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lilgarbitch · 3 months ago

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The Voice of an Angel - Three

Pairing: Matt Dierkes x Pornblog!Reader

CW: phone sex, mutual masterbation, i think that’s it.

Word Count: 6.3k

Author’s Note: Here you are, my little gremlins! I know very little about microphones and technology and shit so just ignore the details😭 I know most is probably wrong. I did the best research I could but it’s not gonna he perfect.

Tags: @theanarchymuse95 @dontwantthemoney @badomensgoodomens @enemiestolovershoe @xmads-omensx @alwaysfightforwhoyouare @thatchickwiththecamera @tosoundlessdarkistare @lacy1986 @follow-me-down-to-wonderland @heyyoplayer

Part Two

Y/N | Thursday 4:56 PM

ThotxPleaser has officially gone from occasional donator and supporter to full sugar daddy and I didn’t know how to handle it. The past two weeks have just been me sending him voice notes talking about my day and responding to his messages while he just replies by text when he gets the chance, and then sending me money for absolutely anything that I talk about, to the point that I’ve started backtracking during some conversations and telling him that he in fact did not have to send me money for breakfast every morning because I mentioned that I forgot to eat it a few days ago.

I even had to tell him that he could slow down on the payments. He’s been sending at least $300-$500 each time I sent him a voice note, more if he specifies on what to spend it on. I’m making more money than I ever have before, especially because I’m still getting donations from other supporters. But of course, he responds by telling me that I deserve to be ‘rewarded for my gift’ as if just rambling to someone while occasionally posting lewd audios was a gift to the world.

I was currently on my way to work, taking the long route, since I managed to wake up with enough time to take in the scene of the city, and because I was really enjoying being able to just use these voice notes as some sort of diary. I mean, I’m never going to meet this guy, and it’s not like he’s going to use the things I talk about against me, especially when most of the time it’s just me trying to figure out what my dreams meant, or debating on upgrading my setup. He’s been surprisingly helpful with that though. My setup…not my dreams. He’s been giving me tips on recording equipment, even going into detail on why each piece works best for what I do. He even gave me multiple options of things like microphones and hard drives for me to store my old audios to save up space and in case something happens and I lose all my old media.

I was surprised he didn’t just tell me what to buy and give me the money for it, but I think after mentioning so many times that I really don’t need to be spoiled this bad, and because it’s not like I’m doing anything truly professional, that he’s been giving me cheaper options that are still good quality. It was shocking to me when he first started talking about it. Not like I know absolutely anything about him or what he does, but the knowledge he has for all of this is insane. He’s been talking about things that sound like complete gibberish to me, having to bring out what I’ve been calling ‘baby talk’, explaining what solid state drives or form factors are to me, because let's be honest, when it comes to anything more than ‘press play’ ‘ transfer file’ and ‘post’, I’m a complete amateur. But I am very thankful he hasn’t treated me like I was stupid for not knowing all of this, just putting it into simpler terms so I can understand what to look for and why it’ll help me.

“I’m trying to decide on the best microphone to buy, because I don’t want anything too bulky or heavy, but I also don’t want to buy some cheap piece of garbage and waste money,” I speak into my phone as I spin the steering wheel, turning down a side street with gorgeous blossoming trees lining the sides, “Is there, like, a stand or something I should get? I feel like…where…I record… is a little too unconventional and it’s hard to figure out how I can even get this to work. Using my phone is so easy because I can just sit it beside me and…do my thing. Also having to have it connected to my computer will be a bitch, so should I get a bluetooth one? Are those still good quality?”

I continue rambling about every thought in my head as I get closer to work, probably relying on his input a little too much because I never really thought this far ahead about my whole side hustle until now and he has coincidentally become the perfect person to help, being the only person who could give me the advice I need while also being the only one I could think of even sending test audios to while working on upgrading.

“I think I’m in a little over my head with all of this,” I say as I pull into the parking lot of the library, “You think- Fuck. Okay, maybe that’s a bad idea… I mean…Fuck it. What would you think of, like…calling? To help me set up everything? You can totally say ‘no’ if you don’t feel comfortable, and I can tell you’ve been pretty busy so if you don’t have time, that’s completely okay, too. I’m just gonna need some tips and to probably send you a few audio tests so you can tell me if everything sounds okay- Alright I’m rambling and I’m at work so, like…I guess just let me know…? Okay bye.”

I end the recording and work on sending it over to our chat as I make my way into the library. Why was my heart racing? I understand that I just asked a stranger to talk on the phone with me but it’s not like I haven’t been communicating with him for a while now. And it’s just a phone call, especially if we can set this up over some app so he doesn’t actually get my phone number, what harm will this do? Am I just scared that I may have made him uncomfortable, or is it a mix of fear and excitement of hearing him after months of him only knowing my voice?

I shake my head and push all the racing thoughts out of it. I’ll deal with this when I get a response from him, but right now, I need to do my real job.

Matt | Thursday 12:27 AM

I let out a huff as I fall into the seat of the bus. My body is slowly getting used to being on the road, but it’s still exhausting. Helping set up for hours before the show, helping take down for an hour after, and being completely focused during took a toll on my mind and body. The only thing keeping me going was energy drinks, being able to do all of this with the group I consider my family, and those goddamn voice notes.

Once everyone packed into the buses and vans, we started making our way to the next location. As the bus hit the road, I got comfortable in my seat and pulled out my phone. I know I should start moving to my bunk when we get on, especially after the countless nights I end up passing out in the front, but despite the exhaustion, I’m too wired from the energy of the day and end up restless if I head to bed right away.

I pull out my airpods from my bag and just scroll through Twitter and Instagram for a bit. Most nights, I’ve been putting off listening to the voice notes until I can get a little more relaxed, especially because listening to her voice somehow manages to calm me and bring my heart rate up at the same time. It kind of drives me insane the effect she has on me. All she does is tell me about her day, complain about work or something she saw online, or now that we talked more about upgrading her setup, she’s been asking me a lot of questions about everything. And I couldn’t be more willing to help. Between being able to share my knowledge with someone, and feel the appreciation she has when I do give her advice, I couldn’t be enjoying this little thing we have going on more.

After scrolling for long enough, I was feeling antsy, needing to hear her voice, so I finally switched over to my other Twitter account and opened the DMs, my heart already racing. I hit play, adjusted my volume, and closed my eyes as I let her ramble into my ears.

She seemed to be getting more stressed about the whole set up situation now that she was dead set on upgrading, so that was mainly what she talked about. When she started talking about how she’d even get it to work with her recording arrangements, I was starting to think of how to reply to ease her stress and give her the best advice to make sure this worked best for her. When I knew the audio was coming close to an end, I looked at my phone again and began typing the beginning of my reply. But then she asked something I wasn’t ever expecting.

“What would you think of calling? To help me set up everything?”

She wanted to call? So many thoughts were racing through my mind. The audio ended and I was staring at the first few words I wrote in the text box as my brain flooded with how to respond. She actually wanted to hear me, too? I mean, we have created some sort of friendship over the past two weeks, especially with how normal our conversations were compared to the ways I’d talk through comments and donations. We’ve definitely reached a point past Creator and Follower, but she was willing to talk on the phone with me?

Also how the fuck would this work? I’d never let her give me her phone number, and would honestly be upset if she even wanted to give it to me after only speaking for two weeks, not having a clue who I actually was. I guess we could figure something out like a Discord call, that way both of our identities were still hidden. Fuck. Identities. I mean, what are the odds she even listens to Bad Omens? And if she did, the possibility of knowing who I was was even slimmer. But that didn’t mean I was exactly a nobody. And it’s not like my voice was everywhere like Noah’s or even Davis’, but it was still out there.

I’m overthinking this way too much. There’s no way she knows who I am or would recognize my voice. This will be fine. As long as I don’t give her any information about what I do for work or who I work with, it’ll be okay. But when the fuck would I even have time to call her? My schedule is packed and when I’m not setting up or taking down sets, I’m stuck on this bus with nosy ass people who will either be sleeping or in my business. I thought about it for a moment before remembering that we’re supposed to be staying at a hotel Sunday night since we won’t have a show until Tuesday. I’ll just book a one bedroom. I quickly deleted what I had typed and rewrote my message.

I’d love to help if that’s what works for you. My schedule is pretty packed but if Sunday night works for you, we could set something up. I feel like our best bet would be talking over Discord, if that’s alright with you. That way we can test the mic through your computer while on call. Just let me know, if not, we can figure out another day.

I then list off a few mics she could get, a few cheap ones I know were good quality, some bluetooth, and one I knew Noah really liked for his at home studio. I hit send and dropped my phone on my chest, staring up at the ceiling of the bus as my heart continued to pound in my chest. It shouldn’t be such a big deal, but this call feels like a big step, both good and bad.

Y/N | Friday 2:30 PM

Either he was really tired, since it was nearly 2 in the morning here when I got a reply, or I may have freaked him out with the whole call situation, because he forgot to send me anything last night. Not that I cared, he was sending me more than I knew what to do with, but it was weird waking up to a notification from just my DMs and not CashApp, too.

He still agreed to talk, which I was happy about, so I must’ve not freaked him out too bad. I was now on my way to Guitar Center to look at their selections of mics there, since I knew if I ordered one online, it wouldn’t get here in time for our call, and it’ll be easier to return it if I have to. And this was more of a fun store to look through than Best Buy.

When I step through the door, I greet the guy at the front and begin looking around. I know I’m here for microphones, but come on, it’s like a museum in here. I have to window shop every instrument I’ll never know how to play.

After I take my time walking around the store, eyeing up all the guitars, drum sets, and even the dj boards, I finally make my way to the back with the wall full of mics. And then I just stare, because suddenly I completely forgot everything we were talking about and every brand name and all the information now looked like gibberish to me.

I take a closer look at most of them, trying to remember what he told me, but I swear nothing any of this said was anything I was mentioned to look for. If only I knew he’d respond if I texted him asking for help. There’s so many random numbers and letters and the prices are all over the place, I couldn’t stop myself from trying. I open my phone and pull up our chat before begging for help.

I’m currently looking at a giant wall of microphones and I feel like I stepped onto another planet

Why the fuck are some of these in the thousands?

Do I need a condenser mic? These look like those goddamn podcast mics

I’m about to continue spamming him when, surprisingly, a message comes through.

Remain calm😂 You don’t need anything more than a few hundred, if even that. Yes, I’d recommend a condenser mic because you’re gonna want something that won’t pick up too much background noise, some even have controls on them for boost, gain, and volume

I stare up at the wall and then back at my phone before just saying ‘fuck it’ and pressing the record button on the side of the text box since this it’s just gonna be a short audio.

“What the fuck is boost, gain, and vol- okay I know what volume means. But I swear all the information you gave me just went out the window.” I said before letting it send. It took a minute but then he finally responded.

Boost is pretty much how much background noise your mic picks up. Gain is just the input signal level. Like how loud your voice will get picked up.

I once again just stare at his messages like they made any sense to me. I was starting to get a little frustrated. I know he doesn’t seem busy right now, but I can’t just ask him to call already, knowing he said to wait until Sunday, so I did the next best thing. I close out of Twitter and open my camera app. I make sure it’s facing away and I’m not being picked up on any reflections before pressing record.

“Okay, so,” I say as I get closer to whatever the fuck condenser microphones are, “These are the ones you said I should be looking at. I’m steering clear of these ones that look like they belong on Joe Rogan’s podcast or any over 400 dollars. So that leaves me with these,” I bring my hand into view and point out the ones I assume I should be looking at.

“I hear a lot about this one, but this one looks like it’ll work better with how I record. But then wasn’t this one the one you told me about last night? God, I can’t remember. What do I do?” I end the video and send it to him.

After watching the video, he finally responds, surprising me with a voice note of his own.

“Alright. The first one is a Blue Yeti, it does fit perfectly with what you’re doing, but I have heard a lot of mixed reviews, and I haven’t personally used it myself, so I can’t say I recommend it. The second is a Shure MV7X. It’s definitely what you would want, but most controls will have to be done while it’s hooked up to your computer, if that works for you. The last is the one I recommended because that’s the one a friend of mine uses. It’s the Shure SM7B. It’s pricier than the rest and is set up in a way that may be harder for you to use, but it’s one I do think you should get if you can figure out a way to set it up to work for you.”

I listen to his voice with my phone held up to my ear, not wanting to bother other customers with my idiocy and I could tell he was somewhere with people around so it was a little harder to hear. But I barely process what he’s saying, stuck on the fact I’m hearing his voice for the first time. I have no idea what I thought he’d sound like, but I will say I’m kind of shocked he didn’t sound like an old man. And a part of me felt like his voice sounded familiar but I immediately pushed that thought out of my mind, not wanting to think about the fact that this could be someone I know.

I replay the audio as I look at the options in front of me, before deciding that I’m just going to buy both the Blue Yeti and the last one he mentioned. I can always bring back whichever I don’t use. I send him a quick thank you text before grabbing both boxes and making my way to the front. I chat with the guy ringing me up, making sure I know their return policy, before finally heading back to my car.

On my walk, I feel my phone buzz in my pocket, so I pull it out once I’m in my seat, seeing that it’s that goddamn CashApp notification.

ThotxPleaser - $700

Because I forgot and to help out with whichever you chose

I rolled my eyes with a smile as I toss the boxes onto the passenger seat and start my car. I swear if that fucker pays me for helping me set these up, I may have to block him on CashApp.

Matt | Sunday 10:17 PM

I managed to get them to let me head back to the hotel early. I felt terrible leaving them to take everything down by themselves, but losing one person wasn’t the end of the world, and I already felt terrible making Angel wait this long. I had no clue what time zone she was in, but it was pretty late no matter where she was.

I took a quick shower because I felt disgusting from sweating all day and made sure everything in the hotel room was set up because depending on what time it was for her, I didn’t know how long our call was going to run and I didn’t want to have to get ready for bed if I was dead tired by the end of it.

Once I had my chargers plugged in, my dirty clothes packed up, and the TV playing some quiet music in the background, I finally pulled out my phone and got prepared to send her the text that I was home and free to call.

All day I feel like I’ve been looking forward to this call, the anxiety and excitement of it all almost distracting me the whole day. Thankfully, I pushed her out of my head while I was actually working the sound and making sure everything in Front of House was running smoothly during the show, but every moment before and after was me just dizzy as she consumed my thoughts.

Checking the time one last time, I realized I shouldn’t wait any longer, so I sent her the text that she could call when she was ready.

Y/N | Sunday 11:34 PM

I was fucking rushing around my room once I got his text. I had no idea why I was freaking out so bad. I was the one who asked if we could call and it wasn’t like he was going to see me or my room but for some reason I was making my bed and making sure I didn’t look like a mess as my computer was booting up and I made sure Discord was open and logged into. I had to make a new account since my old one had my personal username and information so it was weird seeing such a blank account, but I spent all of this morning making sure my profile looked cute for absolutely no reason other than needing to distract me from my nerves and excitement.

I realize that he’s going to have to help me set up my mics, so I was probably going to have to start the call on my phone anyway so I didn’t fuck anything up and he couldn’t hear me. I shoot him a quick text, telling him to give me a minute and sending him my username, the one I’ve been using for all these pseudo accounts.

I feel my phone buzz as I grab the two boxes I bought the other day and set them on my desk. I open my notifications to see that he had friended me on Discord, so I did the same back. Calm the fuck down, Y/N. You’re just getting help setting everything up. It’s not like you’re putting on a show for him or like this was the first time you were speaking to him. Just hit call. Just press the button. Okay. Deep breaths. You don’t need a shaky voice when he’s already been hearing it for months.

I take one last exhale as I hit the little phone icon. My heart’s trying to pound out of my chest as I hear it ring, and my stomach feels like it wants to drop when he finally answers. But then, I hear that voice I first heard a few days ago and it’s almost like my nerves all instantly vanished.

“Hey!” I hear through my phone’s speaker. The too familiar voice filling my ears and bringing a smile to my face without me even understanding why.

“Hey,” I replied, my smile evident in my voice, causing a small chuckle to come from my phone.

“Sorry it’s so late. I uh…” He paused to let out a small laugh, “I actually got out of work earlier than normal, but it was still pretty late by the time I got back. I hope it’s not too late for you.”

”No, no. It’s all good. It’s still before midnight here and I was probably gonna stay up late anyway since I don’t work tomorrow.”

“Alright, good. I’m technically off, too, so I’m glad this worked out for both of us.”

God, there was something about his voice. It’s like my brain was overworking, trying to connect a face to it, but it couldn’t quite make it fit. But it was so familiar. It definitely wasn’t anyone I knew personally, so that’s good. But now I’m just confused on why I felt like I knew him already.

“So what mic did you end up getting?” He asked, pulling me out of my thoughts.

“Oh yeah!” I moved and sat down in my computer chair, setting my phone on my desk and pulling the boxes towards me, “I grabbed the Blue Yeti and the one you said your friend used. I figured I could just take back the one that I didn’t need and it’d be easier to do it this way than run back and forth from the store or get stuck with one I didn’t like.”

“Smart. The Blue Yeti should be pretty simple to figure out, but I can help you set up the Shure and figure out the settings and everything on your computer.”

