease your anxiety through conversation.

“Nah.”

“Nah? Done, by the way.”

He gently let you down from his shoulders, then turned you to face him.

“This won't get much use at the party. This decoration is for my….personal…enjoyment,” he purred as he took your chin in his hand.

Sam

*Gasp* you tripped!

Sam's shop always had weird things. But definitely the weirdest thing it had at the moment was the out of control mistletoe bush. A student had bought it, tried to cast a spell on it, then promptly returned it when he realized it was growing beyond his control. Normally, Sam had a strict no return policy. But he'd stared at it for moment, then agreed to the return.

It was the end of the night, and he was finally getting around to fixing it. He was simply staring at it, trying to puzzle out how to clean it up. You were staying far away. Partially because the monstrosity the mistletoe had become was horrifying beyond the realms of imagination, but also because….

You know…

Mistletoe.

Not that Sam wasn't unbelievably attractive. It just would be awkward if you both ended up near it. And Sam was a professional. He'd probably just laugh lightly and send you on your way. But still…it would be awkward.

Right?

“Sam,” you said, but he was so engrossed, he didn't hear you.

“Sam, I'm gonna clock out-” you had taken a step forward, but tripped over what felt like an outstretched leg, right into his arms.

“Ah! Are you alright, my little imp?” His voice sounded concerned, but the expression on his face didn't quite match.

“Y-yeah,” you said, trying to pretend you didn't notice just where you both were standing. He looked you up and down, rubbing your arms, as though looking for any injuries.

“You're certain?”

The mistletoe creature thing wrapped around the two of you, and you stiffened as you were pushed closer together. You tried to keep your mind off of the muscle you were feeling under his clothes.

“I know how to fix this. But should I?”

“Huh?” You gasped, mildly horrified about the implications.

“I can get out of this easily, but I could leave you as a sacrifice to the mistletoe.”

“What!”

He snickered. “Or we can make a deal.”

Uh oh. You've seen him do this to other people, but never to you….

“Sam, you write my paycheck. You know I don't have any money to give you.”

“I don't want money. But you do have something I want,” he leaned in so that your noses were pressing together. “I'd like your heart. Think that's a deal you can make?”

Neige le Blanche

Marketing Campaign

After the SDC, Neige had pushed to get his manager to take you on. And now you were a notable up and comer, doing projects with Neige.

This campaign was for a cologne. It was winter themed, with hints of cinnamon and cloves, and Neige was to be the figurehead of the campaign. But he'd been insistent that you be his partner in this ad. You hadn't tested the product, you hadn't received a script or any information, other than the fancy outfit you'd been given for the photo.

Your manager was quickly giving you the rundown as hair and makeup worked on you, and you were just kind of nodding along, until,

“Wait, say that again?”

“You're going to be kissing his neck while you stand under the mistletoe?” Your manager said.

You stiffened, earning a scolding from your makeup guy for wrinkling your forehead.

“I know it's a big jump for his image, but your face will be at an angle, so you might not be associated with the image cha-”

“Does Neige know about this?” You asked, your voice squeaking a little.

“Yes. Of course he knows,” you manager rolled her eyes, before continuing with the brief.

Your manager continued briefing you, but you felt light headed and couldn't focus on her words.

Now that you were on the photo set, you stood stiffly waiting for the photographer to pose you.

“Sorry, Y/N, I meant to tell you about the shift in my image, but I forgot.”

Would it be unprofessional to say that it wasn't the image shift that had you tense?

“Don't worry about it, Neige,” you tried to laugh it off, but quickly you were being positioned for the photo, Neige tilting his head back, fully exposing his neck, where it was implied that he had used the cologne from the campaign.

You were positioned with your lips pressed to his neck. You really doubted you even needed makeup for this shot, your face was barely visible, but whatever.

“I'm really sorry, Y/N,” he whispered, barely moving his lips as the camera whirred.

“Don't worry about it,” you whispered into his neck.

“Alright, slowly kiss up his neck, then you're gonna grab his hair and kiss him. Slowly. We want to do this in one take,” the photographer said. You felt your cheeks grow warm, and you made eye contact with Neige, whose cheeks were slightly pink.

“Sorry,” he breathed hoarsely.

“It's fine,” you whispered, following instructions, slowly, and kissing him, the taste of apples invading your mouth.

“Got it!” The photographer shouted, and you both separated quickly.

The photographer grinned at the photos on his camera, then raised that smile to you, giving you a wink.

“You were right, Neige, they were perfect for this one!”

You turned to Neige, your eyes wide, and you noticed he was heavily avoiding eye contact, his face bright red.

Rollo Flamme

Purity check

Can you tell from how I write him that I have religious trauma? 😂

Now that you'd been studying at NBC for a semester-long exchange program, you realized how close you'd grown to him. But still, sometimes you felt like you needed him to back off. You weren't a child, you could do what you wanted. Including-

“It's none of your business if I made out with someone!”

“There are rules to be followed on this campus. I don't know how they did things at NRC, but we have standards here.”

“Look! I didn't make out with anyone! And if I did, I don't need to tell you about it!”

You both glared at each other. He broke first.

“Come,” he said, grabbing your arm, and pulling you to the corner of the room where the mistletoe hung. He shot a glare at the couple that was using it, and they ran.

Come to think of it….this whole party was illegal. Why was he zeroing in on you? How was that fair?

“Kiss me,” he demanded.

“What!” You shouted, and his glare deepened.

“If you're worried about appearances, we are under the mistletoe, so it would be socially acceptable.”

“That's not-”

“Kiss me, and prove that you haven't been illegally kissing someone while at an illegal party,” he looked so fucking smug. Like he knew he'd won.

“How is that going to prove-”

“I'll taste someone on you. If you have nothing to hide, you have nothing to fear.”

“Everyone here is kissing people-”

“You're here to purify you from those mage’s poison-”

“You're insufferable!”

“Please just kiss him!” You'd forgotten the vice president was with him, too caught up in the anger you were filled with. “If you just do it, we can all go home! Please!”

You both glared at each other, then you sighed, and kissed him. When you pulled away, he pursed his lips, eying you up and down, his cheeks dusted in pink.

“Return to your dorm within the hour, and you won't receive detention.”

And then he waltzed out as though nothing happened.

Chenya

…I'm praying for your soul….

“Mwahahaha!”

You stiffened. You knew that laughter. He was here. You'd locked every door and window, just in case. You'd told him you were spending a quiet night in, when he'd stolen Ace's phone to text you. And you intended it to stay that way.

But that voice was nearby…

You grabbed a throw pillow from the sofa, preparing for the moment he would appear.

You felt something smack you in the face. You looked at the thing that hit you, that had fallen to your feet. You picked it up, rolling it around in your hands, before your eyes widened.

“Mwahahaha!”

“Wait…” you whispered, the implications of the mistletoe in your hands finally hitting.

The mistletoe was yanked from your hands, by an invisible monster. It reappeared above you, then a mouth was on yours. He tastes like stolen strawberries, and one too many desserts. The lips left yours, and you felt him disappear again. Then his tail appeared, wrapping around you, as you felt him set his chin on your shoulder, a purr making your heart rate calm.

“Mmm you're delicious. Glad I stole that little toy from Riddle,” he giggled.

“He doesn't know you're here, right?” You whispered.

“Hee hee,” he vanished with that giggle, as you heard.

“Y/N L/N! Relinquish the thief!”

....

Tag list- @shytastemakerthing @eccedentesiast-sapphic @leoll @stygianoir @lucifer5lucy

#twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland x reader #divus crewel x reader #dire crowley x reader #ashton vargas x reader #twst sam x reader #mozus trein x reader #rollo flamme x reader #neige leblanche x reader #chenya x reader

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ohnoitstbskyen · 1 year

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The overwhelming misery of going viral on YouTube

In April of 2021, I posted a short to YouTube - a 60 second video in the format of their TikTok competitor. In the nature of shorts, it was a one-minute, necessarily un-nuanced hot take about a subject I like to talk about: character design. Specifically I made the mistake of lamenting that the character design of female heroes in major games tend to prioritize attractiveness rather than using their body shape to do storytelling about their lives or capabilities.

It did okay, garnering about 38k views in its first month. Didn't set the world on fire, but I got my point out there, and while there were some crappy comments, for the most part people seemed to understand what I was driving at.

The short had eventually climbed to about 100.000 views after a full year of being online, which is respectable, but in the world of YouTube Shorts a fairly middle-of-the-road level of success (these are extremely short videos being served extremely quickly to a huge base of users). Fast forward to November 8th of this year, and... something happens. More than a year after it was originally published, it starts gaining traction.

Slowly at first, a few thousand views, but by the 14th it's gained 80.000 views in a day. On the 16th, 400.000, on the 17th, 680.000. I have no idea why this is happening, there's no influx of viewers from any outside source, there's no topical news event that would make the video suddenly relevant.

I tweet about it, bemused by the sudden jump, but also hinting a bit at the other side of this story.

"There Is No Such Thing As Negative Press"

On YouTube, there is on the systemic level very little difference between positive attention and negative attention. If you create excellent work that brings joy into people's lives, they engage with your video and the algorithm reads that as success. And if you create miserable, hateful content that makes people angry and stokes them to responses of outrage, disgust or jeering, the algorithm reads that as a kind of success, too.

Hate-bait and rage-bait YouTubers operate in that latter space, churning out inflammatory or distressing content, hoping to elicit either reactions of horror, or gleeful cheering from people who like it when their favourite online personality trolls the Other.

But there's another way to garner negative attention, and that is to create content which is not at all designed to bait or elicit a negative response, but whose subject matter nonetheless produces a negative response from a certain kind of person.

That is the unfortunate slip-and-slide I have found myself on.

At the time of writing, the short sits at 6.8 million views, has been gaining on average 2 million views per day, and it still seems to be accelerating. Despite those skyrocketing numbers, however, it only ("only") has around 1300 published comments underneath it.

That is because, after the first couple of million views, I told YouTube to automatically hold all comments for review. That is, YouTube allows users to comment on the video, but those comments are not published until I manually approve them.

The reason I did this is... well, it's easier to show you with some pictures. Content warning, these are unfiltered YouTube comments, so expect casual bigotries.

These are screenshots from the "held for review" tab of my YouTube Studio backend. YouTube in recent years has gotten good at filtering out content like overt racial slurs and the worst of the worst insults, which is nice, but the filtered comments tab is still not a particularly pleasant place to read through right now.

Most of the comments are like what you see above: casually rude, fatphobic, homophobic, transphobic or otherwise unpleasant. Some of the comments are more intense, threatening me with violence, insulting me personally, "I hope your mom gets raped by a [racial slur]," and worse. The worst comments are a small percentage, but as you can imagine, they do stand out in the mind, and a small percentage of a huge number can still be a lot of comments.

And that's the thing. There are hundreds, and hundreds, and hundreds, and hundreds of comments. I scrolled for fifteen minutes and did not see the end of it. YouTube doesn't keep a visible count on how many comments are held for review, but I'd not be surprised if the 1300 comments count would have been doubled if I hadn't stopped it when I did. And since the video is still accelerating, that number is likely to skyrocket as well.

This provides me with the best theory I have as to why the video took off: the YouTube algorithm started showing it not to people who it thought would like it, but to people it thought would dislike it enough to react, to comment. And the more people did comment, the more the algorithm showed it to other people just like those who commented, who were also likely to dislike it.

This causes a feedback loop of negative attention, which the YouTube algorithm (horrifyingly) interprets as a success and an incentive to keep pushing the video.

