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shutit-haha · 9 months

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Rocker Bakugo/Manager reader

Rocker Bakugo who everyone labels as cocky but you simply say arrogant. There's videos that have gone viral of you correcting people during interviews saying he's only like this because he knows what he can do. This is how you gain your popularity as his manager.

"Now you're quite cocky aren't you?" The grey haired man leans forward onto his desk.

"No, he's not." You speak up from where you sit next to Bakugo on the dark green sofa.

"But he is," the man corrects you.

"No, he's not." You've taken on a more stern tone, "anytime Katsuki has ever told me 'I don't need you to teach me' he goes and proves that in fact he doesn't need my assistance. He's very talented and has been since a surprisingly young age, do I wish he was nicer yes, every one does. He's arrogant only because he's aware of how talented he is." The interview was cut short after that, security escorting your crew out. This is how you accidently make your mark.

Rocker Bakugo who has a ton of groupies but doesn't really care. As his career starts to rocket, he appears more and more in public with hickeys on his shoulders and chest. At first there's speculation of it being from wild fan, however it's all from you. Gotta make your claim on your drummer boy.

Rocker Bakugo who sits you on his lap and tries to teach you how to play the drums. He wraps his hands around yours, has you pick your favorite song and the two of you learn it together. When ever he has free time (which includes the five minutes he has before showtime) he'll sit you down and have you practice.

"Let's see," he pulls you down onto him.

"I'm not there yet," you're all bashful and shy like the other fan girls. You're not really musically inclined, you dabble sure but negotiation's are your world.

"Yeah you are, come on play." He doesn't grab onto your hands this time, forcing you to play on your own.

"How was that," you're eager for his validation.

"Certified drummer baby, might take my job."

"Don't gaslight."

"'M not."

One day he pulls you on stage for an encore. He gets up from his stool, sits you down instead and has the whole band play your favorite song as a live concert.

Rocker Bakugo who plays dumb when you're talking about laws and contracts. You know full well he understands what you're talking about. When everything was young; your relationship, careers, and ages, the two of you went to get your degrees together.

He'd help you study and was one of the top of your class. You both walked the stage together. Fast forward and his degrees just sitting there in his studio while his eye candy of a manager takes care of everything for him.

"What's that," he ask interrupting you when you use a 'big legal word.'

"Katsuki," you whine.

"What? I'm fuckin' confused explain it to me."

"You understand, I know you understand."

"Brain's melted from all those guitar riffs love, nothing in here but music notes."

"Kat," you swat at him.

"Alright fine, like when that sexy voice of yours explains it to me."

"We're not in college anymore."

"Wasn't that long ago."

Rocker Bakugo who slays at guitar hero and has the drum version. When he's pissed he plays, you come home and find him just jamming the fuck out. He's broken the game once or twice it's a pain in the ass to pay. The damn rich boy even owns the arcade version, bakusquad comes over and plays it all the time.

Rocker Bakugo who has to have your validation. (We all know he has an inferiority complex.) Who gets off stage all sweaty and shit, has that smug ass grin on his face. Still without fail always finds you and is like "how'd I do?"

"Sexy as fuck."

"Yeah," he's breathing heavily in your neck. His arms are limp by his sides, muscles sore.

"Yeah," you push his hair out of his face.

Rocker Bakugo who had everyone convinced you were just some girl. You were always with him, even when recording most people kind of just assumed you were some accessory. You always love the reactions you get when you're introduced as his manager.

Rocker Bakugo who people assume doesn't actually love you. The two of you always appear standoff-ish and scary. However this is only because you're always on alert when the two of you are with new people. You're polite but that bubbly personality of yours completely fizzles away. You're his no bullshitting manager and nothing else during those times, all work mode. There's a rule about no PDA as a way to keep up your image and reputation.

It's such a huge contrast from how the two of you are on livestreams and what not.

Rocker Bakugo who low-key has a mommy/daddy kink, and loves your praise. You're unafraid of telling him when's messed up or needs to rehearse something again. And well your boyfriend's learned to swallow your critique. This means that when he does do something perfect the first time he expects you to hang it up on the fridge.

"Again," you're leaning up against the wall on the opposite side of the room. The darkness of the rest of the space makes you seem barely there, you're like a phantom.

"Again," he growls back at you. The rest of the group is watching with open eyes weary of what is going to happen next.

"Are your muscles cramping?"

"No."

"Are you hungry?"

"No," his voice gets louder.

"Thirty?"

"No," and louder.

"Am I overworking you then?"

"no," and louder.

"Well then do you think you can play it right this time?" Your words make everyone in the room wince, except for your boyfriend. His jaws clenched biting the words he so desperately wants to shout.

"Yeah," he barks at you.

"Good," you lean back against the wall adjusting your shoulders for comfort. "Again."

Rocker Bakugo who fights with you sometimes. "What kind of contract is that," he snarls at you.

"Katsuki what you're asking me for doesn't exist."

"Then make it happen."

"It doesn't work like that, this is difficult."

"It always is."

"Oh don't give me that, you know damn well this is hard. Actually I bet you don't, I bet you haven't even looked at it." You scoff shaking your head, "you're bitching to me about something you know nothing about."

"Bullshit," he spats.

"Yeah ok."

"And what was that shit during practice," his hand is flat on your desk. Your study smells like him and you're not quite sure how you feel about that. It's like he's invaded your space.

"That shirt during practice was me trying to make you better."

"Yeah right," he sneers putting his other hand down on the desk.

"Not everyone's got it out for you Katsuki." You rise from your seat so that you may now stand behind your desk. "You know what Dyna-mighT I can just pack up and leave. I mean you wouldn't want to sleep next to a greedy traitor." You walk out from behind your desk, "you poor fucking cash cow," you glare at him. "I loved you before all of this, when we were broke fucking high school kids."

"Not true."

"Yeah because your mommy and daddy had money to back you up." You point to yourself, "I didn't have that though. I went out on a limb because I believed in you, I took a leap of faith because I trusted the net would appear. This," you bring your finger down onto your desk, "is my income. We don't have to love each other but I am not losing this job."

"Because you made me right, you made me want I am now." He's snarling at your back, you're only a couple steps away from the door.

You snort, "you made yourself. You're really fucking smart, and your gorgeous too but FUCK do you let your insecurity get in the way. And it's my fault for making your ego bigger, this wasn't all you. Go through those records and try and tell me I haven't done some crazy shit for you. Go through documents, interviews, concerts, post, look and compare old contracts."

"Bullshit, I know people that can do better."

"Than go find them," you wave him off.

"You're just a fucking manager-"

"And you're just a fucking cash cow," you slam the door behind you.

#x reader #bakugou katsuki #rocker #drummer boy #manager #Rocker Bakugo #katsuki bakugo x reader #argument #highschool sweethearts #headcanon #insecurity #mutual praise #protective

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houseofhyde · 2 years

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dressed in white (putting off crying).

pairing. daemon targaryen x fem!reader

synopsis. he knows of those who whisper that seeing the bride in her dress before the couple stands beneath the eyes of the seven births nothing but bad luck for a marriage, but daemon targaryen cares little for superstitions.

warnings. canon appropriate sexism/misogyny, implied valyrian!reader, implied incest (if you interpret this as the reader being targaryen), daemon is a simp for his lover!, likely ooc!daemon (i'm new to writing for him, i’ll get better, i'm sorry), poorly translated high valyrian, angst, fluff, descriptions of sex.

word count. 5.6k

hyde's input. lmao the title is based off a lyric from the (superior) the 1975 song meanswear. this whole scenario has been playing on my brain since i first watched hotd and i need to get it out before it drives me crazy by living in my tiny pea-brain for too long. i literally only made this blog to post this (since it wouldn't suit the writings on my main blog), so idk if i'll actually post anything else on here but feedback would be appreciated! anyway, daemon is a menace to society, i love him. sidenote,, i've always been terrified to post any fics in the got/hotd fandoms because istg every writer in this fandom has a god-like level of prose and it intimidates me, so please be nice if you think this sucks :) i’ve only read through this once, there may be spelling errors but it’s late and i just want to post this already!!!

tight braids rip hair from skull, gold incased jewels trap a delicate neck in a chokehold, stiff fabrics snuff out any heat of the westerosi sun from gracing dampened skin.

you aim to breathe in an air of relief for your aching lungs, yet the maiden behind you denies you of such a virtue as she pulls tighter on the set of strings holding up your bodice. you grow more lightheaded, oxygen starved body swaying momentarily, as a few more of your ladies in waiting assist with dressing you in the white coffin, lace cuffing your wrists like shackles and the weight of the gown feeling akin to that of a great beast, be it the weight of a stag, or a lion, or a wolf.

or a dragon.

“please,” hardly recognising your own voice, you flinch at the broken rasp that makes its way past your lips. your throat burns, your stomach churns, your eyes carry bags beneath them. far from a blushing bride, you are. the days of celebration leading up to the ceremony have taken an effect on both your mind and body, restless nights leading to uneaten feasts and unquenched thirsts. alas, you push such thoughts to that corner in your mind you reserve for nothing but tales of docile dragons and knights in dirtied armor as you straighten your stand, shoulders rising and head holding itself high. “may i have a moment of solitude within my chambers?”

your ladies shoot their attention over to the eldest among them, a septa who's hair has grown a deeper shade of grey with the passing of time and face has grown wrinkled by a history of smiles and laughter, and who bares the name of dorothea.

“of course, lady y/n. every woman must steal her last moment of solitude before she marries herself off to her lord husband. solitude will be sparse once you are wed.”

like an army of men, though far more graceful and colourful, the ladies make way towards the entrance of your chambers, spilling out in a single file line and shutting the door behind them.

and finally you breathe.

once, twice, thrice, and then you are a mess of desperate gasps and trembling limbs. you make your way over to the mirror which centres the room, steps more of an uncoordinated tumble than a graceful walk of a future lady of court.

met with your own reflection, something feels off. like a lack of connection, your astute mind can not fathom how this frail, tired, solemn looking girl bares any resemblance to the confident, bright eyed and quick witted woman you'd grown to be.

you trace your hands over the flaring of the dress' skirt, as if working out the creases in the fabric will loosen the ones that line your forehead. so caught up in your own unfitting image, you barely register the reopening of your chambers door.

“please, dorothea,” you sigh the woman's name out like she's bound to you by something more motherly than mere duty, the years spent in her company making for far better memories than the fleeting time you've passed with your true mother. “just a few more minutes. i'm... not ready. not yet.”

“i should hope not, you've yet to finish fastening the buttons on that ridiculous gown they've forced you into.”

the first thing you notice as your eyes meet the mirror once more is that your frown has deepened.

“you can't-” the second thing is him, dressed in the onyx and blood colours of his house, his newly shortened hair styled in a way that gives him a near boyish charm. the only visible slither of dark sister- nothing but a handle pressing into his left side- reminds you this is no boy, but a man, brutal and abrasive and protective, fresh from a victorious battle in which he walked away with a crown and the offering of another sword for his brother's throne. you're quick to correct your choice of words. “you shouldn't be here, prince daemon.”

if you were anyone else, you'd think the prince cares little- if anything- for the words you cast his way, arms clasped behind his back as he strides across the room with an air of arrogance, confidence, the stature of a man who not only belonged within your chambers but within your heart.

but, alas, you are you, and that means a great deal when it comes to the study of one targaryen prince. only you would notice the twitch in his brow, the snarl across his lips that is quickly denied in exchange for a smirk, the slight shrink of his shoulders as the weight of the truth sets itself upon them.

he's displeased.

whether the reason be your unusual use of his title- an act he knows you've committed with the foolish hope of putting distance between you both, if not physically then at least in power- or your attempt to banish him from your quarters evades you, but it matters little, really, for daemon is still approaching you.

he's upon you quicker than you expected, quicker than you wanted.

“let me.” two words, simple and used from the most common of folk to the most regal of lords, uttered in an infinite number of scenarios. yet, they may be your undoing as the silver haired man welcomes himself to the feel of your skin, a single finger trailing it's way down what remains exposed of your back. the touch mimics a shiver, something that tickles down your spine in a disturbingly enjoyable manner.

you nod your approval, too afraid to open your mouth and see what sounds he elicits from you, your heart too long starved of affection and his gentle caress the first it's tasted in years.

the fear of speaking carries on even as he departs from your skin, both hands joining in finishing the task of clasping your dress together. maybe this is worse, you think, having his knuckles bump against you every so often as he fiddles with the pearly white buttons, teasing you with what could be, what could've been.

“i never imagined us marrying under the seven.” part of you believes he's mocking you, torturing you with words he knows will wrap around your heart like vines and pierce the delicate organ with its thorns. you wonder if this is the targaryen prince known for his callous words and disregard for the sentiment of another come out to show you his true colours once and for all, gone now the days where he'd shower you in expensive metals and feed you the sweetest of treats.

he catches your line of sight in the reflective glass and his smile widens, pulling his lips with a heavy sense of dishonesty that makes your insides twist. never did you think there'd come a day where daemon targaryen would fake a smile towards you.

“īlva qilōni carry se ānogar hen uēpa valyria should dīnagon isse se ways hen uēpa valyria.” us who carry the blood of old valyria should marry in the ways of old valyria. there was a moment in time- back when the sight of a man was enough to make you blush- that you believed there was nothing, and no one, that compared to the beauty of hearing daemon speak his ancestral language, the old flame of valyria setting his soul ablaze. as you stand now, eyes stuck on watching how he's focused on one particularly stiff button, you find only heartache in hearing him speak high valyrian. not even the way he breaks his composed facade- though only for a mere handfull of seconds- to frown and scowl down at the stubborn button is enough to ease the tension in your chest. “ondos bound ondoso ānogar, daor dovodedha cloth.” hands bound by blood, not silly cloth.

by the time he finishes off fastening your gown, bile burns the back of your throat as his hands smooth down your back, painfully slow in their travels, giving you enough time to think of how this isn't how things were meant to be.

daemon was supposed to be the one eagerly tearing off your dress, not trapping you in its suffocating confines.

you decide to play into his fantasy, to let not only him but also yourself indulge in the sweet naïveté of wishful thinking.