I took the Blue Yeti out of the box first and made sure I didn’t ruin any of its packaging just in case this was the one I needed to return. I set it on my desk and read over the instructions. It was pretty easy to set up, just needing to plug it in and fuck around with the gain and sound source. After understanding what I could from the instructions, I told him that I was going to switch over to my computer so he could tell me how it sounded.

“Hello?” I spoke into the mic after he answered the call.

“Holy shit, that picks up a lot of input,” he answered, laughing. I giggled before covering my mouth, realizing just how loud that probably was on his end.

“I’m gonna fuck around with the settings and shit and you tell me what sounds good,” I said before leaning back and looking at the dails on the mic.

I did a few test “Hello”s, trying to figure out the best sound source option.

“Oh, that one’s good. It’s more binaural so when you move around the mic, it almost sounds 3D.”

“So it'd be good for what I’m gonna use it for?” He softly laughed.

”Yes. And for someone who says some lewd things online, I find it so funny that you won’t just say ‘for my audios’ or something. You act like that’s not how I know you.” I groaned and immediately dropped my face to my hands as he called me out, almost like I was hiding the blush he couldn’t even see anyway.

”I know. I’m sorry. It’s still just really awkward actually talking to someone about it, you know? Like, not even my best friend knows I do this, so you’re the first person I’m actually talking to about it.”

”Well, I’m honored. And I get it, I’m just teasing. It’s just cute that I’ve heard some insane noises from you yet you won’t even admit out loud what you do.” I fall back in my chair and laugh, still covering my face.

“Alright, shut up.”

“Okay. Okay. Sorry,” he said, chuckling, “Now that we know what this one sounds like, let’s figure out how to get the other mic working for you.”

I took the other mic and cords out of the box while the Blue Yeti was hooked up as I asked him more questions since it was a little more complicated, and once I had it set up, I quickly switched the plugs.

“Hello?” I spoke into the new mic.

”Woah. You can definitely tell the difference. Are there instructions on how to pull up the controls?” I look over at the paper that came in the box and grab it again.

”Good god, this is so complicated,” I mumble to myself as I read over the instructions that come after simply setting it up.

Matt | Sunday 11:23 PM

This was my own personal hell. Okay, maybe not hell, but it was a fucking struggle. Having her talk to me. Hearing her voice replying to everything I said. How she asked me the simplest questions and truly appreciated my answers and how cute she sounded when it started working easier or she started understanding what each control meant. I’m thankful my brain was working enough to remember at least the important knowledge on how to help her set everything up because it felt like it was melting out of my ears with every little noise her new mics picked up, every giggle she let out or the small little huffs of frustration that just sent me back to the sounds I heard on her audios for months.

“Alright, I think we managed to get it to the perfect controls…What’s a windscreen?” she oh so adorably asked.

”The uhh little foam thing that looks like it fits over the mic.”

”Oh!” I hear some shuffling and then the sound of foam sliding over metal, “What does this do?”

”Well, it pretty much does what the name says. It’ll block out most air sounds, but it also muffles some sounds most people don’t want picked up, like absent mouth sounds or strong ‘S’ or ‘P’ sound.” I answer.

”Should I use it?” God, she was adorable. It’s like she wasn’t even thinking of an answer on her own, she just knew I had the knowledge and wanted to help so I’d give her anything she needed. And I would. And love every second of it.

“No, darling. You want those noises picked up, right? I mean, ‘wet sounds’ more than mouth sounds.” I answered, chuckling.

”Wet- Oh! Oh. Yeah, that makes more sense,” she replied, almost sounding bashful.

The way she seemed so nervous talking about this out loud was both shocking and cute at the same time. I knew she was in the space she had made some pretty noisy audios in the past, so it wasn’t like she was scared someone else would hear her talk about it. It was just that she was talking to me about it.

Suddenly, I hear something small crash on the other side of the phone, causing her to sigh. I assume something just fell off her desk, but she let out a slight groan as she reached down to grab it, whispering an ‘Aww fuck,” before she seemingly reached it and picked it up, and instantly, my dick went from the semi erect it’s been at since I heard her answer the call, to fully hard. I play off the groan escaping my throat with a cough.

“You alright?” I managed to get out.

”Yeah, sorry, knocked my phone off the desk. Thankfully it didn’t crack,” she said with a soft sigh. I cleared my throat and shifted in the bed, my erection getting more and more uncomfortable with each word she said.

“That’s good.”

Y/N | Monday 12:47 AM

Something sounded different about him all of a sudden. He went from helpfully nerding out over each of the controls and what the perfect settings for me would be, to distracted one to two word answers. We were mostly finished with setting everything up, but I really didn’t want to get off the call yet, so I was trying to think of more things to ask for his help with or for me to decide which microphone was perfect for my audi- oh my god.

My audios. My voice. We’re literally on a call together and it took me this long to realize that the man that literally pays me to speak for him is getting affected by my voice. You’re such an idiot, Y/N. Well..Do I…Do I help him? I mean, that’s not what the call was for and I know he was just doing this to help me, not benefit from it at all, but I’m not gonna lie…I kind of want to.

Something about his familiar voice has been keeping me on edge the whole night and I’ve just been ignoring it because that’s not what our dynamic has been since I started sending him personal audios and I didn’t want him to think that’s all I assumed he wanted. But…I can now tell from the way he’s talking, how deep and distracted his voice has gotten, that it wouldn’t…hurt..right?

“I…um.. I think I’m gonna see how well this works for when I actually make the audios, if that’s alright with you. You know, see if I have to start recording from my desk or if the mics reach to my bed and actually work from there.”

”Oh! Yeah, go ahead,” he answers, his voice slightly more gravelly than before.

Matt | Sunday 11:56 PM

She tries moving the mic to her bed, and just the thought of her laying in bed talking to me has me palming my dick through my pants. It wasn’t even sexual, and I felt terrible for doing it, especially because that’s not what this call was for at all, but the things this girl does to my brain and body are uncontrollable.

After she decides that the Shure wouldn’t work for anywhere else but at her desk, she says that she may keep the other mic for that reason, and will test it out another time so she doesn’t have to mess with any more cords and things. And then she almost has me unload in my pants when she starts speaking into it again.

“Since it picks up a lot of input like you said, I’ll probably start talking like this in some of the audios,” she speaks in such a soft, sultry tone. One that felt like she was right next to me, whispering in my ear.

”Jesus fuck,” I whisper out, unable to hold back my reaction. She giggles softly, that sound somehow shooting straight to my cock, too.

“It’s good, isn’t it?” she teases.

“You’re fucking killing me here,” I practically groan out.

”Don’t say that, you make it sound like it’s a bad thing.”

“Oh, this is the farthest thing from bad. It’s just…Fuck. You sound like you’re right next to me. And your voice sounds so good.”

”Yeah? Then… You alright with me testing out what else the mic picks up other than my voice?” My brain instantly turned to mush. A noise escaped my throat before I could even answer, my mind just consumed by the thought of her touching herself while talking to me.

“More than alright with it,” I finally say, my voice barely above a whisper as I try to hide how fucking badly hers affects me.

“You gonna touch yourself to the sound of me doing the same?” She asks, her tone immediately turning into the one she uses when she makes her talking audios. Where instead of just her beautiful whimpers and moans, she directs you. How to touch yourself, to stop, start again, how fast to go, everything. Ones I’ve listened to more times than I can count.

”F-fuck. Yes,” I answer, immediately sliding my hand down my shorts and gripping the base of my cock. I let out a small gasp at the smallest bit of relief.

I hear the wheels of her chair move back slightly and the sound of the mic move, probably her angling it down to make sure it captures more sound. My eyes were closed and I was imagining the sight before my eyes. Her sitting there with her legs spread on her chair, sliding her hand down her stomach into her panties. And just as I saw it in my mind, I heard her let out a soft sigh and the distant sound of wetness.

”Fuck, Angel. I can hear you.” She lets out a small giggle.

”Guess we picked a good mic, then,” she replies in an airy voice.

I continue gently stroking myself to the sound of her through the mic, trying to keep an easy pace, matching hers. But the second I hear her soft whimpers start, I could feel myself get closer to the edge.

“Fuck, Darling. You sound so good. I’m not gonna last,” I groan out, picking up pace.

Y/N | Monday 1:13 AM

This was the first time I’ve ever done something like this. I never did anything over the phone before, so hearing his soft groans and the slight sound of him jerking off in the background was making me insanely wet. I just know that the mic was picking up more sound than any of my audios ever had before.

Another thing I’ve never had was being with someone vocal. Not just the noises he made, but as he started getting closer, he instinctively started talking me through it, wanting me to join him.

“I’m so close. You gonna cum with me, angel? Fuck, I can hear how wet you are,” He practically moaned out.

All I could do was reply with whimpers and ‘mmhmm’s, focusing on his voice and the sounds he made.

“Oh fuck, you are. I love the way your whimpers pick up when you’re about to cum. Come on, darling. I know you’re close.”

The fact that he knew the sounds I made when I was close made this even hotter. I sped up my movements, circling my clit with my head thrown back against my chair, the knot in my core tightening by the second.

“Fuck, I’m gonna cum,” he gasped out, immediately followed by a deep groan, one that shot me over the edge, joining him.

I let out a loud moan, my orgasm shaking me to my core. My hand was soaked and I couldn’t catch my breath, so I just sat there, breathing hard as I listened to him do the same through my headphones and just stared at the ceiling, thinking about what the fuck we just did.

Ever since I started talking to him, my orgasms have been more intense than ever before, and I’m now realizing it’s because he was on my mind. I start thinking of everything that has happened the past few weeks, all the sweet ways he’s treated me. The way he spoils me for doing nothing but bring him a peaceful or erotic distraction. How nice he’s been to me. Even the cute nicknames he hasn’t stopped giving me.

“I like Darling,” I finally say after a few minutes of thinking, after we’ve both calmed down.

“Huh?” He asked with a slight chuckle.

”When you call me darling. I always liked when you’d comment it on posts or donations, but finally hearing you say it out loud, it just…fits. And it feels nice hearing you call me that,” I answer, blushing slightly at my random confession.

“Good to know, Darling,” he replied with a teasing tone, making me giggle.

TO BE CONTINUED

#Matt dierkes #matt dierkes fanfiction #matt dierkes x reader #matt dierkes fic #matt dierkes and reader #Matt dierkes smut #bad omens #bad omens fanfiction #bad omens fic #bad omens smut

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am-i-the-asshole-official · 1 year ago

Note

Would I be the asshole if I refused to pay my phone bill?

📱🧾♿️ <- To recognize my post for later :)

The title is probably already a bit of a red flag, but I genuinely didn’t know how else to word it…

For context: I am a disabled, chronically and mentally ill trans guy who recently turned 20. I haven’t left home yet for a lot of reasons, some being that my parents promised to let me live rent-free so long as I was in college (which I am, just not currently for the summer) as well as the fact that they really haven’t raised me to be very independent and rely solely on them (which is honestly a whole other can of worms), but primarily because of my disability. It isn’t safe for me to live on my own, as I faint commonly, cannot stand up for more than maybe fifteen minutes at a time roughly, and sometimes am unable to eat for long periods of time due to debilitating nausea which leads to weakness. I also have severe chronic pain in my limbs and gut, something I’ve had most of my life, while my chronic illness I’ve only had for about a year and a half now and am still struggling to adjust to.

Because of my disability, I also can’t work a traditional job. I offer art commissions online, because I’m very passionate about art and it’s one of the few things I’m good at, and I haul in a decent amount, but certainly not enough to live off of. I make enough to set aside some good savings (I’m currently saving for a wheelchair, as that might grant me more freedom and the potential to get a job at least for the summer) while also indulging myself in buying the occasional fatty treat (I’m very underweight so that’s not an issue, and I was raised essentially in an almond mom household all my life, so this form of eating is really the only sense of control I have over my life, as I’m fully dependent on my parents elsewise).

The issue has come upon relatively recently. I feel like a huge entitled brat for it as well, and if others believe the same, I sincerely don’t blame you.

My mom sat me down the other day and said that she expected me to start paying at least one bill. She offered my cheapest bill (which would be for my phone; my parents bought it, and it’s theirs, they’re just letting me use it as my own.. I don’t own a whole lot of “my” items myself) and asked what I thought about that. I was fully honest with her: if I had a steady stream of income, I wouldn’t hesitate to offer to pay for all of my bills, but with the way it stands, I just don’t make enough month-to-month to regularly afford the bill. I also do my commissions through my phone, so if I could afford the bill, my phone would be turned off, and I’d be unable to continue.

My mom got very upset and started talking to me like a child (though she really has every right to, honestly, and I know that). She went on a very long rant about teaching me responsibility, and how I can’t rely on my parents forever, and that I need to grow up at some point… All things that I fully agree with. I sincerely want to! I want nothing more than to be fully independent. But the way it stands, my parents cover my entire medical bills and they pay for my meds… And I just don’t make enough to survive on my own, and I can just barely afford a meal or two from a sandwich shop I enjoy twice a month to keep my sanity in check because I’m usually bedbound.

I tried explaining to her that I would if I could, sincerely, and that I’m not trying to be a leech or lazy, but she wasn’t having it. She just scolded me and said that if I can afford to eat out every month, then I can afford the phone bill. But again, with the way things are, I don’t think I’d be able to do it every month without tapping into my savings, which again, is for my wheelchair so I can regain some sense of freedom for myself. I’m seriously debating just telling her no straight out, but I don’t know what the aftermath might look like…

So, sincerely: Am I in the wrong here? Should I just swallow my protests and cough up the money somehow? I really don’t know and would love an outside perspective.

#aita #am i the asshole

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morganski-19 · 11 months ago

Text

Chills Right to the Marrow Part 28

ao3 link| part 1 . . . part 25, part 26, part 27

It is a lot easier for Wayne to find Steve than he thought it would be. He had the vision of tires screeching out of the parking lot. Speeding down the road to his house or somewhere worse. But here Steve is, sitting on the curb outside the hospital doors. An unlit cigarette in his hands. Looking like he’s debating the world.

Wayne’s not sure why he followed him. He has every right to yell. Every right to question what that was. Why he came at Eddie with so much anger? Lashing out as decisions that had already been set in stone. Already dealt with.

After all this talk of telling Dustin that he can’t change what Eddie did, how he got hurt, Wayne thought that Steve was over it. That whatever happened between them was in the past. And all of them were ready to move forward and try to forget the pain.

But as he looks at Steve, the way his shoulders hunch and his arm wraps around his knees, the pain isn’t forgotten. Just hidden under the surface of someone trying to keep everything together. To be the strong one while the world falls apart. The bandage that keeps the dam from breaking.

Wayns sighs. Sitting down next to Steve and extending that olive branch. Telling Steve that he didn’t come here to scold him, or break whatever trust they’ve formed in these past few weeks. But here to be a person who will listen without judgement. The same way that Steve has for him.

“You know you’re supposed to light those.”

Steve stares at his hand, giving the cigarette a gentle flick. “I haven’t smoked in years. Don’t even know why I have it to begin with.”

“Because it’s familiar, doesn’t matter how long you’ve gone without them. Or how long you smoked them to begin with.”

There’s a long break of silence. Wayne waiting for Steve to open up. Explain himself. Or maybe just get ready to put the mask back on whenever Dustin finds them. Either way, Wayne will be here next to him. Attempting to understand whatever is going on in his head. Be the sturdy post that Steve needs in this moment. Giving him the permission to crack.

Steve eventually hands Wayne the cigarette, giving up on trying to smoke it. Wayne takes it, feeling the weight he’s so familiar with rest in his hand. Finding his lighter and holding it up to the end. Not letting it go to waste.

After a shorter silence, Steve takes a deep breath. “Barb Holland, Billy Hargrove, Jim Hopper, Max Mayfield, and Eddie Munson. Those are all the people that either died or got hurt while I could do nothing to stop it.”

Wayne can’t find the right words to respond to that. He doesn’t have to, Steve still has more to say.

“I didn’t really know some of them well. And some of them, I didn’t really care about that much. But I knew people that did, and I see what they all left behind. And each of them could have been me. It could have been me that died or got hurt. But somehow, no matter how many times I’ve almost died, no matter what I’ve done, the universe keeps picking me to save.”

“And it makes you feel guilty.” It’s an obvious statement, Wayne knows that. But he can’t seem to find the words to say. Trying to find something comforting without minimizing how Steve feels. Knowing that whatever he says isn’t going to stick.

Steve’s nod is full of guilt. Like he’s the reason all of this happened. That everyone got hurt because of him. And maybe they did, Wayne doesn’t know the full story. But what he does know is that Steve is still a victim in this. The scars are only a proof of that. Whatever’s going on with his head is proof of that. The way he’s feeling right now is proof of that.

“I’m still in the dark about most of what’s happened in this town, apparently. I only know what you’ve told me, and I know that was only a partial story. But I can’t imagine that these people blame you at all. I know Eddie doesn’t. I can guess that Jim doesn’t. And Max. It seems like the only one who blames you, is you.”

“That’s not entirely true,” Steve tries to correct.

“Maybe it is. Maybe it isn’t. That doesn’t matter right now. Right now, all that matters is that you think that your life is worth less than theirs. I can tell you right now that isn’t the case.”