Moderating this comments section is now physically impossible - I would need a staff of a dozen to handle it, which I can't afford and who I wouldn't want to expose to it, and while this deluge is going on, moderating the comments of other videos becomes next to impossible as well, since the "held for review" tab is utterly monopolized.

One fix for this problem, of course, is to simply disable the comments. But in my experience, doing that only encourages the worst of the commenters to seek out your other content and leave even worse comments there instead. In fact, a couple of dozen particularly irate people have already sought out my other channels to post insults there, adding to the stress and workload of dealing with all this viral "success."

How YouTube Makes YouTubers Worse

This situation is stressful, because humans are monkey creatures with monkey brains that do not like being exposed to a constant stream of rudeness, cruelty and casual bigotry. However rational you try to be about it, however detached and cold, it wears on you. It chips away at your mental defenses and becomes a constant source of low-level stress and misery.

But as far as YouTube is concerned, it's a huge success.

YouTube's systems are all set up this way. They celebrate increases in numbers with cheerful messages and positive green arrows and "helpful" statistics showing just how much things are growing - meanwhile, if you post otherwise positively received work that doesn't attract as much attention, it will give you dour "your content received fewer views due to lower interest this month" messages and greyed-out downward arrows. If you have a video that does really well on the numbers, YouTube will even play a little fireworks animation on its statistics to celebrate.

It's a form of not-so-subtle psychological manipulation. As a YouTuber you are dependent on your statistics to inform your work - if your rent depends on making those numbers go up, you essentially have no choice but to pay attention to them and let them guide your decision making. And so YouTube designs its systems to push its creators towards the behaviour that the platform finds most beneficial: numbers optimizing.

And the thing is, if I went only by the numbers, I would look at the success of this short and go "oh, there's a viable content strategy here!"

I could try and replicate its "success" by creating more content around the same topic, by targeting the same kind of outrage-baiting, by identifying the contentious subjects and trigger points brought up by the angry people in the comments and hitting them repeatedly, hoping to make engagement fall out.

YouTube would reward me for that, quite handsomely, in fact, even as mental health and professional happiness would absolutely crater. I don't have the personality for that kind of content creation, it's not what I want to do with my work, it's not the kind of person I want to be.

But I am not immune to propaganda. I have already changed as a person from doing this job, I know this for a fact. My priorities have shifted, my wants and needs have changed. Not for the worse, I believe, not yet, but the platform is constantly, constantly pushing on me.

It's unpleasant and it's stressful. It's hostile design, coupled with primitive and insufficient moderation tools, coupled with an aggressive algorithm which will go out of its way to ensure your relationship with your audience is toxic, if that toxicity produces better numbers for the platform.

Viral success is often thought of as a desirable thing, something which can launch a career or skyrocket an unknown to success. The reality is, it is mostly just overwhelming. I'm a grown man and I have done online content creation for a long time, and I have learned strategies to manage toxic comments sections over years of experience.

But imagine if something like this happened to a sixteen year old. Imagine if it happened to a teenage girl just starting out making videos. Or a trans person. Or, hell, any person from a marginalized community. I am sheltered by my privileges, but I have seen how dark it gets and how fast it gets dark for people who don't have those extra protections.

Well, it does happen to them, and no matter how rancid, bigoted and horrible the abuse they receive, they will log in to YouTube Studio to see happy fireworks and "Nice! Your video got 20 million views!" with a little green upwards pointing arrow right next to it.

You might have seen articles and thinkpieces around "creator burnout," and I want you to know that a huge part of what burns creators out is the primitive, profit-optimizing, hostile systems that power these platforms and monetize our worst experiences on them as "engagement."

In case you're wondering how much money I've earned from those 6.8 million views, by the way, it's about $20.

YouTube says they're rolling out full Shorts monetization next year, so I guess I just picked the wrong month to go viral.

---

If this story resonated with you at all, do me a favor and leave a nice comment under the work of an online creator you enjoy. It helps more than you might think.

You can tip me on Patreon or Ko-fi if you want to.

#tb essay #youtube #hostile design #burnout

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bethanythebogwitch · 1 year

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I mentioned on my last post that my last job was removing invasive carp from the Mississippi river. While what we were doing was good and has made a measurable difference, It pales in comparison to the difference that could be made if commercial fishermen took up the gauntlet of helping remove them en masse.

One of the best things for encouraging the removal of an invasive species is to develop a market for it to encourage people to take them out of the wild. In the case of the carp, there was no market for them so fishermen wouldn't take them as they'd make no money from it. My job partnered with someone who was trying to make a market for them. We gave him the fish we caught and he turned them into bait and fertilizer. We couldn't accept payment for them due to working on a grant but if fishermen could sell carp to fertilizer or bait companies, they would be more likely to keep the carp instead of tossing them back.

Recently, the Illinois Department of Natural Resources started an attempt to develop a market for carp by renaming them to copi. The idea is that the word "carp" has a negative stigma which discourages people from eating them, so rebranding the meat to "copi" can open up a new market. The fish are eaten in their native rage in Asia and from what I've heard are quite good (I wanted to try some but never got the chance) so the rename would ideally help with getting people to try their meat. This has apparently worked in previous cases such as renaming the Patagonian tooth fish to the Chilean sea bass. Will it work? I haven't seen any data on whether or not its working and it may be too soon to draw conclusions, but hopefully this will help reduce the invasive carp populations and may be a model usable for other invasive species.

Check this website for more information and places where you can buy copi. If I ever get the chance to buy some, I will. choosecopi.com

#fishblr #fish #invasive species #ecology #carp #copi #animals #seafood

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mbrainspaz · 1 year

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people might be like "you waste like 4 hours a day scrolling tumblr and sometimes tiktok, why do you hate reels so much?"

well ya see, reels™™™ from "meta™" are a collection of completely uncultivated mindless gibberish content infested with rage bait ghouls that's constantly being thrust into my face on two platforms where I have worked for years to cultivate my experiences. On instagram I followed only artists I liked in order to see their art. On facebook I wanted to see posts from people I actually know, and nothing else. Meta hates that because I'm not CONSUMING enough CONTENT. Not clicking enough Links. Not interacting with enough brandsss.

In barges Reels with its endless stream of drivel about random bullshit like funny horse videos and celebrity drama. Do I watch videos like that on tiktok? Absolutely, and the crucial difference is that I went to tiktok and intentionally cultivated an algorithm that would give me content that I wanted to see when and where I wanted to see it. I wasn't tricked into going down a braindead video funnel by clickbait. I continuously and consciously cultivate my tiktok algorithm with a reasonable degree of success. Meanwhile Reels is over on the sidelines sobbing, begging me to click just ONE VIDEO PLEASE GODS JUST CLICK ONE! I refuse to be suckered in to watching some hour long rage bait video about ice cream in a toilet like 45 million other idiots. Like my aunt from Indiana who had to let the world know that she knows not to eat ice cream out of a toilet.

I wish I could set Reels™ on fire and feed it to wild dogs.

#social media #reels can burn in hell forever thanks #we live in a society #old people on facebook #facebook shenanigans #big tech bullshit #mindless media drones #rage against the machines #the robot uprising is upon us #personal problems #rant

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alwayschoppedtaco · 1 year

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hate is a strong word, don’t you think ll m.v.

pairing: max verstappen x driver!reader

warnings: some angst? not super angsty, mentions of a crash on the track-no one is hurt- (mercedes v red bull), mentions of alcohol and partying, google translate dutch and french (in this, you can speak french) it’s mostly just fluff

summary: you’ve never gotten along with max, but that can all change after an action filled day leads to some late night conversation

word count: 1.0k

my masterlist

“What a fucking idiot!” the crackle of the team radio comes right after you hit the barriers, informing the team that you are both okay and angry. “He knows that he should have left space, what a sore loser!”

The anger doesn’t subside on your walk back to the Mercedes garage after you brush off the marshals who direct you to the medical area, instead it is left to bubble up in your stomach, thoughts of the podium and just how close you were to it acting as a catalyst for your rage.

Your anger doesn’t pass as you watch the blundering idiot who caused your little crash cross the finish line with enough of a lead that his five second penalty does absolutely nothing. Instead, it is left once again to fester inside you as you go through the motions of post-race media duties, trying to patiently answer all of the clearly baited questions in a professional way.

It doesn’t dissipate as you change out of your sweaty race suit, slipping into a clean pair of pants and a shirt that is branded with the Mercedes logo. It only slightly lessens as you look at your teammate and his second place trophy, deciding to be happy for him and the team.

That’s the reason you don’t say no to Lewis when he invites you to an after party with the team to celebrate the first podium of the season and all the hard work put into this weekend.

You’re already three drinks in by the time Max strolls in, Daniel and Checo coming in with him. You have to physically restrain the urge to roll your eyes as you watch the Red Bull drivers walk in, downing your drink and motioning for another.

Max makes eye contact with you as you get your drink, a smirk making its way onto his lips. Your eyes narrow at him, turning your back to him as anger floods in again.

It takes everything in you not to walk over and do something you would regret, instead moving away from the bar and over to where your team is situated. Lewis motions for you to sit next to him at the table, some of the team members making way for you to sit there.

You only reason you got up from the booth where you were sat was to grab another drink. Excusing yourself, you make your way towards the bar.

“I will have an-” your interrupted before you can finish your sentence.

“daar is ze!” Max stumbles over to you, his drunken Dutch words not making sense to you. “Ik was je aan het zoeken!” there you are! I have been looking for you!

You scoff at his words, automatically assuming he was poking fun at you in his native tongue.

“Max, just leave me alone.” You roll your eyes and turn away from him, heading back over to the Mercedes table. Max is left alone at the bar, watching your retreating figure.

The rest of the night passes you by in a blur. Flashing lights and the deep reverb of the bass, along with the multitude of drinks, prompting you to pull Lewis onto the dance floor. Your hips sway to the music, letting your thoughts of the podium and incident leave your head, instead focusing on whatever terrible remix of Lady Gaga is playing.

You feel his eyes burning into you as you sway to the music, locking eyes with him. His blue eyes stare into your own, not breaking eye contact as he makes his way over to you.

“Y/N!” Max starts, yelling over the loud music. “ik wilde zeggen dat het me spijt” I wanted to say I’m sorry

“Max!” You are more open to conversation with him now that you have significantly more alcohol in your system. “I can’t understand Dutch!”

The laugh that leaves your mouth has Max hooked. The both of you drunkenly stumble out of the club in hopes of having a real conversation, the loud music still audible outside.

“I said that I am sorry, Y/N!” Max is still shouting, causing you to giggle louder and place your finger on his lips with an overexaggerated “shhh”

“No need to shout, Maximilian.”

“That’s not my name.”

“Its close enough.” Your drunken giggles continue as you talk, forcing the mumbled words out through your laughs. “Why did you not leave any room?”

“I didn’t mean to ruin your race, Y/N.” The way he says your name has you sobering up a bit, and the intense way he looks at you has you forgetting why you were ever mad at him.

“Oh mon dieu, pourquoi as-tu besoin d'avoir de si beaux yeux?” Its your turn to say something he doesn’t understand, the French going completely over his head. Oh god, why do you have to have such pretty eyes?

“What was that?”

“I said that you have really nice eyes that need to stop looking at me like that!” He is speechless after you admit it, letting a tense silence blanket the two of you.

He slowly reaches out towards you, one hand coming up to cup your cheek.

“You have really nice eyes too.” The admission from him paired with his hands on your face have you forgetting everything about the race, the only thing on your mind being the man in front of you.

“Max.” His name rolls off your tongue, a silent dare for him to do something.