“skoros ābrar gōntan ao imagine syt īlva?” what life did you imagine for us?

he takes a breath, pausing the conversation and inhaling as if to stable his wavering heart, focus his mind on choosing his next words wisely or run the risk of you shoving him away completely.

when he at last answers, you wish you'd never asked.

“i saw us trading life in the keep for dragonstone, making a home for ourselves where the targaryen history runs deepest. it's where we'd wed, where i'd get to listen to you swear vows to me that carry true meaning, unlike the shit i’ll have to endure hearing you spew later in the sept.” relief floods over you like a great storm as he switches back to the common tongue, a downpour which serves to dampen the fiery passion in his voice. his hands have found rest upon your mid-riff, large and warm and protective in the way they pull you back against his muscular chest. “we'd host feasts for whenever my brother insists on visiting us to keep up appearances of a false bond between his new family and his old one. you'd teach me about other languages, so i could express my adoration for you in every tongue known to man, and i'd show you what it is to never want for anything, make sure you own every possession you desire and feel every emotion you require.

“when we're not busy playing politics, in the moments you're not teaching our sons how to thread needles and to be good husbands, while i encourage our daughters to wield swords and to be strong, we'd spend that time in the throes of pleasure." the blunt ends of his nails dig deep into the layers of fabric, as if he's trying to tear the dress off to reveal the real you beneath, the you he's become all too enthralled by. the you that's bare, and pliant, and begging for his touch in a way that is not only sexual but primal, as though you'd perish if not for the brush of his lips against yours and warmth of his body casting over you like a shadow meant to seal you away from the harsh world. "fuck a marital bed, we'd make it into a marital home, a marital garden, a marital beach. i'd take you anywhere, work my fingers into you till they are broken, bruise my knees just to drink your sweet nectar, fuck you so full of my seed till it has nowhere else to go and no choice but to drip out of you, covering us in our brutal lovemaking.”

“daemon-”

“they'll tire of us, eventually, all our poor maids and guards. tire of catching me with you bent over any surface, tire of hearing you chant my name like i'm your only god. they'll be running back to kingslanding with their tails tucked between their legs, ready to spread the gossip of just how insatiable the rogue prince and his ravishing wife really are.”

“daemon, you really-”

“we can still have that life, my love.” he sounds so hopeful, glances upon you so eagerly in the reflective glass that you near crumble to the ground if not for the support of his arms around you. “hmm, wouldn't you prefer we do that, instead of this over the top ceremony that'll leave you with nothing but a headache and sore feet?”

the heartache behind his intentions sedates the anger that quells within your chest, way past the layers of bodice. it is not born from nowhere, this anger. not a fiery pit lit from an explosive catastrophe but, rather, a sole flame that has simmered and festered and burned for a near three years, mothered by solitude and fathered by abandonment.

“no, we can't.” intending to put your foot down, reign in control over yourself, hands reaching to tear his tiresome hold off of you, you're bereft to find yourself sighing a breath that leaves clear the exhaustion you've been harbouring- far beyond just physical, deep in the trenches of neglected emotions- , body melting into a puddle at his feet upon watching the familiar sight of your embracing limbs in the reflection. bitterness bites the back of your throat in this repeat of familiar history: you, daemon and bodies touching away from prying eyes and gossiping courtiers. “my father... he'd have your head, daemon. after everything he has done to secure this union happened... after all the rumours... it wouldn't be fair to him.”

daemon hums out an acknowledgement and you nearly convince yourself he's in agreement, that he understands the repercussions that would entail if you gave in to his game of make-believe; that he knows these pretty words that once were a gift for a younger version of yourself to hear, all tied up in a bow made of his velvet kisses upon your silk skin, have become a punishment meant to torment a child who'd dared to play with a toy that was never hers to touch in the first place.

all hope of redemption is lost with the tightening of his hold.

muscles flex beneath the red of his sleeves, an unspoken promise of the strength he harbours, the brute force he’d be more than willing to use should someone aim to take you from his hold. what follows is a resounding silence, where you’re too shaken to speak and his head rests it’s weight on your shoulder, the near-white crown of his head staring back at you in the mirror as it blends with the white of your gown. he burrows his face into the spot where your neck meets your shoulders, hiding whatever broken, troubled, pathetic- his own word for sad- expression paints his features.

“i thought you would wait for me.”

and just like that, the illusion is shattered, an accusatory tone to his voice which leaves behind nothing of the false sense of bliss or the hopeful future but jagged shards scattered along the ground, threatening to split your skin and make you bleed should you dare to clean it up.

“how could i, prince daemon?” the anger works its way through the cracks in your broken heart, taking up the space you’d once reserved for tears and forgiveness. “you left. no words, no warning, no goodbye. my loyalty is with my father and my house, and therefore marrying to secure a fruitful alliance for said house comes above all, even petty little princes.”

“i was banished! by my own brother! by your own-” he halts the words before he can speak them. though the dragon in him is awakening- the slightest of conflict rousing the ugly defensive side of him-, he stubbornly holds his position, eyes squeezing shut a little tighter to fight out the light of reality he’s trying to evade. “and now here i return to find the one person i came back for could not wait a measly three years for me!”

“if you think i’ve waited only three years for you, you’re an even greater fool than otto hightower.”

the prince tenses, the mention of his sworn nemesis (a feat which had earned him plenty a mockery on your end, forever bereft at the fact a supposed grown man could live with a near-playground level of hatred for another) causing the fire within him to grow more violent. he unwinds himself from the hold he’s got on you, arms dropping to his side and face rising from it’s hiding spot within your skin. in the mirror, he looms over you, staring down at you like he’s the red wyrm and you are but a helpless doe moments away from having your flesh burnt by his fire.

“forgive me, lady y/n,” the hairs on the back of your neck stand to attention as darkness overcomes his voice, matching the expression on his face. “i wasn’t aware of how deep your loyalty ran for you to whore yourself out so easily for some lord’s name and gold.”

with the twist of an ankle, you come face to face with the dragon prince, chest heaving with each laboured breath which fails to calm your nerves and nose blowing out what you imagine to be the steam of your fiery anger. you stagger back, he leans forward. hands land on your elbows and steady you, draw you nearer till the mounds of your breasts brush against his cloth-covered chest.

daemon is stunned to silence, a rare feat, as he gazes down at you and sees not the woman who’s wrapped up in white lace but the girl who’d been covered in tears and carried fear in her eyes as she took in the sight of the man she’d crashed into- quite literally, as he’d enjoyed reminding you whenever you had gotten a little too generous with the wine and led yourself down the path of unadulterated reminiscing in his chambers- in the halls of the keep. he remembers how it felt to truly look upon your face for the first time, to be lulled into a sedated state just by hearing your soft voice stuttering out apologies, to part ways from you with hands still burning from the heat of your flesh, refusing to cool down even as he sat among the small council, too busy clenching his fists and questioning what exactly was so bewitching about the maiden he’d caught in distress.

a sharp sting to his cheek is enough to shatter the memory, bringing him out of the looking glass of the past and into the present where your eyes are filled with more disgust than tears and the burn of your flesh is against his face instead of his hands.

you’d slapped him.

by gods, you’d actually struck him.

if the circumstances called for it, the prince wonders if his cock would be stiffening by now.

“you, of all people, have no right to call me a whore, lord fleabottom.”

“and yet i seem to recall you begging me to call you that during our past encounters.”

you grab at his collar, sharp nails digging into the dark material as if it were his windpipes, crushing them under your brutish strength. tugging him down with what you believe to be force- and what is truly just him giving into your attempt-, the pair of you find yourselves eye to eye, nose to nose, frown to frown.

oh, yes, his cock would certainly be hard, were his heart not so weak.

“you are a despicable excuse of a man.” you mean to spit the words in his face, praying to all the old gods and the new for this feeling to truly be hatred, disgust, disdain. three years have passed and, with it, so has your love, leaving a gapping hole meant only to be filled with hate. were it not for the shaking of your free hand, or the pounding of your heart in your ears, you’d believe your prayers had been answered. alas, the gods are cruel and your words fall only as a whisper on his ears. “i pity the women who have been scorned with loving you.”

“come now, my lady, you were always so against those who pitied themselves.”

“do you hear how pathetic you sound?” taken aback by his rebuttal, your response comes with a moments delay, one you hope he does not notice. the grin he casts down at you proves otherwise, and serves as yet another plank of dry wood tossed on to the blazing embers of your ire. “i am to be married come high noon, and you are already a married man! put aside your wants and realise your duty, perhaps then your king would not see it necessary to rid himself of you.”

“and what a marriage it’ll be, my lady! with your dearest lord cunt lannister parading you around as though you are some prized deer he’s caught for a feast, and you drowning yourself in riches and wines to forget the horrid memory of his red face above yours.” he matches your own grip on him, his far larger and far stronger hand shooting out to take a hold of you by the neck of your dress. he’s a brute, tugging on the expensive cottons like they are no more than the clothes of a common whore. “rumour has it your dear husband-to-be is one of those one-pump-chumps, so at the very least he’ll get it over with quickly, allowing you to roll over and bring yourself some satisfaction as his pathetic seed paints your thighs.”

“at least my marriage will be consummated!” daemon scoffs as quickly as the words have shot out your mouth, no harm coming from them, not with how many nights he’d spent in your sheets claiming he’d sooner fuck his own dragon than touch his so-called bronze bitch. the real kicker, the true spear through his pride, the thing you know only by rumour and not by fact, is what you say next. “meanwhile you’ll continue to chase pleasure in whores who look like me from the back, but just never quite sound, smell, taste, feel the same as i do.”

“keep talking and i’ll take it as an invitation to remind myself of just exactly how you feel.”

“if the recent rumours about you are true, my prince, i doubt you’ll be capable of getting your cock to rise for the occasion.”

silence takes hold of the little space between you. contemplation evident on his face, he straightens back up to his full height, eyes no longer at level with your own as they cast down a look which lacks all the sharp edges from before. no longer are his eyes daggers that threaten to slice through you but, instead, blankets of warmth and safety which ache to wrap around your tired bones and shield you from the cold which accompanies the feeling of solitude.

the hand which once held you by the top of your dress has traveled up the expanse of your neck, fingers soft and lazy in the way they stroke over the skin. before you even process your own actions, the grip you have on his own clothes loosens, till your hand is merely resting against the solid mass of his chest.

for the first time since the rogue prince had returned to the capital, victorious and wearing a crown, you allow yourself to take in the sight of him, wholly and unserved. you admire the shortened length of his hair, noting how it frames his face in a way that fully brings out its sharp edges. you trace over the new lines in his skin, unintentionally reminiscing on words you'd both exchanged between tangled limbs and the moonlight ( “they are a sign that i'm aging, sweetling.” “they are a sign that you've lived.”). you catch sight of mangled skin along his right side, peeking out from beneath his clothing. your heart clenches at the thought of him in pain, and you distract yourself from thinking of what other marks decorate his war-torn body by returning attention to his lilac eyes.

three years have passed since you had last held each other and, against your own wishes, your heart still remembers to beat harder around him.

“he will not love you.” the words are an exhale from him, like he's resigning you to your own fate.

“i do not need love.” the words you speak become the first lie you've ever told him, making even with the way he'd faked his smile earlier.

“then if not love, freedom. that cunt will not give you that." you aim to tear away from his piercing eyes, yet the force of his hand tilting your chin upwards gets in your way. he may have been at war, you think, but he's inflicting a greater torture upon you than any fallen soldier right now, imploring you to look upon his weakened state in a way he's never allowed before. "he will give you gold, and dresses, and dresses made of gold to occupy yourself with, but never freedom.”

“freedom is a fool’s game.”

“gaomā daor ȳdragon hae aōla.” you do not speak like yourself. this time, he does not prevent you from looking back at your own reflection. you wish to whine about how you do not look like yourself either, dressed in such a ridiculously white gown but don't in fear that he'll take it as invitation to slice through it with his dear dark sister. “what happened to the girl who used to make plans to see the world on dragon's back, to taste every wine, to be tied to no land?”

“she died somewhere between the first time you kissed her and six moons into your war for the stepstones.”

like the mirror were something akin to the mystical, future-telling balls you'd heard of in the stories of witches and seers, the memory of your first kiss plays out before you. you remember it all like it was merely yesterday. the way you'd at last bested him after the five moons of midnight training you'd endured. the way he lay frozen on the ground, eyes widened in a mixture of shock, irritation and pride. the way he'd marched over to you and sent thrilling chills of fear down your spine as you worried he aimed to scold you for daring to nick the right side of his cheek with your blade, drawing out blood. the way he'd ripped your weapon from your hand, thrown it off to some unseen part of the dark training grounds and proceeded to attack you. only, where you had expected raised fists and seething words, he gave bruising kisses and sighs of satisfaction, the victory of at last going against everyone else's supposed better judgement and giving into the carnal desires he'd tried to cast aside in favour of protecting your virtue in the eyes of the cunts that sat with himself and your own father at the small council.

and then, you blink and suddenly it is half a decade later and you're standing in those same dark, cold, training grounds, only this time the prince is nowhere in sight and you're hacking at a man made of straw, picturing the king's brother's face with every swing of the blade.

“most nights i barely knew if you were alive, daemon! any news of you was sparse, and never meant to fall upon my ears. were it not for rhaenyra serving as cupbearer for the council, overhearing the gossips that ensued in their meetings, i'd never have found out you'd gone to war in the first place. waiting for you to send a raven, or send at the very least a sign that you ached for me as much as i did you, it broke me. and, as i put the fractured pieces of myself back together, i found i was no longer the wide eyed fool you'd left me. i was no longer going to cry over a man who didn't respect me enough to let me know of his leaving.”