Steve’s huff is full of self-deprecation. Refusing to believe that what Wayne is saying is true. It breaks Wayne a little bit. Finally seeing the cracks beneath the hard exterior Steve presents himself in. He's what, a year younger than Eddie? Barely an adult and holding himself to an unreachable standard. Pining for perfection that isn’t wanted.

“You don’t know me that well,” he says. Like that makes some kind of point. “I don’t think you can make that call.”

He has a point. Wayne doesn’t know Steve that well. But he knows enough. He knows that this kid will do anything and everything for the people he loves. Fight the unfightable just to protect them. Shelter them with everything he has. Even if it breaks him in the process.

He drives Dustin to and from the hospital day after day, no matter how he’s feeling. He sat with Max while she was still here, and with the kids while they were dealing with everything. He sat out in the waiting room while Wayne wouldn’t let him in Eddie’s room, just to show that he was there. That he wasn’t leaving them behind. Not again, or never at all. Wayne’s not sure.

What he is sure of, is that these people care about him more than Steve realizes. He sees it in the way Dustin trusts him. In the way all the kids trust him. Even in the way Eddie lights up every time he enters the damn room. In the way Eddie’s voice broke when calling out to Steve to stay.

Wayne can see how much Steve is loved while knowing so little about him. It crushes him that Steve can’t see that for himself.

“I don’t need to know you to know that your life is worth something.”

Steve shakes his head like he still can’t believe what Wayne’s saying.

“How old were you when this all started,” Wayne asks, trying a new approach.

“Seventeen,” Steve answers in a whisper.

Wayne has to bite his tongue to keep himself from cursing. Trying to keep this conversation in the place it is, instead of his own shock. “You were just a kid yourself, how could you have made the right decisions?”

“I still could have made better ones. I was a dick back then. Kinda still am.” He says this like it’s an excuse. It's not.

“I’ve heard the stories, so I’m not going to fight you on that. But who you were doesn’t decide who you have to be. Or what punishment you think you deserve. Yeah, you might regret the actions you’ve made, I do the same thing. But it’s that regret that shows you that you are a good person. Bad people don’t regret their decisions. The fact that you do tells me a lot about you.”

Steve shakes his head gently. Almost forcing the words to bounce off whatever wall he’s built up. The disbelief in it’s mortar refusing to break. But Wayne can see how he hasn’t said a word out loud to dispute it. He’s still listening.

“I can tell you right now that those kids don’t believe a word of what you’ve said right here. They still want you here. And that girl, Robin, that you hang out with all the time. She does too.”

Wayne’s just trying to make the point stick. Not quite sure where the words are coming from, or how effective they are. But something about them seems right, so they continue.

“Eddie wants you here. Hell, I do too. You mean more to these people than you know. Your life is worth something to them. Don’t let it mean nothing to you.”

The tension in Steve’s shoulders starts to break. Loosening from the ball he’s curled himself into. For the first time, Steve turns his head and looks Wayne in the eye. A wealth of sadness and hurt hiding behind his eyes. Something that can’t be built in a few years, but a lifetime.

Whatever this feeling is, it runs deeper that what he’s saying.

“You really mean that?”

“I do,” Wayne says with a nod. Nothing but truth in his words.

There’s nothing but silence after that. Steve going back to staring at the concrete. But looking less troubled than before. Something knew ruminating in his mind.

He eventually stands, wiping off the palms of his hands on his thigh. Wayne takes a second before following, feeling the regret of sitting on nothing but a curb for this long.

“I’m going to go-.” Steve motions to the hospital doors. “You know, apologize.”

“You sure? You’ve been through a lot today. I don’t think he would mind if you waited a day.”

That’s a lie, he would mind. Probably would spend the night thinking about it. But right now, Wayne can lie. He can lie to give someone who’s gone through so much grief some peace of mind. Even if it’s just for a moment.

Steve shakes his head. “No. I think it might make us both feel better if I do.”

Wayne watches him walk back into the hospital doors. Leaning against the wall and pulling a new cigarette from his pocket. Stands out there as the wind starts to chill and afternoon turns to evening.

Eddie wouldn’t mind one day without him saying goodbye. Not since he’s in there talking it out with Steve. Probably on to something else at this point. With that glint in his eye that tells Wayne there’s about to be a whole new problem.

tag list (capping at 100, only 2 spots left): @the-they-who-nerded, @insteviewetrust, @croatoan-like-its-hot, @jettestar,

@tinyplanet95, @steddie-as-they-go, @slv-333, @littlecelestialmoth, @thatonebadideapanda,

@fandomsanddeath, @marismorar, @wonderland-girl143-blog, @glass-bottle03, @gutterflower77,

@here4thetrama, @goodolefashionedloverboi, @jaytriesstuff, @cryptid-system, @manda-panda-monium,

@resident-gay-bitch, @anaibis, @xxsutherlandxx, @forevermineliv, @mugloversonly,

@gregre369, @n0-1-important, @different-tale-student, @spectrum-spectre, @tartarusknight,

@devondespresso, @swimmingbirdrunningrock, @cheertain, @anti-ozzie, @autumncrocusandladybug,

@greeniebean911, @cr0w-culture, @stillfullofshit, @connected-dots, @daisynotquake,

@morgannotlefay, @a-little-unsteddie, @dolphincliffs, @maskofmirrors, @me-and-my-sloth,

@papergrenade, @waelkyring, @sweetheartprincess28, @katouasobj, @astercomoasflores

#stranger things #stranger things fanfic #chills right to the marrow fic #wayne munson #wayne pov #steve harrington #pre steddie #steve harrington needs a hug

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skepsiss · 1 year ago

Note

I’ve been thinking a lot about Eddie seeing the patches from his old vest onto a new less ruined one after I made that post about his PT—so my prompt for you is Steve helping Eddie resew his new vest (but he’s not really helping he’s just kind of there for kisses and emotional support hehe)

I took a little more into the "actually helping" realm, but it's still fluffy sweet. Other people can send me prrrommmppptts too! --

Eddie had never done something like this with someone else before. Sewing his ripped jeans, bags, and battle-vest had been a solo venture thus far, but it felt strangely intimate to be getting help with his new vest. The old one wasn't salvageable, but Eddie had managed to save some of the patches and pins to start again. This wasn't his first battle vest, and it probably wouldn't be the last, but he had hoped to hang onto his old denim. It wasn't to be though, so Eddie had thrifted a second (or third) hand denim jacket and ripped the sleeves off to start all over again.

"What's this one?" Steve asked, handing over a pin Eddie had gotten from hanging outside a metal show he couldn't get tickets for.

"Bad Brains," Eddie explained, taking the yellow button and running a thumb over the red lightning bolt that streaked across the front. "From New York, I think. I traded for it; no one really plays their stuff on the radio."

Steve nodded like he was going to retain any of that as Eddie debated over where to stick the pin. He settled on the front right pocket and then turned the vest over.

"You want to help sew the back patch?" Eddie asked, grabbing the swath of fabric he had cut from an old band-T. He hadn't been able to get the blood out of his old DIO patch, and while 'the bloody look' was cool, something about it made Eddie squirm. He didn't like that it was Steve's blood, or that the stain had made part of the album art unreadable.

So, DIO was retired, and Eddie instead centred his new Megadeth patch on the back of his vest.

Eddie handed over a needle and thread to Steve and then cut himself his own length. He strung the needle easily and tied it off before setting to work. Steve seemed to be taking his sweet time, and Eddie eventually glanced at him to see what the hold up was.

Steve was still gingerly trying to thread the needle, his brows pinched with frustration.

Eddie snorted lightly before turning the vest around so it was facing Steve.

"Here, you continue my line, and I'll finish this," Eddie teased gently, finding Steve's inability to thread a needle charming.

"Is it too late to say I've never done this before?" Steve asked, picking up the needle and thread Eddie had left behind and stabbing into the fabric.

"I can tell," Eddie chuckled, easily starting to work again. "You don't have to, you know. I don't mind just having some company."

"No, it's alright," Steve said slowly, obviously concentrating as he tried to stick the needle up through the patch. "What're boyfriend for?"

Eddie felt a syrupy smile spread across his face at Steve's words, his stomach tumbling around inside of him. He was still getting used to Steve calling them 'boyfriends' and Eddie couldn't help how giddy it made him each time. Sure, it had been nearly a month, but it still made Eddie feel like he was a blushing fifteen-year-old.

"If you insist… love," Eddie said, keeping his gaze down. He was trying out a new pet-name and he wasn't really sure if it was pushing things a bit too far. Love or My Love was such an intimate title, but Eddie had been thinking of it for a while now. He saw Steve pause at the use of the new nickname though, and waited for him to say something.

"Ow---Jesus," Steve said instead, and Eddie looked up to see him holding his hand up, a ruby-red bead of blood forming on his finger.

"Ah…" Eddie said lamely, smiling still as he reached over for Steve's hand. "Sticking yourself hurts."

"Yeah, thanks for stating the obvious," Steve bitched, letting Eddie take his hand.

"I thought you'd be a bit more durable… you know, with the whole… missing a chunk of your stomach, thing," Eddie teased gently, putting his lips to the wound on Steve's finger much the same way his mother would have when he was a child.

Steve didn't reply to Eddie's comment, instead sitting there quietly and letting Eddie suck on the tip of his finger.

"You want a band-aid?" Eddie asked, pulling back just a bit and then cheekily pressing his tongue against Steve's finger, holding it there with his mouth open.

"Yeah, a band-aid----what are you doing? Don't be weird," Steve chuckled, still not resisting Eddie's grip.

Eddie quirked a brow at him and pulled back, before huffing a laugh.

"Look who you're talking to. Weird is practically stamped on my forehead," he scolded, before licking Steve's finger again for good measure.

"Alright, alright, fair. We get it, Count Dracula, can we grab that band-aid?"

Eddie chuckled again and then scrambled to his feet, trotting off toward the bathroom, but not before turning around and sticking his fingers in front of his lips to replicate fangs.

"I vant---to suck yer ddiiiiccck," he teased, smiling wide when he got an honest belly laugh from Steve.

#my_writing #eddie munson #steddie #steve harrington #stranger things #mini ask fics

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crystallizsch · 1 year ago

Note

Hello Ian! ♡

I'm so glad you liked the first Jamiyuu fic I wrote! Here is the fic we discussed based on your glomas drawings!

I hope you enjoy! ♡

No matter the crowd, no matter the room, Jamil and Yuusha are always able to find each other somehow.

A masquerade where masks are adorn, identities meant to be concealed. Yet, here they were again, their eyes locking from across the room.

The ballroom was filled with people, some dancing while others mingled. Jamil stood near some of the others, looking around and taking in the sights. The room was extravagant, from the architecture, to the decor, to the outfits of those in attendance. His gaze lingered on the dance floor for a moment, watching couples as they twirled around. They looked to be in their own world, laughing and enjoying the company of their partner as they danced. The sight made Jamil's thoughts stray for a moment, imagining himself out there, dancing with Yuusha.

He shook his head in an attempt to clear his mind, his eyes leaving the dance floor. As he looked away he locked eyes with someone across the room, the very person that wouldn't leave his thoughts. It was just like at Night Raven, during one of Kalim's parties or in the halls, his eyes never failing to find Yuusha's. Just what was it about her, that he couldn't look away? Just what was it about her, that caused him to stare?

At first it wasn't anything nice, he had plans after all, goals that he needed to achieve. He had to keep an eye out, had to watch out for her, as he couldn't let anything, or anyone, interfere. Yet, as his plans crumbled before him, he found himself still looking, still watching, unable to look away. They had grown closer since then, closer than Jamil could have imagined.

He found himself smiling, his eyes still locked with Yuusha's as she smiled back. They've truly come far from how they started, Jamil closing his eyes as he turned away. As he was debating leaving, he heard someone approach him, a familiar voice behind him,

"Where do you think you're going?"

He turns to find Yuusha standing before him, her hand held out towards him,

"I believe you owe me a dance"

He looks at her, at her outstretched hand, and considers it. Here, they weren't Yuusha and Jamil. Here, they were strangers, their masks making their identities. As he takes her hand and they make their way to the dance floor, he pretends. He pretends that they met under better circumstances, holding her close. He pretends that she was his, as they twirl by other couples. He hopes this won't be their last dance, pretending the masquerade didn't have to end.

Oh, to dance with you, forever and always

No matter where or when, my hand will always reach out for you

My first dance, my last dance, the only dance I crave

Let my love move you, with the words I dare not say ♡

Thank you! ♡

(a reference to this)

HELP I AM SOBBINGG --

I’M JUST GIGGLING KICKING MY FEET EVERY TIME I REREAD THIS IM HNDBAJSHS THANK YOU

I REALLY LOVE YOUR TAKE ON MY GLOMAS POST IM NOT NORMAL ABOUT THIS --

my glomas brainrot hngghh and dancing is one of yuusha and jamil's love languages so i'm just ,,,, aaghhhh save me

BUT ANYWAYS IM GONNA RAMBLE A BIT -- (also i love the whole thing i just want to point out the things that im most crazy about hdshsj)

Just what was it about her, that he couldn't look away? Just what was it about her, that caused him to stare? At first it wasn't anything nice, he had plans after all, goals that he needed to achieve. He had to keep an eye out, had to watch out for her, as he couldn't let anything, or anyone, interfere. Yet, as his plans crumbled before him, he found himself still looking, still watching, unable to look away.

ur honor ;;; his plans are being foiled by this woman how is jamil going to save himself from this (he cannot)

AKHDJSKSJ OKAY SO

i’ve been crazy about the idea with jamil being having future plans for him and himself only and then suddenly he finds someone that he actually genuinely likes that he cant imagine those plans without them???

ugh good food good food i’m so happy this was here it is SO cute 😭💕

Here, they weren't Yuusha and Jamil. Here, they were strangers, their masks making their identities. As he takes her hand and they make their way to the dance floor, he pretends. He pretends that they met under better circumstances, holding her close. He pretends that she was his, as they twirl by other couples. He hopes this won't be their last dance, pretending the masquerade didn't have to end.

AUGHHH MY HEARTTT

jamil sir all you do is pretend it is time to let your true colors (and feelings) fly

i love that he is thinking about the what ifs and also how he is hoping he continues to spend time with her knowing it’s not gonna be possible

AND ALSO the line “they weren’t Yuusha and Jamil” and the following one -

i am goin insane about it i don’t know how to put it all properly into words but im gonna try --

like YEAH despite the masks, despite knowing who each other is underneath it, they don’t truly know each other, but it doesn’t matter because right now it’s just this dance, nothing else, and only each other 🥺🥺🥺

Oh, to dance with you, forever and always No matter where or when, my hand will always reach out for you My first dance, my last dance, the only dance I crave Let my love move you, with the words I dare not say ♡

AND THIS LAST PART ^^^^^^ I’M OBSESSED THAT YOU ENDED IT WITH THIS IT’S SO ADORABLE AND SO FLUFFY

my thoughts on this too is basically the last thing that i said about only being them in their own world basically especially with the last line ,,, oughh i’m just sobbinf --

AAHHHH ANYWAYS I ATE SO WELL WITH THESE SHEEP YOU HAVE NO IDEA THANK YOU

AND I COULDNT HELP IT BUT I DREW FOR THEM AGAIN AHHH

(ack the masks kind of hid their expressions so i didnt put it on them and i realized that’s kind of against the point but im stubborn and i NEED to show their expressions)

(also this hamilton lyric fits the vibe of this but omg this musical needs to leave me aloneeeee)

#sheep you write so FAST #this was immediately done after the one from yesterday it just took me forever again to respond ghdjskfdsj #on top of the drawings i was just editing again and again to make sure i've got all my thoughts out -#just me being absolutely (not) normal about this #which is why it took me a while --#anyways i LOVE this thank you again sheep 🥺💕💕💕#[—✦ chatting #-✧ lovely writing by others #glorious masquerade #jamil viper #(💜) yuusha tala #(💜) curry noodles #-✦—]#(✧) my art

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usercozy · 7 days ago

Text

Rose Moon ⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

+ pairing: (arthur morganxf!oc)

+ tags: enemies to lovers, slow burn, eventual romance, eventual smut, non-tb arthur, low-honor arthur, canon divergence

+ summary: Arthur knew it then. Aiyana was like the sun. And he was flying too close. (A retelling centered around the Van der Linde gang and the Wapiti tribe).

+ a/n: This is a slow burn romance retelling of rdr2 entwined with lots of angst!! I feel v proud of how this chapter came out, so I’ve posted the entirety of it below! Previous chapters are linked here and available on ao3 ♡

chapter one. ✧ chapter two.

🌹 part three. ↯

The Downes were buried with their son a week later.

Newspaper prints came hot off the press, bundled in stacks wrapped with twine. Coins clattered in jangles for donations and the daily read. Amidst the bustling ears and curious minds of the townsfolk, Valentine weathered a newfound quiet dread. Harmonious notes that previously danced from the local saloon had lost their soul. Some nights, the piano man would not play. Pairs of men smoked outside of the shops in silence. And neither did the sun visit, nor did any rain come, but a silver murky sky blurred. Stretching its gloom across the land, hanging above three impaled crosses.