He takes the dare, his other hand coming to cup your neck as he leans down, his lips ghosting over yours. He finally connects your lips together, the taste of gin lingering on his mouth. Your thoughts are drowned out by Max, your arms coming up to wrap around his neck pulling him closer as you continue to kiss, cliché butterflies erupting in your stomach.

You only pull away when you need air, moving away from Max but still keeping eye contact.

“You have no idea how long I have wanted to do that.” The words catch you by surprise, never knowing Max felt like that.

“I always thought you didn’t like me.”

“Never.”

774 notes · View notes

desert-fern · 7 months

Text

Ring Around My Rosie - Bradley ‘Rooster’ Bradshaw X Fem!Nurse Reader (WWII European Theatre AU)

Pairing: Bradley ‘Rooster’ Bradshaw X Fem!Reader

Summary: The year is 1944 and the Second World War rages on. You have been a nurse in Belgium for nearly three years, having seen the effects of the worst things human beings can do to one another. One day, like always, an injured man is brought in. An American sailor too far from the ocean he came out of on D-Day and you both are entranced.

Warnings: blood, bullet removal, mentions of Nazis (it is a WWII AU so…), probably inaccurate depictions of wartime nursing, most likely factually incorrect WWII history, fluff so fluffy I gave myself a cavity just writing this, 1940s Bradley Bradshaw (yes, he is a warning)

Word Count: 6.1k

A/N: If you can’t guess, this oneshot is a WWII AU inspired by a cover of Ed Sheeran’s Nancy Mulligan that I have linked here! I’m 90% I fucked up my Spotify Wrapped for this fic so I hope you enjoy!

===

Well, I met him at Guy's in the second world war

And I was working on a soldier's ward

The scent of blood was thick in your nostrils as you dragged yourself out of the field hospital in Les Annais, Belgium. The Germans had been menacing your location for weeks, baiting your troops and sending fractions limping back into your capable hands.

You knew nothing of the tactics being used, very few did. You were here as a nurse, not as a tactician, not as anyone of note, save for being the longest serving nurse at the 51st Field Hospital. The others had bailed out as soon as they could, doing their duty but the gruesome fighting months earlier at the Battle of the Bulge had sent many fleeing.

It wasn’t like you could blame them.

You were still new, having joined up as soon as you could convince your father and while you were a month shy of 23, you had never experienced anything like this. Your grandmother had told your father off, reminding him that it was his own stubborn streak that raced through you.

But you were unprepared for everything you would have to do out here, hundreds of kilometers away from home, with the least amount of training that they could spare. At the beginning, you could only offer comfort to some of these men, being unable to save them from their wounds, as they cried for their mothers, wives, children, begging for the pain to end.

Sometimes - well, most times - these men were boys your age or younger. Lives that had only just begun were snuffed out in the most violent of ways and you were left to piece together your shattered heart day after day.

So you closed yourself off, choosing to help as many as you could. The conditions were brutal, the wounds you saw even more so. A year and a half ago, you didn’t know how it felt to hold down a screaming man so a doctor could try and save a septic leg. You were a shoulder to cry on, a smiling face despite the bleakness, and more often than not, an object of flirtation and admiration.

The sky was a miserable gray, like it always was. It seemed like the sky was trying to match the color of the tents scattered around the outside of the main camp, doing its best to hide you from the prying eyes of the German aerial patrols.

The Luftwaffe were always around. Luckily for you, they couldn’t aim for shit, but you couldn’t deny that the German movements had been far more frequent. Sometimes a young man crawled through the borders surrendering to the English and American forces and begging for help.

No one else would treat him, refusing to even get close to him.

You had chastised them all, reminding them of their promises to help those in need, and slowly you had gained some help in the care of these young men, though they were few and far between.

Shouts caught your attention, sending you racing through the muddy field back to the hospital. A group of soldiers, Americans by the sound of them, were calling for help and you would be a hypocrite if you didn’t help.

Hurrying through the door ahead of them, you saw a small group, maybe seven or so men approach. They were muddy, beaten and bruised, but your eyes fell upon the man being held up by his compatriots. “What happened?” You asked, quickly replacing a red headed man and half-carried the brunette towards the only open bed in the corner.

“A bunch of Krauts caught us by surprise, caught Rooster here with a few shots and some ass- pardon me ma’am, idiot jumped out of a tree and landed on top of him,” the man explained, helping you lay this Rooster on the bed.

You focused on the brunette’s bloody uniform, eyeballing the few bullet wounds in his arms, but you were the most concerned about the broken leg. It only took one infected wound and that limb would be gone. Not today, you thought. “Dot, I need the suture kit and a basin. You,” you stated, standing up to face the man standing next to you.

“Mulligan, ma’am,” he told you, standing up straighter. “Lewis Mulligan, US Navy.”

“Lewis, can you help me hold him down? I can’t stitch him up and hold him down at the same time.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Dot hurried over with the makeshift kit, placing it on the bed along with a basin of water. Unbuttoning his shirt, you found that two of the three bullet wounds still had the bullet in them and that the third had begun to clot against his shirt. Pulling the scissors from the pants pocket of your uniform and cutting the shirt away, you finally had a better view at what you were working with. “Fucking Krauts. Guess they must be really desperate to keep using shitty ammunition,” you remarked dryly, dipping a set of tweezers in a basin of cheap spirits.

Lewis didn’t say a word, clearly stunned by your foul language. “Ma’am?”

Sighing, you turned to face him. “Lewis, I need your help holding him down. The longer this takes, the bigger the risk of infection. I can’t do that if you are going to be shocked when I cuss and swear. Can you help me or not?”

He nodded, coming to stand on the other side of the unconscious man. Hands placed on his friend’s shoulder and hip, Lewis gave you a nod and you began.

The bullets were soft and slippery. They slid out of your tweezers more times than you could count, but you made it work, finally prying the two out of his shoulder and side. Lewis wasn’t looking at you, his face green by the time the last bullet clinked into the porcelain tray. “I can take it from here, Mulligan. Go back to your group, tell them…”

“His name is Bradley.”

You gave him a smile. “Tell them Bradley should be okay unless he does something stupid.”

He left you alone, perched on the side of Bradley’s bed, stitching him up. You saw his eyelashes flutter as you finished the last stitch and quickly stood up. If he lunged at you, you had to be standing. Enough men had grabbed at you when they woke up and you had quickly learned not to make that mistake again.

Too many bruises, too many sprains, too many punches thrown.

To your surprise, Bradley let out a groan and his eyes slowly blinked open. That groan turned into a hiss of pain as he tried to sit up. “Stay down,” you said gently, approaching slowly with your hands up. “You’re in a field hospital in Belgium.”

His eyes flicked to you, taking in your bloody uniform and trailing over your face. “The others?” He said in a panicked voice. “Where are the others?”

“Lewis and the redhead are outside, they carried you here. Seven of you came up to us, that’s all I know Bradley.”

A nod. “Thank you Ma’am.” Relief was written all over his face, in the way his eyes fell closed for a moment and his shoulders dropped.

“I just finished stitching up your chest, but I need to look at your leg. Can I do that?”

“Anything for you doll,” Bradley replied with a wink as he tried to lay down. But he winced and you were there, your bloodstained hands firmly holding his shoulders and neck while you guided him back down.

Never had I seen such beauty before

The moment that I saw ya

You moved quickly to treat his leg, finding that thankfully it was just a broken ankle and not somewhere further up. The number of men that had come in with a broken leg and left with one and a half was a number that you didn’t like to think about. It was far too high.

But Bradley wouldn’t be one of them and you couldn’t help but send up a prayer of thanks. The minute he’d opened his eyes, you’d been transfixed by the deep amber of them. A deep brown like the whiskey that was saved for special occasions and sparkled like a polished gun barrel or belt buckle. It wasn’t like you hadn’t seen handsome men. Quite the opposite. You saw all kinds of men at their worst. Lots of them lookers, but you hadn’t felt a connection to one until him.

His gaze made it hard to focus as you fumbled with his boot lace, finally undoing it after what felt like hours. The smell still made you recoil a little, even after nearly a year in the nursing corps. Regardless, you still had to do your job. So you worked quickly, removing both boots and socks and compared both sides to assess where the break was.

A soft touch to his foot had him chuckle and you glanced up at him curiously. “Sorry, just ticklish, is all,” Bradley said sheepishly, hand coming up to rub at his mustache.

You gave him a smile before returning to work, splinting his ankle and cleaning the blood, sweat, and mud from his skin. “Better now?” You asked him, tucking a blanket over his body and helping him into a clean-ish shirt.

His eyes met yours and despite being in pain, Bradley shot you a small smile. “Better now that I can see my guardian angel.”

You raised an eyebrow at him. “Do you know how many times I’ve heard that one, sailor? More times than you’ve used that line on anyone in stockings.”

Bradley just grinned at your retreating form and let his eyes slip shut. The pain in his body was getting to be too much, but as he dozed off, he found himself listening to your voice as you reprimanded a soldier barely older than yourself for getting out of bed. You intrigued him, that’s all.

He said I was his yellow rose

And we got married wearing borrowed clothes

Weeks had passed since that first interaction and both you and Bradley had been writing to one another as often as you could spare. While in the hospital, you learned that he and his friends had been separated from their landing crew as they made their way inland from the coast. He’d been on Omaha Beach during what had become known as the “D-Day” landing in Normandy.

Not that he’d been allowed to tell you that, but he had anyways, trusting you implicitly. He’d had to leave after nearly a month under your care, but made a promise to come back.

You hoped he would, but neither of you knew what would take place.

The fighting had drawn closer to your hospital as the Allies fought for Belgium, liberating it in 14 days and wrestling it from German hands. There had been some celebration amongst your ranks, but your heart ached for Bradley, praying every night that he came back to you.

For now though, you had to settle for letters. Bradley’s smooth voice seemed to read every letter aloud to you, each word wrapped in that gentle, flirtatious tone he had used every day you had looked after him.

Doll. My darling Rosie, the most recent letter began. They usually started out with some endearment, God knows he had used enough of them as he tried to win you over despite your colleagues warning him that you wouldn’t fall.

You remember Lew? Well he told me that writing to you was a waste because I wouldn’t get any letters back, but I know you. You wrote me back like you always do. Means I’m going to have a nice big stack of letters waiting for me the minute the post catches up with us.

We’re still marching. It’s been hell on my ankle, but you patched me up nice and neat so I’m not too worried. At least the view is nice. I think you would like it where we camped tonight, crickets are chirping now as I write this and it’s peaceful. Kinda like those nights you spent sitting with me when we’d talk about everything and I would always get worried that you would get sick of me jawing and talking your ear off, but you never did. Spoiled me for a good listener. The boys here don’t talk much. Battle fatigue is crawling all over them and it is always quiet around these times cause no one says a word.

It’s awful lonely though, sweetheart. I miss your laugh, especially how you would have to cover it when it was the middle of the night. Closest thing to home I had in a while. I hope you can hear my voice in this letter because I know I hear yours every time. And I mean every word, Doll, I hope you know that.

When I come back, I want to take you somewhere nice. Get you all dressed up in something pretty but you would still be the most beautiful dame I ever saw if you came out in your uniform that I know you are wearing now. Maybe I’ll take you dancing like you talked about, holding you close for song after song and if I’m lucky we would be going steady after that. That kiss on the cheek you gave me before I left is just haunting me because I had a taste of the future, if you feel the same of course.

Call me a flirt, doll, but I’m just sweet on you. I’m doing everything in my power not to go AWOL and come all the way back to find you, but I hope this letter finds you well instead.