“how could i write you, my lady? was it not you who asked of me that our affairs be kept a private matter? i'd have thought our scandal was lesson enough for you to learn there are rats in every crevice of kingslanding. a single letter from me would have been your undoing.” the anger returns to his voice, though not so all-consuming this time around. behind your own reflection, you see him shifting around, body growing agitated with the need to do something, anything to expel the dark energy coursing through his veins. “we both know i have not once had an issue with making my affections for you known, it is you who was so scared to be branded as my mistress! so do not dare question my respect for you. everything you've wanted, i've given. anything you've asked of me, i've done. and it was still not enough to mark my claim on your heart.”

“why do you still not see my heart is not some land to be won?” if at any moment you pondered the possibility of the maids outside your chambers being aware of the reason behind daemon's current presence, the raising of your voice and the words you spit out at him must be enough to confirm any of their suspicions. you wonder which of them will be the one to spread the word, until it reaches your father's ears or- worse- your betrothed. “nyke daor mirri sombāzmion hen pryjata syt ao naejot hang bona jaes-forsaken bartōro hāre zaldrīzes banner iemnȳ.” i am not some castle of ruins for you to hang that god-forsaken three-headed dragon banner within.

if words were daggers, yours would have pierced through his darkened heart and twisted the blade. for there is nothing more prideful to a targaryen than their own bloodline- and many a nights you'd spent, sat at candlelight with the infamous conquest of aegon targaryen himself depicted to you in a written word, pondering if this grandiose sense of self is what lead to their customs of taking their own kin to wed-, the hot tempered prince being the greatest example of this, rumoured to have once made a eunuch of a man who dared to so little as roll his eyes as a young viserys targaryen passed by him in a brothel.

you feel him more than you see him move behind you, weight shifting from one leg to another and carrying the rustle of metals and leather with it. he's glaring at you through the reflective glass, mouth pressed shut in a straight line and hands clasped behind his back, as if holding them there is some way of holding off whatever thoughts he had of touching you with hands that had brought so many people to their end- his own wife being their latest victim.

several minutes of silence pass by before you realise he's weighing out his options, trying to choose what to say next. the rogue prince, known for his unmatched wit and possessing the ability to argue his way out of acts of war against his very own brother, is lost for words for a second time.

when the words come to him at last, you wish they'd disappear again.

“i am a proud man. i have fought, and lived, and fucked with fire and blood, so this will be the first and only time i will ask this of you.” you watch with baited breath and sweating palms as daemon's figure lowers itself behind you and, with no second thought to be found, you swirl around in your gown just in time to watch his right knee meet the floor, his other one positioned perfectly at a ninety-degree angle and holding his weight as he leans his arm against the muscular thigh. his head is tilted up, desperation dancing gracefully with the heartache in his eyes as his right hand finds comfort in tangling itself with your own, him relishing in your touch and you fighting so hard to forget each and every other time he'd held your hand so gently.

in an imitation of his return to king visery's graces, he's bowing for you as though it will win him back your favour and the warmth of your bed.

“do not make yourself a lannister, do not wed him. lady rhea royce is dead, there is nothing obstructing our path. we can make it to the dragonpit before anyone even notices you're gone, we'll be wed by sundown, i beg of you. kostilus, marizzo hen ñuha prūmia, mazverdagon nyke aōha valzȳrys.” please, owner of my heart, make me your husband.

it is a plea for so much more than your hand.

it is a plea for your life, a plea for your future, a plea for a world where you reside upon dragon's back and he resides anywhere that is by your side.

it is everything you've ever wanted to hear from him, coming into fruition in the worst way imaginable: dressed in a wedding gown meant for another man.

“skoro syt sir? skoro syt līs ao epagon bisa hen issa sir?” why now? why must you ask this of me now? you pull in a breath and push out a sob, eyes welling with unshed tears as you force yourself to rip away from his lilac irises to find safety in staring up at the cold, unfeeling ceiling. “skoro syt daor skori nyke istan nykeēdrosa dāez naejot vestragon kessa?” why not when i was still free to say yes?

before he can fumble out a response, the door to your chambers reopens.

unlike before, it truly is dorothea this time.

“my lady,” she looks past the prince on his knees as though she can not even see him, too committed to her loyalty for you to rub a greater amount of salt in the gaping wound upon your heart which is daemon targaryen. there is no doubt when believing she'd never utter a word of the scene she has walked in on. “we must make haste. the ceremony will commence shortly, and there can be no wedding without a bride.”

the grip on your hand grows tighter, a silent plea from daemon to get you to look at him again, to see him for all that he may be- a man made of untamed disrespect, a tally of war crimes, blood of the so called dragon seed and, above all else, love for you- and take him as your own.

it makes it an even greater battle when you force your aching body to pull away from him, hands patting down the creases in your dress one last time before making your way over to the door.

this time around, it is you who leaves daemon a mess on your chambers' floor, kneeling there till his knees ache and the wedding bells have long ago rang out.

#daemon targaryen smut #daemon targaryen x reader #daemon targaryen imagine #daemon targaryen oneshot #daemon targaryen fic #daemon targaryen angst #daemon targaryen fluff #house of the dragon smut #lmao the description of this fic is so misleading.. it's basically click bait i'm so sorry 🥴

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bitethehnd · 2 months

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omg i’ve had the biggest brainrot over ur naomi & taylor!reader & rewatching the eras tour i have 🙇🏻‍♀️🙇🏻‍♀️🙇🏻‍♀️🙇🏻‍♀️🙇🏻‍♀️ thoughts

i can imagine reader! having a chat w naomi when they’re ready to make it official and actually tell everyone they’re together (god knows everyone’s figured it out but shh let them have their moment) & reader! asks if they can make it official during the show but doesn’t tell Naomi how,, they’re just like trust me it’ll be good and naomi is like ok !! anything for u !! & during karma reader! sings “karma is my baby on the screen, coming straight home to me!” & they somehow get naomi’s live reaction on the big screen megatron thing of reader fully making it official to everyone mid show and they’re just in AWE

& in the same show when reader! sings “you’re in love” they do a lil speech about how this song was written for someone else completely and after everything that went down, they hated this songs because it brought back so many bad memories (or something) but now they have someone who makes them feel like this song is the reason for existence again and it just cuts to lil naomi sobbing aAAA i truly love that fic so much i still have so many thoughts about it thank u thank u thank u

⊹ ‧₊˚ ౨ৎ you are in love

pairing : naomi mcpherson x popstar!reader

a/n : ANON I LOVE YOUR BRAIN KISS KISS

at this point during your eras tour, the two of you are already together. you think you’re all sneaky but literally everyone knows… naomi looks at you like you gave them the moon so it’s quite obvious, but everyone lets you two have your fun!

the first people you told were obviously katie and jo. they both had fake surprised looks on their faces but said the two of you deserved to be happy. then ensue the countless jokes and comments from jo.

the boys were thrilled too! since phoebe had also opened for you, she had taken a guess that you two had a thing for each other and then her suspicions were confirmed. julien fist pumped naomi and lucy gave you a big hug!! you guys are adorable fr.

next came telling the world about the relationship. you two held off for a few months, wanting privacy, but it seemed twitter was already aware of it. everyone had their theories and some were so outrageous that you just wanted to tell everyone yourself.

you told naomi your feelings on the matter and they immediately agreed, no questions asked. they were ready to show you off and not have to hide. you suggested doing it during your next show, and like anon said, naomi is just like “whatever my princess wants, she gets!!! anything for her!!”

you quickly put your plan into motion. you decided your surprise song for the next show would be “you are in love” from 1989. it perfectly described how you felt about naomi. you came up with some ideas for the speech you would give before hand and it went something like this…

“the next song that i’m going to play is one that i haven’t performed in so long. i wrote it about someone who i thought was going to be my forever, but it just didn’t end up that way and it left me with some sad memories. i have never felt the need to play this song since then, but now everything has changed. even if i originally wrote this about someone else, my partner renewed it into something so pure and now has a reason to exist again. i love you.”

the camera doesn’t pan to naomi just yet, since you wanted to build suspense. for dramatic effect, of course. but jo and katie make sure to get their reaction on video. it’s just naomi basically happy crying and laughing with tears under their eyes. even when you guys are a whole stadium apart, the invisible string between you is there.

when it was finally time for the last era of songs, from midnights, you were planning to do a lyric swap in “karma.” the actual lyric was “karma is my girlfriend,” but obviously naomi was not a girl and the song originally wasn’t written about them, you planned to change it to something that made you happier. when the time came to sing “karma,” you looked right into the vip section where naomi was and sang “karma is my baby on the screen, coming straight home to me!” cut to the camera panning to naomi and they’re just giddy, laughing and crying all at the same time. when you told them you were going to make it official, this is definitely not how they imagined it, but they weren’t complaining.

you just wanted to show the world your love for them and honestly didn’t give a shit what anyone thought. the two of you just existed in your own little bubble, feeling like you were just singing to them.

after the show was over and naomi practically sprinted backstage, their beaming smile lit up the room as they saw you. they pulled you in for a fierce hug and pressed gentle kisses to your forehead.

“that was the sweetest thing in the entire world, baby. i love you so much.”

“so you liked it? it wasn’t too much?”

“never. that was, like, magical. can’t believe you did all that for me.”

“i’d do anything for you, nom.”

#bitethehnd #naomi mcpherson x reader #naomi mcpherson x you #naomi mcpherson au #naomi mcpherson fluff #naomi mcpherson fanfic #muna x reader #muna fanfic #popstar!reader

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thelittlepinkwitchblog · 2 months

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THE SEAGULLS OF WATERDEEP - A ONESHOT

First off, hello I am not dead just inactive.

I don't usually post much of my writing but here I am, and I'll be 100% honest, this idea has been bouncing around my brain since i made that initial post I dont know when (idk how to link posts but its there somewhere), about the Seagulls of Aberdeen by Scottish comedy group Weegie Hink Ae That? With respect to the source of my setting (the person whose story has me in a vice grip), this one-shot takes place in sort of the “in-between-scenes” of a story like @galebrainrot2024 ‘s on-going series, a former school rivals to friends to more (?) Kind of story. Come into my mind scape, where Tav went to Blackstaff with Gale as kids, they were rivals, and for whatever reason Tav went on to multiclass as a Sorcerer-Bard in order to make a better living or fulfill a passion or whatever, I didn't really think about that until I'm literally writing this intro thing. I like my Tav being F personally but I wrote this as an genderless Tav so I hope everyone can enjoy ^_^

Setting - the party camps in a relatively safe area for the night, allowing everyone to relax a bit from the Ilithid problem, along with the array of personal quests to be fulfilled. Gale made a hearty stew and everyone decided that they should have a little bit of wine as a treat for their weeks of steady hard work. Karlach was the first companion found by Tav after the crash, and so she requested a song the bard had played before meeting the rest of the party. Takes place after the meeting with Elminster.

***

“Oh, oh, sing that funny one about the seagulls!” Karlach almost vibrated from excitement, the heat of her skin radiating more than the well tended campfire. Tav looked around, at the reactions of their companions. Halsin and Wyll both nodded at them encouragingly, Astarion shrugged nonchalantly. Gale had been quiet for days, as quiet as one could expect from him; ever since Elminster quelled the orb with Mystra's blessing, so that he could, well, never mind. Tav observed him as he ran his fingers over the hem of his purple linen chemise, a silent glimpse into the torrent of his mind. “You'll love this one wizard, it's about your home turf.” Having caught on to her friend's gaze, the teifling deliberately brought the wizard from his thoughts and into the circle of conversation.

“Honestly, I would love to hear it.” He did his best to smile, to seem like his usual self, but Tav could see a forlornness deal within his eyes, having taken root in his heart since the orb was silenced.

“Yes, Tav. Do indulge us.” Shadowheart added, taking another sip of wine.

Tav waved their hand, silently summoning a lute with their Bardic Arcana, an act of casual magic that made Gale's heart skip, though for a moment he thought it was the now slumbering orb. Checking the tune with a single strum across the cords, Tav's lips curled into a cat's grin, obviously pleased to have been asked to provide entertainment during their rest. “Alrighty then, if you know the words, sing along.” Playing a simple intro, Tav began to sing, their accent, what dear readers would recognize as Scottish, clearly audible. “Oh the seagulls o'er in Waterdeep, have you seen the fucking size of the seagulls in Waterdeep?” Expecting a ballad that was aforementioned funny, Gale surprised himself when he burst out laughing with everyone else after the first crass line.

“Oh the seagulls o'er in Waterdeep, I watched one fight a granny at the Harbour in Waterdeep.”

Karlach joined into a rough harmony, Tav altering their pitch to accommodate the joyful teifling. “I thought I must be Water-dreamin’ up I wasnae, the big ol' bastard's devil eyes staring right through me. I thought I must be Water-dreamin’ but I wasnae, the big ol’ bastard chased me down and tried to kill me.” Shadowheart, Wyll, and Halsin all joined in with the chorus, Astarion enjoyed the spectacle too much to join, Lae'zel had left to train, and Gale was too busy marveling at how easily Tav smoothed over any friction that may have arisen during the day; any disagreement or tension between comrades was quickly forgiven or forgotten the moment they sat by the fire with their lute and vocal chords. As the bridge came and Tav's voice easily shifted higher, their eyes met for a single moment before the bard turned to Karlach, saying something quickly between verses. “Oh the seagulls o'er in Waterdeep they scream. Karlach, make the seagulls noise! Oh the seagulls o'er in Waterdeep they scream,”

“Wawa wawawa wawawa wawawawa!” With her whole chest, Karlach did her best seagull impression, flapping her hands to imitate wings.

“Oh the seagulls o'er in Waterdeep they scream,”

“Wawa wawawa wawawa wawawawa!” Shadowheart had joined Karlach's impression, her cheeks red from the wine most of them had consumed with the dinner Gale had prepared.