A small bell fluttered its chime, drawing attention to the paperboy and a young church girl carrying a small box. Arthur watched them with tight eyes. The boy must’ve been tired from standing on his short legs all day, while the girl kept a hopeful beam as she conversed with anyone who’d listen. Some folk dropped pennies into her box, nodding a blessing, while others trudged forward, paying her no mind. Arthur debated doing just that, but she must’ve caught his short hesitation as he staggered because her voice and face lifted. “Have you heard the news, sir?”

“Hm?” Arthur grumbled, feet planted firm. His head barely turning.

Her eyes shifted next to the paperboy. “The Downes…” she murmured. “Quite awful, really. Massacred his family just a few days ago.”

Longer than that, Arthur said to himself.

He turned to face them, taking the paper. “Don’t make no bit of sense. He was a good man… my Pa worked with him up at the church.”

His eyes softened as the grainy black and gray photo of Thomas Downes smiled back at him from the flimsy page. He wore a straw hat and working overalls and a torn t-shirt. The photo was taken outside of the town church. Arthur’s eyes squinted. He tilted his head as he brought the image closer.

Stop, stop, please, I beg you…

He flinched. The surrounding air engulfed him in an ice bath. Arthur’s flesh goosed upon the memory of Mr. Downe’s voice sounding his ears. Right. Of course, it was he who’d attempted to stop him from killing Tommy. His mind flicked to the now, slow oaf, who’d struggled to even muster a single word these days. Arthur’s hand scrunched the paper before his gaze jumped back to the younger boy.

“How much?”

Arthur perched his elbows against the bar counter. There was a plate of smeared lamb mash set before him. A half-empty beer sat to his right. An hour past noon and the saloon was stark quiet. The organized tables sat bare, each chair pushed in, save for Tommy’s. Working women roamed the top floor, a mustached barber cleaned his clippers, while the bartender slowly swept dust piles in circular motions. Arthur’s eyes scoured the page top to bottom.

—————New Hanover Gazette

DOWNES FAMILY TRAGICALLY MURDERED:

GODLY MAN OR MONSTER?

Thomas Downes, local Valentine preacher and head of New Hanover’s Charitable Organization was found dead Monday morning, May 29. Slain alongside his wife, Edith Downes and son, Archie Downes. These gruesome killings have sent a wave of shock throughout New Hanover as the townsfolk of Valentine remember Mister Thomas Downes as a giver; a prominent advocate for charity and the wellness of his community. The motive behind the fatal murders of the Downes family remains entirely unknown, with some townsfolk calling into question the Downes patriarch. Perhaps a man haunted by a silent evil. Local lawmen suggesting that Downes may have also found himself in deeper trouble than he let on, having ruled these deaths as nothing other than ‘senseless and tragic murders'.

Arthur’s eyes skittered from page onto the reddened bits of the lamb meat that zigged his plate. His sight turned abrupt. The meat oozed into the remnants of Mister Downe’s rotting flesh. A growing gag caught Arthur’s throat as his nose flared upon that putrid odor he remembered like yesterday. He folded the paper away and excused himself outside for a smoke. Arthur sniffed. His boots kicked a small dirt cloud. He, for a moment, wished to be like Sean, then. Or any one of those sorry fools who couldn’t read. How cruel to think that maybe ignorance was freedom. As if the inability to read could refine or even save one’s soul. He smoked.

When he arrived at camp, he fed a couple of extra bunches of celery to Mable. Earlier he’d offered her a turnip, one he’d traded for. To which she politely refused, lifting her head and knocking it out of his hand.

Arthur sighed in frustration and bent over. “It ain’t an onion,” he grunted.

Mable puffed against him and ignored his extended arm. Arthur sighed again, shaking his head in small defeat. He dropped the turnip into an almost full crate. Sadie paused her knife sharpening, her eyes following his hands. Turnips were stacked to the brim, ready to tumble out.

“Why you keep feedin’ her those?” Sadie complained, lips curled down. No response. It was like this each time. “You bring any more of ‘em and Pearson’ll bitch at me until next week.”

It earned her an iced glare as he proceeded to slug away and she muttered under her breath along the lines of ‘stop tryn’ to feed that damn horse shit she won’t eat’. Light metal scrapes echoed behind him.

His hand popped open the ledger and Arthur studied each added line carefully. Eyes examining in snake slits as they followed the trace of his stained finger. His lip curved into a quiet snarl.

Arthur BUCK ANTLERS 2.56

Arthur CASH 20.00

Arthur SILVER POCKET WATCH 12.00

Arthur PLATINUM NECKLACE 7.00

Arthur CASH 10.00

Rows and rows of his name lining the ledger. His knuckles turned white as they gripped the wood until it partially cracked.

What the hell were the rest of the men in camp doing? He knew Dutch would surely be in his ear about this. Arthur’s eyes darted towards the small group sat by the fire. Uncle picked at an out of tune banjo while John and Javier clinked their beers in a shouted cheer. And what was there to be excited about? Sean had already been back for two weeks. His eyes landed on John, his incense deepening against his slimmed brows. Nostrils flared and forced out his slow anger.

How good it would feel to bash the foul instrument against one of the logs. A wicked smile tugged at his lips as he imagined it chipped to pieces. Nobody liked it, anyway… Would probably do the entire camp a favor.

Arthur’s eyes scanned the ledger some more until coming to a complete stop. And he read it back a few times just to make sure he’d seen it right. And that wicked smile of his had softened into something lighter. “Heh, well look at that…”

Charles BISON HORN 11.00

He figured Charles must’ve made another trip to the Indians. The nasally voice followed directly by Strauss’ ambled appearance broke his contentment.

“Ah, Herr Morgan,” he greeted. Faltering as Arthur all but glared at him from the corner of his eye. “Uh, are you okay?”

“Peachy.”

“I see. Well, I suspect you paid our little friend a visit, did you not? I couldn’t help but notice that Mister Downes’ payment seems to still be missing.” Arthur’s face twitched at the man’s clever use of the word ‘friend’. But his mind also couldn’t shake the weight of the ledger.

Lots of payments missin’ these days… Arthur scoffed. “Ain’t read the papers yet?”

“Papers?”

Arthur turned to him, and Strauss’s eyes grew wide, clueless, yet devoid. “You foolish bastard. The son of a bitch is dead. Took that destitute of a wife and son with him, too. You were a fool to lend them that money.” He shoved the newspaper into Strauss’ frail chest. The man nearly stumbled.

Strauss unfolded the crease and adjusted his frames, inching the paper near to his face. He tsked and turned up a nose. “Now that is a shame. Should’ve known…” he muttered. “Coward's way out. I suppose.”

Arthur huffed, shaking his head. “Y’know how’s ‘bout you do us all a favor, huh?” Strauss flinched, his white orbs reaching the rims of his glasses. The sardonic bravado of Arthur’s tone stunning him. “Make sure them next folk you lend some money to ain’t livin’ in some goddamn squalor and can actually pay us back for a change!”

Strauss stared solemnly. A silenced field mouse. And what could he say? Nothing that would qualm Arthur, anyway. So, he swallowed his words, as most did.

Arthur tore at the paper, prying it from Strauss’ weaker hands. His force nearly splitting the pages. Rusted spurs nicked the dirt below and the heavy stampede of boots was his final word on the matter. The Austrian murmured something Arthur didn’t care to hear. A pair of dull wedding bands still jingled inside of his vest pocket.

Hosea, often a bystander to Arthur’s incense as of late, had observed the interaction from afar. Having caught a glimpse of Arthur’s brooding grimace was enough for him to shut his book and rest it on the table. For a moment, Hosea watched him like this. Arthur’s eye bags had darkened since Blackwater and on his forehead were fresh lines that carved his sun-worn skin. Blue bruises and scabs yellowed the flesh of his fists before the old wounds were given a proper chance at healing. And fought often Arthur did— whether it be with local bar patrons or anyone else in his line of fire. It was clear to him that the boy had grown restless and more easily agitated.

Hosea’s gait was slow, something he’d thanked his old age. But perhaps it was an inkling of something more. He clutched his chest, suppressing the cough he was sure would escape if he didn’t. Yes… it certainly was more. Though he didn’t like to think much on that. These were pressing times.

Arthur was behind the supply cart when Hosea found him. The older man cleared his throat and Arthur lifted his hat.

“You okay, son?”

Arthur looked at him, patting his side pocket. “Reckon I should be askin’ you that. Don’t ya think?”

Hosea smiled. “Don’t go worryin’ about me now.” There was a silence, fractured only by Arthur popping open a tin, flashing some rows of pearl white cigarettes. “Say,” Hosea started. “What’s this about you and Charles heading out to the mountains?”

Arthur chuckled, slipping one between his lips and lighting its tip. His eyebrows poked, shooting the man a look that equated to saying ‘the hell you talkin’ about, old man?’ but he’d too much respect for him to utter the words.

“The camp… talks. Ain’t so old that I don’t know the ins and outs.”

Hosea smiled and this granted a heartier laugh from Arthur. “Whatchu tryin’ to say?”

But before he could answer, he sputtered into a fit of dry coughs and he reached for Arthur’s shoulder. On instinct, Arthur grabbed Hosea, stabling him against a nearby wagon. His next movement was deliberate, putting out his cigarette.

“No need… my boy,” he wheezed.

“Ain’t takin’ that chance.”

Hosea waved off his concern and Arthur felt the slow squeeze that crept up his throat. He offered his canteen to Hosea and watched him sip. After handing it back to Arthur, he rubbed his chest.

“You okay?” Arthur asked. Hosea nodded.

“I will be.”

I will be…

And Arthur hoped he was right.

***

Footsteps stormed the cabin. The echo of her boots thundered the creaky floorboards. Back and forth, she shuffled between bed-ridden rows of sick bodies. Some were dazed, lying in a half-baked trance of unconsciousness. Others moaned, pain fell from their coughing mouths and stiffened limbs.

It was a small room on the reservation that Paytah and Eagle Flies and a few others of the tribe had built the first week since arriving. But the walls were thin, and weathered winds still stalked through each crack. Here was where their people would come to rest whenever they’d fallen ill. Tonight, the cabin was full, and she could barely walk. Almost tripping over her feet as she stepped over tucked bedrolls and loose blankets.

And here she was, pulse racing, her feet shuffling through a repetitive maze. Arms desperately reaching for the water flask. Wringing soaked cloths and refilling medicinal tonics. One of the elders had a fever most difficult to bring down. Her forehead burned as her pressured temples matted with fresh sweat. If the fevered illness wasn’t enough to kill the woman, Aiyana figured her stubborn refusal is what would. Repeatedly, she shook her head, denying any treatment.

“Please…” the elder croaked. “No more…”

“Just another sip. I promise.” Aiyana’s fingers trembled slightly, lifting the vial to the woman’s chapped lips. Her fingertips parted them, carful not to maim. The elderly woman had tried to firm them in another courageous response, but every muscle in her body had lost its strength. With the help of Aiyana’s softer hand that rubbed circles on her trachea, the bitter tonic flowed down in a light swallow.

The woman’s darkened eyes quivered to a peaceful close. Aiyana sighed, stood straight and wiped her own perspiration that formed on the flush of her face. She walked to one of the small tables and reached for the rag, wiping thoroughly at her clammy palms. She’d just tossed the cloth back into the filled bucket, squeezing out water when the door screeched against the loose hinges. Cold air rolled into the room, cooling the suffocating heat.

Aiyana’s head whipped to see Winona tucking herself through the door and a scathing glare grew on her face. After the young woman shut the door slow and careful, she took tentative steps to where Aiyana had stood.

“You’re late,” she snapped. Her voice, quiet but full of scorn. Actually, Winona was more than late because if she had even a speck of courtesy to be on time, she would’ve been there hours earlier. But Aiyana figured to keep that part to herself.

“I know. I’m sorry. It was just—“

“I don’t care,” Aiyana barked, leaving no room to hear whatever new excuse there was because there always was an excuse. With a huff, she shoved the dripping wet rag into Winona’s hands. Enraged, her glare was like the force of the sun. “They need to stay clean,” her head motioned to the elders.

Winona exhaled, avoiding Aiyana’s eyes. She held the rag with a loose hand.

When Aiyana turned for the door, Winona finally spoke. “You’re leaving?”

Aiyana’s fingers fell from the handle, but she did not turn. Fearing that if she did, the words would choke and that this sliver of power that she held would vanish. She swallowed. “I did my part. It’s your turn.”

And so she fled before another word could be had.

Chilled dusk clouded the reservation. What was left of the setting sun was blanketed by fogged dew. Aiyana’s arms hugged her torso, but the icy wind cooled her skin. The air was fresh, a sharp relief to the entrapment of despair that was the cabin. She started a steady walk towards the outside of camp. Her eyes barely noticing the two burly men walking ahead of her with a pair of shovels.

“Don’t see the damn point in it…” That voice. She recognized it like pinched flesh. Them again.

“When you gonna wipe that chip off your shoulder?” Charles’ voice responded.

Aiyana stayed farther behind, leaning into a nearby pine trunk. Here, she could not make out the conversation being had, instead she observed them. They fisted the tools and their boots dug into the metallic blade that sifted into wet earth. In the midst of their digging, her eyes fell. And her vision blurred as she blinked through hot tears. Their actions served as a bitter reminder of the life she lived. A cycling typhoon of sickness and death. She felt angered contempt rising like bile in her throat. Aiyana wanted to blame someone. Anyone. Winona. Arthur. Maybe even Charles. Her own brother. Another teardrop trailed her cheek.

The reservation grew quiet and for a second, though miles from the ocean, Aiyana could smell the salty air that blew through her hair. The memory of the last time her father and mother had taken her with her brother to see the beach. Well— the only time.

She longed to see the ocean again. If just once, to remember. What she wouldn’t give to feel the cold squish of wet sand in between her toes. To laugh, child-like and free. To be anywhere else. To forget. She brought her knees to her chest as the guilt constricted her. Tightening like knotted lasso.

Glancing back at Arthur and Charles, she could see them work with haste. After another minute, Arthur stepped some distance to slip off his hat and run a hand through the unkept mess of his hair. Her stomach instantly churned, and she averted her eyes. As if the simple act of watching him in such a way was an intrusion. An eagle above squawked and a nest of birds flocked. Aiyana exhaled and looked up, thankful for the quick distraction. Her breath became visible under the darkening sky.

Aiyana counted the blinking stars. She didn’t know why, but her eyes soon flickered back to the spot where Charles was still digging. He was alone now and she briefly wondered where Arthur had gone off to. Her eyes scanned the area, but there was no sight of him. Maybe he’d left for good. Blessing in disguise, she thought. Her hand rubbed down her arm, her palms feeling slick against moistened skin. Perhaps it wasn’t too late for a quick wash.

Aiyana plodded her way through the grassy path leading to the riverbed. She skirted through tipis and huddled pairs of men and women. Most were quiet. Some whispered. Others wept.

It was the back of his coat that froze her. So much for that bath.

Aiyana inched closer and could shape the outline of smoke that teetered up from his cigarette. She angled herself, walking diagonally opposite from him. Curiosity tempted her when she heard a few faint scratches of charcoal. Her body turned, glancing towards him. As if sensing her then, Arthur snapped the bind of his journal, tucking it away. He took a long drag, and they stayed like this. The gentle rush of the river coupled with the whistling cardinals that crooned from the trees.

It was Arthur, who was first to speak.

“Yer mama n’ daddy ain't never tell ya it’s rude to stare?” his voice was darker than she remembered. It complimented the chill of the wind.

Aiyana’s head shifted abruptly. Her eyes landing against the beaconed reflection of the moon. He took a slow drag, savoring the smoke like a warm hug before forcing it out.

He nodded and let out a sardonic chuckle. “Oh that’s right… You don’t talk to folk like me. Or much at all.” His boot kicked loose pebbles that splashed into the river.

Arthur turned, but Aiyana still avoided his gaze. He muttered something under the cigarette, and she realized that she liked him better when he didn’t speak. He pinched the paper and hawked into the current.

Aiyana gasped. “Do you mind?”

“What?” he said, shoulders arching a loose shrug. “Had to spit.”

“Well do it somewhere else!”

He shook his head, and his lips tugged into that arrogant grin she wished she could smack right off him. He resumed his smoke, and her brows narrowed. “Nah. Don’t reckon I will.” Arthur scratched his beard and Aiyana watched.

He was closer now where she could really examine him. She noticed that in the blue traces of soft light, his face looked cleanlier than before. It was smoother and less splotchy. His beard was thick, as was his mustache, but there was an unmistakable spot of missing hair just below his bottom lip. Aiyana’s eyes squinted at it causing Arthur’s lips to shiver. Again.

“What’s yer problem?”

“What?”

He huffed. The cigarette dangled. “Yer starin’.”

“I’m not— you just…” she paused. “Your beard doesn’t grow all the way in.”

“S’cuse me?” he said, turning to her. His eyes blinked as if he'd misheard her.

Aiyana pointed to her own chin in reference. “Just right there,” she spoke slow.

Arthur almost dropped his cigarette. His face twisted into something foul. “You best choose them next words of yers carefully.”

He'd half expected her to flinch. Something small inside of him was grateful when she didn't.

Aiyana remained still and silent. Set only on watching him crush the short stick under his boot heel before backing his way into the mixed forest. Her eyes followed his trail.

