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springypaws · 7 months ago

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I cannot over explain how much of a crime it is that Daisy and Basira don’t even have like a goofy ship name like Daisira or something so I am here to coin a name for them AS THEY DESERVE.

My idea is definitely more in the alley of the ship names PrivateEye and Teaholding, and’ll probably be changed at some point, but for now I’ve (at least temporarily) decided on the name “Wolfsbane”, and the reasons behind this are:

Wolfsbane is well known for being a poison. Merely touching the species could lead to loss of sensation in the areas of your body where contact was made (I could ramble about the symbolization that could be found in the roots being the most dangerous parts of the flowers to touch, but I’ll spare you) and they are deadly enough to have been used as a form of execution in Rome. They were also put on the ends of spears and arrows by the Greeks to kill wolves, and many believed them to be a major weapon against werewolves. This reminds me of the inevitability of Daisy’s downfall and her death at the hands of Basira, and the fact that she was doomed by the narrative from the very start.

Even so, wolfsbane can also symbolize protection, from wolves or in general (as a tattoo of wolfsbane generally means). It’s usage against wolves and werewolves can be related to the two’s relationship helping to keep Daisy at least relatively human for a long time, with Basira’s presence giving her a little extra push against the hunt in times such as when Daisy had tried to kill Jon and Basira had stopped her. Or, alternatively, when Basira was the one to save Daisy from continuing on as the beast she would later become.

They grow in rocky mountainous areas, which I personally relate to the blooming of something dangerous, but beautiful, amidst harsh, unwelcoming ground; something I imagine with their relationship. These flowers aren’t the type of beauty that one would expect, either, similarly to the fact that the relationship they have is different than most. I interpret their relationship more like partners back-to-back in battle, willing to die a thousand times for the other, rather than the typical sweet romance with honey-laced words (not saying that the members of more typical relationships wouldn’t die for one another all the same).

And, a more basic reasoning: the prefix “Wolf” relates to Daisy’s being a member of The Hunt and her transformation into a beast during the season 4 finale, and “Bane” relates to both individuals and their tendencies to become disliked for keeping to themselves and eachother, and for never backing down from a mission or a goal.

Keep in mind that it’s very late where I am and I’m not exactly the most lucid atm so this may make no sense— I just couldn’t wait to ramble about these two because they don’t get enough ramblings

(This image isn’t my own art, it’s a botanical image I found of the plant)

Have I thought way too deeply into a simple ship name? Yes. Do I have any regrets about it? No.

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fanaticmorelikefantastic · 5 months ago

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I'm just gonna put this here

It felt like it had been hours. Hell, when I checked the time, it really had been hours. Yet here I am, still staring at an empty Word document. Well, almost empty. I kept writing and rewriting the first few sentences. ‘It was a cold and stormy night.’ No. Who starts with that anymore? ‘It was summer, the summer of my-’ Ugh I hate summer, it makes me think of flies. ‘It’s too bad that every love ends with heartbreak.” I’m not even writing a tragedy what? Well I could, but I’d feel terribly bad about it and would eventually end up writing a messy redemption arc with countless plot holes. Ew. I don’t know how long this cycle continued for until I was entirely fed up with everything. That’s a lie, it lasted for an hour and forty five minutes. I was obsessively checking the clock the entire time as though it held some secret answer to my writing dilemma, or the universe, or something. But it doesn’t and I’m all out of ideas, and motivation, and friends, and real romance, and potatoes, and milk, and hair ties, and- okay let’s stop. I shut down my laptop and put it in its bag. For a moment I thought that I could finish that painting I’ve been working on (the one that was ordered by that pretentious a- be nice), but the tedium deterred me. (It does have to be done in the next ten weeks though. I wish I would’ve just picked a struggle instead of being so ambitious.) Maybe a break is what I needed. That or a change of scenery. Both maybe. After standing up and almost falling right back down, I was reminded to eat, or that I haven’t eaten, or that I should go out somewhere to eat while I write! Genius, absolute. I practically ran to my room to get dressed to go. I could walk around and see if there’s anything to eat nearby, or I could just go to one of my regular spots. I had a hankering for adventure today, so I settled on the former. Cute clothing always boosts morale, so let's put some on. I also make sure that they’re comfortable. It’s important to be comfortable when you’re planning on staring at a computer screen for several (more) hours.