“Oh the seagulls o'er in Waterdeep,” Slowing the tempo, none knew the final line the Bard would deliver, the final blow to a song that almost had tears of laughter flow. “I watched one bust a nut at the Harbour in Waterdeep.” Shaking his head as Tav flourished on the lute in finality, he struggled for breath as his fingers clasped the bridge of his nose.

A moment of applause rang through the clearing as Tav said their thanks and seemed to humbly accept whatever praise or criticism came their way. Though no complement could surpass Gale’s; Tav's heart swelled almost painfully at his breathy laughs as he muttered to himself with a half smile, almost hiding his face in his hand to suppress himself. “Oh sweet Gods above, I needed that.”

***

please be kind to me with criticisms, be constructive but I'm sensitive k thanks

Okay, I love you, Gods bless ♡ bye ♡

#gale of waterdeep #gale dekarios #bg3 gale #baldur's gate 3 #bg3 #baldurs gate gale #gale dekarios au #wizard of waterdeep #baldurs gate 3 #weegie tink ae that?#seagulls of aberdeen #gale x bard tav #gale x sorcerer tav #gale x you #gale x tav #i am not dead #hello i am not dead

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mdzs-owns-my-ass-i-guess · 1 year

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Missing

Part 2 here

Lan Wangji has been watching over Wei Ying's sleeping form for six hours now. He is exhausted, both with the aftermath of the night hunt he and his husband have just finished, as well as with having passed his usual bedtime with over three hours.

He has been checking Wei Ying's temperature and sending him spiritual energy every 15 minutes, playing him calming songs every hour. But Wei Ying has been unconscious and unresponsive all throughout it, ever since the rogue cultivators they found as culprits behind several crimes had casted something that had Wei Ying scream in pain and faint.

Lan Wangji killed them in cold blood for that - after they kept refusing to tell him what they'd done and how to fix ir. Inquiry later revealed they used a curse they'd never casted before and so they knew nothing of its effects save for the fact that it was incurable.

As the seventh hour ticked by, Wei Ying finally stirred, his face scrunching in pain as he opened his eyes. Lan Zhan has been holding his hand for a while, and couldn't help leaving a kiss on the soft knuckles. "Wei Ying."

But when Wei Ying's eyes turned to meet his, there was not the love and mischief that Lan Wangji has grown to be so fond of. Instead, there was shock, followed by fear, as Wei Ying pulled his hand away harshly and scrambled to the furthest side of the bed.

"Where have you taken me?! What is this place?!"

Lan Wangji looks at him, at first confused, then downright terrified as realization begins dawning on him.

"Wei Ying, you're not making sense, we're back at the inn-"

He's speaking quickly, in a raised tone, panicked to the extent that it seems to have summoned resentful energy to guard him. "Inn?! What inn?! How long have I been unconscious?! What have you done to me?!"

Lan Wangji wants to reach out to him, he's so scared and Lan Wangji just wants to comfort him. "Wei Ying-"

His eyes dart around the room. "My-my flute, where is Chenqing- and the amulet-"

Lan Wangji is cannot stop shaking as he hands Wei Ying the flute. This cannot be real. This has to be an illusion, a trick of the mind, a curse.

"And the-"

"The stygian tiger amulet has been destroyed." Lan Wangji explains, straining his voice so it comes out level and he doesn't scare Wei Ying any further.

"What?! How?!"

"You destroyed it..." a deep breath, "13 years ago."

Wei Ying pales. "13...13 years ago? All this time... have... have I just been here?"

Lan Wangji tries to hide a pained look, swallows a hard lump in his throat. "Wei Ying, you... died."

"I...I died?" He doesn't seem too troubled at that, not until his brain catches up to him, and his voice comes out strained with the realization, "Then it means that everyone else... died with me."

Lan Wangji's vision is starting to become blurry, so he closes his eyes as he speaks. "A-Yuan is the only survivor, I found him in the Burial Mounds when I came to look for you - for your body. He is a Lan disciple now. Lan Sizhui."

Several minutes of silence pass. Lan Wangji stays motionless and doesn't open his eyes. He knows he will cry if he does.

"Why..." Wei Ying begins, again, unsure, scared still, "why am I here then? How?"

"You were summoned through a soul sacrificing ritual in the body of a young man, Mo Xuanyu..."

The resentful energy conjured in the room subsides. Wei Ying has calmed down somewhat, and he has finally put Chenqing down. "You...you look like you want to cry, Lan Zhan. I'm sorry, I just... don't remember anything..."

Lan Wangji finally opens his eyes, and lets himself look at Wei Ying. His Wei Ying that doesn't know is his. "You cannot even remember that we...that we are marrried?"

Disbelief, shock and then a flush pass through Wei Ying's expressuon. "Oh. That's - wow. That's unexpected. I never really gave much thought to- I guess I never did get around much exploring either..." he looks down, "... are-are we... in love?"

Lan Wangji can barely speak. "Yes, we are."

"How-how about your sect? Surely your uncle-"

Lan Wangji has to look away again, and his eyes catch onto the red ribbon he's untied from Wei Ying's hair while he was asleep. "Uncle has no business interfering. Neither does anyone else. I never allowed anyone to."

"Where do we... live?"

"In the Cloud Recesses." He hears Wei Ying take a sharp breath at that, and continues. "You like teaching the juniors. They admire you immensely. Everybody else does not bother you, and I have made sure you are being treated with the respect you deserve."

Wei Ying seems unsure of what to say and he's busying himself with braiding Chenqing's tassel as he takes the new information in. He feels like he knows all of this, yet it's all news to him. He feels like he loves Lan Zhan but he's not sure how. He feels like himself but also like a stranger on whose life he's intruded and taken over.

"Am I..." he begins, and takes a few seconds to find the right word, "...happy?"

Lan Wangji feels the question stab through him like an arrow, the hopeful yet hopeless tone of it. "What?"

"In this life that you're telling me about, this life I can't remember... am I happy?"

"You always tell me that you are. You look happy, you act happy..." he can't keep his tears in any longer. "I... hope you are."

He hears Wei Ying sniffle quietly. "You've changed, Lan Zhan." And Wei Ying moves close enough to touch the hand he's so harshly pushed away moments before. "You really are someone I'd fall in love with."

#mdzs #mo dao zu shi #wangxian #writing attempts

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redfurrycat · 5 months

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🤠💘🐓Valentine's Day Fic Recs🐓💘🤠

Check the Top Gun Masterlist post for the latest updated version. 💕

Ao3 Authors: Abliafina, Chocabel, Cristinuke, Crowstakeflight, Dumbpilots, Emseebeans, Foxesareprettycute, JuliaBloodyMeow, LadyLanera, Lightwoodsisabelle, Ok_thanks, Sceld, Starryinspace, Xo_em.

> Christmassy "Ho-Ho-Ho" Fics {🤠🐓} > Fake/Pretend Relationship {🤠🐓} > Marriage Fic Recs {🤠🐓} > Childhood Friends-Sweethearts {🤠🐓} > Getting Back Together (Part One & Part Two) {🤠🐓}

On This Day, This Accursed Day by Sceld {T}

“Bradshaw,” Jake says with a grin. Rooster groans. “As I live and breathe.” “Hangman,” Rooster replies loftily, “You look…” He pauses for a second too long as his eyes stall on Jake’s shirt. “My eyes are up here, Rooster,” Jake teases, grateful the way his heart is pounding doesn’t transfer to his voice.

Valentine's Surprise by LadyLanera {T}

Hangman and Rooster are preparing for the birth of their first child while navigating life post-Navy and all the ups and downs that have occurred in their family since October 2019. They have lots of time, though. . . or not.

Sunshine & Roses by abliafina {T}

“How often do you get to be creative Bradley?” Jake asked. “Look, I love your designs, I wouldn’t be here otherwise, but they’re not me.” Bradley crossed his arms, an intrigued look on his face. “You saying you’re giving me free hands?” “Sure am.” Jake made sure to sound confident, but on the inside, his heart beat as if he’d just finished a marathon, “I trust you.”

More Kisses Than Hershey's by Cristinuke {E}

Jake decides to gift Bradley a special Valentine's Day present, because he's nothing but selfless.

Best Laid Plans by emseebeans {E}

Jake has always viewed Valentine’s Day as an important day to celebrate. Bradley thinks it’s a fake, over-commercialized holiday. For their first Valentine’s Day as a couple, Jake sets out to show Bradley he’s wrong, but unfortunately for Jake, best laid plans sometimes have a sneaky tendency to go awry.

Valentine's Day at the Bradshaw-Seresin's by JuliaBloodyMeow {T}

Before he even opens his eyes, Bradley’s brain is rushing with the list of all the things he has to do today...

Can we lay down, lay down together? by xo_em {T}

Bradley (accidentally) hires a professional cuddler for (on) Valentine’s Day.

give you all the love I can by lightwoodsisabelle {M}

This was their first Valentine’s Day together in the three years that they had been dating.

stupid cupid by ok_thanks {M}

“You are the most extra person I know,” Reuben challenges Jake. “How are you not all over this?” aka the one where bradley and jake somehow haven't officially celebrated valentine's day together after 5 years

blooming. by foxesareprettycute {G}

Valentine’s Day has always been a frustrating time for Bradley. This year, that frustration gets to the best of him and he snaps at Jake. Jake, of course, is not happy.

I was enchanted to meet you (please don't be in love with someone else) by starryinspace {G}

“Your date bailed? On Valentine's Day?” Jake flashes Bradley a toothy grin but there’s no warmth behind it. “Broke up with me, actually. Five minutes ago.” “Shit.” Or jake gets dumped on valentine's day & bradley comes to the rescue.

Private Traps by Sceld {T}

Jake’s cheek leans against his elbow where it rests on the window ledge, staring at the world passing by in a blur of colour. His fingers tap absently on the door of the car as the shit radio plays some shit track that Bradley hums along to. His feet are up on the dashboard, tracking mud onto the clean surface that had been so taken care of until he ruined it. He’s making quite a name for himself, doing that now. “Where are we going to go first?” Bradley asks, as the song ends and there’s a couple moments of silence before the next begins. He’s still smiling faintly, the adrenaline and giddiness of rebellion keeping him going. Jake envies him. He’s just been feeling hollow for the past day. or; It's the 1980s, and teenage Jake and Bradley have a Valentine's Day date after a rash decision.

Home In Time by crowstakeflight {G}

The day started out like any other day while Bradley's deployed, but then Jake gets a surprise.

lift me up (but don't get stuck!) by dumbpilots {T}

It's Valentine's Day and Bradley's in a rush. It's a shame he gets trapped in the elevator with the building’s newest (and hottest) tenant.

And just like that (my world turns upside down) by Chocabel {G}

Accepting a dare to pull a date for Valentine's day is one thing. Getting through said date unscathed is a whole other beast. What could go wrong? Or the one time when there is only one table and Bradley gets more than he bargained for. Maybe Jake does, too.

#Valentine's Day Recs List #hangster #sereshaw #hangaroo #bradley rooster bradshaw x jake hangman seresin #bradley rooster bradshaw #jake hangman seresin #homemade collage #🐈red🐈furry🐈cat🐈tag🐈#Note==>This one starts the Valentine's Day period and will be followed by several love-making-focused lists. 😉With much love for y'all <3

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bayofwolves · 11 days

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Rereading Hunted

I'm doing my first reread of Spirit Animals in years, in preparation for starting my rewrite and the final fourth arc, and to my delight I'm discovering a lot of things that went over my head as a younger reader. I finished Hunted today, and wanted to talk about some of the more interesting things I noticed -- character details, plot holes and creepy implications. I wasn't expecting to enjoy this book so much, but I've found it tickled my brain just the right way.

So, here are some highlights from my reread -- stuff even I didn't pick up on before.

Please mind the tags as there is a brief mention of rape near the bottom of this post.

Conor looks to be strawberry-blonde on this cover, not golden-blonde as he's described in text. I feel like it suits him.

The war has actually been going on for a while, probably since well before Wild Born. Finn was fighting Conquerors when his brothers were massacred, and it's unlikely that event was recent enough to have taken place during Wild Born. There is also a moment in the first book when General Teng speculates that the Conquerors who are laying siege to Jano Rion entered the city over a period of years in order to avoid suspicion. It would be interesting if the authors tied this in more efficiently, and our protagonists had been living in an active war when they summoned the Four Fallen. This opens up a plot hole, though: the Conquerors operate under Shane, and because Shane is 13 when he mobilizes his people for war in The Book of Shane, the events of the main series must have started quite soon after this. Abeke mentions he's only a little older than she is in Wild Born; since Shane is already 13, he couldn't have been waging war for a few years before this.

The only background I could find for Kunaya's name is that it is of Zimbabwe origin and means "rain". Notice the connection? Abeke is a Rain Dancer.

Rollan mentions that his father is dead, in a way that suggests he knew him. This seems to have been retconned in Fire and Ice, as his father plays no part in Aidana's retelling of their past as a family. Indeed, he is never brought up again after this instance in Hunted.

The Earl of Trunswick was burning bodies. Our protagonists notice something off about the bonfire burning outside Trunswick, with Abeke and Meilin specifically noting its unpleasant smell. And most tellingly, when Conor and Rollan are captured, the Earl tells his soldiers to "burn the body with the rest" if Conor does not put Briggan into passive state. Who exactly the Earl was burning is not entirely clear, but a possible clue comes from a later chapter where he threatens Finn after the breakout from the Howling House. "Don't worry, Finn Cooley! We'll burn that troubled bond out of you yet!" he says. I'm inclined to believe the Earl was burning the bodies of spirit animals with the bonding sickness -- in a twisted attempt to cure their human companions, or merely to torture them further. It's possible he was burning human corpses too; Isilla the Greencloak is mentioned to have been killed, and I get the sense he wouldn't have treated her body with respect. In any case, this is a crazy thing to heavily imply and then never fully explain.