Thinking about you, my English rose.

Yours always,

Bradley.

Wiping a tear from your cheek, you carefully folded the letter back up and placed it with the others. They were all like that, yearning to be back here instead of wherever he was, thoughts of the future and he always, always, signed it off with “Thinking of you,” or lately “Yours always.” Every letter gave you hope and while you knew some of yours had likely been delayed, you always jumped up like you’d sat on a tack whenever the post arrived.

Dot had started teasing you the second that Bradley left, but one reminder of Lewis and she too was blushing. The two of you sat in your quiet fear, praying that neither one of you would get a letter from one of their unit mates saying that one or both was gone.

Your next letter went out the same day.

Hopefully, it would all be alright. So for now, you let yourself dream of dancing in Bradley’s arms, Glen Miller playing softly in the background as he held you close, whispering sweet nothings in your ear.

Hundreds of miles away, huddled under a thin blanket, Bradley pulled a creased letter from his pocket, finally having the chance to read it. As the letter slid out of the envelope, a sweet smell burst free and filled his nostrils. He recognized your perfume, the scent having filled him with joy every moment he spent by your side as he recovered.

Shifting a little and adjusting the blanket, he opened it up, catching a second page that tried to escape in the sudden breeze. Bradley moved his lantern over and began reading your tight script that had his heart skipping a beat each time he saw it fill a page.

Bradley,

I received another letter from you today and I thought I had best get writing so I don’t miss the post truck. I do remember Lewis. Hopefully he remembers Dot because she is patiently waiting for a response to her letter. I don’t think it matters, the sentiment is still the same and I would rather see you at the end of this harrowing ordeal than have you replay thoughts on paper.

I had been meaning to ask about your ankle. If it ever gives way, splint it like I showed you. I don’t want you to break it again, even if that would mean you have to come back to me. But for the moment, I am glad for your letters. They make me feel closer to you. Describe the view for me, please. I see nothing but muddy fields, canvas walls, and wounded men. Is it raining a lot on your march? I know your boots were ruined when you were brought here. Did you ever find new ones? He had, but the source of them sent his stomach twisting in knots. Pulling boots off a man killed in battle felt savage, like they didn’t matter as a person.

I miss our talks as well. I learned so much about you so quickly and I feel like I know everything about you. I miss the snort you make when you laugh, especially when I told you that the other nurses called me Rosie because I was the only English nurse here. I was worried you would stop breathing some nights the way you clutched your chest as you laughed like you had never heard anything so funny. But I would give anything to see your smile, the one where it reaches your eyes and it seems you swell up with joy. I know there isn’t much time for smiles now but if I could just give you one of mine, I would.

Send my love to the boys with you. War is hard enough without having to deal with loneliness at the same time and you all are in my thoughts and prayers. I miss you terribly and find myself daydreaming of you every spare moment I have, which is not often anymore, but I drift off to sleep with your past letters in my hands and your words in my mind.

Your confessions for after this war sound like heaven. I hadn’t let myself dream too long about what will become of us. We have both heard the stories of wartime romances often enough to know how precarious they can be, but if you have hope, dearest, then so do I. I’ll wear my best dress and you in your uniform, we will be the best dressed pair at the dance hall. Nothing sounds better than dancing close with you. I don’t care how presumptuous it is, the way my heart yearns for your nearness, I can give my answer to your most secret hopes without hesitation.

If you asked, dearest, I would be yours in a heartbeat. So long as you are mine as well. Bradley breathed out a laugh, trying not to wake his comrades. He had been kicking himself ever since he had sent that letter, hoping you felt the same and by the grace of God, you did. I may be English but we aren’t always prim and proper when angered. I could and would write a million pages with barely any thought, but the truck is waiting for me, so I must end this letter here. I hope my words keep you warm in this autumn weather and please, if you can, come back to me.

Stay safe, dearest.

Your Rose

The letter crinkled in his grip as Bradley bit back a wide grin. You were okay. You wanted to go steady. You cared for him. Fuck the war, he though. His doll was waiting for him back in Belgium and not for the first time, he hoped that the war would end for purely selfish reasons. You were waiting and his mama had raised a good boy who never left a woman waiting, he wasn’t going to start now.

The radio in the small hospital crackled as the BBC broadcast announced Germany’s surrender as Russian troops poured into Berlin. Cheers went up amongst the nurses and the men they were caring for, but you knew that the casualties were high on both sides. The United States still fought with Japan in the Pacific, chasing them back towards their island, and you knew that the fighting would go on for a long time.

The only thing? You hadn’t heard from Bradley in months, not since March of this year; 1945. It was now May.

The worry in you grew every day, trying and failing to hide it from Dot and the others around you. It hadn’t affected your work, but it affected nearly everything else. You were hardly sleeping, rereading his letters so often you had them memorized. “Thinking of you” was written in his neat handwriting against the back of your eyelids, and everytime you blinked, you thought of him.

A few days went by since that monumental announcement of the war’s end and some fighting was still happening but Germany’s surrender had a lot of Nazi sympathizers fleeing like rats. But world leaders were acting quickly and you knew that while it would be some time before you would return home to England, it would also not be enough time for Bradley to come back to you here in Les Annais.

So, like always, you went to work. The soldiers around you were still flirtatious, some even outright admitting that they were sweet on you, but you politely told them that you were waiting for your man to come back to you, and that while you were flattered, you just couldn’t.

Sweet smile after sweet smile. Bed bath after bed bath. Infected wound after infected wound. And still, no Bradley.

Then you heard your name shouted from outside. You had been packing your things, having received your letter to head back home, when Dot yelled so loudly you thought a hoard of Nazis were marching toward you. Racing outside dressed in your one non-uniform dress, you saw a Jeep full of men pull up. They too were yelling, and when you ran up, you saw a familiar face not half a meter away.

He was covered in dirt and grime, his hair longer than you had seen and his cheeks were covered in stubble like he hadn’t shaved in a few days, but it was still your Bradley in every way that mattered. “Bradley…” you breathed, coming to a stand-still with your hands over your mouth. You stood stock still, your heart nearly beating out of your chest as you took him in disbelief. “You’re safe…”

“Hey doll,” the rasp in his tone gave you shivers as you met his eyes. They were still the same color as the whiskey you all had drank the night the war was declared over, the same sparkle twinkling like the stars as he took you in. “Look at you. You look beautiful.” Bradley clambered over Simon, nearly elbowing him in the face in his haste to get out of the Jeep. “Prettiest picture I ever saw.

You blushed, ducking your head a little at his compliment. Bradley’s heart soared as he took you in, marveling at how his imagination had been unable to capture the picture perfect moment of you in that dress. You had lived in his thoughts for months, each letter sending pangs of loneliness through him as each moment without you passed. Now, standing in front of you, your hair curled and dressed like a million bucks, Bradley felt his love for you grow infinitely larger.

“You…” you began, looking up at him, your eyes wide in shock. “You came back, sailor.”

“‘Course I did. What kinda man would I be if I left my best girl waiting.”

Dot and the others were still watching intently, keen on seeing what happened when you both finally let your resolve snap. “Come on Rosie! Give your man a kiss!” Lewis hollered from where he stood with Dot in his arms. “He’s only been dreamin’ about this since forever!”

“Mulligan, I swear to God, shut your fucking yap for one minute,” Bradley yelled back, shifting his focus from you to his friend. “Sorry doll, Dot, shouldn’t have said those words with you around. Can you forgive me?”

Shooting Dot a wink, you caught his hand. “If you kiss me hard enough, sailor, I just might forget the whole thing.” You weren’t sure where the boldness came from, but it was worth it when Bradley’s face lit up.

“Is that right?” He said in a low voice. “Just one kiss?”

You shrugged as your gaze fell from his amber eyes to his lips and back again. “I don’t know, why don’t you tell me?”

That was all it took because next you knew, Bradley had picked you up in his arms and let his lips fall against yours, kissing you so soundly your breath left you in a rush. His hands around your waist held you so securely you didn’t fear falling. Your own hands cradled his face, subconsciously brushing away the tears that fell from his eyes.

He set you back on your feet, but his hands didn’t leave your hips. “So, did you forget about it yet?”

Smiling cheekily back at him, you replied “Forget what?” He chuckled and you let your palms slide down his neck to rest on his chest over his heart. “All that being said, dearest, I leave today. And I know you aren’t down yet.”

“We got separated from the Navy landing crew, doll. Kramer sent a telegram to the high ups and they are sending us on leave for a little while. Especially since we weren’t supposed to be in Berlin,” Bradley told you, a big hand running up and down your back. “So as long as I get to port at a reasonable time, I’m still doing my duty.”

“And when is that, Bradley?” Toying with his jacket, you found yourself chewing on your lip in thought.

“Hey.” His gentle tone had you looking up at his face that was filled with compassion. “Don’t worry your pretty little head about it. I’ve got it in writing and up here,” Bradley told you, tapping his temple. “My mama always said I had a mind like a steel trap.”

You leaned up onto your tiptoes, pressing a gentle kiss to his cheek. “I’m still going to worry, Bradley. I don’t know how not to. But I trust you. If you say you have it, then you do.”

Bradley leaned down to kiss you again, this time the fierceness of the gesture had you gasping against his mouth. “God I love you.”

The world stood still as you looked up at him. “Do you mean that?”

“Of course, Rosie. Unless you have some other beau running around London that I don’t know about.” He paused, looking down at you. “Wait, you don’t have a beau waiting on you, do you?”

Looking shocked, you shook your head. “No. No, I don’t. My sister was the looker of the two of us.”

By now, Lewis and Dot had run off somewhere and the other men traveling with Bradley had scattered throughout the camp offering help to the pretty young nurses still there.

The two of you were alone.

“Come on,” you said, tugging him towards your tent. “I have something to show you.”

“You could lead me off a cliff, Rosie and I’d follow you happily,” Bradley chirped, relishing in the pretty blush that dusted itself across your face. His body hurt from sleeping sitting up, he hadn’t had a shower and probably smelled terrible, yet even just being near him flustered you to no end.

And he loved it. Maybe not as much as he loved you, but how could he deny you? Your grip on his hand tightened as you pulled him to you, your other hand coming to rest on his jaw. “I didn’t want to do this in public, but I’ve been daydreaming about you kissing me like I’m all you have ever wanted, Bradley.”

The words raced through him, excitement building as he let you guide his face to yours. The first gentle touch of your lips to his had him smiling broadly, and he knew that you were smiling just as hard by the way you pulled back just a little. The next attempt went similarly; the two of you too giddy in the other’s nearness to kiss the other properly.

But he made it work, catching your chin and kissing you soundly. The gasp that fell past your lips gave him an opening and he took it, slipping his tongue past your lips.

Bradley had anticipated some kind of resistance, the feeling probably new to you, but he found none as he continued to kiss you like you were the oxygen he needed to breathe. If anything, you brought in your own fierceness to the gesture, your tongue tangling with his.

When you finally pulled back, cursing your need to breathe real air and not just Bradley’s closeness, you found that his eyes were still screwed shut. “Pinch me,” he breathed out. “This has to be a dream.”

“This is real, dearest,” you replied with a giggle. “Would I lie to you?”

“You promise?” The tone of his voice seemed so young to your ears, reminding you that for all your 25 years, and his 27, he was still too young to have seen everything he likely had seen.

“Of course.”

His eyes fluttered open, shining brightly with unshed tears. “Thank God. I don’t know what I would do if I had imagined you.”