Charles watched as Arthur wiped his jeans. Frown on display when he bent for the shovel and continued to dig. He paused, feeling Charles’ eyes needling his tense shoulders. Through the lined trees, Charles could see the vacated side of the river perfectly. With a short sigh, he finally joined his friend.

Arthur eyed him dubiously. “Hm?” he grunted.

“That’s a bad idea, Arthur,” Charles warned.

Arthur froze, halting the shovel. His leather glove tightened around the long wood.

He watched as Charles worked, “Is that supposed to mean somethin’ to me?”

He shook his head as he stated, “She’s the Chief’s daughter."

Arthur’s eyes grew before darting past the trees to where she was stood. He felt his gaze soften slightly. She hadn’t moved. His eyes stayed on her in this way for some time that he’d missed whatever else Charles had uttered in the background. Then, the swift shake of his head as he remembered the snark of her comment. Before he grumbled, “Ain’t ever happenin’ anyway.”

Unsure if he'd spoken it more to himself than to Charles.

#arthur morgan #red dead redemption 2 #red dead redemption arthur #arthur morgan x female oc #arthur morgan x reader #enemies to lovers #slow burn #eventual smut #dutch van der linde #hosea matthews #charles smith #wapiti #eagle flies #cozy writes #my works #arthur morgan x oc

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violetgreeneao3 · 10 months ago

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Fic Graveyard 🪦🕊️

Herein lies a collection of my Abandoned/DNF’d fics, as per someone’s CC request. I have no current plans of continuing/writing these fics so read at the risk of your sanity. (I would rather DIE than let anyone see these trash fire monstrosities in their current forms; I would have to completely restart if I ever wanted to post these concepts 😭)

I also decided to omit the official names I had planned b/c i may use them for other fics and don't want to cause confusion.

The order of these have no meaning, just random. I included notes for each fic with bonus info, why I DNF’d, how far I got, or other ramblings.

1. After the disbandment of izone, each member goes on their respective path, some together, some apart. Four specific members join two different groups— IVE and Le Sesserafim. Or at least what had been IVE and Le Sesserafim. but what happens when Starship is absorbed by HYBE?

Condition: This is one of the only idolverses I’ve ever written. I wrote about ~12k words of this over a year ago.

* Honestly the premise of this one is still appealing to me, but as I collected “dead” fics for this list, I used a certain criteria to decide whether to keep it as a *maybe I’ll write this later* or to toss it. One of those criterion were “Can I think of a good ending?”.

Good doesn't necessarily mean happy, just something I would personally be satisfied with, and the reason most of these fics are on here is because the answer was No—I had absolutely no idea how I would end this fic, so I probably would never finish writing it, either.

2. Assassins AU: wherein Yujin and Wonyoung are both separately tasked with killing a target, like any other run-of-the-mill job for the notorious assassins, except there’s one catch—Their targets are each other. Finally, they’ve met their match.

I was debating whether to add a prior relationship between them or to have them be wayward souls—strangers that feel oddly drawn to one another. This fic was lowkey an excuse to write a knife-to-throat/gun-to-head scene (or sex scene) with LOTS of tension, but the urge to do so passed and I ended up leaving it as a draft.

3. ANOTHER Assassin AU wherein Annyeongz are from rival families that have a blood feud.

I planned for Wonyoung to seduce Yujin while knowing who she was as a sort of “spy”. She lied about her name and developed close a relationship with Yujin, but when her family found out she was faced with a choice: Betray Yujin or betray her family. She chose Yujin, but unfortunately Yujin found out who she really was before she got the chance to confess on her own terms.

*Fic devolves from there, this is all I recall from a brief skim of it*

Condition: Wrote 56k words of this a little over a year ago, abandoned because I didn’t know where to take the story (from what I saw scrolling through it was AWFUL… please trust me)

4. Vampire AU: Yujin and Wonyoung are high school sweethearts, but one day Yujin goes to try out for a strange audition and becomes a vampire.

I think they have vampire sex? Yujin definitely feeds on Wonyoung’s blood to stay alive though, and I think she eventually has to turn Wonyoung into a vampire to save her life despite Wonyoung SPECIFICALLY telling her not to (Basically Yujin had promised never to turn Wonyoung, only to break it when Wonyoung’s life was on the line).

Another thing I recall about this fic is that Yujin goes missing for ~5 years when she leaves for the audition, so she I guess she spent 5 years as a vampire before going back to Wonyoung? I don’t remember how Yujin survived for those 5 years, but I know I remember Wonyoung dating Sunghoon (she moved on and eventually got with after Yujin “left” her), and the second Yujin came back, she broke off her years-long relationship with him to be with her again. Also I think Wonyoung *liked* having her blood sucked… (Random details, but I thought they were cute things to mention)

Condition: Wrote this a little under a year ago, DNF’d at 31k words because I didn’t know where to take the story/lost motivation.

5. A/B/O AU where Yujin is a submissive alpha and Wonyoung is a dominant omega. Classroom sex occurs.

I started writing this because of a recommendation on CC (I think it was just an ABO rec but I wanted to put a spin on it) and abandoned it at ~3k words because my omegaverse writing skills are abysmal.

6. Grey’s Anatomy AU where (basically) Yujin is Derek and Wonyoung is Meredith.

If you’ve never heard of Grey’s:

Yujin is an attending Surgeon and Wonyoung is an intern, which basically means Yujin is who Wonyoung wants to be when she’s older. Before Wonyoung’s first day of work, she meets Yujin in a bar and sleeps with her. She finds out the next day that Yujin is one of her bosses and the fic is a cat and mouse game of Yujin chasing her and then backing out and Wonyoung chasing her back until they finally get together—it’s a terribly written fiasco, but was sort of fun to imagine nonetheless.

Their age gap is about ten years, which is ignored in the show but I addressed it in the fic. A commonality between the fic and the show, however, is that the power imbalance is largely ignored (because that’s no fun! [to write about, anyway. The fic was 90% lighthearted])

Condition: Wrote this over a year ago because I started watching Grey’s, abandoned at ~91k words (How the hell did I write that much?! I need to manifest that type of motivation and free time NOW😭)

7. Wonyoung is home for the summer, back from her office job in Seoul. Yujin, however, had never left their small town. Wonyoung pretends that her life in the city is super fulfilling and perfect but that’s a lie—she hates it and her boyfriend is NOT as great as she makes him out to be—but she’s too proud to admit it. Yujin, a doctor at a local Pediatric office, is much happier. Wonyoung secretly envies her. And maybe still loves her a little bit, too.

The plot mostly revolves around their past and skips around in time, eventually revealing that the feelings Wonyoung had for Yujin as a child weren’t merely friendly, and somehow she missed that while Yujin was fully aware of it. (Double) Eventually, they kiss and Wonyoung has to wrestle with cheating on her boyfriend (family problems make that difficult for her, b/c her father was a cheater and left her mother when she was young [Daddy issues ftw!!]) and also being gay in her small town wouldn’t be taken so kindly.

Condition: This was a DRAFT I planned out earlier this year, so I had an outline of events but didn’t write beyond the first chapter (~3k words). I think it was inspired by a K-drama, can’t recall the name. Abandoned b/c I just wasn’t in the mood for it anymore (I think this made me realize FULLY plotting a story down the dime ruins the fun for me, sadly).

8. Chef AU

I had the idea of making Yujin an Executive Chef and Wonyoung a Commis Chef (like fresh out of culinary school her first job is under Yujin), but I couldn’t come up with a good story, so I changed the plot to make them both mid-level chefs vying for the same higher position. I wanted there to be this enemies to lovers thing where they hate each other because they’re both the best and the other one is “holding them back” but also urging them to better by merely existing, with trust and betrayals and sabotage and reluctant teamwork.

This was one of the first fic ideas I had and it was well before I realized I couldn’t easily write about things I had no experience with. I was (and still am) sorely lacking in the Culinary knowledge required to take on a project of this calibre😭. I would’ve had to research & plan everything out to be accurate, which I realised about 1 chapter in… but at least I learned that “write what you know” is good advice to follow, at least for a beginner…

9. Yujin is a developer for a company that makes AI bots. One day she creates Wonyoung and slowly, after many tests and trails and tribulations, falls in love with her. Obviously the only logical course of action is to steal her and run away.

This is another based on a CC request, and I honestly still think if a cute idea as a one shot, it’s just I liked the idea so much I wanted to make it a long fic with Detroit Becoming Human vibes, but of course that’s a little too advanced for me.

Condition: I wrote ~3k words of this, so not much, but I think this one of the only fics on this list that I could still see myself making something out of, just more goofy and lighthearted. Still, it’s here because I don’t currently have plans to do so.

9. Bridgerton-esque AU where Wonyoung is deemed the “diamond” (most vied-after woman during the courting season), but she can’t quite find someone who she wants to marry. There’s a seemingly perfect guy—a prince—but it’s actually his cousin that Wonyoung has eyes for.

She and Yujin actually end up having a relationship, although in the beginning it’s more of an older sister thing for Yujin where Wonyoung’s love is one-sided, until at some point Yujin stops seeing her that way and takes her feelings seriously, and their relationship became intimate and dangerous.

Condition: I abandoned this at ~19k words because it was getting sad and I couldn’t handle the angst. The ending I had planned was hopeful but still depressing and I don’t think my mental health can handle making that any time soon (or ever. I ENVY all the authors who can spend hours and days and years writing a story with a tragic ending. I just can’t do my babies like that :( )

Side note: I actually came up with this idea BEFORE the most recent season of Bridgerton (like I started writing this idea before even FINISHING season 1), which doesn’t really matter at all, just wanted to claim lesbian bridgerton I guess? I’m just yapping at this point, I love the ending of the latest season despite all the hate it got

LIGHTNING ROUND FOR IDEAS THAT I ONLY WROTE AS SINGLE SENTENCES or failed to write but wanted to mention (all from different times, MOSTLY a year ago but some more recent):

- “Streamer AU Wonyoung accidentally exposes the relationship on cam”

(Cute but lacking plot)

- “Enemies to lovers flower shop x event planner AU”

(this one has some kick ngl…I still see the vision)

- “I like older girls.”

(??? No idea what the idea was, maybe a CC rec? But slay!)

- “Band and cheer.”

(Classic. Succinct. I like it.)

- “Enemies that are secret lovers.”

(I just wrote tropes down and hoped the fics would write themselves I guess.)

(wait, I lowkey still do that…)

- “They meet in a dog park and flirt and go back to her place.”

(I SWEAR I remember someone giving me this idea on CC but I only started making a list of reccs relatively recently so if this was you helloooo, I tried fo write this!)

- “Princess x bodyguard”

(nah because this one still has me trying to write it every once in a while… I’ve dreamt about this AU but can never think of a good plot)

(also a CC rec and I might still write this one now that I’m looking back at it😭)

- “Time travel AU where Wonyoung is a researcher who goes missing and Yujin searches for her in multiple timelines”

(I think I dropped this b/c it lacked romance; was more about Yujin solving the mystery)

- “They’re soloists who are rumored to be dating. A scandal threatens to ruin their careers but they have proof to deny it, but the whole situation brings them close and they bond over how terrible the industry is etc etc…”

(Interesting but I didn’t think it through enough. How does it end??? I can’t handle all that angst😭)

- “Wonyoung bullies Yujin for being a lesbian but it’s just her own internalized homophobia and religious guilt and they fuck in the locker room(or not idk if the vibe is smut).”

(I have so many ideas like this.. but those others are still in my TBD pile)

Other:

- I tried A/B/O outside of the fic I mentioned in the main list and it’s pretty stilted. I think I can do it eventually because I genuinely like the trope, just need more practice for it not to be completely garbage. Also I really struggle with plots in ABO Aus when brainstorming

- Hybrid fics—I also like the idea because it’s so CUTEEE, but I don’t really know how to write them as animals… I think I need to read more

Sorry if these ideas kind of SUCKED but I had to choose fics for this Graveyard that I am (as close as I can be to) 100% certain I will never pick back up again, which made the pickings slimmer compared to my entire “WIP”/Draft list.

There are plenty more drafts I consider “Abandoned” (I have a whole tag on my Notion for it), but I didn’t put them because I could see myself still using them in the future, so they don’t fit with the rest.

If you asked for something on CC within the past couple months but didn’t see it on here, it’s probably because I’m still considering making it and is sitting in my Notes App list, but just to be safe you can always drop by there and leave the same idea again since it doesn’t hurt to make sure I see it❤️❤️

Maybe I can make a separate list of fics I MIGHT write (What separates those fics from these are that I actually planned proper endings for them), but the problem is I don’t want to get anyone’s hopes up by saying “Hey, any of these can be fics,” when tomorrow I may decide I hate the idea… It feels a little cruel 😭

If you made it this far, thank you so much for reading my yap and I love you!! See u next fic (hopefully soon) ❤️❤️

(By CC request I started a Ko-fi where I may or may not post small fics (idk if I’m allowed to do that on there??), but I’ll cross post here too) [might do proper commissions in the future but currently I don’t have the time :(]

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queerrocket · 1 year ago

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"so manny"

Oh god okay so- (this is about my tags on a post about Danny)

I don’t know if this makes much sense, I’ve had thoughts about Danny swimming around in my periphery for a while and anon’s ask has brought forth a bunch of word vomit, so proceed at your own risk :)

So Danny’s main thing going for him (his character) is that he’s an ex-soldier and he perceives the doctor as a kind of general/leader figure (during his experience in the army as a person of colour suffering from ptsd he would have, imo, encountered a lot of shitty people that looked and occasionally acted like the doctor -not that the show even touches on this, like at all) he sees the whole -you don’t need a gun because you make other people use them for you- and, while he’s certainly right that the doctor does do this and he does it repeatedly (though mostly without meaning too, if he were able to pull his head out of his ass in those situations he’d absolutely try and stop someone he cared about from hurting themselves (Adeline Brook in Waters of Mars) or someone else (Clara going to kill Missy and 12 not letting her in Death in Heaven) except the point is that he doesn’t realise what he’s doing until it’s too late anywayss).

Danny’s misunderstanding occurs when he equates this defining characteristic of the Doctor’s with cowardice. If asked I’m sure the doctor would easily admit to being a coward (there’s a quote around this or something but I’m blanking), but he isn’t, of course he isn’t. Why? Because of what happened that one time he Stopped running away. TLDR: bye bye all of gallifrey. See also: 12s speech in the Zygon inversion (probably my all time favourite monologue that I’ve ever seen) (also also, in the 50th novelisation by Moffat, river wiped 11’s memory of how many children were on Gallifrey, this is why 11 says ‘spoilers’ when asked by 10, River saw the person that he was or would be with that information, she saw the general, the gun wielding -I’m no longer the Doctor doctor- and erased it (there’s an autonomy debate here, you could argue she saved him and the universe or whatnot but that isn’t the point of this post ffs) she’s actively working against the Doctor becoming the person Danny assumes he already is) And to give Danny some credit, there’s know way he could know these things.

Danny also sees the influence the Doctor has over Clara and fails to realise that it goes both ways. His first thought is that the Doctor is her space dad (lol what?), essentially he defaults to the Doctor being the authority in their (Clara and the doctor’s) dynamic. I think part of what Clara was trying to show him with that whole Danny invisible in the Tardis bit in The Caretaker was that the above wasn’t true. Though I mean obviously it is, to varying degrees, Clara not only isn’t the one flying the Tardis, she can’t, she’s human, he’s a time lord ect. Something that Steven Moffat touched on in one of the interviews he did as he was leaving the show that always stuck with me (and I might’ve mentioned it before) was how he’d try and balance the dynamic in the Tardis with a third party like river or Rory or Danny because otherwise the balance is wonky. So Danny isn’t wrong necessarily and you especially can’t blame him for looking at the circumstances through the lens of his experiences and wanting to protect Clara from a similar situation.

We also get that bit of tension in Death in Heaven when the Doctor wants to know cybermen shit but Danny can’t access it or whatever, I mean I’m not crazy about this moment but it works as a good set up/reminder of Danny’s opinions/perception of the Doctor for the audience so that when the Doctor does hand over the bracelet and control, it’s a good moment. I mean I like death in heaven so much, missy is perfect ofc but mainly for the Doctor and Clara’s dynamic. That’s what the audience cares about and Danny ultimately functions as a tool to play with this dynamic, his death facilitates that fantastic sequence with the volcano ect. This does not a great character make and if they were never going to do more with Danny (and they certainly could’ve, the Doctor generally aligns himself with friends who bring out the best in him, watching him with someone who actively expects the worst would definitely be interesting) I’m glad they used his death for what they did and I’m still glad he was in the show.

So yeah, uh thanks for the ask :) do I know what I’m talking about? Maybe not, you decide 😅.

#dw #dw meta #might add more later if I think of anything else

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yourbuerokrat2 · 2 years ago

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Ok so I’ve been reading your dark!Qcard stuff AND I LOVE IT so I just wanted to drop this in: More or less adhering to the idea that Picard gives Q and overwhelming sense of meaning in his otherwise lonely/meaningless existence as a god, but more liking the ‘ideal’ of Picard as a partner and the word ‘no’ pretty much being a curse for Q. Sometime after the Deja Q incident whenever Picard strays from the ideal Q has of his as a partner, he retaliates by taking out on Data. Someone close to Picard as a son-like figure but also somewhat close to Q because he was a guide when transformed into a mortal and pretty much sentenced to death. Q would see Data as someone to confide in at first, but as his obsession grows, the extremes he needs to go become exponentially larger. Why Data? Because he’s pretty much a blank slate when it comes to experiences revolving around pain and emotion, which makes it even more darker now that I think about it.