Tahlia is noticeably older than the other three kids. She even takes offense to being referred to as a child by Zerif. (In my rewrite, with the other three being around 13, I think I would place her at 18.)

Tahlia's entire existence doesn't make much sense -- she's supposed to be bonded to the Stetriolan legend of the water-holding frog, but this legend isn't even mentioned in the third arc when our protagonists go scouting for these same legends' bond tokens. Instead, it is replaced by Zhong's water dragon. Additionally, why would Stetriol even need a hero to inspire them? They already have Shane. They're the birthplace of the Conquerors -- what more inspiration do they need? It would make more sense if Tahlia was Zhongese and bonded to a water dragon, like Song's Seaspray. After all, if any nation needed someone to sway them to the Conquerors' side, it would be the fallen Zhong.

Ana, the Amayan girl with the Gila monster, was chosen to be a part of the False Four for her "exceeding connections". This makes me wonder if she was intended to be related or otherwise close to the Prime Minister of Amaya. It's never revealed what Zerif meant by this and Ana presumably dies in Fire and Ice.

The False Four in general are a really interesting (and promising) concept and I wish more was done with them. I wanted to see them rallying the four nations to the Conquerors' side and creating more of a threat to the Greencloaks! I wanted to see each of them directly paralleling the True Four! Instead, they all ended up incarcerated, insane or dead by the fourth book. Ah well. That's what my rewrite is for.

The absence of Lady MacDonnell is noted, but never explained. Interestingly, Rollan notices this in the same breath as he does Lord MacDonnell's children being so rigidly obedient. Considering Lord MacDonnell's character, I'm willing to bet he had his wife executed or otherwise removed for some transgression she made. After all, one of the Three Undeniable Truths is "death".

Lord MacDonnell is a really terrible guy. Despite aiding our protagonists in this book and The Evertree, he is a nasty person who keeps his own people in a permanent state of fear. This book is full of despicable characters, for sure.

What were Devin and Karmo intending to do with Abeke? And why her? Because of her connection to the Conquerors, I'm guessing. But it's never really explained. They tell her they're taking her back to Nilo, but there's no way they would just kindly take her home and let her go. Maybe the Conquerors planned to give her the Bile and then use her in some scheme. I wish this book wasn't so vague (but I also don't because it gives me more freedom as a writer).

Devin calls Abeke "vermin" in the final battle. Interestingly, Karmo doesn't seem to approve of this comment. In fact, Karmo is a lot more sympathetic than I remembered.

This is the only first arc book that Shane doesn't appear in, and for no apparent reason. I think it would have been a good choice to include him and plan to in my rewrite.

Finn has PTSD. Poor guy. I kind of like that he didn't return to Greenhaven at the end and instead stayed in Glengavin -- after all, it was the Greencloaks and their talk of destiny that led to Finn's brothers being killed, Donn retreating and Finn being so deeply scarred.

The Earl seems to threaten Conor's mother with rape in the foreboding letter he sends. I've seen several people discuss this. He tells Conor his family will starve if he doesn't hand over the Iron Boar, "and the fate of your mother will be far crueller". It's a chilling implication, and certainly a choice to include in a children's book.

Overall, Hunted is dark. For that reason, it's become one of my favourite books in the series. Beautiful cover, great writing, cool new guy introduced, failure for our protagonists and an epic cliffhanger. This one is a gem.

This is part of an ongoing series.

Immortal Guardians | Broken Ground | The Return | The Burning Tide

Heart of the Land | The Wildcat's Claw | Stormspeaker | The Dragon's Eye

Tales of the Great Beasts | The Book of Shane | Tales of the Fallen Beasts

#i may make this a series of sorts #if y'all would be interested #text #spirit animals #spirit animals books #spirit animals series #spirit animals rewrite #hunted #tw rape

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atonalginger · 2 months

Text

WIP Wednesday

It's Wednesday and so a sneak peek is in order and I've got one ready for you. It's from Stowaway Savior this time! Sam and Jinx are out in the Sparta system searching for our missing duo. I have put it under a read more since it's longish

“Buenos dias Capitán Morph, The time is UT zero seven hundred. I have already taken the liberty to heat breakfast for you and coffee is percolating on the stove.”

Jinx’s voice was impressively chipper in spite of its limitations. Sam laid face down in his bed, already fed up with his robotic second. He told Jinx not to bother him and let him sleep. That meant no schedule, no early wake ups, none of it. He groaned and planted his face into his pillow, muffling his tired scream.

A prerecorded soundbite of a pathetic rooster crowing played over the ship speakers, followed by Jinx, “levántate!”

Don’t punch him? How am I not suppose to bop the bucket of bolts when he acts like that! Sam rolled over onto his side and pulled his pillow over his head.

“Your breakfast will get cold, Captain Morph,” Jinx called over the speakers, his metallic voice sing-songing his sentence as best as the modulators could manage.

“I don’t want it!” Sam yelled from under his pillow.

“Breakfast was believed to be the most important meal of the day on old Earth,” Jinx stated, “it is important to fuel a hard working body.”

“I don’t need it!” Sam shouted, ripping the pillow off his face, “fuck off and power down.”

“I cannot complete either order, as I lack the necessary parts for the first while the second goes against my original orders.” Jinx said.

Sam knew if the robot had the ability it would be smiling. He could hear the shit-eating grin in each word. He forced himself to sit up and manged to find it in him to be civil, “How long was I able to sleep, Jinx?”

“Five hours, forty-three minutes, twenty-nine seconds,” Jinx said.

“I told you to let me sleep,” Sam reminded the robot, “five hours isn’t enough, why are you waking me?”

“Five hours, forty-three minutes…Captain Morph we have a situation. Ships inbound, UC signatures, I am boosting shields and spinning up the turrets.”

“How many? Give me more than that!” Sam shouted as he shot out of bed.

“tres pendejos de tiburón,” Jinx’s heavy feet stomped back to his battle station, “I am blocking their attempts to scan.”

You taught him to swear too? Sam thought at Delgado, great! It’s like your whiny little bitch ass is right here with me. “What kind of scans?”

“Probing cargo and heat sensors. If I had to guess, captain, I’d say they are attempting to get a headcount.”

Sam was storming toward the cockpit, his battered bunny eared slippers ‘twapping’ with each step as he slammed into his seat and went over the systems, batting his robe belt out of the way as he got strapped in. Jinx had everything green and the three small fighters were circling the Bitter Angel II like there was chum in the Blackest waters.

“Open comms, Jinx,” Sam barked.

“Comms open,” Jinx chimed back, “Halt hijos de putas!”

Sam blinked, not sure whether to laugh or cry at his chaotic robotic copilot.

“Aw look Lieutenant, the xeno freak’s daddy is so worried he has a shitty robot speaking for him,” one of the pilots taunted, “wonder if mommy is that ship seen orbiting Charydis I the other day…”

“That's a lot of talking coming from a corpse,” Sam growled as he targeted the culprit’s reactor, “suppose I should commend the brass ones weighing down your ships, thinking those three rinky dinky a-class fighters could take me down but then, SysDef has never been known for their brains.”

“Where do you think you’re going?” Jinx called out as both turrets opened fire on the edge ships, one per ship, targeting their grav drives first, then engines.

Sam grinned and opened fire with both pairs of gauss guns and helion beams, ripping the shield off the center ship and popping their reactor like a balloon. He watched through the fighter’s cockpit glass as the crew scrambled to suit up like they were somehow making it out of their toasted ship. He located their docking module, one of the bulging ugly nova galactic models, and shredded it with his gauss guns, depressurizing their ship in a snap.

“Anyone else got anything funny to say before you die?” Sam shouted over the comms.

Jinx had destroyed the grav drives and crippled both ships by popping their fuel tanks.

“Only that you’re too late!” one voice yelled.

Another, from the other ship, chimed in, “Vega will drag their corpses from that wreck!”

“Jinx, you take left, I take right,” Sam ordered.

“Aye, Aye, Captain!”

Jinx focused fire on his target while Sam tapped the thrusters and cracked his target in half.

With the three ships in pieces Jinx got to work downloading their black boxes and scooping useful scrap and cargo from their husks while Sam got up and shuffled back to the living quarters to eat. As much as he wanted to go back to bed he knew he couldn’t rest with sharks in the waters. Just great.

Running into SysDef was expected but still not welcome. And their taunts hit too close to the heart. Sam was pretty sure they were bluffing but what if they weren’t? He knew the Squid had been damaged bad enough to lose an engine and a landing gear. Enough days had passed for them to have made it to Sparta if they did scatter like her message seemed to imply. Could they have wrecked out here?

“Captain, los pendejos del tiburón have located two wrecks on Sparta III and are currently picking through the wrecks. One is to the north in the frozen dunes and the other is tucked away in the mountains to the south west.”

Fuck. “Start in the dunes, take us down while I eat and get dressed. Don’t land too close I don’t need those pricks trying to cut their way inside.”

“Affirmative, Captain Morph.”

#starfield #starfield fanfiction #coemancer #the coemancer crew #sam coe #wip wednesday #atonalginger writes #Stowaway Savior #starborn!Sam

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dimepdf · 2 years

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Hi I love your fics❣️ I was wondering if you were doing requests if you are could I get a nervous virgin argyle like he scared to tell the reader he’s a virgin

𝐀𝐏𝐑𝐈𝐂𝐎𝐓 𝐏𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐂𝐄. + 𝐀𝐑𝐆𝐘𝐋𝐄

masterlist. / taglist. / any request? synopsis. when you found out about your shy boyfriend, Ari, being a virgin, you decided to take matters into your own hands.

pairing. argyle x reader

word count. 1.9k

genre and warnings. virgin!sub!argyle, nicknames (Ari), afab reader, consent is sexy, body worship, stretch marks are fucking normal, mentions of masterbateion, cute comfort, first times, boobs, slight nipple play | — sorry if this is mid. my brain has been all scrambled because of covid but i'm recovering so theres nothing to worry about!

When it came to the thick of it, Argyle would happily admit his lack of knowledge when it came to the other sex.

You’d think that being his first (and hopefully only) girlfriend would help him gain a little more experience with how to deal with things.

Nope.

All in his head was looming insecurity and constant anxiety feeding into his thoughts, despite you guys being a well-rounded and understanding couple Argyle always just felt sort of off during more sexual situations.

He felt sort of silly even bringing it up to his other best friend, Jonathan, to whom he would talk about every lightbulb in his head.

He would just constantly second guess himself when dealing with his more attentive emotions, like most of his worries.

You were quick to comfort him when the truth was revealed that you too weren’t a virgin.

It was like he had discovered an entirely new side of you.

"It just wasn't really much of a big deal for me, but I prefer to do it with someone that I know actually cares about me for me, you know?" Were the words spoken from your lips that seemed to strangle on loop in the back of his mind.

You also suggested him being your special someone.It was like you had purposely pulled at his heartstrings only to leave him all muddled up in his thoughts.

Argyle also just wasn’t really the worrying type of guy.

The moment his heart started beating a little too fast over something, he would always just turn the corner and light one up to put himself at ease.

But since he started dating you, Argyle had decided that he needed to start taking a more direct approach with his emotions, but that didn't mean he wasn't fucking nervous about it.

The entire day that you two hung out, it was clear to you that something was on Argyle’s mind.

His spacing out more than usual, and his not rambling about the band members from his favorite songs when you slotted in his favorite cassette, clued you that something else was happening in his head.

Unbeknownst to you, Argyle was just so fucking horny, it was bad.

From the moment you stepped down into his basement, he had to catch himself from drooling at the way your denim jeans hugged against your plump thighs.

His eyes trance up the stretch marks behind your knees all the way to the curve of your ass.

How soft your skin felt everywhere he touched you in comparison to him. You were just so fucking hot, It was almost unbearable, causing the growing issues to tighten against his bright graphic jeans.

Now Argyle wasn’t totally innocent, but he would forever take to the grave that the main source material that got him going in the comfort of his bedroom was the picture that you two had taken on your first anniversary.

It was a polaroid of you at the arcade.

Your attention was pulled away for a split second, looking up at the camera, the beam making your dilated eyes glint with a dark, alluring stare.

Your mouth parted open, capturing a second of your mouth curving into a smile. Just inches below was the slight expose of your breast in a dark band shirt that was actually one of his.

"Ari? You okay?" You asked, waving your hand in front of his face, his lashes fluttering before you, giving you a confused glance, "What's up with you? You’ve been looking stuck all day." Your soft tone makes him welt with even more guilt.

"Ah, sorry—it’s just, I don't know, dude, it's so hard to think normally around you sometimes." He began to roll his eyes, his head leaning back in embarrassment.

"I mean, Y/n, you're just always so hot, and I'm... well, I'm just me." As you repositioned yourself to sit facing him, Argyle watched as your brows furrowed and your mouth opened only to close again before you grunted out a sound of confusion.

"Do you, like…want to have sex with me?" Finally, looking at each other, Argyle felt himself react, nodding his head before all the blood could rush from his brain to his dick.

"Right now?" you chuckled, looking around the basement converted bedroom, brick walls covered in plastic posters and neon designed tapestries hinting towards his smoking hobby.

The mismatched furniture placed oddly around the room had no consistency in a solid color palette, all just pieces that he could manage to move down his stairs from yard sales.

Truly, his bedroom looked exactly how you would expect it to when you looked at Argyle.

“Well only if that's okay with you, you know, cause we don't—”

“I want to.”

“Oh okay, cool…thanks”

He couldn't believe that it was actually happening. As your lips met, he let you take the lead. The kiss deepened as you crawled into his lap. He is gently guiding his hands around the bone of your hips, grinding them down into his jeans.

For him, it was all just wonderful sensations reacting to your simple touch. Embarrassingly enough, Argyle didn't bother to cover the whimper that passed from his lips, your kiss swallowing the sound as you continued to explore his mouth with your tongue.