“I’d say that you have a very vivid imagination then, dearest,” you replied softly, turning his face back to yours. When he’d looked away, you didn’t know, but you loved the sight of those warm eyes looking down on you and you would do anything to keep them in your life. “Besides, where would I go then? If I weren’t real, as you say.” Your fingers ran along the back of his neck, gently playing with the short curls. That was something else you hadn’t noticed until now; the natural curls that had emerged once his hair had a little length.

“Marry me.”

You froze, shock filling you from head to toe. “I beg your pardon?”

“Marry me, Rosie. I don’t have a ring, hell, I don’t even know if I’m going to have a home when I get back stateside.” The words poured out in a rush, but the emotion in his tone was palpable. This wasn’t just a wartime distraction to him. “All I know is that if I don’t tie you to me, if I don’t make every effort to keep you near, I’ll regret it forever doll.” Bradley’s eyes held nothing but sincerity, truth seeping from every pore as he held you, his big hands pressing you to him.

A deep sigh left your lips, the silence thundering in Bradley’s ears as he waited. You glanced up at him, your eyes misty with tears. “If I say yes,” you began, swallowing thickly. “If I say yes Bradley, you don’t get to leave because this is hard. I would be your wife, and you my husband. We do this together or not at all.” Tears had begun falling and you didn’t know if this was an accumulation of emotion from finally having him close or if it was fear. Fear of being wed and left in a heartbeat.

“Rosie, I would find the Chaplain now if it meant that I could spend the rest of my life with you. I would march to the Pacific now to end this war if it meant I could marry you faster. I fought for us just as much as I fought for my country and my mama would come down from Heaven like a shot if I even so much as thought about leaving you behind.” Bradley had ducked his head down, holding your teary eyes with his own. In the growing darkness, you could barely make out the ring of his honey-coloured iris, but you knew that he meant what he said.

How could he not?

“So, doll. What do ya say, hmm? Feel like being Mrs. Rosie Bradshaw?” The usual humor in his tone returned when he saw the meaning behind his words sink in. You understood him and trusted him deeply, after all he’d come back, hadn’t he? In what world would he do all of this and not mean it, not swear by it? Bradley had taken a step to close the distance between you both for the rest of time, pulled his heart out of his chest and held it out to you.

You met him halfway. “I’ve certainly been called worse, Mr. Bradshaw,” you teased gently, as you toyed with the collar of his jacket. “What makes you think I’ll come running when you call that name?”

“Because I’ll come running if you promise to call me that everyday, Rosie doll.” A giggle broke loose from your chest and the matching smile seemed to split your face in two as you watched Bradley’s face light up once he heard your reaction to yet another sweet name he could drop. “You never did answer my question, doll. Are you gonna leave me standing out in the cold like some sort o’ schmuck or are you gonna let me in to get all the good lovin’ my weary bones need?”

You slapped his chest, cheeks burning under his attention. “My mother raised me to never let a man starve nor grow cold, therefore I believe I ought to marry you, dearest. How else am I to go on living when I have a very handsome sailor practically begging for my hand?” You were still smiling broadly and as you watched your words get processed.

“Yeah?”

“Of course.”

Bradley let out a whoop of joy, grabbing you suddenly before picking you up and twirling you around the yard. “Well dammit all! Rosie said yes!”

Cheers broke out from around the hospital. Nurses and the G.I.s were clapping and whistling in celebration that only got louder when you brought your hands to his face and kissed him so hard you could feel your lips bruise from trying to pour every ounce of feeling into it. “God, I love you,” you mumbled against his lips.

Setting you back on your feet, Bradley dipped you over a strong arm, bringing you into another sweet kiss that had you wrapping your arms around his neck and pressing yourself as close as you could to his chest. “So,” Bradley mumbled. “When I find my mama’s ring, it’s yours. She would have loved you, Rosie. My pop too.”

You leaned up, pressing a soft kiss to his nose. “I’m certain that they’re very proud of you, Bradley.” The softness of your tone combined with the sincerity filling every word was a shot straight to his heart. Tears sprouted in his eyes and Bradley brought you back up, hugging you tightly.

“I really lucked out, didn’t I? Meeting the most perfect girl this side of the Atlantic.”

A week later, you married Bradley William Edward Bradshaw in a simple ceremony at a small chapel outside London. His mother’s simple diamond and gold ring had slipped into your finger on the voyage across the English Channel while you had been staring out at the ocean around you.

You had scarcely noticed it at first, but when your eyes fell upon it for the first time, you swore that your heart had nearly fallen into your shoes at the sight. Bradley had laughed at your reaction, pulling you close and wrapping you in his arms for the remainder of the journey, all the while watching you trail your eyes over your hand time and time again.

It was all he could do not to press a kiss to your left hand every time he saw the ring catch the light, which was often, especially by lantern and lamp light.

Needless to say, the pair of you were very happy, and while Bradley had been tapped for deployment into the Pacific theater, his ship had only just made port somewhere in Spain before the US detonation of their super weapons in Hiroshima and Nagasaki. The Japanese emperor had surrendered almost at once and from your position in London, you couldn’t blame them. You had always hated the unnecessary violence, the casualties just because and this was no different. The innocent civilians hadn’t needed to die in such a way as they had, though you couldn’t see a way of changing the course of the war.

But Bradley was safe and on his way home to you. In the end, you couldn’t help those affected by the tragedy any more than you had during the war in Europe. You would be trying to wrap a wound made by a cannonball with a tiny sliver of fabric, so you set about waiting for him to come back to you.

Now though, you needn’t worry as much. You were Mrs. Bradley Bradshaw and he had made many a promise yet never broken a single one. So the mere sight of his form on the dock eased it all.

Today started the rest of your life.

We got eight children now growing old

Five sons and three daughters

She and I went on the run

Don't care about religion

I'm gonna marry the woman I love

Down by the Wexford border

She was Nancy Mulligan

And I was William Sheeran

She took my name and then we were one

Down by the Wexford border

===

A/N: So, I hope your heart has a big ass cavity in it and that you enjoyed the cotton candy level of fluff that I just threw at you! Big thank you to @startrekfangirl2233 for being the best beta reader ever and @sarahsmi13s, I’m sorry for making you sob when I was sharing snippets

Read Roo and Rosie’s Christmas fic here!

Tagging: @startrekfangirl2233 @sarahsmi13s @horseshoegirl @roosterforme @@eli2447 @nobody7102 @gigisimsonmars @dcyllom @bobgasm @multifandomlover4life @mak-32 @beyondthesefourwalls

#fern writes #Ring Around My Rosie #wwii au #bradley bradsaw x reader #bradley bradshaw fic #top gun maverick #bradley rooster bradshaw x reader #American Sailor Bradley X English Nurse reader #bradley bradshaw #bradley rooster bradshaw #bradley bradshaw x reader

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cator99 · 7 days

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Massive fuck you to the sole blue hair retard in the crowd who managed to get picked for Fran Lebowitz Q&A time (a time which, for those who are observant, the audience is given the opportunity to suggest a topic for her to riff on) and asked how she would solve the Israel Palestine conflict. This of course garnered a collective groan of utter disdain and succeeded in clearing her off the stage in less than a minute after she refused to touch that question. I know its topical but it's not like other serious subjects where she can weave her way through it using funny anecdotes with the goal of landing on some punchlines. Do they not grasp that she only uses politics as a conduit for humor? Theres a reason she states upfront that she is not an activist. The thing that really set an uneasy tone amongst the room is the awareness of the unlikelihood that this person would have asked this of any random celebrity. We all know why they asked her. Same reason that my unemployed ftm housemate, as I told him where I was going while putting my shoes on, proceeded to google her and immediately say "I cant find anything about her stance on palestine :///....." Yup. She's A Humorist. I didn't know what else to say. But these types truly seem to believe that anything and everything should be presented alongside an eyesore collage of flags and a series of infographics and anything falling short of that should be understood as an inherent affront to morality– displayed in how they sort of complain-brag about spending all day arguing with Whatever-Phobes on Instagram and getting worked up over rage bait twitter posts in the name of Activism. Before I could finish collecting my thoughts, he continues: "...but I did find this drawing someone did of her in an IDF uniform. With a kid in a chokehold!" Yes. Thank you. I'm aware of the prevalence of antisemitism. Case in point. He continued on to say that while he Likes Comedy, that here aren't enough Leftist Comedians for him to feel Safe trying to Engage with it. Why are these types incapable of so much as looking in the direction of anything that isn't an exact mirror of their experiences or beliefs without shitting themselves? It's scrupulosity OCD to a fucking T. And jesus christ if you're going to a comedian for their political beliefs you're not only exposing yourself as someone without much in terms of a serious investment in actual politics to begin with but also a tragically humorless person– ie the type to show up to see Fran Lebowitz and clear the room with your inability to read it. One of the many pitfalls of illiteracy is that its impacts aren't restricted to the confines of a piece of paper.

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leechs · 9 months

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the state of florida...people wake up on the couch in their double wide mobile home and immediately slam into their early 2000s red toyota corolla with expired tag and drive 2 miles in 30 minutes of traffic to work construction for a company with a negative 1.0 rating with the better business bureau...they slam energy drinks on the roof of some rich old dudes house then 3 beers on their lunch break until its time to go back to the trailer park and listen to a combination of country rap hits while smoking through 2 packs of newport 100s...dinner is a fifth of tequila and a chicken sub from publix and afterwards theyre too drunk to have sex with their live in girlfriend so she throws an ashtray at their head and they pass out on the couch again...anything that forces deviation from this life plan is a federal offense and in the minds of people who have fully surrendured to the floridian mindset heralds instant violent death...they say alligators are baited into rage by sudden movement; f you move too quickly around a floridian theyll reach for a shotgun and shoot you in accordance with florida statute 776.013

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anguishedlurker · 4 months

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What a burden you are

((Hey kids wanna see Danny have Enough(tm) of Valerie['s bullshit from Valerie's POV and the fallout thereof?))

Ao3 Link

Valerie found herself reflecting on her time under Masters more than she already wanted, most nights.

Tonight was worse than most. A pathetic echo in her mind trying to take root as she chased a different kind of pathetic echo.

For each and every fault he had- she could spend years counting in that miserable creep of a man- he knew his ghosts and his weapons. Very little of his advice had proven inaccurate on even the most minuscule of levels.

“An afraid ghost is never to be underestimated, yet if careful they can undo themselves with hardly an effort by you.”

But no, Phantom wasn’t afraid in front of her. Insolent brat, darting from cover to cover. To boot, it had the audacity to stick it’s tongue out at her.

The humor didn’t reach its eyes though. Not tonight. Though, it always seemed a little rougher around the edges when she managed to jump it after some ghost had tried doing her work for her.

Yet it was always almost well humored to her.

Tonight really shouldn’t be different.

“Fear will destroy them- even in the living it’s hard to control a fear response. Aimless lashing out makes openings.

Rage, on the other hand…”

And yet, Phantom seemed annoyed by her hunt tonight, of all things. How inconvenient of her, really! Maybe she’d upgrade to threat one day, if she was realllll patient…

Phantoms head finally phased out of a tree, grinning at her in a way that didn’t meet it’s eyes.

“Well, this barking match has gone on long enough to prove bite-less, so I’m afraid I’m gonna have to take my leaf!”

Pew pew, cunt.

(As always, the faint sense that her dad would be reaching for the soap brushed past her mind)

She missed, of course. It’d been a long time since she’d hit Phantom.

“Chickening out already, Phantom? Thought you were better than that.”

Keep her voice low, even. Steady. Bait doesn’t work without patience. And everything seemed to hit less and less, now.