Sorry this is incredibly ramble-y I have had 0 sleep and I’ve been binging Qcard content ✨

Always glad to know that apparently some other people like the not-so-wholesome interpretation of qcard. Or at least an AU-version of it.

Considering the 'Picard gives Qs life meaning' and Q having an 'ideal' of Picard: Did you know that there exists a pre-Picard autobiography of Jean-Luc Picard and in the foreword Q interrupts Beverly (who in that verse is married to Picard) to actually admit to Picard giving his life meaning and that he considers Picard 'the perfect human'?

Dark!qcard after deja Q is certainly interesting to imagine because darker/messier interpretations generally work better with pre-dejaQ!Q because that's where Q is at his most amoral, apathetic and antagonistic.

long fanfic-esque post under cut although no Data torture because I could never bring myself to write that.

What if Q had already become obsessed with Picard prior to Deja Q? What if Picard and his crew had already become his number one entertainment and comfort? What if Q really did throw them at the Borg because he had wanted to be part of the crew in order to be closer to Picard but couldn't handle Picard telling him 'no'?

Let's say Q really did enjoy the thought of Picard needing him. But now here he was, utterly dependened on the man who had just stood up and walked away from him without a single look back. Q really hated how the human body treated emotional pain like physical one.

Q needed Picard to need him.

This rather dangerous sentiment stayed when he finally got turned back into a Q. Not really fully accepted back (not that he ever was to begin with) but at least he had his actual body and most importantly his intellect and powers back.

That Picard, despite the captains previous words and actions, had actually tried to save him even though the consequences and ensuing conflict with the Calamarian could have become dangerous for the Enterprise, was clearly already a sign that in spite of Picards stubbornness he already did.

Now, even more isolated from the other Qs than he had been before (to be honest he is not exactly in the mood to have people who had basically given him a death sentence for company), not being able to go to his countless other distraction (the Continuum has their eyes on him, already aware that he would like nothing more than to teach the Calamarians and any other who had begun to think to take advantage of his weakened state a lesson or two) the only thing he had left was the Enterprise.

The realization that while he was beginning to spend most of his time watching, thinking or learning about Picard, the human in question did not even seem to give Qs existence any thought at all had been there for all of 0.1 seconds until it was squashed by the ego of a god.

Of course Picard thinks of him. Of course Picard needs him and wants him.

Q would just need to help Picard see that.

What exactly Q would consider as the 'ideal' he has of Picard as a partner could be up for debate. Because Q knows nearly everything about Picard, all his previous relaitonships included.

I think what Q would want Picard to be is his forever-partner, the one person he wants to stay infinitely. Being lovey-dovey is not a requirement since he knows and accepts stoic nature and could always tell himself that it's implied.

The main cause of conflict in this verse could be Q really wanting Picard to need him and that he wants to be Picards number one priority. Considering it's dark!qcard Q is a whole lot more selfish in this, wanting Picard not only to drop his work when Q wants to show him something far away but wants Picard to act like that's what he wants. That he truely prefers Qs company over that of any of his friends and crew members.

Speaking of crew members, there would certainly be a lot more open jealousy involved. Jealousy of Beverly, Guinan and Riker (Q does not like Picard calling Riker his Number One here) or basically anyone that gets more attention from Picard while Q is also in the same room.

How this relationship came to happen in the first place would also be up to debate. Maybe Q is really not all that deluded in this verse and there is some reciprocation, even though in the beginning when Picard agrees to it the captain is not all that aware of how deep and how unhealthy the entitys affection are and grow to be.

If you want it a bit darker: Maybe it was a bit of situation where Q was getting more and more insistent and annoying and Picard miscalculated that if he would give Q a chance the entity would grow bored of him rather quickly. Like a dog chasing a car, not knowing what to actually do once he actually has him.

The problem with the Picard acting against this 'ideal' he has of him and their relationship, for exemple when Picard ignores him, when they fight (more than just their back-and-forth which Q actually enjoys but an actual full-blown conflict probably caused by Picard demanding Q respect his boundaries and privacy) or when Q feels like Picard might like his job or someone else more than him is that it can't be their fault. It can't be Qs fault because nothing ever is Qs fault. And it can't be Picards fault because Picard and their relationship are (close to) perfect.

So it has to be someones fault this is not working out the exact way Q has fantasized it would be.

He wouldn't blame Data. For once, Data was actually the only person who was actually nice to him in Deja. But he would certainly blame Picards crew. Especially if some of them openly voiced their doubts about Qs and Picards relationship. Starfleet would also be blamed in general if anyone of Picards superior said something to Picard that Q could blame as the cause of Picard acting a bit less friendly or hesitant towards him.

So, the punishment would not realy be dealt on one person but in a more general fashion.

In the beginning it would all be of a more.. harmless nature. Like the Robin Hood kidnapping. Q would feel jealous and/or unappreciated and decide that Picard needs a bit of a reminder on who deserves and should be given (him) his attention (and affection). The only way they all make it back to the Enterprise is by Picard apologizing (in an annoyed manner because he thinks Q is overreacting and simply a playing a game) and promising that he will make more time for Q.

But as you wrote, instead of that being enough the obsession grows worse.

And what started as petty jealousy turns into possessiveness.

Picard and Q have another one of their fights and Q hates it. Hates it because he hasn't gone back to the Continuum in such a long time. Hates it because he can't help but compare everyone he tries to distract himself only to find them lacking when compared to the human looking down on him even though Q is bigger than him in any meaning of the word.

Hates it because Q asked Picard that his lackeys can't possible mean more to Picard than his lover and Picard said that they did.

So now when Picard comes on the Bridge when his shift starts again, he is alone. He can't reach any of them via comm either.

And with anger, annoyance and more dread than he is willing to admit to himself Picard realizes very quickly who is responsible for this.

When Picard demands of Q, who he knows may not be 'physically' here was still watching him, to bring them back he finds the smiling entity in Rikers chair.

"Well, you see, mon capitaine." 'Mon capitaine' and not 'mon armour' being a clear indicator that despite of the smile Q was not at all in a good mood as Picard had figured out from their last confrontation "that's the funny thing about this. They are not really any plae I can just 'bring them back."

"What do you mean with that?"

"It means they are, by your pitiful perception of reality, gone."

"You have gone mad. You can't be implying.."

"None existent."

For a short time Picard tried to find something in the entitys words or expression that indicated a prank or a joke done in really bad taste.

"After all, they can't be more important to you than me if they are not there in the first place, can they."

For one of the rare few times in life Picard was truely at a loss of words. So many words spoken in outrage, so many questions and demands laid on the tip of his voice.

But before he can give voice to variety of emotions boiling inside of man, starting by calling out this utter.. madness Q gets up making a show of being bored.

"Well, it seems that you need a bit of time to think about all of this. Call me when.."

Picard grabbed Qs arm, a foolish effort to stop the being from leaving considering Q can make himself appear and disappear at will.

"Q, this is.. this is madness. "

"No, mon armour. Madness is telling the god who is willing to lay the universe at your feet that he means less to you than a bunch of people you play poker with every once in a while."

There was only one way of getting his crew back. And both Q and Picard knew it.

So, once again PIcard apologized. Said that he simply had a bad day back then that he shouldn't have let it out on Q. That of course Q is very important to him.

The softening of the expression and the growing of a fond smile, were signs of success.

"You know that I need you."

They should probably have a discussion about Qs growing need for Picard to tell him that.

But considering his crew was currently still missing now was a bad time to bring up the unhealthyness of their relationship.

Thankfully this seemed to be enough for Q (for now). And the entity was gone and his Bridge was filled again with everyone who should be there.

After a quick check that everyone who should be on board was still very much on board and alive, Picard excused himself.

He was in dire need of a cup of tea.

#Picard had thought that Q had already done the worst he could threaten Picard with.#But after Picard had a discussion with Guinan #(or at least he had tried to have a conversation with Guinan #about his relationship problems #until he was interrupted by the very cause of it #like I wrote I personally don't think it would be fixated on Data but more on the crew in general #or anyone Q can blame problems he is causing himself on #dark qcard #the only thing is that Picard is in no personal danger #because Q is so obsessed with the ideal of him and their relationship nothing is Picards fault either #he just needs a few reminders and lessons but never anything bad

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verbaetacta · 6 months ago

Text

Reaching higher ideals

I feel unfinished. Like a half-finished statue stuck in a block of marble. I feel like I’ve been living my life as a bystander. Like I haven’t really made that many conscious choices, but more gone with the flow and seen where I’ll end up. While I am in many ways happy with where I am now, I feel like there is something missing. I guess I could call it deliberateness.

Because I feel like I haven’t very actively made the choices that have brought me here, I also feel like in many ways where I am now is a happy accident. I can’t live like that forever. I want to choose the way I live, even if I don’t want to radically change how i currently live. I don’t want to die, feeling like I always just… wasn’t ever completely present in my life.

At the moment, I’m not completely sure what I want to change and how I want to do it, and that’s why I want to write about it. Writing is a good way to organise thoughts. There are however a few things I’m certain I want to change.

I want to learn and know more. When I was younger, I was so hungry for knowledge. Before I had constant access to the internet, I would write down lists of words and things I’d need to look up when I was at the computer. I would read endless amounts of books, and almost by accident I would learn so much from what I read. It made the world seem like a wonderful, vast place with so much potential. Now, I barely read books (though I do listen to audiobooks), and I really miss that feeling.

I want to use time more consciously and deliberately. I’m honestly quite ashamed of how much time I spend scrolling through the internet, and all that wasted time takes away time I could spend on more meaningful things. The internet has become this place of passive rest for me, a place where I can mindlessly scroll through endless short videos, random pictures or reddit posts. I need to break this habit, and find better ways to rest that don’t make me feel awful.

I want to improve my physical health. I’ve never been a very active person, thought there have been times where I’ve really focused on some sort of exercise and become at least moderately okay at it. Right now, however, I’m at a low point. I’m overweight and out of shape, and I’m feeling the effects of it. I do go to the gym somewhat regularly, but not enough for it to be really meaningful. I walk our dog daily, but the dog walks so slowly it can barely be called exercise. I need something more. I need to feel strong and capable. There are two quotes that really inspire me in this endeavour, one by Plato: ”Lack of activity destroys the good condition of every human being, while movement and methodical physical exercise save it and preserve it.” and the other by Socrates (though it is debated whether he actually said this): ”No man has the right to be an amateur in the matter of physical training. It is a shame for a man to grow old without seeing the beauty and strength of which his body is capable.” Just as I’m wasting my mind and time on meaningless internet slop, I’m wasting the potential of my body on not using it and not taking care of it. And it is a shame.

Now that I write all this down, it’s beginning to sound like the source of all my problems is the internet. Maybe our parents were right after all, and it is those damn phones. Maybe I should just throw my phone and tablet in the ocean. At some point, I might do some sort of experiment on living unplugged from the internet, at least for a short while.

Anyway, I need to contemplate things and what sort of changes and habits I want to implement. I have a habit of doing too much at once and tiring myself out, which leads to giving up. I need to learn to pace myself.

#self improvement #growth #habits #personal development

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mycroftrh · 2 months ago

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@justme-andmyfandomfeels I’m not going to comment on the rest of your tags because I don’t necessarily disagree with them, I feel ambivalent and I don’t feel like that feeling’s enough to write a post over lol

But I am gonna dig in my heels on this one, actually. If you had said “it’s not obedience, it’s fear”, or even “it’s attachment”, or Hell even “it’s selfishness/possessiveness” [although as someone who has been in that situation and had family members in it as well I don’t agree with Lucas’s implied belief (and the Jedi’s stated one) that not wanting a loved one to die very very young is a moral failing, but that’s beside the point], or heck “it’s protectiveness” I would have said yeah, sure, I don’t fully agree but that’s a fair read.

But anger? No. The order of operations is wrong there. The anger came after. Once he was already high on the Dark Side.

Generalized resentment towards the Council may have been a factor in what actions he was willing to take (going against the command to wait instead of following Mace, disabling Mace) but the actual driving emotion of anger does not appear notably in the moment of his Fall. It shows up later, when he’s choking Padme and fighting Obi-Wan, and he shows it to some extent early in the movie (It’s outrageous! It’s unfair!) and there’s an argument to be made that it’s a very indirect factor via the end of Attack of the Clones.

But in the scene of his actual Fall and for multiple scenes after, he is not visibly angry. (And when Anakin’s angry, it’s visible!)

For the first section of the scene, Anakin’s affect is largely blank, if anything; he doesn’t seem capable of processing emotion at all. He’s completely passive; he just stands there except for covering his eyes when the lightning gets bright.

Then after an extended period of Palpatine pulling his “oh, I’m too weak, help me, he’s killing me” business, and Mace making it very clear he is about to pull an extra-judicial execution, Anakin finally says - without anger - “You can’t, he must stand trial. It’s not the Jedi way.”

He then gets a bit more emotional in terms of desperation - not anger - as Palpatine keeps begging and acting pathetic and Mace raises his lightsaber for the execution, and says “He must live! I need him!”

And when Mace doesn’t respond to that, he yells “No!” and non-lethally disables Mace to stop the execution and protect Palpatine. Palpatine then kills Mace, which Anakin doesn’t seem to have expected, but his expectation there is debatable so we’ll leave it off the table. He does, however, just sort of… stand there, unmoving, while this occurs. He is not helping; he is not cheering it on; and he’s also not trying to stop it. He’s just standing there, frozen, not acting or reacting.

Anakin then stumbles backwards to fall onto a seat and says, brokenly, “What have I done?”

Palpatine comes over and says “You’re fulfilling your destiny, Anakin,” and Anakin drops his head. “Become my apprentice; learn to use the Dark Side of the Force.”

Anakin pants out, brokenly, barely able to speak, “I will do whatever you… [pant] ask. Just help me save Padme’s life. I can’t live without her.” He drops his head again.

“To cheat death is a power only one has achieved, but if we work together, I know we can discover the secret.”

Anakin drops to his knees in slave-submission. (I’ve noted elsewhere that Palpatine does not cue him to do this; the only Watsonian explanation I can come up with for him kneeling here is his slave history.) He says “I pledge myself to your teachings,” and then drops his head yet again.

Palpatine names him Vader, and he says “Thank you, my Master.” (Also not a word Palpatine cued; he’s getting that one from slavery and the Jedi both.). Palpatine gives him a lot of orders, and bullshit justifications for them, and he obediently says he’ll go carry them out.

And then he does - marching on the Jedi Temple, killing the Seperatist leaders - with his only apparent emotion being grief. He’s crying, not yelling, when he kills the younglings.

The anger? The Force-choking and the LIAR and the I HATE YOU? That only shows up well after he has already Fallen.

Now, if you wanted to argue that anger is part of what kept him with Palpatine after he was in the suit and Padme was dead, I might be willing to accept that argument; I’m not sure I agree, but I don’t disagree enough to say anything. But the actual moment of Anakin’s Fall was not about anger, and that’s a textual fact.

There is an absolutely fascinating moment in the Obi-Wan and Padme and Anakin confrontation on Mustafar that I kinda want to spin like three full-length fics off of.

Anakin’s Force-choking Padme. Obi-Wan orders him: “Let her go! Let her go, Anakin!” and Anakin - Anakin who has already pledged fealty to Darth Sidious, who has already embraced the Dark Side, who has disclaimed loyalty to Obi-Wan - obeys the command.

He genuinely doesn’t seem to drop Padme because he’s processed yet what he’s doing; it really does look like he’s instinctively obeying Obi-Wan’s orders even when he’s fully off his rocker, out of his mind from everything from accumulated trauma to elemental-evil-exposure, and has officially denounced any hierarchical relationship between them.

And there is SO much to be unpacked there.

I’m guessing that what’s going on, for the most part, is a decade of conditioning as Obi-Wan’s Padawan (and subsequent years as his partner-but-subordinate) to follow his orders reflexively. Combined with Anakin’s overall instinct to obedience, trained into him by everyone from Watto to the Council to Palpatine. And that’s so powerful it overrides everything else, when even Anakin’s protectiveness of Padme couldn’t break through it. Underneath it all, he's still more Padawan than Sith Lord, at an instinctual level.

(It’s not the only time obedience to Obi-Wan takes precedence over the protectiveness of Padme that is otherwise his driving trait, by the way; Obi-Wan orders him to leave her alone and injured in Attack of the Clones and follow Obi-Wan instead of rescuing her and, though he argues a bit, he obeys.)

And what does it say, too, that that’s what Obi-Wan defaulted to? He considers Anakin a brother, at this point, sees them as equals in many ways. But in an urgent situation, he doesn’t plead or reason - he barks an order expecting to be obeyed. Because, in the end, he is a Master, and Anakin never was. And all the weight Anakin gives that fact? The near-meltdown he has about it in the Council chamber? He’s not getting that from nowhere.