When you had pulled away, Argyle didn't care how desperate and needy he looked from the reflection of him in your dark eyes.

His face flushed a pale hue of pink. No matter how many times he had made out with you, it had always seemed like the first time.

You were the first to recover any article of clothing, grabbing the hem of your graphic t-shirt (that he had recognized was his, by the way) and pulling it over your head. "Oh wow," Argyle muttered. His tone, almost a whisper, as you chuckled at his reaction.

His eyes were glued to your bra the moment that the floral lace was revealed. The light baby blue color against your skin looked like art.

The underwire pushing your plush breast up as a small white fabric bow sewn in the middle almost made him drool.

"Just go at your own pace." You lean in to whisper in his ear, the warmth of your breath against his skin making his hips shamelessly thrust up into you.

Argyle gulps, his fingers trembling at your side as he tries not to slip from reality, heArgyleng the sound of his heartbeat drumming against his chest.

"You wanna take this off for me?" you asked, tugging on the collar of his shirt.

Argyle complies with your request, removing his hands from your body to struggle free of the shirt and throw it aside as if he were in a trance.

He shifted nervously at the feeling of your eyes scanning over his body, watching your glance down from his chest trailing over his belly, and following his dark happy trail to the button of his jeans.

"You're so pretty, Ari." You blurted it out before you could even think about it first, your stare holding meaning as you both couldn't help but crack a smile at the compliment.

Despite being born and raised in the heat of California, Argyle has never felt so hot in his life. It was like your touch was melting the moment your fingers pressed against his flesh.

A shift of position had you laying with your back against the sofa, your neediness for each other being enough to ignore the annoying springs poking against your back, tilting your head up to kiss him once more.

Argyle slotted himself between your thighs, pathetically grinding against your leg, his body struggling to handle the feeling of his dick being touched by anything else other than his palm.

His dick was throbbing in his jeans, his arm resting beside your head as the other shimmed himself from the denim prison.

You were quick to copy him with your shorts Argyle moans with contentment at the feeling of him grinding against your barely clothed cunt.

The makeout became more sloppy as the sensation of you rutting against his dick caused his thoughts to become foggy.

Argyle was surprised he was even lasting this long because of how intense the feeling was building inside of him.

He was praying to whoever was listening to let him hold out long enough. He wanted to take his time, to take everything in.

You trailed kisses down the smooth of his jaw down to his neck, your lips latching onto his skin as your tongue danced against the curve of his neck.

He was almost turned into putty from how you nipped and bit at his body. He fingered through his long dark hair as it draped over your face like a dark curtain.

“Can you touch me?”

Argyle nods goofily as you sit up with your back against the armchair of the couch, watching you unclasp your bra.

Your nipples are already peaked with arousal, hesitating before leading with his dick. Argyle's hands were quick to caress your breast, his fingers brushing over the hardened bud of your nipples, licking his lips as his gaze was drawn to your chest.

Sending goosebumps up your entire body, playing with your perky tits, moans escaped your lips as he squeezed them gently. His fingers teased your nipples, pinching them.

"Not too hard, Ari," you moan, combing strands of hair away from his face.

He doesn't even bother to glance at you, his attention entirely focused on tending to your breast.

When you lean in to kiss him, his eyes only flutter shut.

"I love you Y/n," Argyle sighed out, as if it had been the heaviest weight he had been carrying on his shoulders.

"I love you too." You wrap your arms around his neck to bring him down for another kiss.

Argyle heistates with his next move, giving it some thought, then sits up on his knees to tug down the waistband of his boxers to free his throbbing erection.

Hard and leaking with precum as he held himself by his base, a soft moan was heard from the both of you as he hooked your panties to the side and sheathed himself between your legs.

You were so warm, the pulsing feeling of you getting used to his length, sucking him to the point where he had felt light-headed.

“Holy shit,” Argyle hummed, lifting the bend of your knee over his shoulder, adjusting himself deeper inside of you.

His pace was comfortable, not too fast but also not too slow, thrusting his hips deep enough to make you squirm under him.

"Shit, Ari…You're so deep." You moaned. As his pace picked up faster, Argyle let out a grunt, happy that his parents forced him to move to the basement, where he would be able to be as loud as he possibly wanted without them walking in on you guys.

"I’m sorry," Argyle whimpers, his head ducking into your neck as he humps against you. "You feel so fucking good Y/n." His eyes squeeze shut, only the sound of whimpering and skin-on-skin echoing through the room as his hips snap against yours.

“Y/n I’m—”

"Me too, Ari just let it go." His thrust became almost primal from how rough he thrust in and out of you, your walls clenching around his length.

The pure feeling of intense pleasure washed over the both of you, Argyle shortly falling slack as he panted against your neck.

“Dude, did you just cum inside of me?”

🔖 @misaamaneswifey @cybergnf @snailchess @joletown @ragingginger24 @alexloveskili @merlinbtch @shawtywithcash @tsukishimawhore @jaydesworld96 @littletroublegirl444 @disaster-rose @xiichao @mariaposa1234 @drunkonthiispain

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#[ ⇢ ˗ˏˋ ★ — t.wrks. ]#argyle #argyle x reader #eduardo franco #eduardo franco x reader #argyle stranger things #stranger things season 4 #stranger things x reader #stranger things 4 #stranger things

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ephhemeralite · 3 months

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Since you came to ask for my process, I'd like to come over here and ask about yours!! I see you also do drafts, and I'd love to hear how that looks for you 👀

There is no pressure to go as in depth as I did for mine though!!! And there is no rush <333

I hope your writing is going well!!!

hello!! i have written, honestly, so much in response to this. thank you very, very much for asking, because i love to talk about writing!! maybe more than i enjoy writing, even. lord.

one caveat about me and prose: my thing is very, very definitely poetry. i write poetry about every other day and i have done for years. i adore fanfiction -- to write it, to talk about it, to brainstorm about it, to help edit my friends'. i love how collaborative it is, i love its unique sets of tropes, i love when people talk to me about my fics and their own. i LOVE fic. i do not adore writing it the same way. sometimes, i think of it as a means to an end (having a fic i would like to read and am proud to have written). the way that i go about writing fics reflects this, i think.

my process is pretty shaky and i can be bad about sticking to it (i try to 'trick' my brain out of needing the things it needs to complete longform writing. like a FOOL). the general shape of my process is: an inciting idea (a song lyric, a poem, another fic, a tumblr post, "wouldn't it be cool if [blank] happened in a fic?") -> an actual concept (what would actually have to go on in a fic to make [blank] plausible) -> first draft (me telling the story to myself, ugly) -> second draft (rewrite with a lot of influence from the first draft but, like, good to look at). all throughout this process, i tend to take the time to line edit when my brain gets too overwhelmed with the actual writing, since i find editing to be leagues easier. it's a good way to take a break while still working on the fic, but it is deeply inefficient from every other angle. but, hey, the first rule of fic is to have fun and be yourself.

i'm going to go into detail under the cut bc no one's dash deserves what i've done to this ask.

warning (?) for the fact that the fic i'm currently writing is hockey rpf.

i usually start out with rambling to my friends, too! when my hrpf first possessed me, i sent about 15 messages to my friend cara (who doesn't give a shit about hockey or hrpf) that outlined the (hrpf-specific) trope i liked, what fic inspired me (x), and the goal of my own fic. an abbreviated snippet of that:

it could be interesting to play with the two ways the trope manifests (violent/aggressive and protective) (needing to be taken care of/reassured by teammates) via having them both nest. it has the potential to be so tender . . . i have this mental image of ullmark, who is spacy (clue that he's due for nesting on his own) at practice doing drills or smth when he hears swayman yell/yelp/smth (depends on what sets him into nesting, hurt/confronted/whatever) and goes to check on him only to be met with a fully nesting goalie. while trying to calm him down, he ends up nesting, too.

i imagined this as a oneshot with an extended version of this scene and, perhaps, another. i knew what vibe i was shooting for and what content might pair with it. i skipped the concept step, because i am a fool and i hoped it might be short enough to get through writing it with momentum. i did not do that. more on this later.

what an idea turning into a concept should look like:

i want to write a version of the batfamily/white collar crossover that deals with all related topics the way that //i// think they should be handled

into

a two-chaptered fic, heavy on parallels, split between peter and dick's povs. lots of unreliable narration where the parallels draw attention to how unreliable everything is. both chapters should include the same or similar scenes with the characters' first impressions of each other, moments when they clash (insert scene ideas where dick loses agency, peter invades his privacy, a major plotpoint from the show, etc), how that results in a rise in tension, and when that tension breaks in the climax (burning building?? dick fakes his death???), and closing scenes. dick's pov is going to include a lot more family stuff, focus on the issues of the fic, etc, while peter's pov obscures the issues and completely misses the presence of dick's family.

this is only a recreation of what my 'acquainted with the saint of never getting it right' fic's concept would have looked like, since i've lost all of this since i drafted it two years ago, but the thought stands. it's really sparse -- less than your zero draft, even, but the next step in my process is more than a zero draft, so i'd say they hold the same place in my process. i might include references to ideas i have for scenes if i have them, but they're usually few-word clues like "sketchbook" or "peter in apartment for coffee."

since i like to swim without a paddle, my next step is draft one. my goal is to get it down; if the details feel good and come easy, i will include them, but i don't let them trip me up. it's easier to add shit into the next draft than it is for this one to go uncompleted, basically. some word choices from this draft might remain in the final piece, but rarely does sentence structure or much else.

Sway is growling from deep in his chest, projecting the sound out across the ice. The rest of the team is inching away from Sway’s crease and towards Linus, which upsets something in the back of his mind — Sway should have the team around if he's upset. Clearly, with the growling, he doesn't want them close, but that doesn't mean that they should leave him, either. Once he settles down, he's going to want them. Linus knows, he'd had his fair share of triggered nesting episodes when he was younger. Unless there was something specific that’d set him off — then things would be different, according to what he needed — but Linus doubts that. It was mostly likely that this was just a simple rough start and Sway could get into proper nesting the moment he settled down and relaxed in the net. He could show Sway that easily, Linus thinks. His drifting forward comes to a gentle stop near the front of the pack of teammates and coaching staff carefully not crowding Swayman. He registers, in a distant way, that what's happening right now is going to cause a heaping helping of issues for somebody, but he's also not worried about it. At all. What he's worried about is how Sway needs to feel safe right now and how he doesn't. Linus knows that he's never felt safer than while nesting for this team and that he could give Sway that, if he tried. He just has to get Sway to a nest. All he needs to do is tell Sway that and Sway will surely listen. He lets out a loud chirp, cutting off whatever the head and goalie coaches were trying to say to Swayman. Usually, he'd feel pretty guilty about interrupting, but it's alright. He's going to fix the issue; they'll understand. Sway moves from eyeing up the coaches to staring straight at him so fast that Linus worries about him pulling something; all of the more reason to get him safe and tucked away, somewhere where they can both relax. The growl dies abruptly in his throat, which makes Linus want to preen. Clearly he knows his teammates best. Linus chirps again, eager to get this moving along. Eyes locked onto him, Sway chirps back.

this is a pretty long excerpt, sorry, but a lot happens between the first and second draft and this has plenty left unworked.

the first paragraph is alright -- some imagery i like (the growling and the team's movement), linus' thought process toes the line between coherent and incoherent the way i'd like it to (might lift that, wholesale, to the second draft), although the phrasing "which upsets something in the back of his mind" is... eugh.

the second, third, and fourth paragraphs' main use is to outline where linus' mindset is going, although it's clunky and off-target. i just need the reminder to write his mindset in and its vague shape, for this draft, though. if i kept any of this, the phrasing/sentence structure would need to be changed, but it's more likely that i'd scatter it through the movement and description i'd add into the second draft. my first drafts tend to be either all-internal or all-external, so my second drafts act as the equalizer.

beyond that, my second drafts also make everything... longer. so much longer. it helps me move everything from a barebones "this is what probably happens" to "this is what experts call a nice reading experience," you know? plus, i can move forward with draft one with questions still unanswered, like: i haven't actually decided how i want the narration to refer to these characters, yet. the first name vs last name vs nickname and WHEN debate is an important one, but if i got hung up on that first, i'd never actually write the damn fic itself. instead, we can get it moving.

the difference between a first and second draft might look like this for me:

Nile is in the desert. Her boots are stiff with sand, her hands grasping her rifle, her body weary under her gear. She's marching. On the back of her tongue, she tastes blood. There's not another person around for miles. No squadmates, no commander. No civilians, no insurgents. The sun beats down on her from its place at perfect zenith. Nile stumbles to a stop, heaving for the heat. She casts about for her water, but it's not where it should be or anywhere it shouldn't be, either.

Nile is never going to get out of the desert. That’s most of what she knows. There are other things, like: her boots are stiff with sand, her hands are grasping a rifle, her body is weary under her gear. She’s marching. On the back of her tongue, she tastes blood. She’s alone. From horizon to horizon, the terrain is empty of everything but herself. Her squadmates are missing, her commander absent. There are no civilians, no insurgents. The sun beats down on her from its place at perfect zenith, millions of miles away. She stumbles to a stop, heaving for the heat. She wishes, desperate beyond words, for water, but her bottle is missing. It’s not hooked onto her vest or around her hips; she’s never spent a moment more aware of each of the trillion grains of sand that surround her, dry as dust, as in this moment.