“No you don’t. And even if you did, don’t you have work? Or school? Promotions or tests to pass, even?”

Its voice echoed from nowhere in particular, giving no indication to location.

Its staunch refusal to indicate whether or not it knew anything about her was ever present.

“Oh, you’re interested in my life? How flattering. Stay the fuck away from my apartment.”

Same song new night. Lancers test was tomorrow though, but this was more important. Shitty junior year and it’s- focus. If she can’t get to it then she simply has to improve her attempts. It will crack eventually.

“Yeah yeah, kill on sight. Seriously though, Red, how do you keep standing with the way you live? You can’t possibly be getting more than two hours of sleep a night.”

Sound to the left- Pew pew. It almost sounded concerned about her.

How pathetic.

“Who’s to say I don’t sleep during the day?”

“You don’t.”

“And you know this because?”

A question with no good implications underneath, and no good answers.

Accusations to its integrity always seemed to work best. Closest thing to falling over itself it’d get, all to prove it was a ‘good person’.

Phantom finally formed away from cover, relaxed and cozy in an imaginary reclining chair. It seemed to cycle through ways to mock her, always implying that it was completely unbothered.

Kept up its little act even when it was hit! Really, to brush off the shots like it couldn’t feel them….

Been a while since she’d made it flinch, actually. No matter what she managed to do to it.

No, no. Focus.

She could see it. The lack of real humor in its eyes- whether or not it’d admit such a thing, she was getting to it. She had to drive a knife into its cracks somehow.

“People have bills. Doesn’t take crazy stalking to figure out you either have a sponsor or are stupid rich- and you kinda stopped talking to your sponsor. Was a whole thing in the ghost community? Anyways, you need to have some sort of job or some sort of parental support at this point.”

A dead smile, a tilt of the head. Teeth much too sharp in a mouth that almost could’ve passed for a real person’s.

She’ll need to hunt down- No, it’s already out. And if she gets pissed, she’s dead.

“Rage is lethal. They’re focused, and they want you dead.

And, I mean the best when I say it dear, you don’t know rage. Not in ghosts.”

She’d argue she knew plenty about rage, period, though the point was long gone.

Pew pew.

It disappeared and reappeared two feet to the right, still smiling.

Fucker.

“What can I say, I value my independence. Strong and capable, everything a hunter needs to be.”

“Uh-huh. Who’s that philosopher that said no man is an island, again?”

It pretended to tap its foot against the dead air, taking its eyes off her as it acted out exaggerated thinking. Bait to shoot.

“John Donne. Know any philosophers that ever chatted about not dragging people down?”

“Right, this has been a delight but- hey wait, I think that’s actually right. I dunno, it’s the kind of thing I’d actually have to look up-”

“Dragging. Down. Get it? Ha. Ha.”

Finger curled around the trigger, giving one attention grabbing pew.

Vanish, and re-appear.

“Only so many times I can try to say that first and foremost, not my dog. Not at that point. Just a concerned samaritan trying to figure out why a dog was loose. You don’t care, though.”

Its tone was… more clipped than usual. And it’d been a while since it’s last pun.

Good.

“Honestly, it goes beyond the dog at this point.”

“Really, Red? Nobody’s got you at gunpoint out here.”

She’d been stewing on this one a while actually. Never a better time than the present to try a new tactic, right?

“No, no. The town Phantom. The ghosts as a whole.”

“Go harass one of the Doctor Fentons’ about the tear in the fabric of reality in their basement then.”

Oh it was seething with that one.

Good.

Yet, this was an infuriating corner.

“The Fentons have made it clear that by now, they can’t do anything.”

“I’m missing the part where you turn it into my fault. And even if your point was clear, they are liars. Bad ones.”

The accusation against the Fentons integrity had to be bait. As such, asking was caving in to its plans.

“Simple. They’re after you. It’s a game that you’re encouraging.”

Its eyes narrowed, most of its pantomimes of life and movement ceasing.

Finally.

“You have no idea how much I wish they’d stop. Not that you’re willing to learn.”

“So you admit it?”

“Nothing of the sort. If they all stopped I would stop appearing.”

“Typical.”

“Mhmm.”

“Still, guess you’re just too used to dragging people down with you, right? Enough to never notice.”

“Listen, I get to hear my friends jack off to pseudo psychology enough as it is. You got your stinger loaded yet, or should I just, like, go?”

“Well since you’re asking… let me ask; were you even a blessing in life?”

The silence was palpable.

“What?”

“You heard me.”

Phantom paused, eyes narrowing further as it processed her accusation.

“What teenager is, really?” It eventually ground out, not even deigning to smile.

“I’ll have you know I was a delight.”

Wry, guiltless. Keep steady.

“Hmmm… I dunno that I believe that one, Red.”

A pretend hum, something that if written out would sound like a quip.

Its tone was completely flat.

Valerie smirked underneath her helm.

“But something like you, I can just see it. Everything falling over itself to baby your pathetic ass… How much did they give you? How much did you take from them?”

For one single second, Phantoms eyes reflected red.

“Like your dad and your hospital bills?”

Silence.

And then, rage.

“So help me, Phantom-”

“No, no Red- Let’s- I’m done, okay? You- I blaze through and you blame me, fine.”

Her shots missed, of course

“But, Valerie, how much do you cost your dad in medical bills at this point? Delight my left asscheck.”

Even in her rage, she had to pause. She’d never heard it swear.

Her shots missed again.

“You sign up to the most insane asshole you can find just to hunt down what- even with your little revenge fantasy- is some fucking teenager-”

Lots and lots of swearing.

Phantom was properly pissed this time.

Good, it was getting old not getting to it.

And nothing it could say can-

“Hell, I looked it up once- You know your little punctured lung you got off of Skulker? That your dad had to drag you out of the wreckage for and strip your suit off just to keep your little job secret? Boom, median of six grand. Right there.”

… how much?

“What does every bill combined add to Valerie? You wanna- how much of a burden- Jesus Christ. How much of a burden are you? Good god.”

How much…?

...

No, no it had to be bait. Hospitals are expensive but- well… very expensive- but!- … how much?

She was in combat.

“Deny a girl her hobbies, eh? But finally, so you do-”

“No shit I know who you are. Some chick shows up with a revenge fetish against me? I‘m investigating.”

Fucking- fetish??

“And here I though there could be some proof not all highschoolers are assholes.” She snarked, not paying attention to what she was saying. Scripts were running in her brain with no checks to see if it was sensible or not.

“I didn’t make it to highschool, Valerie. You want to kill a middleschooler, and you can’t even tell me what you’ve costed your dad to get here.”

Her gun, for the first time in... a very long time, dropped from its lock on Phantom.

“You can’t tell me what you cost but you’re just soooo cozy with telling me I must’ve been a- Fuck you. Genuinely. Did you even know the dog was one your fathers company killed? Bet you didn’t. Allll their guard dogs in training were put down for that pretty security system. A middleschooler and a dead puppy.”

“You are not a middleschooler.”

Her breathing hitched too much, she was losing herself. Phantoms youthful (manipulative, fake, anything else please) looked at her with no warmth.

No humor.

“Not anymore, no. The dead don’t have school.”

Its tone was openly cold and resentful.

In front of her was a ghost, whom she hated. It was a violent, mean, and dishonest thing with no regard for other people.

And the same eyes it’d always had stared back at her right now. Phantoms features had never budged the slightest nanometer, the last two years.

Youthful as ever.

Pew, pew.

It did not move, and it did not flinch.

“It’s been a long time since you could hurt me Valerie.”

Borderline glacial towards her, like she was a particularly stupid child.

But maybe she deserved that one, because of all things, she should’ve seen that it wasn’t acting unbothered by her shots.

“Ask your dad how much you cost him before lecturing me on- Just. God. There’s something genuinely wrong with you. And I’m not protecting you anymore, not if that’s seriously how you’re gonna treat- just… fuck you.”

It had disappeared before she could re-aim her gun at it for the audacity. Protecting her? Bullshit.

But, all alone now, board humming underneath her, left her stewing over the entire conversation.

And, well…

At least she’d obviously touched a nerve.

~~~

More than she’d ever be worth in her life, ever again, was her answer. Not the one he said, but she knew what evasion looked like. She knew what it meant.

And how much did he pay per month?

More than what they had to spare, was not said. He’d never say it.

A new fight breaking out near her was a relief, one she didn’t dwell on.

She’d just have to be careful to not get hurt. It was so simple.

And then the battle between Skulker and lunch lady halted at her appearance, Skulker turning smug while Lunch Lady looked away abruptly.

“And what the fuck do you think you’re gonna do, looking so happy over there?” She asked, strafing left as she aimed her gun.

Skulker didn’t move as the metal helm grinned wider. Lunch Lady vanished.

“Did you know Phantom declared open season on you?” Was the last thing she heard before her world was crushed.

~~~

Her dad would never blame her. Never say it.

Never tell her she was a burden.

But now- god, how much did this cost? Doctors were saying to just hope she wasn’t permanently paralyzed. Hope that she could eventually write again with her left hand, or learn to use her right.

She’d be out of school for a long time now.

At least she missed Lancers dumb test.

The heart monitor was her only company through the pain meds (that she refused most of) and incessant nurses.

Until…

“Danny?”

Silent as mist, as always. She hadn’t heard the door. But there he was, looking like he always did.

Except…

“Listen, I’m not really here to talk. I was voted to bring you your homework and flagged down to pass a note.”

His face tight, his tone blank.

“I’m sure you have things to do.”

He was probably itching to go back to trying to help his sister around the house, sweeping after the absolute tornadoes that were his parents.

A real shame Jasmine never left. An even greater shame she never admitted why she settled for the local college.

She could’ve gone places.

“Sure. Let’s go with that.” He gruffed, setting a binder of work on the first table he could find.

“Here’s your card.”

Huffed out, the card tossed with laser accuracy to her non injured hand. She’s lucky she caught it, the pain meds she couldn’t deny like weights on her one good hand.

This was- what did she do?

“Danny, what-”

“I don’t really want to hear it. ‘Cause it’s about time you knew that I know damn well what you do in your off time, and did this to yourself really.”

No…

No.

“And when exactly did you find out that-”

“The entire goddamn time, Val! Remember the stupid flour baby? The job I was threatening you with was ghost hunting, not being the Nasty Burger mascot! Which! I still hold to that if you weren’t ghost hunting, it wouldn’t have been that hard to do your half!”

He- no, not that long. Impossible. Nobody else had even looked at it as a serious-

He’s always been a little smarter than what he lets everyone know.

The last lick of sense echoed through what had to be the meds. Danny, always there, seeming to know more than what anyone had ever told him. Easy to work with, happy to obey. He made it so very easy to forget he was so bright.

Focus.

“Fine, fine! But I didn’t- Skulker-”

“God- just… God. Don’t. Nobody asked you to fight them. You tossed out everything and everyone that didn’t fit to do it, too.’

“I didn’t do-”

“We are not friends, Valerie. You don’t have any friends, and we’re barely ex’s at this point. And for what?”

“Barely even- What are you on about??”

“Val, we dated for like, two weeks two years ago! And you dumped me to go chase after Phantom, ‘cause fuck having a real life with friends or a boyfriend!”

It was like a fun house mirror held up to those memories, how he stood there now.

Never did get taller, never did lose most of the baby fat. Now standing there seething with hate instead of adoration.

He still looked as frail as ever.

“But Phantom-”

“Shut up, take your homework, and read your shitty card.” He growled, already heading for the door.