In an AU, if Obi-Wan had, instead of fighting him, said “Anakin, I’m going to take over the Republic now and you’re going to be my attack dog. Sit. Stay. Now bite.” Would that have worked? Based on both this scene and how frequently Anakin offers to betray Palpatine for other people so they can rule the Empire in Palpatine’s stead with Anakin as their iron fist, it seems likely!

#star wars #mine

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gucciwins · 2 years ago

Text

something new

wembley brings love and celebration

Word count: 5190

A/N: posting something for the first time in months (since april) and I am very excited for you to read. please let me know what you think. I enjoyed writing and promise I'm already working on the next thing 💜 asks

_____

Wembley Stadium.

It’s a place you had heard many stories about and even attended a show in 2019 as a gift for your father to watch his favorite band, Fleetwood Mac. This entire week has been remarkable, but tonight is the final night. You are here supporting your boyfriend, Harry, and because it’s the last night, there will be a celebration after with the attendance of everyone who knows Harry from family, friends, and workers.

When you first met Harry, you didn’t know he was Harry Styles. Many people would ask how you could not recognize the Harry Styles, but when you met him, he had a full beard and hair full of messy curls. He was dressed in mini running shorts wearing a black jumper and bright running shoes. The reason you spoke to him was his shoes. This brand is known for its style of color combination and lightness in weight, making it the running shoe. You had been debating buying a pair, and his looked well-loved. It wouldn’t hurt to hear an opinion from someone who wasn’t an online user.

“Excuse me,” you called out softly behind him.

He jumps and moves away from the counter. “Sorry, was I in your way?”

You do your best not to melt hearing his deep voice; it was comforting for some odd reason. You smile and shake your head. “No, uh, actually. I’m sorry to bother you. This is actually such a silly question now.” You pause, debating walking away while you can, but he encourages you to continue. “It’s about your shoes. Are the Hoka’s worth it? The online reviews have not been able to convince me, and I’ve read too many articles at this point. Yours look like they’ve seen a few miles,” you point out.

Harry looks down at his shoes and laughs, “so they do.” He meets your eye, stepping closer and away from the counter. “I’m on my fourth pair,” he confesses sheepishly.

You wince, knowing the price for these shoes is not cheap. “Are you constantly running? Are they easily worn out?”

His face reddens, and he fiddles with his necklace. “No, uh…I like having more options to match my outfits.”

You laugh, “that makes sense.” You pause. “Does that mean picking my first pair will be harder? I saved for one pair, and my pocket will hurt if I decide to bite the bullet.”

“I debated a few choices at my computer and ultimately bought two pairs. They were orange and yellow. Bondi are a good first choice.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.” You notice the barista, Lily sliding a coffee on the counter and gesturing it’s his, meaning it’s time for you to go. “Sorry for bothering you, but this was very helpful. Sorry, I never got your name. I’m Y/N.”

“Harry. It was no bother.”

You doubt that.

“Bye, Harry.” You collect your bag and walk out, knowing you were going to overthink buying these shoes, and Harry would never leave your mind.

To no surprise, you’re back at your favorite coffee shop the following day, but this time dressed in your favorite jeans and a cardigan your grandma helped you knit over the summer last year. It’s pastel pink with flowers placed randomly all over. You didn’t dress cute for a guy. You dressed cute for yourself. At least, that’s what you kept telling yourself. Lily is a good friend, and after walking your iced latte to your table, she sat down for a moment.

“Nice conversation yesterday?” She ponders.

“Mhm…nice fellow.”

“Was surprised you bothered him?”

You look at her, confused. “Was it rude of me?”

“Some would say so.”

“I’m confused. We talked about shoes. What did I do wrong?”

Lily stares at you, trying to see if you’re joking. “Y/N, be serious.”

“I am.”

She looks around, leaning closer. “You spoke to Harry Styles. Popstar sensation. Most loved man on the earth.” Lily sees you processing her words, and before you can make rebuttals, she pulls her phone out and shows you a photo of Harry, the guy you met, under a Harry Styles update page.

“Well, shit!”

“Yeah, he at least looks interested in your conversation.”

You roll your eyes, “geeze, Lily, thanks for making it seem like it’s awful to talk with me.”

“Not what I meant,” she apologizes.

“It’s fine. The beard threw me off.”

“He’s a regular here. Comes every other day.” Lily excuses herself needing to get back to work, and with that reassurance, he wouldn’t be coming in; you enjoy your coffee.

You took out your laptop and began to work while keeping an eye on the door. Pretty soon, you got deep into your research and didn’t even notice when the door chimed, signaling someone knew had entered.

“You look really focused. Are you working?” Harry had walked up to your table, startling you.

The truth was you were not working, although you should have been; it was a Wednesday morning. You feel your cheeks warm up, knowing you’ve been caught. “Won’t lie to you, Harry. I’m looking at shoes.” You turn your screen to let him see you have a page pulled up for running shoes with multiple open tabs.

Harry laughs in surprise and gestures to the empty seat to join you. You move your bag, and he happily slides in. You move your laptop closer to him, giving him a better view.

“Those are cute.” You had been looking at a lilac pair.

“Right! But look at these.”

Harry frowns when you switch the screen to display a cherry-pink design. “Now, that’s a tough choice.”

“Ugh…I know. I’ve been alternating back and forth.”

“Okay, close your eyes,” he orders.

You look at him skeptically but do as he says.

“It’s a sunny day which is just a miracle here in London,” you laugh, and he continues. “You’re out on a walk deciding where to go for the day when a stranger points out your shoe is untied. You bend down to tie it. Now what color are your shoes?”

“Purple,” you answer without thinking.

“Well, there you go.”

“That was helpful, Harry. Thank you. Are you a therapist or something?”

“In another life, I would be.”

“Well, what do you do now?” You ask, genuinely interested.

Harry looks at you, confused as if you’re really asking the question. “I sing for a living. Uh…” he feels embarrassed sharing this for some reason. “I go on stage and perform.”

You frown, looking at him closer. “From my eye level, you look like a rugged Harry Styles.”

Harry looks amused. “Rugged. Huh, I thought the beard was good.”

“It is,” you quickly agree. “Sorry, I’m used to seeing videos of him—well, you clean-shaven.”

“I’m on a break. It’s a nice way to let go.”

Right.

You were at a crossroads now because you liked Harry. He was friendly and easy to speak with, but would this new information change everything for you?

“Maybe we can go on a run when your shoes arrive?” Harry suggested.

Your eyes lit up, “really?”

“Mhmm…I like running around the park.”

“Oh, I love finding new trails,” you gushed. “I bet you have found the best-hidden roads.”

Harry shrugs, “we’ll have to see.”

“Uh… I’m sorry for not recognizing you. I don’t know if that was weird or not.” You decide to apologize.

“You’re fine, Y/N. When you came up to me, I thought you wanted a photo, but clearly, my shoes were more interesting,” he teased. “It was nice being just Harry.”

You smile sheepishly at him, “you’re still Harry to me. Feel like you’ll turn into Harry Styles when you’re clean-shaven on stage.”

“Not for a few weeks, then. I have shows in Los Angeles at the end of January,” he tells you because he wants to bask in being just Harry for a few weeks more.

“Oh, fun,” you wiggle your eyebrows at him.

“Mhmm…” Harry waits for you to ask more, but instead, you turn the conversation to his workout routine.

From then on, conversation flows easily. You tell Harry you’re the oldest of three. Two younger brothers who live to embarrass you whenever they get the chance but love when you drive them around. You tell him about your job in publishing and that you worked your way up to being an editor. It’s a job you love dearly. Harry lets you ramble on, asking questions and wanting to learn more. He learns you’re allergic to mushrooms. Your first tattoo was a cherry you got at eighteen on an impulsive night out. That you’re the only family member in generations to be born left-handed.

Harry shares that he loves to travel because it gives him a place to miss and come home. He loves his sister and calls her his best friend. That he’s too competitive and loves a long game of Scrabble. He dreams of having a pet dog but does not want to commit when his life is on the road. You mention your family dog, Woodstock, named after the iconic yellow bird from the Peanuts comics. A yellow Labrador who runs up to strangers, always asking for belly rubs. You promise to take him to visit.

Your friendship with Harry grew from there. You would meet most mornings outside the coffee shop for a run and then for a coffee that turned into hours of conversation. You liked Harry and reckoned you liked him more than a friend, but there was no way you would change that dynamic and instead settle to be his friend. When Harry showed up one day clean-shaven, you were taken aback because it made him look younger, and it was as if you were seeing him for the first time.

“Don’t recognize me anymore,” he teases.

“I could spot those green eyes in a sea of people,” you promise him.

Come April, a shift in your dynamic happened. Harry wanted you to work out with him and his trainer. You thought he was crazy, but really Harry was dying for you to meet his friends. They couldn’t stop teasing him that you were made up.

“Harry!”

You both turned and found a man in a white shirt and shorts, similar to Harry, approaching you. Harry welcomed him in a hug before going to stand next to you. “This is Y/N. Y/N, Brad.”

Brad shot you a smile, “pleasure to meet you.”

“You as well.”

“It’s nice to put a face to a name. He can’t shut up about you,” Brad confesses.

“Oi! Stop that.” Harry frowns, but you can tell he doesn’t mind.

You end up having the worst workout of your life. Brad, not taking a moment of pity for you until he finally called it quits an hour later. You threw yourself on the grass, closed your eyes, and took slow breaths. You heard Harry laughing above you but did not acknowledge him.

“Come on, petal. I’ll buy you a coffee,” Harry offered.

You peeked one eye open, “and a scone?”

“I’ll get you all the goods you want,” Brad chimes in. “You were a trooper out there.”

“Fuck, I never want to work out with you again,” you huff.

“Don’t think we will if he has a say,” Brad points to Harry. “Never seen him so angry.”

“She’s my friend. Didn’t want to explain her death to her parents.”

After that, it seemed you only saw more of each other until one night at your home, Harry made a move you didn’t see coming. After the film finished, Harry turned serious.

“Y/N?”

“Harry, what is it?” You ask, concerned.

“I like you.”

You sigh in relief, “gosh, you scared me. I like you too, silly. You’re my best friend.”

Harry shakes his head. “You’re not listening to me.”

“Heard you loud and clear.”

He sighs, frustrated. “These last few months as your friend have been amazing. I feel so lucky you approached me to talk about shoes. While I enjoy being your friend every time we get together, these feelings I have continue to grow, and I can no longer keep them to myself. I like you, and I want to see where this goes.”

You sit there shocked because you never expected Harry to reciprocate your feelings, but he is pouring his heart out for you. “Harry,” you breathed out. “I-I-I like you too. I have for some time, but I didn’t want to lose you.”

“Me either, but Brad said a person as amazing as you would not wait around for me.”

You laugh, “tell him I’m a fool because I think I would have waited a lifetime for you.”

“I know it’s too soon to ask you to be my girlfriend seeing as we haven’t been on a date, but—”

You interrupt him. “Why can’t we say this is our first date? If we think about it, every time we have spent together could be considered a date.”

“Do you end a first date with a kiss?” He asks sheepishly.

“Only if it’s you,” you promise him.

When your wine-stained lips meet his, you feel a wave of peace surround you knowing that it might be soon, but the universe sent Harry to you. He was your other half. He made you better. You pulled him closer, loving the closeness this kiss brought you. Harry sighed, ending the kiss. You went in for a second kiss needing more of him for a little longer.

“Petal, baby. I’m here,” he spoke against your lips.

You giggled out of breath. “Sorry, I think I like you a little too much.”

Harry leaned his forehead against you. “I feel the same.”

“Good, let’s kiss some more and then have a sleepover.”

“Don’t you think it’s too soon, petal?” Harry asked.

You frowned, “you slept here two nights ago.”

Harry sighed, “you’re right.”

It wasn’t until a week later you made it official. Life was perfect, and you were happy. Harry knew starting a relationship as he began touring wasn’t the smartest option, but he was close to home and promised to check in at every chance. In each city he visited, he picked up a souvenir for you as a reminder he was thinking of you. It was cheesy, but he wrote you postcards from each city because even though they wouldn’t arrive quickly, they would remind you of him when you did receive them. It only made you like him more and knew you were falling in love quickly. There was no stopping it.

While you joined him at his special show at Slane Castle, you didn’t have the chance to meet many of his family, mainly only the band. They welcomed you with open arms, and how Harry never stops talking about you. It made you nervous. You hoped to live up to his words because these people and his band members meant the world to Harry.

____

Now being here to celebrate four sold-out nights at Wembley, it felt overwhelming knowing Harry’s entire family and friends from his childhood would be here. You’ve known Harry for months but loved him like he’s always been yours. It was a joyous day, but even that wouldn’t take away your nerves for the final night of seeing Harry shine on stage.

“No one is going to believe I didn’t recognize you when we first met,” you tell him as the driver drove down a road that arrives at the back of Wembley, away from the crowd.

“Course they will.”

You give him a deadpan look, “you’re basically the face of the UK. A prince, some would say.” You sit up and clear your throat. “Oh, how’d we meet. Well, I met him at a coffee shop and asked him about his shoes.” You rolled your eyes, “sounds fake to me.”

“Good thing it’s the truth. Plus, I thought you were cute. Would have never worked up the courage to walk up to you, though.”

“Stop. You’re only saying that.”

“Nope, I mean it. Brad and the band like you.”

“I hope they do,” you muttered. “Only people I’ve met now. I’m meeting everyone.”

“You met Mum and Gem,” Harry reminds you. “Spent time with them for three nights.”

You sigh because, for a moment, you feel Harry doesn’t understand how overwhelming this is. Everyone here knows Harry. They know Harry from Holmes Chapel, and they know the amazing person he is. You feel happy to know and love him, but they’ve got a lifetime of Harry, and you’ve got months. It differs for everyone because you would move mountains to ensure he was happy. Except, everyone doesn’t know that. They don’t know you.

“Y/N, petal will you look at me,” he begs softly.

You take a deep breath and allow yourself to meet his emerald eyes. Harry takes in the worry shining bright, and smiles. “Petal, I love you. I know you love me. You remind me every moment we’re together and when I’m away. I don’t doubt it. My family knows you, maybe not your physical form, but they have heard stories and seen endless pictures. They will love you because I love you. If you get overwhelmed, you can always sit back and watch, they’ll understand. Most importantly, I will understand. I wish I could hold you as Mum introduces you to everyone. I told her to hold off, but she’s excited. Brad will be on the floor, and I know you enjoy that. You’re in safe hands.”

“I love you. Thank you. I know it’s your day, and I’m making it all about me.”

Harry shushes you, “hey, hey. We’re a team. Your feelings are just as important as mine. Now give me a kiss.”

You loved him, simple as that. He was the missing piece in your life.

___

The show was like no other. Harry, from the moment he got on stage, radiated happiness. The fans were the loudest they had been all week, filling you with so much joy. Anne told you to join her at the family box, but you decided to be on the floor as close to Harry as possible by the Jonny pod; you noticed Harry favored the side more, knowing his dear friend was in the audience tonight. From surprise songs to dancing and Mitch receiving his Grammy, you knew it would be a night you would never forget. As Harry began his encore with “Sign of the Times,” the rain started falling, and so did your tears. The fact that over 90 thousand people were here for Harry said enough. They chose to spend their evening with him, and he delivered to make it memorable.

You didn’t even notice that Brad captured a photo of you staring at Harry on stage with a giant smile and hands over your heart you would only see later when Harry made it his lock screen. Harry thanks the crowd for a magical night stating over and over again that he’s never been happier.

Brad wraps an arm around you and walks you towards Harry, who’s sharing long hugs and meaningful words with his bandmates. This is the man you love, and there’s nothing you’d change about it. You followed Harry to the dressing room, wanting a moment alone before the madness. Harry bounces around quickly to change, removing the overalls and shimming them down his waist. He slips on shorts, throws on a random shirt, and puts on his new Adidas Love on Tour sweater with his initials.

You lean against the door admiring him in all his glory. He didn’t bother for a shower, too eager to see everyone.

“I’m proud of you,” you whisper. “I know it might not mean much, but I am.”

Harry pauses, finishes tying his shoe, and walks over to you. He stops before you, his hands finding a home on your cheeks. “It means the world. Don’t ever think it doesn’t. We might only have been together for two months, but my heart has loved you my entire life. You being here is enough. I could feel your love from the stage.”

He connects your lips together, and you melt against him. Harry breathes life into you, and you never want him to stop. “I love you, Y/N.”

“I love you, Harry. So much.”

“Good. Let’s go mingle.” You move away from the door and make your way outside when he tugs you back in. “Forgot one last thing.”

He hurries over to his bag, pulls out an identical sweater, and hands it to you. You accept it moving and look it over. Your eyes quickly find your initials on the right side, similar to his.

“Harry—this isn’t necessary.”

Harry shrugs, “it was your idea.”

You don’t fight him as he slips off your red leather jacket and helps you slip on the thin material. He fixes the collar making sure none of your hair is tucked under. Harry decides you look good, giving you a pat on the butt. “Now we can go.”

Harry held your hand as you walked over to the area Jeff had set up for the celebration. He mentioned there would be another location later in the night, but it would be good to let the crowds outside die out. On your walk over, Harry told you about outfits and signs he saw in the crowd. How overwhelmed he came when the rain came down. He felt at home.