It must’ve been divine intervention that made me want to go outside, because whilst in this cafe (which I never really noticed before) words have been pouring out of my mind. A hook, an exposition, a main character that I actually don’t hate, it seemed like all the stars were aligning in favor of me and this story. Well, all the stars that aren’t the male lead. I had written all the way up to when we meet him, but there he goes, pulling a disappearing act. Nestled in the corner of a cute and cozy cafe on a late autumn morning seemed like the perfect place to have a meet cute with the fragmented image of a male lead, but strangely, he was nowhere to be found. I scanned around the space for any inspiration. The cozy wooden tables and decorations paired with sleek black accents along the ceiling and other places gave the area a moody and romantic feel. The only problem was that there weren’t any moody or romantic people whose style I could rip off for my character. I gave up on my plan pretty fast. I had made plenty of progress already (or at least I gaslit myself into thinking so), so I chose instead to worry about whether or not I should get another one of those delicious sandwiches. Paninis. The food they served here was stupidly good, and maybe it could magically imbue some new ideas into my head. I decided on getting the chicken version of the sandwich (panini) I just had. While I ordered at the counter, my eyes wandered to a mini key lime tart seated behind the glass. I wondered for a second what their desserts tasted like, nestled all cozy in their display. It's what they specialize and advertise so I’m sure they’re delicious, but I needed an excuse to come back later, right?

I settled into my seat, a new spot closer to the window this time, thinking that maybe a different view would help me to finally write in this character. His personality was already pretty much decided (it’s written in the notebook I have reserved for this book), but I couldn’t for the life of me figure out what he was to look like. While pondering at my meal (sandwich (panini)), I heard the little cowbell on the door jingle and I instinctively looked up. I was joking earlier, but now I’m sure that some higher being brought me here because the man that just walked in was drop dead gorgeous. He was an absolute unit, his arm muscles unmistakably flexing in his short sleeved shirt (not that I was looking or anything (no, really they looked at me first). It was gray, which I usually wouldn’t like, but when it’s tucked into a pair of dark blue jeans fixed by a belt that matched the combat boots peeking from under them (the jeans), I waver just a bit. That’s all well and great, but the real kicker was when he glazed his eyes across the room. Oh my goodness his eyes. It felt like getting hit by a ton of bricks but if the bricks were made of metaphorical blue raspberry jell-o imbued with pure effervescence. It seemed like my fingers were floating when I wrote:

‘His eyes were blue when they met mine. I know it’s terribly cliche, but I couldn’t help but notice the cold, milky blue in his irises that melted away like a glacier when he looked to the floor. With gentle hands, he picked up my wallet, placing it in my hand that was, embarrassingly, frozen in place. I grasped it mindlessly as we both stood up.

“Be careful not to drop it next time.” Not if you’re around to pick it up for me.

“Yea.” I sounded pathetic. I felt pathetic. I looked pathetic as I watched him walk away, heart full of hopes, stomach full of butterflies, and head full of dreams.’

He walked right by me and I froze, the result of a sort of guilt for using him as a basis for someone in my novel. I tried to steal a discreet glance at him, but it was just my luck that he sat down in a cafe, by himself, with just one coffee, to do nothing. He wasn’t even on his phone. I immediately turned back around, not giving myself any time to see if he saw me or not because of course he did. He didn’t have anything else to look at (Wow, I sound so stuck up). I do my best to wrap up the paragraph I’m on and hide the embarrassment I feel towards this stranger that probably doesn’t even know I’m writing a paragraph about a girl falling in love with a fictitious version of him. I feel gross about it, but it’s not like I’m stalking him or anything, I just appropriated his likeness to write into my novel, which will be published, and people will (hopefully) read. I left before he did and on my way back I wondered why it was that I felt so guilty about it. It surely wasn’t the first time I pilfered a random name called by the barista at Starbucks, or stole the style of somebody I saw out of my window, or even took the words from a conversation I’d overheard for the sake of my writing. This time it felt a little more personal, maybe it’s because he was my type: tall, blonde, and built like a refrigerator. Whatever it was, I put it behind me by the time I got home. After all, it’s not like I’ll ever see him again. Now that chicken panini? That’s a different story.

Enter tomorrow morning, where I wake up refreshed, and early, and equipped with a name for our favorite love interest. Leon. It was a great name to give him, simple and iconic so the readers (and I) will remember it throughout the rest of the story. Also it goes great with the name Audrey. Audrey and Leon, star crossed lovers. For a moment, the image of the guy from the coffee shop flashed through my mind, but that man’s name could never be Leon. I stretch my limbs, popping almost every joint in my body, before stepping into the shower and thinking about how his (the guy from yesterday’s) name probably starts with a J. He looked like a Jason, or maybe a Jamie. Definitely a Jamie. After I quickly jot down the name (Leon, not Jamie) into my notebook, which has gained more than a few stickers on the cover, I decide that now is the perfect time to go for a walk, maybe even a jog. It’s not often that I wake up feeling so great, so I have to take full advantage of it. Athletic leggings and a sleeveless top, something I don’t usually wear, but today we’re getting out of our box. I give a small thanks to laser hair removal as I put them on. The shirt matches the stripe in the leggings, which matches my shoes. I love how it matches. I also love how my leggings have a pocket on the side, and how it zips closed. I say another thanks to feminist clothing designers as I put my phone in said pocket before checking my ponytail once more in the mirror and leaving from my front door (like I have any other one). I make extra sure to lock it, turns out I hadn’t last time, which was scary, but thankfully inconsequential.