No- No! It’s just- This isn’t like Danny! Danny… Danny just never swore- it was like, hardcoded into him!

“And what the fuck did I do to earn this? God, if it turns out you got possessed-”

Danny paused, looking back at her for a split second. So short she could’ve hallucinated it the heartstopping look before he went straight back to having his hands on the door, ready to bolt.

“Would you say that shit to me?”

“I… What?”

“What? You don’t think I ever managed to talk to some of the ghosts? I know what you said to him. Would you say it to me?”

“Of course not!”

“No, no, of course you wouldn’t. Never would even think about it, right? Fentons too cute and innocent, and small to- ugh. I know why you never tried making friends with me and Tuck- Sam hated you- but- fuck. Don’t talk to me.”

She had nothing left. Danny was-

Too cute, innocent, and small to spew this kind of hatred at her?

Ugh… Who knew such an adorable little face could be so mean...

He looked ready to slam the door. He looked like it was taking great restraint to not, every muscle so obviously tense underneath all his layers.

It’s a wonder how he never overheated.

And at the last second, he hesitated.

“I never wanted you hurt, I… I promise, even if I’m mad. Enraged, even. But I just don’t know what you thought was going to happen, anymore.”

And then it was slammed shut, leaving her with the sinking feeling he was gone forever from her life.

… fuck.

Alone, again now, with a heart monitor and a card from- Well, Danny hadn’t mentioned.

God that stung. Couldn’t even stay to say who still had a heart for her.

She needed to move on, already, because burnt bridges weren’t going to get fixed any time soon. And that left the card as her only option forward right now, right?

It was just folded printer paper, with no decoration on the outside.

And on the inside-

One logo, seared into her brain well over two years ago. Looking at her.

“I don’t know why I thought you were worth defending.

They won’t be nice about it ever again.

-DP”

She hid the card under her hip, eventually. Made a nurse toss it out the next time one came around.

Pretended like she hadn’t seen it.

#danny phantom #dp #fic #valerie gray #long #angst #come get yall juice

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finishwhatyoustarted-event · 3 months

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Finish What You Started 2024 - Event Rules

[ID copied from alt: Event Rules on a blue background. ⬒ No new projects ◨ Any medium and any fandom welcome ⬓ NSFW inclusive, warnings must be tagged ◧ Tag #FinishWhatYouStarted2024; boosting/retweeting starts March 15th ◼ Event ends April 30, 2024]

The goal of this event is to get things done that you’ve already started. We all have unfinished projects whose incomplete status haunts us. Those are what we want to tackle!

The structure is loose, as this is a multimedia event. While primarily aimed at writers, this event is open to any kind of creative fanwork. Fics, translations, podfics, fanart, animations, cosplay - if you started it and never got it done, it qualifies. There is no sign-up required. I will not assign beta readers for writers, but I can boost requests for those who want them! And I can boost messages of those who would like to beta read.

The mod is a danmei fan mainly, but your work can be any fandom. Maybe something you started before your current fandom excitement took over, or one you keep putting off in favor of compelling new ideas.

Feel free to pass this event info along! The more the merrier!

Further rules and clarifications:

Alt text is very encouraged, especially for boost posts or artwork!

If your work is NSFW, I will only boost it if it has appropriate content warnings. Spoilering images is recommended but not required as long as it’s tagged. Do not letter-swap or abbreviate content warnings. These are so people can mute them as needed. Example: "gore" not "g0re"

Remember Tumblr can mute phrases, but each warning should be its own tag as well as in the body.

Please use genderbend or genderswap for characters depicted not as canon genders. Example: "#NSFW #genderbend #gore”

Please use Omegaverse or A/O/B for that content. The original letter order is a slur against Aboriginal peoples and will not be tolerated here, even with the slashes. It, like other racial or identity-based slurs, fall under hate speech and are thus not permitted.

This account will post weekly morale-boosting messages and helpful resources. Every Friday, starting March 15th, will be Finished It Friday. All the completed works posted that week will be boosted together in a big thread, so we can celebrate your accomplishment!

Halfway-point check-in is April 1st. Final event deadline is April 30th. The last Finished It Friday is May 3rd.

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lazyneonrabbitt · 5 months

Text

Witch hunt

Daryl Dixon x reader

Thanks to an emotional slip-up you almost risk your home in Alexandria

🐺 🐺 🐺

Rose was born four years ago.

Alexandria was thriving and had slowly begun to accept your daughter being a part of the group.

You were pregnant with Daryl's child when you came in with the group, but when she was born it was clear she wasn't human. She had inherited Daryl's curse and was born in her shifted form that she kept for the first few months.

You had kept your personal relationships quiet until you all felt comfortable enough but when the community learned the truth about your daughter you and Daryl agreed to never speak of your relationship and pretend to just be close friends.

Carol had taken up most of the co-parenting tasks in public and making sure to pass by wherever Daryl was working repairs and enforcements so he could say Hi to his 'baby niece'.

There had been a large disagreement about wether to let you and your daughter stay, but the ones wanting you both gone lost against your support party's arguments.

Rose had been fussy all morning. She had tried to steal the leftover meat from the fridge, complained her tummy hurt and whined about her head being loud.

You made sure she ate and drank properly, asked about her head and tummy. Trying your best to get a useful answer out of her but you couldn't seem to ask the right questions.

You guessed the hurt was just a stomach bug and the loud head was something resembling your active mind when you were uncomfortable, but the last hour she had started crying and whining out loud. Her whines were close to those of a hurt animal and it scared you more than any shrieking human wail she ever let out.

Picking her up and getting her noises down to sobs and hiccups you were close to tears yourself as you got to the new lot Daryl was building on with a team.

Daryl had sensed you coming from a distance and made his way off the roof in progress to meet you down on the street.

"Yo Dixon!" A voice called from up on the structure. "Who said you could take a break yet?"

Daryl called back a quick excuse and turning his attention back to you. He had noticed both your discomfort and took Rose from your arms as you ran him through your morning.

"Dixon!" The man called again. "How about you stick to women your own age."

"Shut it! She needs help." He had no time for bullshit.

A shaky breath left your lips when you continued. "My baby's sick and I don't know what to do." Sniffling you went on and a hand reached for your arm and squeezed softly. "I don't even know how to be a good mom I don't want her to be hurt.." with his one available arm he pulled you into a half hug, still holding sniffling Rose in his other arm.

"Come on, man! Quit flirting with the girl, she won't fuck you." You could feel Daryl's quiet growl rumbling in his chest. "Besides, you shouldn't stick your dick in crazy anyways. Her and that monster kid shouldn't even be here!"

Something inside you snapped right then and there, stepping out of Daryl's embrace and facing the man on the roof.

"Go the fuck back to work and let him deal with his sick child for a moment you useless piece of walker bait!" Tears were streaming down your face as panic set in. Ugly sobs escaping your lips as Daryl stood behind you, frozen with a now again crying child in his arms.

The man stopped all of his activities and stomped down to you.

"I'm sorry, his kid? I thought your monster brat didn't have a daddy and now you're calling Dixon its father?" He was all up in your face now and you recognized him as one of the people voting the loudest to kick you and your daughter out after learning she wasn't human. “So it turns out Crazy,” he called out for everyone around to hear. “-has a thing for older men. And dogs.”

He got real close to you for this last bit. “Did he fuck you as a dog, too?”

You now stood face to face with the man and were fuming with rage. He was clearly waiting for you to talk yourself out of the slip-up you just screamed at him and in turn gaining the attention of many bystanders who heard it all too.

Instead of answering you took a deep breath in and head-butted him. You could feel his nose crack under the impact and heard it crunch before he fell to the asphalt. On your turn to leave you looked back down at him and spat to add to the humiliation. You wanted to scream and curse at the man, but a large hand stopped you and pulled you away.

"We're going home. Now." He wasn't angry with you but he also didn't want to cause more trouble than already formed and Rose kept fussing so he just wanted to go and lock his family inside the walls of his home and calm down. Someone was gonna be knocking on their door about this later anyways.

The haunting stares of all bystanders felt like burning holes in your skin the whole way back to your home.

When all three of you passed the front door Daryl took no time locking it behind him and moving over to the living room to close the curtains.

He had placed Rose on the couch so his hands were free to grab you and place you next to her.

Rose had been fussing and crying so much she had tired herself out and had fallen asleep in Daryl's arms close to home. She still stirred every once in a while, small whines leaving her and a frown on her sleeping face.

Daryl softly stroked her head as he looked her over, seeing if he could sense something from his daughter and quickly found the issue.

When he sat up you immediately swarmed him with questions.

"She aint sick. She's just changin'. Hurts real bad the first time." He kept softly caressing her as he sat himself between you two. "We can't do much except make sure she's comfortable."

You sighed at the less than good news of not being able to help her. "How do I make sure she's good? Do we build her a nest?" An arm snaked around you and you were pulled to lay in Daryl's lap. "Just feed her enough n' giver her lil' rubs like ya give me after a long workday. Helps her hurt muscles." His hand moves over to rub comforting circles on your lower back. "Yer doin' great, momma. Ya were really hot defendin' us out there an' crackin' tha guy's face open."

You scooted over and rolled onto your back to look him in the eyes. "Really? I kinda regretted making an even bigger scene.." Your not so little outburst really didn’t help your already looked down upon status in the community. Daryl’s hand moved to your cheek and he smiled down at you. “Believe me, if ya let me I’d have another kid with ya without thinkin’ twice after what ya did for us today.” You looked up at him, hoping he’d continue his sweet words. “Yer always callin’ me yer guard dog but yer the one who’s protected me in here since day one.” Your hands reached up to hook around his neck so you could kiss him properly, showing him how much his words meant to you. “You have no idea how hard it is for me to say no to that, but we really have to get through this shit first before we can even have that conversation, don’t you think?”

The argument was agreed with and quickly dropped so you could focus on the closer issue of lying to the entire community and injuring someone in the middle of the street.

When the first knock on your front door came you jumped up in panic, sending Daryl a fearful look before going to see who it was.

Rick, Carol and Deanna stood at your front door, with a group of angry residents further off on the streets, no doubt ordered to stay back by Deanna herself.

You grounded yourself with some deep breaths before unlocking the door and allowing the people in.

Carol was quick to pull you into a hug as she saw you shaking and guided you back to the living room with the other two right behind you.

Rick was quick to put a hand in front of Deanna to stop her from getting too close to Daryl and Rose, knowing although he wasn’t a threat but he could still easily snap when threatened. She shot him an offended glance but had to remind herself she was in unknown territory and the two who accompanied her were familiar with the issue at hand.

“I believe you already know why we’re here, so we can go straight to the point.” Deanna had her stern leader voice on, but Daryl could feel her uncertain energy and decided to call her out on it. “Ya aint got no point so why’re ya really here, huh? To please tha’ crowd out there?” Deanna stood there in the middle of your living room, not knowing what to say. “The people want you gone. The ones that wanted the child gone back then are back to almost rioting about this issue. Now that they learned you have been lying for so long there’s nothing I can do to stop them..” She sounded sad, like the words were forced out of her and truly they were. She knew no matter what she’d say to the angry crowd of people, they weren’t gonna listen.

“And what do you want? Just you. Not them.” Your question surprised everyone in the room and Deanna had to give it a short moment before she found the right words.

“You’re different, but no threat.” She gave you the kindest smile she could pull, but was met with your unamused look in return. “Don’t try to sweet talk me, I’m the human one here.my partner and our daughter are the ones your people are threatened by.” You stepped closer to her only to be held back by Rick so you didn’t have the option to repeat this morning’s actions. “We’ve been living by your rules since day one.” You snapped at her. “We had to fake our entire lives to make sure you would let us stay. So we wouldn’t be judged for our odd relationship. Yeah it sucks Rose was born the way she was and risked everything going to shit but if she was born human no one would have known so where the fuck is the problem?”