(this fic, even the sun knows where you sleep, has been languishing as a half-finished second draft since may of last year. it's a crossover between the old guard and the sandman, where nile has a series of dreams influenced by morpheus. this is one of them) the first draft of this fic is about 5k, but the finished second draft could end up around 15k. long as hell, by my poet standards.

this second draft is lacking line edits, but bloop (my beloved sister, muah, ily, etc) helped me comb through it months ago so the proposed changes are available. the phrasing is prettier, the structure less repetitive, the imagery and setting clearer. the parts of this that are written are just a stone's throw away from being of posting quality. unfortunately, i'm also of the camp no-posting-before-completed, so it won't be.

i have a gomens fic sitting unfinished on my account because i lost steam and interest before i finished the second draft of its last chapter, which is just... so unfortunate. i'd love to finish it, and eventually i might, but i've acquired a bit of distaste for gomens in the meantime and (in the spirit of being myself and having fun) i'm not beating myself up about it. but, like, lesson learned.

back to the point: sometimes, the second draft can change more of a fic (warning for non-graphic violence):

Nile is standing at the window at the top of Merrick's skyscraper, Andy's labrys in hand. The window is shattered again, though there's no other proof of their battle that Nile can sense. Andy is nowhere to be seen, nor is Merrick. Nile doesn't look down through the window, but she knows there's no crushed car or mutilated body, either. There is Nile, standing at the shattered edge, weathering the sharp breeze snapping against her. There is the ax in her hand, the wooden handle rough. Grainy. It hasn't been smoothed by use or through craftsmanship and Nile can feel splinters bite into her grip. The wood is hot, she realizes suddenly – not skin-warm, but the type of hot that comes from holding something porous as it burns and vents heat through places yet untouched by the flame. In panic, she raises her head to find the source and is blinded, completely. The shock of it is such that she stops moving entirely and blinks, uncomprehending – the sun.

Nile is standing in the moment before the fall. The precipice. She’s at the top of Merrick’s tower again. Behind her lies a cold and empty room, made more of shadow than substance. She knows that she is supposed to continue through – see the moment to its end – but she has been given the opportunity to pause, as time comes to a standstill. Some things have changed; Andy and Merrick are missing. The evidence of their fighting is gone, except that the window is already shattered. A cold wind rushes through the absence, knocking sharp teeth against her body, frozen in its lunge forward toward empty space. In her fist is the labrys that should be cutting into the meat of Merrick’s shoulder. Nile can feel the tackiness of blood in her grip on the wooden handle. She wonders at the grainy texture caught beneath it, surprised that time nor craftsmanship hasn’t smoothed it over, before she understands that this is not Andy’s handle. Instead, the roughly-hewn lumber extends from the floor to a place over her head to become a sort of halberd, its point on the floor supporting most of her weight. It's hot, too – not skin-warmth, but the type of heat that comes from holding a porous item as it’s being consumed by fire, venting heat out through places yet untouched by flame. Nile isn’t injured by the blister of it, but the sensation of burning without pain unnerves her and she raises her gaze to find the blade and the flame. Only, she doesn’t make it that far. Lifting her face out of her hunched position brings it to look toward the window, where she discovers the opposite of Merrick’s abyssal building as it inundates her: an immense deluge of light.

there's a lot more definitive changes to structure, phrasing, and imagery here than in my last snippet. i do, in a literal sense, go through and rewrite each word of my fic between drafts, but how many of those words are carried over from the first to the second can vary depending on the quality of the draft. it's way easier for me to rework a pre-existing piece than make something, wholesale, which i'm well aware of and try to cater to. this is the method that's seen my writing improve the most, even though i think it's wildly impractical and unwieldy. i've even done it with this exact post, which part of why it's taking me so long to finish it!

i'm trying something new with the process on the hrpf, since it's been giving me so much trouble. the theme's changed a bit, with a wider scope and something specific to say, but i also want to incorporate a social media/journalism/outsider's perspective element, which will let me move around outside of the characters' narrations while establishing the wider world of the au. this new step is as close to a zero-draft as i've gotten, even though it's still way less detailed. it looks like this:

MOST VIOLENT VS MOST AMIABLE GOALIES TO NEST IN THE NHL listicle Sway and Linus discuss nesting, Linus has settled into a pattern Could gentle-nester ullmark be a calming influence over swayman or will he dull his edge? speculative piece, focus more on the first option maybe to contrast the move towards understanding anger. Bruins vs buffalo, ullmark in net (dec. 7 game? If the timeline for that works), linus is upset at the loss/it goes bad somehow. Sway is supportive in a more assertive way than typical. It doesn’t start here but it turns here Can’t decide if tweets or something would be good here Internal, staff-only memo advising to keep sway away from linus when he’s feeling broody.

each line represents a separate 'chunk' of the fic. with the added elements, i need to know what will go where so that i can make sure the storytelling tracks throughout. i'm still on this part of the draft, but i'm having a good time with it again which is what i think is most important.

anyway, thank you for asking!! i definitely love to talk about writing! i'm always sooo down to chat, too, except for maybe right now because i am going to pass out asleep i think. <3!!!!!!

#answered ask #experiencing the horrors of this british literature class but we keep going!!!!#<- this was uhm ten hours ago i am in bed now.#sorry if you didn't want to hear about rpf. that's where im at tho

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jucyfruit · 2 months

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INTERVIEW: Sarah Goldstone On Touring With Boygenius, Books, and Boston Octobers

by Maya Santow

[…] Since her graduation from Boston University in 2009, Goldstone really has gone everywhere. Her talents on the keyboard, violin, and vocals have taken her across the globe in the past two years, touring internationally with indie artist Lucy Dacus, and now Boygenius—the indie rock supergroup composed of Dacus, Julien Baker, and Phoebe Bridgers.

Sitting in an East Boston café on June 18, just hours before performing with Boygenius at the Stage at Suffolk Downs, Goldstone describes how it felt finding out that she would be joining Boygenius on their tour while she was in Dacus’ band.

“Oh, I was really pumped,” she says. “Lucy had said that she wanted to have me there. Her manager called me and we chatted about it. It was exciting. I just love them as a group and separately.

“Boygenius: The Tour” began its United States run in early June and will be extending overseas to Europe in mid-August. Several of the tour dates, including the Boston show, are a part of the Re:SET Concert Series, featuring supporting acts like Bartees Strange, Dijon, and Clairo, with Boygenius as a headliner.

Although the tour didn’t begin until the summer of 2023, Boygenius’ first full-length studio album, titled “The Record,” was in the works much earlier. Goldstone recalls being told about the album at least a year before its March 2023 release—a powerful secret to have been keeping, given the album’s critical acclaim. “There was definitely a, you know, ‘Don’t put this on the internet’ kind of thing,” she says.

Goldstone’s first time hearing “The Record” took place at a listening party with Dacus’ touring crew in a Northern California AirBnB. With the knowledge that she would be touring with Boygenius, Goldstone approached her first listen to “The Record” from a largely practical angle.

“When you take a record that was recorded with all these different instruments, and you’re trying to squash it down to, ‘Okay, what’s a setup where I can do all of that?,’ there’s a lot of different ways you can do it,” she says. “So when I was listening through, that’s where my brain was going.”

Goldstone’s primary focus while listening was the keyboard. There is more to the instrument than meets the typical listener’s ear, she explains. “I feel like a lot of times people don’t know what keyboard’s role does because people know what piano sounds like, but maybe not the other stuff,” she says. “But there’s a lot of synth parts, there’s organ, there’s something called a Mellotron…all those weird sounds where people that come to hear it are like, ‘I don’t know what that is.’”

“My first reaction was really technical, but then I started listening for real and, you know, some of the songs make me cry as soon as I hear them,” says Goldstone of the 12 tracks that make up “The Record.” “Some of them are so funny, and, like, mean, and you know, that’s fun, too. But it took a minute for me to experience it that way,” she says.

As Goldstone began touring with Boygenius, a few tracks emerged as her favorites to perform live. “I love ‘Not Strong Enough.’ I mean, that’s like, ‘the one,’ right?” she says. “I love ‘Letter To An Old Poet’— not just because it’s the piano song! Actually, ‘Cool About It’ is one of my favorite songs, too. Plus the rockers, like ‘Satanist,’ and stuff like that, it’s just, like, so fun. But every song is good, yeah—no duds,” she laughs.

Goldstone also cites a fan project for Boygenius’ “True Blue”—a track heavily influenced by Dacus’ solo music style—as a favorite memory from the tour so far. “I think they all put blue post-it notes over their phone lights…as soon as they started playing it, blue lights came up,” she says. As it turned out, a similar fan project took place at the Boston show later that night: during the chorus of ‘True Blue,’ the audience raised heart-shaped cutouts of blue paper over their phone flashlights to create a sea of blue for the band to see. “It sounds funny to say, but it made all of us kind of emotional, actually,” she says of the earlier project.

Goldstone notes the synergetic power of Boygenius fans—the fan bases of the three indie rock forces coming together creates something greater than the sum of their parts, she says.

“People are there for the unit,” says Goldstone. “Probably everybody has one of them that they gravitate toward more just in their own personal listening, or someone’s music they’re familiar with more than the others, but you can’t tell that from the show, which I think is really cool. It doesn’t feel like you’re seeing individual fans of the three of them.”

Goldstone cites Boygenius’ closeness to one another as a major draw for their fans, aside from their music. “I feel like people are fans of their friendship,” she says. “Like, we all want that. We all want best friends that we like to make art with.”

Having been on tour together for a few weeks, says Goldstone, the band’s dynamic has begun to shine through even more onstage. “Now that everyone’s comfortable, they’re starting to horse around a little bit, and they’re jumping around,” she says of Dacus, Baker, and Bridgers. “You know, it’s just three friends that love each other so much, and they’re all very funny people. So it’s fun when they’re in the mood to do, like, comedy time during shows, you know?”

Closeness as a band—“tour camaraderie”—is a familiar feeling to Goldstone, who says that Dacus’ band grew very close during their 251 days of touring in 2021 and 2022. “Everyone’s on one bus, and everyone hangs out together on off days, and it does feel like a family road trip sometimes,” she says.

The Boygenius tour took a bit longer to achieve the same effect, says Goldstone. “It is a much bigger group. And everyone just works so hard, so there’s a little bit more distance with just getting to know everybody. I feel like now, a couple of weeks in, I’m starting to be friends with people on our own crew that maybe I didn’t get to hang with before, and that’s great,” she says.

One way in which the group has grown closer, says Goldstone, is through books. Perhaps unsurprisingly, given her philosophy major during her BU days, Goldstone says she always finds time to read while on tour, and exchanges titles with the other band members as well. “We’re all trading books,” says Goldstone.

On Dacus’ tour last year, says Goldstone, the band passed around Joan Didion’s “Play It as It Lays.” In a similar way to which fans of Boygenius bond over the often melancholy tones of their music, the band bonded over the “real bummer of a book,” says Goldstone. “We passed it around, and everyone was like, ‘Ugh, your turn.’ Like, this is brutal,” she laughs.

“So, yeah, there’s some exchange,” says Goldstone. “Lucy and I will exchange books a lot. Like, I’m really into a writer named Shirley Jackson, and Lucy read some last year.” Goldstone’s most recent tour read, Min Jin Lee’s “Pachinko,” she describes as an “instant classic,” and she plans to lend it to Julien Baker to read next.

(x)

#boygenius #sarah g.#interviews #archival #july 2023

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lobotoboy · 10 months

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Today I ascended from this mortal plane and remembered why I love movies and want to pursue filmmaking.

For context, I watched Barbie, and the Miraculous Ladybug movie today.

So, I saw Barbie with my mom, in a theater full of women. The first five minutes, I was sat there like "Did the internet lie to me again?" cause I was genuinely confused about what the hell was happening onscreen. But once I managed to get into the groove of things, I really enjoyed myself. I didn't play with Barbies growing up, and it was still enjoyable to me. It was so campy and funny(thank you Kate McKinnon and Michael Cera for being a big source of that), but it had some pretty deep themes, such as criticism against both a patriarchy and a matriarchy, the struggles of women in society, existentialism, and mother-daughter relationships. Definitely a movie for the girlies, but I think it's enjoyable for everyone.

I think the music was great. My mom hates musicals, despises them with her whole heart, but she told me after the movie that she loved I'm Just Ken. And yeah, it was so much. My favorite bit was the fast paced "Can you feel the Kenergy" moments. I've been playing Identity V, and I use that to hype me up for matches. It gives 80s power ballad, and it's super fun to listen to over and over again. Ryan Gosling did a very good job with it. I can see I'm Just Ken and Peaces battling it out for Best Original Song. Push was great as well, despite being underused in the movie, the full version(which is a cover of an existing song) is very interesting, and lyrically fits the movie so well.

I'm not typically a fan of bright colors in movies, catch me watching The Batman any day, but Barbie is the exception, as it just made certain scenes feel so much more important. Mattel offices being cold and gray, really sold that corporate vibes, and the soft white at the ending with Ruth definitely made it feel like Barbie was reaching a life-changing conclusion. It's a wonderful use of color.

Now the themes are the big draw of the movie. Regarding the patriarchy, matriarchy, and daily struggles of women, those themes are definitely hard to miss, but they do so much good with them. Showing Ken being essentially brainwashed by the idea of the patriarchy is interesting, and definitely rings home for anyone who grew up with boys as friends. I've seen a few guy friends of mine turn from sweet guys, into womanizers as they grew older. And it also shows that a matriarchy isn't good either, by showing how the Kens feel less than in BarbieLand. The Ken's situation is a muted version of women's situations in the real world. The Kens aren't sexualized or hated, but they're ignored. In the real world, both in the movie and real life, women have it worse than the Kens, and feel in a similar position. Makes it easy to enjoy both perspectives. Barbie focusing on thoughts of death and change as a whole hits with me on a personal level, as I have a lot of issues with existentialism, and any movie with death as a major theme usually brings me close to tears(such as Puss in Boots 2, curse you good movies). Seeing Barbie meet her creator in Ruth was so sweet, and was incredibly heartwarming.

Special mention to the line "We mother stand still so our daughters can look back to see how far they've come". It made me want to give my mom the biggest hug, and I'm in no way a hugger.