You expressed how much fun you had, told Harry how Jeff and Tommy taught you the boot scoot during “Treat People,” and assured him many videos of your failed attempt were taken. Harry paused outside the door where you could hear the loud chatter, and you knew what was waiting for you behind those doors. Harry shoots you a look, and you give him a reassuring smile letting him know it’s okay to go in.

The cheers are loud when the man of the hour walks in. Everyone was quick to gather around him. You try to sneak away, but his grip on your hand stays tight. Every person who thanks him, he makes sure to introduce you.

“Love, go celebrate. It’s alright. I’ll be fine,” you tell him in a low voice.

Harry shakes his head, instead kissing you and pulling you along to meet and chat with new people. You felt a bit overwhelmed, but everyone has been so sweet. They asked where you were from? Scotland. What was your job? An editor. How did you meet? Coffee Shop. How proud were you? Immensely.

You kept trying to hang back, but Harry seemed to notice when you drifted away. He would kiss you and ask for your input in the conversation. You told him you were getting a drink and would be back momentarily, except you got a vodka cranberry and hid in a corner. Harry found you when your drink was half gone.

“Babyyy,” he called out. “Missed you.”

You felt your cheeks heat up as he wrapped himself around you. He moved you away from the wall, making you face the crowd, his hands around your waist, his chin resting on your shoulder.

“I love you,” he whispered.

You lean against him, happy to be wrapped in his arms, feeling safe. “I love you, bub.”

Harry takes a sip of your drink and hums at the bitterness of the cranberry. He knows you’re a social drinker because it allows you to relax and not be as anxious. You and Harry get lost in your world as you let him talk your ear off. He tells you about people around the room, who they are, and how they’ve helped them. Surprisingly, Harry can name everyone in the room, though it shouldn’t shock you much. It’s just the type of person he is.

Your boyfriend is an affectionate person. He loves having a hand on the small of your back or your hand in his. He wants to be close because he says he wants makeup when he’s away. Some would say it makes him look clingy, but lucky for you, you love his touch; it’s comforting. You could feel his smile against your skin as he planted kisses on your face.

Even while in your corner, people come up to you. When they see Harry begin to kiss your shoulder or whisper in your ear, they excuse themselves. You can’t help but feel you are keeping Harry from celebrating with everyone, not realizing he’s happy to celebrate with you in his arms.

“Harry! Sue!” Is yelled from across the room. You see a short, dirty-haired blonde yell and wave for him, but Harry is too busy peppering kisses all over your neck to realize.

“Bubby, love. They’re calling for you.”

He hums against your neck. “I’m perfect here.”

You sigh because the yelling continues, and you’re starting to feel overwhelmed because he’s not celebrating. Instead, Harry is ensuring you’re not nervous, which seems like the most boring job in the world. He should be taking shots with friends and telling stories about the last four nights.

“Go on, I’ll be right behind you,” you promise him.

Harry tightens his hold on you, “baby, you sure?”

“Yes, no go. I’ll even bring you a drink.”

“Te–”

“Tequila neat,” you tease. “I know you.”

Harry pecks your lips once, twice, and a third time before making his way across the room, but not before looking over his shoulder one last time at you. You shoot him a wink and exaggerate, looking at his bum and making him laugh. He moves his hips a little extra just for you. As Harry easily falls into the conversation, you use this moment as an opportunity for a breather.

You were alone for around five minutes when you heard footsteps coming your way. You were in a corridor that led you out to the stage if you continued walking down but stopped halfway, knowing no one would come this way. You were wrong.

Harry is who you expected to see, but to your surprise, it’s Gemma, his older sister.

“Hi,” you greet softly. The conversations with Gemma have been short, but from what you can tell, she’s wise beyond her years and always ready to listen.

“You okay?” She asks, straight to the point.

“A bit loud,” you gesture towards the hallway where the music can still be heard.

She nods, “I get that.” Gemma looks around before moving to stand next to you shoulder to shoulder. “Are you okay?” She asks again.

You sigh, “I—i-i.”

“A bit much for a family gathering.”

“A bit,” you exhale, knowing Gemma understands what you might be feeling.

“It’s the perfect opportunity, I feel. I did forget how overwhelming it was. I don’t even remember my boyfriend’s first family gathering.”

“Are you saying I won’t remember this in a few years?”

“Oh, you’re never forgetting tonight.” She smirks, “unless you keep drinking.”

You scrunch your nose at the thought. “Better not.”

The two of you stand in silence, and you know it’s because Gemma is giving you a minute to gather your thoughts.

“I just—I love Harry. I do. I hope you don’t doubt that, but I don’t know how to celebrate when you’ve all been here for him every step of the way. Year after year.”

Gemma deflates, “oh, Y/N.”

“Sorry, I shouldn’t have—” Gemma cuts you off.

“It’s okay,” she assures you. “It’s difficult because of his job, not because of who he is. But trust me when I say he loves you.” Gemma’s words are firm, and you believe her. As an older sister, you would do anything to protect your siblings but never lie to someone important.

“Harry talks about you every chance he gets. Did you know Y/N ran a marathon? She’s swam with sharks in a reservation center. Y/N’s CPR certified. She edited and helped publish five number-one books this year,” Gemma rambles off. “We all know so much because he’s proud and wants to share it with those close to him.”

“I-I didn’t know.” You let all of this process, but it’s a shock because some of the things Gemma listed mean nothing, but clearly, to him, mean everything.

“Everyone in that room,” Gemma points over her shoulder, “knows who you are and what you mean to him.”

“Everyone?” You whisper. It doesn’t feel real. You’d never been so loved, and it might be why you’re feeling overwhelmed because he wants to bask in your love. It’s not a show; it’s simply his way of showing he loves you in front of everyone he cares about.

“Celebrate how you want but know all we want is to see him happy. It’s clear as day that you make him happy. This is the happiest I’ve seen him, and it’s because of you. Maybe even happier than selling out Wembley.”

“Thank you, Gemma.” She hugs you tight, and it’s so familiar yet different from Harry’s. His is light and full of love, while Gemma’s is tight and warm. “He wrote you a beautiful song.” You’re referring to “Sweet Creature,” which he dedicated to her tonight.

“It’s a special one. Don’t worry. I hear you’ll be getting yours soon enough,” she teases. “I’ll see you inside.”

A few seconds later, someone else joins you. It’s as if your body knows who it is without seeing them because you feel the familiar flutter in your stomach as his smell wraps around you.

“Baby, where did you go?” Harry whines. Baby is a term of endearment that comes out a lot when he’s had more than one to drink. It’s your favorite during these times.

“I’m here,” you open your arms, and he happily falls in your embrace. “I’m proud of you, love.” You run a hand through the back of his head, keeping him close.

“Thank you, baby.”

“Like really proud. You’re so loved. What you do is incredible. I feel so lucky to be able to love you.”

Harry pulls back, and you see his beautiful eyes glistening with tears threatening to fall soon. “I love you.”

You press your lips against his and put all your love into the kiss. You wish you could spend the rest of the night kissing him, but there is more celebrating to do. Harry doesn’t let you pull away, instead deepening the kiss. You melt against him, forgetting your worries and enjoying this moment with him. A moment only for the two of you to remember.

“Let’s keep celebrating, my love,” you whisper against his lips.

“Still nervous?” He checks.

“Only a smidge.”

Harry smiles, “that’s okay. I’ll hold your hand.”

“You won’t let go?”

“Never,” he promises.

As you return to the party holding tight to his hand, he asks an important question. “Can I keep kissing you?”

Your laugh rings loud, echoing through Harry’s heart. You bring your hand up to rest at the back of his neck and pull him down for a kiss. “As much as you like.”

#harry styles #harry styles x reader #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles x y/n #harry styles fanfic #harry blurb #harry styles concept #harry styles fluff #harry styles love on tour #love on tour Wembley #love on tour blurbs #harry styles girlfriend #fluff

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pilferingapples · 3 years ago

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Bousingo Fashion: Rash Waistcoats and Scarlet Opinions

something of a companion piece to my recent post on Romantic fashions, dealing with a subset of it --specifically, the Bousingo style, or. What Would Bahorel Wear?

( @badassindistress, this is for you XD)

First, for those who’ve missed my other rambles on the Bousingo/Bouzingo/Bousingots group, a quick description of their general Deal, from Jehan Valter’s account of the premiere of Hugo’s le roi s’amuse:

No doubt, the Bousingots had fought at Hernani and broke their share of seats, but ...The Bosingouts alone were at the barricades of 1832. There is the difference between them and the Jeune-France,... while the Young-France, inspired by the Byronnian sadnesses, hid their health and their good humor under elegiac and morbid exteriors, while they were satisfied with the freedom of the enjambement, and that they dreamed of revolutions as those of art, the Bousingots manifested political sentiments of extreme violence at least in form.

There’s a LOT of room to debate this description, but it gets across the general contemporary view of the group: the street-fighters types of Romantic republicanism, or of Republican romanticism; whichever side of it you like to emphasize. The stereotype of their character was...well, Bahorel,pretty much to the letter. Hugo knew what he was writing, down to the Rash Waistcoats. Bahorel dresses Bousingo! which means a very identifiable and politically loaded style But what exactly did that look like?

Let’s get some more 19C quotes in here!

" ...(there was) Pétrus Borel, in “bousingot” costume of insulting originality*: Marat* waistcoat, and a pointed hat with long ribbons, descending in the middle of the back.." (Jehan Valter's account of the opening night of le Roi s'amuse)

He could be spotted from afar by his pointy, wide-brimmed grey hat, his goatee, his long hair, by his enormous red cravat that clashed with the white lapels of his Marat-style waistcoat...- George Sand, Horace

There’s already a lot going on here, but let’s start with:

Rash Waistcoats

...the best fellow possible; he had rash waistcoats, and scarlet opinions... (LM 3.4.1)

So as far as I’ve been able to tell, a Marat waistcoat is a waistcoat with really, REALLY Extra lapels. Based on , of course, Marat, as seen in this image:

(ID: noted French revolutionary Marat wearing an extravagantly loose cravat, and a furry...jacket? with wide, spotted lapels. Very Wide. Almost sticking out further than his arms. He’s gonna put someone’s eye out with those things./end ID)

I *think* those are coat lapels--but the waistcoat named after him seems to be based on that look. Lapels for days! (note: a “Robespierre” waistcoat, like Grantaire wears, seems to be the same idea- a waistcoat with wide lapels--but not as exaggerated, and with a different cut. Like so :

(ID: a bright red waistcoat with lapels that reach almost to the arm-scye /end ID) And you can read more about them at this excellent post! )

George Sand’s Bouzingot wears a white Marat waistcoat,but red was a more iconic color. And a very specific red! Let’s fire up the quotes again!

" In order to avoid wearing the infamous red of '93, I had admitted a slight admixture of purple into the dye, for I was very desirous not to be suspected of any political intention. I was not an admirer of Saint-Just and Maximilian Robespierre, as were some of my comrades..." -Theophile Gautier, A History of Romanticism

The “infamous red” to avoid was scarlet, the color Bahorel definitely wears:

Bahorel, who was like a fish in water in a riot...wore a scarlet waistcoat, and indulged in the sort of words which break everything. His waistcoat astounded a passer-by, who cried in bewilderment:--

"Here are the reds!"

The Beards

“It was my beard that saved us! my romantic beard! my pretty little romantic beard!"- Les Miserables, 3.8.12

A beard ,fine,silky,full,scented with benzoin,and cared for as a Sultan's beard might be,... A beard ! A very ordinary matter in France nowadays,but at that time there were but two in the country : Eugène Devéria's and Petrus Borel's . It required absolutely heroic self - possession and contempt of the multitude And mark that when I say beard , I do not mean mutton-chop or fin-shaped whiskers,or a tip or a tuft,but a genuine,full,complete beard,one to make a man shudder . -Theophile Gautier, A History of Romanticism

In the 1820s and 1830s (especially early 1830s) beards were incredibly Out. Men of Proper Society simply Did Not Wear Them, Oh, they had facial hair--but not beards.

I need you all to understand how silly this dividing line got, so I made a Diagram:

(ID: a rough sketch of a face, showing, in order, sideburns, a moustache, a neckbeard, and all three combined; these are in green and labeled “fine”. one face has a small soulpatch-level goatee, labeled “Risky, Satan’s Chin Patch”. The last shows a short but fully connected beard, with facial hair covering the entire jawline, labeled “Anarchy, Riot, Doom” /End ID)

The Full Beard was Iconically Romantic and especially iconically Bouzingo Romantic, as you’ll see when we hit the caricatures. Oh boy, are there gonna be caricatures.

The final part of this is the hat--and here, I think, it’s time to move into contemporary (and near-contemporary) illustrations. First , a fairly Subdued version of two Bouzingo meeting:

(ID: two Bouzingo talking closely, with a Secret Handshake. They are wearing the clothes described in this post. Behind them a policeman gestures angrily. /end ID)

I love this picture (and would love to know the provenance!) ! You can see the Marat waistcoat lapels, the beard on the one on the left, and, of course, the signature Pointy Hat. Imagine those lapels in bright scarlet, those trousers in plaids, black, or white, and the jackets in either bright blue or dark black for maximum waistcoat contrast, and you’ve got a good mental image of how this would have looked at the time.

...You can also see the police officer telling them to move along. “Hostile Police Interaction”is also an iconic part of the Bousingo look, for obvious reasons.

Here are some more fairly realistic, and sympathetic, pictures; these are illustrations of Laraviniere, the “Bouzingo” character in George Sand’s Horace.

Beard, long hair, pointed hat, extravagant but loose cravat, “Robespierre” style lapels sticking out, tight plaid pants, solid cane for whomping people in fights? It’s the whole package baby!

I gotta include this picture too, because “naked , having grabbed a carpet, so you can come out and fight with landlords and cops” is also an Iconic Bouzingo Look. I am extremely not joking. If you’re going to care at all about propriety , you can’t be Bousingo, and at least one group (and that led by Borel, Bahorel’s most direct inspiration) did run a nudist commune for a while!

These images are reasonably realistic,even sympathetic, portrayals. Now let’s get to the caricatures, and how people who didn’t like them saw all this. This is some of my favorite stuff, it’s hilarious:

Image: Caricature (un peu chargée) d’un “bousingot” romantique This image, leaning heavily on the Romantic associations of the Bouzingo, brings in that Medieval-style dress I mentioned. Apart from the hat and beard, this guy doesn’t have anything particularly Bousingot about his outfit; the dramatic ruff and doublet-esque cut of his coat could go for any Romantic. But I love this picture , look how ticked off he looks!XD

I have no idea if this illo, titled “Old and New”, was supposed to be insulting, but I think it’s really charming! It’s a French Revolution-era revolutionary-- Robespierre-striped coat, knee breeches, wig or powedered hair, little cockades, etc,-- meeting a then-”new” Bouzingo, in striped trousers, a broad-lapeled tricolor waistcoat, a wide-brimmed “sombrero” type hat (also a solid Bouzingo fashion choice) , full beard (but super short hair--the other way that fashion ran,it’s either long or basically a canon-level buzzcut), and 1830s coat. The old Revolutionary carries a neat cane, and appears to be opening a snuffbox; the Bouzingo carries a fightin’ stick, and appears to be smoking a pipe made with a crowned skull holy shit I love it. And they’re getting along just fine! I have no idea if the vibe is supposed to be “The kids are all right! carrying on the banner!” or “ Look,the Youth of Today is trying to bring back that awful Revolution!” but either way the affinity between generations has me charmed. (and again, we see the strong perceived political aspect to Bouzingo fashion!)

Now a couple of definitely unflattering images:

Above, from an article about “newspapers and their readers”: a Bouzingo reads Le Charivari! as @clove-pinks said on the post that introduced me to this image: “Swanky, obnoxious outfit, long hair, reading Le Charivari illustrated magazine—it’s a bousingot Romantic! “ Again we’ve got the hat, the beard, the loud pants, the stick (I am dying at the stick placement omgggg) -- but you can see how the negative take on them frames them as poor (everything here is patched and broken) , dirty, and menacing.

One more, from the same source as “Old and New”: a whole darn group! Again, there’s the outfit geared to be provocatively tricolor, the broad sombrero style hats, a friggin Phrygian cap, a heavy stick , and beards all around. Note though the wide array of colors, especially the guy in a pink hat in the background!:D

So there’s Bouzingo/Bozingo/Bousingo etc fashion for you! Right at the intersection of Aggressively Political and Dramatically Romantic, bright, brash-- but still leaning into (then) modern styles. This look was about knowing the modern dress code enough to send very clear and specific messages; in this case, “Ready, willing, and able to throw down for the republic at any moment”. It could be toned up or down , but it was always LOUD (Bouzingo Means Noise!!) and it was meant to be a legible message to anyone who’d been in Paris for five minutes. Anyone wearing this outfit (a) knows how to do Style, and they’ve chosen to wear this look , and (b) is a fighter, or is about to become one, because oh,you will get punched in this outfit. Or arrested. Or punched and then arrested.

But you’re gonna look incredible when it happens.

#Bousingot #Bouzingo Bouzingot Bousingo #Bahorel relevant #yeah it can go in the #Bahorel #tag #there is SO MUCH MORE i could say #but this is . 1700 words help #long post #canon era fashion

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