The elevator to the lobby was filled with bliss. I even said hello to the receptionist on my way out of the building. I logged two miles around the park, half of which I actually jogged for. I sat on a bench, feeling accomplished and wondering if I should do another lap around, or maybe I should reward my excellence with a little treat, a chicken panini perhaps. I remembered those sweets they had on display at that shop (I can’t remember the name of it for the life of me) and decided that I’d rather die than not eat one of those this morning. I just did a run, I already worked off the calories, right? I did my best to perform a discreet smell check before heading that direction. I hummed lightly to myself all the way there, brainstorming ideas for how to progress my novel. It’d be cool if she found out his name by accident, like seeing it on his belongings, or overheating a friend say it, or something. That’s all fine and good, but the trope of saying ‘The name’s Leon’ still has a vice grip on me. I should've brought my notebook along. Then I could have written all this down. The friendly jingle of the door bell greeted me as I walked in the store. When I took my place in line, the focus of my thoughts shifted to which dessert I should get. Something with apples for sure. I love apples. They’re so refreshing and kinda earthy? There are so many kinds of apples, but they all taste similar somehow. I wonder why. I couldn’t pinpoint the reason before it was my turn to enthusiastically order an apple turnover (and a chai latte, I couldn’t help myself when I saw someone order one before me). I received the turnover in a little brown baggie and took a seat nearby to wait for my latte. While waiting, I pondered the second meeting of our (my) favorite protagonists and if Jamie is getting another medium black coffee right now. Wait, Jamie? I snapped myself back into reality as I watched (the man that I secretly dubbed) Jamie walk into the store and towards the ordering counter. I hadn’t expected him to be here again today, or at least that’s what I told myself because I couldn’t admit the possibility of him being a regular here. He probably was. I had (thankfully) barely started my thought spiral when my name was called at the counter. I mindlessly walked up and grabbed my cup. What a coincidence, I walked to the counter just in time to witness Jamie order a medium coffee with cream, but no sugar. I looked at him for a second, one second too long apparently. He looked at me (with those eyes, those infuriatingly gorgeous ones that made me sacrifice my writing morals to make the male lead have ones the exact same color) and smiled. He smiled at me, a knowing one as though he knew something I didn’t. Did he? Probably. I returned it along with a polite nod, then tried my best to exit the store with my dignity intact. Unfortunately, fate had different plans. I had barely taken a couple steps away when I heard a voice call out to me.

“Hey wait up!” It was him. I know it was, I just heard him order his coffee. His voice sounds like coffee, rich and smooth. I turn around, putting on my best I-definitely-didn’t-plan-to-write-a-whole-book-about-you face.

“Yea?” I can’t get over how perfect he looks. It feels illegal for a man to have such flawless skin and- scar? Why would he have a-

“Hey um, I just couldn’t help but notice you at the cafe earlier. Well I was wondering if you’d maybe wanna meet up for a chat there sometime?” I would die for this man. It was something about the way he said it, or maybe he’s just using his evil eye powers to hypnotize me because I feel like I could never say no to him and I have an alarming lack of qualms about it.

“Yea- Yea, um I think that’d be nice! Well, my name is _ and I’ll look forward to meeting you- uhh…” I gave him that please-tell-me-your-name look that people do when they want to finish their sentence. He laughed a bit. Well, more like a lighthearted exhale, but I say it counts.

“Leon. It’s Leon” Oh. My. God. Oh no. Oh dear.

“Leon, Okay! Do you, uhh” I moved the bag that held my pastry to be precariously secured by the hand that held my latte in order to grab my phone from my pocket.

“Oh, yeah, let me put my number in.” Leon gently took it from my hand when I held it out to him (he also scrambled my brain by making me try to figure out how his hands could simultaneously feel like clouds and alligators). I watched him type his name, then his number. All my thoughts must’ve gotten scared and hidden away, because my head feels empty as a helium balloon. I clumsily receive my phone back once he’s done, looking at the name ‘Leon S. Kennedy’, then back at him. He’s so gorgeous and he’s just standing there, smiling, but not like an idiot (I’m the one smiling like that), he’s more like, a reassuring fireman.

“I’ll see you around then?” I barely registered that he was talking to me. It felt like I was having a semi-lucid dream where once I wake up, I realize my entire life until now was just a figment of my imagination.

“Yea.” I sounded pathetic. I felt pathetic. I looked pathetic as I watched him walk away, head full with dreams, heart full with hopes, and stomach fluttering with butterflies.

…

I am so dead.

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