Then I went home, and watched the Miraculous Ladybug movie because I had nothing else to do. I've been with the show since 2020, which isn't as long as other fans, but the show still sticks in my brain the same. I knew the animation was going to be great, and that the art direction would make up for any shortcomings in the story. And while yes, the plot was rushed (duh, like, how many years has it taken to get to this point in the show? its gonna feel rushed) but the art was absolutely stunning. My favorite moment was from Hawkmoth's villain song, Chaos Will Reign(available on Spotify) when they pulled out the Disney Villain lime green color. I love that color, and seeing Hawkmoth with it made me ascend. I really love the ending battle as well, the use of colors, lightning effects, butterfly textures, was just perfect. The animation was also really smooth, down to the small details of hair movements, such as when Nino and Alya are on the roller coaster, or when Chat Noir's hair gets wet.

The music was probably my least favorite part, just because I think Cristina Vee could've slayed it, and that the songs sounded kind of generic. But Oh My God, Chaos Will Reign had me bopping and replaying it. In fact, I'm listening to Chaos Will Reign and I'm Just Ken while writing this. It definitely gave me old Disney villain song vibes, mixed with the slightest hint of a Danny Elfman soundtrack. It just sounded so evil, but in a way that I can get behind. Keith Silverstein can actually sing, and that note at the end was wonderful. The vibrato gave me life. I was lowkey hoping Nooroo would stop talking so I could hear more. The chanting was awesome, and gave Friends on the Other Side vibes. I was (and still am) a big fan of villain songs, and this is a throwback to my theater kid days when I exclusively played villains and enjoyed it. Definitely overthrew the Hawkmoth Rap as my favorite Miraculous Ladybug song, but the Hawkmoth Rap is like, second place still. The only crime this song had was being too short. Release the ten hour cut.

Finally, aside from the glory that is Chaos Will Reign, I want to say that the two identity reveal scenes were amazing. I'll start off with Adrien and Marinette's, just because I care about that one the least. I think it was a creative way to go about it, with the masquerade masks. Fanfiction wins again. But I have so much to squeal about when it comes to the Adrien and Gabriel reveal. This version of Gabriel was definitely way more sympathetic than his show counterpart, despite committing atrocious acts. I actually wanted this Gabriel to get some redemption, and I think that bit of forgiveness from Adrien is just that. Let them have a good bond, PLEASE! The whole battle scene was just amazing, the fact that Hawkmoth was willing to do literally anything, and very nearly came close to winning. I knew he wasn't going to win, it's a kid's movie, but I was still on the edge of my seat and biting my nails.

I need both of these movies injected into my bloodstream ASAP.

Do I recommend them? Depends on your preferences. For Barbie, I can see why people wouldn't like it, it's campy(in a fun way), and it's anti-patriarchy and anti-matriarchy, which would make the misogynists and misandrists mad. But I think if you're open to a goofy time that will make you appreciate the women in your life, then give it a watch. It's definitely worth it.

For Miraculous Ladybug, it's a kid's movie, based on a show with a big following spanning years. I think it's something to watch if you're a fan, former or current, of the show. If you're just starting to watch Miraculous, it'll be a better watch if you sit through the show. But, it's a good movie, and still enjoyable for novice Miraculers.

I'm definitely watching these over and over again.

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songofsunset · 1 year

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The other day at work, a child who had been sick all morning had a seizure.

It was not fun!!! It was terrifying!!!!! She spent the weekend in the hospital and came back yesterday and seems to be doing fine now, and is full of personality and actually talking MORE now than before, which is extremely reassuring.

I think the part of my brain desperately trying to make this into Trauma has been largely appeased??? But it sure is always fun to feel that happen in real time, and also I'm saying this post out loud to help with that some now the worst is past

Everyone did everything right, and the ambulance came for her, and I got the class fed while my coworker held her and sang her songs with her name added into them. She is just a baby and it was so hard to see her Not There and shaking and crying so I'm extremely grateful not to have that imprinted on my brain more than it is.

I was the one to find her. She had been so out of sorts we laid her down to rest before lunch, and after she slept for half an hour she woke up and started thinking about getting up to play while I was prepping lunches. And my coworker laid her down and put her blanket on, and just a minute later when I came back with the lunch boxes, I saw her shaking under her blanket and we knew something wasn't right. When I rolled her back towards me there was foam on her mouth. Probably we should have called 911 right from the room, but I had never seen a seizure before, so we lost a minute while our boss came up to come see her, but we noticed it as quickly as we possibly could have and took action immediately and I'm extremely grateful for this.

My coworker took her up front and I was like 'the other children have got to be fed' and my other coworkers came to fill in while I made sure the other children were taken care of because there was nothing else I could do. We didn't even write down the lunches, I just wrote 'lunch from home' and figured if any parent called me out on it (they wouldn't they are generally lovely) i would laugh in their faces and my bosses would back me up

The ambulance came after 20 minutes and they gave her something to help, although apparently her seizure didn't stop for a full 4 hours after that. We didn't find that out til the next day, being texted updates third hand. I felt so stupid googling like 'is a 4 hour seizure bad?' because like, YES, OBVIOUSLY and i had to stop googling because either things would be okay or they wouldn't and me stressing wouldn't change it. But she actively had medical care as soon as the ambulance came, so I wonder if that is why she came through it pretty okay.

I was also grateful for all the informational tumblr posts over the years so that I knew it was important to keep track of when it started, so me and my coworker had that information right away

We got the children down for nap and finally my coworker came back, and I gave her a hug. The child's mother had arrived as the ambulance did, and apparently was extremely grateful we were so calm, because it set the tone for her to handle it calmly. I think if she hadn't arrived, my coworker would have gone to the hospital with the child, so I'm grateful mom came when she did.

We had to juggle our breaks, the timing had been all messed up, but my coworker went and then I went. Our other coworkers kept talking about it, how we'd seen she was sick all day and talking through the story, which was more helpful than it wasn't.

When I came home for lunch i asked my sister (working from home) if she had a minute and at first she was like I'm busy what do you need and then she saw my face and was like OH NO?? and so i got a hug

And then we tried not to stress and gradually got updates.

We had known the child was sick- she'd had a fever since dropoff, but we weren't able to send her home, and then when it spiked again later in the day my boss brushed us off since apparently she hadn't heard about the first time, and also her thermometer read less high than ours. This has been an Ongoing Problem and I'm pissed it came to this with the child not getting the help she needed sooner in time to prevent this.

Apparently she had pneumonia, somehow, despite no coughing.

In theory I'm making my bosses have a meeting with me soon to work out a better approach, but I think I'm gonna hafta fight to make it happen, now the worst is through.

When I got in on Monday and the child was there i was so surprised, but she was so busy playing she didn't even want to give me a hug lmao

Okay I think that's everything I want to have written down. She's so small and just a baby and it was so hard to see her like that. I could never work in the medical field and see people and babies going through stuff that bad all the time. But now the next crisis (god forbid) i will be better able to handle it.

Okay yes I'm done

#lori chat #writing this down so i have a record of it somewhere as my coping mechanisms purge the experience from my brain #probably for the best tbh it was A Lot #cw medical stuff??? its in the intro but i talk about the Whole Experience so like

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stownnn · 4 months

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My brown eyed boy. 2/6/24

i’m not going to sit here and say we weren’t supposed to meet each other, or we came in each others life at a bad point. in ways i don’t believe that, that exist.

i think things happen for a reason, i read too many books and i know too many love songs to not have this imbedded into my brain.

i cant explain what i feel for you without putting it into writing, because when words fail me in the moment - they win after when they’re on paper.

to start off, i want to say i’m not broken and im not damaged. i have been through so much when it comes to love within the past… honestly my entire life. i never was loved properly and even when i was - the person and i weren’t able to love each other properly due to our current situations and my past i couldn’t let go of.

i have since let go of the past in many ways, i have moved on from things that has happened to me. i don’t associate them with every person that comes my way, family friend or significant other. i am utterly aware that everyone is different and that not everyone is the same.

but i have developed a response to things where if it comes up as history repeating itself, its a self defense fight or flight in me that is quick to just walk away - to walk away before i get more hurt.

im usually, typically, right away am ok. i don’t feel any empathy or remorse for doing what’s best for me - why would i when i know im protecting myself??.. but then there was you. who i instantly felt regret and felt the pain that came from doing that to you. i didn’t understand it and im still trying to. because even though i walked away and i said i needed space, i never was able too come to terms with the peace of it. there was only one time i felt this way and with one person, but there’s was more concern over their wellbeing cause they were mentally unwell.

with you, it was more. i worried about you, i wanted to be in your life, i enjoyed my time with you, and i saw you involved in my life more outside of a romantic relationship. even tho my romantic relationship with you was something that was overly passionate and strong on my end, since the moment i kissed you.

i can easily explain what kissing you felt like to me, but i don’t want it to be taken anyway. because no obviously i didn’t fall in love with you - love is simple but made out to be complicated to some people. love for me is something intense, meaningful and euphoric. it’s something that feels like a high, a good one that you don’t come down from and if it’s the good kind of love, it always feels that way. if it’s the bad kind, the euphoric feeling is mixed with overwhelming sadness, anger and anxiety. so no, i didn’t fall in love with you, it was way too soon. but i did have feelings for you.

kissing you felt like from standing in the cold December night to it suddenly bring a warm cool July breeze summer night. How perfect and soft your lips and kisses were that it made my head and thoughts go silent, as if nothing else was surrounding me. how when you kissed me and you spoke between the kisses telling me to let you know when i got home and to drive safe along with the feelings of your hands on my face. and when you pulled away and walked back to your apartment the feelings of your lips still lingered on mine, and the tingling of your hands on my face. how i lost track of my words and thoughts, and couldn’t process anything.

i knew i already liked you from how you spoke about music, in a different but similar way that i am. my music and passion comes from the sounds of guitars, bass and drums. the way the guitar can be plays in multiple ways and create different sounds with capos and notes on different frets and how notes can be changed played with a single guitar string. you got lost in your own music and style - and that was the first time i ever seen someone get lost in it like me. i don’t necessarily know if you find it an escape like i do because i can sit and play for hours on end, and be lost completely as if im the only person in the world playing - but from us listening to music and talking about it; seeing how you got and your passion, it seems pretty close to mine.

when it comes to what happened with us, i do wish i handled it better where i just stated i needed a break and space in a calming way - where i don’t feel as if we hate each other, or feel that we can never fix things or at least not for some time. i don’t believe im wrong with how i felt. i know i said my feelings are invalid here, from what you stated. i personally don’t believe that. i said it to make the fight end, but i don’t believe it. i was hurt and am still hurt. i’m hurt i was led on, im hurt you didn’t give me closure, im hurt from what i saw and heard - im hurt that i felt like i meant nothing to you. i’m hurt that, that night ever happened with us. and im not referring to what happened later that night when you kissed me down my neck and i let my self respect and boundaries go out the window - im only referring to spending the night, the laughter, the jokes, the playfulness, the snuggles, the kisses and how you looked at me after we kissed. How you were all over the place and then just stopped and turned around to grab my face and kiss me as if no time has passed and as if nothing happened. for you to not say the words “im not sure if this is what i want” and only said “i have a wall up and im proceeding with caution” making me believe that we were trying, broke my heart and confused me in so many ways i can’t explain. i felt like an idiot for thinking anything.

i can typically walk away without a problem, i can do it without giving closure. i can do it and not write a paragraph because the person knows what they did for me to walk away, an explanation for mistreatment is never needed to those who do it. but with you i found myself always writing one out, and that was because i wanted you to try to fight for me and us. i thought this is what you wanted and just played in my face, and i wanted to see if you fight and try but you just let me go each time. you wouldn’t handle it, you wouldn’t try to fix things, you wouldn’t try to have me calm down and see your side. you only said “i wish i knew this sooner so I could've change it” instead of “no stop let’s fix this now talk to me, don’t walk away from this” instead you added more fuel to the flame that i made by lighting a match and throwing it onto the gasoline you poured and you watched it burn.

you let me walk away. you let me leave. you let me cry. you let me go without giving closure like i asked. you allowed yourself to hurt me, with knowing all the pain and hurt i been through. you let my heart break, and me feel so unsure of myself and feel like an idiot. i just wanted you to fight for me to show me you cared, but you proved to me that you didn’t and don’t. from someone who said “i just want you happy” when i was going through my toughest battle mentally months before this happened, to someone who breaks my heart, and the worst part is i don’t think you understand or see that..

even with all this, i actually forgive you. i don’t know if you’ll ever come back into my life. i don’t know if i’ll ever put the wall down to let you. but oh my god, if i could rewind time, i would. i would go back to before anything happened. before i allowed myself to go numb for months, i would have allowed myself to let you in, maybe things would be different.

but i don’t believe you were ever a mistake or believe you came in my life at a wrong time. because even if i didn’t love you and with everything with us being short, like sand falling through my fingers and not being able to grasp any of it and stop it. you were my favorite one of all. my brown eyed dark fluffy hair boy, you were my favorite and will forever be my favorite.

i hope and pray that this really was never the end of us, i really truly do..

till we speak again.. always take care, always smile, always laugh, always succeed, and know i am always supporting you and randomly watching your streams and hoping and praying you succeed more than you ever imagined you could. my sweet handsome brown eyed boy. I hope you dont forget me and think of me whenever you see a dodge charger or see a loud dark hair Italian girl with big hazel eyes. I hope you think of me when you see a French bulldog. I hope you think of me when you see books. I hope you think of me when you see a cute couples post. I hope you think of me when you close your eyes and drift to sleep and remember who laid next to you last (if that was me..) I hope you always remember that short feisty girl, you playfully smacked your arm one too many times and than hugged you saying sorry because she felt bad. The girl who is stubborn, stressful, but beautiful. I hope you always remember me, as the girl who wanted nothing more than you and your time. I as well say this in a pure way, not an evil way. Because one thing I know for sure, whether or not we find our way back - I will never ever forget you. My brown eyed boy

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