This time it was Rick who chimed in with some supporting words.

“She’s right. Daryl’s been part of our family ever since we met him years ago. He’s always been protective of us and never threatened to hurt anyone.” He gave his brother an apologetic look, letting him know he wished it never had to come to this. “And quite frankly I don’t think these people have a say all of this.

Deanna took an instinctive look at the covered front window, as if to read the thoughts of the people waiting for an answer outside.

She was taken off guard when Rose stirred and started crying as she woke up, kicking everyone except her in gear, dropping the entire situation and moving to tend to the child. Daryl picked her up as you were at their side in a second. Carol moved to the kitchen and called over if you had any food prepared for her, fishing it out of the fridge and heating it. Rick stood by, ready to take over anyone’s task if needed.

Deanna watched the scene in front of her, seeing a caring side of Daryl she hadn’t seen before. He sat with the child in his lap, calming her down and carefully showing you how to relieve her aches. When her cries died down to just soft sobs you accepted the bowl Carol had brought and tried to feed her. When she didn’t accept any your heart broke and it was clearly visible on your face that you were hurt by her reaction.

“Sweetie, she’ll eat when she feels good enough. You shouldn’t worry too much.” Carol’s sweet words had Daryl chuckle. “Ya can tell her tha’ till ya drop dead, I tell her she’s an amazing momma every day but she’ll still cry to me when Rose fussed about not wanting to wear a sweater in winter.” His loving smile towards you didn’t go unnoticed.

Everything seemed to be going the right way when a loud scream caught your attention and frantic banging at your door sounded through the house and for a second you feared for the lives of your family before Michonne came barging in, out of breath and yelling about walkers and a breach in the wall.

“This continues later. Walkers first.” Deanna turned to make her way outside but was stopped by Daryl.

“What section?” Michonne quickly answered and followed closely behind him. You stood in the hallway spotting his knives and crossbow left at the door. “Dee, what are you gonna do?” You called out, already having a bad feeling about his plans, but you guessed it was the only thing that would help see the people who he really was.

His winged vest was dropped at the bottom of your porch steps and his boots laid toed off in the yard. “Showin’ em the truth.” And with that he stalked his way over to the breach, through the swarm of people that hadn’t gone off to fight.

The crowd raved and howled at him to leave them be, to get out and take his offspring with him but he only ignored them as he kept moving.

With the first walker in sight he snarled and rolled his shoulders before hunching over and easily shifted into his large creature form and tearing into the lone walker that got past the defense line.

“Retreat!” Rick and michonne had caught up with him and got all the survivors to pull away and help with prep work for the wall as Daryl tore through the herd that thinned out within minutes as he drove them all to the ground and back into the hole in the wall. Glenn and Maggie had set themselves up at the front of the gate repair crew, seeing as they weren’t afraid of Daryl like this and got the hole closed up quick enough so the others could start reinforcements as the cleanup group got rid of the remains of the dead.

Daryl had shoved the last of the walkers out of the community and followed through the broken wall to thin out the large buildup that had started forming. Loud snarls, aggressive sounds of the dead and bodies dropping to the floor was all you could hear on the safe end of the wall after the initial reinforcements were placed.

Deana had shown up to assist with the aftermath, you at her side carrying Rose in your arms. “It seems your partner did an outstanding job getting rid of the dead.” Her calm observation gave you a small sense of relief as the chattering voices around you all voices different sorts of opinions. “I hope it changes their minds.” Was all you could say, trying to block out the negative thoughts of being in the middle of so many people with your daughter right now.

The crowd had dispersed after the sudden walker intrusion. The ones left behind were either cleanup crew or ones with strong negation opinions even after Daryl just helped them without thinking twice. You stayed close to Deana while you waited for Daryl to return, who after it al quieted down beyond the wall, climbed back over and back down to greet you. He trotted down the street, head held low and and steps small as he tried his best not to scare anyone off while he remained in his non human form. He had almost made it to your side when you saw someone run in from beside him and throw something. It glimmered in the sunlight and wrapped around Daryl, clinging to his fur. A loud howl sounded through the street as he dropped to the ground, pawing at the thing around him but it felt like all the strength had left his body. Pained yelps and whines left him as he shook around trying to get the thing off. You ran up to him, setting Rose down next to you and grabbing at item that appeared to be a jewelry chain. You wrapped your fingers around it and pulled it off him, but not without being knocked on your ass when the chain caught on something and he thrashed around again.

When you got it off him you took a good look at the chain. It was in fact silver jewelry chain, a bunch if them clipped together to form a makeshift lasso. With your attention so focused on the pieces of jewelry,

You hadn’t noticed Rose waddling over, wanting to go to her daddy but getting distracted by the shiny thing and grabbing onto it with both hands. The whole world around you faded away as she shrieked in pain, letting go of the chain and dropping down crying, clutching her hands to her chest. Daryl shot up and moved his head to nudge at her, now cradled in your arms. You rocked her as you apologized what felt like a million times, trying to get a look at her hands but she wouldn’t open them for you. You managed to get her arms stretched do Daryl quickly nudged his snout against her little fists and lapped at them, wringing his tongue between her fingers to lick at her palms. The good thing about her being a little kid was that she’d heal from almost any surface injuries, and him licking the wounds would help speed up the healing so she could use her hands again hopefully soon.

Daryl let out a content grumble as his daughter sniffled and looked at her hands with a funny look, squeezing them together at the tingly feeling of the burns slowly fading away. He gave her a careful lick to the cheek to wipe away her tears before laying back down exhaustion.

You turned your daughter around in your lap to get a good look at her. “Does it still hurt, sweetie?” A little shake of her head helped you calm down a little bit as the world around you slowly came back into focus. A few mothers that stood around with concerned looks on their faces and children of all ages begging to pet the big dog. One of the younger women came up to you with some sweets in her hand, looking at you before continuing. “Can she have a candy? To help with the shock.” You gave Daryl a look, who nodded yes so you did as well. Some candies wee held out for Rose to pick from, but before she could grab some you chose the lollypop for her, making sure she wouldn’t take the chocolate and thanked the lady for the kind gesture.

There was some ruckus going on behind you, voices you recognized as Rick and Maggie and some others you didn’t.

“She’s a psycho!” You heard a woman’s voice yell. Sinking back into yourself as you immediately knew you were the topic of that fight. “She broke my husband’s nose! She has a child with that.. That monster over there!” Daryl only let out a huff of air, telling you to ignore them and their annoying words.

On the other side of the street parents were trying to hold back their kids who were begging them to let them pet the cool big dog. You shared another look with Daryl who let out a chuckle and a soft nod. Waving at the parents you waved to get them to come closer with their kids. “He says they can pet him, only a little bit.” You start, raising your hand and pointing at the kids. “But. Don’t pet on his neck. He’s still hurt there.” The kids excitedly huddled around him and put their hands in his fur. “Woah!” “He’s so warm.” “Sooofft!” The children loved him and you couldn’t help but wish you had a camera right now to capture this sweet moment. One of the fathers sat down next to you in front of Daryl and apologized. Admitting he had been part of the group who voted to kick you and your daughter out those years ago but saw now he had made a mistake then, acting out of fear instead of taking the chance to really speak with you as s person.

It seemed Daryl’s act really did help to change at least some peoples’ minds. You thanked the man for his honesty and took a moment to tell the children they pet the big dog enough.

Daryl took the opportunity to sit up and immediately Rose went to climb off your lap and onto his, grabbing at his fur and nuzzling it, enjoying the softness and warmth. “Looks like her hands are fine again.” You laughed at how she tried to hide herself in her father’s fur. Daryl out a large paw around her, holding her close as you informed you were going to talk to Deana.

Taking the bundled up silver chain in your hands you moved towards the woman and inform her of the thing someone used to hurt your partner.

She took the jewelry from your hands and inspected it, informing you she would do her best to find out who did this and make sure they were punished. From behind her that same woman from before spat curses at you before being cursed out herself by Denise, who threatened to halt the medical care for her entire family if she couldn’t be more accepting of the people who had to hide away their true selves for so long. Denise was the only one not from your original group who knew about the relationship between you and Daryl, and thus also about his condition although she had never seen any of it in person. You couldn’t help but let out a laugh at Denise’s harsh comeback and loved all the support your family was getting.

More women joined your side, letting you know how brave they thought you’ve been all this time going out with your child, knowing there were people out to hurt her. And some nudging you and pointing towards Daryl, suggesting you wee brave for …other things as well. You turned beet red at the implication of you sleeping with Daryl like that, which no, you hadn’t. They all giggled along with you, chatting about how your kids should play together some time to which your face dropped again, sadly having to explain about Rose’s current issue and not feeling comfortable having her around other kids for now. You were happy to learn they all respected your decision albeit not entirely understanding it. You were a relatively young mother with a child you yourself also still had to learn a lot about.

Daryl had gotten up from his spot, making sure Rose walked with him to your group. When something grabbed at your leg you were quickly pulled from your conversation to pick up your daughter and greet Daryl with a pat on the head. “Feeling better again?” He nodded and grumbled, sitting down to close the circle and suddenly getting all kinds of stares from the ladies which had him tilt his head in confusion and stare at you. The ladies giggled again as your beet red color returned making Daryl nudge you with his nose. “They ehm.. Made some assumptions about us ..together..” Fumbling with the fabric of Rose’s shirt you stumbled over your words and Daryl quickly seemed to realize what you were getting at. He let out a content hum that had the ladies crying with laughter, patting you on the back and wishing you good luck with your boyfriend before walking off to find their own families and head back home. You looked back at Daryl who still sported a smug look and gave him a light pat to get the idea out of his head.

Rick came up to you two, informing you the people who were causing a scene earlier got taken care of. One of them also confessed to using the silver jewelry to hurt Daryl.

The realization of people being out to hurt you for real freaked you out, but the confirmation of them being taken care of made you feel a lot safer, knowing there were always people around who were on your side.

“Hey, Dee. Wanna head home? I think Rose is tired.” You glanced over at the child currently drooling over your shirt as she slept in your arms. “Besides,” a nudge with your elbow had him make a curious noise at you. “We solved our issue, so we should have that second kid talk right about now.”

Another content hum left Daryl’s throat as he happily nudged you along, leading you home with an eager tempo.

Once back home you went to put Rose to bed and fetch Daryl a new set of clothes while he shifted back into his human form. When you rounded the corner you threw his clothes at him so he could get dressed while you grabbed something to drink for you both.

Daryl had just finished dressing and pulling his hair up in a messy bun like he always did in the privacy of his own home. You set down the glasses and walked over to your boyfriend, kissing him to celebrate your victory today.

“Those burns aren’t healing well, huh?” You put your hands on his jaw, moving his head to get a better look as he shook his head. “Nah. Silver burns scar most of the time.” Your stood on your tiptoes to kiss the wounds and took his hands in yours. “Come, drink and nap. Both of us.” He accepted the drink and kindly waited for you to finish yours while he gulped his down in seconds.

The second your glass hit the table he had hauled you over his shoulder and made his way up the stairs.

“We aint nappin’ just yet, bunny.”

#sometimes i write #daryl dixon #daryl dixon x reader #daryl dixon imagine #twd daryl #twd #the walking dead #twd imagine #twd x reader #twd au #werewolf #werewolves

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